Page 69 of Cash

Nothing seems out of the ordinary as we pull into the parking lot. James lets dispatch know we’ve arrived then we exit the vehicle. Looking around, I see nothing of concern, but I can hear raised voices coming from the office area. Opening the entrance door, we enter a war zone.

Loud voices are coming from a room behind the front desk. As we’re making our way to the voices, we have to step over and around busted furniture. There’s been a battle in here and the furniture has paid the price. Overturned couches, broken lamps and a computer on the floor are evidence of a violent disagreement. Sliding along the wall, I stop at the doorway before peeking around the doorframe.

A large man has a young woman’s forearm held in a death grip. Her back’s pressed to the wall, and she’s shaking like a leaf. With his back to me, he’s not aware that he has an audience. Her eyes flit to mine for a split second before shifting back to her opponent.

“Bitch, I’m not telling you again!” the man screams in her face.

I can’t see the hand not holding the woman in place, so I don’t know if he’s armed or not. I quickly scan what I can see of the woman and don’t spot any injuries. Pulling my gun, I grip it with both hands but don’t raise it. Stepping in the door, James on my heels, I announce our presence.

“Let go of the woman and place your hands flat against the wall, sir.”

The man releases the woman, whirls and charges us in less than a second. The room is small, and he’s on us before we can react. Even if I’d had my gun aimed at him, I wouldn’t have had the chance to use it with the woman standing where she was. She would have been what cops call the backstop. The thing that’s behind your target and what you might hit if your bullet misses where you’ve aimed it. My brain processes all of this while my body braces for the impact.

The man’s shoulder collides hard with my chest, driving me backward. I fight to keep my feet under me, but the force takes us across the small hallway, slamming into the wall. We go down with him on top. My immediate battle is to keep my gun and not allow him to wrestle it from me. No cop wants to die but definitely not with their own service weapon. That’s the ultimate insult to the uniform.

I hear James shouting, but my brain doesn’t register the words at first. I’m struggling to get out from under the man at the same time as trying to keep my weapon secure. The man’s forearm is pressing down hard against my throat and breathing is quickly becoming a thing of the past. When the man’s face comes down close to mine, I rear back as much as I can then slam my forehead into his nose. Blood sprays but the struggle continues.

I feel James trying to pull the man off me, but the man’s strong as hell and determined. Finally, the word “knife” penetrates my mind, and my determination to live sets in. I see a flash of silver to the side of my face and know that the knife’s in the hand attached to the arm across my throat.

I hear James shout “taser” at the same time the guy’s body jerks hard. Kicking, kneeing and pushing with everything I have, I roll out from under the man. I push backward, sliding along the floor on my ass to create distance before aiming my gun at the twitching man. I can see the taser probes embedded in his back, and I secretly hope James is still lighting him up. Next to the man’s hand is a wicked-looking switchblade. Using my foot, I kick it out of his reach before shakily getting to my feet.

I holster my weapon and pull my cuffs. James has dropped down to place a knee in the guy’s back so I step forward and reach for a wrist. I get one cuff on and snapped closed when James’s body slams into mine from the side. Snapping my head up, I see it’s James that’s under attack now. The young woman has jumped on his back and is throwing punches at the back of his head.

Standing up, I pull her off James. She starts screaming in my face and throws a wild punch in my direction. Having had enough for one day, I grab ahold of her arms, turn and slam her into the wall face first. James is next to me instantly, holding out his cuffs. Once she’s been restrained, I look back to the man to see James had finished cuffing him before assisting me.

“You bastard! You tasered my man! You fucking jerkwad! I’m going to report you two and have your badges!” the female continues to scream as James and I each take a second to breathe.

“Ma’am, quiet,” James orders.

“Fuck you! Fuck both of you! You had no right to interfere!”

“He was assaulting you, and we stopped him. You’re welcome,” I spit out sarcastically.

“How we handle our disagreements is none of your business, bitch!”

“Do your disagreements normally involve busted furniture and knives?” I ask, totally disgusted with this situation.

“He wouldn’t have stabbed me! He’s only done that once before, and that was our business, not yours!”

“We should have tasered her. It’s rendered him speechless. Her being speechless would be a huge blessing,” James says while eyeing the irrational woman.

“It’s not too late,” I say with a clear warning in my voice.

Surprisingly, that alone shuts her up.

“I’ll take him to the car and call for a ride for her,” James states before pulling the man to his feet and walking away.

I lead her back into the small room and indicate for her to sit in a chair. Looking her over closely, I note red marks on her arms that are already turning to bruises. Her shirt is ripped, but I don’t see any blood. I pull out my notebook and start asking questions. A few minutes later, Officer Tori Stanbrook pops her head in the doorway. Eyes doing a sweep of me, they grow concerned.

“You okay, Liv?” she asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Who fucking cares? Is Devin okay is the real question here. They tasered him for no reason!” shouts the female, all buzzed up again.

“He’s fine, and he’s lucky. Any other cop, including me, would have shot his ass. You’re lucky because Officer Moore put your safety before hers by not firing her weapon when you were in the danger zone. She stepped in and saved you from an angry and abusive boyfriend. I’m sincerely hoping when you’ve had time to process all of this, that this day is a turning point for you. I hope this is your rock bottom, so tomorrow can be a little brighter. In the meantime, though, you have to come with me. Let’s go,” Tori says in her no-nonsense tone.

Tori walks out with the woman, and I take her seat. Elbows to knees, palms covering my face, I blank my mind. On television, cops handle all sorts of dangerous calls and bounce right back. In reality, it never happens that easily. Adrenaline rushes through your body during a battle and fades away just as quickly. An adrenaline dump leaves your limbs weak, your mind frayed, and it takes time to recover. Most often, cops have to push through and do their best to remain stoic and professional. Weakness can never be shown, even to other officers. Because of that unwritten rule, cops come across as hard and unfeeling. Most aren’t though. It’s a front we put on to protect ourselves from the horrors of our job. To keep a distance between our emotions and whatever tragedy we’re dealing with.

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