by Lou Reiter
“Boss, I was doing a 15-minute visual check on Ralphie in Isolation #1 when I saw him standing naked as a jay bird, daring me to come at him. He took off his paper security clothing and was waving them in the air. And the guy had thrown his shit against the Plexiglas window of the cell door. He was yelling that he didn’t deserve to be locked in isolation. He demanded to go back to the general pop area.”
“OK, let’s get the CERT guys suited up,” Hansen decided.
CERT stands for Cell Extraction Response Team It’s like SWAT in the field, only CERT is called for problems happening in jail. When a high-risk inmate has been identified and needs to be controlled for whatever reason, CERT is called. The team is outfitted with protective gear, shields, chemical agents, TASERs, and a variety of tools. While the inmate may be going crazy and acting wild, jailers and CERT members take their time and try to diffuse the episode. Usually the inmate is just finagling for attention, not attempting to hurt himself.
“Who’s got the video?” Hansen demanded. Just as he barked the order, a jailer appeared with the video camera and set it up in the hallway behind the CERT guys. This would provide audio and video documentation of the control operation. The cells and hallways might have surveillance cameras, but this type meltdown needed more focus. Jails had become a growing source of litigation and chances weren’t taken, ever.
“Let’s get a hose ready. Everybody is going to get shitty on this one. Really hate those shitters,” Hansen muttered to those crowding the hallway.
“Ralphie, Ralphie, Ralphie,” Hansen soothed to the frenzied inmate. “Let’s get you settled down, get some blue juice in ya, and put on clean clothes.”
“Fuck you, Lieutenant Tightass. I hear what they call you. Tightass! Tightass! Come get some of my ass. I’m ready this time!”
“Ralphie, I know you don’t like OC, that ‘fire from hell’ spray we got. It’ll probably sting your bare ass this time. You probably been stroking your wanger and it’ll really sting your privates. Let’s do this the easy way.”
“Fuck you, Tightass!”
Hansen turned and spoke softly to the CERT leader. “Let’s open the cell door. Have two of your guys armed with shields protect the door opening. Get Carl to deploy the TASER over your guys’ shoulders.”
The door clicked and one of the CERT members pulled it open while others with shields knelt low, ready for action. Betsy could see a red laser dot suddenly appear in the center of Ralphie’s chest. Carl activated the TASER. The two barbs projected and penetrated the agitated inmate’s chest and abdomen. Ralphie crumbled to the floor, shaking uncontrollably.
Betsy could hear the constant zapping of the TASER as it did its job. There were 50,000 volts of low amperage electricity attacking Ralphie’s nerve endings. The two-man arrest team edged between the shield men and cord-cuffed Ralphie’s hands and ankles. Jailers use heavier cords with Velcro fasteners for control rather than the smaller plastic restraints used by field officers. Another CERT member appeared with a prisoner restraint chair. Ralphie was lifted into the chair and belted to immobilize him. A spit mask wasn’t used.
“All I wanted was to go back into general. You fuckin’ guys just like to fuck with me. Why you doin’ this to me, man? Fuck all of you! You wait ‘til next time, I’m gonna fuck you up! Starting with you, Lieutenant Tightass!”
With this outburst, a CERT guy placed a protective spit mask over Ralphie’s face and only muffled sounds could be heard.
“Medical office is waiting,” a deputy said.
Betsy was fixated on the takedown operation. She was finally seeing action on the job. Her knees were shaking and her breathing was erratic. Betsy liked the feeling. She looked at Lt. Hansen, who had been watching her intently.
“Now, Bits, that’s exactly what my training session is going to cover. After seeing Ralphie in action, you’ll have a point of reference.” Luke smiled as he ordered the breakdown of the operation and began supervising cell clean-up.
