A Cop's Christmas
Rating:
Quality: (Quality: Unrated)
A Cop's Christmas
An Original Christmas Story by
Daniel 'Chip' Ciammaichella
It was just after 11 p.m. when the call came over the radio. The
reflection of the city lights made the falling snow look like a million
points of light, drifting slowly toward the frozen ground. The cop debated
with himself whether he should respond to the call; a burglar alarm at a
nearby department store. His shift change was less than an hour away If
someone indeed had broken into the store, the paperwork involved would take
hours.
Sal wanted to get off at a reasonable hour for a change. After all, it
was Christmas Eve and he still had to get presents for his kids. "The alarm
was probably set off by an employee locking up." thought Sal as he
maneuvered the well-used vehicle toward the department store. "I'll never
make it to the store, I guess I can just give the kids cash this year. They
never like my presents anyway and Maria wouldn't appreciate me barging into
her house at two in the morning anyway."
When Sal arrived at the department store, the building was dark and the
area was quiet. As he circled the patrol car around the building, the
falling snow swirled like a tornado through the beam of his spotlight. At
the rear of the building, the spotlight's reflection was engulfed by the
darkness of an open garage door. Sal radioed for backup, and exited the warm
car to investigate.
As Sal approached the dark void of the open door, he noticed a single
set of footprints in the fresh snow. The prints led into the building, but
not out again. Sal clutched his large mag-light firmly in his left hand,
while with his right he felt the inadequate security of his service
revolver, holstered at his side. Sal began to sweat as his mind flashed back
to another dark building, on another Christmas Eve.
Ten years earlier, Sal had responded to a break-in of a liquor store. As
he entered the darkened store a bright flash blinded him. Sal heard a loud
crack of a pistol as his body was hurled to the ground by the force of the
bullet's impact into his chest. Although his kevlar vest had saved his life
that night, the force of the bullet still cracked three ribs and knocked the
wind out of the shocked officer.
Sal's survival instincts, honed by three combat tours in Vietnam,
prevented him from losing consciousness and gave him the strength to bring
his service revolver to bear. His last remembrance was of firing his
revolver towards the flash, and unknown to him, killing his attacker.
Shaking off the memory, Sal discarded the flashlight as he entered the
department store. He crouched just inside the doorway and allowed his eyes
to become accustomed to the ebony darkness of the store.
During Sal's seventeen years on the police force, this particular store
had been burglarized on many occasions. As his eyes made out a dim outline
of the store, Sal remembered where the main lighting circuit breaker was
located.
As the officer carefully inched his way toward the breaker box, he felt
a twinge of pain in his ribs where he had been shot ten years ago. He winced
as he remembered being released from the hospital, and how the pain from his
wounds paled in comparison to the heartache he felt when he found his wife
and kids had left him.
Sal wasn't surprised that Maria had taken the kids and gone. Their life
together had started badly and just gotten worse. Sal could never bring
himself to share with her the horrors that tortured his mind, and she felt
rejected. He felt that his experiences as a cop, as well as a soldier, were
not understandable to anyone, even himself. Maria watched over the years, as
Sal became distrustful and cynical. She watched as he became more and more
dependent on work and a bottle of Jim Beam for solace. By the time she had
taken the kids and left, Sal and Maria were little more than strangers
sharing the same house.
Sal reached the light box and threw the switch. When the bright lights
illuminated the building, he heard the sound of footsteps running out the
door he had entered. As he rushed back to the open door, another patrol car
was just pulling up. While the other officers jumped out of their cruiser,
Sal hollered, "Did you guys see anyone running away when you pulled up?"
One of the newcomers on the scene, a portly officer who had a reputation
for enjoying more than his share of donuts, replied with a sneer, "No Sal,
we didn't see nobody. Whatsa matter, did the little punk get away from ya?"
Sal didn't reply as the other officers laughed and snickered. Angrily he
turned his attention to the footprints leading into and out of the building.
As Sal studied the details of the prints that were not his own, slowly his
anger was replaced by a confident grin. "Maybe the punk got away, and maybe
he didn't. You guys stay here until the manager arrives, I'm going for a
little walk." As an afterthought, he looked at his fat cohort. "Why don't
you make yourself useful and follow me in my car."
As Sal followed the footprints embedded in the freshly fallen snow, he
thought to himself, "Shoot, this is easier than tracking a wounded buck. Of
course if I were trackin' a buck, I'd be better armed, and bucks don't shoot
back."
