Nightmares After a Close Call

I thought I had written this down years ago, maybe I did and misplaced it. Eric, Grumbles before the grave, mentioned that he wanted some articles for his Carnival of Cordite. Who better than a retired cop would have some interesting yarns, war stories if you will, dealing with or about guns. This story is true in every detail; having happened in 1973 or 1974, that’s a while back.

My partner that day was R. T. “Tiger” Matthews and we rode out of Central Patrol Evenings. A young black kid flagged us down on the edge of a downtown apartment building to tell us about some guy taking pot shots at passing cars with a pistol. We parked at the corner of the old apartment unit; it had a courtyard where our suspect was supposed to be. Tiger went around one side of the building while I made my way to the edge of the building on the other. There was a short hedge that afforded me a chance to look into the courtyard and get a look at the suspect. He was standing there with a small pistol in his right hand.

I had my pistol, a Smith and Wesson 357, already out so I cocked the trigger back expecting the worst. I then used the edge of the building for cover and let the suspect know that he needed to drop his weapon. Instead of complying he began to slowly raise it, confused as to a target. I could tell he knew that Tiger was on the opposite side because he would start to bring his gun one way and then bring it back toward my position. I could feel myself start to pull on the trigger, my sights square in the middle of the suspect’s chest. As he raised the gun a little higher I even remember letting my breath out slowly so that I could squeeze off a round at just the right point.

The suspect dropped his pistol, letting it fall to the ground next to him and I ran over and placed the cuffs on him, kicking the gun to the side until everything was under control. Tiger and I booked him into the jail, completed the filing of charges and the report. After all that was done we went back to our car and went on patrol again. I told him that I had begun to pull back on the trigger, “I thought I’d put enough pressure to have it go off, what about you?” He then explained almost the exact same thing; that he had the hammer back and was squared away and he wondered why his gun hadn’t fired too. I guess there had been divine intervention; that would explain it, not so much for the jerk we had put in jail; but for two young cops who wouldn’t have to go around with all the mental anguish associated with having to shoot another human being.

Now if this was a television show we could turn on the ball game and relax; but in reality that was only chapter one of an Outer Limits series. Sometime in the next couple of nights following, I had some nasty nightmares. In this sequence of events we ended up shooting the suspect only to find that he had a water pistol. The second version had him shooting us, the third was even more bizarre. I couldn’t shoot because all the bullets in my revolver had been put in backwards; try that one on for size. In each dream it was as real as life, the tension, the sweat dripping, just certain aspects were altered to meet the nightmare. The last nightmare, at least that I recall, the suspect turned out to be one of the fellows that had been in our police academy class. For what ever reason he had turned out to be a bad guy and the weapon changed from being a cheap pistol into a machine gun. All this was at the end of my gun sights as I struggled to place a simple police incident to bed, to remove it from the active files.

As I recall this event, one that turned out as clean as any police activity could, I am grateful that I have been granted peace in my own mind; that I was able to overcome the images I have been subjected to in the line of duty. I ask a special blessing on all the law enforcement officers who continue to place themselves in harm’s way. May the Lord protect them in times of danger and may he leave their minds at peace when the day ends.