Special Circumstances - 2. Temptations

Today, when the shift assembled in the briefing room, I’d of course noticed Mike who had waved at me enthusiastically when I entered. Luckily, there was no chance to talk to anybody because I’d just barely arrived before the Sergeant herself who took her seat at the top of the table.

She began the presentation, but before finishing the first slide of the briefing, the control room was calling over the radio.

“Sierra X-ray. Any unit for an immediate domestic in progress?”

They would need good luck there. The outgoing shift wouldn’t take it and rightly so. We hadn’t yet been assigned crews, therefore, none of us could respond.

After a moment, when she didn’t get any response, the controller repeated, “Sierra X-ray. Any unit for an immediate domestic in progress?”

“Sarge?” I asked.

I could often barely hold my enthusiasm back. Nam slightly punched me in the side.

“Yes,” she responded, adding information to the computer and then calling Control over her radio. “Golf-Hotel-Sierra Three-Two. Assign shoulder number 1233 to call sign Golf-Hotel One-Three-One and show them Zero-Five.”

That was my shoulder number. I got up and turned to leave when she said to my horror, “Mike, go with Leon and add yourself to the call sign.”

While Mike was picking up his high-viz jacket and cap, I stared at Sergeant Ward. I was perplexed. Had she forgotten about or ignored my request of not to be crewed again with Mike?

“Sierra X-ray, Golf-Hotel One-Three-One,” the radio sounded in my ear piece as Mike called up and brought me back to reality. There was a job to do. I hastened to the Traka cabinet to get the keys to a car while Mike asked the control room operator to add his shoulder number into my call-sign.

I was annoyed. Very annoyed indeed. That wasn’t an appropriate state of mind to drive to an Immediate Response incident. The siren of my car was in long wail mode, and I approached a junction with a red ATS where a bus was waiting. Coming closer, my car’s blue lights were reflected brightly on the coach’s white coat.

How I love that intensive LED blue.

Changing to short wail, I moved carefully onto the off-side, slowing down to let the car in the junction recognize my maneuver and stop. Passing the bus, I changed the siren to white noise, hopefully warding off any pedestrians to cross. One never knew what people were thinking.

I entered the junction, maneuvered around a car back to the nearside. Changing the siren back to long wail, I accelerated away from the junction.

A sign of me being somewhat distracted was that I forgot about the speed camera that came in the first bend after the junction. Of course, it activated. Not that my speed was excessive, that wasn’t the issue, but procedurally, we were told that we mustn’t activate speed cameras. The resulting admin work to clear the automatic fine was too expensive.

How could it be any different? The camera took a nice picture of me, my police car, beautiful blue lights, and Special Constable Michael ‘Mike’ Lane, the reason for my annoyance, and I’ll get told off.

“Blast,” I muttered under my breath.

“Sierra X-ray, Golf-Hotel One-Three-One,” Mike called the control room.

“One-Three-One, go ahead.”

“Speed camera activation, Old Road, junction with Brook Lane.”

“Copied.”

The man really knew his stuff, saving me to make the required call to record the lawful traffic violation. His knowing his stuff was one of the reasons why I was so upset. I fancied him, badly. So badly that he’d featured in my thoughts while I was masturbating under the shower this morning.

“We’re getting close,” Mike said over the siren. “Sierra X-ray, Golf-Hotel One-Three-One. Any previous on the address?”

Gosh, he was such a good crewmate. Control replied saying this was the first call from that address. This was important information. In incidents of domestic violence, it took, on average, seven such occasions until victims called for help. How we’d approach the incident would shape the victim’s future responses.

Control had already told us the content of the 9-9-9 call. The victim was the mother of a teenage boy who’d drawn a knife on her after she’d challenged his late-night outings. Terrified, she’d fled into the bathroom and barricaded herself in while her son outside went into a shouting rage. This had explained why Sergeant Ward had given me a crewmate. But why Mike?

“Golf-Hotel One-Three-One,” I called up. “Requesting Taser authorisation.”

“Copied. Standby.”

I disliked having to ask that question, but Tasers were a relatively new issue to response shift officers. Traditionally, British Police have never been armed, apart from a baton and some pepper spray. Firearms were available only to specialist units which could be called upon if necessary. However, the general increase in violence hadn’t stopped at the shores of Great Britain and so, the powers that were had started a pilot project issuing Tasers as a non-deadly defense mechanism. After a successful test run, Taser training was made available. The target was to have half of a shift qualified in the weapon’s use. I’d been one of the first ones in my station to be so trained.

