From the top of the stairs came his mother’s voice. “You are a pitiful excuse for a liar.”
Cy and Mel looked up. How could she always tell if he were lying? She looked regal and not too happy. “I saw the news.” She started downstairs.
“There was a robbery attempt at a convenience store near here. They say the policeman stopped a rape and killed three robbers. They also say he was shot but was treated and released.” She came down the stairs looking like a queen, regal with her shoulders squared and her head erect. She had a certain carry to her that made people notice.
She took his arm and kissed him on the cheek. “Are you all right dear?”
He looked into those loving eyes. “Yes Mom, I’m okay.” She smiled.
He looked over at his dad, who looked a little sheepish. “I could use that beer now,” Cy said.
“Sure son, let’s go to the kitchen.” They did, but Maria did not let go his arm. They set down at the table in the small kitchen.
“I’ll have one too,” she said. Mel’s eyes widened. Cy had never known his mother to drink.
They made small talk, everyone talking around the fact that Cy had been shot, and he had killed three men. Maria Blackwell did not rear her son to kill. However, she knew he had done what was necessary, but she didn’t have to like it.
After a while she stood. “I had better check in on the girls. Good night dear.”
“Good night Mom.”
“You’re not going to keep him up long?” she asked Mel with a knowing grin. She knew he would, but it didn’t really matter. Cy was safe, and he was home, as was Mel. The only two men in her life and they were both home and safe.
There was a long silence after she left. Mel got up and grabbed two more. They sat in silence for a bit. It’s comfortable to be alone with your own thoughts but not really alone, he thought.
After a bit Mel got up and retrieved the spiced rum. He had a feeling it might be a long evening. He poured two jiggers and slid one over to Cy.
“There’s an old song your mother and I used to dance to; let me see how did it go? Oh yeah, ‘Scotch and soda, jigger o’ gin, oh what a mood you’ve got me in. Oh my do I feel high.’ They don’t write songs like that anymore.”
“No I guess they don’t.”
“You ready to talk about it?”
“I always was afraid that I’d have to kill somebody. While I was at the academy, I would wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. I never wanted to kill anybody. But that’s not what’s really bugging me.” He took a long drag on his beer.
Mel raised his eyebrows at this. “Just what is bugging you?”
“I really don’t know how to explain it. They had stripped the girl. She was struggling, terrified, and helpless. Suddenly, without warning, I felt this surge that started in my solar plexus and nearly took the top of my head off.
“All I wanted to do was kill and then get at her. I can’t explain it. I killed three men, but at that moment I would have killed a hundred to get at her. Do you know what I mean?”
Mel was taken aback. “No son I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything quite like that. I’ve known some powerful emotions, especially fighting a fire at sea, but what you’re telling me scares the hell out of me.”
Cy looked up at his father. “Dad I saw the beast tonight. I looked him right in the eye.”
They sat in silence for a bit. “You didn’t do anything did you?”
“Oh heck no. I’ve got better self-control that that, but it scared me. I never believed in a connection between sex and violence. I do now, and it scared me half to death.”
He took the shot of rum and slid the glass back over to Mel who filled it. “Son, I’ve seen a lot, men scared they were about to die in rough seas. I thought your mother might not make it with the third baby. That really scared me.
“The only thing I can say is that you stared the beast in the eye and backed him down. Maybe we’ve all got the beast hiding inside just waiting for the chance to take us over. Heck, I don’t know, but all I do know is that you are made of some strong stuff. Maria and I have raised a good man.”
At that moment his dad’s allergies began to bother him, and he had to step into the bathroom to wipe his eyes and blow his nose.
Cy reported to the local precinct the next day after sleeping it off and filled out the required paperwork. Paperwork was proving to be the bane of police work. When the paperwork weighed about as much as the suspects, you were almost done.
A lieutenant called him over. “Hey Blackwell, that was a nice bit of police work. You been in long enough to go plain clothes?”
“Afraid not, I’m still pretty green.”
“Well, if you ever need a home, I’ll put in a good word for you.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that.”
Cy went in early the next day to ask about a transfer. The desk sergeant saw him. “Hey Blackwell, Captain wants to see you.”
“Thanks.”
“Huh, don’t thank me.”
He stopped to knock even though the door was open. Captain Hunter looked up.
“So Blackwell, now you’re some kind of hero. You’re all over the news.”
Cy hadn’t seen a paper nor listened to any news, he had been so wrapped up in his own problems. Before he could think of a response his superior continued.
“What’s your problem Blackwell? You some kind 0f ‘Dudley Do-Right’?”
“I’m just trying to be a good cop.”
“That’s not what I hear; they say you’re not a team player.”
“If the game’s planting drugs on some innocent kid, I guess not.”
“I don’t want to hear it. I’m transferring you to the precinct with Harlem in it. I hear they are considering bringing back the overnight foot patrol just for you. You can be a straight arrow over there, if you can stay alive.”
“Thank you sir; I knew I could count on you sir.”
“Don’t try to be cute with me. Just get your stuff, and get out of here before Sam finds you. He’s still pretty mad at that stunt you pulled yesterday.”
