Wagon Night: Continued

Part Two: Nice To Have You "Back"

I know no one is going to waste their time reading this after the novel I posted earlier, but here's how the second half of our night played out:

After we impounded little Billy's car, we got a call for a retail theft at the PathMark. The local PathMark is open 24 hours a day . . . right across the street from the housing projects. Smart move, Einstein! Thefts there occur as frequently as Paris Hilton says, "That's hot." Anyway, we arrive at the store, and the offender is being held by security (Whoo hoo! Easy pinch!).

His crime - Stealing $202.88 worth of groceries.

His alibi - "I just forgot to pay for that stuff."

Um, you just forgot to pay for two hundred dollars worth of groceries? Congratulations sir, you are officially the dumbest person on Earth. We drag his sorry behind to the detective division, and chalk up an arrest for the good guys.

When we come back into service, a two-man car asks us to transport their prisoner to the detective division. Notifying us when we were a block away with the other jackass prisoner would have been polite, but I digress. They were locking up a toad who was driving a car used in a robbery. Allegedly, the prisoner was the doer in the crime, but no one was absolutely sure yet. Either way, he was going in. My partner puts him in the back of the wagon, and tries to put on the "seat belt." Seat belts in our wagons are useless. They consist of one long band, which goes the length of the truck across the prisoners' chests. Anyone (cuffed or not) who wants to slip under the belt can do so with ease.

So, when we were driving to the detective division and heard a loud "thump," we were a bit curious as to the welfare of our passenger. I looked in the back through the window and saw Robbery Boy on his back, still cuffed, crying whiplash. "You broke my neck! You broke my neck by driving too fast!"

Now, my partner drives like a maniac when he is alone in a solo car. (Sorry, chief, but it's true.) But last night, he was driving like Miss Daisy - primarily because we weren't in any rush to get to the division with someone else's prisoner. If we get there at the same time, we don't get bagged with their paperwork.

We stop the wagon, open the door, and look at each other. Great, now another criminal is gonna try and sue the city for his "injuries." This big, tough robbery suspect who only minutes ago was trying to fight the arresting officers was now crying like a baby, saying, "Get me an am-blance!" (His word, not mine.) Just what we need. We call for a supervisor to come to the scene with no luck. (He called our cell and said he was "eating lunch.") So we made an executive decision and took the criminal to the hospital.

For the record, most criminals know how the game is played. They cry "injury," and they know we have to take them for treatment. A night in the hospital is better than a night in a cell. We take him to the closest hospital and spend the next three hours listening to him sleep. (Yeah, he was so hurt that he fell asleep during his x-rays!) It wasn't all that bad, though - Nurse Erin was quite attractive.

Three hours (and a hundred x-rays) later, our suspicions were confirmed - the man had no injuries to his back or neck, and was discharged post haste. When we dropped him off in the cell room, he demanded to see our badge numbers - which we gladly complied - but then asked us to write them down for him. Our response - get bent. (We didn't actually say that, but it's funnier.) As we were leaving, we heard shouts of "Lawsuit," "Johnny Cochrane," and "Those cops took my stuff!" - as if I needed a pair of pants with a size 56 waist. Well, not yet, anyway.

So, who wants to take the next Philly police test?