Six FortySam, Five Four Nine Now

By Olin Thompson

This is real police work. Fast furious and in the end, the criminal turns out to be just who you thought it would be, but getting there involves a lot of inside politics, authority, and treachery. Ed Ashbrook is a crusty police officer with lots of years behind the wheel of the Ford Crown Victoria and his life is a mess of divorce, affairs, citations, and performance reviews with criticism of his actions toward the bad guys. That Ashbrook is a good cop never leaves your mind. He does things just slightly askew, but then again, he doesn’t endanger any case he’s bringing. Look for the bad guy to do something incredibly stupid. And he does. Ashbrook makes a good arrest and when you read the book it has a page turning, stay awake to read it, and sigh with satisfaction when you’re done feeling about it.

I'm a radio personality and have a chance to read a lot of books. 640 Sam? WOW!
— BH Phoenix

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sam Warren
• Release date: Jul 15, 2011
• ISBN: 9780945949992

Book preview

Six Forty Sam Four Five Nine Now!

THE TRUTH AND NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH

with a grain of salt

by Olin Thompson

Copyright © 2007 by Olin Thompson

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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eBook Edition ISBN: 978-0-945949-45-9

Published by:

BOOKWARREN PUBLISHING SERVICES

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San Diego, CA 92103

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Website: http://www.bookwarren.com

Dedication

To the members of the San Diego Police Department I know personally and who define all the reasons why San Diego police officers are respected and honored for their work across the country. Lieutenant Todd Jarvis of Mid-City, Captain Sarah Creighton of Western Division, Captain Mary Cornicelli of Investigations, Captain Bill Edwards of Traffic Division, Executive Assistant Chief Bill Mahue, and all the other finest of the finest in San Diego Police Department.

These police officers and those under their commands know the value of the excellence in leadership these commanders bring to the table. These are the ones I have had close personal contact with over the years and they continue to impress me with their dynamics. Add to those a few retired who also served the city. My close friend Ed Newberry; one of the finest I ever met, Greg Drilling. There is always Sergeant Jeff Fellows who never met a barbeque sandwich he wouldn't eat. Without a doubt, one of the most well informed persons I ever met, Charles Hogquist; he would take his time and one could listen to him for hours if they could sit still that long.

Chief Gonzales of the National City Police Department was a person I ate lunch with and was aware of his command presence even there, a great man and a super cop. Dan Toneck who was injured in the line of duty and never turned down an assignment, no matter how difficult. There are a host of others I knew and had been in touch with and was in awe of their accomplishments. And to those fallen with whom I had personal contact, Terry Bennett, and Jerry Griffin who died while serving their city. Rest in Peace!

Cops as a family take care of their own problems. They don't wash their laundry in the press or in court. Ed does the right thing.

But, when it goes outside the family, cops feel they are damaged and have a reaction they have been betrayed, somehow.

It doesn't matter that all of the men in the story hated the bad guy's deeds or felt he was wrong. It is to stay inside the family. Let someone else get him, but not a cop. The cop that gets him is Jonah. The cops try hard to do their job and protect us, a thin line of them, against murderers and robbers and rapists.

This is one of those stories.

Chapter 1

Oh, shit, he growled as the radio broke into his supper. The greasy drive-through burger almost spilled on his clean uniform. He'd asked for a Code 7, but nothing is certain in a cop's life. He set the burger down, capped the soft drink cup, and began to read on his Mobile Display Terminal – MDT – as the dispatcher announced the event taking place, then he licked his thumb of some escaped sauce. The MDT screen also showed the call as it was dispatched.

One Fifteen John, four five nine now, silent alarm, forty six seventy seven Balsawood Drive. Armed response twenty minutes by alarm company. One Fifteen John?

One Fifteen John, ten four, the officer said into the microphone, now greasy with the residue of his midnight lunch. He also acknowledged the MDT by punching 10-4.

The big Ford Crown Victoria cruiser roared to life. The door panel read SAN DIEGO POLICE – TO PROTECT AND SERVE,. The hood quivered as Ed Ashbrook stomped the pedal to the floor and wheeled into traffic west on Balboa Avenue toward the Pacific Ocean. He watched wide eyed as the drink almost spilled, returned his attention to driving, and slowed a little. His overhead lights flashed the red and blue, Code 2, and left the siren off since there seemed to be no urgency involved other than a 459.

One Twelve John, to cover One Fifteen John, four five nine now, forty six seventy seven Balsawood Drive. One Twelve John?

No response. The radio was silent as Ed listened out of the back of his mind while he concentrated on traffic and the crazy drivers until he made the last turn and saw no traffic. He sped a little faster.

One Twelve John? No response.

One Fifteen John, I have no other cover on your call. Ten four.

Six forty Sam, the radio paged the dispatcher. Six forty Sam? the dispatcher responded.

