Memphis Legend

by Brian Crawford

  “You fucker!”

  “No, I didn’t, but I got the impression she was hoping Paul might.”

  It worked. Eric was mad. This made him stupid. Anger overruled caution as he advanced towards me. As soon as Eric was within striking distance, I lashed out with a quick left jab to the face followed by a hard right strike to his temple with my heel of my right hand, staggering him backward. He tripped over the same curb I had tripped over earlier. He was stunned. One down.

  Dwayne lunged at me again, this time grabbing my wrist. I underestimated his grip strength. Simply pulling my wrist loose was not a quick enough option. I spun my forearm until his wrist became vulnerable for another wrist lock. He was a fast learner. He immediately dropped to one knee while twisting to minimize the pain of the tremendous two-handed wrist lock I had on him; however, he was right where I needed him. Letting go with one hand, I used the other to maintain his position while I viciously slammed my elbow into the side of his head. I swore I could hear the thud echo in the street. Dwayne fell to the street with another thud. Two down.

  I took too much time setting Dwayne up with the wrist lock. I knew it. I felt it too as I received a hard hit to the back of my head. Spinning, I discovered Fireplug with his arm cocked back ready for a big swinging punch. He took too long. I was able to dodge the punch easily. Fireplug had not expected me to be so quick. His momentum spun him nearly completely around when he missed. I gave him a shove into the curb expecting him to trip, but he recovered remarkably well and got into a fighting stance. Fireplug had seen what I did to Eric and focused his efforts on preventing a strike to his head. I kicked him hard in the thigh. I could see in his eyes that he had not expected a kick.

  Fireplug was forced to back up giving me a chance to quickly examine my surroundings. Dwayne appeared unconscious, and Eric was still on his butt looking stunned, leaving a one-on-one with Fireplug. Virgil had been wrong. He said it would not be worth it. So far it was worth it and then some.

  Smiling ear to ear, I said, “You’re screwed, douchebag. If you come over and let me knock you out, then it’s over. Otherwise, I’m going to throw you through that window.”

  “Fuck off, Yankee.”

  “Have it your way.”

  He took a fighting stance as I advanced, this time watching my feet. Using that to my advantage, I shot a hard kick to his forward leg. It would sting, although that was not its purpose. Its true purpose was distraction. I faked another kick, which he easily averted, although his head was now unprotected. Quickly I stepped forward, closing the gap and then jabbed with my left hand causing him to stumble back and trip over the ever popular curb. An uppercut would have been awkward before given our considerable height difference, but not now.

  My right hand connected with the bottom of his jaw in a brutal uppercut. The sound of his teeth slamming together brought a smile to my face. He might have gone down regardless; however, I allowed my forward momentum to shoulder check him into the wall behind him. His head slammed into the plate glass window, the same window I told him I was going to throw him through. Oh well, not today, I guess.

  The one I called Dwayne was still lying right where I left him. Eric was back up and charging towards me for another try. Admirable, yet stupid, especially since he was using the same tackling approach that had already failed him once before. This time I allowed him to make contact with me. I braced for the contact and shifted my weight allowing me to stay on my feet as he wrapped his arms around my torso. His head was off to the right of my torso, up under my armpit.

  I could not believe it was going to be so easy. I immediately circled my right arm around his head and under his neck. My left hand grabbed my right, and together I applied upward pressure. Eric was in a front naked choke, otherwise known as a guillotine choke hold. I could not afford the time it would take for tracheal compression to cut off flow to his lungs, so I shifted my grip slightly to provide a blood choke. Both carotid arteries were compressed, cutting off blood flow to the brain.

  Panic immediately followed as Eric realized his predicament. He started clawing at my hands, a typical mistake, as it allowed me to move in closer to help provide the leverage necessary to complete the choke. Eric was strong, maybe stronger than me, but he had no training for these types of situations. He did not even think to simply turn his chin towards my ribs to prevent compression of the arteries on both sides.

