A Ppd Christmas Card

A PPD Christmas Card

It's awkward having a policeman around the house. Friends drop in, a man with a badge answers the door, the temperature drops 20 degrees. You throw a party and that badge gets in the way. All of a sudden there isn't a straight man in the crowd. Everybody's a comedian. "Don't drink too much," somebody says, "or the man with a badge'll run you in." Or "How's it going, Dick Tracy? How many jaywalkers did you pinch today?" And then there's always the one who wants to know how many apples you stole. All at once you lost your first name. You're a cop, a flatfoot, a bull, a dick, John Law. You're the fuzz, the heat; you're poison, you're trouble, you're bad news. They call you everything, but never a policeman. It's not much of a life, unless you don't mind missing an arena match because the hotshot phone rings. Unless you like working Saturdays, Sundays, and holidays, at a job that doesn't pay overtime. Oh, the pay's adequate-- if you count pennies you can put your kid through college, but you better plan on seeing Europe on your television set. And then there's your first night on the beat. When you try to arrest a drunken prostitute in a Main Street bar and she rips your new uniform to shreds. You'll buy another one-- out of your own pocket. And you're going to rub elbows with the elite-- pimps, addicts, thieves, bums, winos, girls who can't keep an address and men who don't care. Liars, cheats, con men-- the class of Skid Row. And the heartbreak-- underfed kids, beaten kids, molested kids, lost kids, crying kids, homeless kids, hit-and-run kids, broken-arm kids, broken-leg kids, brokenhead kids, sick kids, dying kids, dead kids. The old people nobody wants-- the reliefers, the pensioners, the ones who walk the street cold, and those who tried to keep warm and died in a $20 room with an unventilated gas heater. You'll walk your beat and try to pick up the pieces. Do you have real adventure in your soul? You better have, because you're gonna do time in a prowl car. Oh, it's going to be a thrill a minute when you get an unknown-trouble call and hit a backyard at two in the morning, never knowing who you'll meet-- a kid with a knife, a dyne-head with a gun, or two ex-cons with nothing to lose. And you're going to have plenty of time to think. You'll draw duty in a lonely car, with nobody to talk to but your radio. Four years in uniform and you'll have the ability, the experience and maybe the desire to be a detective. If you like to fly by the seat of your pants, this is where you belong. For every crime that's committed, you've got three million suspects to choose from. And most of the time, you'll have few facts and a lot of hunches. You'll run down leads that dead-end on you. You'll work all-night stakeouts that could last a week. You'll do leg work until you're sure you've talked to everybody in the state of Rhode Island. People who saw it happen - but really didn't. People who insist they did it - but really didn't. People who don't remember - those who try to forget. Those who tell the truth - those who lie. You'll run the files until your eyes ache. And paperwork? Oh, you'll fill out a report when you're right, you'll fill out a

A PPD Christmas Card report when you're wrong, you'll fill one out when you're not sure, you'll fill one out listing your leads, you'll fill one out when you have no leads, you'll fill out a report on the reports you've made! You'll write enough words in your lifetime to stock a library. You'll learn to live with doubt, anxiety, frustration. Court decisions that tend to hinder rather than help you. Dorado, Morse, Escobedo, Cahan. You'll learn to live with the District Attorney, testifying in court, defense attorneys, prosecuting attorneys, judges, juries, witnesses. And sometimes you're not going to be happy with the outcome. But there's also this: there are over 5,000 men and women in this city, who know that being a police officer is an endless, glamourless, thankless job that's gotta be done. I know it, too, and I'm damn glad to be one of them. My name is Freitag. I carry a badge. --It was Tuesday, December 16. The bite of an East Coast winter was in the air and the precinct snow pool was ringing up a lot of bets on a white Christmas. My partner and I were working the day watch out of robbery when the call came in at 5:35PM about a six-nineteen in the High Park neighborhood. King's Row sees more than its fair share of crime and the holiday season is no exception. A thug with a knife had held up a pawnshop. The alarm was only a few blocks away, so we hit the streets fast. With luck, the suspect might still be in the vicinity. I drove. Becktrees picked up the radio. "This is unit twelve, proceding to the pawnshop at Fifth and High Street." "Affirmative, Unit Twelve," said the dispatcher. The usual radio chatter was going on. We were halfway to the pawnshop when we heard from another unit in the area. "This is Unit Three. I am code six, with suspicious activity in the alley behind the apartments at Fifth and Maple." A moment later, the radio came alive. "This is Officer Szdenko. I am code eight, repeat, I am code eight, with shots fired." Dispatch responded immediately. "All units, respond to code eight at Fifth and Maple, officer requires assistance, shots have been fired." I spun the wheel as Becktrees hit the lights and the siren. "This is Unit Twelve, we are code three, responding to code eight with Unit Three. ETA is one minute or less." Traffic moved aside obligingly and thirty seconds later, I skidded the car to a stop next to Unit Three. We exited the squad car and approached the corner of the alley with guns pointed down and away from us. Becktrees hung back while I glanced into the alley. Szedenko had flattened himself into a doorway of the apartments with his gun drawn. I held up four fingers, and he nodded to me. There was the muffled sound of a fistfight just out of sight. I gestured to Szdenko

