This weekend was a crazy end to a crazy week. There were 3 or 4 shootings over a span of 5 days. Hubby was called out every night except, thankfully, Tuesday when I was sicker than a dog.

We stopped by Mom’s Saturday evening to drop off some prescriptions. She’s still having all sorts of G.I. tract problems and isn’t in much shape for getting out. Shortly after we pulled into the trailer park, the car in front of us was nearly hit by a truck skidding through an intersection. The truck sped off and we weren’t able to get the tag number. I assumed it was a handyman of some sort since the truck had a shovel, some gas canisters (for a welding set up) and some other stuff in the bed.

Ten or 15 minutes after sitting down at Moms, we heard loud revving, skidding tires, and a crash followed by Mom’s front yard palm tree* swaying crazily around. Hubby ran outside while I comforted Peanut who was freaked by the noise and us all jumping up. I checked on Hubby a few minutes later to find the truck from earlier crashed in Mom’s front yard and Hubby detaining the very drunk driver. I went back inside and called 911. I could hear the man arguing with Hubby, so I held Peanut and paced the house. When I checked again, Hubby asked me to call again and have them step up the dispatch. The man resisted, so Hubby had him on the ground.

Their interaction (as later told by Hubby) went something along the lines of:

“Sir, I need you to stand her by the truck. I’m going to detain you until an on-duty officer arrives.”

The guy keeps heading for the back of the truck toward the shovel.

“Sir, do not put your hands on the shovel.”

He touches the shovel. Hubby moves him away. The guy reaches for it again, so Hubby moves him toward the front of the truck. The guy tries to break free. Hubby takes him to the ground.

“You’re breaking my arm! You’re breaking my arm! You’re breaking my arm...” (This went on for a while and I could hear it from inside the house.) “I want handcuffs. Where are your handcuffs? You said you were a cop!”

“Do I look like I’m on duty? “

“This is brutality. You’re prejudiced.”

“I’m only prejudiced against drunk drivers.”

Finally two marked units arrive, followed by a third. A short while later a fire truck and ambulance show up, too. By this point the driver is falsely claiming Hubby kicked him in the head. Several park residents are gathered around. One of the arriving deputies takes photos of the man’s head to show there is no bruising or blood; his only injuries are some scrapes on his hand from the take-down.

Peanut and I go outside to look at the fire truck. A deputy takes the driver away, everyone else leaves, and a traffic investigator arrives to finish up.

We head home and turn on the laptop to see what came of the drunk driver. He’s at the hospital. Hubby notices a red dispatch (uh-oh). It’s an unattended death. His work phone rings. Guess where he’s off to…

Sunday evening we head down to the substation near Mom’s so Hubby can print out his report (required since the driver claimed Hubby beat him). His laptop battery dies, no one has a power cord to fit, and all the detectives’ offices are locked, so he has no access to a docking station. The report has to be turned in before 6 am Monday when the sergeant goes off duty (never mind that Hubby has worked 7 out of the 7 last days, often till 2 or 3 am.) We leave and just as we’re about to turn onto the main road, who crosses in front of us? Why, it’s the drunk driver! He was released after his court appearance and was walking home. Hubby refrained from running him down.

We head to the substation near our house where Hubby finally prints the report. After Peanut and I go to bed, Hubby drives back down to the other sub and drops it off.


*Mom’s been talking about having that tree removed ever since she moved in. If the tree wasn’t there, the truck, gas canisters and all, would have been in Mom’s kitchen.