“It’s not me the precinct should be coming down on; it’s guys like that!” Cy had not meant to raise his voice, especially as the door was still open.
“Just get the hell out of my office!”
“Yes sir,” responded Cy, then came to attention and saluted. He held the salute waiting for it to be returned.
“Just get the hell out of here.”
Cy dropped the salute and turned without saying a word. He had a locker to clean out.
Chapter 14 – Once a Marine Always a Marine
Cy drove over to the precinct near his family’s home and asked to see the captain. He was in a meeting and wouldn’t be available for a while.
“When do you think he’ll be back?”
“Oh, sometime after lunch. Is there anything I can do for you?” asked the desk sergeant.
“I want to talk to him about transferring to this precinct.”
“What does your old precinct think of that?”
“They’re all right with it.”
“Well, I’m short a couple of men out at the airport. Would you like to fill in for a few days till something can be worked out?”
“Sure, when do I start?”
“Come on I’ll get you started.”
Cy felt pretty good about outfoxing his old captain. He didn’t know how long it would take for them to figure it out. It didn’t matter. Duty at the airport wasn’t too bad, lots of standing around keeping an eye on things. He didn’t have to screw anybody over, so he liked it pretty well.
He noticed a Marine in uniform walking with a cane and wondered if he had just returned from Syria. The Marine went over to one of the screening lines.
Cy thought to himself, they should just let these guys go through, though he knew there was nothing he could do about it.
Phil stood in line ready to go through airport security. He was in his Marine Corps dres
s blues carrying a small duffel bag and walking with a cane. He would probably heal all right the docs had told him. He had already decided that he would fight a medical, but right now he was headed home. It would be good to see home.
He reached the front of the line and placed his small duffel in the carrier. He emptied his pockets and put those things in another container. He couldn’t bend down to take his shoes off without considerable difficulty.
He stepped into the metal detector. “Hey take your shoes off,” ordered the TSA officer.
“Sure, is there a place where I can sit down?”
“Just step back and take them off, and take off your jacket. There’s too much metal in it.”
“The medals are for heroism and bravery fighting for this country,” said an older man in line behind Phil.
“We have a situation developing here,” the TSA officer said into his radio.
“There is no situation. I was wounded during the fighting in Syria, and I can’t bend down easily. I just need a place to sit down, and I will be happy to take my shoes off, my jacket too if that‘s what you want.”
“I don’t need no smartass. Just step back and take the stuff off. The government don’t care if you’re some kind of war hero or not.”
The man behind Phil spoke up again. “Well, I care. Are you blind? This is an injured Marine. He got shot for this country.” There was angry mumbling in the line.
“Who the hell are you?” asked the agent.
“I’m a retired Marine Corp coronel,” the man replied. “And I don’t like the way you’re treating this Marine.”
In the next lane over, the agent dumped a man in a wheelchair out onto the floor. “What would you like pal?” he asked.
“I don’t believe this,” said Phil. “Why did you dump that guy on the floor? What’s the matter with you people?”
“I told him to get up and walk over to the scanner. He didn’t move fast enough, and you’re causing trouble,” was the agent’s reply.
“I want a supervisor down here,” called out the retired Colonel.
“You people are holding up the line,” said the agent in Phil’s line.
“Can somebody help me?” asked the man who had been dumped on the floor.
Phil went over. “Hey, stay in the line,” ordered the agent.
“Stuff it,” responded Phil.
The retired Colonel and an airport police officer came forward to help get the man back into his wheelchair as Phil held it steady. “You can’t come through here. You haven’t been cleared,” cried the TSA agent.
They managed to get him back in the chair. Finally, a supervisor and more airport police showed up. “What’s going on here?” demanded the supervisor.
“I was just going to check the wheelchair when these guys started causing trouble,” said the agent who had dumped him.
“You okay buddy?” asked Phil ignoring the supervisor.
“Yeah, thanks.”
The sergeant looked over at Cy. “What happened?”
“That agent dumped this gentleman out onto the floor for moving too slow.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” protested the agent.
“What about the other guys?”
“The man in uniform has an injury and needs a place to sit down, so he can get his shoes off. The older gentleman is a retired Marine Corps officer who takes exception to how TSA is treating this Marine who was recently injured in combat.”
“Man, I thought we had some sort of terrorist incident.”
“They’re causing problems,” said the agent to his supervisor.
“Come on, let’s get you over to these chairs. I’ll put your shoes on the conveyer.” Cy knelt and helped Phil with his shoes, then helped him get his jacket off. Cy then walked over to the conveyer and placed the items in one of the trays.
“Thank you for your help Colonel,” Phil said.
“My pleasure. Here’s my card if you need a witness to this cluster foxtrot.”
“Thanks, I just might.”
“Sure,” replied the Colonel. “Once a Marine, always a Marine.”
They shook hands and Phil added, “Semper Fi.”
The Colonel got back in line as Cy returned with Phil’s shoes and jacket.
“Hey, he still has to go through the detector.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” said Cy.