A PPD Christmas Card and mouthed "All clear?" He nodded. I waved to Becktrees and he moved quickly and silently into the alley. Szdenko and I covered him, as he ducked into a doorway a few feet down from Szdenko. Other sirens were arriving and there was a commotion from whoever was engaged in the fighting. Becktrees waved me in and I advanced cautiously, my gun at the ready. I thought I heard someone say, "Run, Mikey!" as three more police cars surrounded the alley. I stepped out into the open just as one of the combatants delivered a terrific roundhouse blow and knocked the other to the ground, stunned. Neither of the men was visibly armed. A wicked looking knife lay on the ground at one side of the open space. A handgun was lying on the other side. I waved in Becktrees and Szdenko, shouting, "PPD! Get down on your knees and put your hands behind your head!" Both men cursed. The man on the ground appeared to be a twenty-year-old male wearing a death mask, a white windbreaker, and the gang colors of the Skulls. He attempted to stand and bolt for the street. Becktrees immediately tackled him back to the ground. "You weren't leaving now, when the party's just starting?" he asked. The other suspect was a dark-haired twenty-year-old male in a leather jacket and pants, who immediately ran towards a connecting alleyway. Szdenko chased him as I raised my gun and shouted "Freeze, or I WILL open fire!" Two other voices at the other end of the alley said "PPD! Freeze!" and the fleeing figure came to a halt, hands raised over his head. Szdenko caught him and threw him none too gently against the wall of the nearest apartment building. I kept my gun at the ready while Szdenko frisked and cuffed his hands behind him. With the suspect restrained, I holstered my own gun and signaled the other officers that the situation was under control. They nodded in acknowledgement and returned to their patrols. Szdenko turned the suspect around and I shook my head when I saw his face. "Bobby Mercado. Why am I unsurprised?" "Officer Freitag. It's been a while." "It's Detective, Bobby, but you knew that." Bobby shrugged. I hadn't expected any other reaction. I nodded to Szdenko and he brought Bobby with him as we walked back to the scene of the fight. Becktrees had the Skull cuffed on the ground and was holding up a handful of necklaces and jewelry that he had found in the inside pocket of the gangster's jacket. He grinned and held the jewelry where the kid he had pinned could see it from his prone position. "What's this?" he asked, "A Christmas gift for your grandmother?" A sullen growl was all he got in return as he helped the Skull to his feet. "You didn't save the receipt." Becktrees was enjoying himself. "How's she going to return it if it's the wrong size?" He shot me a satisfied grin as the three of us walked up. "Looks like we might have caught our robbery suspect, Joe. How much you want to bet that the pawn shop is missing a few necklaces?" I looked at the Skull, who was glowering silently. "Well?" I asked him. "Is that