When carrying a Taser, its use mustn’t be the first tactical option. So, even drawing a Taser and targeting an individual counted as using force which necessitated paperwork. Of course, in a defense situation, I wouldn’t need to ask permission, but here I wanted to go in with the Taser drawn and ready, and for that, I had to ask permission.

“Golf-Hotel One-Three-One,” the controller called back after a moment. “Gold commander grants Taser authorisation.”

“Copied.” I turned to Mike while changing the siren to short wail and turning left on a junction. “You got Taser crewmate training?”

“Yes, I’ll stay behind you and approach the target only when you give the clear to apply handcuffs. The arrest will be made by you.”

He was indeed a gem! I risked a glance over and Mike seemed tense.

“First time?”

“Taser use assist? Yes. I don’t want to screw up.”

“No worries, you won’t. And I haven’t used it yet. The reason I want to be ready is that I assume the son to be on a bad drug trip. Even moody teenagers don’t just draw a knife on their parents.”

I killed the siren and the blue lights. “Golf-Hotel One-Three-One, entering the housing estate, silent approach,” I informed control and explained to Mike, “To not aggravate the situation by driving the boy into a panic.”

Mike was still tense. I needed to give him confidence and asked, “Any update from the caller?”

“Golf-Hotel One-Three-One, any update from the caller?” he radioed.

Control answered, but I wasn’t listening, I needed to find the house number. Strangely, I had full confidence in Mike to give me the information that I needed. Usually, I always double-checked. My trust in him wasn’t in vain as he asked, “Did you get that?”

“No. This house must be a later build. I can’t find forty-seven. Our house numbering system sometimes seems like the planning department had thrown dice on a map.”

“She’s still barricaded in the upstairs bathroom. She thinks that he’s sitting on the stairs and crying.”

“What’s the legal basis for our entering a dwelling without a warrant?” I asked him while maneuvering between a couple of stupidly parked cars.

“Section 17 PACE. Fear for life and limb as evidenced by an emergency call.” He pressed the six button on his radio, telling control that we’d arrived at the scene. What a wonderful crewmate he was!

Exiting the car, I drew the Taser and took point. The property was a normal British semi-detached house, small but not well maintained. On my salary, I couldn’t afford to get a mortgage to buy a house or even a flat. I’ve always wondered why people who have property would let it deteriorate so much.

I went to the front door with Mike close behind me. It was locked. I indicated to Mike to follow me around to the back entrance. As expected, it led directly into the kitchen. A pretty standard layout. There was nobody in sight. I tried the door, and it opened.

Holding the Taser ready, I opened the door and raced into the house towards the central stairs where we knew the suspect was sitting. “Police!” I shouted loudly. “Police! Don’t Move!”

Leaving the kitchen and entering the hallway, I saw the boy getting up from the bottom of the stairs where he’d been sitting. Clad in only a white T-shirt and training trousers, he wasn’t more than fifteen or sixteen years old. No gang tattoos, or jewelry. I had the red targeting dots on him.

He stared at me, his wide eyes screaming that he was high.

“Hands up!” I shouted, “Hands up now!”

Perplexed, he lifted his right arm, and I saw the kitchen knife.

“Drop the knife!”

He looked at the weapon in his hand, then at me.

“Drop the knife now!”

Two things happened at the same time. To me, such situations always seemed like a movie in slow motion. I saw his face change to angry, and he flung the knife at me.

I pressed the trigger on my Taser. Although I knew it sounded stupid, I thought I saw the Taser needles leave my weapon and the cable-connected projectiles fly past the incoming knife that came straight towards me. I shifted my stance, while the Taser needles connected and the electrical jolt made the boy cramp up and fall to the ground. The knife had flown past me. I heard it clatter to the ground.

The rest of the Taser discharge procedure had to be followed. “You’ve been hit by a Taser,” I explained calmly, “You’ll feel disoriented. Do not attempt to move or stand.”

Sometimes, Taser victims came around unexpectedly, therefore I changed position so that he’d be unable to get a jump on me.

