Every Cop Has A Story

"That's about what I'd expect from a guy like you. Well, you can look but not touch. Wanda's a one woman, woman."

I worked Springfield for a couple of years before I heard about an opening with the Sheriff's office in Dickson County in Tennessee. I had visited Land Between the Lakes on several occasions and loved the area. I called about the opening, and then sent the department my resume. When I was accepted, I gave my old department two weeks notice and started packing.

Dickson county was everything I'd hoped. There aren't a lot of people who live in the county, but Dickson itself is big enough to have most of anything you'd want immediately, and Nashville is only about an hour away for anything you can't find locally. Land Between the Lakes is also close, and I planned on doing a lot of fishing on my days off.

I drew the shift from three to midnight because of my low seniority, but I knew that going in. Nights suited me fine. I wasn't married so I could do what I wanted, when I wanted to do it, and I'm sort of a night person anyway.

Dickson county still had crime, just not nearly as much as Springfield, and it wasn't the same kind of crime. Springfield had its share of murders in addition to everything else, but murders were rare in Dickson county at the time. Most of what I investigated in my new job were robberies or domestic disputes. The robberies were about the same -- some young kid would bust in the door of a house, grab the TV and stereo, and a camera or jewelry if they were out in the open, and then head to a pawnshop in Nashville to sell them or put them on Craig's list.

They were easy to catch. The pawnshops cooperated with the Nashville PD and asked some questions of anybody wanting to hock items it didn't look like they should have. Not many seventeen year old kids have big screen TVs or expensive cameras, and boys don't usually wear diamond necklaces. The pawnshops also had closed circuit TV at every counter, so any kid trying to hock anything like that would have his face on video. We'd give a description of the stolen items to the Nashville PD, and then wait a couple days until they called us and said they had him.

I looked at Craig's List every day after a robbery, and caught several young kids who didn't think the deputies were smart enough to catch them. When I saw what looked like the stolen items, I'd call the number and arrange to meet. I'd wear civilian clothes and then flash my badge once I was sure the items were stolen. Most figured out they were caught and gave up. My backup unit around the corner would chase down any that ran.

The domestic disputes were about the same as in Springfield. Usually the call came from the areas in the county that were suburb wannabe's. A developer would buy five or so acres out in the country, put up a sign that said something like "Whispering Wind Estates", and start building houses. There were several of these in the county and they were pretty nice. You had the quiet of the country but were close enough to Dickson that shopping wasn't an all-day affair.

Usually the call was about a husband and wife or boyfriend and girlfriend fighting loud enough their neighbors complained. I'd go out, separate them, and then try to get them calmed down enough they could actually have a conversation. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it ended with one of them in my Blazer on the way to jail.

There was one that was different. It didn't seem different at first, but it ended up that way.

Dispatch had sent me out to talk with Wilma Forbes, a woman who lived in one of those developments about ten miles from town. Dispatch said she'd called 911 and said her neighbors were creating a ruckus and she wanted it stopped.

When I got to Wilma's house about five that afternoon, I was expecting to either see her neighbors outside and screaming at each other, or at least hear a lot of yelling coming from the house next door to hers, but the whole area was a quiet as a church. I knocked on Wilma's door to find out what she'd complained about.

Wilma was about seventy, or that's what I guessed anyway, and she looked like the grandmothers you see in magazines -- a little plump with short, snow-white hair and wire rimmed glasses she wore down on her nose. I asked her to tell me about the problem she'd been having with her neighbors.

Wilma frowned.

"They're outside in their back yard all the time and they're...well, it's just awful, that's what it is, and that woman, she screams her head off."

I asked if they fought like that a lot, and Wilma shook her head.

"They aren't fighting. She comes over to his house every afternoon and they never fight. What they do is what they're doing right now. They're fornicating, right there in the back yard. They're out there right now, nekkid as the day they were born."

