by Joe Nobody
Now things were getting serious, the real fun about to begin.
With ear-piercing screams coming from all sides, hundreds of pounds of weight on his ribcage and legs, the completely overwhelmed Jacob tried to lift his body in order to move his arms as commanded. This resulted in the first kick.
In legitimate academy training, instructors harped on not allowing a suspect to regain the initiative. The well-meaning cadre would drill in a grim reality – If the criminal had a gun in his belt and managed to draw the weapon while his arms were under his body, then that weapon could be aimed and discharged once those limbs broke free.
Foot strikes aimed at the arms were an approved method to keep the prone suspect from lifting himself off the ground. The goal was to knock the weight-bearing limb out from underneath the apprehended person, much like removing the leg of a stool. If the occasional kick missed, impacting the head, ribs, or neck, the blame rested squarely on the civilian who shouldn’t have been resisting.
The driver started screaming in pain as heavy-duty boots struck his head and trunk. After a half-dozen vicious blows, the cops let him move one arm to the small of his back. But only one.
On the opposite side of the dash cam, out of clear view, one of the policemen pressed his boot on the still-free wrist, pinning it to the pavement. Again, a perverse moan of agony sounded through the neighborhood.
At this point, the girl passenger interrupted the carefully orchestrated blue-payback. Hearing her boyfriend’s moans and screams, the terrified Manny gathered herself and exited the car. She was, after all, parked in front of her own home.
Her only thought was to reach the comfort of her parents and the security of her childhood home. With the riot-like backdrop of sound, she didn’t hear the officer who ordered her to stop, instead moving in a hurried rush across the yard. The cop pursued.
Manny’s parents had been drawn by the sirens and sea of flashing blue lights in front of their home. Her father, peeking through the living room blinds, recognized Jacob’s new car just as it had stopped out front.
Chip liked Jacob, finding the kid respectful and honest. Given the parade of young boys that had sought Manny’s company over the years, the keen-eyed father had considered the young Master Chase as one of the top-tier candidates for his daughter’s long-term affections.
Seeing an opportunity to exercise his often ill-timed sense of humor, Chip had snatched up his cell phone, thinking to record Jacob’s first traffic ticket and leverage the embarrassing event for future, good-natured harassment. The threat of social annihilation could be a powerful tool, should the need ever arise.
After less than a minute of recording, Chip knew something was horribly wrong.
The anxious father dashed through the front door and darted for the street just as the armada of police cars rolled up. Like the paralyzed teens in the car, Chip froze in the middle of his driveway, cell still recording the drama a short distance away.
When he spied Manny exiting the car, he moved to rescue his clearly frightened girl. They embraced just as the pursuing officer caught up with her.
Yanking her forcefully from the hug, the cop began shouting orders for her to return to the car. All along, the police in the street continued to roar at Jacob while the youth was subjected to a catalog of painful restraining techniques.
Realizing things were completely out of control, Chip refocused on the video recording, now carefully aiming his smartphone, moving here and there for a better vantage while his daughter was being pushed back toward the Honda.
He continued recording, Jacob’s disturbing howls of agony combining with Manny’s desperate cries for the police to stop abusing her boyfriend filling the air. Chip didn’t know what else to do, the aggressive, weapon-wielding cops making it clear his presence was unwelcome. Somehow, his phone remained focused on the action in the street.
After both of his arms were finally allowed to the small of his back, Jacob prayed the worst was over. His head and left side were throbbing with knife-like pains, his forehead bleeding so profusely he couldn't open one eye due to the sticky crimson rolling down his face.
But the cops weren’t done.
With his wrists finally handcuffed, one of the more sadistic officers decided to show off for the shift commander. Raising the boy’s bound arms into the air, Jacob felt like his limbs were being detached from his shoulders. Involuntary body defenses took over, the lad lifting his hips to reduce the angle and torque being applied to his limbs.
A renewed chorus of commands emerged from the huddle, one officer stepping away so the dash cam could capture the suspect’s hips coming off the pavement. This time, rather than push down, one of the junior cops grabbed Jacob’s ankle and applied what was known as a “hot foot.”
The technique was simple enough in practice – lift and pull the suspect’s leg so it couldn’t be leveraged for resistance. The academy instructors had been very specific when teaching the hold, informing the class that any twisting or pulling on the limb could cause damage to the knee. In extreme cases, the torn tendons and ligaments might be traumatized beyond repair.
Jacob’s incredible leaping ability, courtesy of basketball toned limbs, worked against him. The foot-cop, having never applied the technique in real life, encountered more resistance than anticipated. His training with the maneuver had included an expectation of a deep moan of pain from the victim after twisting the joint slightly right and left. But the guy they had on the ground wasn’t making any noise, apparently not feeling the effect.
Applying even more pressure, the cop was surprised when a loud pop sounded from the kid’s leg, all resistance to the twisting vanishing in an instant, the foot going limp in his grasp. A howl of agony overrode the continued screaming of police commands.
Jacob’s body started convulsing involuntarily, fueled by the streaks of hot lightening shooting from his knee. He didn’t even feel the additional blows to his head and arms.
