I thought it was a good sign. Not anything she was doing, but when she stood up, there was a small distance between us. It was very small, but out of reach.
I too had calmed down some by this time. I answered, “It’s the truth.”
I’m not sure what she believed because she got up, walked to the door, and said, “I have to get the kids to school.”
I lay there, beaten, battered, and bruised. What the hell had just happened? What I did know was that my wife was cheating on me and I received a damn good beating because of it. Women, you can’t live with them, and you can’t live with them.
Chapter 8
Some time had passed and my life had seemed like it was going on the skids. Sometimes like rock bottom, only to sink a little lower. There were constant fights at home. Work seemed unsatisfying. I had not told my wife I knew of her affair. I didn’t know up from down.
The only time I felt good was blasted out on any kind of alcohol I could get. I would pass out. Then not remember anything. Now I know some people call that alcoholism; I like to think of it as survival. I know there would have been times I would not have made it had it not been for mind alteration.
So here I sit waiting to walk out to my squad car and solve the world’s problems, at least the town’s problems. Because I don’t talk to anyone, no one knows of the time bomb walking around.
After I get my car I drive to Jeffrey Motter’s house. He lives with his parents. Which in itself is a bit weird but he’s a friend so I can overlook most things.
He tells me he is starting his own business. He’s going to try being an electrical contractor. If he can get in with a few builders and do some side jobs he would be doing all right.
Jeff knows my wife and I are having problems, but even he doesn’t know the extent. While we are in his basement apartment he tells me if ever his business takes off I can work for him. I appreciate the offer but don’t want to work any more than I have to.
He says, “I was at the school the other day in the unmarked car. The kids all love it. Some of them wanted a ride in it but I told them no.”
“Good thing, you would lose this job,” I advised him.
“Yeah, that’s why I told some of them to come to my house so they can ride my four wheeler.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea either. If someone gets hurt they could maybe come after the police department.”
“Fuck the police department. They said I’d have to take the police test to get hired as a cop. They have done that for others. Just hire them with the wave of a hand.” His words were bitter. Not with hurt but more like hate.
“These kids like me ‘cause I don’t bullshit them. They have a question; I give them a straight up answer.”
“I had one over last week. We had a ball.” He talked of how they rode the four wheeler, went to game rooms and a show.
“His mom didn’t mind?”
“Of course not, she knew all about it.”
Chapter 9
I started to notice my production on the department started going down. My heart wasn’t in it. I actually started thinking of getting out. But deep down I knew this was my calling. Serve the people of this town and uphold the law. But I did realize that I was still sinking down. It was like quicksand. Only I was not aware how deep I could go.
I can recall some high school kids coming up to me saying they remember some of the things I had told them in Kids in Policing.
Some of it just common sense, pick a good friend, and tell them everything. This saved one girl from getting into trouble one night. She was out with a group that started drinking for the first time. She was thirteen. Some twenty-year-olds obtained the booze. She didn’t partake. Then when she wanted to go the group said no, not before you finish the bottle.
By this time her parents had expected her home. They called her best friend. Knowing the girl at the party would want the friend to tell her parents where she was located she told them. The parents arrived and all the kids were taken home. Both friends had discussed that if ever a parent asks a question of their whereabouts, the other would tell them where they were.
Simple, if you feel it’s wrong, it probably is. If only I would have listened to myself.
It was times like these that kept me going. However, there were also the low times. I would drive around for eight hours just to go home and fight. Not a good life for me, my kids, or even my wife.
Then there came the day after another night in the bar. Don’t know what time I rolled in, but I do know it wasn’t long enough of a sleep, when the screaming of my wife broke my sleep. It was the same old thing. Except this time I couldn’t hold back. I just did not care at all. When the time has come for a marriage to be over, you will know it’s over.
By this time I didn’t even care what she was doing. But out of my mouth came, “What about the guy you are with? Want to tell me about him?” she stopped in her tracks. I thought I finally had the last word.
As we were standing face to face by this time she promptly raised her knee right into my groin. The pain circled through me as I went to my knees. That was the last time this would happen.
I screamed right back at her, “We are done. I’m leaving. I have no feelings for you, you bitch.” My eyes were still tearing from the strike I had just taken, but I felt good for saying it. She put a look on her face like; you’re kidding right? But I grabbed my wallet and keys to my motorcycle.
As I walked out of my bedroom the absolute worst thing I could have seen was waiting for me at the end of the hall. My boy and girl were standing arms hanging down at their sides, their eyes bloodshot red from crying. Standing in their pajamas, mouths open but no words coming out. Looking like a defeated pair that had no reason to be involved in this except we were too loud.
I started for the stairs to leave the house. “No daddy, please don’t go. You’ll love mommy again.” I wanted to run up to them and hug them and never let go. But I knew if
I stopped now; it would just be another day.
My wife caught me at the back door. “If you leave now you will never be back in this house again.” Her voice came from down in the bowels of her stomach. She never sounded so sure of herself before.