*****
Betsy watched as Luke Hansen conducted the training class for the 40 or so gathered in the large conference room of the Milwaukee County Sheriff’s Detention Facility. He appeared self-confident and spoke with command. When the training session lagged, as they always do at some point, Luke would call on someone to share an experience. Sometimes he’d break the lull by showing a video. Lt. Hansen was so much better than the instructors Betsy had at the academy. The more the group before him responded, the more animated Luke became. He was constantly moving through the room. Every now and then he would get in the face of one of the guys. He had absolute control over everyone in the room. This man knew his stuff. Betsy could learn a lot from him. She decided she would learn whatever she could from this handsome lieutenant.
Luke and Betsy didn’t make it back to Addison that night.
*****
“Bits, know what today is?”
“Another good day after a hot night in bed?” Betsy teased as she snuggled under Luke’s covers. She didn’t worry about covering her bare breasts. She liked the way they stood at attention.
“No, it’s our anniversary! We’ve been dating three months now.”
“Damn! This is the longest I’ve ever been in a relationship. That’s what we’re in, isn’t it?”
“Bits, I think this is the beginning of something much more,” Luke stammered as the words fell out. “I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.” This was the first time he had ever uttered those words, but they felt right. “I think it’s time to make a more permanent arrangement. It’s time for you to move in with me.”
Betsy was hoping this day would come. She truly liked Luke. But, love? Who knew? This man treated her with respect. He was great in bed. He had a promising career in the SO. He had sprung her from the jail beat and settled her in the Transportation Unit, which she liked. To be honest, Betsy didn’t consider her present position to be a career. Luke kept telling her she would be coming along with him as he rose through the ranks of SO, but the SO wasn’t real cop work to Betsy.
The next six months passed quickly. Life with Luke was good, but boringly predictable. She saw her lover was close to having an obsessive personality. His closet was the giveaway. One inch exactly between hangers. Browns with browns. Blues with blues. His briefcase was organized the same way. Luke knew from looking at his open case if something was missing. He cleaned his gun after every use on the range, and it was a GLOCK! Betsy couldn’t remember the last time she cleaned hers. Wasn’t that why cops liked this particular gun—no maintenance! They went out to eat at the same restaurant every Friday night. It was the same place his parents had taken him when he was a kid. Sunday afternoon it was beers at Rooney’s Pub. Same people surrounded them, regardless which team was playing or what sport was broadcast on the large flat screens scattered throughout the pub.
“Going out, Bits?”
“Yeah. Thought I’d go to Madison and meet up with some of my UW buddies. It’s opening night for Hold Steady on King Street.”
“Bits, you know what I think about that alternative lifestyle in Madison. Not that I’ve got anything against them weirdos, but those UW dykes can be a pain in the ass.”
“Luke, you know I don’t like to hear your bullshit on that subject. You seem to have an obsession when it comes to lesbians. It’s not like you. Why you got such a hard on for them?”
Luke stared at the wall as Betsy slammed the door behind her.
It was a short drive into Madison and Betsy found her two UW friends at a club on King Street. Gail and Stevie liked to party hearty and were well known in the alternative scene.
“Well, lookie here, if it isn’t the brown bunny from Addison!” Gail laughed as she slid to the inside of the booth to make room for Betsy. “How’s that sugar daddy stud of yours doin’?”
“He’s good,” Betsy replied, not wanting to start any arguments tonight.
“Hey, ladies!” A voice interjected and commanded instant attention. The voice was wearing a UW jac
ket over a black mock turtleneck topping tight black jeans. The voice donned black cowboy boots to complete her Dark Riders look. The woman was Betsy’s height, but probably 40 pounds heavier, most of those pounds carried in her upper body. Her hair was cut short, similar to Betsy’s, but was glossy black. She wore heavy eye shadow, but not much other makeup.
“G is the name,” the voice offered as she casually slid into the booth next to Betsy. Betsy could feel the gun on her belt as it pushed into her hip. “Giberto Ramirez. My dad wanted a son. Got any problems with that?”
G was a sergeant with the Addisonville Police Department. Since Addison Cunty was so small, Betsy found it strange that they had never crossed paths. G had been in the PD for nearly 15 years. Before that, G had been a deputy with the Addison County sheriff’s office for nearly five years.
“You know Luke Hansen?” Betsy asked as a conversation starter.