One of the officers raised up, his need for post-evasion retribution satisfied by the level of the kid’s wailing. Mumbling, “He’ll have some respect for the law now,” he stood and stretched his back. That’s when he noticed Chip in the driveway filming the episode.
The cop’s attention had been on the suspect at his feet, not the occupants of the house. The lawman had no idea how long he had been on camera. With as much urgency as he could manage in a low tone, he warned his comrades, hissing the word, “Camera.”
In less than a second, Marwick was moving up the driveway, his voice carrying as much authority as the big cop could muster. “What are you doing, sir? Please step back for your own safety. Is that a video camera, sir?”
By then he was within arm’s length of Chip, the homeowner lowering the phone to address the onslaught. But Jim didn’t give him a chance.
“I need that camera, sir,” the officer growled, reaching for the smartphone.
“No, you don’t,” came Chip’s harsh reply as he backed away. “What did Jacob do? Why are you kicking the shit out of him like that?”
“Police matter, sir. Now I need that phone and video. Right now!”
Chip turned away just as the cop reached for his phone. “You have no right to take my phone. I’m on private property… my property.”
“Resisting suspect!” Jim yelled back to his co-workers, grabbing Chip in an arm bar and twisting him to the ground.
Manny was still standing by the car when the cop standing next to her moved to help Big Jim with the new troublemaker - her father. Realizing the officer’s wrath was now focusing to her dad, she pulled her cell phone out of her purse, hit the video recording button, and then tucked it back into her front shirt pocket, the lenses exposed and pointing at the assault of her father.
About then, the ambulance arrived, the attitude of the police changing immediately as the red and white strobe lights of the paramedics appeared on the street.
But the police weren’t done with Chip. Clutching the camera with both hands wh
ile lying flat on his face, he refused to give the evidence to the cops, screaming and yelling back for them to get off his property. By now, there were dozens of sleepy, pajama-clad residents watching the proceedings from the manicured lawns of suburbia. Jim noting several of them with cell phones in their hands.
Signaling his men to back off, Jim lifted Chip to his feet and tried to be reasonable. “Your recording may have important evidence, sir. I promise to return the device after we’ve made a copy of the video.”
The irate homeowner was now beyond caring about his own safety, his sole intent to deny the bullying cops standing around him. “Tell you what,” he barked, “I’ll email you a copy. How’s that?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but that won’t do. The chain of evidence requires that we extract the video from your device. Now please hand it over, or I’ll be forced to arrest you for obstructing justice and interfering with a law enforcement officer.”
“How long will you have my phone?” Chip asked.
“No more than a few days, sir.”
“Okay, tell you what. Let me back up my calendar and contacts, and then you can have it.”
Jim wasn’t ready for that. It was impossible to keep up with the damn technology, and he had no idea what the man in front of him was implying. Not knowing what else to say, he finally asked, “How long will it take you to copy that information?”
“Here,” replied Chip, holding up the device. “It’s just a couple of buttons and…. Boom… there goes a copy of everything, straight up to the cloud.”
Jim, realizing he’d been had, lunged for the phone, but again, Chip pulled away. In the scuffle, the device plummeted to the ground and then was crushed under the boot of a policeman as he helped subdue the homeowner.
A few minutes later, in front of his neighbors, friends, and horrified wife, Chip was escorted to a squad car in handcuffs, charged with resisting, hindering an investigation, disobeying a police officer, and a laundry list of lesser charges. All of those paled in comparison to what would end up on Jacob’s arrest record and police report.
He was trying to stay awake until Jacob made it home. Heady evening aside, Gabe wasn’t accustomed to late night excursions. The rush associated with a fancy restaurant accompanied by conversation with the nationally known, college coach had worn off, and now he wanted nothing more than to hear the hum of Jacob’s car as it pulled into the driveway.
He’d decided to go ahead and get ready for bed, performing his usual teeth brushing and washing routine in preparation for a short night’s rest. It was all worth it, he mused, sitting on the edge of the bed. All of Jacob’s hard work has paid in spades, and I’m so proud of him I could almost burst.
Gabe’s heart jumped when his cell phone rang, his fatherly concerns immediately overriding his daydream of Jacob’s NBA debut. The need for Jacob to drive Manny home at such a late hour initiated ten different parental nightmares to stream through his sleep-deprived mind before he answered.
After exchanging a worried look with his wife, he glanced at the number on the smartphone’s display. The caller ID allowed him to exhale for a moment. It was Manny’s mother, probably a courtesy call advising him that Jacob had just dropped off their daughter.
“Hello.”
The voice on the other end was in a panic. “Mr. Chase, this is Amanda. Something’s gone very wrong over here… the police… Chip has been arrested… Jacob, too… I don’t know what….”
Gabe shot off the edge of the bed, spinning to throw a look of concern at his wife. “Settle down, Amanda, please. Go slow. Take a couple of deep breaths. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Amanda started crying again, blurting out the sentences between sobbing inhalations. “The police were here, a lot of them. They were pulling Jacob over and must have thought he was a robber or something. They had their guns out and your son on the ground. Chip went out to see what was going on, and got into a fight with one of the cops. They took my husband and your son to jail.”
