My First Gun

Stepped outside tonight and it was cold. Billowy, puffy clouds with a full dose of moonlight that you see in the wintertime. Crisp. Cold. But it takes me back to another time. Back when I was a "boot", as we say in LAPD parlance, a rookie police officer.

I was learning the ropes, about 6 or 7 months in on Morning Watch in Harbor Division. I was working with a great training officer, call her Officer Trapper. I really liked her because she was tough and got the job done, but was big enough to admit if she was wrong. In your short time as a boot, you have to learn quickly. Learn how to handle yourself, your reports, your time allotted to complete a task. Learn the codes, the violations, the intersections, the crime problem areas. The look of the fool. The transients. The gangster out on the street looking at you. The potential victims, out roaming the streets, unknowing to the peril they may invite upon themselves.

There was a spot. A shitbag 10-unit type apartment building on the Southeast corner behind a Rally's at Western and Lomita. The place was up for grabs. Based on calls and the jerkoffs running around near there, the narco activity was probable. I had just never seen anyone caught there. Yet.

So, of course, we get a call. It's the typical call late in the evening. Narcotics suspect at the location. Full description, male black, braids, multi-colored sweater selling narco from the rear alley or courtyard.

What people don't know is that here, in the most under-policed big city in America, this call comes out tooooooo frequently. Oftentimes (well maybe just sometimes) it is the bullshit last-resort call of an apartment resident or manager who has had enough of some young ne'er do well boyfriend or paramour of a resident who hangs out too often at the location.

Not so in this case. My TO (Training Officer) explains the necessity for caution with such a call as we roll that way. She goes over the tactics and how we should best approach such a situation. She advised me of the options; approach from the alley, park nearby and walk up, park at the Rally's and walk in. Nothing's perfect. A plan in hand, we go Code 6 (At Scene) from the parking lot at the Rally's and walk in the front of the complex.

Aforementioned and described narco suspect, description to a T is in the courtyard. We know why we're there. He knows why he's there. And he damn sure knows why we're there lookin' his way.

About 4-5 residents in the courtyard scatter into their respective apartments. He heads towards a nearby stairway to the upstairs units.

It's just us and him. My TO gives the orders. "Get your hand up! Stop right there!" Shit, I think, he's already moved to the high ground. There's two of us, we can outgun him, but he is moving away and could barricade himself into an apartment, dump whatever narco he has in a toilet. Voila. Case closed.

Now for those of you who are uninitiated, never fired a gun, never had to draw out on anyone or anything, there is a little phrase. It's called "clear leather." Cop Dictionary- Clear Leather: Verb, the action of removing one's service pistol from the duty holster during a tactical situation. Refers to the movement of clearing the muzzle of the weapon from the typically leather holster utilized to safely secure said firearm, when a situation has arisen that could reasonably lead up to and including serious bodily injury or death.


She gives the order to comply again but this guy looks at us and keeps walking up the stairs, purposely refusing to comply. He looks right at us like "You ain't shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!" I hear and see my TO clear leather with her Beretta. Shit! As I hear it, I'm drawing out, clearly aware now that this guy is not following the rules. Here we are with our guns out, we got this guy dead bang and he doesn't fucking care, I think.

Suddenly, my partner yells. "Stop right there or we'll fucking shoot you!" HE STOPS. We slowly walk up the stairs, her in front, me tracking this guy with my Beretta at the low-ready position.

He's stopped but facing away from us on the 2nd level catwalk. His hands are down near his sides. He won't put them up.

"Get your hands up!" The Trapper says. He is facing away and hesitates. He must have something....."Put your hands up or we're gonna dump your ass!" she says. We are allowed to use street slang and cursing in tactical situations that require it for shock and awe purposes to get the job done and we do it.

My Training Officer holds this fool at gunpoint as I hook him up with a set of stainless steel jewelry and search him. What's he holding? Some marijuana and a Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum with a 6-inch barrel. How do I know? Oh, I know. My dad carried the Highway Patrolman Model 28 for years from 1974 until about 1988 or '89 when his department switched to the Beretta 9mm.

In custody. Booked. I later find out that gun is loaded with hollow points. I look at each bullet before I book the gun. The nose of the bullet is hollow. These are special. They have a protruding pin inside the hollow nose.

Shit.

That would have hurt.

Back to jail, asshole. We won this one today.