“You guys want to do a SWAT standby?”
“Uh, is the Pope Catholic?”
“Okay, head over to PD headquarters. Briefing starts in fifteen.”
Forty-five minutes later, no briefing. That’s fine. Newguy and I are flicking a paper football across a desk. He’s winning.
Finally the briefing starts. Some guy got mad at another guy for talking to the first guy’s girlfriend, so he punched him, then the first guy stabbed the second guy with a screwdriver and killed him. Now there is a murder warrant, and these nice fellows are going to persuade first guy to come spend some time with them in their Iron Bar Motel.
All over a girl.
Three hours after clocking in, we leave PD headquarters. My stomach rumbles, reminding me that lunch time is fast approaching. I’m always hungry though.
PD makes us stage at the entrance to the neighborhood, not too far from the suspect’s home, but not visible. Except to the dozens of cars entering and leaving. We are hanging out with some fire guys and PD officers. At least the weather is nice.
“We are looking to go in about an hour.”
Now I’m really hungry, but we can’t leave. I make an executive decision and find a phone number after a quick Google search.
“Hey, what do you like on your pizza?”
“Black olives and tomatoes.”
The pizza shop guy takes my order, and seems confused when I tell him I am at the entrance to a neighborhood. “I’m one of the two guys in white shirts, by the ambulance. You can’t miss it.”
The pizza was delicious.
And after thirty minutes of strongly-worded warnings from police, a door being kicked in, and swift SWAT action, the call is over.
The perp wasn’t home.
Best five-hour call ever.