“Yeah, he was starting the force about the same time I was. Tightass, definite tightass, but very competent. Always liked him. He quickly became the sheriff’s fair-haired boy. Why you ask?”
“I’m living with him. Last six months. I’m on the job with him,” Betsy explained with a smile. “It’s been good.”
“Sounds like you’re tentative.”
Betsy hadn’t thought about her feelings like that. But she guessed G was right. Maybe she was beginning to tire of her relationship with Luke.
*****
Over the next three months, Betsy and G met often. It was always in Madison.
One evening G had news. “Bits, the PD has a couple new positions coming on line. You interested?”
“Interested, shit yeah! Real cop work, you bet your ass I’m interested. As nice as your ass is for a big woman, G.” Betsy laughed. “But how could we arrange this without the SO knowing? The background examination and everything. I’d have to list references. Shit, Luke would find out in a minute,” Betsy continued.
G laughed. “I’m the background investigator for Addisonville.”
Betsy wasn’t sure how Luke would take it if she left him. She couldn’t keep living with him if she was crossing sides to the Addisonville Police Department. Well, she could, but G might be a problem.
Later that night Betsy and Luke were getting ready for bed. She was walking out of the bathroom naked when Luke confronted her. She had told him earlier about her decision to apply for a job with the Addisonville PD.
“You’re thinking about doing what, Bits? Why? I can understand, maybe, why you might want to go over to the PD, but you don’t have to leave me. I love you!”
“And I like you. You’re definitely great in bed. You’ve helped me so much. Yeah, I really like you. But it’s time for me to move on.”
Betsy jumped into their bed, lay back, and opened her legs. Luke’s head buried between her legs. Betsy turned and found his erection, grabbed its base, and guided it into her mouth. When they were satisfied, both collapsed into the pillows.
“Wow!” Luke exclaimed.
“Damn, breakup sex is as good as make-up sex!” Betsy chuckled.
*****
A month had passed since Betsy left Luke and the Addison SO. Luke was in the SO parking lot checking for fresh damage to the transportation vans. Sheriff Biggs’ vehicle pulled into his reserved spot by the rear door of the building.
“Luke, how you doing since your squeeze left?”
“Sheriff, it’s been hard. I loved Bits. Only woman I’ve ever told I loved. She broke my heart.”
“I warned you about station relationships, Luke. They’re full of problems. There’s a thin line between love and lust, my friend.”
“I think she’s hooked up with G.”
“Our G? The one who’s a sergeant in the city?”
“Yeah, the lesbian bitch. I’ve always wondered why city cops end up being either lesbian or fag.”
“Luke, I’ve talked to you about that! You got to get rid of your hatred for alternative lifestyle folks. If you’re ever gonna run for sheriff, you got to remember that everybody votes. The masses aren’t going to vote for someone with your attitude, Luke. Change it.”
“But she left me for that bitch, Biggs!”
“Luke, pussy is pussy.”
*****
Meanwhile, down in Alabama…
Craig Connor spent 20 years with the Birmingham Police Department in the sweet home state of Alabama. Throughout his entire career, one question had been asked of him almost daily—“You related to Bull Connor?”
Bull Connor was the head of public safety during the tumultuous days of the civil rights era in the 1960s. That Connor was out front with his officers, police dogs, fire hoses, and batons at every protest blacks organized. Craig was certain his family had no linage connection to Bull Connor. But, it didn’t matter.
The Birmingham department had been good to Craig Connor. He came to the job when they gave you a badge and gun upfront, and your name was put on the police academy list. The wait to attend the academy was usually around eighteen months. Over the years Craig had worked with good ol’ boys and a few good old cops. He quickly learned about the good, the bad, and the ugly sides of policing and made an early commitment that he would follow the good.
Craig worked a lot of patrol during those early years. He knew how to relate to minority members of the community and was respected for even-handed policing. He truly was color-blind when it came to the law.
