Working the Nightshift, and Overtime Too

When my baby needs me, I get going.

The clock on the night table was reporting six-thirty when I popped my eyes open the following morning. Friday morning. I propped myself up on my elbows in bed and blinked my eyes rapidly. Rubbed my hand over my eyes and stared again, at the clock. It isn’t lying, it really is 6:30.

I’ve been missing out on a lot of sleep over the past week or so and now it is finally catching up with me. What I have to do can’t wait too long. The life and welfare of my beloved Libby could be lying in the balance there. But my plan cannot be implemented under the lights of the noonday sun. So, back to the drawing board, I had to go. This is Friday Morning. Friday night is not the best night of the week for me to put the plan into effect. But it will have to suffice, I can’t put this off any longer.

I got to my stakeout point on the corner of the quiet street in Kirkland at exactly 12:15 AM that night into Saturday morning. I promptly set up my signal scanning system. “All set,” I said, let’s roll. My head was down, the lion’s share of my attention was focused on the computer screen when I heard it. The police car snuck up on me. There were no flashing lights, no sirens. Just that little croaking frog-like beep, beep, beep. I looked up from the computer screen, glanced at the rearview mirror, and there it was.

“Oh shit! I’m busted.” Two cops got out. The one on the right quickly positioned himself on the tail end of my truck, a drawn gun in hand. The other one was carefully approaching from the left, gun in hand also.

“Good evening sir,” said he. “Do you live around here?”

“No…”

“What’s your purpose for sitting out here in the truck? Is this your truck…?”

More questions were coming at me, and faster than I could answer them too.

“It’s my truck, yes, and I’m a computer technician,” I said while reaching out to give him the business card that I had tucked in between my fingers, like, this way.

“Keep your hands where I can see them, keep your hands where I can see them,” he said.

Meanwhile, the other one who was posted at the rear of the truck quickly filled my right-side window and promptly cracked at the door latch. It didn’t budge. The other officer grabbed hold of the other door handle. Pulling and screaming, “Get out of the vehicle, get out of the vehicle.”

I unlocked the door and slid out. They bounced my face up against the truck, twisting my arms in the most unnatural ways possible, as the handcuffs were being clamped on. They didn’t read me any rights like one might see in the movie. But this was not a movie, this was a real-life setting baby. And the pain and fear I was feeling right at that moment were as real as it gets in real life. They pushed my head down and squeezed me into the back seat of the police car.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked.

“Down to the station for starters,” he replied. “And then where we go from here will be dependent on how cooperative you turn out to be.”

“What will become of my truck?” I asked several minutes later when we were about halfway to the station as it turned out.

“It will probably be towed by tomorrow this time, unless…”

“Unless what?” I had to ask this several minutes later when it became clear that there was no intention of him finishing the hanging statement.

“It all depends on how cooperative you turn out to be, what answers you have for these troubling questions floating around in the air,” said the sergeant. “And which needs to be answered.”

“It’s all a misunderstanding,” I said, after the preliminary questions that were designed to ID me.

“So, Mr. Techno man, try to make me understand here. Tell me, what’s the story, what’s the real story?”

“Like I said before, sir. I’m a technician…, amongst other things.”

“What other things, what else do you do? Home invasion? Stalking people in their homes? What is it?”

“Can I speak a word in your ear, your ears only?” I said to the Sergeant, he didn’t speak, just fanned him away — the young constable with a little bit of waving movement of the hand. The constable, (to his credit,) had started to clear out of the office as soon as I’d said that I wanted to talk to the Sergeant, alone.

“Here’s the deal”, I said when we were left alone. “I cut right through to the chase and give you what you’re looking for. I’ll tell you what is going down. And you? You’ll give me a break with this interrogation bit. And let me go get my truck and get on home.”

“Is that it?”

“Well, one more thing, keep me updated on whatever you may find out. Perhaps?”

“No, oh no, that I cannot do. Police work is a serious business — Jack.”

“Okay, okay I got you. But I want you to understand that there might be people’s lives at risk here. People that I care greatly about.”

“So, start talking, I’m listening.”

“You’d ask me what I was doing over there. The truth is. I was doing your job, (sort of.) I do believe that someone is in that house who is in trouble, and I wanted to be sure it was so before I go on to make an alarm.”

“Who’s this person? This “someone” of whom you speak?”

“A friend of mine, Libby, is her name.”

“What kind of friend are we talking about here, are you seeing her?”

“Sort of, it’s not official yet but we have been getting really tight of late. But her family is very controlling and overbearing, and…”

“Hang on right there, I’ll be back.” The sergeant went and got the constable to join us again. After whispering things into his ear, he got on the phone and called for another to get to the station as soon as possible.

The Sergeant’s instructions to his two subordinates were to put twenty-four-seven surveillance in effect on this particular house and then lay low and watch. “Keep track of all activities and goings-on,” he said.

Left alone with me. The sergeant reached across the table. Got his notepad and started writing as I told him in detailed terms what I knew and when. It was well after sunrise when I walked up to my truck still parked there on the corner and hopped in. I was sure that authoritative eyes were somewhere close by, watching my every move.

I was rather confident that we were on the same team by then though. I cranked up the engine and delayed much longer than I needed to in the pretend engine warm-up routine. When I couldn’t prolong the act any longer. I pulled out and drove home to my place in the downtown core of Montreal.

To be continued.

That’s it for today. Be sure to join us again tomorrow or any time thereafter, for more, as we continue with this story. A story called “HOW to TRAIN A WILD PUPPY DOG NAMED MANLEY.” Don’t forget to like, share, and comment. We sure would appreciate it if you’d subscribe and follow us somewhere too, thank you.

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Just an excerpt from the “MANLEY Book.” A Novel, it’s available wherever books are sold. If you don’t see it, ask for it, they’ll get it for you.

By @writingelk All Rights Reserved.