To recap the tale so far, I, being a homeless, untreated schizophrenic living on the street at the time, was set upon without provocation by Constable Shithead in Langley, B.C. late one night after I exited a bar at closing time. The ever charming Constable Shithead laid a beating on me at the side of the street, loaded me into his cruiser, and carted my sorry ass about 15 kms out of town where he hauled me out of the cruiser and abandoned me at the side of the road with the instruction to not return too Langley. Outraged and full of righteousness, and with a sizeable chip on my shoulder, I made my way on foot back to the city to seek retribution for my mistreatment. Arriving at the police station, I was turned away by an officer manning the front desk with the flimsy excuse that he could not formally lodge a complaint against Constable Shithead because he lacked a supply of forms upon which to take my statement. Fully convinced that I was being deflected by the officer in an effort to protect Constable Shithead, I got quite pissy with the officer. Having kicked the beehive so to speak, I left in a fit of impotent rage to go and sleep the night away and fight the battle another day, unaware that the police, like a swarm of angry bees, had plans of their own. The opening of this, the seventh part in the series, sees me confronted by two people in front of a strip plaza just outside the city center three or four days after my attendance at the police station.
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PART 7
“Are you BJ Thompson?” she asked as she and her male partner approached me from the parking lot. I stood under the overhang in front of a strip plaza seeking a respite from the cold rain falling from the dark clouds above as it had all day. I had my back to the store fronts and stood facing the parking lot. I was oblivious to my surroundings. The question did not immediately register because, as I stood gazing blankly at my shoes, my attention was turned inwards caught up in the inner drama of the voices in my head.
When the two of them walked up and came to rest in front of me within my vision, I became aware of them suddenly and looked quickly up, startled. They were in uniform. It was two policemen. The memory of my recent beating at the hands of one of their ilk, and the unsuccessful demand for justice with another at the police department three days earlier, who I believed was trying to protect the officer who beat me, flashed through my mind. I immediately became suspicious and tense. I sensed they were not here to see if there was still room on my dance card for the weekend single’s dance at the community center. Perceiving them as a potential threat, I shifted my attention to them with an effort.
“What do you two want?” I asked guardedly. My stomach rumbled reminding me that I had not eaten this day.
“We want to talk to you,” she answered with a feigned and forced smile. The male officer looked at me mutely. “We have noticed you recently walking around town. We just want to get too know you.”
I stifled a cynical laugh. “So this is just a friendly social call then, right?”
“Exactly,” she confirmed maintaining that feigned and forced smile. I worried at what was behind that fake smile. “We just want to be your friends.”
“Sure,” I scoffed, “And Peter Pan is real. I saw him this morning. We had coffee. He said to say hello if I bumped into any policemen in my travels.” It wasn’t in my experience that policemen went out of their way to make friends with an anonymous and derelict homeless person living in obscurity, certainly not in this town. My Spidey sense was tingling. Things didn’t add up. I took a step back for my own comfort.
The two of them took a step forward.
“You are new in town. You need us. We are here to help. Come. Talk with us,” she persisted.
Under normal circumstances, I feel safe in public in the middle of the day, but as I looked at these two officers I tried to imagine what they truly wanted, or how far they would go to get it, and I felt vulnerable. Based on recent experiences with the local constabulary my trust of and goodwill for the police were exhausted. I doubted that any good could come of this meeting. I wasn’t able to force them to leave, so I tried to flee.
“Tell you what,” I said to the two of them, “Have your people call my people. We’ll do lunch.”
With that, I abruptly side-stepped the male officer, who stood to the left of the female, and attempted to dart by him into the parking lot at his back. He stuck out a hand grabbing me by the arm as I tried to pass and swung me back in front of him like I was a rag doll. So now I knew they would get physical to get what they wanted. This confirmed my suspicions and rising fear.
“We think now would be a good time,” he said with a grimace and let go my arm. “We do not want to make a scene. Get in the cruiser,” he commanded gesturing towards the police car parked behind him.
I looked over their shoulders at the cruiser in the parking lot and thought, No, bad plan. Ain’t gonna. Instead, I chose to seek safety in numbers. I turned on my heels without a word and dashed into the gelato store behind me where about ten people sat dispersed among a number of tables. I ever so briefly left the two officers standing outside in the cold.
Upon entry, I walked directly to the counter on my left along the wall where behind a bored, middle aged man stood wearing a white apron with gelato stains on it. I presumed him to be an employee or the owner. I asked him politely that I had no money, but could I sit quietly at one of the tables at the far wall for a while to get in out of the rain. The fellow said I could. I thanked him, turned, and immediately made my way towards a table along the far wall away from the door and opposite the counter. The officers didn’t want a scene in public, so maybe they would drop their pursuit and leave me alone safely and peacefully inside the store amongst all these people.
I guessed wrong.
