BY CRAIG INANEN
Copyright is held by the author.
THE CHICAGO Police Department 2nd Wentworth District third shift roll call didn’t contain anything unusual. There was an alert giving notice of recent burglaries from vehicles in several neighbourhoods. Unknown offenders were breaking windows of parked vehicles. The offenders take the steering wheel airbag from inside the vehicle. The involved vehicles are various Honda models. A new patrol officer was welcomed to the district, Michael Campbell.
Officer Campbell raised his chin one inch, acknowledging his identity. He was a rookie, just transferred in from another district. 30 years old, he was also more squared away than most of the others in the squad room. The only things standing out about his appearance were steel-toed work boots but they were polished to a high sheen and met the standards for prescribed footwear. If anyone looked closely he wore an authorized military service pin on the lower right corner of his left pocket flap indicating 10 years in the U. S. Marines. You couldn’t see the tattoo but he was permanently marked with the Marine’s Combat Action Ribbon on his chest as well. His USMC and Semper Fi tattoos were covered by his long sleeves.
Squad car pairings were announced, as usual. Campbell would be paired with Moe Landowski, a 30+ year veteran of the Chicago streets. Landowski was what some called a “dinosaur”. Others referred to him as “old school.” He still carried a wooden night stick, a Billy club, instead of one of the collapsible batons. It was as scarred and battered as he was.
Officer Landowski cornered Captain Garret as soon as roll call was finished. “I don’t want a partner, Captain. I particularly don’t want some rookie. I work alone.”
“Until Rodriguez comes back from vacation I don’t have anyone else to pair him with. I’m not going to put him in a car by himself. Make the best of it, it’s only 10 days.”
They’d been assigned car #0213. Landowski told his new partner, “Check the back seat. Make sure there aren’t any weapons or drugs hidden there. Make sure it isn’t covered with puke.” He walked around the car to the passenger side.
Campbell did it and slid in behind the steering wheel. He buckled in, started the car and looked at Landowski.
“Left on Wentworth, then right on 51st Street, we’ll go north on State Street.”
Campbell nodded. He didn’t say anything. Landowski braced himself for the inevitable questions he got from a rookie and a new partner. Exchanged biographies, where they were going, what they were doing, he expected an onslaught of those sorts of comments. They didn’t happen. Campbell drove, now and then leaning forward in the seat and looking up.
They were going past DuSable High School when Landowski finally asked, “What are you looking for? You drive, I look.”
“Snipers,” Campbell said. “It’s a habit, sorry.”
Landowski considered that. “Not too many snipers in Chicago,” he remarked. When they crossed 43rd Street, driving past the darkness that was Metcalfe Park he asked, “Why’d you get transferred to Wentworth District?”
“Excessive brutality complaint during an arrest.”
“What’d you do?”
“Punched a guy who tried to run.” They stopped for the traffic light at Pershing Road. “A few times.”
“That’s not so bad, it happens.”
“Maybe 10 times,” Campbell added. They pulled away from the intersection. “My partner complained.”
“Got it,” Moe had the picture. “This is our beat,” he said. Even though they rode in a squad car they were still referred to as “beats.” He would have been at home back in the days when patrol officers covered their beats on foot.
As they approached Stateway Park he spotted a car in the parking lot. “Turn left here. Park closes at 11:00,” he told Campbell. “Pull over there where your headlights shine on that car.” He pointed. The dark blue Honda sedan was motionless and silent. No one could be seen in the interior. No one was visible nearby. “Light ‘em up and blip the siren.” The Chicago Police Department is the only police department in the state of Illinois that uses all blue lights for their police vehicles. When they’re turned on they’re highly visible and lend a sense of urgency to the immediate area. “Open your door and cover me. Stay behind your door with your finger outside the trigger guard. I don’t want to be shot accidentally,” he instructed. Both car doors opened simultaneously. He walked toward the Honda, shining his flashlight. Campbell stood with his arms braced on the top doorframe in the over watch position.
There was nothing out of the ordinary with the car, or the visible contents inside. It was locked. Landowski returned to the squad car. “Run the plate number.” COPD squad cars are equipped with license plate readers, it’s not necessary to call the number to dispatch. The plate came up clean with a Chicago address. They wrote two tickets, one for the parking violation and one for no city sticker.
