Fairy Tales Do Come True

I once read a novel where the life of a cop was described as hours of pure boredom broken by seconds of sheer terror. That seems to be a favorite way for writers who don't know a damn thing about police work to impress their readers. They'd be better writers if they rode shotgun in a squad car for a year or so. Then they might have a better idea of an average cop's life. They'd never go for that, though. A lot of people who write for a living are convinced their opinion is the absolute truth, and think facts just get in the way of a good story.

After a lot of years of wearing a badge, I think I pretty much qualify as a real expert. Yes, it gets boring riding around in a squad car for hours without seeing anything. I'm not ashamed to say there have also been a couple of times I pissed my pants because of the situation in which I found myself. A cop's job is much more than that, though.

Writers probably pick the boredom and terror thing because that's what people who aren't cops think they usually see. They see us walking up to their car to give them a speeding ticket and we probably do look bored. We're taught at the academy not to show emotion in order to maintain control of the situation. If they happen to see us when under fire from some guy who thinks he can shoot his way out of going to jail, we probably do look scared. That's because we are. We're human beings and have the same emotions as all human beings.

It would be nice to be able to show emotion sometimes. It's difficult not to when we're called out to a serious crime.

If we're nabbing a perp, we really can't display the emotions we're feeling inside because we're happy. Once we have the guy in handcuffs, they're probably headed for a few years out of touch with anything except a cell mate named "Slash" who works out every day and likes fucking men in the ass. Those days are pretty good for cops because we take a bad guy off the street for a while.

Sometimes that day is the worst day of their entire life because they met up with the asshole now in handcuffs and it didn't go well. I've investigated murders, rapes, and robberies, and none of the victims was having a good day. Those days aren't so good for cops either. We can't do much after the fact except say we're sorry and we'll do what we can.

Then there are the times cops love, the times we help someone who needs help but can't get it. I've had all of those times, a lot of hauling in the bad guys, more than I'd like of consoling victims, and a few of helping someone who needs help. The times I've helped someone more than make up for the others. Ashley was one of those good times.

Like most cities, even relatively small ones, we have our share of homeless people. They tend to congregate in places that offer them some measure of safety. I suppose it's the old thing about safety in numbers and they do need that. Homeless people are prime targets for those monsters in people suits with a desire to hurt and maim.

Homeless people also like a place that's at least a little protected from the weather. During the day they can walk through a mall or city building and stay warm and dry, but at night they're on their own. The pavilion in McGregor Park was just such a place.

It had been built in the thirties as a way for the federal government to inject some money into the local economy and served as a place for entertainment. Bands would play on the stage at one end and people would dance on the concrete floor. There was also a local amateur theater group who put on a play once a month. In the days before everybody had television and air conditioning, those bands and plays were about the only entertainment available on a hot Saturday night. They were also free, so anybody could have some fun to take their minds off the Depression for a while.

The place would have seated about two hundred on folding chairs for the plays, maybe seventy five on chairs around the edges if there was a dance. Now, it had seven picnic tables and nothing else. The stage was still there. It was a platform about three feet above the floor, with doors on the front of the structure underneath. Those doors opened to the space under the stage where the city used to store the folding chairs on rolling racks.

That space was empty now, and under that stage is where about a dozen of the homeless community lived. It was sheltered from the weather and the closed area under the stage helped concentrate their body heat. Getting under there meant they had to crawl on their hands and knees, but with the blankets they sometimes got from the local churches or found in some dumpster, they could stay warm in the winter and out of the rain year round.

The pavilion was so dilapidated nobody ever used it and the homeless people didn't tear things up, so we cops pretty much ignored them. The people who lived next to the park didn't. The Captain got a call one day from one of those irate citizens.

"They're living there like they owned the place. They're dirty and they wear rags and every night they crawl under that stage like a bunch of animals. I don't want my kids seeing that."

The Captain didn't have much of a choice but to send me out there. He didn't need another group speaking at the meeting of the city council like the last time.

