The Archangel Drones

by Joe Nobody

  “What? Huh? No! What are you talking about?” the pleading, confused man responded.

  “Get out of the car! Now!” Jim shouted, reaching for his pistol. “Now! Exit the vehicle! Now!”

  Without waiting for any response, Jim keyed the radio microphone on his shoulder, “Edward 41, send more units. Previous traffic now possible felony.”

  “Acknowledged Edward 41.”

  Jim drew his weapon and pointed it at the now obviously distressed driver. “Out of the car!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.

  Finally, the driver’s jittering hand reached for the handle, but then he froze. Jim decided to help him, moving a step closer, and pulling the door the rest of the way open.

  “Why are you doing this?” the man questioned as Jim reached in to yank him out. But the seatbelt countered that action, keeping the suspect pinned inside.

  “Get out of the car! Right now!”

  Finally, the driver unhooked the strap and began exiting his vehicle. He wasn’t quite to his feet when Jim holstered his piece and grabbed the smaller citizen by the arm, spinning him around to face the automobile. When he started to frisk the suspect for a weapon, the man shoved back with all of this strength and then reached for his waistline.

  It all became a blur, Jim’s OODA loop now the one being interrupted. Hesitating for a moment, trying to decide between pinning the suspect’s arm and reaching for his own weapon, the decision process nearly cost the officer his life. He finally made his decision, his pistol clearing leather just as the small revolver in the driver’s hand was whipping around.

  Both men fired at the same instant, Big Jim’s round striking the suspect in the chest. Somehow, the shot fired at the cop missed.

  The stricken man staggered backwards, half-falling between the wide-open driver’s door and the car’s frame. But the gun was still cradled in the suspect’s hand.

  Jim fired again and again, the point-blank shots tearing flesh and crushing bone. He only stopped when the weapon that threatened his life fell to the pavement. In a flash, he scraped the pistol away with his boot, and then refocused on the suspect.

  “Shots fired! Shots fired!” Jim broadcasted over the airwaves. “I need an ambulance and alternative supervisor to this location. Suspect is down. Repeat, suspect is down.”

  Once he was certain the now-prone driver wasn’t a threat anymore, Jim holstered his piece.

  The driver was still awake, but unmoving. There were three red spots now soaking through the guy’s shirt, a growing pool of crimson spreading across the pavement. One of the chest wounds was bubbling blood.

  “Why?” Jim barked at the dying man. “Why the hell would you try to kill me over a fucking taillight?” the bewildered cop demanded, his hands trembling slightly, his heart thumping wildly against his breastbone, a slight sweat beading on his brow as his adrenaline peaked.

  But there was no answer, a pair of glassy eyes just staring up at the officer, no words uttered.

  Other cops began rolling up, a line of uniforms rushing onto the scene. The blue brotherhood clamored for information about Big Jim, their concerns receiving only a dismissive wave of the sergeant’s hand. “I’m good.”

  Then the ambulance arrived, but it was clearly too late. One of the other officers informed the EMTs that there was no rush. The gunman had stopped breathing a few minutes before.

  Cameras appeared, pictures being snapped from all angles. All the while, Jim just wandered here and there, trying to burn off the adrenaline dump still surging through his system. The sergeant shook his head to clear the mental fog, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

  When the captain finally arrived, he motioned Marwick to the side and said, “Let’s have it, Jimmy. From the top. Right now, while it’s still fresh in your mind.”

  Big Jim was a quarter of the way into his debrief when a thought interrupted his recounting. “Oh my God! The trunk,” he said to the bewildered captain. “We need to open his trunk.”

  Without waiting for permission, Marwick hurried alongside the driver’s door and reached in for the keys. Exchanging glances with several of the idling officers surrounding the car, the big cop hustled to the back and opened the lid. Even Big Jim inhaled sharply over what they found.

