A Cop Named Harry
“Unit 4B-16, can you respond?” I take another bite and wipe my lips with the paper napkin. Hell, I’m on break fer chrissakes!
Ten seconds later, and a decidedly sharper tone; “Unit 4B-16, WILL you respond?”
This time there was an imperative new hardness to the dispatcher’s voice. I better answer since this new dispatcher is the chief’s latest flavor of the month and I don’t know what kinda clout she pulls yet. The last one ended up sleeping with the entire squad before the chief got onto her. I figure I'd I better not take any chances with this one until I see the lay of the land if you’ll pardon my pun.
This new one, Viola, obviously keeps the chief’s libido dampened sufficiently. She’s twenty-five years younger than the chief if that makes any difference and he's always been a randy bastard. Viola is quick to trot out for donuts whenever he asks and jumps when he summons for anything without complaint. Viola recognizes a gravy train up close even if she ain’t shooting 20/20 on all cylinders or whatever they say. Guess I’m mixing my clichés and metaphors here, but you probably get my drift. I’m just a cop after all, not a goddamned poet or grammarian.
“Yeah, 10-4, gotcha. This is 4B-16”. I say into the mike around my mouthful of doughnut. “I just hadda go 10-44 outside the car for a minute watering some daisies. Sorry I didn’t call it in. So, whatayagot?”
Viola responds, “Possible 10-31 and 10-32 at 4th & Elm. Shots fired and people down. Need you there NOW! Ambulances are dispatched so watch & listen!”
This broad is something else. On the job less than a month and here she is slinging orders like the chief hisself! I manage not to smart mouth back and simply respond,
“10-4. 4B-16 is 10-76.” No need to waste words telling this bimbo I am on the way. Besides, maybe that will make her dive into the code book. Not likely though since she probably has everything already memorized by now to impress Big Chief Sugar Daddy. Yeah, she has a great body for sure but her face looks like an over-harvested rutabaga patch. The chief coulda done better than her I’ve been thinking since I first laid eyes on her. For Christ’s sakes, he’s been married six times so there has to be something in him women like, am I right? So, what the hell is this? Ah, no matter, Viola is the chief's problem and I don't plan to let her be mine.
Fourth and Elm is just two blocks away, my siren is howling and my blood is up. A little excitement today! Yesterday my big thrill was a drunk who overturned his lawn tractor in a muddy ditch.
There’s a crowd at the intersection as I come sliding in sideways. One old codger in an out of date grey suit makes a desperate last second lunge to avoid getting squashed against the power pole just before I slam into it with the right front fender. The old sonofabitch makes it too, which means now I won’t have a bunch of extra paperwork to fill out. Some days ya just get the breaks!
The motor pool honcho always disables the driver’s side airbags in our vehicles ‘just because’ he says. Anyways, no real harm done besides the trashed bumper and fender and deployed airbag on the passenger side, right? Definitely gonna need a wrecker too, which is a good thing. That means my shift will be over for the day once I get this shooter issue sorted out which is still an open question. Look on the bright side I always say, you know, glass half full kinda thing.
The chief chooses to disagree about cops busting up the rolling stock, but so what? I got seniority and the union won’t let him fire me without a big fuss. The chief will scream and holler but he won’t go any further than that. The chief is big, and loud and mean, but he’s been duly de-nutted by the police union. Now, he’s exactly like a stud bull without his balls. I laugh about that after a few beers sometimes. Poor bastard - must suck to be him.
Trotting up to the scene I see a crowd of 25 or 30 of our fine upstanding citizens on the sidewalk and street in front of a video game arcade joint. As a seasoned cop I‘ve already scoped things out just before I hit that pole. I figure since everyone is standing around the shooter is long gone. Ipso facto, no need to get in a rush, am I right?
“OK folks, clear the way.” I holler.
It's important to show folks who’s running things right away.
“The cavalry’s here. Where’s the problem? Where’s the guy with the gun”
I have my Glock 9 mm in my hand at my side as precautionary insurance in case I’m wrong, and also that’s standard operating procedure when responding to an active shooter call. There’s an old saying that goes; ‘There are old cops, and there are bold caps. But, there ain’t no old, bold cops.’ After fifteen years on the force now I’ve come to see the truth in that.
I can hear someone moaning and wailing somewhere beyond the crowd of onlookers.