Now, I'd never heard "fornicating" used much. I'd heard "fucking", "screwing" and "porking", but never "fornicating". I had heard "nekkid" before. In the South, "nekkid" is like "naked" only different. "Naked" is when you don't have any clothes on, like when you take a bath. "Nekkid" is how people in the South say it when you're naked because you're either gonna have some fun with somebody else who's naked or you're naked and trying to get somebody else to get naked with you.

If Wilma hadn't looked so serious, I'd probably have grinned and asked her why that was a problem. Instead, I asked her to show me. She led the way out her back door to the patio, pointed in the direction of the house next door, and said, "They're right over there under that big oak tree in their back yard".

I could see the oak tree, but the six foot fence around her neighbor's back yard pretty much blocked everything except the top of the tree.

"Ms. Forbes, uh...all I see is a fence."

She frowned again.

"Yes, but if you walk over beside that rose bush, there's a knothole you can see through."

Well, she was right about the knothole, and she was right about her neighbors fornicating in their back yard. Well, they weren't fornicating yet, as least what I thought of as fornicating, but the redheaded woman was laying on her back on a chaise lounge with her legs spread and her feet on the ground. The guy had his face buried in her crotch and his head was bobbing up and down.

The woman seemed to be enjoying what he was doing. She was rolling both her nipples and her face looked really flushed.

I heard a whispered, "Are they doing it?", from Wilma.

I knew it wasn't right, but I turned to her and whispered back, "no, not yet. I better keep watching them to see if they're going to. Why don't you go back inside, and when I get done, I'll come in and tell you what I'm going to do."

Wilma frowned, but she did go back into her house. I went back to watching through the knothole.

The guy had changed what he was doing a little. Before, he'd been holding the redhead's legs open and licking away. Now, he had one hand stroking in and out under his chin while he licked. His other hand was pinching her nipple and pulling on it. The redhead had rolled her face to the side facing me, and her mouth formed a little "O" shape.

It wasn't long before she started humping the guy's face, but he didn't miss a beat. He just kept lapping away, though he was a little higher up her slit now. I figured he'd found her clit, because she started arching up off the chaise lounge once in a while. A little while later, he stopped licking and I saw his cheeks moving in and out.

The redhead arched up high, and then screeched really loud as her ass started rocking up and down. She stayed up in the air like that for half a minute or so and then pushed the guys head away and gasped, "Oh fuck, Billy, stop and let me catch my breath for a minute".

She lay there for a couple of minutes and then looked at the guy and grinned.

"Change places with me, Honey. I'm gonna fuck you now."

The redhead hopped up and he laid down. She grinned at him again, grabbed his stiff cock, and opened her mouth wide. She had to work to get it all in because the guy was pretty thick, but once she got her lips around his cock head, she started bobbing her head up and down. I figured she'd just blow him and the show would be over, but after a couple minutes, she pulled her mouth off him with a little smacking sound, straddled him, and then moved his cock around until she got things lined up. She shivered a little when she moved her ass down, and then moaned while she eased down until she was sitting on his legs. She sighed, then grinned.

"I'm gonna fuck you so good. Play with my tits."

She started riding his cock and he started yanking on her nipples. I didn't need to watch any longer because I knew how it was going to end. I walked around until my cock got reasonably soft again, and then went in to tell Wilma I really couldn't do anything about her neighbors.

"Wilma, I saw what you've been seeing. They are doing exactly what you said they do. The problem is, they're not doing anything illegal. If they were outside in the open and doing it, I could arrest them for indecent exposure, but since they're behind their fence, well...they can pretty much do whatever they want back there. It might be better if you didn't watch them. At least that way you wouldn't know what they're doing."

Wilma stood there with her mouth open for a second, then frowned again.

"But she screams sometimes and I can hear her even in the house."

"Well, I can't really do anything about that either. I'm sorry, but there's no law about yelling in your own backyard."

Wilma frowned again and I got the feeling that's how her face was most of the time.

"Well, I'm going to tell Pastor Jacobs about this. People fornicating right next door to me is something I just can't tolerate."

