A Story By: Benjamin Groff© Groff Media 2024© Groff Media
It was a windy afternoon, and the Kid decided to get some practice in at the shooting range before his night shift began at 8:00 PM. He had picked up a couple of bags of reloaded .38s for his .357 Magnum and figured he could get through them if he hurried. The range was just beyond the gates at the end of the city trailer park, where he and other police officers lived as a perk of working for the city.
As he drove down the lane towards the range, he noticed a small plane taking off to the north from the nearby municipal airport. He parked his car at the furthest shooting post, grabbed a paper target from the back seat, and stapled it to a board in the turnstile. Returning to the ten-yard line, he swapped out his duty loads for the reloads and closed the cylinder. Using the post for support, he lined up his shot but paused, holstering his gun instead.
He needed to practice reloading without looking, a crucial skill in a high-stress situation. He loaded his belt’s bullet loops, checked his watch, and started when the second hand hit twelve. Six shots, unload, reload, six more shots. But when he looked down, twenty seconds had passed, and he was off-target.
“Shit. Double shit!”
he yelled, frustration bubbling over.
Just then, two marked patrol units and the Chief’s car pulled up behind the range. The Kid knew that when others arrived, he had to stop shooting. Were they there to mock his poor shooting? No, they wanted to practice too. Who was going to run the tower? One of the officers asked, and the Chief responded,
“I’ve got it covered!”
The Kid muttered to himself, annoyed. This evening was supposed to be his time. Now, everyone would see how bad his eyesight had gotten. The officers set up new targets and returned to the ten-yard line.
The Chief’s voice cracked through the speaker:
“We’re shooting six, reloading six, shooting six, reloading six, shooting six, and reloading six. Then, leave your cylinder open. Ready on the Right, Ready on The Left, Ready on The Firing Line—fire!”
The range erupted in gunfire, reminiscent of Melvin Purvis taking down Pretty Boy Floyd in the cornfield. The Kid managed to get through his first loop, fire again, reload, and leave his cylinder open just as the others finished. They moved forward to check their targets.
“Now, gentlemen,”
The Chief announced,
“we will shoot from the hip, reload, and holster.”
“Ready on the left, ready on the right, ready on the firing line. Fire!”
Six shots rang out almost in unison, like something out of Gunsmoke. The officers reloaded and holstered their weapons.
Then the Chief called out,
“Lanes four and five, you’re marked for looking while loading your ammo.”
The officers on lanes four and five protested,
“Chief, you’re killing us!”
The Chief looking at the officers ––
“No, officers,”
the Chief replied with a sly grin,
“I’m keeping you alive.”
As the banter continued, a call came over the car radio,
“Headquarters to all available units. Unit 203 requests backup at SIR-DIXIE QUICK-STOP on a 10-48. Three subjects in a vehicle.”
A 10-48 indicated a National Crime Information Center Want or Warrant on the vehicle or its occupants. The practice ended abruptly as everyone rushed to their cars, eager to respond.
Knowing the city’s streets like the back of his hand, the Kid took a shortcut through alleys and arrived at the Quick Stop within minutes. By the time the other officers arrived, the Kid and the officer on the scene had all three suspects handcuffed and in the patrol unit.
It turned out the first suspect, identified as Ed, was wanted in Texas for nearly beating a State Trooper to death and tying him to a barbed-wire fence. The second suspect, Poncho, had a Tucumcari, New Mexico, address and was wanted for questioning in a murder. The third, known only as Thistle, was simply drunk and likely would have been killed by the other two had he not been arrested. All three got booked on public intoxication charges, with more serious charges pending confirmation from the respective states.
The Kid had been on desk duty after surgery a month earlier, so despite his initial involvement, he got relegated to working the radio and tending to the jail for the rest of the night. The shift was uneventful, with only the usual disturbance and prowler calls.
The Kid had a routine of checking the jail cells at irregular intervals—never on the hour, always keeping the prisoners guessing. At 2:15 AM, he made an unscheduled check. He opened the drunk tank window and saw the three occupants spaced apart: Poncho on the south wall, Ed against the west cell bars, and Thistle on the north side. Above Ed, a shirt was tied to the bars, seemingly his.
The Kid’s first thought was that the shirt might be bait to lure him in. But as he examined the scene, it appeared all three men were sleeping. He returned to the radio office and called his Lieutenant, explaining the situation. They got back to the cell together, and the Lieutenant instructed the Kid to untie the shirt. As the Kid began to do so, the Lieutenant bumped him and whispered,
“That man is dead. Put the shirt back.”
The Kid complied, leaving the shirt as he had found it. They moved the two living prisoners to separate cells and locked the tank holding Ed. The Kid, the only one with the key, went downstairs to call detectives, the Chief, and an ambulance.
The fire department, located across the hallway, had already been roused by the commotion. The assistant fire chief speculated that the incident might have been a failed sexual exploitation attempt that ended in death. When the ambulance arrived, the task of bringing a dead body down the stairs was both problematic and unsettling.
Within twenty-four hours, the Oklahoma Bureau of Investigation (OSBI) arrived, and obscene, harassing, and threatening phone calls began pouring into the station. After a thorough investigation by the OSBI, local sheriff’s department, and media scrutiny, the exact cause of Ed’s death remained a mystery.
Some speculated that one of the other prisoners had helped Ed end his life, while others thought he might have done it himself, with the knot slipping loose. In the end, the Kid learned a hard lesson: sometimes, even a villain meets a dead end.
But there was a silver lining. In the aftermath, the Kid finally mastered the skill he had been struggling with—reloading his revolver from his loops without looking—a small victory in the shadow of a dark night.
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