by Suzie Ivy
Thank you for sharing in my academy adventures.
During those eighteen-weeks at the police academy, I sent a weekly email to my friends and family telling of my daily tortures. This online journal offered the remembrances I needed to write this story. I ended each of those emails with, “Cadet Ivy signing off.” I proudly leave you with the signature from my last email:
Officer Ivy signing off
A Sneak Peek at Bad Luck Officer
Part One: O.I.T. Officer In Training
Chapter 1
He was sitting in the middle of a quiet road on the edge of town. There were no cars backed up due to his presence. No pedestrians loitering to see what was going on. Just Sgt. Spears, myself, and a Mr. Dwaine Piskett, 92 years of age, who sat squarely in the center of the paved roadway with a big-ass rock in his lap.
“I don’t want to speak to you." Mr. Piskett said to Sgt. Spears, "You is a ugly man an’ God done handed out the looks the day you was digging through the garbage.”
I stayed in the background at a ready position. During our ride to the scene Sgt. Spears explained my role, “This first week, you are to stand back, observe, and let me do all the talking. Above anything else, don’t get yourself killed or, God forbid, get me killed. Keep your eyes and ears open and think officer safety. Got that?”
Now, with the morning temperature hovering around 25 degrees and a bright winter sun shining, I was trying to appear professional on my first official call for duty as an officer. Inside, I was thinking-- I must be out of my mind!
I’d had this thought repeatedly since early morning when I’d uniformed-up for the first time. While I dressed in matching black sports bra and panties, a black long-sleeved undershirt, dark blue freshly ironed uniform pants, uniform shirt, and my black basket-weave duty belt, I thought it. While I checked for the nth time that my duty belt was fully equipped, with baton, one set of silver handcuffs, pepper spray, flashlight, gun, and two extra magazines of ammunition, I thought it. While I put on my outer bulletproof vest with a bright shiny new badge displaying my police officer status to the world, I thought it. I must be out of my mind!
And while I had thought I was equipped for anything, I definitely was not ready for this old man and his rock.
As ordered, I let Sgt. Spears do the talking.
“Mr. Piskett, you need to get up and move out of the road,”
“This is my road." said Mr. Piskett. "It’s been my road for a hundred years and I can sit in it if I want to.” His head bounced and a small patch of maybe five, white, inch-long hairs swayed back and forth. I kept one eye on my first suspect while glancing nervously up and down the road to assure myself no cars were approaching.
Sgt. Spears kept his cool. “We’ve been through this before, Mr. Piskett. You can’t sit in the middle of the road. Put aside the rock and let’s get you moved.”
“This here rock is a gift from God. It’s my rock and you can’t have it.”
Between checking the roadway, I was checking Mr. Piskett from head to toe for possible weapons, not disregarding the threat the rock itself posed. His sturdy leather work boots were well used and scruffy. They matched the condition of his clothing.
“Okay Mr. Piskett," said Sgt. Spears, playing along. "But I need to move you out of the road. You can carry the rock if you want.”
“Are you blind? You’re nothing but a stupid ugly piece of kennel poop. I can’t lift this rock.”
Sgt. Spears’ voice tightened slightly, “Then how did you get it over here?”
“I rolled the damn thing, but at soon as I got here, God told me I couldn’t roll it no more.”
Sgt. Spears looked at me with a slight question in his gaze and then turned back to the man cradling the rock.
“Well Mr. Piskett, this pretty lady here was sent by God to move your rock. I’ve been sent by the Small Town Police Department to move you.”
Mr. Piskett looked at me and asked me if I was sent by God.
I tried to look godly, but who was I kidding.
“God wants me to help you with the rock," I said to Mr. Piskett, "and get you out of the road.”
He got up, allowing the rock to roll from his lap and said, “I’ll help you lift it. God said not to roll it, so it needs to be carried, and since God wanted it moved it shouldn’t weigh too much.”
I stood shoulder to shoulder with the musty smelling Mr. Piskett. He attempted to help me lift the roughened stone but the majority of the weight landed in my arms. I pulled the stone towards my body, resting it against my previously pristine uniform and duty belt. Mr. Pisket was wrong about God lightening the load and I was thankful for every pushup I had to do at the academy. I carried that big-ass rock over to the side of the road and dropped it. I slapped my hands together, dislodging rock dust and larger bits that had bitten into the skin of my palms. I tried to use my somewhat clean hands to dust off the front of my uniform and belt and remove the rock particles caught in the crevices of my gear.
Sgt. Spears’ voice snapped me out of my grooming. “Angel Ivy, I need you to get a citation out of the car.” It was said with humor although he maintained a straight face.
I followed instructions and Sgt. Spears helped me fill in the appropriate information. I then walked over to Mr. Piskett. He was now sitting on the side of the road, out of traffic. His plaid jacket and blue jeans were covered in the same dust I’d divested myself of.
My voice cracked slightly as I gave the recitation I’d learned at the academy, “Mr. Piskett, without admitting guilt, I need you to sign this citation and agree to appear in court on the date I’ve written.”
He scrawled his name and then looked up. I could see two missing bottom teethe in his smile of assurance, “God bless you, Angel Ivy.”
He glanced back down at the court date then tipped his head my way. His wrinkled chin moved as he spoke, “I’ll see you in January if God is willing.”
If I hadn’t been paying close attention, I would have missed the lowering of his left eyelid. The old coot actually winked at me. His hazels eyes then looked away as I walked off with Sgt. Spears.
As I returned to my seat in the patrol car, I was quiet, trying to understand exactly what had just happened.
Sgt. Spears laughed. “You did a great job. There’s no explanation for Mr. Piskett. He’ll stay out of our hair, until after the court date, because he’s friends with the judge, and Judge Forsyth will not forgive two citations so close together. We’ll get a small break from him and then God will give him a new task and I’ll let my new angel sweet-talk him into another citation.
The tension in my shoulders started to loosen and I began to smile. I'd survived my first official call, my welcome to the Small Town Police Department was complete.
About the Author
Suzie Ivy works as a police detective in a rural Arizona town. She lives with her husband of thirty years, two dogs, a horse, and three goldfish. When not at work or writing she loves to read, garden, and spend time with her grandchildren. She writes romance fiction (vampires & werewolves) under the name D’Elen McClain. When asked, “Why romance?” She replies, “Take me away from real life and give me a romantic fantasy any day.” Suzie blogs about her police life at http://badluckdetective.com and her world of fangs at http://fangchronicles.wordpress.com. She loves to hear from readers at [email protected]