I knew Rob Jacobs. He'd be sympathetic, but I didn't think he'd do anything either. Rob is married to Joyce, and Joyce is one of those women who has breasts so huge she probably needs help to sit up. The rest of Joyce is about normal size, but I don't know where she finds bras big enough to hold her breasts up like they always look. Nashville, I suppose. They have four kids, so it's pretty obvious Rob and Joyce like a little joyride from time to time.

It was about six months after that I was sitting on a county road at an intersection out in the country between a county road and a county highway. There'd been several collisions there lately because it was a blind intersection at the top of a hill, and the traffic on the county highway didn't have to stop. That traffic did have to slow down to forty-five though. That was to give them a chance to check the county road for traffic and to give anybody on the county road a chance to see any oncoming cars.

Usually the collision happened when a car pulled onto the highway from the county road after underestimating the speed of the oncoming traffic. Several of our investigations pretty much proved the car on the county highway had been running at least ten over and sometimes it was as much as thirty. I was there to issue a few tickets to let the locals know they really needed to slow down.

When the little PT Cruiser passed me doing about eighty, I flipped on the light bar and pulled in behind it. I figured I'd have to follow it for a while, because there wasn't anywhere to pull over other than the entrance to a field or what had once been a farmstead.

I was surprised when the Cruiser pulled into the next cornfield entrance and stopped. I thumbed the switch on the light bar from the flashing red and blue lights we used when pulling cars over to what the light bar company calls "take-down" and "alley" lights. These lights are bright white and shine to the front and away from the sides of the vehicle. In the city, they're used when driving down an alley because most alley's don't have many lights. I used them during a stop so I could see what I was doing because there aren't any lights out in the country either. The lights on the rear of the light bar started flashing yellow so anybody coming up behind me would know I was stopped.

I pulled the flashlight from where it sat in the recharging holder under the laptop computer and got out, then shined the flashlight beam through the back window of the Cruiser.

I couldn't see anybody in the driver's seat, so I figured the driver must be really short. I was half-way to the driver's window when the driver's door flew open and a woman slid out of the seat and stood up.

It was training that made me snap the strap off the Sig P226 on my belt and pull it from the holster when the door flew open. That usually means the driver is either going to run or is looking to argue with me. Sometimes, instead of doing either, they pop out with a pistol and start shooting, and that's why I leveled the Sig at the door.

As soon as the woman stood up, I yelled, "Put your hands up and turn around, then walk backwards toward my voice".

Now, most people who see a deputy pointing a pistol at them will do what that deputy says. This woman didn't turn around and she didn't put her hands on her head. Instead she crossed her legs and then squatted down a little and said, "I can't".

Well, that was a first for me. I walked up, still pointing my Sig at her, and when I got close enough to see her face, I could tell something was really wrong with her. She was either high as a kite on something or not really mentally stable.

"Ma'am, I clocked you at about eighty. It's not safe to drive that fast on this two-lane highway with all the curves it has. Why were you doing it?"

The woman looked up at me and her face was kind of twisted up.

"'Cause I have to pee."

I put my Sig back in the holster and forced back the smile.

"Ma'am, that's not any reason to endanger yourself and everybody else on the road."

She squatted a little lower and then said, "You don't understand. I really, really, really, really have to pee and you're not helping that any at all."

Well, they never taught me anything about this kind of situation at the academy, so I wasn't sure what to do. I couldn't just let her stand there like that though.

"Ma'am, go around on the other side of your car and do what you need to do. When you get done, come back and we'll talk some more."

The woman walked around the back of the Cruiser as fast as she could while crouched over like that and a little later, I heard a little "sssssssssss" sound coming from the passenger side of her car.

It took her almost a minute to come back around the Cruiser, and she was pulling her mini-skirt down when she did. She had a grin on her face when she walked up and faced me.

"Oh God, that feels better. Thanks. If you'd made me stand there much longer, well, it would have been really embarrassing if I'd wet my pants while you were watching."

I had to stop myself from smiling again and then asked her for her driver's license and insurance papers. She got them and handed them to me. I asked her to walk back and stand at the back of her Cruiser while I ran her license.