"Don, go out there and see if you can get them to go to a shelter or something. If you can't, I'll have to send out enough men to clear the place and that'll just put them back to sleeping in the alleys again. One or two will get hurt and the newspapers will have a field day."

He was worried about the newspapers. I was worried about the people because I knew most of them. I didn't really know them by name, but I saw them panhandling on the street corners when I drove my beat. Usually, they'd wave when I drove by. I'd talked to some as well.

They were a very diverse group and most were over forty. A few were ex- military who were messed up mentally when they came back from fighting in somebody else's war. They couldn't adjust to what most people think is normal and so couldn't hold a job. With no income, they had no place else to live, so they lived on the street.

Some were people who got slammed in what the government called a recession. It wasn't a recession for them. To them it was a full-fledged, fire-breathing depression. They lost their jobs and couldn't find anything else that paid enough to keep up with the mortgage and credit card bills. After the house and car were gone, they ended up on the street too.

We'd hauled in a couple on drug charges, but for the most part, they were just people trying to survive in a society that didn't care as long as they didn't have to look at them.

I drove out to McGregor about four. They'd be coming back to what they called home then. When I drove up there were already a few people sitting at the picnic tables. I locked the squad car and walked over. The people at the tables eyed me suspiciously. I smiled and said "Hi, I'm Officer Jenkins. How you doin' tonight."

One of the men who wore an Army field jacket spoke up.

"You're that cop what drives around here aren'tcha?"

"That would be me."

"You come to tell us to leave?"

"Yeah, that's what they told me to do."

"It was that asshole who lives in that big brick house, wadn' it?"

I shrugged.

"I don't know who placed the complaint."

"Nah, it was him all right. Comes out by his fence every night and watches us. What's he care anyway? We ain't hurtin' nobody and nobody ever uses this place."

"He told the desk sergeant he didn't want his kids seeing you.'

Another man spoke then.

"Maybe he'd do better to make sure his kids get an education so they don't end up like this."

There were nodding heads and muttered conversation then, and as that went on a few more joined the group. That led to another round of conversation as the early arrivals explained what was going on. I finally got it stopped by raising my voice.

"People, calm down and listen to me."

Gradually it got quiet. When I figured I didn't have to yell to be heard I explained what I'd done before I drove over to evict them.

"Yes, you have to leave, but there are places you can go, at least temporarily. There are three shelters within ten blocks from here. You can get a bed and a meal, and you can stay for three nights.

"I called the church in the next block and they'll take four for a couple nights. The church on the other side of the park can take another four if you'll sweep up and clean the kitchen."

That started another round of loud conversation until the man in the field jacket cleared his throat and everybody stopped talking.

"Officer, that's all well and good, but we've been there before. What happens after those three or four days?"

I didn't know, and I wasn't about to lie to him.

"I don't know."

"What if we won't leave?"

I took a deep breath.

"If you don't leave, the department will send enough officers to make you leave. If you resist, you'll be arrested and taken to jail."

"Not much of a fucking choice is it?"

"No, but it's the best I can do. I can give you until tomorrow. If you're still here tomorrow night, well...there's not much I can do for you."

I spent my shift the next day doing what cops usually do. I cruised my route watching for things that looked suspicious like some guy quickly running down an alley when he saw the squad car or the car that was weaving in and out of traffic. While doing all that, I listened to the calls on the radio.

That day, none of the calls were close enough I'd have made any difference by the time I got there. I did stop one car for running a red light. The little blonde girl was seventeen, and started to cry when I handed her the ticket. I tried to calm her down.

"Miss, the ticket will only cost you fifty dollars. Running red lights could easily cost you your life. Promise me you won't do it again."

She sniffed, blew her nose in a tissue, and nodded.

I smiled when she drove off. Maybe, just maybe, she'd leaned a lesson today and wouldn't be in such a hurry the next time. I'd watched the Fire Department and the EMT's pull too many young kids out of crumpled up cars.