Campbell drove northward slowly, five miles per hour under the limit. It’s not like they had a destination, they were on patrol observing the city. “Turn right here on 37th,” Landowski said. “There’s a 7 – 11 store on the right hand side and there’s probably a kid standing out front in a Cubs baseball cap. Don’t slow down, just cruise past. Tell me if you think you can catch him when he runs.”
“I don’t run so well,” Campbell told him. “My right leg is pinned together with titanium pins.” They drove past the store. The kid was there. He looked as if he was 14 years old.
“There he is,” Landowski said. The youngster looked fit and wiry, healthy. “He’s too fast for me. I think he’s a runaway, trying to sell himself. What happened to your leg?”
“IED,” Campbell explained. “Improvised explosive device.” He studied the kid. “I’ll give it a try. No guarantee.” He drove a little further then raised his forefinger and thumb, as if he were pointing something out. “How about I wait around the corner, you pull up, and I catch him when he runs?”
Landowski considered that. “Might work. Drive to the back of the store.” He drove around the block, exiting the car in the alley behind the store. They both got out. Mike Campbell walked down the side of the building. Landowski took over behind the wheel. He drove around the block and approached the 7 – 11 parking lot as he had done a couple of times during the past week.
It worked like a charm. When the boy saw the squad car he edged along the front of the building and quick – like – a – bunny started around the corner. The police could question him about a curfew violation at this time of night. A minute later Campbell marched him back around the building on his tiptoes, right arm twisted up behind his back.
Questioning revealed he was a 13 year old run away from the suburban town of Elmhurst. They took him back to the station, did the necessary paperwork, turning him over to the Department of Children & Family Services. At the station, he seemed relieved to have been apprehended. Captain Garret asked Landowski, “How are you two getting along out there?”
“Fine,” Landowski told him. “Got to get back to it.” Campbell just nodded.
Back in the patrol car Landowski directed them down 51st Street. “Let’s see who’s hanging around the Walgreens.” There were people there, several cars in the parking lot. One was a silver Kia with two young men inside, parked in the furthest parking spot from the door to the drugstore. “Why don’t you drive back to Provident Hospital? We’ll take a run through their parking lot and come back.”
Campbell didn’t ask any questions. He drove back west, entered the hospital parking lot and slowly drove up and down the rows of parked cars, alert for people stealing airbags from Hondas. When they returned to the Walgreens the Kia was still there with the same two occupants. “Pull up behind that Kia. Let’s see what they’re doing.” Mike Campbell pulled the squad behind the Kia at an angle. It wouldn’t be able to leave the parking spot until they moved. Landowski exited the patrol car and rapped on the driver’s window of the Kia. The driver finally rolled down the window. The musky, skunky smell of marijuana was immediately detectable. “Step out of the car,” he commanded. After some protests from the driver, “We’re not doing anything,” and, “You can’t just pull me out of the car,” he was frisked and searched. Landowski came up with a plastic bag of pills, which he held up so Campbell could see it. Mike got out of the squad. “Check the passenger,” Landowski told him.
“Exit the vehicle, put your hands on your head, and walk to the back of the car.” The passenger, a slightly older light-skinned black man complied resignedly. “Put your hands flat on the trunk and spread your feet.”
“Aw man,” he began. Officer Campbell smashed the passenger’s face down into the trunk lid and held him there.
“I don’t say it twice.” He kicked the feet further apart while he rested his weight on the passenger’s back. “You got anything in your pockets that will stick or poke me?” A couple of people, a man and a woman, stopped outside the drugstore door, watching. Campbell searched him roughly, cuffing his hands behind his back.
The driver was in handcuffs too, still protesting. “Those are for my mom” and “You can’t search my car.”
“Yeah I can,” Landowski told him as he opened the rear door of car #0213. The crowd in front of the drug store continued growing. Campbell’s search turned up a tactical knife strapped to the passenger’s leg and the absence of any identification as well as $300 which was arrayed on the trunk lid.
Landowski examined the knife. It had an elaborate cutting edge nearly five inches long. “Not legal to carry this knife concealed in Chicago,” he remarked to the passenger. “You got a permit?”
“Not on him,” Campbell replied. The man started to speak; Campbell smashed his face into the trunk again. “Shut up, scumbag, unless I ask you a question.”
