The Shotgun Rider

"Give me a gauze pad and the wrapper."

I turned to Valerie.

"I have to take off your bra and I'm going to cut it in front. Hold still so I don't cut you too."

I slipped my knife blade under her bra band in front and pulled. The blade went through the material like butter. As soon as her breast was bared, I slapped the plastic gauze wrapper over the hole and then held it in place with the gauze pad. Valerie was still gasping but it looked like she was getting at least some air. I hoped it was enough to keep her alive until the EMT's got there.

Valerie was breathing a little better after a couple of minutes and the pad was keeping her from bleeding too badly. When I looked up, I saw the flashing lights of the EMT van and a few seconds later, Bill and Melody wheeled a gurney up beside the patrol car. After opening the passenger door, Bill replaced my hand with his and between Melody, Jack, and I, we got Valerie out of my car and onto the gurney while he kept the wound sealed. While Bill taped a plastic square over the hole in Valerie's chest, Melody felt for Valerie's pulse, used her flashlight to check Valerie's eyes, and then looked up at Bill while she reached in her case.

"She's going into shock and her heart rate is over a hundred. I'm going to put in an IV to keep her blood pressure up. After that, you get in back with her and I'll drive to Memorial. That's the closest."

After we put Valerie in the EMT van, they raced off toward the hospital. I went back to finish up the investigation. I was glad another unit showed up. I wasn't really very efficient.

I called Memorial as soon as I got back to the station. It wasn't much relief to hear that Valerie was still in surgery, but at least she was still alive. I called the next day and learned that she was out of surgery and in intensive care. I asked if she could have visitors, but they said only family. It wasn't until two days later they moved her into a room and let me come see her.

She was sitting up watching television when I knocked on her room door. She looked over, sighed, and then waved me in.

"I suppose you're here to say you told me so.

I smiled.

"No. I'm here to say I'm sorry I caused you to get hurt and to ask if there's anything I can do for you."

"You didn't get me shot. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"If I'd taken the guy down faster -- "

"I don't know how you'd have done that. I saw you shoot at about the same time the window broke and the bullet hit me in the chest."

"Well, I appreciate you saying that. How you feeling? The nurse said you're gonna be OK."

Valerie smiled.

"Oh, I'm just peachy. It only hurts when I breathe, I have a tube in my chest, and I'm going to have a scar on my right boob."

I smiled back.

"The pain will get better with time. I did with me anyway. They'll take out the chest tube in a week or so. As for the scar, it'll just be something to remind you about how lucky you are."

"You've been shot before?"

"Yeah, my first year on the force. I was stupid and thought I could talk the guy down. I also hadn't put on my vest because it was hot that day. He got me in the chest with a.38."

"So that's why you're so defensive about using force."

I shrugged.

"Part of it, I suppose. The other part is what I already told you. I don't want anybody to get hurt."

"Did you get them both? I didn't see anything after I got shot."

"The guy who shot you is in the morgue. We caught the other guy later that morning. He's in jail awaiting arraignment right now on charges of armed robbery and attempted homicide. He won't get off. The restaurant had surveillance cameras that recorded everything, and the counter girl picked him out of a lineup. He still had the money too, so the restaurant will get that back after the trial. Both had records of armed robbery in the past."

"Well, that's good. I wish I could write the story, but they say I won't be doing much of anything for a while."

"Yeah, they always say that, but don't let it get you down. You'll be on your feet and back at work before you know it. Well, I don't want to keep you from your TV program. I'll leave you my card. If you need anything, just give me a call, OK?"

Valerie never called me, so I figured she was getting on with her life. I kept looking at the newspaper for anything she'd written, but I didn't find anything and that didn't really surprise me. It had taken me two months to get back on restricted duty and another three before the doctor certified me for regular duty, so she was probably just recuperating.

It was almost six months later when I ended my shift and was taking my paperwork to the Commander when his secretary said someone was in the lobby waiting for me. When I walked through the door, there was Valerie. I walked up and stuck out my hand.

"Hi there, Valerie. Looks like you're all healed."