He tried the narcotics division for a few months and didn’t like it. He wasn’t sure what was legal and what wasn’t. Seemed too many of his fellow cops in the unit blurred the line between Constitutional arrests and bad ones. The stats told the story. Bodies, money, narcotics, and seizures. Craig was assigned to SWAT, but within six months he was promoted to sergeant. That ended his tour in SWAT. He spent a couple years in the detectives’ bureau, working a table of investigators who focused on armed robberies and street strong-armed thefts. Craig was bumped to lieutenant rank during one of the constant scandals that plagued the city and police department. Gaining the rank of captain, Craig was over one of the three patrol sectors of Birmingham. He liked that job. It gave him a chance to show what he could do with his cops. This happened at the time when crime stats were dipping throughout the country. Of course, Craig took advantage of that trend and said the downturn was primarily due to his management skills.
The PD picked him to go to the 12-week National Academy run by the FBI in Quantico, Virginia. Craig didn’t learn much during this training, but made a lot of contacts. Back in Alabama, he joined the NA Associates and attended their regular meetings. All members were graduates of the National Academy. Meetings were good because you could find out who was doing what throughout the state and locate the latest job openings. Craig soon was named one of the four majors on the Birmingham PD roster and was assigned to administrative services, training, recruitment, personnel, and internal affairs.
“Major, just got a call from Mobile,” Sgt. Dickens announced over the phone.
Craig rolled over in bed and glanced at the digital readout on his clock radio—3:15. He wondered why IA cases always seemed to rear at ungodly hours. He grunted a garbled greeting into the phone.
“Chief Hudson’s in custody of Mobile Vice, Major. Solicitation.”
Craig knew Deputy Chief Hudson was kinfolk to the police chief and mayor. This wasn’t going to be good for Birmingham, and probably worse for Craig.
“Got a number down there?”
“Yeah, talk with Captain Howard when you call. He’s the duty officer in Mobile. Says it was a john sting with one of their young female cops. They aren’t going to charge Chief Hudson, but they want to know what to do with him. He’s pretty soused.”
A john sting happens when local police put a good-looking female cop on the street with street hookers. She’s dressed appropriately, well, appropriately for a hooker. Officers wait off-scene for a customer to come along and make an offer. The undercover cop doesn’t have to perform sex, just get the offer o
f money for sex. Usually the undercover is wired with a body bug to capture what the john says.
Craig was glad they weren’t running a gay sting. The shit would really hit the fan with that, but since it was a female undercover, the situation would probably sit better with Hudson’s supporters.
“Captain Howard, Major Connor here in Birmingham. Sorry one of our guys put your people in a sticky spot. It’s really too far to send someone down to pick up the chief, can you keep him under wraps until he’s sober?”
“Sure. We can let our undercover cop take him home! He was really taken with her. Called her his ‘little Hawaiian goddess.’ Hawaiian, my ass! But, yeah, we can watch over him for a couple hours. I’ve got my people writing memos about what happened. You want me send them up your way?”
“That’d be good. Can ya scan them and e-mail them to me? Less paper trail that way.”
When he found out, the chief wasn’t happy with Craig’s call. “Shit, that cock hound got his brain down there snuggled between his legs. But, shit, he’s kinfolk. Dey keeping it just between us, right, Craig?”
“Best I figure, but you never know.”
Like most cases involving higher-ups, it wasn’t kept under wraps. Not a chance.
The following day, Deputy Chief Hudson’s night with the ladies was plastered all over every front page in Birmingham and local talk radio stations were burning the airwaves with facts, fiction, and innuendo. The mayor tried to blame the leak on Craig and ordered the chief to demote him back to sergeant. Craig dropped his retirement papers on the chief’s desk before that could happen. He had just enough time to look out for himself—there was a big, big difference in the pension of a major versus that of a sergeant.
Now what, Craig thought? He got busy churning his buddies in NA Associates and calling everybody he knew.
*****
Daphne was a quiet town on Mobile Bay just across the causeway from Mobile. It was a bedroom community populated primarily with local artists. The largest revenue source for the area was the uncontrolled retail sprawl at the off-ramp of I-10. Motels, gas stations, every eating franchise you could imagine, and a fairly new mall marked the interchange.