Six forty Sam. Send that to me. I'll cover on the call. Sergeant J. B. Provinco, Ed's supervisor responded. Ed listened intently to hear if One Twelve came on the radio.

Ten four, Six forty Sam. Did you copy the address? I'll put it on your MDT.

Forty six double seven Balsawood, 640 Sam answered and watched the call print out on his MDT screen. He acknowledged the call with a button push and Send.

Station A, the dispatcher replied.

The beat was usually quiet on Monday nights, Ed thought. Not much radio traffic interfered with the routine stops, drunk collars, and field interrogations during the football game broadcasts.

J. B. drove fast to be sure he got to the address about the same time as Ed. They would cover the street and come from each side lights out on their cruisers.

Ed came down the street from the north; as he approached the higher numbers he hesitated and doused his lights. One Fifteen John, ten ninety seven, Ed advised the radio dispatcher and J. B. he had arrived at the address.

The radio was quiet and the MDT was busy with other calls on other beats. They had not tried to find One Twelve again. When he came back on the radio, probably a traffic stop and noise kept him from recognizing his number, he would identify himself.

J. B. drove in from the south; he could clearly see Ed step out of his car with his black flashlight under his arm, his holster unsnapped, and his eyes swept the area.

Ed walked with his radio in his left hand at his side. He raised the radio to his lips and said softly, Six forty Sam, TAC two?

10-4, J. B. replied.

I'm going in from the north, Ashbrook advised.

...four, he heard J. B. say, and Ed made sure the Sergeant walked into the area from the south.

Lights in the house flickered and doused. The quiet was heavy on the street. Several porch lights were on in the neighborhood, but otherwise it was ghostly silent.

The front door was open slightly at 4677. Ed thought about charging in and blasting at the first thing moving.

Ed liked action. He knew the policy of the department and was not about to jeopardize his position or the people who might be inside by some precipitous move.

J. B. watched as Ed went to the door, pushed it open with his foot gently. It swung inward. Indistinct noises came from the interior.

Ed walked inside and stepped to the left, his rubber sole shoes quiet on the parquet floor.

J. B. waited until Ed positioned himself; then he would step in. And he did just that.

Ambient light was from outside street lights and the two policemen's eyes watched for motions and their ears perked up for any noises.

Six forty Sam, said softly to the dispatcher. We have an open door, J. B. whispered into his portable radio.

The dispatcher did not responded; she obviously knew the noise might alert intruders, but she set the beeper on the regular channel to warn other patrolmen not to transmit until the action became code four.

Ed turned his radio down, put it in the carrier, held the butt of his pistol without drawing it, and walked to the kitchen where the light from next door entered the window.

A red light, a pin point, next to the rear door indicated the location of the alarm. The beam pulsated.

J. B. came into the kitchen behind Ed, his back to the wall. The Sergeant turned to the hall doorway which led to the rest of the house. Neither of them sensed movement, as there was no noise now.

Ed opened the back door quietly, nodded to J. B. and put his hand on the handle. Ed opened the screen door loudly, slammed the back door, then opened it immediately and yelled, Hi Mom, I'm home.

Ed lunged through the back yard door with his pistol at his side and yelled, Police! He would be prepared for any bad guy who might rush to the rear. J. B. would watch the hallway and be could run to the front if anyone left in that direction.

The crash and tumble of furniture in the back bedroom indicated someone was in a hurry to leave. A shadow appeared in the hallway in front of J. B.

Police! Get on the ground! J. B. yelled.

Ed saw him throw his light up, J. B.'s pistol in his right hand, he flipped the high intensity bulb to bright, and J. B. shined it eye height at the movement. The person appeared to dodge and went through another open door, Ed thought and wished he'd been inside.

Police! On the ground! J. B. repeated. He could have shot, but didn't, not knowing who might be there like a kid who was no real threat.

J. B. yelled at Ed, Watch the back. I've got the front! Then he ran into the yard, kicking the door open in the rush. J. B. probably lectured and booted himself in the ass for not blasting the figure as he screamed, Someday that's gonna get you killed! And he ran after the suspect. Ed had to smile at the overweight Sergeant dashing down the street.

The person leaped through the window, breaking the screen, and landed in the greenery just outside; he rolled and came up running. J. B. ran after him, pistol back in the holster, flashlight shoved through the ring which held it.

The suspect was only ten yards ahead of J. B. as they rounded the corner and raced downhill on the sidewalk toward the busy street. J. B. gained slightly, but not enough. The intruder was panting heavily and J. B. had to hear the breath rasping in and out.

Police! Stop! Get on the ground!

No response as J. B. gained another yard; Ed watched as the distance closed, now fifteen feet separated the pair.

Only a short block to the main thoroughfare and Ed hoped the guy wouldn't heave his body, scrawny and gaunt, into traffic. Then from the right Ed's flying form came over the fence and landed on the fleeing man. The pair fell to the grass and J. B. almost collided with the pile of flailing arms and legs.