She smiled that same pretty smile.

"Well, it still hurts a little to take a deep breath, but the doctor says that'll go away in another month or two."

"So, what brings you down here?"

"Well, I never did thank you for what you did for me that night and I feel bad about that. The surgeon at the hospital told me if you hadn't known what to do, I'd have died."

"All I did is what any officer would have done. You don't have to thank me."

"Yes, I do. Have you had breakfast yet?"

I smiled.

"I really can't accept anything from you, Valerie. It's against department policy for an officer to accept any kind of reward for doing his job."

"OK, what if we went for breakfast but we each paid for our own food. Could you do that?"

"Yeah, I suppose that would be OK. You sure you want to eat breakfast with a cop? As I remember, you don't think much of us."

Valerie smiled.

"Maybe I've changed my mind a little. How about that IHOP place on Tenth?"

We were finishing our second cup of coffee when Valerie looked at me and smiled.

"How's it been going without me in your patrol car?"

I shrugged.

"About like always, I guess. The bad guys haven't stopped being bad guys and we haven't stopped trying to catch them."

"Anybody shoot at you lately?"

"No, not since that night."

She ran a fingertip around the lip of her coffee cup.

"You know, I did a lot of thinking in the hospital and then when I got home. That night in your patrol car, I was sure I was going to die. Then, when I woke up in the hospital, I was mad at you for making that guy shoot at you and getting me hurt. I thought of all sorts of ways you could have stopped him without making him do that."

She sighed.

"I guess I was feeling sorry for myself and trying to find someone to blame. After you came to see me, though, I played what happened over and over in my mind again. When I tried out the other ways you could have just arrested him, none of them worked because his first reaction was to try to kill you. The fact he shot me was why I realized why you had to shoot him. I was the only one else around that night, but if there had been other people there and he'd have kept shooting, some of them probably wouldn't have been a lucky as I was. You really didn't have a choice.

"That led me to think back to the articles I've written in the past about how much force the police use. When I wrote those articles, I hadn't seen how far criminals will go to keep from getting caught, and I didn't realize how fast things can happen sometimes. The more I thought about those times, the more I started to realize that at least most of the time, the cops are doing what they think will keep everyone around safe."

I smiled.

"So riding with me did do some good."

Valerie nodded.

"Yes, but not how you think. I won't be writing any articles to tell people how you cops really do your jobs. I quit last week."

"You quit? Why?"

"I thought about staying there and writing about what happened that night, but then I realized I was only popular because I kept criticizing the police department. People always like the underdog, and unfortunately, for a lot of people in Nashville the underdog is the suspect you guys arrest. After riding with you and what you did for me, I couldn't do that anymore."

"So, what are you going to do now?"

Valerie took a deep breath.

"I went to college to become a novelist. When I got out, I found out that's a tough nut to crack. It costs a lot of money to print a book and get it on the shelves, and the publishers already have a stable of writers they can count on to write stuff that will sell. I had to have an income, so I got the job at the newspaper, but I've always wanted to write novels. I did write one novel that first year but it got rejected so I'd pretty much given up until I got shot.

I couldn't go back to writing what I'd been writing, so I quit. I've saved enough to keep a roof over my head and living comfortably for about two years, so I'm going to try writing a novel again."

"Well, I wish you the best. What are you going to write about?"

Valerie grinned.

"I did some research over the past months. Crime novels still sell pretty well, so I'm going to try one of those. I have it started and it's going to be about what happens to a woman who rides with a police officer to monitor what they do. I showed what I've written so far to one of my old college professors, and he said he'd put in a good word with a publisher he knows. After that one, I'll find another crime and write about that. It would make it easier if I could ride with you again. Could I? I volunteered for five nights and I only got three so you owe me two more."

I smiled and shook my head.

"Well, that program is over now, so I can't really let you ride with me again."

"Damn", she grinned. "I was hoping I could."

She sipped her coffee and then looked up at me.

"If I can't ride with you, maybe you could tell me what happens so I could write about that. Would that work?"