“You’re under arrest under suspicion of Assault. Your arrest is necessary to prevent physical injury to myself and others and to allow for prompt and effective investigation by means of an interview. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.” I nodded at Mike.

Mike moved in, staying well away from the Taser cables. The teen was on the floor between us. He was coming around.

“Can you move?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he croaked.

“Good, then I need you to take the Taser needles out. One at a time. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” he said, still shocked by the pain.

I took the cable capsule off the Taser and replaced it with a new one.

The teen grabbed both cables and yanked at them. “Ouch.”

I sighed inwardly. Why did they never listen?

“You’ve been arrested,” Mike said. “I’ll handcuff you. If you resist you’ll get more of the same. Clear?”

Mike applied the handcuffs expertly and even did the procedure of getting the detainee off from the ground by the book.

I holstered my Taser, then updated Control, “Golf-Hotel One-Three-One, Taser discharged, assault with knife averted. No injuries. Zero-Nine with one. Suspect under the influence of an unknown substance. We will bring our detainee to hospital.” I turned to Mike. “Let him sit down in the kitchen.”

He nodded and escorted the youth to the room. I hastened up the stairs to get the mother out of that bathroom.

Of course, the mother was devastated and in tears. We had them reunite in the kitchen where she was hugging her equally crying son. Mike covered the back door, and I blocked the kitchen exit into the house. I signaled him with a nod to let them have a moment of peace. He nodded back at me. He was such a gem.

Once they seemed to calm down, I spoke to the teen, “So, we’ll be taking you to hospital. They’ll likely have you sleep off whatever you’ve taken. Then we’ll see what happens.”

The mother continued crying while Mike escorted the teen to the car. As he passed me, I handed him the car keys.

I stayed behind with the mother who asked me some questions. I explained to her the legal situation and the different options. It was necessary that she thought about pressing charges of Assault, but she was adamant that she wouldn’t be against her own son.

I put on a plastic glove and took the knife from the hallway as evidence. With pleasure, I noticed that Mike had correctly placed the teen into the car. He stood at the other side of the vehicle, beaming at me. He was so gorgeous. I swallowed.

“Well done, mate,” I said to him and looked away.

He smiled at me. “Thanks. You were great! You just dodged that knife.”

“Speaking of.” I held it up in my gloved hand.

Mike went to the boot of the car, opened it, and searched for a knife container in which I could deposit the evidence. He held it out to me. How could I ever get a better crewmate?

I grabbed the receptacle with my hand coming up half over his. Touching his fingers felt like an electric spark traveling up my arm into the whole rest of my body. He looked at me, and I looked into his captivating blue eyes. The color of sapphires. I drowned in those eyes but recovered quickly. At least, I hoped.

“Ahm, thank you.” I took the container and busied myself with it.

“Welcome,” he murmured and closed the boot.

I filled out the evidence label and my own pocket notebook. Mike got into the car in the seat behind me and next to the teen. I sincerely hoped that he hadn’t noticed me staring, but somehow I doubted that. I berated myself for being so unprofessional.

The drive to the nearest hospital was uneventful but long due to rush hour traffic. Mike, my sapphire, made small talk with the drugged teen who was mostly talking bullshit anyway. Arriving at the Accidents and Emergencies entrance, I parked the car as unobtrusively as possible, and we went in, joining the queue. I booked our arrival with the duty nurse and we sat down to wait.

Whenever I came as police with a detainee to wait in A&E, other people there were noticeably uncomfortable. Unless they’re in too much pain to care, of course. It’s estimated that members of the public interact with the police once every seven years on average, including traffic controls. So, seeing a person in handcuffs is very unusual. It was as if all the bad news they’re bombarded with on a daily basis had materialised in front of them.

Luckily, we didn’t have to wait too long until we were seen by a triage nurse. Despite the teen telling us what drug he’d taken, they needed to be sure and took a blood sample. In the end, it’s only what the kid believed he’d taken. What the scumbag dealer had given him, who could say?

We were assigned a small room to wait in. I left Mike with the kid to talk to the duty sergeant about the next steps. The teen would stay our guest until he sobered up. Because he was our prisoner, he couldn’t just be dumped at the hospital. One of us had to remain with him there. I returned to the room to update Mike, who was sitting next to the bed, watching the now sleeping teen.

“This means that we part ways, Mike.” I remained standing near the door.

