Monday, November 16, 2009

I love Brittany!

It was a warm April day with not much going on. I was working an evening shift with two Sergeants, so I would be doing most of the heavy lifting. The three of us were sitting in the squad room early in the shift, doing nothing productive and bullshitting about random crap.

One of the Sgts, Sgt. OCD, was recounting a call he had taken of a car burglary the shift before. We'd had several car burglaries in recent months and had tied them all to a local homeless man, JS. He mentioned he'd like to find JS to interview him. I suppose I should tell you about JS... In my previous life, I worked the street in a city of about 20,000 that was a part of a larger metro area of about 125,000. Big enough to be fun but small enough to get to know a lot of people pretty well.

JS was one of our "frequent fliers" - we dealt with him on a regular basis, especially when he'd been drinking. JS was one of those drunks who was really nice when he was sober but completely unpredictable when he'd been drinking. And he'd gotten to the point in his alcoholism where he'd begun trying to mainline vodka because drinking it the traditional way just didn't get him drunk any more.

JS was randomly suicidal, depending upon his drinking. The last time we had dealt with him, he was hacking at his forearms and wrists with a knife, flinging blood at us. We finally took him down with less lethal shotguns (this was pre-taser).

None of us liked dealing with JS and we all knew that if we brought him to jail, we'd be blackballed. The man was truly repulsive physically. JS's feet were so disgusting... he had trenchfoot and his boots basically grew on to his feet. He lived under a couple of local bridges and collected redeemable cans for money. Occasionally, a new church in the area would extend a helping hand, only to discover that his stench outlasted even the hottest showers and congregation members would soon ask us to come and move him along.

Any time any of us mentioned his name, he somehow would appear. Saying his name was like a curse. So, when Sgt. OCD said he needed to talk to him, he got the expected response from me (SHUT UP GODDAMMIT!!).

Not more than an hour later, we got dispatched to the city pool, which happens to be directly behind the police department, for a dog yelping in pain inside the public bathroom. The pool was not open to the public yet, so no one should have been in the bathroom, let alone a dog.

Both Sgts, OCD and Nice Guy, and I went to the pool because we didn't have much else going. When Sgt Nice Guy opened the door he said, "Oh Jesus Christ" and quickly shut the door. He turned to Sgt. OCD and I and said "It's JS, put your gloves on". We all knew JS had every bug known to man and never wanted to be exposed to his stuff.

Once we got gloved up, we opened the bathroom up and I saw one of the most disgusting sights I've ever seen. JS was sitting on the toilet wearing nothing but a t-shirt and his boots. He had obviously been living in the bathroom for a time. There were piles of discarded women's underwear and discarded Playboys/Hustlers (JS was also a dumpster diver). There was shit (actual shit, people) spread all over the walls. There was also one of those big Gatorade bottles on the floor with a syringe and what appeared to be shit inside it. It looked like JS had been administering vodka enemas. Or maybe just plain ol' enemas. I never did ask.

As I mentioned, JS was sitting on the toilet in nothing but a t-shirt and boots. He was holding his dog, a small mutt, on his lap and was, shall we say, fully inserted. He was fucking his dog. Literally.

After some negotiation, Sgt. Nice Guy convinced JS to put the dog on the floor. Once he set the dog down, JS began to wail, "Please don't take Brittany, I love her!" as he stood naked from the waist down in the middle of a shit-covered trash pile.

I grabbed the dog by the scruff of the neck and put her in the back of Sgt OCD's squad car. While I was carrying her, I could see she had a horrible ear infection and was covered in shit. Not once did I think that maybe I shouldn't put her in the back of the Sgt's squad. As you may have guessed, we didn't exactly get along.

When I got back from securing the victim, I could hear Sgt. Nice Guy talking to JS. He' finally convinced him to put pants on (Thank you Baby Jesus) and they were discussing what they were going to do. As I mentioned previously, jail is never an option. I think JS could've committed murder and we would've just cited and released him.

The conversation quickly turned to the topic of JS fucking his dog. Since we'd just dealt with him cutting his wrists open, a comparison was made between that contact and this one. I mentioned to JS that surely, no matter what had been the issue last time, getting caught fucking a dog in a public bathroom covered in his own shit has got to be worse.

JS agreed and said he was suicidal again (big surprise). He voluntarily agreed to go to the emergency room for a mental health committal (and a shower).

This presented a new problem. None of us were going to put him in the back of a squad car. Just standing near him was nauseating. Sgt. Nice Guy had an idea. He tossed me the keys to his truck and asked me to bring it around. He had JS sit in the bed of the truck on a pile of gravel that was in it and had Sgt OCD ride with him as an escort. This is the way they transported JS to the emergency room for his voluntary committal.

I took Brittany to the Animal Shelter, where she was repaired (ear mites, covered in human and animal feces as well as other human bodily fluids, broken pelvis) and eventually adopted out to a family that has taken very good care of her.

Within a week, JS was back in the same City park where the bathroom is located. This time, however, it was a sunny Saturday afternoon that happened to be his birthday. He was masturbating in the middle of the park in full view of god and everybody. When the officers approached him to ask him to zip up, he refused and continue to beat off, saying, "Could I have some privacy please? It's my birthday and I'm trying to ejaculate". They ended up having to fight him with his dick in his hand. Even then, he didn't go to jail, but this time, an involuntary committal.

About a year later, JS was beaten to death by a fellow transient over a disagreement and our PD's calls for service dropped 15%. RIP JS.

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