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Ten-Dollar Bill

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I would like to thank so many people that helped with this story, the birth of this story relied on two details being absolutely correct and out of respect for the Police, I knew I just had to get that right or this story wouldn't see the light of day. So, major thanks to that very special person, who spared the time and advice. My team of editors who, too this day I still wonder how they can see through my many mistakes and come out the other end with a story. To you the reader, please enjoy your read.

*****

After six months, three days, sixteen hours the pain felt just as real. This was our bench. Well, the park owned it, but we liked to think it was our bench. It was one of many that overlooked the river that ran through the park and today was her birthday. I choked up and my eyes lost focus and watered up as my lips parted. "Happy Birthday, Becky Louise Carter."

My mind went over my life with Becky: the happy moments and the time during which cancer stole her from me. She told me I would be feeling like this and had urged me to make my grieving short so I could love again. It was one of the very few times we argued. It was difficult to stay mad at Becky when she was in a hospital bed so close to death. Our bench moved and my head turned to see why. The officer sat beside me but kept looking at the river. The body armor didn't do her any favors, other than keep her alive I suppose.

"You're gaining a reputation around here, Mister...?"

"Carter, Ma'am. Nathan Carter."

Her head didn't move. I used the opportunity to claw back some of my own curiosity. Her name badge said, "Hobbs". The sunglasses seemed to be standard issue so I couldn't see the color of her eyes, but those glasses were perched on a real cute nose.

"My partner and I have seen you sit right here almost every time we pass by, Mr. Carter and my partner is waving a brand new ten-dollar bill in the air that you're going to jump. Are you going to jump, Mr. Carter?"

How to answer that question and not walk away in handcuffs? "If she were alive, my wife would kill me for even thinking it, Officer." It was the safest answer I could give and not lie. She shifted slightly and smiled at my attempt at humor as the cold metal surrounded my wrist. The clicking sound finished her statement of intent. Her left arm came up and my arm had no choice but to follow. "Well, I can't swim, so if you're going to jump then you're going to have one heck of a dead weight helping you."

In a bizarre way, I actually found all this amusing and it did seem to bring me out of the funk I had myself in. "Well, we can't have that, officer. Not to mention the charge of attempting to murder a police officer on my up-to-this-point spotless record."

She smiled; she had the cutest dimples when she smiled. "There you go, I just knew my partner was going to lose that ten dollars."

Hell, I smiled. She was funny. "Indeed," I said.

She used the key to the handcuffs which had always been in her other hand, to unlock us. We stood and she took a step to the side so she was between me and the river.

"You have a good day, sir."

"And you, too, Officer Hobbs."

Her cruiser was parked behind my car. I looked before pulling away; she was leaning against the rail looking at the same scene that always captured my heart. A twinge of guilt pulled at me. I was staring.

I woke up the next morning with less pain in my chest, not sure if Officer Hobbs' dimples had anything to do with it. My work colleagues even did a double take when I sat at my desk and started work. The interrogation started at first break and continued throughout the day, all cheerful banter, and for that I was extremely grateful.

Maybe since I had met Officer Hobbs I was attuned to her presence because I saw her twice more that month. I was walking from my office to a restaurant that a client had picked for a more informal meeting than sitting in an office. The traffic was horrendous, so walking seemed to be the best option. The cause of the traffic jam became obvious when I heard Officer Hobbs and her partner directing traffic around a broken-down truck.

The other time was way more interesting; that was the day I discovered that Officer Hobbs is a gazelle in disguise. A week after the truck incident I was just leaving a card shop when a police cruiser sped up the street and screeched to a stop at the top end. Voices were heard, and I could assume by the tone that whoever was yelling meant business.

The next thing I knew, a man came running down the street, and the officer chasing was Officer Hobbs. With the body armor, weapon belt, and the rest of her gear, I'm sure she was glad she left the kitchen sink in the trunk of the cruiser. And yet she gained on the runner before driving her shoulder into his back, causing him to fall onto the ground and diving on top of him. Those all-too-familiar cuffs were used after a very brief scuffle. Through it all, those glasses stayed stapled to her head.