“I think the shooter’s dead.” Someone says. “The others are right over there.”
I push my way through the curious gawkers. But, when I get past the crowd my day turns totally to shit. What the hell? There’s several green derby hats scattered around on the pavement and some people are down. Most of them appear to be some ugly, weird looking kids. Two or three kids are sitting up and one big fat old white guy is rolling around on his ass wailing and holding his bloody left knee. I’m wondering if I’m seeing some kinda screwed up terrorist mass shooting.
I holler into my shoulder mike to dispatch; “Better double down on them ambulances Viola. There’re folks down all over the goddamned place - and get me some frigging back-up out here quick!”
When the shit gets real the police call codes sometimes go AWOL. Mine do anyway.
“10-4”. Says Viola. Just by-the-book business as usual for that snide and irritating train wreck of a gold digger.
I can hear the sound of at least one siren growing louder as I look around at all the carnage. The fat guy is wailing “Oh, God! Oh, God!” over and over.
Now that I have got my blood pressure down a couple notches I take a fresh look. Things are obviously calmed down and there doesn’t actually seem to be a viable threat at the moment. The weird kids are being helped to their feet now and are limping around. I still can’t figure out the goddamned green derby hats. I holster my Glock and snap the catch.
“Just what in hell went down here?” I ask no one in particular.
“The fat guy got in a big fight with a buncha midgets” a middle-aged guy wearing a red and green flannel shirt volunteers. I give him a look.
“Started inna arcade over there. Ain’t ‘zactly sure what about. Contract er something I think. Anyhow Wonder Woman shot him after he pulled a gun on her.”
Wonder Woman? What the hell is this? This is beginning to show the definite signs of a shit storm coming up and no cop needs that.
Looking closer I see that the ones I took for kids are actually dwarfs of some kind or other. I damned sure ain’t no expert on dwarfs and midgets, and don’t know the damned difference at all in fact. I can see that everyone except for one or two are on their feet and limping around brushing themselves off and whatnot. One dwarf in a green dress lies very still face down with her head turned to one side close to the fat guy. She ain't moving and I figure she's dead. A large nickle plated revolver is on the pavement near her small, knobby right hand. The pistol looks like a big old-fashioned .44. The fat guy keeps rocking back and forth, moaning and crying loudly. He's starting to get on my nerves.
“All right! Nobody leaves!” I holler. “Not ‘til I get yer statements!”
Outta the corner of my eye I see some at the back of the crowd begin to edge away and I’m not gonna have that. But just as I'm almost ready to holler again, two more squad cars come sliding up. One smacks into the rear end of my unit with a loud crash. Several in the crowd look over at me quickly to see how I’m gonna react to that, but I just grin back at them with a lotta teeth just to screw with their heads. Hell, that’s just more bile to aggravate the chief’s ulcer. Now I won’t be the only one forced to listen to the his whining and bitching. He, he, he.
An ambulance comes roaring around the corner a block away now, lights flashing and hooter howling ‘ooh-wah, ooh-wah‘ up and down, up and down. Help is on the way! The two new cops come running up, hands on their sidearms.
“What’s going down, Harry?” Asks a rookie cop named Luke just trotting up with an eager, alert look. His training officer is on his heels.
“Don’t know yet, son. I’m told the shooter is down, so you guys hold this bunch here while I get things sorted out over there where the victims are. Looks like some kinda female dwarf has copped it and at least one other victim is hit. You and Odd get started taking names and statements from this crowd while yer standing here with yer thumbs up yer asses.”
"How you guys can figure out how to play with your puds while yer thumbs up yer asses I'll never learn." I say as I walk away.
Odd, ain’t it? Yeah, that’s really the guy’s name, Swedish or Danish or something. Yeah, me’n the boys have a lotta fun with that back at the station. Anyways, I’m senior guy here and officer-in-charge unless and until someone more senior shows up. I head over now to find the guy in the flannel shirt. I catch the shitty looks from the other two cops as I walk away which makes me all warm and bubbly inside. I don't try too hard not to show that since part of the pleasure is pissing 'em off an’ letting them know it. Hey, ya gotta take yer fun where you find it, right?
Day’s looking up again!
