Labored Day, A Short Story

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Christopher at a train museum

*Two mild swear words

November 30th, 2012

“Get out of the way! You're in the way!” I heard being shouted just beyond the thick brush that covered my view...

I was surprised I heard the screams over the helicopter that was hovering up above me. The rotary engine making so much noise I could barely hear my inner voice remind me "to make sure you get out of the dogs track."

A burglary had just occurred.  And as I was arriving to the house where it was happening the bad guy was running from the scene at the same time. I jumped out of my police car, after placing it in park, and began to chase him on foot along the canal bank adjacent to the house.

But I lost track of the would be Grinch just beyond the tree line. We decided to call in the dogs and police helicopter, so that the eye in the sky can sniff out what the nose on the ground can not. However, It's that same tree line I suddenly found myself to be standing in when the police dogs was coming my way. 

At about the point I lost sight of him is where I should have stopped in my pursuit so that the police dog could work his magic and sniff out my suspect without his senses competing with my body odor. I just wanted to sniff him out on my own that's why I moved a little more forward then I probably should have.

But I couldn’t help it. Although I am no hunter of animals in my personal life, I love to hunt the bad guy. It took all my strength to pull back, but without him in my sight or a general area where he ran, It simply makes no sense to continue on.

No matter how exhausted I feel after that initial run without a capture your good intentions are ever present because I at least made the attempt to apprehend him. The blood still courses through my body while my beating heart cranks up a notch and pushes it through and out to my outer extremities. 

The adrenaline drips from my finger tips and like a horse being placed in the gate for his run at the Breeders Cup, you can't help but run the moment you hear that bell. No matter what the odds in Vegas read, that set the odds against your success, It is your will as a public servant to put a bad person in jail that compels you to win.

As I ran down the canal bank I knew I wasn’t going to catch him. He had a good head start and there was too much ground to make up. But I wouldn’t give in. I pushed through the heavy dirt, that lines the canals path, by pumping my legs and stretching my calves as I moved my fists up and down vigorously towards the ground. 

While I continued my run, my labored breathing sucked in the dust filled air filling my inner mouth with dirt and grit. The sand clogging my mucus membranes and drying my mouth. The particles of dirt found its way into my tear ducts and caused them to stream tears from my eyes. 

“I’m running....” I shout into my police radio, “ I’m running north, I mean south,” the lack of oxygen to my brain causing confusion. 

“He’s a white male, wearing all green and black, black shorts,” I paused because even in this situation I know I didn’t make much sense.

Wearing all green but yet black shorts- I thought after I announced it.

I continue to breathe deep. Remembering what my physical education teacher told me once about running: breathe in and breathe out. breathe in and breathe out. But shit, that was when I was 12 what do I do now at 37! 

Maybe I should just take up shop here on the edge of the canal. Wear my Bahama shirt and tiki drink as I sit under the shade of an umbrella. That's the shit you do at 37. 

“Okay Chris, concentrate,” I say out loud.

I finally stop at the position I'm at now. My police radio is an active chatter box as the sergeant commands everyone where to go to set up a perimeter. My inner ears are clogged due to the lack of blood flow. I wipe my eyes, accidentally rubbing in more dirt. I can taste the grit in my mouth and hear it crunching as I clench my teeth. 

Breathe...breathe....breathe

"All units the canine (K9) is tracking south," the officer announces on the radio.

Finally, I hear the voice, "Get out of the way! You're in the way!"

Man my inner voice is loud-  I think to myself.

"Fusaro! Move over here," I hear an entirely new voice shouting out to me. I look to the sky wondering if it was God or the pilot in the helicopter.

My ears catch the voice again, "Fusaro, over here," but this time it was announced differently. It was announced on the police radio.

I look over and see my Lieutenant sitting safely by his car and not at his usual place behind the safety of his desk. 

"Hey L.T." I say. LT as an abbreviated but affectionate name you call your superior of the lieutenant rank. 

"I can tell it's you now but from all your screaming on the radio before I got here, I had to assume you were the one chasing him," he said.

I place my hands on my knees as I suck in the air around me to get past my labored breathing, "Yes. It was me and I almost had him," I said with a smile on my face while looking up at him from the comfort of my bent over posture.

"Yeah?" he said with a little bit of sarcasm.

"You do realize that you could have driven your patrol car down the canal after him," he said.

"Well, yea," I erect my body and look around,"but then," my breathing is more labored and I place my hands on top of my head, "where's the fun in that?"



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The Adventures of Captain Imperfecto/Born Again by Christopher P. Fusaro is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

Based on a work at christopherfusaro.blogspot.com.