My work colleagues still continued to tease me as, day by day, my somber mood faded. The tentative steps I took to join the human race once again were done with a silent "thank you" to one of our city's finest. I even joined in with the general banter. In a roundabout way, Officer Hobbs and her actions that day at the park had pulled me back from that abyss I was staring into.

*******

It was to be three months later that our paths converged again. I settled a debt my soul thought I owed, but at such a cost.

That day, I got the call I was expecting from the police; they were still working their way through forensics, but asked me to come down to the station the next day to make a formal statement. I agreed and when I went into work, I asked for the next day off. I saw reluctance in my boss' eyes and asked to talk to him in his office. When I explained why, he of course agreed. What worried me was who he was going to tell later on. I thought it prudent to nip that idea in the bud and reminded him that all that happened was still an ongoing investigation so it would be best to just say nothing for now.

Feeling that I may have bought myself a day or two, I left his office and went back to work, but even that didn't hold my attention like it usually does. I found my thoughts would drift back to that evening and how I was going to explain everything that happened that night. Eventually I relied on my own take on the matter: "You haven't done anything wrong and what you did do, saved a life."

I got to the station at ten in the morning. Once I introduced myself to the desk sergeant, a detective made himself known and we headed upstairs. Its really odd being in an interview room, made even weirder because it looked just like those I've seen on crime shows. Someone sure did their homework.

The detective pointed to a seat and I sat facing the big darkened window. Yep, someone had done their homework.

"Mr. Carter, first I would like to thank you for your help that night. We would just like to ask you a few questions."

I nodded my understanding. He paused for a moment and then turned to the officer standing by a machine; I thought he was getting ready to record what I was going to say.

When the officer tapped a button on the machine a two-tone bleeping noise filled the interview room.

Officer Hobbs voice came next. "Shots fired, officer down, I say again, officer down."

The room went silent for a moment before the dispatcher's voice overrode everything. "All possible units stand by. Shots fired, officer down, I repeat officer down."

Officer Hobbs' voice returned. "They suckered us into the alley behind Walt's Body Shop off Wiltshire. Danny's taken multiple hits and he is bleeding out... Oh God, he's bleeding out... They're coming to finish the job."

The next call was the dispatcher giving what details she could and coordinated all the cars that responded along with a paramedic unit. She tried repeatedly to regain contact with Officer Hobbs and grew more worried with every failed call, even more so when other officers asked for updates.

I didn't need to know anything else after that, I was there. I asked the detective to turn the tape off. He paused for a moment before agreeing, then he silenced the machine. His hand then went to the machine next to him and he pushed the red button. I could see the number ticking over in the little window.

"Even now I still find it funny that all I was doing was going for a quiet night out."

That morning I woke with the urge for an Italian meal later that evening. I checked the refrigerator and had the ingredients, but I got lazy as the day moved on and decided that I could do with an evening out. I was still slowly bringing myself out into the world. Yes, the recluse was back amongst the living.

When I left the restaurant, I had decided to walk off part of my meal and, rather than call a cab to be collected at the restaurant, I would walk up to Wiltshire and hail one from there. The gunfire stopped me in my tracks until I realized that it wasn't coming from the street but the alleyway. When I sneaked a look around the corner three men were walking towards a bullet-riddled police cruiser.

Standing between the cruiser and the men was Officer Hobbs, her uniform was covered in blood and from where I was standing, I had no way of knowing how much if any, was hers. The thing I did know in the few seconds I could spare to look at her was that she was pissed; I had seen her that angry once before when she shouldered the runner to the ground some days ago. The only thing in her hand was her nightstick. Even I thought that odd until I noticed her holster empty; it didn't need Einstein to figure out it must be in the darkened cruiser somewhere.

The biggest of the three was trying to goad her, telling her he was going to make her squeal like the pig she was. Hobbs didn't move, just watched the three move closer. Again, they stopped when the leader of the three thought he had a real good idea and decided to share.