“Okay… it will be okay, Amanda. Walk me through this; everything will be fine. Which police? Do you know what kind of cops they were?” While Gabe had never been in any trouble with the law, he knew there were several different departments with jurisdiction over the surrounding area.
“I don’t know!” she cried. “They threw Chip down on the driveway, and there is blood on the concrete where he landed. I could hear Jacob screaming in pain… like they were torturing him or something.”
None of it made any sense to Gabe; his first conclusion was that Amanda was near a breakdown and not rational. He knew Chip, and the man wasn’t a hothead by any measure. He couldn’t envision a scenario that would escalate as described with such a calm guy. And why would the cops arrest Jacob? Why would they hurt his son?
He tried a few more times to get a clearer picture from the distraught wife and mother, but she just repeated the same basic information over and over again.
“Is Manny there?”
“Yes. She’s on the internet, trying to figure out where the officers would take Jacob and Chip.”
“May I speak to her?”
There was a slight hesitation, and then, “Sure… she’s very upset, but I’ll get her.”
It was a few moments before Manny’s shaken voice came on the line. “Hello, Mr. Chase… I’m so… so sorry.”
“What happened, Manny? Tell it to me from the beginning.”
“We were almost home, and this cop came up behind us. He followed Jacob for a while, and then when we turned on my street, he switched on the lights. I told Jay to pull over, but because we were almost to my house, he drove another block before stopping.”
“And then what happened?”
“The cop started walking toward the driver’s side window with his gun drawn. He shouted for Jacob to get out of the car… yelling like those guys do on TV. He shoved Jay up against the Honda… and then I don’t know what happened… but all of a sudden there were police everywhere. They threw Jay down on the ground, and he started crying out as if they were hurting him. I tried to run and get my dad, but a policeman pulled me back. And then everyone was fighting. I couldn’t see very well, but I think Jacob is hurt. He was moaning and screaming and… I’ve never heard anyone make noises like that, Mr. Chase.”
All of the rage, fear, puzzlement, and apprehension in Gabriel Chase vanished after absorbing the girl’s last statement, replaced by a solitary, compelling need – he had to find his son.
“They didn’t say where they were taking him?”
“No. They put my dad in one car, Jacob in another. The cops stood around laughing and smiling for a few minutes, and then left.”
Gabe tried to put it all together, but didn’t waste much mental firepower on the brainteaser. There was simply no scenario that made sense out of the account he was being given. Jacob was not one to be disrespectful to the authorities. Chip was a sensible man. In the end, it didn’t matter. What he needed was to get to his son.
“Is your mom still there?”
“Yeah. Hold on, let me get her for you.”
Gabe could hear the muffled sound of someone blowing her nose, explaining the brief delay before the distraught woman took the receiver. More settled this time, Amanda’s voice came back on the line. “Hello?”
“Amanda, I’m going down to the local police station and see what I can find out about both Chip and Jacob. Let’s keep each other informed. I’ll call you the minute I know anything. Please do the same.”
“Okay, Gabe… and thank you. I’m sorry I was such a mess before.”
He chuckled politely, “Don’t worry about it. I’m not far from joining you. I’ll be in touch.”
He disconnected the call. Glancing up into the pale countenance of his wife, he realized she had obviously been hanging on every word. “Tell me,” she insisted, her motherly instincts bristling from hearing one side of the conversation and arriving at the worst place as her mind filled in the gaps. “Is he alive?”
“Yes, Mother, he’s alive. There was an incident with the police, but neither Manny nor Amanda could tell me why. Chip got involved, and apparently, he was arrested, too. Other than that, I just got a bunch of gibberish that didn’t make much sense.”
“Thank, God,” she said, having to sit back on the edge of the bed. “As long as he’s alive, everything will be okay.”
With his wife following closely behind, he perched at his desk in his home office and was soon combing through an old telephone book for the local constable’s office number. The call was answered on the third ring. “Precinct Four, is this an emergency?”
“No, no emergency.”
“How may I assist you?”
“I just received a call from a friend that my son had been arrested. How do I find him?”
The less than interested voice on the other end replied, “He will be allowed a phone call after the booking process is completed, sir. At that time, he’ll be able to inform you of his location. Is there anything else?”
“How long does that take?”
The woman on the other end exhaled loudly, annoyance evident in her response. “That depends on quite a few factors, sir. It could take several hours, depending on the number of suspects being processed.”
“Can you tell me where he is being booked?”
“No, sir. Depending on where he was apprehended, the charges and circumstances, he could be at any one of three facilities. Is there anything else?”
A thought occurred to Gabe. “He’s a minor; he’s only 17. Does that make any difference?”
Again, the impatient voice exhaled before launching her retort. “In Texas, sir, suspects 17 years of age and older are treated as adults. Most likely, he’s being processed at the main Harris County Jail, downtown at 701 San Jacinto Avenue. But he might also be taken here, or to the hospital. I advise you to wait until your son calls with specific information, sir.”
The woman’s uncaring attitude, curt responses, and partial information had the desired effect – Gabe wanted to end the call despite not knowing much more than he had before dialing. “Thank you,” he responded, shaking his head.