Out of the Brush, A police story

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Nico at a photo shoot 2014

January 27, 2014

The brush was thick. But I wasn’t giving up. He was hiding in its thickness assuming I would just give up. But I’m no quitter. And there is no way in hell I was going to let him escape.

The K9 dog could not reach further into the brush so someone would have to go in to flush him out. They didn’t have to ask for a volunteer twice. I quickly stepped up front while removing my gun from my holster.

“I’ll go,” I announced.

I honestly wasn’t afraid. There was plenty of other cops around to shoot if the suspect decided not to go quietly. I just hope they had good aim. I would be in the middle of the gun battle.

In this job we have no choice but to trust the men and women with whom we work with. They are the lifelines that will keep my ass alive if something terrible went down.  I no doubt trusted them. This job as a mouse into the trap could only fit one person down the skinny embankment along the canal. I placed my faith in them.

I started to venture into the tall vine grass. The thickness quickly swallowed half of my six foot two inch frame. I had to pull my feet across the ground. The vines were clinging to me for dear life. I quickly lost my balance and fell in the lush green leaves. I stared up and through the opening I created I could see the police helicopter hovering above me. Those guys must have had a good laugh.

I got to my knees and tried to peer through the brush. I could only see about four feet in front of me with another 30 feet to go. Old beer cans and papers were littered about indicating that people have been here before.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead before standing up. Once I sprang up right the police K9 began to bark uncontrollably as he watched me from afar.

“It’s me, a cop,” I thought to myself.

I stared at the daunting task still in front of me. I would have to wade though this brush before I got to the other side.

“Police helicopter one,” I commanded over the police radio.

“Police helicopter one, go”

“The heat you’re controls are sensing is it further below me? Or am I on the right track.”

“Go about fifteen feet forward and turn right. If you walk into the canal you went to far.”

Great jokes. I can’t laugh on the radio but I laughed to myself.

“And these guys are protecting me?” I thought.

I began to move again. The heavy, thick, tall weeds pushed against my body like the waves of an angry sea. Every time the branches pushed me back I would push forward, harder. I could feel the stickers from the weeds embedding onto my pants. Every time I’d bend my knees to walk forward the tightening of my pants caused the sharp ends to penetrate the cotton material and pierce my skin.

“Move closer, you’re almost on top of him,” the pilot of helicopter one said over the radio.

I shortened my gate. Slowly moving forward. My heart began to race faster. My balance became sturdier. I didn’t have my gun drawn because I needed both hands to hold myself up. I was depending on my back up and possibly my quick draw skills to shoot the bad guy if the wanted person decided he wasn’t coming out alive.

“Almost on top of him. You are right there.”

I stopped my movement. I attempted to look into the deep brush. Maybe we’d make eye contact and he’d just give himself up. The down draft from the blades of the helicopter that was hovering above me slightly moved the brush side to side exposing some grey of the suspect’s shirt. I have him in my sight.

“Raise your hands!” I shout.

“Raise your hands! Don’t make me go any further for you!”

Nothing happened. No movement. Was he deaf? Was he dead? Was it him? Looks like I’d have to go hands on and pull whatever it was out of the brush. Again, I move forward. The officers on the sides moved in a little but they had to stay back for a better glimpse of what was going on. If they moved in behind me we would all be in single file with no tactical advantage.

I move in closer. While I advance I reached over and broke a branch of a dead tree. I’d use the end of it poke whatever it was that would not respond to me.

“You got me. You got me.” I heard.

The bad guy popped up and exposed himself. His hands were over his head.

“Why the hell did you make me go through all this!” I yelled.

“I didn’t think you’d go though all the trouble,” he said. “I had a hell of a time trying to get in here myself.”

I placed him in handcuffs and we began to march out of the brush with the applause of the officers.

“Take a bow my friend,” I said to my arrestee.

“Why?”

"It’s your show. You earned it. Now lets get out of this brush.”

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