The Criminal Laughed
by Ray Rexer

It was 1977, and I was feeling good.

A warm breeze traveled with me as I patrolled the midnight darkened streets of my district, the quiet of the night broken only by the occasional crackle of static from the police radio. My car moved at a steady crawl of 15 m.p.h. I was alone on the street, enjoying the solitude. My spotlight cut an arch of white, playing upon the doors and windows long since closed up for the night. All seemed well.

But the calm could be deceptive, I knew, and the dark could hide so much. Out there, somewhere, lurking in gray alleys or crouching behind bushes or cars, the criminal waited, ever greedy, ever ready to kick in that locked door or smash out that store window then turning to run off into the night, laughing at the ease of his escape.

But, no more! No, sir!

For it was 1977, and I was determined to put a stop to all that. I was no longer just a lowly probational officer riding like so much luggage with some veteran cop; I was a brand new, full-fledged, 100 percent patrolman, alone and unshackled, ready to show the world what I could do, ready to bring respect and admiration to the ranks of rookie cops everywhere. The criminal would laugh no more!

Well, it was a good thought.

I eased the patrol car down the main drag of a secondary business district, past rows of stores and shops with gleaming display windows filled with tempting goods. I continued until I came across another police car parked in an unlit lot directly across from a late night party store. I pulled alongside and exchanged greetings with the two officers inside. We had been chatting (strictly business) for a short time when one of the other officers suddenly pointed across the street. I turned and looked.

Two teenagers, images of nervousness, approached the party store on foot. One glanced quickly up the street while the second walked up to a side window and peered inside. Apparently satisfied, and after another check of the street, the two walked into the store.

My heart began to race, and I fought back a surge of energy. I was certain that we had unwittingly set ourselves up in the perfect location to witness a robbery in the making. These were two crooks who would not get away to laugh.

Within a few minutes, the teenagers hurried out of the store at a half run, one carrying some sort of package under his arm. They headed quickly down the sidewalk away from the store and into the dark.

I pulled out of the lot and followed the boys at a safe distance while my comrades drove across to the store to confirm our suspicions. Visions of my first major arrest raced through my mind. I thought of the glory of a departmental citation and of the day off with pay that comes with it.

The two had gone several blocks when I saw in my rear view mirror my fellow officers running out of the store and jumping into their car. I sped up then skidded to a halt alongside the surprised teenagers.

"Hold it a second!" I said, and they froze. But, when the second patrol car approached, one of the boys broke and ran. I pursued in my car.

He raced down the block and rounded the first corner. I accelerated until I was just in front of him. I slammed on the brakes and leaped out of the carat a run. I nabbed him a few yards down the street, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.

The boy's eyes grew big, but strangely he looked past me, over my left shoulder. I thought I saw a grin start to crease his face. I was momentarily perplexed, then I turned slowly, and, to my horror, I saw that my patrol car was still moving, creeping down the steet at an angle, with the front door wide open and waving wildly.

The thought dimly crossed my mind that I should release my grip on the boy and try to save my car, but I was too stunned to move. I just stood there and watched. The car bumped over the curb and up onto the sidewalk, heading straight for the enormous front window of a hardware store.

I closed my eyes.

When the car struck the store and the big window shattered, a piercing burglar alarm started ringing. Almost immediately, the radio in my wretched car came to life, as the dispatcher asked any available car to check on the alarm.

I turned back to the boy and shouted at him, "Look what you made me do! Look what you made me do!"

He was nonplussed. "But we only took some pop," he said, and I noticed for the first time the eight pack in his hands. "It ain't like we robbed the place."

It occurred to me that the recovery of $3 worth of stolen pop might not be good enough to earn me a departmental citation, but the fact that I parked my patrol car in a hardware store just might get me that day off I had wanted.

A crowd of people gathered, most of them dressed in nightclothes. The boy's mother appeared and ran to his side. I let go of him. I didn't care if he ran away; I almost wished he would. I could hear police cars approaching, sirens blaring. My car perched half inside the hardware store with great shards of glass sprinkled on the roof and one or two carpenter saws lying bent on the hood. The crowd murmured; the boy's mother screamed at me; blue lights flashed painfully in the night; the car radio clicked and crackled with static and voices; the store alarm clanged and clanged and clanged.

And, finally, the criminal laughed.

Law Enforcement Communications Apr 1981 Vol. 8, #2, pp. 31-32 Winner of the "A Day in the Life of a Cop" contest along with three other officers.