“I assumed as much. The lad needs watching till the next shift takes over. Done that a lot.”

“I’m taking care of the paperwork for this job.” My heart was bleeding as he looked at me like a beaten dog. I swallowed my feelings. “I’ve asked Control to put you into call sign Golf-Hotel-November One-Niner, I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Oh, those eyes and that cute face! I should’ve just left, but instead I said, “Later, Nam and I’ll have something to eat. I’ll call you to join.”

“Yeah,” he responded and smiled at me, “That’d be great.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ll call you so you get my number. What’s yours?”

When I said that I’d call him, I’d meant calling him via our radios’ point-to-point call mechanism which worked like a phone call. I didn’t correct him, but instead picked up my phone and dictated my number. I was so surprised at my boldness I jumped when my phone vibrated. Looking at the screen I saw I had a missed call from his number and stored it as new contact.

“Got it.”

“Fantastic. See you later, Leon. Looking forward to it.”

I nodded and left. The rest of the shift was passing quickly. I went back to the mother to get in writing that she wouldn’t press or support any charges. I didn’t press for any charges either. Yes, he’d thrown a knife at me, but that had been the drugs, not him. I would need to inform Social Services, though. I completed the paperwork for the review by Sergeant Ward, and was ready to go to the next job.

The rest of the shift was comparatively uneventful. I’d just completed issuing a traffic ticket when my radio signaled an incoming point-to-point call.

“Leon, go ahead.”

“Oi, old Taser gunner,” Nam said. “Food?”

“Sure, what?”

“Ahmed’s kebab?”

“Yeah, why not. You picking up?”

“Sure. I’m around the corner. See you in twenty.”

“Wait, let me check with Mike. I don’t know whether he’d like that.”

“Oh, looking out for your new lover, are you?”

“He’s straight as an arrow.”

“Already asked?”

“Fuck you. I’ll call you back, but you can already make your way there. Who’d say no to a kebab?”

I dialed the code for a point-to-point call and Mike’s shoulder number on my radio.

“Special Constable Mike Lane, Golf-Hotel-November One-Niner, go ahead.”

“Leon here. Up for a Kebab?”

“Ah, I’d love to, but I realised I’ve only a couple of quid on me.”

“No worries, my treat. You were great today.” Really, Jamie?

“Oh, thanks. You, too. I like being crewed with you, Leon. Yes, please.”

I didn’t know how to reply. “Um, great. It’ll take a while, though. I’ll make sure the next shift relieves you. Take their car and come back to the station.”

Having confirmed with Nam to get three kebabs, I checked on the next shift. I was told that one of theirs had come in early and was already on his way to relieve Mike. Back at the station, I handed over the car keys to a new crew, and I went upstairs to wait for Nam and Mike in the cafeteria. It was just a place to sit and eat now, the real thing having been closed in police stations ages ago.

Both of them arrived together, and we sat down. Nam was astonishingly civil, not mentioning anything embarrassing about me, about lovebirds, and he refrained from making any secret cheesy references. He distributed the food which smelled great. A busy shift with a good mix of action, paperwork, and at the end a good kebab. What job could be better?

We started eating, first in silence, the usual come down, being able to relax without being prepared to be called away at any minute. Then Nam asked a simple question, “So, how was the Taser job then?”

I nodded to Mike to give his impressions. He described the incident accurately, stating available information, approach, and entry. When he came to report on the actual action, he overstated a bit.

”Then Leon told him to drop the knife, but he didn’t do it. Honestly, I thought the lad would launch himself at Leon. Instead, he lifted his arm and threw the knife. Who would throw a knife at a police officer? Anyway, Leon fired the Taser and at the same time dodged the incoming knife. Leon hit the lad square in the gut. The shock just downed him. At the same time, Leon dodged that knife. Wow. Really, it was like a scene in a film or a computer game.”

I had to cough. I stared at Nam from under my bangs, secretly imploring him. Nam didn’t look at me nor at Mike. He just said, “Sounds like a serious case of hero worship to me.” He took a forkful of food.

Mike turned red in an instant. “It was just badass,” he murmured and looked down at his food.

“Thanks, Nam. Totally uncalled for.” I turned to Mike, “Don’t let him get to you. You did great today. You’re an excellent and reliable crewmate.”

“Thanks, Leon.”

