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THE DEPUTY LEANED AGAINST Sheldon’s car door, hindering her from getting in and driving away.
Staying on the sidelines and ignoring an injustice wasn’t in my nature. I crossed the street and walked straight up behind the cop.
A flash of recognition came across Sheldon’s face.
I stood four feet from the guy before he heard me. Not the greatest situational awareness.
Uniform or no uniform, cop or no cop, I talked to him like he was just another guy. I said, “The lady said she isn’t interested in talking to you. She made that clear.”
The guy turned to face me. He was startled. Some kind of cop training or ancient predatory urge to defend an imaginary territory came over him because he immediately reached for his gun. He left it holstered but rested his hand on the butt. It probably made him feel safer. Whatever.
He wasn’t going to draw on me. Not here. Not in front of witnesses on a relatively busy section of street in broad daylight. Just then, several customers left the drugstore behind him. A mother with three young kids walked to their car from a shoe store in the plaza. No way was he going to draw now, especially when he was the one in the wrong.
He opened his mouth to speak, but before he let out a word, I smelled his breath. He smelled like he had bathed in alcohol. I detected rum and whiskey and probably beer on his breath. Everyone must have attended that party.
The guy had probably been up all night doing shots. He’d probably never gone to bed. But he wasn’t wasted. Not completely. Badly buzzed, but mostly coherent.
He asked, “Who the hell are you?”
I said, “Me? I’m nobody. Just a passerby.”
He looked puzzled. He obviously hadn’t been at the top of his class.
I said, “But you...you’re a cop. A sheriff’s deputy by the look of your uniform. You’re supposed to uphold the law. You’re supposed to make your department look good. And right now, I’d say that you’re failing. Miserably.”
The cop looked at me with fury in his eyes. He said, “I’m talking to this lady. She’s not your concern. I’m gonna let you walk away now before you get hurt.”
“Hurt?” I asked. “I agree. One of us will get hurt. But it won’t be her, and it certainly won’t be me. And that only leaves you. You could pull that gun on a couple of innocent people. And you could slip, and the gun could come out of your hand. It could go off and hit you in the leg or the arm. And then you’d have to go to the hospital...and explain how it all happened.”
He asked, “Are you threat’nin’ me?”
He gripped the gun’s handle. He didn’t brandish it, just grabbed it like a gunslinger waiting for the count of three.
He said, “Threat’nin’ an officer of the law is illegal here.”
I said, “Harassing a citizen, especially sexually harassing a female one, is illegal everywhere. Now get your hand off your gun. As of right now, we’re just a couple of guys talking. Having a verbal dispute. A disagreement.”
My hands hung harmlessly by my sides. No sudden action. No threatening motions. I knew all of the signals that cops were trained to look for, and at that moment, I displayed none of them. But still, I stayed within grabbing distance of the deputy in case I needed to take the Glock from him before he hurt someone with it.
I said, “Two guys having a verbal disagreement are just that—two guys. Not friends. Not enemies. Just two guys. If you pull that gun out, then we’ll be enemies. And you don’t want to be my enemy. Trust me.”
The cop stood there frozen. He stayed quiet. He wanted to pull out his Glock and arrest me—I could see it in his eyes—but he didn’t. With witnesses, everywhere, he’d never be able to charge me with anything that would stick. Whatever bogus charge he came up with would get dismissed in court, and he’d be suspended for sure. Probably lose his job whenever Sheldon’s testimony came up.
The guy moved his hand away from his gun as he looked around the parking lot and realized I was right.
I smiled and took a glance at his nameplate. Gemson. Strange name. Stranger than mine even.
I said, “Good call. Why don’t we just keep this between us?”
He nodded.
I said, “And in the future, why don’t you just steer clear of this woman? If I were you, I’d leave your squad car parked where it is, take the keys out of the ignition, and get on your cell phone or radio. Call the dispatcher and tell her you’ve suddenly come down with a stomach bug. Then walk or call a cab and go home. Get some sleep and sober up.”
Gemson said, “I’ll see you again.”
He said nothing else, just looked around to see if anyone had paid any attention to what had happened. No one seemed to have picked up on it.
Satisfied, he walked away. Not fast. Not slow. Just a normal speed until he was lost to sight.
I walked over to the cop car, opened the door, sat down and pressed the brake. I shifted the gear to neutral, and then I gripped the roof and the side of the car and pushed it over to the curb. It was a fire lane, but, hey, this was a police vehicle. Then I popped the lever back to park and reached down and turned off the ignition. I tossed the keys onto the seat, not much caring if someone came along and stole the car. Not my business.