About four, I drove over to McGregor Park to see if the homeless people had done what I asked. I figured they would have. Those people didn't have a place to live, but most of them weren't dumb. They'd stay away from McGregor and look for somewhere else. There were a lot of abandoned buildings down by the railroad yard. I figured they'd probably end up in one of those.

There was only one woman sitting on one of the picnic tables when I drove up, and she didn't look homeless. Most of the people who live on the streets wear a mix of clothes they find or that are donated to one of the shelters in town. They carry everything they have in either a bag over their shoulder or in a small cart or buggy they pulled out of a dumpster somewhere.

This woman was dressed like any housewife -- jeans, a button up short sleeved top, and running shoes - and she had one of those suitcases with little wheels sitting beside her. Her long, brown hair was clean and brushed and fell in waves around her shoulders.

I pulled the squad car into a parking space, locked the doors and walked over to the woman. I saw fear in her eyes as I got closer. She got up and started to walk away, but I stopped her.

"Miss, please don't go. Do you need help? Looks like you might."

She turned then, and though she tried to be calm, I could tell she was nervous.

"No, officer, I was just out for a walk. I'll be going now, if that's OK."

I walked closer and smiled.

"I don't know many people who take a suitcase with them when they go for a walk."

She looked down at the case, and then back at me.

"Oh, this? I was just...just..."

It was then that she started to cry. In between the sobs I got part of her story.

"A month ago I had a job and an apartment. Now, I don't have either. I got what they call down-sized, but that's just a nicer word for fired. I tried for a month to find another job, but with the economy like it is, nobody's hiring. Without the job, I couldn't pay my rent. The super kicked me out this morning. All he let me do was take whatever I could put in this suitcase. He's keeping the rest to sell. I don't know what to do. I heard there were people with no place to go who lived here, so I walked all the way across town. There's nobody here and I'm afraid to stay by myself."

I'm not good at consoling women. It's not that I'm a complete asshole where women are concerned. I like women. I just don't know what to do to make them feel better in a case like this. I'm ashamed to say I let her cry until she apparently cried her self out. When she stopped sniffing, she looked me square in the face.

"Are you going to arrest me?"

I tried to smile.

"No, not tonight, but you need to find somewhere else to go. The reason you didn't find anyone here is I told them all they had to leave. The Chief had a complaint from one of the homeowners who live next to the park."

She frowned then.

"That would be why all the shelters say they're full then."

"Yes, I expect so. You don't have family you could stay with for a while?"

"No, not here anyway. I'm originally from Indianaplolis. I have a brother there, and he's all that's left of the family. Before you ask, I can't call him. We haven't spoken since my father died. Jack thought he should get everything because he took care of Dad before he died, and he sued to get it. I got half of Dad's estate, but it cost me almost that much in legal fees. He's still mad at me. He wouldn't talk to me even if I had a phone and I don't have one. They cut off my service last week."

I wasn't really sure what to do with her. I couldn't just leave her there, but I knew the shelters were already full because they'd told me that the day before. I'd had to talk long and hard to get them to accept any more. The churches I'd called had been reluctant to take as many as they already had. They wouldn't want any more either. Unless I could find a shelter with one empty bed, the only thing I could really do to get her somewhere safe was take her to jail, but I didn't have anything to charge her with. I didn't really want to see her in a holding cell either.

For lack of anything better to do, I tried to get any information that might help her out.

"What's your name, Miss."

"Ashley Dunhill, and I'm not really a miss anymore."

"What kind of work do...did you do, Ashley?"

"I'm an artist. I did the artwork for CD covers for one of the recording companies here, well, until they hired a kid who was good with a computer. They kept me long enough to teach him how things worked, and then they let me go. They paid him less money than they did me, and what he drew on his computer was more like what the company wanted for their type of music. They also didn't have to transfer it to digital. It already was digital."

"What kind of music was that?"

Ashley sighed.

"It's that God-awful rap stuff. It's not really music at all, and what they wanted on the CD covers was stuff I just couldn't make myself do very well."

I nodded.

"I know it doesn't help, but I know that type of music so I can understand, a little anyway. I'm no artist, but I'd have trouble doing anything with that too."

