by Ryan Garner
John again walked towards the Toyota Camry, repeating the same approach pattern he had done before. He heard the driver’s side window roll back down as he came closer to it.
“Mr. Abell…” he said in a calm voice, “…do me a favor and step out of the car for just a minute.”
Abell crinkled his forehead. “Why?” he asked. Doing his best to try and present a calm demeanor John responded in a monotone voice.
“Just need you to do some tests for me.”
“I’m not drunk…” Abell immediately shot back in an annoyed voice.
“I never said you were.” John responded as he cautiously opened the car door and took a step back.
Abell slowly climbed out of the vehicle. After standing John took note that he stood eye to eye with his suspect. Blading his body towards Justin Abell, John took another half step back and away from him and motioned with his hand towards the back of the car.
“Let’s step back here so we’re not as close to the roadway.” He said as Abell walked in front of him and towards the back of the car; John followed closely behind.
Suddenly, Justin Abell spun on his heels bringing his fist around swinging it wildly.
Shit!!! Was the immediate response that streaked through John’s mind as he ducked quickly, allowing his attackers fist to fly over his head. In Abell’s drunken state he nearly lost his balance after he did this, but recovered almost immediately. John reached for the radio microphone on his uniform shirt’s lapel, but it was too late. Abell was already on top of him grabbing him around the waist and forcing his hand away from the radio as he slammed John up against the side of the Toyota Camry. There was a loud metallic clank as all the equipment on John’s belt impacted with the sheet metal of the car’s body. His flashlight was still in his left hand and John jabbed the end of it into Abell’s ribcage in an attempt to get the man to release him. It had little effect.
….
Chris Hesser and Eric Morrisey walked down the stairs of a small, run down, two story home after dealing with yet another of many domestic disputes calls of the night. This shift was just a few hours old and already Chris felt as if he had been run ragged. The one positive thought he had entertained thus far was that Morrisey had yet to berate him for any supposed mistakes he had made. Maybe he was getting better, or maybe at this point Morrisey was just too tired to care.
Both officers strolled through the meager and unkempt front yard; patches of grass “interrupted” the finely racked dirt and the few plants that were placed near the unpainted and now rotting wooden fence appeared to be starved of water. The house was not unique in its shaggy appearance. The entire neighborhood was similar in its decrepit condition and in that regard it was not different from many others around the country. Chris often felt that it appeared as if the world were falling apart around them and there was nothing he or anyone else could do to stop it. With people already stretched beyond the breaking point both financially and emotionally it was no wonder that officers found themselves becoming more and more involved in the personal lives of civilians.
If a child on these streets was “lucky” enough to be a part of a two parent family it was more than likely that at least one of the parents was a drug addict or alcoholic. At the very least someone was probably abusing or molesting the poor child. And then there were the young women with nowhere to go, the runaways or just the lost souls, and the “wolves” both men and women who preyed upon them with an almost joyful enthusiasm.
With record high unemployment rates and crime stats through the roof drug addicts and winos wandered the city streets day and night; their numbers appearing to grow by the minute. Homeless shelters were so overwhelmed they had people sleeping in the hallways and were still turning away single mothers because they were simply unable to help, after all there were another thousand more out there just like them. Teens and preteens with no parental guidance had become a nearly constant problem in and of themselves. Some had resorted to “hunting” in packs seeking out those who were weaker. It was a sad state of affairs that Chris was finding himself more and more familiar with. He let out a subtle, tired sigh as he walked around the back of he and Morrisey’s patrol car and made his way towards the driver’s side door.
“Wilmington 3 to any unit near Martin Luther King Jr. Parkway and North Kerr Avenue, 205David needs immediate assistance!!” Chris took note that the female dispatcher’s voice was nearly frantic as she shouted into the radio. He found this unusually. Depending on the severity of the situation he had heard some dispatchers get excited as they spoke on the radio, but this particular woman’s voice sounded nearly panic stricken. Thanks to the loud volume of the radio Chris jerked his head and ear slightly away from radio microphone clipped to his shoulder lapel. Not inside of the vehicle yet he glanced over at Morrisey who stood across the car from him.