A PPD Christmas Card your knife?" The gangster stared silently. "He's the strong silent type," Becktrees quipped. I snorted and pointed at the pistol on the ground. It was a HK45, a rich man's gun, probably stolen. "What about that? Is that your piece?" He spit at my feet. "I ain't sayin' nuthin' to a badge." He looked at Bobby and the hate was palpable. "I'll be sayin' plenty to you and your little brat friend after I’m out." Despite the cuffs, Bobby lunged at the Skull and knocked him down. They wrestled ineffectively and for a couple of minutes there was enough cursing from all five of us to fill the quota for a bar in Independence Port. I managed to grab Bobby just as he was rearing back for a good solid head-butt on the gangster that would probably have fractured both of their skulls. I pulled him off as Szdenko rolled the Skull facedown and sat on him with his left knee in the small of his back and his nightstick across his neck. With one hand on Bobby’s jacket collar and the other holding his belt, I halflifted him off the ground and shook him. "Enough! Settle down, now, before I decide that you're resisting arrest!" Bobby growled but he relaxed and I stood him up and handed him off to Becktrees. I nodded to Szdenko, who released the gang-banger and helped him roughly to his feet. “Get him out of here,” I told him. “Let’s go!” he told the kid, as he led him away to his patrol car. I bagged the knife and gun and held up the bag with the gun for Bobby to see. “You know anything about this, Bobby?” He shrugged noncommittally. I looked sideways at Becktrees who just grinned. “So, it’s not yours and it’s not the other guy’s.” I fixed Bobby with a penetrating stare. “I guess it was just lying there when you and that Skull decided to get into it with each other, huh? You didn’t have it in your pocket and decide take a shot at a rival gang-banger who was on your turf?” He was looking past me rather than at me, and it was beginning to annoy me. “Bobby!” I said. He me straight in the eye then, and said “The gun is mine, alright?” Becktrees and I looked at each other in surprise at getting an outright confession. “I always figured you were smarter than that, Bobby.” “Yeah, whatever.” Becktrees gave me a frown. There was the crunch of boots on pavement behind us and we turned around. A pair of officers had walked up with a thirteen-year-old boy in tow. I recognized them as Phillips and Newman. The garment works was their usual beat. “Hey, Detectives!” said Phillips as if finding us here was the highlight of his day. He’s one of those guys you want to punch in the face for being so damn

A PPD Christmas Card positive and effusive no matter what, just to see what he’d do. Newman is a jokester who thinks he’s the funniest thing this side of Comedy Central. Together, they’re the Abbot and Costello of the PPD. “You guys responded to Szdenko’s Code Eight?” asked Newman. “Yeah, we were around the corner at the time.” I nodded towards the boy. “Who’s this?” You’d have thought it was Phillips’ favorite nephew if you judged by his grin. “Says his name’s Michael Madison. We caught some lunch after the excitement and collided with him as we were stopping in here to see what was up. He was in an awful hurry to get out of the alley here.” The boy was approximately thirteen, with sandy hair, a round face and the gangly build of a kid whose body is still working out what it wants to look like postpuberty. He was scared; more than he ought to be but there are plenty of kids who automatically assume the worst when they find themselves dealing with a police officer. You get used to it, eventually. I held my hand out and Michael shook it tentatively. “I’m Detective Freitag. This is Detective Becktrees. “ I pointed at Bobby. “Do you know this man?” Michael nodded, eyes downcast. “Yes, Sir. I know Bobby.” Becktrees exchanged another look with me. I told Michael, “We didn’t see anyone else here when we took your friend and his sparring partner into custody. Where were you?” For a second, I thought he wouldn’t answer. I noted that Bobby was watching him intently. Michael didn’t yet have the tough shell of a street kid, though. He wilted finally, and pointed at a recycling dumpster halfway down the alley. “I was hiding in there.” “Did you see what happened here?” Bobby shifted to a more comfortable stance and stared me hard in the face again. “I told you, Freitag. It’s my gun. I fired it.” Michael started to say something, and Bobby’s eyes narrowed. After a moment he dropped his gaze again. “No, sir,” he said, finally, “I didn’t see anything. I was hanging out, you know, and I heard the gunshot, so I hid.” Becktrees spoke up. “Phillips, how about if you take charge of our friend here,” and he nodded at Bobby. “Take him out into the courtyard and Newman can have Michael locate his parents if they’re around. Joe and I want a few minutes to investigate the scene here.” Phillips nodded affably and took hold of Bobby’s arm. “Sure, Beck. Doesn’t seem like much of a ‘scene’, though. Szdenko made it sound like it was just a run of the mill public disturbance, aside from maybe catching the pawn shop hold-up suspect.” “You never know,” said Becktrees and Phillips nudged Bobby. “This way, please.” Bobby cooperated, as Newman took down Michael’s address and phone number. He lived