The trail ended only about a block and a half away, at the doorway of a
dilapidated bungalow. As Sal climbed the porch stairs, he noticed the same
set of footprints had obviously exited the residence earlier in the evening
as the snow now nearly covered the older prints. "Gotcha," Sal whispered
into the cold night air.
Sal rapped sharply on the door then stepped back off to the side,
revolver ready. Inside the house Sal could hear the whining voice of a boy
followed by the sharp voice of an angry woman. He heard the rattle of the
knob, as he watched the door open spilling light over the porch. A plain,
tired looking woman stood in the doorway dressed in a tattered bathrobe,
rollers in her mousy blonde hair. Behind her, a look of horror and shame
etched across his face, was a boy of about twelve years old. Before Sal
could speak, the woman greeted him with a strained voice, "Merry Christmas
officer, please come in."
As he entered the house, Sal noticed a garbage bag sitting against a
wall. An expensive mink coat was visible at the top of the bag. As Sal's
eyes became adjusted to the dim lights of the house, he observed more
details of the house and its occupants.
The house was devoid of furniture, except for a well worn three legged
couch. The bare wooden floors were covered with strewn clothing and garbage.
Roaches climbed freely on the stained walls, and the stench of old trash
permeated the chilly air. Sal glanced into the kitchen and noticed that the
dented door of the rusted oven was wide open and the burners were all turned
on, the only source of heat for the home.
As Sal turned to face the boy and the woman, movement from the doorway
caught his eye. Peeking around the door were the doe-like eyes of three
little girls. Sal winked at them as he addressed the woman. "Ma'am, I have
reason to believe that your boy there forcibly entered the Sears store over
on 110th Street. I'll bet my left eye that that stuff in that garbage bag
there was stolen from that store."
The woman did not speak and tears began to roll from her bloodshot eyes.
She turned to the boy and gave him an icy stare. The boy choked back sobs as
he spoke. "I took dat stuff from dat store officer. My mama an' sisters
needed presents for Christmas. My mama ain't got no money, and everyone
knows dat Santa ain't real. I just figured that everyone else done already
got their presents, and dat big store wouldn't miss a few things."
Sal steeled himself from the boy's innocent tear filled eyes. "Don't let
the kid's words get you all mushy," Sal thought to himself, "Everyone's got
a sob story, but it doesn't mean they're above the law." Sal gave the boy
his most intimidating stare as he removed his handcuffs from his belt. Sal
continued to glare as he addressed the boy's mother. "I'm gonna have to take
the boy to the station ma'am. If you can get a sitter for your girls, I'll
allow you to go with him." A look of horror came into the woman's eyes when
Sal added, "I could always call Social Services if you can't get a sitter."
The look in her eyes told Sal that the woman was more afraid of Social
Services than of the police.
Before the woman could reply, Sal began handcuffing the boy, but before
he was finished the three little girls rushed into the room with tears
streaming down their cheeks. "Please don't take Martin to jail Mr.
Policeman" cried the oldest girl. "Santa won't take him no presents in
jail." Sal could not look into the eyes of the girls and was relieved when
their mother scolded them and herded them off into the bedroom.
As the woman tended to her children, Sal inspected the items in the
garbage bag. It contained some dolls, girl's clothing, an expensive
necklace, and the mink coat. Sal noted that not one of the items was
something a teenaged boy would want. "The boy probably got scared off before
he could get his own loot." Sal muttered under his breath.
When the woman reentered the room, she seemed to have regained her
composure. As Sal took the boy by the arm to lead him out the door, the
woman spoke.
"Martin ain't a bad boy officer. He only gets onto trouble because he
ain't got no man around to tan his fanny."
Sal asked, "So where is the boy's father ma'am?" As soon as the words were
spoken, he wished he had kept his big mouth shut. "Now I'm gonna get the sob
story." he thought as he turned to the woman and listened.
"Martin's daddy was a no good bum. He weren't ever good at nothin' but
drinkin' and usin' drugs, and beatin' up on me. He seemed to try to be a
good husbin after Martin was born, but his friends and da drugs made sure
dat was short lived." The woman paused, then continued somewhat bitterly,
"When Martin was only two years old, on Christmas Eve, his daddy was killed
by the police while robbin' a likker store. Since then I been through dozens
of men an' jobs tryin' to get by. I never took no welfare ..."