  He was the Chief’s son, so I was trying hard not to put any obvious cuts or bruises on him, hence the reason I utilized the choke. However, it was a three-on-one fight. I would have to let go if one of the other two men attacked before Eric was unconscious. The one I called Dwayne was still not moving, and Fireplug was sitting on his ass in front of the window.

  I continued the choke. Within 20 seconds, Eric became limp in my arms.

  I had won.

  ***

  As Eric went limp in my arms, an Emmettsville squad car screeched to a halt in the middle of the street. The officer immediately exited and went for his gun, removing it from his holster and pointing it at me in a squared off Isosceles shooting stance.

  “On the ground, now!”

  I yelled back, “Let me put Eric down first!”

  “I said on the ground. NOW!”

  “This is the Chief’s son. If I drop him, then he is going to land on his face. Just wait, please.”

  One of the most common ways street fights end in death is from a person hitting his head when he is falling after being knocked out or choked out. I stood a good chance at facing battery charges; I did not want to face manslaughter charges.

  “Make it quick!”

  Eric was barely conscious as I lowered him to the ground while turning him face up.

  “I said make it quick, asshole!”

  “He’s a big guy. I lowered him as fast as I could.”

  “Now, join him on the ground. Face down, arms up behind your head!”

  Emmettsville had pissed me off for the last time. There was no way I was going face down in the street. I sat down on the curb and glared at the cop pointing his gun at my body.

  “Are you hard of hearing, mother fucker? I said face down. Now! Now! NOW!”

  Stupid civilian cop. We never used vulgar language like that while making an arrest in the Navy. It was like the entire Emmettsville police force got its procedures from watching too much television or movies.

  “No. I won’t budge from this spot without your permission, but I’m not going on my face for you.”

  “Don’t argue with me.”

  “I’m not. I’m just refusing your request.”

  “That’s not an option!”

  “Officer, whatever your name is,” I could not read the badge from that distance, “Three men attacked me, so I defended myself. I tried to do as little harm as possible. Either way, you have two unconscious men on your hands. I’m not a threat to you so why don’t you spend your time calling an ambulance. Better yet, let me make sure they are breathing okay while you call an ambulance. You can keep the gun pointed at me if you like. And I would prefer you call in some backup.”

  The officer was one of those guys who would look like a cop even if he was out of uniform: the blocky, muscular frame, the short hair, the mustache, and that young cop cockiness. He ignored my request for an ambulance and remained where he was with his gun still fixed on me. “Don’t tell me how to do my job! I don’t need any backup to handle you.”

  “The backup is for me. I don’t trust you.”

  Admiral Buie once told me that my instincts were so spot on most of the time it was scary, and right now I did not trust this police officer. My inner voice was telling me that his timing was too coincidental, pulling up at the exact moment that I had won the fight. I desperately wanted someone else to witness the unavoidable arrest. Another officer. An EMT. Anyone. The whole town could not be dirty. I got my wish; however, it came from the bar as several people came out to watch the spectacle outside. Curious onlookers, thank God.

&
nbsp; “Officer, my name is Dr. L.T. McCain, and I’m an emergency room physician. Can I check on the guy in the street just to make sure he is okay until the ambulance gets here?”

  “Mister, you are pushing your luck with me.”

  “Doctor,” I corrected. “I can assure you it is not purposeful. Not that it changes anything, but I used to do what you are doing while I was in Navy. Just keep the gun on me while I check on him. You have an audience now, with lots of witnesses, and you know my name. I promise you; I’m not trying to pull any funny stuff.”

  The officer remained exactly as he had started, gun pointed at me in an aggressive stance.

  “Scott, let him check on Tyler,” said one of the male onlookers.

  “Don’t tell me how to do my job. And its Officer Crane, not Scott.”

  The same voice said, “Sorry, Officer Crane, it’s just that I remember you from diaper days. Let him check Tyler, Officer Crane. And you should probably get the Chief over here. His idiot son finally started a fight he couldn’t win.”