A PPD Christmas Card in an apartment bordering the park in the courtyard just outside the alley, so Newman led him off to find his mother. I looked at Becktrees expectantly. He shook his head and put his fists on his hips, exposing his opened jacket. “This feels ‘off’ to you too, huh?” I asked him. “Something’s not right, that’s for sure,” agreed Becktrees. “Did you notice the way he looked at you?” I nodded. “Not a flinch. It was like he was daring me to disagree with him.” “Then, the boy could barely even look at you.” “So, they’re both lying. They must be protecting someone, but who?” Becktrees stroked his chin thoughtfully. He looked up at the darkening sky. The light was fading fast as evening came on, the more so for being at the bottom of a valley in the concrete jungle. Pulling a penlight from an inside jacket pocket, Becktrees walked to a spot near the location where the gun had lain on the ground. “I spotted this earlier, but didn’t think much of it at the time, what with the scuffle and all.” He shone the light at the ground and there, at the edge of the pavement, was a footprint, marked clearly in the dust and dirt of the alley. I bent down and examined it. The print was fresh, and looked to be from a running shoe. “Looks like a size 7.” I pointed at the cross-hatch markings. “Converse All-Americans, last year’s model.” Becktrees looked at me in surprise, and I snorted. “I bought the same shoes as a Christmas present for my son at the outlet mall a couple of weeks ago,” I explained. Becktrees grinned. “Shoot!” he exclaimed, “For a minute I thought I was partnered with Sherlock Holmes!” I rolled my eyes and stood up. I turned with my back to the wall and imagined pointing a gun at someone coming through the alley. “Have a look at the opposite wall over there,” I told Becktrees. I stayed where I was. He walked over, looked back at me, and did his own calculations. The penlight played over the wall but there was no sign of a bullet hole. “Try to the right or left,” I suggested. “He missed that Skull at practically point-blank range, so he probably didn’t have any actual experience with firing a pistol. I’ll bet his hands were shaking.” “What makes you think he was firing at the ‘Bonehead’ instead of Szdenko?” asked Becktrees. “I think it’s pretty clear that none of them even knew Szdenko was there.” After a moment of searching off to the left a couple of feet, Becktrees said, “Bingo!” I walked over and examined the hole he’d found. The bullet was embedded a couple of

A PPD Christmas Card inches into the brickwork. “Looks like that’s it.” “What now?” asked Becktrees. “We’ve got a confession already.” “Yeah,” I said. “By someone who is not the real shooter.” I didn’t like where this was going, not one bit. Becktrees wasn’t looking very happy either. I rubbed the back of my neck, which did nothing for the knots forming there, and made a decision. “C’mon,” I said. “Let’s see what brand of shoes Michael Madison wears.” We exited the alley by walking between two of the adjacent apartment buildings, in the direction that Newman and the boy had taken. A small park dominated the courtyard, one of the few bits of King’s Row that managed to avoid being turned into a parking lot over the years. A handful of ancient oak trees stood sentinel over the open space, looking bare and skeletal in the advancing dusk. A wrought-iron fence cordoned off the grassy areas. One of the trees had been subjected to a hell of a beating, but it looked like it had survived and someone had planted a couple of young trees nearby. I spotted Newman and Phillips down near the gate at one end of the park. A worriedlooking brown-haired woman was talking to Newman with Michael fidgeting nervously at her side. I figured her to be forty-three at a glance. Phillips was not far away, with one hand on Bobby’s arm. A splash of red caught my eye, seeming incongruously brilliant against the grey of the day. A brass vase or urn stood planted in the pavement near the gate and someone had put a fresh rose in it. I wondered who had found a fresh-cut rose this time of year and put it in such a strange place, then forgot about it as I approached the presumed Mrs. Madison. "I don't understand," she was saying. "Bobby's never been involved with guns." Bobby himself was standing sullenly and silently nearby. Newman looked up expectantly as we walked up. “This is Mary Madison, Michael’s mother.” "Detective Freitag, Ma'am," I said as I showed her my badge. "This is my partner, Detective Becktrees.” Becktrees moved in smoothly and placed himself between the mother and son. I nodded to stoop about touched her out of your

her, put my arm around his shoulders, and gently guided him towards a twenty yards away. Mary Madison started to object, and Becktrees on the arm. “If you could just answer a few questions, Ma’am, we’ll be hair in a jiffy.”

