Working Sunday day shift can be one of the most grueling, boring assignments in law enforcement. But heh, someone has to do it. Rarely are the any calls of substance. At best you may get a call reference some vandalism committed the night before, toilet paper in a tree, houses egged, or "Lorraine is a slut" spray painted on a car (no offense Lorraine). If you feel like hunting ( running radar for speeders) the early morning church crowd likes to drive like their chasing Jesus. It's amazing how well schooled a minister can be at obscenities when you hand him a ticket for going 83 in a 65.
This Sunday was like most others I had worked. Briefing had been at 5:30 Am, which was incredibly early considering I had been out Saturday night until at least 1 am, trying to find my next ex-wife. A quick run through McDonald's, and I had perched along my favorite stretch of highway. Over the next 3 hours I had stopped 15 cars, and written 6 tickets, making zero friends. I was now cruising the back roads enjoying the only jewel of Sunday work. American top 40, with Kasey Casem. The radio jerks me back to reality, and away from the lyrics of "Ace of Base"......"The morning kettle cafe.......424 W. Elm....Disturbance, intoxicated subject creating a disturbance, refusing to leave". As per protocol two units are assigned to this call. It just so happens that on this day, I was assigned to this district..........as I drive the two miles to get to the call I think to myself about the clientele that this particular restaurant has. I am not sure I have ever seen anyone there under the age of 60. This is one those types of cafes that close at 3 in the afternoon........I picture two old intoxicated women squabbling over widower Johnson..........As I walk in I am met with the aroma of cooked bacon, scrabbled eggs, and maple syrup.......and not to mention the scent of an intoxicated asshole, who had, at some point earlier....defecated in his button fly britches..........the only voices I can hear are coming from the southwest corner of the place........A slurred mix of profanity coming from an imposing figure of a male of about 6 ft 1 and 250 lbs. A full, unkempt beard topped off with a swirling mess of a head of hair. The shrill voice of the waitress arguing with him stops when she sees me approaching. I could tell from this subjects demeanor, size, and my "Spidey sense" that I was about to have my hands full, and that caution was the word of the day. As I had entered the cafe my back up on the call had radioed me letting me no they were just finishing up a code 2 at headquarter..........which means like "going" number two in the restroom.
I approach the table and try to stall for time, allowing my back up more time to get there. I start with a friendly approach "hey buddy, what's going on today?" Which is quickly met with a "fuck you cop" and a slam of a fist on the table. My stance is canted somewhat to the side and both of my hands are up sort in a calm down stop position, which is exactly where they should be when you are confronting someone hostile. All though my body language says I am prepared to tussle I still am speaking in fairly quiet tones saying things like (It's OK, just relax, what ever the problem is we can work it out)....again the right fist slams on the table and he lunges towards me, but it is a feint. I notice that his left hand is out of my view, most likely under the table. Becoming keenly aware that the apex of this situation was not going to await the arrival of back-up, and fearing that he may have a weapon I reach the hair on his head with my left hand, and his rising right arm with my right and jerk/slam him from the booth (action is faster than reaction, so it's always important to be in charge of the direction of any physical combat, other wise you are reacting which leads to losing, or worse) As I lie on top of him, my right arm is wrapped around his neck, I reach up with my left had and hit the button on my lapel radio microphone and say 10-37. 10-37 is the code an office sends out to let others no he/she is in trouble and needs immediate help, or in layman's terms, the shit has hit the fan. I can feel this subject begin to get up, even with my 210 lbs on top of him, yelling he will kill me. I can also tell that this subject is heavily muscled. You never want to lose the advantage in a struggle because you must always remember that there is already one gun involved in the fight. Your own, at which of all police officers killed in a year nearly %30 are killed with their own gun. As he starts to rise I spread my legs out to keep my sense of balance and control over him, he is thrashing like a wounded bear, and I can can hear table falling and glass breaking. With my free left hand I deliver a couple of punches his kidneys, which gets a grunt out of him, but not much else.....I am yelling during this fight...."Stop fighting, stop resisting" which is more out of habit than anything else. I still have a firm grasp of him, now with my left arm around his neck, I get my pepper mace free and and am able to spray a couple good shots right in his face......Now he is coughing, grunting and really pissed off. The mace is working on me as well, We continue to struggle and he is able to rise to one knee pulling himself up along the edge of a booth occupied by horrified old people. I again punch him a couple of times, this time in the side of the face, which seems to work better. His left arm is still tucked up under him and with his right arm he is grasping at the silverware on the table. Not wanting to be stabbed by any of this I take drastic measures. I grab a bottle of Heinz ketchup from the table and hit him in the side of the head with it, at which it broke. This blow really slows him down, and I am able to get him to the floor and get his right hand in handcuffs, he is still in the fight though, and is curled up on his side with his left hand somewhere under neath him. I can finally start to hear sirens in the distance, but my focus is still on him and the fact that I don't have control of one of his hands, I have the cuffed arm in an arm lock and with my other hand, I am smashing his kidneys yelling (give me your other arm, give me your other arm), at this point back up comes tearing thru the door, I yell ( I cant get his other arm, he must have something) Now Olin leaps through the air ( olin is 6ft and 235 lbs) and lands on this guy as well, We continue for at least 30 more seconds to no avail. We just can't get his other arm up. By this time 2 more officers were there, and we get him to his feet, at which point I make a startling, and comical, not to mention relieving revelation.........................He only has one arm.
So, in the end, Justice was served, and this one armed bastard would never return to "The Morning Kettle" cafe. Local rumors, within the AARP crowd, ran amok. All that was to be said was, that out police department did not discriminate against the disable.
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