It hurt to watch. The Sergeant pulled the trigger, electrifying the man again. His body tensed and shit poured out of his ass, filling his pants.
"Put your hands behind your back!" yelled the Seargant. "Put your hands behind your back!"
And quickly, obediently, the man did.
We had been called for an "Injury" at the 15th Precint. A black man in his late twenties was pacing about a jail cell. Dried fecal matter ran from the toilet. Sweat glistened on his brow.
The cop pulled me aside before we went inside the jail. "Look man, this is a real interesting guy," he said. "He's says he doesn't know if he got bit or stabbed with an icepick in his back."
"Uh hu," I nodded. "Right."
As we approached, several cops escorted us to the man's cell. He was alone in the jail, stuck behind steel bars.
I asked him what's wrong.
"I think someone bit me last night, or maybe they stabbed me with an icepick."
"Oh," I said, "an icepick? Why do you think that?"
"I visualized it," he explained, lifting up his shirt.
There was no stab wound, just a minor scrape not even breaking the skin. I broke the news. The man let his shirt drop.
"Someone put poison in my food," he said. "It's in my stomach, it's been like that all day."
Right.
Once we broke the news, the man explained that he didn't want to go to the hospital. He was sweating a lot, which wasn't a good sign, and alcohol was on breath. Not only that, but we didn't have any vitals on him. I--for one--didn't want to get that close.
"EMS says your fine," barked the Seargant. "You still want to go to the hospital?"
"If they say I don't need to go," the man shrugged, "then I don't need to go."
I glanced over at my partner. It was a dicey refusal. We had no vitals. The man had alcohol and probably drugs in his system. But he had no stab wound and I really wanted to go back to sleep, so I gave him the piece of paper and put an X where he should sign.
The man pulled the paper away and--surprisingly--read it. "I ain't releasing nobody or 'their representatives' from liability," he shouted.
"Dude, if you don't sign on the line, you're going to the hospital, it's that simple," I explained.
The man signed.
As we walked out, he started yelling again and began banging on the prison bars, creating a loud noise. "I want my copy!" he yelled.
I turned to the cop next to me. "He doesn't get a copy," I muttered.
The Sergeant turned around, marching back to the man. "You don't get a copy, and you will not make a rucus in my jail. Do you understand me? Do you understand?" he shouted.
The noise stopped.
Just as we were out the front door, the clanging started again. Uh oh, I said, turning to my partner. This is gonna be interesting.
"Alright, that's it!" The seargent reached into a drawer and pulled out a yellow stun-gun called a Taser. Quickly, he inserted a new battery-pack and depressed the trigger. A sharp, crackling sound of electricity filled the police station.
"Oh, I gotta see this!" one of the cops exlaimed, overcome with excitement.
A gaggle of officers followed the Sergeant as almost everyone in the precint looked on.
"I want one officer to come with me," commanded the Sergeant. "EMS, standby."
The clanging continued.
The Sergeant approached the man. "What did I tell you? What the hell is your problem, son? What the fuck do you think you are doing?" he yelled. After a minute or two of booming commands, the clanging stopped and the Sergeant walked back out.
The was a palpable air of dissapointment in the station. "All that and I got a hard-on for nothing," said one cop, shaking his head.
We left for the ambulance again.
Then it happened, quieter now this time: Clang. Clang.
"Alright, that's it!" bellowed the Sergeant, storming back to the jail. "I told you that if you make one more noise, we're gonna have a big problem. Now we've got a problem!" The Sergeant squared himself toward the man, raising the Taser gun. An officer unlocked the cell. "Put your hands behind your back." commanded the Sergeant.
"But I was just..."
"Place your hands behind your back," he repeated, his voice steady.
"But..."
Pop.
The Taser fired two electrified darts into the man's chest. Connected to the gun by two wires, the electrical discharge lasted for five-seconds. The high-pitched crackle of electrcity filled the jail. Cops jumped over each other to see what was happening. The man fell forward, his body becoming stiff. "Ahh! Oww! Make it stop!" he pleaded.
"I think he just shit himself," my partner said, turning to me. I nodded.
"Place your hands behind your back," repeated the Sergeant.
The man hesitated, opening his mouth to say something.
The crackling sound returned, and his body became stiff again. He was silent this time.
"Place your hands behind your back," said the Sergeant again.
Quietly--the electricity still pulsing through his body--the man followed the Sergeant's command. Two officers cuffed him, placing shackles on his arms and legs. One cop turned to another. "Wow," he said, "now I've got a whole new level of respect for Night Sergeant." The other nodded in agreement, watching with glee.
They pulled the prisoner to his feet, making him face the Sergeant. "You feel like a real man now, don't ya?" said the prisoner. "Don't worry, I won't forget what you did to me. I won't forget. Time will come. You'll get yours. In a dark alley somewhere, you'll get yours."
My partner and I ran to grab the stretcher. As we wheeled the man out, two women who looked like prostitutes gazed on. "They know what you did to me! The man shot me when I was in handcuffs. He shot me!" the prisoner hollered, unceasing as we slid him into the ambulance. "When I come back. you're going to have to shoot me again! You'll get yours, trust me, you'll get yours!"
I started filling out paperwork in the back of the ambulance. A cop was with us in the back. He looked down at the prisoner, shaking his head, sounding a little sorry. "You know all of that was unneccesary. It didn't have to happen that way."
"Any allergies?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said, staring at the cop, "pork. You know, swine."
My partner turned back to me from the driver's seat. "How about a little music?"
When I was just a baby,
My Mama told me, "Son,
Always be a good boy,
Don't ever play with guns,"
But I shot a man in Reno,
Just to watch him die,
When I hear that whistle blowin',
I hang my head and cry.
"Sing it!" I said, turning to the prisoner. "You like Johnny Cash, don't ya?"
He returned a quizocal look. "Who?"
I turned back to my partner. "Try another one," I hollered. "I want to do a sing-a-long."
"Ok," he said, fumbling with the radio. "How about this one?"
Breakin’ rocks in the hot sun
I fought the law and the law won
I fought the law and the law won
I needed money ’cause I had none
I fought the law and the law won
I fought the law and...
"C'mon, sing it!" I said, repeating the words. "C'mon, man..." I eyed the officer, "sing it with me."
And so we strolled into the ER, singing softly and all together. "I fought the law and the law won, I fought the law and the law won..."
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