I had been very uneasy about going home after school and being alone. Too much criminal activity was going on with Jason and Ziggy. Drugs, violence and run-ins with the law were the norm. I tried to keep myself occupied by making new friends and getting a normal social life for a ten year old. Anything to keep my distance from that house.
My new friend Freddie came over after school one afternoon in June. To paint a picture, he looked a little like a young Chuck Norris. This particular day, Freddie was especially excited. After smoking a bit of weed, Freddie took out a new toy he received by mail order.
Curious about the toy, I asked, “What is that thing you’ve got?”
He replied, “It’s a wrist rocket/slingshot on steroids! Let’s try this baby out!”
We took a walk through the woods towards the tracks and found little round purple metal pellets that had fallen from the train. Fortunately, they were pea sized and fit into the wrist rocket perfectly.
We began our adventure through the woods towards the pond, shooting at everything and anything. When we got to the river's edge, Freddie wanted to step it up a notch and shoot at the apartments so he aimed the wrist rocket in that direction.
I pleaded, “Stop Freddie, this is a bad idea,” thinking this couldn’t end well.
He turned his head and looked at me, grinning ear to ear. A few seconds later, I heard the sound of pellets hitting glass, shattering the windows. My heart started racing as my gut told me we were going to get caught this time. After about ten minutes of waiting, we heard a police radio and saw a blue uniform in the distance, heading our way. The officer was looking down the hill across the river. He couldn’t see us through the woods, but we could see him.
Freddie exposed himself by stepping out in the opening in the tree line and gave the cop the finger. We both started sprinting. I charged right into my house where my brother was hanging out with his crew in the kitchen. Exhausted and scared, I ran in, panting and sweating, and looked up to see my brother with illegal fireworks sprawled across the kitchen table. The Fourth of July was around the corner so my brother and his friends must have made their annual trip out of state to get a ton of fireworks.
Jason asked, “What’s the matter with you? Who are you running from?” as he shook his head.
Ignoring my frantic state, he threw a couple of packs of bottle rockets at me and said, “Go try these out.”
Since I couldn’t resist, I grabbed some empty beer bottles and set them up in a few places in the front yard. They were positioned on the giant hill and by the street, which felt like pretty safe spots to me. For special effect I tied all the rockets together and lit them off. I heard them whistling one after another, shooting in all directions. Suddenly I heard the colossal bang of the rocket and tires screeching. Panicking, I realized that a rocket must have hit a car. As I looked up to see if this were true, I noticed it was not just any car. It was a police cruiser.
The cop turned into my driveway and drove down it quickly. Naturally panicking, I ran as fast as possible into the house and locked the door. Jason was smart enough to clear the table and put the rest of the fireworks in the closet. Hiding behind the couch, I saw the cop look through our windows and bang furiously on the door.
Jason said to Ziggy, “Take care of this guy, okay? Just don’t hurt him.” Agreeing, Ziggy answered the door.
“Hello, officer. Can I help you?” Ziggy asked in his most innocent voice.
The cop said, “Yes. So I was driving by your house and a rocket went in my window and exploded. Let me talk to the young boy. The apartment building up the street also had a projectile shoot through the window.” Then he handed the purple pellet to Ziggy.
The policeman asked again, “Where’s the boy?”
Ziggy yelled, “Sean, come to the door!” When I got to the door, the officer asked me, “You shot this at the apartments’ windows. Is that true?”
I respond, “No sir. Not me,” which wasn't exactly a lie since Freddie did it. Then Ziggy pushed me away from the officer.
The cop aggressively started to force his way into our house, in suspicion.
Ziggy asked, “Do you have a warrant?”
The cop said, “I don’t need one!” and pushed Ziggy again.
Ziggy projected his voice, “You need a warrant to come in jackass, so leave now!”
Regardless, the cop tried to force his way in. Ziggy had had enough and pushed back twice as hard. He pushed the officer onto the front porch and right down the stairs as the cop yelled, “You can't do this!”
As soon as the cop got on his feet, Ziggy pushed him again and again until he was all the way to his car. Feeling defeated, the cop gave up and left, pissed off.
All was quiet for about half an hour when the entire second shift of police and cruisers begin coming down the driveway. Now Jason came out to confront the officer. “May I speak to your supervisor?” Jason asked. An older cop in a white shirt got out of a vehicle. He was the chief.
He said to Jason, “My officer was here and was assaulted. Is that true?”
My brother replied, “Your officer tried to enter my home illegally. We asked to see a warrant and he did not have one. And then he became aggressive. The question I have for you, chief, is if you have a warrant. Because like your officer, you are trespassing on private property.”
The chief looked puzzled. I don’t think your average criminal knows the laws but Jason sure did. The chief started to stutter nervously. He said, “We can have a warrant in an hour.”
My brother said to him, “We feel threatened and if you don’t have a warrant, you have to leave now. At this moment you have shot guns pointed directly at you and you are breaking the law by trespassing on our property. You have five minutes.”
The chief turned quickly and waved his hands to his officers in surrender. The other officers, upon hearing my brother, began to panic. They quickly retreated to their cars and left the driveway in reverse, with tires spinning. A couple of the cars even bumped into each other on the way out. Turns out even the cops were not safe at the Murphy house.
Later that night, I was tossing and turning in bed, trying to sleep as usual. Failing to get any rest, I walked into the other room to talk to Janie. We headed down to the kitchen to talk in private while rummaging for food.
“Janie,” I said as I looked over the box of cereal dividing us, “Ziggy told me today that he is taking us to church tomorrow.”
We both knew what that meant. Father Paul would most certainly be there.