The guy in the flannel shirt is kneeling next to the fat guy when I get back through the crowd. But, the fatality is now sitting up and being tended to by a couple of other dwarfs. She ain’t dead after all, just looks dazed and not too seriously injured. I don't see any other obvious injuries anywhere other than the fat guy. I motion to the two EMT’s now trotting up to tend to the fat guy.
It’s time to get this crazy story straight.
“That’s Wonder Woman right there if you wanna get her side.” Says the flannel shirt guy without being asked. He nods his head in the direction of the former fatality.
I walk over. Since I’ve never interviewed a dwarf before I don’t know where to start or what to call her. Playing it safe I say, “What happened here M’am?”
“Wonder Woman!” She spits it right back at me. “My goddamned name is Wonder Woman! I got it legally changed dumbass!”
Damn! In my job you meet a lot of different kinds of people but Wonder Woman is in an entirely new category for me. Besides being barely maybe three feet tall, she’s old and leathery and uglier than a sick hog’s ass. I work on being tolerant and fair with people and non judgmental until all the facts are in. But, Wonder Woman, well, I can see right off she’s gonna be a real challenge. I’ll need all my cop skills for her.
“OK, then Ms. Woman, can you tell me what happened here?” I say just as nicely and non judgmentally as I can muster.
“Wonder Woman, goddammit!” She fires right back before I get the words out. “Wassamatta, you got peanut butter in yer ears? Ain’t no goddamned Ms. or Mrs., just Wonder Woman you frigging shithead!”
Frankly, now I’m a little pissed. Even so, I say just as evenly as I can muster, “M’am, I’ll call you anything you want. I’m just trying to get the facts here. I’m not trying to cop an attitude with you, and I don't want one from you, OK? Just tell me what I should call you, OK?”
A little less belligerent now, “Well, all right then. You can call me Wonder Woman like I've been telling you.”
“Fair enough Wonder Woman. Can you tell me what happened here?”
“I hadda shoot the bastard,” says Wonder Woman, a small, but evil smirk on her lips. I don’t like this look at all. In fact it's creeping me out a little.
“He pulled a gun and tried to shoot Doc ’n I hadda get the gun away from him and shoot him. So, I did!” The smirk is bigger now, and more evil looking too.
“Is he hurt bad? Is he gonna die?” She asks hopefully.
“M’am, Wonder Woman, I don’t know yet. The EMT’s are working on him now. I’ll let you know when I know, OK?”
“I hope the sonofabitch dies!”
“Well, OK.” I say noncommittally. “Can you tell me what happened? Who is he and how you are involved with this guy?”
“You know what?” Wonder Woman says as she crosses her short little arms with finality. “I'm done dammit! I ain’t saying another goddamned word! You want more, you talk to Doc over there. He saw the whole goddamned thing. He’s part of it too, the stubby little sonofabitch!”
Whoa!
I look over and there are half a dozen or so dwarfs in a group talking and watching us. They didn't look young or old, just in between. Hell, like I said, I don’t know the first damned thing about dwarfs.
“Which one is Doc?” I ask reasonably.
She gives me an exasperated look and looks at me like I am from Mars.
“Shit man!” She snaps. “What the hell's wrong with you? You got eyes? He’s standing right there between Grumpy and Sleepy. Just ask somebody fer God’s sakes, you idiot!”
Man! Now I feel like I’ve just dropped in on planet Bizarro. What the hell is going on? I walk over to the group of dwarfs who are chattering away excitedly. One is wearing a lime green derby hat.
“Which one of you is Doc?” I say.
The one with the hat raises his finger. “I’m Doc.”
“OK, I need yer full name Doc.”
“Doc White.”
“That’s it? Just Doc White?”
“Yep.”
“Spell it for me.” I say. I have my little notebook out, pencil in hand.
Doc too gives me a look now like I'm not only from Mars, but an idiot as well. Drawing it out for full effect he says sarcastically, dramatically and a bit too loudly, I assume for the benefit of his dwarf buddies,
“D - O - C space W - H - I - T - E."
"Just like it goddamned sounds!”
His buddies snigger. I am definitely sensing a snotty attitude with this cocky little bastard. What is it with these dwarfs? I’m used to attitude though and I won’t rise to the bait or take offense. Yet.
Did I mention that I’m in uniform? No respect! Nevertheless, I ask in a level, neutral tone, “So, just what happened here Doc?”