“Hey, it’s okay,” said Phil. “Just help me up.”
“Sure.” Cy walked Phil over to the metal detector. “I don’t believe this,” he said to Phil in a low voice.
The detector beeped. “Check your pockets,” instructed the agent.
“Nothing in my pockets, and you’ve got my belt. It’s probably the metal pins in my leg.”
The detector beeped again as he entered the device. “Step over here,” instructed the agent, who glared at Cy every chance he got. Cy ignored him.
A different TSA agent went over him with a wand. “What do you have here?” He fingered Phil’s leg.
“That’s where they put the pins.”
“Drop your pants.”
“Can’t we go to a private room?” asked Phil.
“They’re full; just do it.”
“I’ll be hanged if he will,” Cy blurted out.
“You’re out of your jurisdiction.”
“We’re still in New York.” Cy saw a wheelchair and retrieved it. He pushed it up behind Phil.
“Sit, we’re getting the hell out of here.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Send me a copy of your report with your name on it. That way I’ll be able to find out where you live.” He handed Phil his belongings and pushed him away from the agents.
“That’s why they call them New York’s finest,” said the Marine Corps colonel just loud enough to be heard.
As Cy hastily pushed the wheelchair away, he asked, “Where is your gate?”
“C12.”
“Good thing I came along that’s a long way off.”
“Yeah, and thanks officer.”
“Don’t mention it. My name’s Cyrus Blackwell, Cy to my friends.”
“I’m Phil.”
“Where you headed?”
“I’m going home to Fort Worth, Texas.”
Soon Cy had Phil at the airline check-in counter. “I think I can handle it from here,” said Phil.
“Okay,” said Cy as he squatted to raise the foot rests and help with Phil’s shoes. “Hope the rest of your trip home is more pleasant.”
“Yeah, me too, and thanks.” Phil proffered his hand.
Cy took it. “You’re welcome.”
“I hope you don’t get in any trouble.”
“Don’t worry, I seem to stay that way,” responded Cy with a laugh. He took his pad from a pocket and wrote down his name, badge number, and phone number.
“Take this, in case anything comes of this, you’ll know where to find me.”
“Hey, thanks again.”
“Sure, glad to help.” Phil stood and Cy helped him back into his blue dress uniform jacket, and they shook hands again.
Cy took the wheelchair and headed back toward the screening area. Phil watched him walk away while waiting at the check-in counter. Nice guy he thought.
“May I have your ticket please?” asked the pleasant airline ticket agent.
“Sure, sorry I must have let my mind wander.”
“That’s okay,” she said and smiled. “Welcome home.”
Cy went looking for the sergeant. He figured that there would be repercussions from his helping out the Marine.
He found him back in the airport station. “Hey new guy, what’s your name.”
“Cy Blackwell.”
“You get everything taken care of at the screening station?”
“Yeah, I even got the Marine to his gate.”
“What do you mean?”
“I found him a wheelchair and pushed him to the gate.”
“Good, that’s good. Listen you don�
�t have to take any crap off those TSA guys. They think they’re some kind of federal cop, but they sure as heck aren’t police officers. You know what I mean?”
“Yes, they are not police officers. That’s for sure.”
“Well, try not to mess with them too much. They’re on some kind of power trip. And one more piece of advice, if you ever have to fly, don’t pack anything you don’t want stolen.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were. Happens all the time. Look why don’t you try the other side for the rest of your shift. No sense in causing problems, okay?”
“Okay.” With that he headed off to a different area of the airport. Things were starting to look up. He might make a New York City cop after all. Hope that Marine gets home okay. If I’d been thinking, I would have got his number as well. I might need to get in touch with him in case I still end up in trouble.
The rest of the shift went off without further incident. Cy began to think about finding a more comfortable pair of shoes, and if he walked faster, he might even get in some exercise. They had a decent gym in this precinct, though he had noticed most of the guys didn’t use it. He would, he promised himself.
That evening at his parent’s place he related the story to his dad. “You mean they just dumped the guy out on the floor?”
“Pulled or pushed might be more like it. Apparently, the guy had some use of his legs, but didn’t move fast enough.”
“Well, I saw a video where this female sheriff’s deputy dumped a quadriplegic man out of his wheelchair onto the floor. It appears she didn’t really think he was disabled.”
“Come on, you can’t be serious.”
“I’ll fire up the lap top and show you.”
He did so and found the video of a female sheriff’s deputy dumping a man, who had limited use of his arms and no use of his legs, out onto the hard floor. Eventually they get him back in the chair, and one of the deputies walks toward the camera laughing.
“Where did this happen?”
“Down in Florida. The web is full of cases like this and worse.”
Cy spent the next two hours going through videos of this sort. Finally, he said, “I’ve had enough. I don’t think I can handle much more of this. Surely there has got to be someplace in America where peace officers are helping the public not slamming them around and beating them up. That’s what we’re here for!” said Cy with an oath.
World War III - Home Front: A Novel of the Next American Revolution - Book One – As Day turns to Night Page 15