Mike appeared a bit downtrodden, but after another bite of food he was back to being funny and engaging. He shared some other interesting stories that he’d experienced in his previous duties. We sat together well after we’d finished eating, until Nam said, “Good shift, guys, but I need to hit the hay. Have a good night.”

I dreaded being alone with Mike again. I got up. “Yes, me too. Have a good night, mate. Get home safe.”

“You, too.”

I left to lock away my Taser and fill out the required paperwork. Then, I headed up to the changing rooms. Nam’s locker was open, but he was nowhere to be seen. The sounds of the shower told me where he probably was. I hated the station showers. Always have. The rest of the shift must’ve already left. Not that I was particularly sorry about that.

I took off my radio, hung up the stab vest, equipment belt, and high visibility jacket. Then I placed my cap which I never wore and the paperwork bag neatly in my locker. I put my motorcycle gear on over my uniform, except for the helmet. Kitted up, I went downstairs to lock away the Captor pepper spray.

Once I was outside the station, I took some deep breaths. The September nights were getting properly cold. The cold air woke me up, and I wanted to get home. I hurried to the parking house where my motorbike stood.

A heavy machine in blue, the Kawasaki ZZR 1400 was my only possession that meant something to me. I’d bought it new a couple of years ago just before the model was pulled. Despite its speed and power, it was very easy to ride. Although chunky and long, it wasn’t particularly cumbersome. It had light controls, making it a breeze in traffic, and once out on the open road, it was utterly slick, steadfast and smooth. I loved that machine. We’d done over 60,000 miles together.

The ride home was relaxing but I was driven to go for a run to clear my head. I changed into my running gear and headed out into the night. It was well past ten now. I hadn’t gone far when my phone vibrated notifying me of a new message. What would Nam want at this time of night?

I checked and found a message from Mike. My heart made an involuntary jump. I clicked on it.

“Leon, sorry to disturb you so late. I wanted to apologise for earlier today. Greetz, Mike.” Gosh, that sounded down.

I wrote back quickly. “You have nothing to apologise for. Why’d you think that?”

By answering the message, Mike Lane had been added to my messenger contacts. All social media apps would now suggest him as a friend.

“It’s just what Nam said. I’m sorry if I overstepped any mark. Pls.”

“No, you didn’t overstep anything. As I said, don’t let Nam get to you.”

“I meant that I like being your crewmate. You’re fun to be around.”

I stared at the message. How should I respond? I would need to have a serious word with Sergeant Ward about tonight’s crewing anyway. How could I politely tell him that I wouldn’t want to be crewed with him anymore?

Before I could respond, he continued writing. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, how can I help?” How could I politely deny it? Safe territory, I hoped.

“I’ve been told your real name is Jamie. Your nick, Leon... Is the story true?”

‘You must own it’, Nam had told me so often.

“Yes,” I typed.

He responded immediately, “Sorry, man! What a tosser!!!” Just a moment later, the next message, “I think you’re great.”

I swallowed again. I tried several responses but settled for the truth. “Maybe on the outside. I suck at relationships.”

“I’m sure the man who is lucky enough to have you as a bf enjoys that!” He added three smileys.

I’m such an idiot. I had to explain to ensure he understood that I hadn’t taken his jest negatively. It was quite funny, actually. So, I typed, “Proper knowledge of grammar is very important for taking statements <teachersmiley>, there’s a difference between in and at, although I don’t have to say anything … that harms my defense <smiley>.”

“No need. The proof lies in your character statement. <smiley>”

Character statements were given in court cases, if admissible, that a person was a repeat offender and/or dishonest. Specials had nothing to do with preparing cases for court. How did he know so much about police procedures?

I had to ask. “How do you know about character statements?!?”

“Those in the know enjoy … and remain silent…<devilsmiley>”

“You know that you just challenged the police officer in me to find out? <policemansmiley>”

“I count on you trying! I’m always available for an interview.”

Standing outside on a cold September night, clad in nothing more than some running gear, wasn’t very pleasant. I was getting cold. Also, this conversation confused me. Was he interested in me or just trying to be a friend, cheering me up? I’d met him exactly twice, and so far, he hadn’t shown any inclination that he was interested in men, and we weren’t friends either.

“I bet you are. Sorry, getting cold, need to continue running,” I typed, put the phone away, and started to run. Fast. I seriously needed to clear my head!