“Oh hell…” Morrisey said in an annoyed voice as he quickly opened the car door, “What’s he gone and gotten himself into this time!?” He asked as Chris nearly jumped into the Dodge Charger quickly starting the vehicle’s engine. Morrisey had not even managed to fasten his seat belt when Chris shifted the vehicle into drive and floored the gas pedal. The large V-8 engine roared as the back tires spun producing a cloud of smoke from the burning rubber.
“Oh crap!” Morrisey shouted as he grabbed the handle above the doorframe with his right hand and tried to cling to his position as Chris accelerated quickly. Reaching over to the center console Chris flipped on both the lights and sirens of the patrol vehicle as they screamed down the roadway.
….
John shifted his weight pushing Justin Abell around him as both men clung to each other as they rolled down the side of the Toyota Camry. John quickly realized that he had yet to be able to call for help on the radio, but he was hoping that the Dragonfly UAV was still present and observing the entire incident. Now at the trunk of the Camry, John felt Abell strike him in the rib cage with his fist. Fortunately his bullet resistant vest took the brunt of the impact, nevertheless it still hurt.
Abell was still hunched over clutching John around the waist making it difficult for him to access his equipment belt. However, John seized the opportunity to strike his assailant in the back with several repeated blows. In his drunken stupor it appeared that Abell barely felt anything.
This is bad... John thought to himself as the struggle continued and John wrapped his right arm around Abell’s neck placing him in a headlock. Sliding sideways away from the trunk of the Camry John stumbled backwards and fell towards the ground pulling Abell down with him.
Both men collided with the asphalt and John heard a “clunk” as his attacks skull hit the ground and his body fell across him. In the distance John thought he could hear sirens, or at least he hoped he did. Abell pulled himself out of John’s headlock and reared both his body and fist backwards as he sat up on top of John who seized this opportunity to reach across his body with his right hand grabbing the Taser located in the cross draw holster on his belt; he also threw up his left arm attempting to block the impending blow. Abell brought his fist down hard and even though his left arm slowed the impact John still saw stars as the knuckles struck him in the head.
Drawing the Taser from its holster John immediately flicked the safety off with his thumb and saw the mini LED flashlight and laser beam on the weapon activate. Before Abell could bring his fist back down again John brought the Taser in front of him and pulled the trigger. There was a pop as the wired electrodes exploded out of the end of the electronic weapon and a split second later the barbed probes impacted with Abell’s chest. John heard the crackling sounds of 50,000 volts of electricity as it arched through his opponent’s body. Abell screamed in pain and his entire body locked up; unfortunately for John due to his position and the close proximity of his attacker the thin wires from the Taser fell across his arms and some of the electricity from the Conductive Energy Device arched through John's body as well. He groaned in pain as he felt the residual electricity co
urse through his own muscles, but it was not so much that he was completely incapacitated.
Reaching up John grabbed Abell by his hair and pulled the man off of him. The second the wires were removed from his body John felt instant relief from the pain, no longer having the Taser’s electricity running through him. Scrambling to his feet he watched Abell still thrashing about on the ground as the Taser finished its five second cycle of operation. The moment it was over John leapt onto Abell’s back grabbing him by the right arm and immediately placing a handcuff around his wrist. Thanks to the Taser the fight was nearly out of Abell and John was quickly able to secure his attackers left hand as well.
Still breathing heavily John could now hear that the sirens were indeed growing closer to him. He also heard the steady alert tone that was now beeping at regular intervals on the radio, obviously securing the primary dispatch channel for him and his check in officer’s radio traffic.
With his left hand John grabbed the radio on his belt and after removing it he brought it to his mouth so that he could speak, “205David to all units…” Still winded from the struggle John took a deep breath before continuing to speak, “…I’m okay, you can back it down.”