I had just reached my desired table when the two officers rushed in. They had waited to enter the store just long enough to make the decision between themselves to do so. At first they ignored the employee behind the counter who, with a look of idle curiosity, watched them enter and come to stand facing each other in the center of the room among the tables and customers. I, and I alone, was close enough to hear them speak in hushed tones.
“You get him,” said the male officer to the female officer as he gestured towards me, “And I’ll take care of him,” he said pointing at the employee behind the counter.
The two immediately split up and headed in opposite directions, the male officer going towards the counter and the female coming directly for me.
The female officer was upon me before I had the chance to sit. She struck with the speed of a cat stepping behind me, grabbing my left arm, and twisting it behind my back in an arm lock. The pain was immediate.
“Resist and I’ll break your arm,” she hissed into my left ear just loud enough for me but no one else to hear. I didn’t doubt her resolve.
“I’ve done nothing wrong! You can’t do this to me! Leave me alone!” I said in a panic. A few of the patrons looked up at the two of us.
“Shut your mouth. I can do what I please. Speak again and I’ll yank your arm out of its socket. Move.” She spat over my shoulder from behind for my ears only.
She applied more pressure to the arm-lock for added emphasis and pushed me forward toward the door. The added pressure increased the pain in my arm and had the immediate effect of making me docile, which, I daresay, was the intended effect.
I briefly entertained the possibility that I was headed for another beating. And I wondered if this painful arm-lock thing was this lady’s idea of some sick thrill in a lead-up to the main event in which I got my head kicked in. I mean, she was way into it. Whatever the case, while it may have been good times for her, the charm of the moment was rather lost on me.
As the female officer hustled me out of the store, I looked imploringly about me at the people in attendance for help while being afraid of speaking because of the officer’s threats. Seemingly unable to apprehend that an injustice was being committed right before their eyes, the other patrons sat immobile in stunned silence, much like they would, I imagined, if watching a TV show. Apparently, abduction was a spectator sport in Langley.
I looked painfully across the room at the employee behind the counter. I caught the employee’s furtive glance at me from across the room over the officer’s shoulder as the officer talked. He then bowed his head and looked forlornly down at his hands resting on the counter top, and did nothing. The officer had neutralized him. So it was that no one came to my defense. In fairness, their lack of involvement might be partially attributable to the speed at which everything took place. No one had much of a chance to protest. Apparently, though, I was on my own. So much for safety in numbers.
The female officer hurried us outside. We were passing under the overhang towards the parking lot when the male officer, having successfully kept the employee at bay, retreated from inside the store and caught up to us at the same time we arrived to stand beside the back door of the cruiser on the driver side. He opened the car door and stood back holding it open at arm’s length. At my back, the other officer let go the arm hold on me so as to put me in cuffs. While the release of the hold on my arm was a great relief, it still ached.
“Get in,” he barked at me from behind the door.
“Not in this lifetime,” I replied, franticly trying to back away from the open door against the female officer behind me.
I began to resist now that I was no longer in an arm lock. However, the female officer, who held my hands behind my back in cuffs, was in complete control and immediately over-powered me. She placed a free hand on the back of my head, pushing it down below the top of the door opening so I would not hit my head on the way in, and, in one forceful motion, threw me into the back of the car.
“What am I being arrested for?” I shouted from the back of the cruiser as I straightened up in the seat.
“Who said anything about being arrested?” answered the male officer with another grimace. He slammed the door shut in my face.
I became mute in fright. My mind raced, but I could think of nothing to better my situation. I was, for the moment, effectively silenced and subdued.
I made a decision then and there to forego my annual contribution to The Policeman’s Ball, which, by my experience of the police in this town, is probably for the best, as all the police must do at a ball in this town is drink too much, beat on the help to music, and eat children. OK. OK. Maybe I am exaggerating. They wouldn’t drink too much.
The two officers, in a seeming haste to leave the scene, wasted no time in entering the cruiser. The female officer drove with the other officer riding shotgun. The partition between the front and back seats was closed and so no word passed between us as the cruiser exited the parking lot.
At this point, I was hoping they would pull a Constable Shithead routine and drop me off outside of town. Having witnessed that these two rogue officers worked outside the law as I understood it, and were brazen enough to abduct me in public during the light of day, I postulated this to be the best possible outcome to this rather bad situation that I found myself in.
It was not to be.
The cruiser exited the parking lot going in the opposite direction to the outskirts and drove further into town. My hope collapsed. In my head, the voices spoke of impending misery, while Maestro sang a song of woe. I couldn’t see how things were going to end well for me, so I resigned myself to my fate with a feeling of foreboding as the cruiser propelled me closer to my unknown and eventual doom.
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Another post in this series will appear in a few weeks. Check back later to see what the hospitality of Langley served up next! Don’t forget to subscribe to the blog so you will be notified when the next post is posted! Feel welcome to share this and other posts on the blog with your friends on Facebook by clicking on the blue share button below.