  Officer Crane motioned with his gun towards Tyler, the one I called Dwayne earlier. As I checked his vitals, Officer Crane leaned into his car and told the dispatcher to send over an ambulance and to get the Chief. Tyler regained consciousness as I was checking him. Breathing and pulse were normal for his condition, and his pupils were equal and reactive to light as I blocked light coming from the streetlight above. Thank God. I left the rest of the assessment for the EMT. I turned to attend to Eric, but he was sitting up with his back against the brick wall of the bar.

  Officer Crane said, “If he’s okay, then you need to lie face down and put your hands on the back of your head.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Do I look serious?”

  I knew the question was rhetorical, but I almost answered him regardless, telling him what I thought he looked like. Sometimes it is best to keep some thoughts to yourself.

  The same male voice as before said, “Scott, I mean, Officer Crane, let him be. I saw the whole thing go down. He was defending himself. These three assholes attacked him. If you’re going to cuff him, then you better get three more sets ready, Scott.”

  “Damn it, Charles, just because you’re my dad’s cousin don’t mean you can tell me what to do! You,” he said while pointing at me, “Sit over there on the curb while I sort this all out. Damn it.” He was mumbling away, obviously annoyed.

  I sat and waited. Officer Crane holstered his gun. In my opinion, that was a mistake given that none of the four men in the fight were cuffed and he still did not have backup; however, I was relieved.

  Officer Crane walked over to Eric talking quietly. Fireplug was up and pacing in front of the bar window looking mad as hell, yet remarkably unhurt. I hoped he at least had a headache. Officer Willis pulled up after a few minutes, just shortly ahead of the ambulance. Charles gave me a thumbs up during all the commotion.

  Eventually, Chief Parker arrived in a new Lincoln wearing civilian clothes. At first, I thought how could he afford a car like that, then I saw the dealer’s tags and remembered his wife owned a car dealership. Neither Officer Willis nor Officer Crane had come over to talk to me once since I sat down, and Chief Parker was in no hurry to talk to me either. He never even looked my direction. However, he gave his son Eric the same silent treatment.

  My butt was going numb sitting on the curb, so I leisurely reclined until I was resting my back on the sidewalk. My heart rate was returning to a normal rhythm as the adrenaline rush dissipated. Charles was talking to the Chief. Although I could not make out all the words, he was obviously giving the Chief a version of the story the Chief did not want to hear. The only sentence I heard in its entirety was, “I don’t give a shit if he is your son, Sam. He finally got his ass kicked, and it’s about time.” I smiled at that one.

  After several minutes of reclining on the sidewalk, someone kicked the bottom of my shoe jolting me out of my repose. Chief Parker was standing over me. “Get up; I’m taking you in.”

  “As in arresting me? Is this some kind of joke?”

  “No joke. But let’s think of this more as detaining you and taking you down to the station while we ask you some more questions.”

  “You detaining the three guys who started the fight, too?”

  “No, just one. The other two are being taken to the hospital. You must be some kind of deadly weapon, Dr. McCain. If you really are a doctor. You sure don’t look like any doctor I ever saw.”

  “I suppose you are cuffing me too?”

  “Out front, please, as a formality.”

  “Can I put the top up on my car?”

  “No.”

  “Is my car under arrest?”

  “No.”

  “Then give me a second, please.” He raised his eyebrows questioningly. “Charles,” I said, “Can you do me a favor?”

  “Sure, son. Name it.”

  “Watch my car for me. Put the top up if it starts to rain, please,” I said while throwing the keys over to him.

  “You got it. I’ll have these at the bar when you finish.”

  “Thanks. If I don’t get them tonight, Lloyd or Ellie Carmichael will come get them. Thanks again.”

  The Chief gave Charles a disapproving look, which Charles returned in spades. Chief Parker nodded at Officer Willis who came over holding a pair of handcuffs. I was being arrested. Could this day get any worse?