I nodded to her again, and Michael and I walked just out of earshot. I gestured to him to sit on the steps of the nearest apartment building front door while I leaned against the stoop. “Your friend Bobby is in some trouble,” I told him. “Guns are serious business.” I paused for effect. “The thing is, I’m not completely convinced that it’s his gun.

A PPD Christmas Card You were nearby. Maybe you can tell me something that will help me sort things out.” Michael bit his lip and looked away. After a moment he said, “I have a friend who found a gun. It might belong to him.” “A friend, huh?” "Yes, Sir." "Can you tell me how this friend had a gun come into his possession?" He looked towards Bobby, but there was no help from that quarter now. After some fidgeting, he spoke. "There was a gang fight and the police broke it up and arrested the guys. One of them tossed a gun behind a garbage can. My friend saw it." "Hmmm. Why did your friend take the gun instead of reporting it?" He looked away, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he pointed towards the burned-up tree. "Things get bad around here sometimes. Bobby and his friends keep the worst guys away, but sometimes the gangs will come to cause trouble. This past summer, some guys tried to mess up my little sister's party and they almost hurt some people." That explained the state of the foliage. "I sort of remember hearing about that, I think. There was a Hero involved wasn’t there?” Michael laughed for a moment. “He was heroic, anyway.” “The gun?” I prompted him. “I... my friend, picked up the gun and kept it. It was cool, and it made him feel powerful and safe.” “I see. Did your friend ever actually shoot it?” He met my gaze and said emphatically, “No, Sir!” I got the guilty look again, though, as he said, “At least not until today.” Becktrees walked up and stood unobtrusively behind Michael, three feet to the right. Michael didn’t appear to notice. “What was your friend doing in the alley with a gun?” “Just looking at it, pretending, you know? Then the alarms went off down the street, and a couple of minutes later, that Skull guy came jogging through the alley.” “Why didn’t your friend just run away?” He hung his head and muttered something I couldn’t make out. Becktrees shrugged and I tapped Michael on the shoulder. “I didn’t get that, Michael.” “I wanted to be a Hero,” he said miserably. “I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, I just

A PPD Christmas Card wanted to catch a robber.” I made some notes and pretended not to notice the slip. “Okay, so your friend was messing with a dangerous firearm and then he stupidly confronted a possible robbery suspect. Anything else I should know?” With a glance over to where Bobby, Mary, and the other two policeman were standing and talking, he said, “No, Sir.” I tilted back my hat and crossed my arms. “I suppose your friend didn’t realize that just having an unlicensed gun in your possession is a crime with a minimum sentence of a year in jail? More, if the gun is stolen.” Michael looked like he’d been slapped. He jerked his head up and swallowed visibly. “Threatening someone with one is assault,” I went on. “Hero’s have licenses, you know. They’re deputy police officers. Ordinary citizens can’t just wave guns at people.” Michael had turned pale, but I went on relentlessly. “Actually firing a gun at someone is a felony. A person could get as much as ten years in jail for it. It doesn’t matter what the person was doing at the time except under very specific circumstances.” Tears were welling up in Michael’s eyes. “I... My friend didn’t mean to shoot. It was an accident,” he said imploringly. I nodded in understanding. “Fortunately, your friend was inexperienced and he missed by a mile. But then came the biggest thing your friend hadn’t thought of.” Watching him, I decided my guess was correct. “Your friend hadn’t thought about what could happen if the ‘bad guy’ took the gun away, had he?” Michael hung his head. “No, Sir. If Bobby hadn’t shown up...” He left the implications hanging in the air. I shook my head and put a hand on his shoulder. “Alright, Michael. You’ve been helpful.” I waved towards where Newman and Phillips were standing. “You can go wait with your mother now.” He nodded and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. After a few steps he turned back. “What will happen to Bobby?” he asked. “I don’t know,” I told him. “I’m just a police officer, Michael. I’m not a judge.” He turned away dejectedly and trudged over to stand beside Mary Madison. She spoke to him for a moment and touseled his hair. I suddenly felt a need for a cigarette. I normally avoid lighting up around kids, but I needed something in my hands right then. “Those things’ll kill you sooner or later, Joe.” I looked at Becktrees and blew a cloud of smoke deliberately towards him. “A dozen different things we do every day will kill me someday.” I waved the hand with the cigarette in the direction of Michael Madison.