She smiled half-heartedly.

"Thank you for saying that. It does make me feel a little better. I just wish they'd given me some warning instead of just calling me in and telling me I didn't have a job any more. If I'd had some time...well, maybe I could have moved to another city where there was a job. Now, I can't do anything except try to find someplace to spend the nights where I won't get robbed or...well, I suppose you know what could happen to me better than I do."

I did know, and it didn't make things any easier for me. As bad as it is to say, if she'd been a homeless man, I wouldn't have been so concerned. Most men are big enough and strong enough to defend themselves. Ashley couldn't have weighed much more than one ten and she didn't look very strong.

The voice in my head was telling me to take her to my place and let her stay until she got back on her feet. I listened to that voice and really wanted to do just that, but the cop in me said that was a bad idea. I didn't know Ashley at all and for all I knew, this could be just a scam to convince me to do just that. Once I was gone, she'd call her boyfriend and they'd waltz off with most of what I owned that was portable.

I'd investigated a case like that just last year. The guy felt sorry for the girl who knocked on his door and told him a similar story. He left her in his house when he went to work, and came home to find his TV, stereo, three cameras, and most of the tools in his garage gone. The neighbors said a pickup truck drove into his drive about half an hour after he left, and the guy and girl loaded everything and then drove off. We never caught them.

"Yes, I know. Don't you have any friends who'd put you up for a while?"

Ashley's face was a mask of anger.

"You actually want me to call one of my friends, tell them I'm homeless and ask them to give me a place to stay and feed me until I find a job? I don't think so. What would they think? Good people don't just lose their jobs for no reason. They'd think I was...well, I don't know what they'd think, but it wouldn't be good, and they wouldn't let me stay.

Ashley sniffed again.

"Besides, I don't have any women I'd call a friend. Most of the people in the recording business are men, and the only reason any man would let me stay is if he thought I'd sleep with him. I got those come-ons at work all the time. I'm not into that sort of thing and before you start thinking what you're probably already thinking, just because I'm an artist doesn't mean I like women that way either."

The more I listened, the more I was convinced Ashey was telling me the truth. It wasn't just her voice. At the police academy, and in some refresher training over the years, I'd learned a lot about body language. Ashley didn't have any of the "tells" that would indicate she was lying. I didn't really like the decision I made, but it seemed like the only thing I could do for her at the time.

"Ashley, I can do one of two things to get you a safe place to spend the night. I can arrest you and take you to jail, or I do know of a place that might take you for a night or two. You probably won't think it's great, but it's a roof over your head and it'll be safe.

Ashley frowned.

"Jail doesn't sound very nice."

"No, it isn't."

"Where is the other place?"

"I know a woman who owes me a favor, but before I call her, I need to explain a couple of things. She's an escort. Do you know what that is?"

"Sure. She's a prostitute."

"Well, not exactly. Jennifer doesn't stand on the street corner or hang out in a bar waiting for some guy to make an offer. She's a beautiful young woman who, for the right price, will accompany a man or woman who needs or wants to be seen with a beautiful young woman."

"A man or a woman?"

"Yes. There are women who like being with another woman, and Jennifer doesn't judge."

"So, they pay her to go out with them and that's all? Doesn't sound like she'd be making much money."

"Well, Jennifer will do more if she likes the man or woman and they're willing to pay her, but she's doing quite well money-wise. A night out with her will cost you somewhere around a thousand, more if you want a little more personal attention.

"If she owes you a favor, you must have done something for her, but I can't imagine what that would be. She must know a lot of rich and powerful people who could help her. Why would she go to a cop?"

"Those rich and powerful people would prefer not to be connected with her outside of the special occasions when they take her out, so no, she couldn't go to one of them. I sort of helped her out one night when one of her dates got a little rough with her. He split her lip and gave her a black eye. I took her to my place and let her clean up and spend the night. Afterwards, we set a trap for the guy and he took the bait. Maybe you read about a director of one of the city departments who resigned last year?