"Uh...well, you realize I can't discuss any open cases with you. There are some things we don't make public because they'll either be used to catch our suspect or in the trial. If those things became public, the suspect's lawyer would ask for a change of venue or ask the judge to dismiss the case."

"I could go to the trial and use what happens there in my book, so you wouldn't have to tell me the details. What I'd need from you is how you found out about the crime and how you caught the guy, the kind of stuff you see on the news every night."

"I don't know. Some of that stuff does end up in the trial."

"Well, some cops have to talk about what they do. Surely the married guys tell their wives what happens at work."

"Yeah, but they're married and their wives know not to talk about it."

Valerie grinned at me.

"So, I'd have to marry you to get you to tell me anything?"

I grinned.

"That's a bit extreme, don't you think?"

"Well, I have to get my information somehow. How about if you were my anonymous source in the police department?"

I chuckled.

"You know, I'd like to make detective someday, and from my experience, those anonymous sources sometimes get fired."

"Isn't there anything you can tell me, like what you did on your last shift?"

"All that happened last night was I arrested a guy for DUI and broke up a domestic dispute."

"Did the guy resist?"

"No, he was too drunk to do much of anything besides throw up right before I put him in my patrol car. I had to wake him up when I got him back to the station."

"How about the woman in the domestic dispute?"

I smiled.

"Well, it was two guys."

Valierie giggled.

"They were gay?"

"Let's just say one of them was really in touch with his feminine side. A neighbor called it in. When I got there, it wasn't really much of a dispute. They were just having a little spat about like any other couple would have. What I think really was going on is the neighbor just didn't like having a gay couple next door and was trying to get them in trouble.

What it all boiled down to was the one guy was crying because the other had forgotten the anniversary of the day they met. The other was trying to apologize, but the guy doing the crying wasn't listening.

Well, I was there and the neighbor would expect me to do something, so I hung around and talked to them both. After about half an hour, they'd talked it out and seemed to be OK, so I left without really doing anything besides calming the one down enough he started to listen. They were hugging when I left."

She chuckled.

"I could write the gay guys as a side plot, but that wouldn't make a whole novel. I need something with real meat, like a string of armed robberies or a murder. Had any of those lately?"

"No armed robberies, but we're averaging about three murders a month right now."

"Can you tell me about one or two?"

I smiled.

"Yes, I could if I didn't have to work tonight. I need to get home and get myself to bed."

Valerie grinned.

"I forgot you work nights, I guess. When's the next time you're off for a day or two?"

I'm still not sure how I let her talk me into going to her apartment, but that's where I ended up the next Wednesday night. Over coffee, I told her about one of the murders I'd helped investigate. She was full of questions.

"The victim was a seventeen year old kid?"

"Yeah, but that's not unusual. Most of our murders are either gang or drug related. The people involved are usually younger than twenty five. This one was a gang thing, and most of those involved were under twenty."

"Were you able to catch them?"

"We caught the shooter who killed the kid, but it was really by accident. Like usual, nobody at the crime scene would admit to seeing anything, so we didn't have much to go on. We found him on surveillance video at the convenience store he robbed a couple weeks later. He was only nineteen, but we knew who he was because he'd been arrested twice before and spent some time in Juvenile Detention. When we picked him up on the robbery charge, he had a pistol and our routine check matched the bullets fired from the pistol he was carrying to the one that killed the kid.

"He claimed he'd bought the pistol two days before that and gave us the name of the seller. We brought in the seller and told him we were going to charge him with first degree murder since we had a witness who would testify he sold our witness the pistol the day after the shooting. One of the detectives interrogated him for an hour, but the guy kept saying he didn't know our suspect, had never had a gun, and was on the other side of Nashville that night.

The detective went back to our suspect and told him that we had three witnesses who would testify they saw him there and saw him shoot the kid, but we'd drop the charge down to reckless homicide if he'd come clean. If he didn't, the DA was going to take it to court and recommend the death penalty. We didn't know any of that, but he didn't know we didn't."

"You lied to him?"