A moment or two after making his statement John heard a few consecutive “10-4’s” on the radio as the sirens in the distance begin to go silent.
Shortly after this John heard the same female dispatcher come back over the radio, “10-4, 205David…” there was a brief pause, “…glad you’re okay.” It was easy to notice the obvious relief in the woman’s voice as she spoke. John smiled as he knelt on the ground over his prisoner and tried to catch his breath.
…..
John quietly drove his patrol car down the lonely roadway towards the New Hanover County Jail. Other than a few curses Justin Abell had remained relatively quiet while sitting in the back of the patrol car since his arrest. The most annoying thing now was that the interior of John’s vehicle now reeked of the smell of alcohol thanks to Abell’s high intoxication. The momentary peace and quiet was broken when John heard a beeping sound come from his laptop indicating that he had been sent another private message. While he knew he wasn’t supposed to pay attention to his laptop while he drove it was a “regulation” that most officers often ignored. He reached over and tapped the F8 button on his keyboard and the message that had been sent to him was displayed:
Message from W3: Are you okay???
John smiled at the concern and with one hand he typed back:
Yes… thank you for the help.
As he continued to drive John glanced in his rear view mirror and discovered the reason for Justin Abell’s suddenly quiet demeanor, he was asleep. John rolled his eyes upon making this discover before hearing the silence again broken by the beeping of his computer. He reached over and tapped on the keyboard again.
Message from W3: Dinner at my place tomorrow?
John was certainly glad he had taken the time to acknowledge this particular message. Before turning onto the long roadway that would take him to the jail, he quickly typed back a response:
Sure…
CHAPTER 4
Raleigh-Durham International Airport
Nasir Malik Zahir Kamil stood quietly by himself inside the airport terminal’s large baggage claim area. A Middle Eastern male of Iranian descent in his mid-thirties he had dark olive skin and stood around 5’8” tall. His loose fitting green polo shirt and blue jeans helped to hide his somewhat gaunt body. At least a week since his last shave, his face looked slightly scraggly. He had however managed to comb his hair while in the bathroom of the airplane shortly before his flight from London had touched down. His cold almost dead brown eyes stared at the conveyer belt as numerous sets of bags rotated around it.
The air conditioned building felt cold and Kamil could sense the cool breeze flowing over his exposed skin. He hated the sensation, much preferring the hot, dry climate of his homeland to the recirculated, germ infested air that he was now breathing. But, it was an inconvenience he was willing to endure for his cause. He listened to the overhead intercom system as different flights were announced, random pages were given, and a deluge of other trivial information was divulged. He would never understand Americans’ desire to be constantly bombarded with superfluous information. Several sets of flat screen televisions hung from the ceiling, most of which were tuned to news stations; although a few TV’s showed sports games, and other recreational television shows. More Zionist propaganda…he thought to himself as most of his attention remained focused on the baggage claim belts.
The bag should have been here by now, but Kamil decided that the delay was probably the result of lazy American union workers rather than an actual problem. He knew that if the package had been discovered then there would now be an entirely different scene at the airport. Thankfully, transporting it here had not been the most difficult of tasks. Looking out of the corner of his eye Kamil saw two national guardsmen in digital jungle camouflage walk by. Both had Colt M4 automatic rifles strapped to their chest. Even with the increased security protocols that had been ushered in thanks to the ever increasing amount of terrorist attacks, Kamil still thought that what the United States and other Western democracies deemed as airport security was laughable at best. He was never quite able to grasp the concept behind the idea that personal freedom and privacy along with the supposed rights of the individual outweighed the best interests of the group as a whole. Nevertheless, he was more than willing to exploit such an obvious “weakness”.