The two on the ground were clearly visible in the street light. Ed had cut the corner, run parallel, closed the angle, leaped the fence, and caught up with the bad guy and the Sergeant.

Ed grappled with the man, obviously worn out from the sprint; Ed pinned the sweat slick arms behind the man. J. B., gasping for breath, stood on the man's hand as it slipped from Ed's grasp. The Sergeant bent over, continuing to gasp for breath, and slapped handcuffs on the little fellow.

Jeezus, Ed, where'd you come from?

Just had an idea he'd head this way. Glad he did. If he'd gone the other way he'd still be runnin' and I'd be layin' in the street with grease on my face.

J. B. laughed and yanked the man straight up. Against the curb, asshole.

Hey, man, you can't talk like that to me.

Fuck you asshole. You keep your mouth shut and sit on the curb.

I know my rights. Up your rights.

Man, you can't talk to me that way. Police brutality.

You want Police brutality, I'll give you something to complain about if you like.

Hey, man. You can't treat me like that.

J. B. knew it served no purpose to talk to the creep anymore, so he just yanked him to the curb. He stood on the boy's foot to keep him under control. J. B. helped Ed clean the dirt off his uniform.

Looks like you got a tear on this pocket. Pro'bly just needs sewin' and it'd be ok.

Give you the big bucks for uniform allowance to take care of that. The city would pay for the rip one way or the other.

Thanks, Ed said with a smirk thinking J. B. had sounded as if he were putting out the money himself.

They yanked the skinny youngster to his feet and pulled him as he protested his innocence all the way back to the patrol car.

As they walked the boy back to the Ed's car, J.B. read the rights to the kid while he caught his breath in between words.

The kid said he understood his rights and Ed opened his back door and held it while J. B. shoved the lad in. Ed slammed the door and leaned against the car.

They went back to the house and made a quick look around. The lights showed the youngster had built up a pile of booty to haul off. They wandered into each room and found no evidence of other problems. They put together a scenario of entry through the front door, working the lock, and then the door had shoved inward. The magnet above the door tripped the alarm and before the two officers could arrive the burglar had gotten down the hall, collected a considerable amount of loot, and was prepared to leave when the two officers drove up.

One Fifteen John, Ed called on his radio. One Fifteen John? the dispatcher responded. We're code four here. One in custody.

Ten four, One Fifteen John. The radio's warning beeper went off; radio traffic resumed.

The two then took time to write up the preliminary report as a two officer car came, following the lead to the four five nine – burglary; they offered to assist if any was needed.

The four men stood about the cars; they visit over the event, and watch the street for any vehicles which might drive by. The person burglarizing the house had to have some help to get the stuff someplace else.

The two man unit split and walked the street and looked for anything suspicious from other cars. Several front doors had opened and some of the neighbors were out peering at the Policemen.

Ma'am? Ed called to a neighbor. Any cars here that don't belong here?

I don't see any. Thank you.

Oh, young man. Yessum.

They're gone for the week. Where'd they go?

They went camping. Their motor-home is gone.

Do you know where they might be? How about a relative? They have a daughter in town somewhere, but I don't know where she lives, exactly. Name?

Cindy Johnson. Part of town?

Lives over by state college. Thanks.

Ed walked back to his car. One Fifteen John. Go ahead, One Fifteen John.

The victims are out of town. Unknown location. Relative a daughter Cindy or, Ed turned to the woman who stood holding her chenille robe around her, What does Cindy stand for?

Cynthia.

Thought so. Thanks. He smiled and returned to his radio, You might check Cynthia Johnson in the criss-cross. Lives over near state college someplace.

...four, the radio responded affirmatively. Station A. Three officers canvassed the street; they peered into cars and trucks parked at the curb.

Down at the end one of the officers found a battered fender Ford, one headlight crushed. The incongruity of the automobile in a respectable neighborhood was obvious.

One Thirteen King.

Go ahead One Thirteen.

Have the team on Balsawood go TAC.

One Fifteen John, Six forty Sam. Go TAC two.

The radios were switched and the channel was now obviously clear; no other voices could be heard.

The two man King unit advised a suspicious vehicle 200 yards down at the corner of Kiowa Street.

The Sergeant got into his car and drove around the corner, down the street and came back up behind the vehicle, lights out.

Ed put his car in gear and drove down to the corner, did a U turn and blocked the street from that end.

Hey, Cop, what's going on? the little crook in the back seat asked.

Your friend down there is gonna get caught. Got no friend `down there,' he spat.

Well, we'll see. Might even go up with guns drawn and if the car starts we'll just blow the shit out of that piece of crap.

So what's that to me?

If they live we'll tell them you cared enough to do your very best.

Yeah, the kid said in a surly tone.