"Boys, she's only got a stick, so in the interest of fair play we should match her."

His friends thought that a really good idea and they placed their own handguns in the waistbands at the small of their backs and looked around. One picked up what looked like a pipe about two feet long. Another grabbed a lump of wood about the same length and the last yanked a lump of metal free from the tangled debris on the ground. He thought it was really cool when a lump of concrete stayed attached to the end.

I could just make out the sound of sirens in the distance. As it stood, everyone in that alleyway knew this confrontation would be over long before help arrived. I removed my coat and jacket, tucking them behind the trashcan on the corner. My shoes were rubber-soled which helped. Walking on the balls of my feet the way I had been taught got me directly behind the three in no time. My father taught me well; his words still resonated through my head as I approached them.

"Take the big one down first if you're going to stand any chance of survival."

The kick at the back of his knee sent him to the ground. I snapped his neck before he realized I had my hands around him. I kicked the one to his left towards Officer Hobbs while I concentrated on the one on the right. That big lump of concrete was now a hindrance rather than an advantage in such a small combat area. The trouble was he realized it about the same time I did and dropped it in favor of the gun still tucked into the waistband of his pants.

As the gun came into view, I grabbed the barrel, took a step inside, pulled and twisted. We both heard his finger break, just as I heard him squeal in pain soon after. My body continued to spin on the spot and the backward knuckle strike to his nose put him out. He dropped to the floor and I followed him down, placing my knee on his chest to pull the air out of him and give me a chance see if I needed to help Officer Hobbs without getting side-swiped.

Officer Hobbs had her knee on the third one's back and was already in the process of cuffing him. She didn't need to be in too big a hurry about it. Judging by the blood from the cut on his forehead he had clearly resisted arrest. Several times, if the other cuts had much to do with the confrontation he had with Hobbs.

The sirens were seconds away now. I'm not stupid; there was going to be a lot of highly-charged officers coming into this alleyway any second now and all would have guns drawn. I got onto my knees and placed my hands behind my head, willing my body to relax as best it could, even with so much adrenalin was rushing through it.

One officer speared me to the ground, pulled my arms behind me and cuffed me whilst shouting my rights to me. The paramedics charged in with two other officers protecting them and taking in the carnage at the same time. Hobbs was on her knees, staring at the figure on the ground in front of her. My arms screamed in pain as two other officers lifted me up by them and dragged me to one of the cruisers before throwing me up against it and once again reading me my rights.

"HEY, what you doing that to the white boy for? He done stopped your officer getting killed and you're treating him like a criminal."

The two officers were holding onto me to reinforce the thought that, if I had an attack of the stupids and tried to resist arrest, things would get complicated. By now more level-headed officers and a sergeant were on the scene. The sergeant told his officers to sit me in the cruiser and he took the old woman who shouted her protest to one side. I just sat and watched everything going on out the window. The paramedics pronounced Officer Stewart dead at the scene and they took Hobbs away in an ambulance with a police escort.

The coroner was on the scene within forty minutes, according to the clock on the dashboard of the cruiser. An hour later I was released by the sergeant and a detective named Donaldson after I gave a statement, whilst leaning against the same cruiser, to Detective Donaldson. He let me go with his apology and that of the Forest Heights Police force. I was even allowed to go home provided I would be back to the station within a day or so to make a formal statement.

I paused, not sure what else the detective would want me to add to my statement in that interrogation room. Both the men just looked at me, waiting for something, but I just didn't know what. Eventually Donaldson moved. He pulled a file from the table and glanced at it.

"Mr. Carter, we've been given a recording of what went on in that alley from one of the windows that overlooks it. Where did you learn the moves you used?"

"My father."

As a Detective I knew he was just cleaning up the paperwork, although that small part of me did wonder if he had his doubts, he just stopped short of calling me out about it because I had kept one of his people alive.

"My mom divorced my dad when I was three. She met the man she has lived with since I was seven, he's been more of a father to me than the sperm donor. He's also twelve years older than mom, but she loves him to bits; he, in return, cherishes the ground she walks and I like him as well."