  While working undercover as a Navy Master-at-arms, I made nearly 100 arrests. Being arrested was virgin territory for me. Riding in the back of a squad car, instead of the front, was new as well; however, what did I expect after busting up the police chief’s son. I was surprised to hear that Eric needed to visit the hospital. I did not hit him all that hard, and I went kind of easy on him with the choke hold. My guess was that his dad did not have the heart to arrest him in front of everyone, or maybe he was going for the sympathy vote to help bolster up his case against me while he tried to convince everyone I was a “deadly weapon.”

  Replaying the events of the fight, I concluded Fireplug and Tyler had been the aggressors in the conflict. I had witnessed Fireplug pushing Eric into action. For a man with a history of violent acts, Eric seemed reluctant to engage in physical conflict with me earlier. I was having a hard time figuring him out.

  “You’re awful quiet back there,” said Officer Willis from the front seat.

  Being arrested, even in the semi-polite manner with which they did it, still left me feeling surly. To prevent myself from being combative with the officer, I chose to remain quiet. Officer Willis stared at me in the mirror briefly and then shook his head side to side negatively.

  After arriving at the station, the events became fairly routine. I was told to sit while the two officers spoke with Chief Parker. Fireplug was sitting in a chair across the room from me smiling even though he was cuffed with his hands behind him. Surprisingly, they appeared to be treating me better than one of their own townspeople; maybe Fireplug had a history of trouble.

  Several minutes later, Chief Parker approached me gesturing for me to stand up. “We’re going to lock you up overnight. There will be a bond hearing in the morning. Come with me.”

  “Am I being charged?”

  “I’m going to let the D.A.’s office make that determination.”

  “Okay, Chief, you’re the boss. Show me the way.”

  There was no use fighting the situation; nothing could be gained by it regardless. After stripping me of my belt and shoe laces and other personal items, Officer Willis led me to my cell. It was a pretty typical older style cell: bars across the front, stainless steel toilet/sink combination unit, and an actual cot. In the Navy, we gave them a concrete bench with a one-inch thick foam pad to sleep on. I also had the entire cell to myself.

  Officer Willis said, “Enjoy your stay, boy,” as he closed the cell door behind me.

  CHAPTER 16

  Arrested.

  After defending myself. Just thinking about it was enraging me, my blood pr
essure rising until I could tell the veins in my neck must be showing even more than usual.

  The night in jail was the icing on the cake. If I was not mad at the town of Emmettsville before, I sure was now, and if the Chief wanted a war, then he had one. He had pissed off the wrong guy. The adrenaline that was re-entering my bloodstream was a direct result of the anger I was feeling. Good, I thought to myself. I knew how to handle anger. I was a damn expert at anger management. I got shit done when I was angry.

  “Time for your phone call, boy,” said Officer Willis on his return.

  “That’s the second time you called me boy, Officer Willis. Should I expect a complete lack of civility from you for the rest of the night?”

  Willis cast me a sideway glance, but he did not answer. If I never had another asshole call me boy or mister again, it would suit me just fine. Those words were like fingers down a chalkboard every time I heard them. Add one more person to the list of people in Emmettsville that I wanted to hit.

  It was bound to cause some hurt feelings, but I opted to call Virgil over Ellie. He was the one person I knew that would carry out my instructions without the need for big explanations. Not only did I not have to explain, but Virgil also managed to tease me before agreeing to help me in every way imaginable. While on the phone, I looked for Fireplug, but he was not visible, and when they walked me back to my cell, I did not see him in any of the other cells either. In the end, I guessed that only the Yankee was getting arrested today.

  Nothing to do but wait, which I did not relish. Not that I was impatient, I just hated being idle with no current objective or purpose. I could sit at a stakeout for hours if needed. There was an objective to a stakeout. However, waiting for the sake of waiting, because it was the only option at hand, that was maddening. Plus, I had based my entire anger management technique for the last 15-plus years upon redirection, and at that moment I had nowhere to redirect my growing anger. A girl I dated briefly in college had told me that my coping mechanism was based on avoidance, not redirection. Maybe she was right; however, I finished a four-year degree in three years and graduated med school magna cum laude, so I did not feel like changing a working plan.