I was a security guard in a rather large apartment complex.
One evening, my partner and I were walking around the area, when a crazy-eyed guy comes sprinting out of a unit, hands clasped around his head, hunched over.
Guy: “Officer! Officer! Are you the police?!?!?”
Partner: “No, sir. We’re security for the complex. What’s the problem?”
Guy: “ I need the police here! Right now!”
Me: “Sir, just tell us what the problem is. I’m sure we can handle it.,”
“There are four guys in my house and they won’t leave! They have guns! You have to call the police!”
My partner and I looked at each other, decided that we were outnumbered and possibly outgunned, so we moved a little way down the street and my partner dialed 911 on speaker. I stood next to the guy, and kept the unit in sight.
Dispatch: “911. Where’s your emergency?”
Partner: “1234 5th St. Resident reports four armed suspects inside, refusing to leave.”
Dispatch: “Did you say 1234 5th St, sir?”
Partner: “Yes, ma’am.”
Dispatch: “Sir, would you please take me off speaker?”
Partner: “Uh…sure.” *beep* “Go ahead, ma’am. Yes, ma’am. Yes, ma’am. I understand, ma’am. We’re posted just down the block. Thank you, ma’am.”
He hung up. I looked at him and raised an eyebrow. He just smirked, nodding back.
At that point, I knew the guy with us was mentally unstable, and that there were probably no armed intruders.
The guy still cradled his head and was still hunched over.
Me: “Are you alright, sir? Are you hurt?”
Guy: “No. It’s those beams from space. The aliens are trying to get in my head. I left my hat in the house. They have a hard time trying to get through my hands, though. The blood in the arteries washes away the signals. Hard to get a lock on my brain.”
My partner turned his back, threatening to split a gut.
A few minutes later, a lone patrol car pulled up, the officer inside stone faced. My partner walked briskly over to him as he got out, putting on a Washington Redskins cap. Yep…a cop, complete with badge, gun, handcuffs, body armor, spare magazines, taser, and a bunch of other gear arrayed around his belt…wearing a Washington Redskins team cap.
He and my partner conferred for a second, then he walked over to us and addressed the guy.
Cop: “Hi, Jason. Do you remember me?”
Guy/Jason: “I think so. You’re the same guy who told the elves to get off my roof.”
Cop: “That’s right, Jason. My name is Randy. What seems to be the problem, now?”
Jason: “Four of them in my closet, eating my Twinkies. I told ’em to leave, but they told me to fuck off or they’d shoot me.”
Cop/Randy: “Let’s go back down the block to your house. I’ll go in and talk to them. Is that okay, Jason?”
Jason: “I just want them to stop eating my Twinkies and go away.”
Cop/Randy: “Is it the same ones from last time? Or someone new?”
Jason: “I think it’s the same ones. At least one of ‘em’s the same. Remember the redhead with the Argyle sweater?”
Cop/Randy: “I think the redhead was wearing purple, last time.”
My partner and I were absolutely amazed! This cop was a bonafide genius! We knew they got training in dealing with the mentally disturbed, but this was taking it to another level.
As we were walking along, another patrol car slid quietly up behind us on the other side of the street, keeping pace with us.
Cop/Randy: “Here. Use my cap. It’s lined with foil to keep out the aliens.” He handed the hat to Jason, who snatched it and slammed it onto his head.
Cop/Randy: “How much did your Twinkies cost?”
Jason: “I think they cost two whole dollars and forty-seventeen cents. Can you get them to pay for them?”
Cop/Randy: “Let me talk to them and we’ll see.”
By this time, we were at Jason’s house.
Cop/Randy: “Y’all just stay here. I’ll go have a talk with them.”
As Randy went inside, we heard him telling dispatch over the radio that he was entering the residence.
The cop across the street got out of his car, and approached. Jason ran to him and gave him a hug.
Jason: “Randy went in there to talk to the elves. He said he’d be back in a minute.” He gestured to us. “These are my new friends, Steve.”
Cop/Steve shook our hands and thanked us for looking after his brother.
Now, everything came together. Apparently, the whole department knew about Steve’s brother and how to deal with him.
“512 to 514. Coming out.” Cop/Steve’s radio announced.
Cop/Steve: “Jason, I need for you to close your eyes for me.”
Jason did as he was told.
Cop/Randy came back out.
Cop/Randy: “Good news, Jason! They said they were sorry, and the next time you ask them to leave, they’ll go. They even left a five dollar bill on the kitchen counter so you can buy new Twinkies.”
Jason (eyes still closed): “Okay, Randy. See you later!”
Cop/Randy waved at us and wandered back to his car.
Cop/Steve asked us to wait a minute while he escorted his brother inside, then returned with the ball cap in his hand.
Cop/Steve: “Guys, I really appreciate it. Jason ran out of his meds and was having an episode.”
He went on to say that Jason was his half-brother. Jason’s mother had been a drug addict when she got pregnant and it affected the mental growth of the fetus. He took our names and phone numbers, handing us his business cards and telling us to call him directly if we ever had trouble with Jason again.
He had Jason close his eyes, because too many blue uniforms would send the poor guy into panic mode.
That was almost 20 years ago, and I still have Steve’s card.
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