“Well, OK. Leonard ’n me, we got a big dispute and he got all mad and started in throwing us dwarfs around. All of us come from dwarf sports and dwarf throwing backgrounds so we’re all used to that. He got really pissed when he saw none of us gave a damn.”
“Leonard’s the big guy who got shot?” I ask.
“Yeah, that’s him. Leonard’s our booking agent, or at least he was. Anyways, I think things have been pretty grim for Leonard lately and a lot of his clients dropped him. You want the truth, he ain’t all that good an agent and me'n Wonder Woman just told him we were dropping him too. The few gigs he’s been bringing us lately have just been for shit.”
“Wonder Woman is our group’s manager and he started in with her first which was a mistake because she's got a really short fuse. She got really pissed and I tried to step in. That’s when things went to hell and he started in throwing everyone all around.”
I know all about Wonder Woman's short fuse all right.
“So, you guys are an act?” I ask.
“Yep” He grins and proudly pushes his little green derby to the back of his oddly sized head. “And, a damned good one too if you wanna know. It’s hard for dwarfs to make a living and a good many of us end up going into show business of one kind or another. Dwarfs are like a small community - and that ain't meant to be a pun for your information and in case yer wondering. Most of us have known each other over the years. There’s just so much demand for dwarf actors, so a lot of dwarfs end up in the dwarf sports end of things. You know, bar and pub contest sports like Dwarf Throwing, Dwarf Bowling, Dwarf Wrestling and so on and on. Hell, there’s even a Dwarf Curling League for chrissakes. Probably the worst one though is Dwarf Basketball where they use dwarfs for the balls and barrels for the nets. You may not think it, but it’s really hard on you to get dribbled.”
"Dwarf sports is really a young dwarf's domain and after a while your body can't handle it anymore.”
"Hmm," I say. Now I’m totally convinced I really have dropped in on Planet Bizarro. I've never heard of dwarf sports before in my life. My head is spinning, but hold onto your hat because it gets even crazier.
Doc goes on. “Some of us friends reached a point where all the wear and tear of all that throwing and sliding and dribbling was hitting us so hard physically we needed to do something. A few of us got together one day and figured out an easier gig for us. Someone got the bright idea to bring a fairy tale to life and our group would become ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs’. And, that’s exactly what we did.”
“We play high end birthday parties, celebrations, corporate board meetings, all kinds of product shows, you name it. We stay booked as much as we want. In fact, we don’t even need a booking agent except for the convenience. We all chose which character we wanted to be and had our names changed legally, which made us the real deal in a way. But there were eight of us, and there are only seven dwarfs in the fairy tale, so one of us had to be somebody else. That’s why Wonder Woman got her name. She said she always related to Wonder Woman. Formerly she was Hortense White. Hell, with a name like that I don’t know why she hadn’t changed her name years before that. Anyway, we made her our manager because she’d been dribbled on her head a few too many times which gives her a very low tolerance threshold. Christ, that woman can go off like a short-fused firecracker!”
“Tell me about it!” I say ruefully, half to myself.
“So Wonder Woman and Leonard got in this big fight and she kicked him in the ankle.” Said Doc. "She claimed she was aiming for his big fat ass but she couldn't kick that high.”
“Yeah?” I encourage him. “So, she started it?”
“Yeah, pretty much. That really pissed him off too, so he grabbed her up and started dribbling her across the sidewalk by her head - he used to be a big fan of her when she was a basketball ya see. When we saw that, why me’n the boys rushed him ‘cause we’re very protective of her. We had him going good too. Oh, he threw us around quite a bit and bounced us off walls and all. Leonard's pretty strong and he even threw Bashful there all the way across the street. But, we finally swarmed his ass and got him down for keeps, or so we thought. You shoulda heard him screaming. I gotta tell ya, you don’t want to get a mean little dwarf all pissed off because he’ll have more dirty tricks up his sleeve than you ever dreamed of. It's like throwing a bunch alley cats in a barrel.We gotta have tricks, for self-protection ya know.”
"Biting's just the start of 'em." He says. I can just imagine.
“That’s when that fat bastard pulled that big ol’ hog leg pistol of his’n.” Said Doc. “I never knew he carried that thing until today. I don’t think he was actually trying to shoot anyone. He was just panicking and trying to get us off him by firing it up in the air. That damned thing sounded like a cannon. Well, it got us off him all right and we all backed off. But, Wonder Woman ya see, she was still a little giddy from being dribbled on the concrete sidewalk and all she knew was the big sonofabitch had a gun and she did what any mother would do.”