When I turned to leave she dug her fingernails into my face and neck. Her hands moved with the speed of a lawn mower blade. I turned; I almost stuck her as hard as I could. I pushed her to the floor. It was a hard push and I heard her hit. As I stood looking down at her again I realized there were no feelings. I walked out the door.
I started my motorcycle and drove down the driveway. A lot that morning had been tough but the toughest was yet to come. As I left the drive I looked in my rear view mirror, there was my daughter running after me. Her arms were out in front of her. She was crying, and yelling, “Daddy, daddy, daddy, please come back.” And even as loud as my motorcycle was I heard it. It is something I can still hear today.
Chapter 10
Months go by, a divorce is started. When I think of how it was leading up to the divorce, I guess it went fairly well. Material things were split rather evenly, according to her. As she said, “You had the chance to take whatever you wanted with you.”
Which I always thought was not that much, since I was on a motorcycle. But, it was only money. The biggest loss was the kids.
I had been drinking for a while, but the divorce set me over the edge; I guess that and the depression of not seeing my children. There was many a long night. All I could think of was make it through until tomorrow, because tomorrow always held a new day. You know the song, “tomorrow, tomorrow; it’s only a day away.” Silly as it sounds, it’s true.
So my life is rocky, to say the least. I can’t control it, but I’m asked to help others, if they only knew whom they were asking.
I was working the day shift on a Sunday in June. How much could go wrong at nine a.m.? The call came in simple enough, “Man locked in his bedroom, assist the fire department.” Probably another door lock about to
bite the dust after the fire department puts a power ram on the doorknob. Then the power ram takes out the doorknob, along with the door and most of the door jam. The power ram is equivalent to a battering ram, gets the job done, but somewhat messy.
The caller advised they lived at 1645 Greenview, an apartment complex that did have its share of problems. But it had been quiet recently. She was in apartment 304.
I arrived along with Keith Sommers and the fire department. We took the elevator to the third floor. Sergeant Hammerstan called on the radio to ask if he was needed. He probably had some important personal business to take care of. Not that he would do personal business on company time. Right.
I rang the doorbell of apartment 304. A woman about thirty years of age answered the door. She had her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She had very little make-up on and a cigarette hanging from her lip. She looked and smelled as if she was drinking all night. By the half bottle of Corona sitting on the coffee table, I could tell she had not stopped yet. She had on a pair of slacks that were faded in color by age. She wore a blouse that was silk and slightly torn on the sleeve.
When she answered the door she said, “Thanks for coming. He has done this before. He gets drunk and locks himself in our bedroom.”
“Who is he?” I asked.
“My husband. He’s been very moody lately. Seems like something’s on his mind.”
“What’s your husband’s name?”
“George,” she answered.
“Has he ever been violent?” asked Sommers.
“No, not any more than usual.”
Now what the hell did that mean? He hasn’t killed me yet? “Has he ever hit you?” I asked.
“Only when we’re fighting.”
Again I thought, great, when you are lovey, dovey he doesn’t hit you. Some red flags were starting to arise and so our alertness started to follow suit.
Firefighter Joshua Anderson asked if he could go to the bedroom door. Once there he announced who he was and asked through the door if George was okay. There was no response. He asked again turning the doorknob.
From inside the room Anderson heard, “I’m okay. Go away.”
“We can’t do that. Your wife called and was concerned about you. We just want you to open the door to see that you are okay, and then we’ll leave.” Anderson was looking back at me as he spoke. We had known each other for many years. We worked together many times.
“That bitch can’t leave anything alone.”
I was now thinking; maybe we hadn’t received the whole story from his wife. Perhaps this was not a lovey, dovey time in their lives.
Anderson tried again, “Come on, just open up.”
There was some movement we heard inside the room. Then the doorknob was being fumbled with. Then the sound of bed springs. “Come on in.”
As Anderson opened the door, slowly trying to peer around the corner of it, he observed George sitting on the bed with a butcher knife clutched in his hand. “See I’m okay,” George said.
Anderson never entered the room. He backed away saying to me, “He’s got a knife.”
I started down the hall to the bedroom. Knowing that now it was a police matter until the knife was gone. I looked into the room. I introduced myself to George, “George, I’m Tim Carver, I’m with the police department. I’m only here to make sure no one gets hurt, including you. Could you put the knife down and come out to talk to me?”
George sat on the bed with his head bowed down. When he did look up there was a distant look in his eye. I looked down the hall at his wife and asked if he had any guns? She replied that he did not; his doctor said it wouldn’t be a good idea for him to possess firearms.
There was another little gem forgotten at the door. George never looked right at me. He mumbled a few words but I could not articulate them. Again I asked, “Please, put the knife down, then come out.”
I don’t know if he didn’t hear everything I said but he did get up to come out, only he still carried the knife. The knife looked at least twelve inches long, and growing with every step.
“George, put the knife down.” The tone of my voice was no longer let’s make some chit chat. There was a strong feeling of command in it.
