A naked woman drove a golf cart into the middle of a standoff between police and an armed teenager. The teenager was apparently holding himself hostage on the roof of his home around midnight on September 6th (Happy Labor Day!) when Jessica Smith, 28, refused orders to leave the area and found her bare ass being booked for Obstruction.
On its face, this is one of those police stories where someone outside the job would listen and have no idea how to process what they heard. For me, this is one of those insane moments in policing that reinforces why patrol is the best job in the world.
Here’s how I want this to have gone.
Officer Maxwell and Sergeant Collins leaned on the fender of Maxwell’s cruiser looking up at the young man in boxer briefs pacing back and forth across an architectural shingled roof. He had a butter knife in one hand and a smartphone in the other. As he passed the two cops he stared at them, his eyes full of tears.
“You don’t back off I’ll jump!” he declared as forcefully as his screechy voice would allow.
“Guess he figured out the butter knife was a poor choice.” Commented Maxwell.
“It would speed things along too.” Added Collins.
The comments drew a furious eye from Sandra Harmon, mother of the Kyler Harmon, the teenager walking around the roof. Sandra stood in her backyard wrapped in a plush bathrobe and slippers. Next to her, Jim Harmon, Kyler’s father was in a matching robe and slippers. Jim looked pissed off.
“Kyler baby please!” Sandra shouted.
“Moron,” Jim said under his breath. That drew daggers from Sandra as well.
The two cops studied the dynamic between Kylers folks for a moment before Collins said, “Bean bag,”
Maxwell straightened, his eyes flashing with hope, “He’s not that high up there,”
“We can’t…yet.” Replied Collins. He checked the other two patrol cars forming a perimeter around the back of the house. The house sat on a fairway in the middle of a golf community. The roof-mounted floodlights affixed to the cruisers lit up the entire back yard, drawing onlookers from up and down the cart path bordering the fairway. He and Maxwell went to confer with the parents,
“So this is all over a girl?” asked Collins.
“Kaitlin Andrews unfollowed him on the social media earlier tonight. Then she wouldn’t return our calls, that little bitch,” Sandra spat.
“Did you say our calls?” asked Maxwell.
Collins suppressed a chuckle. He took another look at Kyler and immediately noticed the butter knife in his hand catch the light from the cruisers. Kyler’s full attention was on his phone.
“Whoa, stop right there!”
Collins saw the boy’s head snap up and turned to see a golf cart approaching from the cart path. Officer Carson, who was holding back the gathering group of onlookers, walked out into the path of the cart. His hand was up and he flashed his light at the driver. Collins blinked when he saw her.
The next pass of Carson’s light steadied on the woman, the absolutely naked woman.
“Seriously,” Carson called. He strobed his light in her direction to get her attention but was only successful in getting her to turn off the path and head straight toward the Harmon’s home. Collins noticed Kyler watching in awe from his perch. Collins had to sidestep as she came in at barely a crawl, a dying battery struggled to keep the thing moving. She had a vacant look in her eyes, hammered or high, Collins couldn’t tell which. Carson trailed her, his hands jutting out from his sides, exasperated.
“You fucking kidding me?” Maxwell hopped aboard as she passed and ripped the key out of the ignition. Collins put an eye on Kyler to make sure he wasn’t sliding any further down the spectrum of stupid than the level he’d already achieved tonight. The kid stood stock still watching the goings-on below. Now would be the perfect time for the bean bag, Collins thought.
“’ss there a prob’em officer?” the woman asked from behind the wheel of the golf cart. Her words slurred, her eyes mere slits.
“I could ask you the same thing,” answered Maxwell. He gently pulled her from the cart by the wrist. Unsure if she would be able to stand on her own. He looked at Collins.
“cover her up, book her for Obstruction,” Collins had seen a lot over the years, and this wasn’t his first drunk, naked suspect. But the absurdity of seeing a naked woman bust into his scene riding a golf cart was a new one on him. He surveyed the scene again to see if there was anything else, maybe bigfoot was going to make an appearance too. He accounted for everyone, Kyler, his cops, the new drunk chick, mom…
“Where’s the dad?” he asked.
Sandra started as if she were entranced by what was going on around her. She pivoted in her fluffy slippers like she was looking for her reading glasses.
“Dad! Don’t” Kyler screamed.
“There he is,” said Carson.
Collins and the others watched Kyler jumping and stumbling under an onslaught of cold water lancing at him from the garden hose in Jim Harmon’s fist.
“Get off the Goddamned roof, Kyler!” Jim bellowed.
“Why didn’t we think about that earlier?” Maxwell asked. Collins couldn’t help but notice the drunk in custody was leaning her sleepy head against Maxwell’s shoulder as he watched their disturbed subject call devolve before their eyes. Above them, Kyler was shivering as his father chased him back and forth from the ground soaking him.
“Okay! Okay! Stop!” the boy said, tossing the butter knife and his now waterlogged phone to the ground. He watched as Jim Harmon raised a ladder for his son to climb down and sighed. There was no amount of paperwork that was going to explain what just happened.
Probably didn’t go down that way but however the incident went, that story will be repeated at the bar for years to come.
Don’t forget to check out my newest releases in the Jackson Cole Series.
Jackson Cole is a newly minted homicide detective thrown head first into the grinder when he is ordered to investigate the grisly murder of three women.
The victims are marked with odd, occult symbols and the press is stirring up a killer cult frenzy in the media. The mayor, the Chief of Police, and Cole’s Captain want results to calm an increasingly fearful public; and Cole’s supposed partner is nowhere to be found. Cole has zero leads, he’s floundering under the scrutiny of his entire command staff until a stranger shows up spouting a wild theory: blood magic.
Floundering or not Cole won’t even consider it. There is no such thing as magic, no such thing as voodoo; and there are no demons roaming the Charleston Peninsula. There’s always a rational explanation for the evil humans commit upon one another. Then a demon tries to take Cole’s head off.
How do you stop a supernatural evil, something ancient and unencumbered by the laws of either physics or man? Especially when all you bring to the fight is a pistol and a pair of handcuffs. If Jackson Cole wants this case to close, he will have to take on a world of the impossible. Then he’ll have to survive it.
Detective Miles Otis pointed, “That’s an arm…”
Detective Jackson Cole sighed, “Yeah.”
Otis studied the random severed limb for moment, “You ever miss the good old days, dope and drive bys…?”
You catch one strange case and suddenly they call you the Freak Police behind your back. If the case is even remotely weird Cole and Otis get the call. Now they find themselves in a vacant lot staring at a forearm.
Fingerprints give them a name. Hardnosed police work generates a suspect. She’s a witch, so was the guy who’s forearm sits in a cooler at the coroner’s office. The witch says a hellhound killed her friend. And its hunting the homeless of Charleston.
Witches, magic, and a…hellhound?
Any other two detectives would laugh at a story like that. But Cole and Otis have faced the supernatural before. It almost killed them.
There’s a reason they call them Freak Police.
But can they face the darkness again?