Getting a Leg Up…

I was traipsing around an apartment complex looking for dope dealers and smokers. It didn’t take very long to find ‘em. And while walking around, I encountered a younger dude that I recognized. I knew him from somewhere on the side of town I worked last year. He gave me his (fake) name, but it didn’t sound right. And I recognized the other person he was with too. Anyway, he was "clean." And while I wasn’t completely satisfied with his story, I knew I’d remember his (real) name sooner or later. So I left him alone for now. Besides, a large group of a dozen or so "citizens" started to congregate nearby.

While stalking my prey, I got on the radio and asked for a backer (another officer to assist). A good sergeant who looks after me, knew what I was up to, and got me the right amount of back-up that I really needed. I had been standing around out of sight (or so I thought) for a good ten minutes watching the group. They mingled around, passed beers and bottles and other things back and forth. I was sitting down behind a car, up against a wall thinking nobody could see me. Well, nobody except for the person in the upstairs apartment who opened the window, looked down at me, and made the "whoop, whoop" sound that everybody unmistakably knows, and can only mean one thing: the cops are here; the "po-po" are out; 5-0.

Everybody scattered and disappeared into doors, cars, and cracks in mere seconds. The crickets seemed suddenly deafening. Instead of a dozen people to investigate, it was me, two cats, and a page from last month’s People magazine drifting in the parking lot.

Anyway, a bunch of other officers arrived. We hung out and waited for people to come back around. Unknowingly, two other officers stopped and interviewed the dude I had just stopped. When I left, I told the dude to get in his car and leave. Well, he didn’t heed my advice…

Two officers who came to help ran into the same dude. They took more time to figure out who he was and discovered he had a warrant. Since he also gave Officer ROSE a bogus name, ROSE—in a totally ordinary manner—asks the dude, "hey, you know it’s a crime to lie to the police?"

Well, it seems ROSE should get a side job at the Olympics because after he said that, the dude took off running like he was goin’ for the gold. ROSE and his partner instantly chased after him. Meanwhile, I was walking across a nearby parking lot back to my car since nothing was going on (or so I thought). But that changes as soon as I turned the corner.

I heard some kind of yelling. I saw the dude running across the parking lot. ROSE was chasing him. FOOT PURSUIT!!!

I saw the dude run toward a flight of stairs—and in a single leap—jump over them. The dude cleared about 15 feet in a single bound. But he hit the ground hard. Real hard. I thought he wasn’t going to get up after jumping that far and falling on his face, but he did.

I ran after him as he tried to duck into a dark alley. ROSE was on his heels and we both met up at the alley. "He’s right there!" I yelled. ROSE lit up the bushes with his flashlight and just under a bush we found our suspect.

But something wasn’t right. After I handcuffed him, I leaned him over to the right, but his left foot was still facing left (instead of right, like it normally should). Then I noticed that his knee bone was about where his mid-thigh should be. Yup, his leg was broken, and broke pretty bad.

As ROSE was telling me what happened, I recognized the dude—and his real name. ROSE also figured out that he had a felony warrant, which explains why he ran.

However, he didn’t get very far—and broke his leg (leg cast not included) on the hurdle after his 50-yard dash. Not much of an Olympic performance. And any dreams of being a track star about as broken as his fibula, but he did "take home" a nice life-long reminder of why you shouldn’t run from the po-lice.

Off. Jay Chiarito-Mazzarella

Comments

[Ron]

Nice...good story...

[Kim]

I can't even imagine wanting to get away from someone so bad that I would keep going after a nasty break like that.

I mean, maybe if Freddy Kruger was chasing me, but he's a lot worse than jail.