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Trooper Darryl Simmons had only been out of the academy for just over a year. He had joined the Louisiana State Police at the age of twenty-six after two tours in Afghanistan with the Army and earned his degree in Criminal Justice at Southeastern Louisiana University. It was his dream job.
He had quickly proven himself in his new profession, earning the Aggressive Criminal Enforcement (ACE) Award after recovering six stolen vehicles with arrests in twelve months. It was the reason he had been hand-selected to DUI enforcement and trusted to work his own flexible hours.
It was an assignment he enjoyed immensely. He had become a Drug Recognition Expert and Standardized Field Sobriety Test (SFST) Instructor with a conviction rate just shy of 100%. The only case that had been thrown out was due to a local jurisdiction’s handling of the suspect at the scene of an accident, so the evidence was not admissible in court.
But that was all behind him, and Simmons was sure tonight’s shift would bring his numbers up to appease his superiors. He had already made two arrests that were slam dunks, and he still had three hours left to go in his shift. Simmons was confident he would at least get another drunk or ticket to finish out the evening, maintaining his place in the lead for stats in his small DUI unit.
It was just after 3 a.m. and Simmons was sitting in his unit parked in a church parking lot on a narrow stretch of two-lane highway between the small towns of Folsom and Sun in Southeast Louisiana. Simmons was just finishing up his report when he looked up and saw a small sedan with only one headlight approaching from the south on Highway 25.
The car passed by the lighted church parking lot, and Simmons saw a black Honda Civic with partially lowered, dark-tinted windows, and a broken license plate light. Having enough equipment violations to reasonably make a traffic stop, Simmons turned on his headlights and pulled out onto the highway behind the car.
As he accelerated to catch up with the car, he observed the vehicle slowly cross the centerline and then weave back toward the shoulder. When he was within a few car lengths, the driver apparently noticed him and brake-checked Simmons in an attempt to get him to back off.
Simmons called in the stop to dispatch and activated the blue emergency lights on his fully-marked Chevrolet Tahoe. The vehicle once again hit his brakes, but this time more gently, and pulled onto the shoulder.
Simmons pulled up behind the car and angled the nose of his vehicle to the left, giving him both cover in case the driver started shooting and protection against a vehicle rear-ending his Tahoe while he was conducting his roadside investigation. He called the driver out of the vehicle using the unit’s PA system as he grabbed his hat and killed the front emergency lights. He left his lightbar’s takedown lights and spotlight on the vehicle. His rear emergency lights remained on to warn any approaching motorists or potential backup of the traffic stop.
The driver stumbled out of the car, squinting and shielding his eyes with his right hand as he turned to face the bright LED lights. He left the door open as he pulled up his pants and staggered to meet Simmons at the rear of the vehicle. He was a black man with a shaved head who appeared to be in his mid to late thirties. Simmons estimated he was at least 6’4” and over three hundred pounds, nearly half a foot taller than the 5’9” state trooper.
“Step over here,” Simmons said, directing him away from the highway to the right rear corner of the Civic.
Simmons immediately noted the distinct odor of an alcoholic beverage and marijuana on the man’s breath and clothes as he neared. Simmons knew this would lead to another arrest, but he was careful not to let his guard down. He was alone on this stretch of highway, and backup from the local sheriff’s office could be anywhere from 10-20 minutes away since he was so close to the parish line.
“Man, why the fuck you hasslin’ me?” the man asked as he reluctantly complied.
“I’m Trooper Simmons with the Louisiana State Police. The reason I pulled you over tonight is your headlight was out, and you crossed the double-yellow line back there. Have you had anything to drink this evening, sir?” Simmons asked, maintaining a bladed stance with his right leg slightly back in case the man lunged toward the Glock 17 on his right hip.
“You pulled me over for a fucking headlight?” the man asked angrily as his right hand went into his pocket.
“Sir, keep your hands out of your pockets,” Simmons warned.
The man stopped and stared at Simmons. “I need a cigarette.”
“You can get a cigarette later. For your safety and mine, I need you to keep your hands out of your pockets.”
“Man, shit. This is bullshit,” the man said as he slowly removed his hand from his pockets. “I’m just trying to go home, and you are just harassin’ me.”
“What’s your name, sir?” Simmons asked as he observed the man’s dilated pupils.
“Terry,” he replied, leaning against the trunk of his car.
“Terry. Okay, what’s your last name?”
“Haynes,” Terry replied with a look of disgust.
“Okay, Mr. Haynes, where are you coming from this evening? Have you had anything to drink tonight?”
Terry shifted, still leaning against the car. “Man, I ain’t answering shit. I didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”
Simmons took his pen from his pocket and rested his finger on the top. “Okay, Mr. Haynes, I’m going to need you to stand up straight and look at the tip of my pen.”
Terry lazily stood, swaying slightly. “Follow the tip of my pen with your eyes and your eyes only. Do not move your head, do you understand?”
“Yeah,” Terry mumbled.
Simmons held the pen a few inches from Terry’s face. He then moved it from side to side, looking for the involuntary jerking of the eyes known as horizontal gaze nystagmus. As he moved the pen, Terry tracked it by moving his entire head.
“Keep your head still, Mr. Haynes,” Simmons warned.
“Man, fuck this,” Terry snapped.
Having established enough probable cause to make the DWI arrest, Simmons put the pen back in his shirt pocket. As he did, a car sped by, and Terry lunged toward Simmons.
Simmons, stepped back, dodging Terry’s first punch but stumbled and tripped on a pothole on the shoulder. Terry connected with a right cross, and Simmons fell back into the grass by the ditch.
Simmons was dazed by the massive man’s hit but was determined to stay in the fight. As he reached for the Taser on his belt, he accidentally knocked the body-worn camera out of its holder, causing it to fall into the grass. He drew the Taser and fired as he scrambled to his feet.
One of the prongs connected and stuck in Terry’s shoulder, but the other missed, causing the Taser to be ineffective. Simmons started to rip the cartridge out to install a new one, but there was no time. His NFL lineman-sized attacker was surprisingly quick and already within striking distance.
Simmons managed to hit the red panic button on his radio, sending out a tone to alert dispatchers and other units that he was in the fight of his life. “Stop resisting!” he yelled.
Terry once again swung but, this time, Simmons surged toward him and bear-hugged him, staying inside Terry’s massive wingspan and taking him to the ground as his collar mic fell from his shirt.
As they went back to the ground, Terry grabbed Simmons and turned his body, landing on top of Simmons as the two hit the asphalt. Terry started pummeling Simmons as the much smaller trooper did his best to block the blows.
Simmons did his best to fight back, but he was no match for the much larger man who had the upper hand. As he started to feel himself losing consciousness, he felt Terry reaching for the Glock 17 in his holster.
Using his last bit of strength, Simmons punched Terry in the throat as hard as he could, causing him to choke and fall backward momentarily.
As Terry recovered and started back toward him, Simmons drew his weapon and fired rapidly from the hip, hitting Simmons six times in the chest and abdomen until the man fell face down into the grass next to the shoulder.
Simmons struggled to his feet and grabbed the collar mic that was now swinging by its cord. “Shots fired! Shots fired!”