The woman went on with her story but Sal was no longer listening. In his
mind he remembered his own experience in a liquor store, ten years ago
tonight. He remembered that he never even saw the person he shot and had
refused to look at his mug shots afterward. The pain in his ribs returned,
and Sal felt like he would vomit at any second. "It couldn't be the same
guy," thought Sal. "Even if it was, he shot me first and I just shot at
whatever shot at me." Sal had never even thought of the burglar that had
injured him as a real person. Until now he had never contemplated the fact
that the person might have had a life, let alone a family. The repressed
feelings inside Sal seemed to erupt like a volcano. He turned away from the
eyes of the woman and the boy, hoping that they could not read his thoughts.
"I fetched Martin's toothbrush. Can he take it with him?" asked the
woman, her voice not much more than a whisper.
In that second, something inside of Sal snapped. All the pain, sorrow
and agony of his past seemed to be lifted from his heart, and he knew what
he had to do.
"No." Sal replied curtly to the woman's question.
Sal turned to the boy and began removing his handcuffs. "I'm going to
give you a break boy," he exclaimed in his best command voice. "But if I
ever catch you so much as spitting on the street, I'll lock you up and throw
away the key."
Neither the boy nor his mother could say a word. They just stared at Sal
with amazement and gratitude.
Sal continued, "Now you take this key and put all of the stuff you stole
into the trunk of my car outside, and tell my fat partner that I'll answer
all of his questions later." When the boy hesitated, Sal barked, "Go on and
do it before I change my mind"
As the boy ran out the door, garbage bag in tow, Sal reached into his
pocket and turned to the woman. The policeman stared at the floor as he
placed a wad of money into the woman's hand. "Ma'am, I want you to use this
money to get you and your kids something nice for Christmas. I don't
tolerate stealing, but it is Christmas and kids deserve to have a nice
Christmas."
The boy returned giving Sal back his keys. The woman still had not
spoken and Sal could not look at her. "Don't think you're getting away with
anything," Sal said firmly to the boy. "I'm going to be coming around here
quite a bit to make sure you tow the line. I'm sure I can find a hundred
chores around here for you to do to pay for your crime."
As Sal turned his attention from the boy, his eyes met those of the
woman. Her eyes were wet with tears and expressed a mixture of gratitude,
sorrow and, Sal even thought?pity. He quickly avoided the woman's eyes and
started for the door. "Merry Christmas" he bellowed as he walked through
the door and out into the snowy night air.
As he walked to his car, Sal thought he heard the woman say "God bless
you." But the words were barely loud enough to overcome the thunderous
beating of his heart.
Sal knew he bore no responsibility for the state of existence of Martin
and his family, but at the same time, he wanted to help.
"Maybe I want to help these people to make up for all the people I
couldn't help," Sal said to himself as he got into his patrol car. "Or maybe
it was just the right thing to do."
As Sal closed the door, he thought he heard the tinkle of sleigh bells
overhead. As he looked up, he caught a shadow moving swiftly through the
snowy night. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. "Got to start sleeping
better," he thought as the patrol car eased into the night. He gave his fat
partner a look that made it no secret that questions were not welcome, as
they made their way through the snowy Cleveland streets back to the
stationhouse.
When the patrol car pulled into the underground garage of the police
station, Sal took the keys and went to the trunk to retrieve the stolen
merchandise, as the fat man made a beeline for the cafeteria. As he put the
key into the trunk, he glanced at his watch and grimaced.
"Damn, all the stores are closed by now?guess the kids are gonna have to
get cash this Christmas."
His mood darkened, because he knew that his son had wanted Ninja
Turtles, and his daughter wanted a boom box?presents he had promised Maria
he would buy.
"Just call me Father of the Year, I guess," he mumbled as he raised the
trunk.
As he pulled the trash bag of stolen goods from the car, he noticed two
additional packages also lay in the trunk?packages that were not part of the
stolen goods and not there when he went on duty earlier that evening. His
face turned bright red as he noticed that one was a Teenage Mutant Ninja
Turtle action set, and the other a small Sony portable stereo/tape player.
At first he thought his fat friend may have actually thought of something
more than donuts and gone to the department store for him as he reclaimed
the stolen merchandise, until a note attached to the boom box caught his
eye.
You did a family a great service tonight, and I hope you will do one for
me as well. I am way behind this year, so could you please deliver these to
your children for me? Merry Christmas.
Kris Kringle
A few moments later, two officers just coming on duty were dumbfounded
as they found Sal lying on the concrete floor, laughing hysterically and
singing jingle bells as if he had been drinking. They were even more shocked
when he jumped up and hugged them both, screaming "Merry Christmas" before
running into the station house like a madman, a twinkle in his eye that he
hadn't had in years.
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