Officer Involved Shooting

                                                                       Officer Involved Shooting

                                       





         “Honey!  Honey!! Are you okay?”

         “Yeah! Yeah! Just a weird dream.” Darryl wiped the sleep away with his hand as he sat up in bed.  Knees up, he bent forward taking deep breaths to calm his shaking body.  Gwen gently massaged his back and shoulders; concern etched across her features as she studied her husband wondering what terrible dream had caused him to scream in terror.

         “What was it Honey? Dreams about the war again … or?” Her voice trailed off as she watched him reach for his cigarettes and lighter with trembling hands.  Darryl stood up and tiredly stumbled through the darkness into the bathroom.  Shutting the door, Darryl flicked on the light; the glaring brightness shot a searing pain through his eyes causing momentary blindness that receded as his pupils adjusted to the light.  He stood in front of the vanity studying his features.  Haggard, that’s what I look like; totally haggard.  The thought burned through him as he studied the disembodied stranger that reflected back from the mirror.  A tall gaunt male with tussled brown hair flecked with encroaching gray stared back through red veined pale sea green eyes surrounded by a craggy hard lined face.

              He was forty but felt and looked older; the strain and the constant drinking had and was taking its’ toll on his body mind and spirit.  The suspension didn’t help.  Internal Affairs and the ongoing officer involved shooting investigation were tearing down his confidence.  Darryl was a decorated cop and dedicated to his job, so much so that it was costing him his marriage and now … maybe his career.  How much more could he take?

                  He carefully traced the remnants of the old scars that tattooed across his chest.  He thought he could still feel the burning sensation as he gingerly touched each scar on his chest; there were four distinct slightly jagged mushrooms and he knew without ever seeing them, on his back were slightly larger and more grotesque mates identical to those he now traced.  He turned and leaned against the marbled topped vanity; again rubbing the sleep from his eyes.  Darryl pulled a cigarette and tried to fire his lighter. After repeated attempts the battered lighter sputtered to life and he drew the calming smoke deep into his lungs.  He fingered the old Zippo, studying the scratches and emblem denoting the “To Protect and Serve” logo of the department. He lived by that code and now it seemed that the code would serve to end his career.

                It was a clean shoot his partner had said.  But after the Eula Love shooting and the over killing of the young man by the county sheriffs … what was it … over a hundred rounds into him and he had been holding a toy plastic gun; Darryl wondered if there would ever be any such thing as a clean shooting.

“Honey! Honey!! Are you okay?”  The fear in Sandy’s voice echoed as Darryl fingered his Glock nine millimeter he had hidden in his lower bathroom drawer and wondered if he had the courage to eat one this time.  He flicked the safety off and gingerly slid the barrel into his mouth.  With trembling hands, Darryl inserted his right hand thumb through the finger guard of his weapon.  It would be over in an instant he thought; just squeeze the trigger …

“Darryl! Answer me!  Please Honey!!! “  Sandy shrieked as she shook the locked door.  Not this time he thought.



                “Yes?”  Captain Harold Travis looked up from under the stacks of manila colored files scattered randomly on his desk.  The pert efficient secretary stood half expectant with one hand still holding the half open door

                “A Henry Leyva from the A.C.L.U. is here to see you, Sir.”

                “Shit!!!”  Travis tiredly ran a shaking hand through what remained of his thinning gray hair as he stood.  “Doesn’t take them long does it?”  He smiled a tired beaten smile to the young woman and nodded his affirmation.  She returned his smile with one of sympathy and closed the door behind her as she left.

Travis drew deep breaths as he buttoned his suit jacket in some effort to present a professional image.  Another shit shooting, another good officer lost.  It was time, he figured, to retire.  He’s had enough of the gerrymandering politics that effectively destroyed lives and careers.  Darryl Peters was a good cop.  A good cop offered as a sacrificial lamb to appease the masses.  Another good cop lost was all Travis could think of.

The knock on his door returned Travis to the immediate problem at hand as he hurriedly reached for the manila file stamped in red ink across its’ face.

“Come in.”  Travis’s legs began to tremble as he fought to remain as stoic as possible.

                    His office door opened and a tall, dark skinned Hispanic gentleman dressed in an obviously expensive gray pin striped suit entered.  Travis immediately became self- conscience of the drabness of his own wrinkled and worn out rack suit.

“Leyva, A.C.L.U.”  He spoke efficiently and confidently extended a well-manicured hand, exposing more sleeve of the stark white crispness of his dress shirt.  “I assume you know why I’m here?”  Travis only nodded and waved his hand towards the oak armchair fronting his desk.  The attorney thanked him as he sat and proceeded to remove a large file from his briefcase.

                  “Captain.  The constitution guarantees that an individual is presumed innocent until proven guilty.  Am I correct?”  Without waiting for a response, Leyva continued.  “The evidence of the officer involved shooting investigators is replete with contradictions and clearly point to some type of conspiracy, for the lack of a better word, I’m afraid.  Obviously, the fundamental civil rights of our client have been infringed upon.  Therefore this matter has been referred to the required respective federal agencies for further enquiries.  As a formality, I am required by law to inform you of our intent to file suit in this matter.”  Leyva lean forward and placed the legal documents on Travis’s desk.  Travis blanking stared at the document unable to focus on the neatly typed words.  He didn’t have to; he’d seen many of their type before … too many … it was time to get out.

                  The attorney stood.  “Captain, I can’t provide you any solace.  A good officer is gone.  Or should I say another good officer is gone.  Our suit will not do him any good at this point … but maybe, in some future time, we may be able to put a stop to this … this needless sacrificing of good men and women.”  Without waiting for any response from Travis, Leyva turned and left the small office. 

                Travis sat and stared at the legal document that lay next to the manila envelope stamped in red across its’ cover.  It’s time, Travis thought, its’ time to leave this mess behind.  Travis pulled a small tablet from his desk drawer and quickly penned a few comments.  Finishing his thoughts, he carefully folded the letter and placed it into an envelope.  He placed the envelope next to the folder and legal documents, removed his badge and service weapon setting them on top of the envelope.  His fingers traced over the bold red letters on the vanilla file folder reading it one more time.  Case number A-12347 closed.  Officer deceased.  Travis wondered what number would be assigned to him as he carefully slid the barrel of his weapon into his mouth.



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