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        Wednesday, January 23, 2008

    Have I Ever Told You...

    ...about the night I smashed some idiots head in with my MagLite?

    I went through my archives on a search for 'flashlight', and couldn't find it amongst the thousands of posts, so, here is a cautionary tale. Plus, I'm pretty sure the statute of limitations has run out, so...

    I was working private security. I had left my police job ahead of a bullet, the Brotherhood had closed ranks behind me, and the once most sought after applicant, who had his choice of any job, had people lying to him, about him, and turning him away. Shit happens.

    So, I moved me and my little family back to my old stomping grounds, signed up at the university to get edjuhmuhcated, and went looking for work to hold up my end while my (one day to become) ex used the nursing license I had paid for her to get to make money.

    I walked in to a private security company, and told the owner that I wanted to work nights, told him how much I wanted to be paid, gave him my history, and told him I refused to work with any of his security retards. He hired me on the spot, and gave me his new contract for driving a vehicle around, and checking on various city properties at night, as well as a few private businesses.

    I did have to wear a uniform shirt, which was fine with me, but I wore my own beat up jeans, and a pair of my own boots. And then one night, I came an ass-hair away from getting killed.

    I would do my rounds, roust bums and teenagers (rarely) and then I would park in a brightly lit parking lot with a view all around me, reach into my book bag, and then do my homework assignments and required readings.

    And on that one night, traveling from point A to point B, I met a Frat-Rat.
    Now, let it be known, that I hate Frat-Rats. You know, fraternity boys. If Greg Beck was still alive, I'm sure we could have a lively conversation about how many of their asses we have cheerfully beaten while bouncing in bars and clubs.

    You see, the rats travel in packs, believe themselves superior to all other life forms, are obnoxious beyond belief, piss-poor tippers, and can't hold their liquor for shit. And watching the light fade from their eyes shortly after you've sprayed most of the caps on their teeth out of their mouth all over the parking lot like a spilt box of Chiclets...well, that's just plain glorious.

    So, when this Frat-Rat came into the curve I was headed for at about 70 mph in a 20 mph curve, and lost it in his Mazda and hit the built up curb and then spun out in my direction and caromed in circles of black rubber and smoke towards me, and I judged his progress like a pool shot, and drove through where I figured he would not be, and he banged once more into the opposite curb behind me and high centered onto it...

    I backed my vehicle up opposite his, grabbed my flashlight (5, maybe 6 cell...long) and approached his car, there, ticking and clicking, headlights still on, rocking on the curb, and as I got there, his door popped open, and I shone my light in his eyes. He'd seen my badge at about the same time I had gotten a contact high from his breath.

    I knew there was a fraternity/sorority bash going on in a rec center just up the street. His tuxedo, with the posy in the lapel labeled him a fraternity man. His seatbelt habits made him a lucky man. His nearly killing me made him a marked man.

    He began to ramble something along the lines of 'offisher, I...' and I swung down hard with the flashlight, and made sure if he lived, that he'd be drinking his food through a straw for quite some time. My wife and kids use this road, asshole.

    I hit him so hard the cap popped off the end of the flashlight, and batteries flew out onto the road. I collected them up, reloaded, screwed the cap back on, and checked out my handiwork. From being unhurt, now he sagged like the sack of shit he was, and blood ran out of his nose and mouth. Beauty.

    I drove away.

    Out of morbid curiosity (the best kind) I drove by about an hour later. A bunch of guys in tuxedos were moving the Mazda off the curb, and had a pickup with some tow straps already laid out. Jawbreaker was nowhere to be seen. With that many assholes in the open, I fingered the grip of my .45 there, barrel stuffed into the crack of the passenger seat, and I imagine I probably keened a bit, like a dog spotting a squirrel in the yard, while stuck in the house.

    The odds were not good, for a host of reasons. Besides...

    My work there was through.