WILD CAR CHASES THROUGH BUSY DOWNTOWN STREETS! BUSTIN' DOWN DOORS, VIOLENT GUN BATTLES, SLAPPIN' SOME UNCOOPERATIVE PERP UPSIDE THE HEAD, BLOWIN' STUFF UP, WILD SEX and DONUTS have absolutely nothing to do with this column. Or with actual police work (much to my dismay), as I was soon to learn on my evening ride-along with friend, neighbor and Portland city cop, Rich "Hole-in-Hosiery" (name changed to protect the innocent).
Inspecting the Batmobile
As we settled into the squad car and got ready to hit the streets, I had a chance to finally inspect the Batmobile.
Oh, don't get me wrong. I've ridden in lots of cop cars. Most recently some months ago back in Utah (fidget, squirm), when my wife let the insurance and tags lapse on her car that I was driving.
Yeah I've ridden in dozens of cop cars - just never in the FRONT seat - where you can touch all the buttons, bells and whistles.
"Don't touch that," says Rich.
"What's THIS do?"
"Don't touch that either."
"Can I have a gun?"
"NO."
Rich was busy firing up the Batmobile's onboard computer, a highly sophisticated crime-fighting weapon that uses satellite technology to pinpoint the exact location of the nearest bad guy or the best chocolate cake donut in northeast Portland.
Then, he stopped scanning the screen and suddenly looked at me very seriously.
"We gotta roll, partner!"
I'm sure my face went white - which is not a particularly good look on an Indian boy - as we tore outta the garage and sped toward the scene, pulling up with a screech at the drive-up window of a local coffee shop.
"So, like, is this place a FRONT for some crack dealer, money launderer or numbers racketeerer?" I asked excitedly.
Verbose prisoner
"Nope," he said. "You should just never start the work day without a cup of coffee! Department policy."
Then, before we even took our first sip, the dispatcher's voice boomed over the radio with a 911 domestic violence call, and we were rollin' for real.
In Portland, if you beat up on your domestic partner, it's a mandatory arrest and a night in jail for you, buster.
A half-hour later, the alleged perp was handcuffed in the BACK seat, and Rich and I drove off toward jail, leaving the bruised fiancee shouting her tearful apologies and good-byes from the front door of the home.
I can't tell ya the perp's name, but it sounds a lot like the word that comes before "pain," when someone IS one.
And "Mr. Pain" would NOT shut up.
For the entire 30-minute trip to jail he would not shut his donut hole. Even after being advised that he had the right to remain silent - would he? No. Yammer, yammer, yammer. And, at ME.
"Man, is this yo partner? He BIG! Man, I thought you was Geronimo or that Pocahontas dude or somethin'. You undercover? I allus thought you Indians was cool."
I wanted to beat the guy just for hitting his woman.
Now I wanted to shoot him, just to shut him up.
But what happened next was even better than that.
Piercing experience
While being booked into jail, "Mr. Pain" had to have his piercing removed - from his bottom lip. It's the law.
After several unsuccessful attempts by the diminutive female deputy to unscrew the unruly "dumb bell" piercing from "Mr. Pain's" lower lip, it was time for the bolt-cutters.
This was classic.
Watching this 5-foot-tall woman administer a pair of bolt-cutters, almost as big as herself, to the face of this big, nearly 7-foot-tall, woman-beatin' man was priceless.
Almost as priceless as the look of satisfaction on her face when the ornament snapped in two and flew across the room. And almost as priceless as the look on HIS face, reeling backward from the tool in her hands.
The night was still young as Rich and I drove off from the jail.
Plenty of bad guys still out there.
I began to think that being a cop isn't all that it's cracked up to be. I sure don't think that I could do it. The frustration level would kill me, dealing with dirtbags and boneheads all the time, and not getting to just shoot 'em and go have a donut.
Note to self: Don't quit your day job ... and, cancel that tongue-piercing appointment.
Originally published Aug. 24, 2002.
Copyright © The Billings Gazette, a division of Lee Enterprises.
John Potter, an Ojibwe from Wisconsin, is a gifted artist, illustrator and writer. After more than 20 years as an editorial artist and columnist with the Billings Gazette (Billings, Mont.), he now spends his full time and energy on his oils, painting the landscapes of the West that he loves the most. His work can be seen online at www.johnpotterstudio.com.