Her name was Valerie Wiggins. She was twenty-six, single and had a couple of speeding tickets but they were when she was seventeen. I walked back and handed her her driver's license.

"Miss Wiggins, you know the limit's fifty-five on this highway and forty-five at that intersection back there, don't you?"

She frowned.

"Yes, I know, but I was trying to make it somewhere before I...well, before I did what I told you before."

"How much have you had to drink tonight."

She shook her head.

"Nothing unless you count a lot of sweet tea. Sweet tea always does that to me, just runs right through me. I know I should have gone before I started home, but it didn't feel that bad when I left."

I still wasn't sure she wasn't on something, so I kept talking to her. The way people answer questions will usually give them away. They'll forget where they were or what they were doing before I stopped them or change their story when I ask the same question a different way.

"Where was this that you drank all the sweet tea?"

She smiled.

"At the Wild Country Dance Hall in Burns. I go there every Thursday for dance lessons and then on Saturday, like tonight, to dance. The only alcohol they serve is beer and I don't like beer. The sodas they have just make me thirstier but sweet tea doesn't do that to me, so that's what I always drink."

Well, that seemed a logical explanation to me except for one thing.

"Ma'am, I can understand that, but if it was that bad, why didn't you just stop and do what you had to do, like you just did?"

I saw her blush.

"Oh, I couldn't do that, not since I was by myself. It was OK with you here, but what if I'd been alone and somebody came along?"

By then, I'd satisfied myself that she wasn't drunk, wasn't on some kind of drug, and wasn't mentally ill, so I decided I'd let her go with a warning.

"Ma'am, next time, you uh...you make sure to use the facilities before you start home, OK, and don't speed again. You're lucky you didn't hit another car or miss a curve tonight, but you might not be as lucky next time. I'd hate to watch the EMT guys put you in their truck so they could take you to the hospital."

She smiled at me, then got in the Cruiser and drove off. I went back to the same intersection and parked again.

I couldn't stop grinning. I remembered my dad always kidding Mom about having to stop every hour when they were on a trip. Mom would start squirming in her seat and tell him she needed to stop. Dad would grumble, but he would. If it was a gas station, I'd usually be able to talk Dad into buying me a candy bar while we waited on Mom.

[]

I looked over at Valerie sitting in the right seat of our minivan and grinned.

"Valerie, I was just thinking about the night we met. Remember that?"

Yes, the more I thought about Valerie that night, the more I decided I sorta liked her. I mean, she was pretty and all that, but she wasn't really shy about telling me what was wrong and I liked that a lot. The next Saturday night, I went to Wild Country for a beer, but mostly to see if Valerie was there. She was and I spent an hour watching her line dance before I walked over and said hello.

Well, that Saturday night led to every Saturday night I wasn't working. We'd have dinner there, and then I'd watch Valerie dance. About every hour, the band would play something slow, and I'd ask her to dance. After the first couple weeks, I decided it was pretty nice having Valerie drape her arms around my neck and press of much of her against me as she could. After six months, I decided Saturday nights with her weren't nearly enough. After eight, I took her shopping for rings after she said she'd marry me.

Valerie giggled.

"Yes, I remember. I thought you were going to make me stand there until I couldn't hold it any more."

"Well, it was just the first time any woman had ever used having to pee as an excuse for speeding. I wasn't sure what to do."

Valerie chuckled.

"It wasn't an excuse. I was about to burst...just like I am now. We need to stop."

"I thought you went before we started."

Valerie sighed.

"I did, but you try being pregnant and see how long you can hold it. How far are we from someplace with a restroom?"

I looked on the GPS on the dash.

"Uh...probably half an hour. Can you wait that long?"

Valerie shook her head.

"I don't think so."

Well, about a mile further on, I found a lane that went back through the trees on the side of the road. I pulled inside the trees and stopped. Valerie got out and walked around so the minivan was between her and the highway. She was squirming so much it took her a while to get her pants and panties down to her ankles so she could squat. If she'd had a zipper to unzip, I don't think she'd have made it in time, but her maternity jeans just had an elastic waistband.