A PPD Christmas Card “This is where it begins, Beck.” I took a drag and looked at the cigarette as I exhaled a plume of blue-black smoke into the cold evening air. “A smart kid makes a stupid decision, or a good kid falls in with the wrong crowd, or a curious kid tries something ‘just once to see what it’s like’.” “Even if the courts are lenient, if he doesn’t get jail or detention, he still has a reputation and a record. The first step towards a big downward spiral that leads to crime and worse.” I looked over at Becktrees. His voice was carefully neutral as he said, “You know, Joe, you don’t HAVE to do EVERYTHING by the book. The kid’s scared about as straight as you can get, I think. The ‘bonehead’ isn’t talking. If we just ‘lost’ the gun, nobody would be the wiser.” “Sure,” I said, “until the Skull kid decides he DOES want to talk, or he draws a public defender who takes it into his head to actually do his job and try to get the guy off. Then there are questions and even if it’s just our word against his, the questions are still there and it’s a black eye for the department and maybe worse for us.” Becktrees shook his head and shrugged. I took another drag as I let my gaze drift around the apartment windows I could see. More of them were decorated than not, mostly with homemade cutouts and cheap dime store lights. One of the windows across the park had a light up cross taped up, the sort you could buy for ten bucks at the hardware store. I looked at it as I finished my cigarette. “Why is it, do you think, that ‘peace on earth’ always seems to require a sacrificial lamb?” With a shrug and gave a half-chuckle, Becktrees said, “I dunno, Joe. If that ever changes, I suppose that you and I will be out of a job.” I snorted, stood up, and straightened my jacket. A few curious people had braved the cold and the oncoming darkness to drift outside just far enough to see what was happening. Bobby’s “gang”, such that it was, seemed to have materialized from somewhere. Another man and two women, all twenty-two or twenty-three and dressed like Bobby were now standing near him and looking one too happy. I made my decision. “Beck, take a walk.” He looked at me levelly. “I don’t think so, Joe.” I held my hand up. “I appreciate the loyalty, Beck, but there’s no need for both of us to stick our necks out. Besides,” I waved towards the knot of people at the park gate. “’Bud’ and ‘Lou’ annoy me. The pawnshop is just a couple of blocks away. Why don’t you ask them to give you a lift over there and you can wrap that up while I wrap this up?” Becktrees frowned, but nodded in understanding after a few seconds. “Alright, Joe, have it your way. I might have a few words to say about it after shift, though.” With a careless wave, I dismissed the implied tongue-lashing. “Sure, sure, I’ll buy you a beer later.” We walked over to Newman and Phillips. Becktrees grinned and said, “If you guys want to see some REAL police work, you can give me a lift to the pawn shop while Joe finishes up here.” Phillips brightened up as I had expected him to. He wants to make Detective someday