They were still not convinced so I continued. "He retired after twenty years of service with the 101st Airborne."

Detective Donaldson's face showed acceptance of my answer to his question. What nailed it was me telling him that Dad was also the go-to man in his unit for unarmed combat instruction.

My mind's eye turned back those years. It had taken me a year to persuade my father to teach me. We spent a weekend turning the double garage into a gym. Mom refused to watch; I heard her cry from time to time though when I took my sorry ass to the shower after a training session.

For the next two years it was physical training for an hour and then I would pretty much get the shit kicked out of me in every lesson I had with him. And my father? Well, that man never even broke into a sweat. Mid-way through the second year the girls at school started to notice the physical change and I wasn't talking puberty: muscle tone increased as body fat decreased.

The one time our school bully decided it was my turn, almost three years of pain turned into ten seconds worth of sweat and my folks being asked to come by the school and see the principal.

I was hooked then and Dad knew it. But I had always heeded that man's advice, and the bully was the only time I had used anything Dad taught me. Until two nights ago that is.

When I once again looked at Detective Donaldson, I think he understood now.

*******

I had just finished signing my witness statement when another officer knocked and then stuck his head into the room. His eyes met Donaldson's and he mouthed the words, "Last call." Donaldson nodded before the officer closed the door again. I shook hands with both men and was already halfway to the building's exit, hell I was no more than twenty feet from the elevator doors, when a hush came over the room that made me stop as well.

"All units stand by for a special announcement. Emergency traffic only."

The whole room was so still.

"2217..."

This time the dispatcher's voice trembled and even I felt a cold chill run down my spine.

"Forest Heights calling 2217..."

Scanning the room made me feel like I was intruding on such a personal moment, these people had lost not only a fellow officer but, to most, a dear friend.

"Please stand-by for final call." Two of the officers standing by the radio looked at each other when they heard the dispatcher becoming an emotional wreck. A moment later the radio came back to life.

There was a click as the dispatcher's voice came back and once again enveloped the entire room, to finish a task that was hurting her so much. "This is the final call for 2217."

The whole room both heard and felt her pain as the dispatcher sucked in air, while trying so desperately hard to remain professional. "Officer Daniel Stewart, you are clear for end of watch, thank you for your service and rest easy, sir, we have the watch from here. 2217 is end of watch for the final time, Badge Number 2217 is hereby retired March 16, 2015.

"May he rest in peace."

The dispatcher didn't release her send button in time and we all heard her thoughts when the words, "Go with God, Daniel," ended the announcement.

*******

I felt out of place here. This was such a personal moment between fellow officers and the loss of one of their own. I glanced at Officer Hobbs being consoled by another woman officer; I understood her grief and those of the men and women around me.

As I waited for the elevator my eyes wandered over the precinct's trophy cabinet opposite the elevator. Inter-precinct competitions, some marksmanship awards and such. Officer Hobbs smiled at me from one of those photos while she held an award and I smiled right back at her before the doors to the elevator opened and I left the building.

The funeral for the fallen officer was held a week later. I didn't have an appropriate suit to attend so I went out the day before and bought one. The assistant walked right into it when he asked if I was going to a funeral and my reply was yes. He sure kept himself busy after that.

My intention was simply to watch from the church grounds and leave as soon as the procession was inside. What came down the road towards the church soon cancelled out that idea: a lone man dressed in tartan, his kilt gently swaying to the slow march of the procession he was leading. The tune from his bagpipes resonated between the buildings and added to the sadness of the occasion. The song "Amazing Grace" will hold such a different meaning for me from now on.

At a set point, another tartan clad figure standing by the doors to the church took over from the leader of the procession. "Amazing Grace" continued to seamlessly bounce around the square as the hearse drew level with the church steps and the procession paused. We watched six fellow officers carry the coffin into the church, slowly followed by those at the front of the procession. The rest moved to fill in the spaces around the square.

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