Raleigh 911!, part II

Here’s the second part of my Raleigh 911! post. When we left our intrepid hero, he was on the way to bust a murder suspect.

We approached the area and the two officers discussed their capture strategy.

Chris then turns to me. “If I get out to run or have to leave in a hurry, ” he said, “just sit tight in the car with the doors locked. No one will mess with you.”

Gulp. Ok, we’re not playing around anymore. I nodded and felt my pulse double in an instant.

The other officer headed down the side street as we headed down the main street. Two men, oblivious to what is about to happen, walk through the intersection seconds before we pass through it.

“We’ve got to hurry or they’ll crow us out,” Chris said as we wheeled in front of them and sped up the hill to where the suspect was.

As we topped the hill, a crowd of about 6 teenage men quickly took notice of us and began walking away with their backs to us. Like clockwork Chris drove past them and stopped in front of them, blocking their way. At the same time the other officer crossed our path and blocked their rear escape.

Chris leaps out of the car and walks back to the men, the door slamming behind him. The seconds stretch seemingly into hours. I can’t see anything behind us as the car’s cage blocks my view. That, or I’m too chickenshit to watch.

The next thing I know, I see a man’s face – a kid’s, really – pressed against the driver side window as Chris cuffs and searches him.

“You got any weapons?” Chris asks and the kid says no.

The back door of the car opened and the next thing I know, I’m sharing the car with a murder suspect.

Time got really slow. I tried not to slink into my seat but aldo tried not to draw attention to myself. The sound of the car’s blasting, ice-cold air conditioning drowned out my rapid breathing. I sat stone-faced, taking occasional peeks out the side mirror to see what might happen next. The crowd that was around this kid moped aimlessly down the street, arms swinging, sometimes glancing back to the car with me and their friend inside. A moment went by.

“Why am I here?” the kid asked me in his best choirboy voice. He was probably not expecting an answer and that was certainly what he got. What could I say? What does one say to a murder suspect? I sat still and checked the mirror again for any sign I could hop out.

“Man, its hot as an oven in here,” he exclaimed to no one in particular. I wondered how this could be as Chris keeps his car ice-cold and the kid just got yanked from a sweltering city street.

When he saw I was in no mood for conversation, he muttered indignantly. “if this is how you expect me to talk, I’m not talking, man.” The famous James Bond Goldfinger “do you expect me to talk” line flashed through my head and I smiled in spite of myself.

Time ticked by. A secondary crowd had gathered around the police cars, which totaled four now. My passenger and I seemed to call a silent truce. I noticed by the light of the dashboard how my collared shirt could be mistaken for a police uniform. I was secretly thanking myself for wearing it over the plaid shirt I had been considering.

“Excuse me, could to turn up the air conditioning, please?” came the polite, quiet request from the back seat.

Well, why not, I said to myself. Only I didn’t know where it is. A mountain of cop electronics sat between me and the dashboard.

I reached up to the car’s MDT (or “laptop” as the rest of us call it), folded down the screen, and saw that the laptop’s bracket was blocking the AC controls. I fumbled again with the laptop, managing to push it away from the dashboard. Then I managed to guide my shaking fingers well enough to click the AC fan up one notch.

“Thank you, sir,” he said in response. I guessed it was his adrenaline that had made him warm.

Not long after, I saw Chris walking up to the passenger side door. He motioned for me to get out, at which point I blow my cover again. I cannot see the door handle and fumble for it lamely for ten seconds. Finally finding it, I stepped out of the car.

“My sargent is going to take you back to your car,” Chris told me. “We’re going to take this guy downtown for a while. It’s going to be a long night.”

I congratulate him on his catch as does his sargent.

“Oh, and let me give you this,” he says as he hands me his business card. “If you need anything or want to ride again, just give me a call.”

I thanked him and waved goodbye as I hopped into the back of the sargeant’s car. On the way, he described a scenario that might have involved the suspect. It of course was about drugs and I noted a hint of resignation in his voice as if the police have run out of tools to fix this problem. There’s no time for any follow-up questions as soon I’m in front of my car again. Within a few minutes I was back at home, not wanting to wake my sleeping family but still bouncing off the walls with pent-up energy.

It was not a restless sleep, but not because I felt less secure in my neighborhood. If anything, I now feel far more secure in my neighborhood, knowing the people out there who are keeping it safe. I also know what really bad neighborhoods look like, and what kind of people merit a closer eye. My neighborhood has nothing to worry about in that respect. So now that my adrenaline from that night has subsided I sleep like a baby.

This kind of safe feeling has lasted well after the ridealong ended. I’ve found myself more willing to study people I pass on the street. I feel more willing to challenge behavior I see that might appear suspicious. In short, I feel more ownership of my neighborhood and its surrounding neighborhoods.

Knowledge is power. Knowledge, then, is the police’s biggest ally against crime. It was good to have shared this knowledge, at least for a few hours.