An Oldie But a Goodie

This is for my friend and mentor, the Angel of Death. Thanks for always pointing me in the right direction even if you don't know it.

So I'm a young P-II dog as we call it, or a regular police officer. Slick sleeves. No stripes, no hashmarks on the sleeve to show any kind of rank or noticeable time on the job yet. I'm out there trying to make my bones. I'm working a specialized Z car detail in The Jungles, hunting for the bad guys. Z car means we are on special detail (permanent until further notice in this case). The folks in the unit, well, we only handle the calls that come out in the Jungles. No other calls, no nonsense. We drum up our own business and catch what we clean that comes out of our assigned area.

The Jungles. Chief Bratton specifically ordered us to refer to it as "Lower Baldwin Village." But all the locals call it The Jungles. Not because it was particularly overgrown. Not because the population was historically minority, specifically African-American. No. Not because of that.

Because it was once beautiful. A verdant, leafy oasis for working-class folks in the heart of a residential area, bordered by Crenshaw and MLK Blvd. Scant blocks away from where the body of the Black Dahlia was found. A collection of apartments just below the hills of The Dons, The Black Beverly Hills. Apartment living with a pool in the courtyard of every building! Just under one square mile of living close to everything! Minutes from downtown! Minutes to the airport! Flora and fauna as far as the eye could see and the southern crown? Jim Gilliam Park, named after a Negro League and Major League Baseball (Dodgers) player and coach who died to young.

Well...fast forward to 2005. Lower Baldwin Village is now heavily entrenched with Black P-Stone Gangmembers (look it up on wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_P._Stones ) The apartments are mostly Section 8 now. Most of the pools are filled in with concrete, dirt and beer bottles.

I'm working with my longtime partner, we'll call him Jack. Jack and I are wrapping up for the night, about 0100 hours, heading eastbound August toward Santa Rosalia. We see a young male on the south sidewalk, travelling westbound. Riding on the sidewalk. No-no. Cant' do that. And no bike light, either. Bingo. Time for a stop. Could be a gangster. Could be a parolee-at-large. Who knows?

See, that's the fun. Forrest was right. Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get.

So we hook a u-turn and order him to stop. No big deal. I get out. "Hey man, where's your bike light? Lay the bike down." SLAM. HE BOLTS. NORTHBOUND THROUGH THE GATE OF THE APARTMENT BUILDING. OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT, PARTNER....HE'S RUNNING.

I'm on him, three steps back, but I'm on him. He clears the whole courtyard in a few steps. He tries to scale the fence at the rear of the courtyard and I grab his leg, pulling, pulling - DAMN IT! He's over! I rush through the back gate. I'm running behind him westbound through the rear alley. We are flying top speed. CRAP CRAP CRAP! DOES HE HAVE A GUN? IS HE WANTED? WHAT THE HELL? WHERE'S MY PARTNER?

We run the distance of the alley and what the hell have I got? Why is this fool running from me? About 40 of the longest, hardest yards later, this guy turns the corner onto Nicolet and I lose him. I'm thinking...GEEZ I'M OUT OF BREATH FOR NOTHING! WHAT THE HELL! THIS GUY JUST TOOK OFF.

Then I hear a car pulling up next to me. I'm out of breath, suspect is in the wind...I look over to my left...hahaha. It's my partner! Sitting in the passenger side of what looks like a 2000 Honda Accord yelling, "PARTNER, WHICH WAY DID HE GO? WHAT WAS HE WEARING?"

See, Jack, smart guy that he is (and in way better shape then me) sees me run off after the suspect. As the driver, he has to: 1.) Secure our police vehicle by rolling up the windows, locking all doors and removing the keys and 2.) Come after me to lend assistance if needed.

After locking the car, he enters the alley and encounters a resident on his way home from work who yells , " Hey man, your partner went thataway! Hop in! I'll give you a ride."

So Jack, with a couple years as an officer, in full LAPD uniform, with his persuasive style, professional demeanor and in the best interests of his partner........

COMMANDEERS A CITIZEN'S VEHICLE.

Really folks. I can't make this stuff up. They burn around the corner but the suspect is long gone and I am out of breath. And starting to chuckle a little. Then laugh as I catch my breath.

Bad guy got away, but me and Jack! Oh we still laugh over that one. Thanks, partner. You showed me you can get further with a kind word and a badge than with just a kind word.