  Two pairs of blinking, frightened eyes stared up at the gathering ring of police officers, both children squinting from the sudden rush of light. Grey, dirty, duct tape covered their mouths and bound their hands. The first thing the cops looked for was blood, scanning the tiny, cramped bodies for any sign of injury. The older of the two kids, a girl of no more than 10 years of age, had blood and small lacerations from just below her ankle down to her toes. She had kicked out the taillight’s bulb with her foot sometime before succumbing to the effects of her growing dehydration.

  “Holy shit,” somebody muttered as all of the cops seemed to be reaching at the same time to help the kids out of the trunk compartment. “It’s a hundred degrees outside. Get them out! Now!”

  The two ambulance medics quickly abandoned the now dead driver turning their attention to the two children.

  “I’m thirsty,” the boy wheezed, as the tape was ripped from his mouth.

  But the girl child had more important things on her mind. “You’ve got to go help my mom,” she whispered. “Please… please go help my mom. He shot her,” she said, pointing at the body lying on the ground. “She was bleeding on the kitchen floor. Please, Mister…. You gotta help her.”

  “Do you know this man? Who is he?” one of the cops asked, pointing toward the deceased.

  “My mom married him, but he’s not my dad,” the girl croaked with a defiant tone. “They were arguing in the kitchen when he started hitting her. She was screaming, and then there was a loud bang. He’s a very bad man.”

  Jim still had the driver’s license, handing it over to another officer so he could call it in. Police cars would be on their way to the listed address seconds later.

  “How did you know, Marwick?” the captain asked a short time later, watching as the EMTs checked the kids out.

  “Like I’ve been trying to tell you, Captain, aggressive police work pays off. It was a righteous stop, but the dead guy just made all the wrong moves. He escalated the confrontation, sir. I just responded.”

  The senior officer nodded, having heard the same story a thousand times. Most felony arrests began as seemingly innocent traffic stops. Still with Big Jim’s reputation, he had to be sure.

  “Let’s start again, Jim. From the beginning.”

  “We need to distract him,” Gabe announced to his questioning wife. “We have to find something ‘fun’ the boy can enjoy. His entire life has just vanished into thin air… basketball… friends… school… even getting to drive a car. It’s all been pulled out from underneath him. Just gone. Whoosh.”

  Sandy wasn’t quite so sure. “He’s still completing his schoolwork. He has graduation on the horizon, and there are all those social media thingies, like Facegram, and Tuber, or whatever they’re called. And then there’s Manny, of course.”

  “Yes, but think about that for a moment. It’s all a pittance compared to what his life used to be, and none of it is much fun. It’s as if he is watching his friends get on with their lives while he is trapped here until all this drama is resolved. Even then, he will have to make a new path for himself.”

  Knowing her husband and his unconditional love for Jacob, Sandy reluctantly agreed. “Go ahead. But I’m wondering if this plaything isn’t as much for you as it is for him. A very expensive toy… I might add.”

  Pumping his fist, Gabe picked up the package and rushed for the stairs, eager to show Jacob his purchase. Taking the steps two at a time, the eager father announced himself before arriving at his son’s threshold. “Jacob, you’re not going to believe what I found at the hobby store! And on sale, too,” he added for Sandy’s benefit.

  He found his son sitting up in bed, reaching for the ever-present crutches. “What’s up, Dad?”
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  It was the first time since the incident that Gabe had seen a true flicker of light behind his son’s eyes. “A drone! You bought a quad copter. Dad! How cool.”

  Setting the box at the end of the bed, he moved to help Jacob maneuver so that he could examine the new purchase. His son’s obvious joy reminded the troubled father of Christmas mornings from long ago.

  Jacob eagerly opened the packaging, pulling out the bright red flying machine. The frame was shaped like an “X” with four plastic propellers, one located at the end of each branch. The electronic brain was located in the center of the frame, including the camera lenses, flexible antenna, and a bracket that held the battery pack.

  The drone weighed only a few pounds, its wingspan slightly wider than Jacob’s lap. The teen was obviously enamored as he examined the device, flipping, turning, and inspecting every feature.

  “Wow! It has a camera, point-of-view navigation, GPS…. It has everything, Dad! Where did you find it?”