“He asked . . .” he began.
Campbell bounced his head off the trunk lid again. “Worry about me, not him.” Pushing the passenger to the back door of the squad car, he added, “Worry about both of us.”
They searched the car, turning up the mother lode stuffed down between the seats, a baggie of non-prescription fentanyl. That was all they found, but combined with the other pills, the knife and the cash elevated the arrest to a felony. When they got the two back to be booked and the passenger was properly identified it turned out there was an outstanding warrant on him for parole violations.
“Let’s run back to Stateway Park and sit on the Honda we ticketed unless something comes up,” Moe Landowski said when they were back on the street again. “That’s like a bait car, with the tickets on it. Maybe we’ll find some airbag thieves.”
Campbell nodded.
Backed in next to the park utility building the two policemen had to sit outside against the front bumper of the car to have a clear line of sight on the Honda. In the late night shadows they were hidden. The police radio volume was turned down low and they listened for calls as they watched. Nearly an hour went by; there were no calls for beat 0213. Both men were comfortable with silence. Finally Landowski asked, “How did you pass the POWER test if you can’t run?”
“Oh, I can do it. That was a snap. It just hurts. I can’t meet the Marine Combat Readiness requirements, though.”
“Combat readiness?”
“Yeah, the pointy end of the sword, you know?”
“You get a runner; a good sideways swing at the knee with your baton will bring him down. Knees can handle a lot of upward and downward stress, sideways not so much. When I was coming up we used to call it the “Guinea shuffle” back when the Italians were running the mob. They limp for a long time afterwards.”
“Good to know.”
They lapsed into silence again. It was a little before 3:00 AM when a Hyundai with a crumpled right front fender drove around the chain at the entrance to the park and came to a stop next to the Honda. Two shadowy figures got out and went to the driver’s door of the Honda. A minute later they had it open.
“Pull up behind that Hyundai, block it in. We got something.” Campbell started the squad car, actuated the lights and siren, driving across the parking area all in one motion. Landowski came across the asphalt shouting “Police! Police! Get down! Get down!” shining his flashlight on the two figures. One of them complied. The other headed toward the trees at a run.
Campbell screeched to a halt behind the Hyundai, jumping out of the car. Ignoring the suspect on the ground, he took off after the fleeing man. “Stop! Stop! Don’t you run!” The perp looked back over his shoulder, to see Mike Campbell pounding after him. “If you run I’ll beat you bloody when I catch you!”
By then Landowski had collared the member of the duo who’d gotten down on his knees next to the Honda. Campbell felled the runner with a baton to the knee just before they entered the trees, jumping on his back, taking him to the ground in a rear-naked chokehold, one arm around his neck, the other applying leverage. “I told you not to run!” he shouted. There was never any contest; Campbell controlled the suspect as soon as he grasped him despite the struggle. On the ground, he rabbit punched the man who had attempted to flee several times until the resistance ceased.
When the officers had both of the pair from the Hyundai on the ground between the cars, with their hands cuffed behind their backs, they did a cursory search of the two men and the vehicle. “Burglary tools and two airbags,” Landowski announced.
“Bad news for you,” Campbell said and he kicked the suspect who had tried to flee. The steel-toed shoes carried a heavy impact.
Landowski radioed in they were returning with two suspects who might be the pair who’d been stealing airbags from Hondas recently. They’d been caught in the act.
At the station Captain Garret remarked to Landowski, “You guys have had a busy night.”
“Serving and protecting.” Landowski grinned at him.
“How’d the rookie do?”
“He’ll do. He’s got some rough edges, but he’ll do.” He glanced at Campbell who was headed toward the locker room and the showers.”
“That’s good, Moe, only nine more days now.”
“Don’t sweat it, Captain,” Landowski told him. “I said he’ll do.” He walked off toward the locker room himself.
Captain Garret looked at his receding back in surprise, thinking, “Will wonders never cease?”
***
Craig lives in midwest U.S. His work has been most recently published in Straylight Literary Magazine. It will also be featured in the Black Hare Press Year Eight Anthology and can be found on CommuterLit as well as in other fine magazines. His crime, police procedural and speculative fiction often include historical elements and are frequently set in Chicago. [Photo credit: Brian Milo]