“She is Grumpy’s actual mother by the way.” He says. "And, Grumpy was right in the middle of it all along. He's almost as irritable as his mom anyway, and he's got a really mean bite.”
“So, Wonder Woman, she rushed Leonard before he saw her coming and she dead centered him right in the groin with a headshot. She’s plenty experienced ya know. I’ll bet she was doing 30 miles an hour when she connected, Well Sir, that fat bastard dropped his pistol and went down like a sack of rusty lock washers. Wonder Woman grabbed his pistol then and when that big asshole tried to stand up she popped him. I think she was actually aiming for somewhere else, but the pistol was so heavy she could lift it only as high as his knee and that’s where she nailed him. I can’t even imagine what a mess his kneecap's got to be in.”
“But, the trouble is ya see, his back was to her and he fell straight back and smack dab on top of Wonder Woman. It was like an oak tree fell on her and I thought he’d killed her for the longest time until I noticed her finally trying to get up a little while ago. Guess he just knocked the wind out of her real bad.”
“Real bad.” He repeats.
With an air of finality he adds, “And, those are the actual facts officer, and you can take ‘em straight to the bank. All of us are gonna tell you exactly the same goddamned thing every time too.”
I can't believe I'm saying this, but as weird as everything about this case seems, I can see the logical progression of events. Even extremely weird things like this have an understandable logic to them if you look for it. Yet, there is still something missing from this story and I’m a big fan of tying up all the loose ends.
So, I ask Doc, “OK Doc, help me understand something. I know about the fairy tale. I’ve got you and the other six dwarfs plus Wonder Woman. So, where’s Snow White? Does Wonder Woman play Snow White?”
“Naw, hell no man.” Says Doc. “She's too damned ugly and mean besides being a dwarf herself. No, Snow White is Wonder Woman’s daughter. In fact, I called her cell a few minutes ago and I see her parking her car right now.”
I look up then to see the most gorgeous creature your ever laid eyes on getting out of a snow white Corvette convertible. She hurries over with a worried look on her face to Wonder Woman who is now basking under the solicitous attentions of the EMT’s and pretending to have the fantods. The smiling EMT’s are being attentive and fussing over her. I guess they don't get too many chances to work on dwarfs. Snow White gives them knowing glances as she kneels by the stretcher and they smile back at her. Who the hell wouldn’t?
In a few moments Snow White comes over to speak to me. I’m so totally stricken I'm a big mess and can hardly speak, stumbling over my words and all. She gives me an understanding smile and I know she must be used to men fawning all over her all day long. How could Wonder Woman possibly ever give birth to such a gorgeous - and totally normal by any and all standards - beautiful woman such as this one now talking to me?
Later on, Snow White tells me that dwarfs are very sensitive about their diminutive statures. Most don’t like to be called ‘midgets’ or even ‘dwarfs’. Some prefer ‘Little People’ or ‘People of Short Stature ’ and a few other things. But, I wish they’d settle on one thing or the other because it’s all very confusing. And these days I'm trying hard to stay on the good side of all dwarfs. Because ya see, I'm now married into a dwarf family myself.
Yep. I eventually do end up actually kissing the real Snow White and she becomes my real Fairy Princess. We're married now and have two little fairy princesses of our own, both totally normal just like their mom. I took early retirement from the department and now work full time as the new booking agent for ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs’. The REAL flesh and blood ones!
I am very, very careful not to piss off Wonder Woman and am very happy to say that she turns out to be a wonderful grandmother. The kids just adore her and think her name is just fabulous, next to their mom's of course. They’ve also helped to mellow Wonder Woman out just the least little bit. She calls me an asshole only a couple times a week now, and never in the presence of our girls.
Oh, and by the way, I've legally changed my last name to ‘White’ now and have grown to absolutely love it.
So, you can just put all this in your hat and smoke it!
* Lest the author be accused of being politically incorrect, let me say that I have the utmost respect for people of all shapes, sized, colors, creeds, religions and political persuasions. This story is merely a bit of tongue in cheek fun.
** No dwarfs, fat old white guys, or anyone else were actually hurt in the construction of this fairy tale.
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