  “I went by Frank’s Hobby Shop, and he’d just received this baby. He was having a special to introduce a new supplier, so I picked it up for $399.”

  Sandy appeared, leaning against the doorframe and observing the men of the Chase household. Men? Right now, they’re two boys, she mused.

  “Is this thing like that remote control airplane we bought a few years ago for your birthday, Jacob? I seem to remember long faces of disappointment after a few hours of trying to learn how to fly it, and then crashing it into the street,” she asked innocently.

  “Oh, no, Mom,” Jacob exuberantly replied. “This model is equipped with an autopilot, gyro stabilization, and an app that allows you to control it from your smartphone.” By now, the teen was grinning at the anticipation of the new adventure. “It practically flies itself. No pilot’s license required for this model.”

  Not sure whether she was hearing pure male bravado or the substance of a genuine product review, Sandy flashed a mildly pessimistic expression, but covered it quickly so as not to put a damper on her son’s excitement. Jacob wasn’t going to let her rain on the new-toy parade anyway.

  “The Hortons were playing with one of these things in the school parking lot after b-ball practice a few months ago. They let Jacob and me have a turn, and I was surprised by how really easy it was to control,” Gabe confirmed for the questioning mom.

  Jacob winked at his dad as if sharing a secret between men. “We even completed a clandestine op and got some close up footage of the cheerleading squad,” he snickered, the tenor of his voice near that of his pre-arrest days.

  Setting the drone aside, he reached to hug his father. “I want to fly it now,” Jacob announced. “Let’s test it out.”

  Gabe nodded his agreement, “I will start charging the batteries while you study the instructions. We can conduct our flight test out in the cul-de-sac. Should be a perfect day to learn all the moves; the wind is calm outside.”

  Passing Sandy in the door, he couldn’t help but flash a smug, “I told you so” look.

  “No spying on the neighbors,” she cautioned, now smiling slightly herself. “We have to live here, you know.”

  It was almost an hour before the green LED of the charger indicated the battery was fully juiced. By then, Jacob had finished downloading the piloting app on his smartphone.

  Gabe carried the drone outside, followed more slowly by Jacob as he managed his crutches.

  “Ready for the maiden voyage?” Jacob asked, his thumbs working the smartphone’s screen.

  “All indicators are green,” Gabe replied, doing his best imitation of a NASA launch controller.

  The drone was sitting in the middle of a wide concrete expanse, looking like a cross between a giant insect and a miniature Transformer robot. With one last stroke of his thumb, Jacob peered up from the phone and beamed as the tiny propellers began buzzing in rotation.

  “Taking her up,” Jacob announced, his thumbs and attention returning to the control center in his cell.

  The drone performed just as he expected, rising six feet into the air, and then hovering steadily.

  “Going to make it spin around and catch you in the video, Dad. Smile!”

  Again, the machine responded perfectly, rotating 90 degrees and stopping with its bug-eyed camera staring at a grinning Gabe Chase.

  “That’s fantastic, son. Is this one as easy as Horton’s to fly?”

  “Better. I can view what the camera is seeing on my phone. Here, let me show you. I’ll turn around, and you hold up some fingers. I’ll tell you how many.”

  Gabe waited on Jacob to hobble on his supports, holding up three fingers after his son had turned away.

  “Three,” Jacob announced with pride. “This is so cool. I’m going to take her up higher.”

  And without further ado, the red drone shot skyward like a rocket launching from the pad.

  Gabe meandered toward his son, clearly wanting to join in on the action. Jacob positioned the phone so his father could see the screen, the two men enjoying an amazingly clear view of their neighborhood from 200 feet in the sky. Gabe waved his hand in the air, watching his miniature rendering on the phone mimic the motion in nearly real time. “That’s amazing; there’s practically no delay at all.”

  Sandy watched from the window, a smile spreading across her face. “Got to give it to you, Gabe. It’s like the old Jacob is back.”