A PPD Christmas Card and he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to experience it vicariously. “Sure thing, Beck,” he said. He looked at Bobby and then at me. I nodded and said, “I’ve got this under control. You guys go help Becktrees get his man.” Phillips grinned and the three of them walked the short distance to their patrol car. It vanished into the evening traffic a minute later. Stepping in front of Bobby, I turned so that the rubber-neckers down the block wouldn’t have a clear view. Bobby spoke up. “Can we get on with this, Freitag?” I reached into my coat and removed the plastic bag with the gun in it. “You still maintain that this is your gun?” He tossed his head defiantly. It reminded me of a mounted cop I’d known, Ed Wyatt, a few years back. His horse was an ornery cuss to everyone in the world except him. If it tossed its head like that, you stood back or you took a chance on it biting you. That horse loved him, but anyone else had better watch out for their toes and their fingers if they got too near. It died protecting him from a group of Trolls looking to beat up someone for the fun of it. Ed retired a couple of months later. He had loved that horse as much as it had loved him, and he was just never the same afterwards. “Ask Nancy. She’ll tell you.” The blonde-haired girl looked at him uncomfortably. “Bobby... “she began, and he cut her off. “Tell him, Nance!” She looked to the red-haired girl, who just glared at Bobby, and the dark-haired boy who shrugged and said “He knows what he’s doing”. With no other support in sight, she finally straightened her shoulders and her voice took on that laconic, sneering tone that gang-bangers like to take with police officers. “Sure,” she said, “It’s Bobby’s. I seen it before. He showed it to me just last night, in fact.” Not a chink showed in her armor. “Oh, Bobby!” said Mary Madison. “I can’t believe you would get involved with guns!” The reproach and disappointment was thick enough to cut with a knife. I could see that one statement had hurt Bobby more than any ten things I might have said to him, but he didn’t let on. He just shrugged disdainfully. “Mom...” said Michael. He was pulling on her arm. I turned back to Bobby, who was watching me with open contempt. “MOM...” said Michael again. She shushed him, as he redoubled his efforts. “Mikey!” said Bobby warningly, and Michael settled down with a stricken look. A puzzled look crossed Mary’s face at that, and the gang glowered but stayed silent. I held up the bag with the gun. “If this is your gun, then it will be your fingerprints that the crime lab finds on it, right?” That put a crack in Bobby’s calm as ice exterior. He blinked and for the first time I saw just the barest sign of fear in him. Michael was biting his lip again, and his knuckles were white where he held his mother’s hand.

A PPD Christmas Card Reaching into my pocket, I took out my cuff key and held it up for him to see. “You going to give me any trouble if I take these off?” I asked him. He shook his head and chafed his wrists a bit when he was free. I pocketed the cuffs and opened the evidence bag. With a squeeze through the plastic, I released the clip, but there wasn’t any way to know if a cartridge might still be loaded. I was banking a hell of a lot on what I knew of the kid I used to catch stealing hubcaps years ago. The bag hung open as I proffered it to Bobby. “I need you to show me how you held the gun and aimed it to tell if it matches the trajectory we found in the alley.” He looked at me blankly, then with dawning realization he lifted his hand to the bag. Mary Madison looked like she was about to explode. “What the heck is going on here?” she demanded. Nancy turned away while the other gang members waited stoically. I gave Mary my officious cop look. “Nothing to worry about, Ma’am. It’s procedure.” She began to object again and Bobby silenced her. “I’ve got this, Mary,” he said, in a voice that was both commanding and relieved. “It’s fine, really.” His eyes flicked involuntary to Michael and back to her eyes. She noticed it at the same time she noticed the death grip that Michael had on her hand. Whatever Mary Madison might be, she wasn’t dense. I watched her mental gears click into place. She turned pale as she realized what Bobby’s insistence might mean. She still tried to stop him. I’ll give her that. She looked at Michael, then reached a hand out as if she might take the bag away. Bobby smiled a little, reached in and pulled out the pistol. Mary’s hand went to her mouth instead, and Michael buried his face in his mother’s coat. I looked at Bobby and he glanced at me sideways, as he pantomimed aiming the gun. “Like this, see?” I nodded. “Fine, that’ll do fine.” He looked at me cryptically for a moment, then shrugged and dropped the gun back in the bag. I pocketed it, and pulled the cuffs back out. “This IS procedure,” I said to him apologetically. He shrugged and turned around but I motioned him to put his hands in front of him. The least I could do was make it more comfortable. The patrol car pulled up just then and Becktrees walked over with Newman and Phillips in tow. “I got the pawn shop clerk squared away. He’s coming in later this week for a lineup. Everything copacetic here?” I nodded. “We’re just wrapping up.” “What happens to Bobby?” asked Mary. I held my hands up. “He’ll spend a couple of days in jail, while the DA’s office decides what, if anything, to charge him with. Then there’ll be a bail hearing and he’ll be released on his own recognizance if he can make bail. After that, I can’t say, but in the near term, I’d expect he’ll be out before Christmas.”

