By F. Ted Atchley, III
July 10, 2040
A night like tonight would have shaken me as a rookie cop, but it didn’t seem to faze Aaron Verde. I engaged autopilot on the patrol car. My arms still ached from holding back the teenager. He wanted to kill his father. I couldn’t blame him, given the bruises on his mom’s face. His screams still echoed in my ears.
And it hadn’t even been our most intense call of the night.
We continued through the run-down neighborhood of ranch-style houses shaded by wizened trees.
“Most patrols won’t be this crazy. It’s okay to admit when you’re shook.”
Verde waved me off. “Nothing I didn’t expect. This world is all pain and heartache.”
I rubbed my forehead. “You won’t last long on the force with that attitude.”
“It’s the truth.”
A flashing alert on the dashboard cut off my rebuttal. The car stopped in front of a small cinderblock house. The windshield HUD highlighted a busted front window.
Verde and I approached the house, peering in. The contents of various drawers littered the floor. Something fishy was in the air, and it wasn’t just the day-old cat food by the front door. The broken glass from the window covered the porch.
A late-model sedan pulled into the driveway and a petite brunette along with two young boys piled out. The brunette’s threadbare sundress whipped in the cool breeze as they joined us on the porch. Each boy had bruised arms.
Her long hair covered part of her face. “Is there a problem?”
“I’m Officer McLain,” I said, “and this is Officer Verde. What’s your name?”
“Cindy Clarke.”
“Our patrol AI spotted the broken window. Looks like a breaking and entering. Protocol requires we investigate.”
Cindy’s eyes widened, and her lips quivered.
“We’ll need you and your sons to wait by your vehicle,” Verde said.
Her eyes scanned the road. “Just hurry.”
She herded the boys back to her car.
Verde and I swept the house. Outside of the boys’ messy shared room, everything was tidy. And the eighty-two-inch flat screen and latest gaming console hadn’t appealed to the robber. Interesting.
We retrieved Cindy and the boys and escorted them inside. The boys hurried to their rooms. Instead of looking for missing items, Cindy grabbed a broom. We trailed her to the front porch, where she swept the glass.
“Mom!” both boys yelled in quick succession. Rapid footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors.
The boys burst onto the porch. “The piggybanks are missing.”
“How much was in them?” I asked Cindy.
“About seventy-five dollars.” She swallowed hard and glanced down the street. “My husband will be home soon.”
“Ma’am,” Verde growled, “we need you to check if anything else is missing.”
The glass scraped against the concrete porch as she swept it into a pile. “It’s all here.”
I clenched my jaw as the clues fell into place. Let us help you.
The low rumble of a diesel engine filled the air as a large pickup pulled into the driveway.
Cindy worked faster. “I think you should go.”
“Take Mrs. Clarke’s statement,” I told Verde.
The pickup’s door opened, and a man—six-three, and two-hundred and fifty pounds—emerged wearing blue jeans and a flannel shirt, a bandage wound around his hand.
“Why are the cops here?” he yelled.
“It’s okay, Harold. Everything’s fine.” Cindy sounded like a mother trying to calm an upset toddler.
Harold took unsteady steps toward the house.
I marched up to him. “Sir, there’s been a break-in.”
He stared at me with bloodshot eyes, and his breath stunk of beer. “Is my TV still there?”
“Yes,” I said. “Your family is fine, too.”
He pointed to the patrol car. “Leave. We don’t want you here.”
“What happened to your hand?”
He stared at the bandage. “I had an accident at work. Why’s that other cop talking to my woman?”
“He’s just taking her statement.”
“Cindy, don’t you tell them nothing.” Harold tried to push past me.
He had the height and weight advantage, but I held my ground. I stepped on the glass Cindy hadn’t swept, making it crunch as loud as I could. “Funny thing about this break-in. The glass is on the front porch.”
“So what?”
“See, for the glass to be out here, the window had to be broken from the inside. If the perp busted it from the outside, the glass would be in your house.” Instead of withdrawing my notepad, I slid my hand down to my stun baton, nice and slow. “But you know that, don’t you?”
He swung at my head, his aim off-balance and clumsy.
I sidestepped the attack and touched the baton to his temple.
It flashed, and the smell of ozone filled the air.
Harold collapsed to the ground. I cuffed him as I called for Verde.
Cindy refused to press charges for the robbery, but we arrested him for assaulting an officer. We loaded the unconscious Harold into the back of the patrol car. Maybe a night apart would help them all.
I ordered the patrol car to take us back to the station.
Verde shook his head. “More of the same. What a messed up world.”
“Dirtbags and deadbeats is all you see?”
“It’s all there is.” Verde jerked his thumb toward the backseat. “The proof is right there.”
I counted on my fingers. “We had three incidents tonight; the man with a knife to his wife’s throat, the teenager ready to kill his dad for hitting his mom, and that deadbeat drunk who stole from his own children to buy a case of cheap beer.”
Verde nodded.
“That’s your proof, but during our patrol tonight, we’ve passed over a thousand houses.” I pointed out several quiet homes. “Nine-hundred-and-ninety-seven where we didn’t get called. Three where we did. What does the preponderance of the evidence say?”
Verde harumphed.
I hoped the kid would learn. I sure did. I just wish my old partner could see me now.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
That was beautiful!
The voice and style of the character really hooked me!
Plus, the ending was satisfying… :D
Thank you so much. I’m glad you enjoyed the story.
So easy to see the problems and ignore the blessings. Great story!
Thank you, Arlan. I’m so glad you enjoyed the story.
3 incidents per night over a year of patrols is pretty grim. (do that math). maybe as a recap of the entire year with 3 incidents would be more uplifting…
What appears to be a downer is actually turned around at the end through simple logic. Very different—in a good way—sort of story.
Really enjoyed the quick read. Question though- why was the glass broken at all if he didn’t need to get access to the house?