  The two played with the drone for several minutes, the machine hovering high above their subdivision, dipping and zipping up and down the street. At one point, Jacob brought it in low, wrapping an arm around his father, posing for the camera. The machine had the perfect angle, peering down upon the grinning pair and recording a quality, clear video.

  Gabe noticed an odd look develop on his son’s face as he stared at the small screen on his phone. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” Jacob replied, a scowl crossing his brow. “I wish this drone had been hovering over my car that night. With video like this, there wouldn’t be any doubt about what really happened.”

  Chapter 5

  Peelian Principle

  Police should always direct their action strictly towards their functions and never appear to usurp the powers of the judiciary.

  Adam had done his best to warn them, had coached and reassured Jacob on how to handle the interview.

  The two detectives met the Chase family in the Barlow Law Office, Adam convincing the concerned parents that the hassle of bringing Jacob to his complex would do far less damage than allowing the cops to enter their home. “Keep your house an island of tranquility, even if it is surrounded by the storm of legal proceedings. You both need it. Jacob needs it,” he had advised.

  By the time the Chase family arrived, the two detectives had already been shown into the well-appointed conference room. Neither of them was what Gabe had expected.

  One was a short, balding man with a serious paunch that challenged the integrity of his leather belt. Hardly the television depiction of a senior crime fighter.

  The other was dressed to the nines, including the most fashionable width tie and highly polished shoes. Not a single hair was out of place, the obvious result of significant quantities of glue-like man-spray.

  After everyone was seated, Mr. Dapper fired the first question, “Why did you resist the officer that morning, Jacob?”

  “I didn’t, sir.”

  “So of all the people in Houston… of all the cars on the road that night, an entire group of Houston police officers decided to cull one Mr. Jacob Chase out of the herd and beat the shit out of him. Is that what you expect us to believe?”

  Baldy didn’t give the kid a chance to answer, adding, “I’ve read the service record of every one of those cops you claim used excessive force, son. There were over 50 years of law enforcement experience around your car that night. Four of the officers had received accommodations for valor above and beyond the call of duty. Two of them are up for promotion for their exemplary performance and leadership skills. Why should we
believe they decided to risk their careers just to get in a few licks on a 17-year-old kid?”

  Gabe threw Adam a harsh look, as if to ask why the lawyer wasn’t coming to Jacob’s rescue. But the attorney remained stoic, almost disinterested. The defensive parent then remembered the warning Sandy and he had received. “They’ll be rough, probably downright mean to your son. This isn’t testimony. It’s an investigation, so I can’t get involved unless they cross certain lines. Don’t worry; Jacob will do fine.”

  “Because they did, sir. I don’t know why, but they had no good reason to beat me that night. I didn’t do anything. I swear,” Jacob pleaded.

  The two detectives glanced at each other, but it was impossible to read the nonverbal message they exchanged. “Okay, Mr. Chase, let’s start from the beginning. Tell us about that morning.”

  Adam knew what the cops were doing – he’d used the same interrogation technique a thousand times. Their initial barrage of hardnosed questions had been designed to piss the kid off… or frighten him… whatever was necessary to burrow through the coached version of events. Emotion tended to make people tell their story at a different level of detail, speed of events, or perspective. The two investigators wanted only one deliverable from their interview – inconsistency.

  If Jacob changed his story, even in the slightest detail, then he was lying in the eyes of the pessimistic officers. If he messed up the sequence of events, he was being dishonest. Later, the two gumshoes would compare their tape recording to the original complaint and highlight all of the divergences.

  Watching the exchange, Barlow had to admit the other side had an asymmetric edge. Cops investigating their own seemed like a conflict of interest, and in reality, it was all that and more. The men questioning his client had to work with brother officers, in difficult conditions, every hour of every day. Who knew when their lives might depend on one of the men they were seeking to discredit or impeach? It was the same with the DA’s office. The legal eagles needed law enforcement, depended on “Big Blue” to risk their lives while delivering the criminals and evidence. Going after one of their own co-workers was difficult at best.