As he continued towards the door, he moved rather slowly, like he was in no hurry, I moved back. Remembering my training, it would take an average guy, when he is within twenty-one feet of you, one and a half seconds to stab you, even if I shot him. So if he was twenty-one feet away I could still get stabbed. I told Sommers to get George’s wife out into the hall, out of the apartment, which he did. The fire department all fell back into the living room, then out the door to the hallway, everyone except Anderson. He stayed in the living room.
As George stepped into the narrow hallway between the bedroom and living room, he held the knife over his shoulder, in his right hand, point facing me. He had three ways to travel. Back into the bedroom, into a bathroom halfway down the hall between the bedroom and living room or straight at me in the living room.
I now was very authoritative in my voice, “Put the knife down.”
He slowly walked down the hall. When he passed the bathroom, there was nowhere else for him to go. I now was standing behind a half wall between the entry and living room. But I was aware of firefighter Anderson in the living room, standing in the furthest corner from the hallway and from George.
My weapon had been drawn for a while but I had kept it at my side. Now it was pointed directly at George. “Put it down,” I ordered.
I knew I would have to make a decision soon. He then took three quick steps toward me, he raised the knife completely over his head, and then he stabbed it into the wall. Four to six inches of the knife went into the wall. In two or three seconds, and the words, “I’m sorry,” it was all over.
Firefighter Joshua Anderson and I walked quickly over to George. I “assisted” him by directing his movement towards the living room. How it was perfectly named, a living room. Could have been a lot worse, but I was lucky.
Once in the living room, away from the knife all the paramedics gathered around him. He was going in for a psyche exam, which he didn’t know about yet. His wife stood off to the side, tears in her eyes, tissue in her left hand, and the bottle of Corona still in the right.
I called the Sergeant to advise him what had occurred, also for him to bring out the camera. We needed to take pictures of the scene, the layout of the apartment and particularly the knife in the wall.
Sergeant Hammerstan arrived right as the ambulance was leaving. He rang the doorbell and Officer Sommers opened the door. Left in the apartment was Sommers, George’s wife, me, and now Hammerstan had joined us. The Sergeant walked over to the knife and asked how that happened? I told him the story of the whole incident. With George’s wife standing right next to me he said, “Man, do you realize you could have popped him? Legally.”
He said it with all the glory of downing a twelve-point buck. “I would have done it. What a chance.” He was actually smiling and his eyes were glinting.
This was my leader. Not caring at all about the wife of the man, who I could have just “popped,” was standing just two feet away. She looked at him with all the hate she could gather together. She then just looked at me, no words spoken; there wasn’t any need for them.
Chapter 11
The divorce was final. It had taken about nine months. I thought it would be some large event in my life. But with knowing for so long it was nothing but a piece of paper saying you have no more ties to the person. As happy as I was, I guess, I was somewhat sad also. Finalization. Something I did work hard to make happen was truly over. Yes, it had been over for a long time but now… truly over.
I have the piece of paper in my hand and I’m off tomorrow, what to do? How about an outdoor get together. This is when you invite several people to an area outside, start a bonfire and everyone brings their own bottle. This sounded good to me.
I made a few phone calls to fellow employees
and friends, and then they all brought their friends with them. All there to celebrate the end of something bad that started so good.
It was the normal conversations, mostly work sucks. But over with a group of friends of friends was this one woman. She was very attractive but also just blending in. I started to ask around about her.
Seems David Makeity the Hilton Hotel manager was asked to join us. He was a manager by day Harley motorcycle rider by night. One of the guys invited him. He had also invited several of his support staff. After meeting Makeity, I asked who the woman was. He told me she was their bartender who had the night off.
I asked, “What’s her name?”
Makeity answered, “Stephanie. She’s really a nice girl. Doesn’t go out much but we convinced her to come out tonight.”
“Is she married?”
“Why? This is sounding serious.”
“Well, is she?”
“No.”
“I think I’ll introduce myself.” I headed off to the area she was in. As I left I heard a lot of catcalls and comments about a shark visiting a school of fish.
The closer I got, the more beautiful she became. She was dressed in black boots, blue jeans, and a pink tee shirt with some writing on it that I could not see because of the Jean jacket. She had blond hair about shoulder blade length, and very pretty eyes. They were the kind of eyes that can read your mind. They could look right into your soul and steal your heart. She was about five foot nine and one hundred pounds. Who is this girl?
At first I just stood by her group. There was Keith Sommers and Clifford Russle from the police department. Sarah Beachman the assistant day manager from the Hilton was also there. A few people who I had seen before but couldn’t ever remember their names, and of course, Stephanie and me.
When Sommers saw me he said, “Hey, it’s the recent divorcee. How does it feel?”
Well, right then it felt embarrassing. Not quite the sophisticated way to meet a woman. With all eyes on me, and all the intellect I could come up with I stated, “Ah, it’s okay.”
All right, not Shakespeare, not Lennon and McCartney hell it wasn’t even Hemmingway, but I did see a small smile come to her perfect lips. Hey, I still had it. But
would she see it? Whatever it was.
My Justice My Revenge Page 3