"Yes, we can say pretty much anything we want to a suspect until the case goes to trial. We have to tell the truth on the witness stand, but before that, we can lie as much we want. It usually works. Most of these kids are pretty dumb about laws and how law enforcement works, so telling them we can pin a crime on them often results in a confession to what they really did and the agreement to testify in court if we let them plead to a lesser offense."

"So what did he tell you?"

"The whole thing was over a rival gang member saying the shooter's sister was a prostitute. She actually is, but apparently our shooter thought that was disrespectful. He got several of his gang together and went looking for the rival gang member. Our suspect was one of them, but he said he didn't have a gun so the guy he named as selling him the gun gave him one to use. He told us where the weapon was hidden, and when we found it, our shooter's fingerprints were all over the grip, the magazine, and on each cartridge, so that sort of confirmed the second guy's story. He also agreed to testify to that and that he'd seen our shooter firing.

"When we told our suspect all that, he finally came clean and pled to voluntary manslaughter. He'll likely get about ten years and be out in eight if he behaves himself."

"Only ten years? That doesn't seem like much for killing someone."

I frowned.

"No, it's not fair to the victim, but it does get the shooter off the street and the city saves the cost of a trial. If he was still out there, he'd probably do it again. With any luck, he'll decide prison time isn't worth it and change. I doubt it, but maybe."

"What did the second guy get?"

"Well, since we really had only his confession to being there and having a weapon, we ended up charging him with possession of a firearm with intent to cause harm. He pled guilty and got a year in prison."

Valerie smiled.

"I can't tell you how much this helps. I'd like to hear more. Could we do this again the next time you're off?"

We continued to meet on my off nights for about six months. I'd go to Valerie's apartment and over coffee, I'd tell her about the cases in which I'd been involved or had direct knowledge of. She'd ask questions and take notes.

I started looking forward to those days with her. When I'd first met Valerie, I'd pegged her as pushy, overbearing, and convinced she was always right. Over that six months, I changed my mind. Valerie was definitely a confident woman and she said what she thought, but she also listened and tried to understand what I said.

At first, it was a little disconcerting that she asked some very pointed questions about what I did and why, and I was probably pretty defensive, but then I realized she was just trying to make her writing as true to life as she could. Telling her how I'd felt during an investigation or an arrest was helping her understand how a police officer thinks and why he makes the decisions he makes.

Valerie called me in January of that year and she was excited.

"My book got published and I got a check. Wanna help me celebrate?"

I asked what she had in mind. She giggled.

"Well, going out to have a few drinks would probably end up with you arresting me, so that won't work. How about if I get a pizza and some beer and you come over?"

The pizza was great - thick crust and loaded with meat, cheese, peppers and olives like a pizza should be. She'd bought a little cake to celebrate, so I crammed a piece into my already stuffed stomach. When I pushed back from her table, Valerie asked me to sit still while she got something.

She came back with a copy of her book. The cover had the title "The Shotgun Rider" and a picture of a very sexy woman sitting in a patrol car along with a very muscular patrol officer. When I opened the cover, I saw she'd written a note and signed it.

To Ron, who gave me a second chance at life. I can't thank you enough. Valerie Wilson.

She was grinning when I looked up from the book.

"I thought since you're a big part of the book, you should have a copy. I changed you enough nobody will know it's you, but what my officer does are the same things you've told me about."

"I thank you, and I promise I'll read it. I probably should be going now, though. It's almost ten and you still need your rest."

Valerie grinned and stepped in front of me.

"Not so fast, Sir. Have you been drinking tonight?"

"Well, sure I have. You saw me."

"Sir, you look a little confused to me. Are you sure you're OK to drive?"

"Valerie, I'm a big guy and two beers over three hours on top of all the food I ate isn't going to do anything to me."

"Well, I need to make sure. Put your feet together and your hands to your sides, and then lift one foot and count to ten."

"Valerie, this is silly. I'm not drunk."

She grinned.

"That's what they all say, but here's how it is. You're either going to do what I say, or I'm going to have to get rough with you. I don't think you want that. Now, feet together and close your eyes."