At last Kamil saw the object that he had been waiting for rotating around the conveyor belt. It was a medium sized brown and black duffle bag of an unassuming appearance. Walking forward at a deliberate pace he seized the surprisingly heavy bag as it began to pass by him. Once he had claimed it he immediately made his way towards a set of escalators that would take him to one of the exits.
Riding up the moving staircase Kamil’s suspicious eyes scanned the area around him. What he saw disgusted him. People carelessly wandering about in their pointless everyday lives as if nothing mattered, foolishly oblivious to what was happening in the world around them; to him it was a gleaming example of infidel arrogance. But it did not matter. Allah willing this would soon all be gone, leaving behind a flaming and charred reminder to the world to never again oppress the Muslim people.
Reaching the top of the escalator Kamil began his trek through the terminal, eventually passing through a set of double doors that separated the incoming and outgoing passenger foot traffic. He thought it was truly foolish that no one leaving the airport was required to be searched. If Americans were really so concerned about the so called “terrorist threats” they would be doing a far better job of ensuring their own safety. It seemed, however, that they were far happier to sit at home eating pizza and watching reality TV than to worry themselves with such terrible thoughts. To them ignorance was truly bliss. A contemptuous smile danced across his face as he made his way closer to the exit doors.
“Sir…Sir!” A female voice called out to Kamil as he walked through the automatic sliding double doors of the building and into the humid, mid-summer North Carolina air. Looking over his shoulder Kamil saw a blond female with an average build quickly walking up to him. His jaw clenched and he fought the urge to strike her for the mere act of approaching him without permission. He might not have actually hit her even in his own country, though he would have entertained the thought far more seriously had he been there.
“Sir, I was wondering if you’d sign the petition I have here.” Kamil gave her a blank and unamused stare. “I’m sure you already know that 99% of the population is still being oppressed by the elite 1% and has been for decades now. If it weren’t for corporate giants and super banks that are too big to fail this country would not be in the state that it is in. Children wouldn’t be going hungry and single mothers would not be suffering.” The woman held out a clipboard and attached form with numerous signatures on it.
“We want to send our
leaders a message that the 99% will no longer stand for these kinds of atrocities.” Kamil did not move and could feel his anger with the woman building.
“If you will just sign right here...” The woman pointed to a blank spot on the page.
“No…” Kamil responded gruffly as he turned and walked off still clutching his duffle bag. The woman was slightly taken aback by his dismissive attitude and stood momentarily confused by his callous demeanor. Then undeterred she quickly followed after him.
“Wait, sir, haven’t you heard of the studies that prove all of this to be true?” Kamil’s anger flared as he quickly spun around to face her. His about face was so sharp that the woman nearly fell backwards as she tried to avoid running into him.
“Leave me alone…” he snarled in a low voice before adding, “…or the elite 1% will be the least of your worries.” Again turning away he continued on his way, leaving the woman nearly dumfounded as she watched him walk off.
….
John sat on the small countertop with his upper back leaning against the cabinets that were behind him; his feet dangled in the air as he held a beer in his left hand. The kitchen area of the two bedroom apartment was reasonably sized and in the shape of a rectangle with the open portion exiting out into the dining room where a well-used wooden kitchen table was placed. The table top was scratched and it was obvious that it had seen better days, but it was still able to serve its purpose. The apartment then wrapped around to the living room which was notably disordered. Two older and somewhat worn out couches sat at a direct angle to one another; one couch was dark blue while the other was tan in color. Tossed haphazardly over the back of the blue couch were numerous women’s dresses, along with several pairs of jeans, and a few blouses. An assortment of high heeled shoes were scattered about the tan carpet at the base of the couch. It was readily apparent someone had been attempting to make a decision about her night’s attire, but had not bothered to pick up the rejected choices once the selection had been made. Directly across from the tan couch was a vintage flat screen TV which sat on a black wood and glass stand. Behind it the sea foam green wall paint was somewhat faded and several pictures hung at different locations. Across the room was another hall that led to the two adjoining bedrooms.