A PPD Christmas Card

She stepped forward and hugged Bobby tight. Michael did likewise, and he returned their embraces as best he could with the cuffs on. For a tough kid, he looked awfully vulnerable in that moment, and anyone watching would have assumed that she was his mother. It made me miss my own mother. “We’ll come visit you as soon as they’ll let us,” she said. “We’ll figure out the bail.” “Thanks, Mary.” It was strange hearing gratitude from a tough street punk. The dark-haired fellow put a hand on Bobby’s shoulder, squeezed it, and then threw his arm around the red-haired girl and they walked off together. Nancy, the blonde, kissed Bobby on the cheek and whispered in his ear. She gave me a reproachful look as she walked past. I shrugged. “Quite the entourage,” remarked Becktrees. Newman snickered. Phillips spoke up. “We’re heading back to the precinct. You guys want us to take him in for you?” I looked at Becktrees and back to Phillips. “If you guys want the paperwork of checking him into ‘the hotel’, feel free. We’ll file our reports later this afternoon.” “Let’s go,” said Becktrees to Bobby. He followed Beck and the other officers obediently. I touched the brim of my hat as I passed Mary Madison. “Ma’am.” I nodded to Michael and he nodded somberly back. I had a feeling it would be a while before he felt like it was a happy holiday. I just hoped that he truly appreciated the Christmas present that Bobby Mercado had given him and learned his lesson permanently. Time would tell. We arrived at the cars, which had been parked near each other this time. I opened my driver door as Newman opened his passenger door. “Just a second,“ said Bobby. Newman and I both paused. He looked at me for a moment, then just said “Merry Christmas, Detective Freitag.” Wonders never cease. “Yeah, Jingle Bells, Bobby”. He snorted and the familiar tough kid came back. I touched my hat brim and smiled. He nodded and ducked as Newman said, “Watch your head.” When they were all in the car, Phillips put it in gear and they disappeared down the block a minute later. “Do I want to know what that was about?” asked Becktrees, looking at me over the top of the car. “Maybe someday,” I told him. Becktrees opened the passenger door. I noticed a flake of white float by him, and when I looked around I saw them falling all around the block. The snow had arrived. Scanty, like everything else in King’s Row, but it was here nonetheless. Becktrees looked up at the sky. “Looks like Falco wins the snow pool,” he said with a grin. He reached in for the radio. “Unit Twelve, clear.”

A PPD Christmas Card “Affirmative, Unit Twelve,” acknowledged Dispatch. “What do you say we follow the example of ‘Bud’ and ‘Lou’ and get some lunch?” asked Becktrees. Just then, the radio came to life. “All units, all units. Six-Twelve in progress at Paragon City Savings and Loan. Suspects are armed. Possible meta-human involvement.” We looked at each other and Becktrees laughed. “Then again, maybe not.” We climbed in and I hit the lights and siren as Becktrees got on the radio. “Unit Twelve, code three proceding to Paragon City Savings and Loan.” “Affirmative, Unit Twelve proceding to six-twelve at Paragon City Savings and Loan.” We hit the streets with siren howling as the traffic parted and the other available units acknowledged their own availability. Crime doesn’t take a holiday in the City of Heroes. Fortunately for Paragon City, neither does the PPD. ---Richard McIntyre, an alleged member of the gang known as “The Skulls”, was charged and convicted of robbery and assault with a deadly weapon and sentenced to three years in Ziggursky Penitentiary. He escaped during a prison riot a few months after sentencing. His current whereabouts are unknown. Robert Mercado was charged with possession of an unlicensed firearm, possession of a stolen firearm, and assault with a firearm. In an unusual move, the arresting officers requested that the District Attorney review the case. The District Attorney’s office offered a plea-bargain, citing crowded prison conditions, the defendant’s cooperation with authorities, an otherwise clean record in respect to firearms, his assistance in apprehending a robbery suspect and selfdefense. Robert Mercado plead guilty to possession of an unlicensed firearm and all other charges were dropped. He was sentenced to two months in the county jail, and a year’s probation.