the ground right up their ass.
Back inside the residence, a black male stepped out of the kitchen, both hands stuffed in oversized coat pockets. Officers were ordering the suspect to get on the floor, but he chose to ignore their commands; he stood there expressionless, hands removed from view. The suspect very slowly and with exaggerated enunciation said, “Fuck you, cracker motherfuckers… Get out of my house.” Thorpe inched his way across the room, weapon out and pointed at the nose of the now smiling tough guy. Thorpe got to within three feet, then, with gun still trained on Smiley, brought his right foot up and used his weight to heel-kick the man below the sternum. Smiley went sailing, a countertop stopping his backward flight as he bounced off cheap Formica onto the rotting linoleum. Thorpe stepped into the kitchen and cleared it of additional threats before bending over the grimacing clump of meat on the floor.
“Who’s smiling now, asshole?”
Smiley tried to talk shit, but the wind had been knocked out of him. Instead he made squeaking noises as Thorpe secured him with handcuffs.
Cops love search warrants or “legalized home invasions,” as they sometimes refer to them. Because of search warrant’s inherent danger, failures to comply with commands were not tolerated. Where else can a person find this kind of adrenaline pump and get paid for it?
Thorpe and his team cleared the rest of the residence, finding no one else inside except for the crackhead with the cracked head and Mr. Smiley. The crew of Police One advised they had observed the window diver run north through a culvert underneath 56 th Street North. The suspect continued from there to another street they couldn’t identify from the air. When he passed beneath, he never exited the other side.
Police One had also seen the runner “toss something hot” prior to hiding under the street. Depending on material and the outside air temperature, discarded items can retain a heat signature from the suspect’s body for several minutes. Thorpe took Jake and another one of his investigators, Tyrone Benson, with him to the street that passed over the culvert. Police One directed Thorpe to where Frankfort Avenue and Elgin Avenue intersected. Technically the streets shouldn’t be able to cross since they’re both north-south streets. Yet they somehow managed to form a Y at this location. Police One advised the suspect remained inside. Here, the canal leading to the culvert grew smaller. Walled concrete gave way to mud and vegetation before funneling into the four-foot diameter tube.
Thorpe posted Jake and Tyrone on the south side of the culvert where the suspect had entered. The interior was ink black, and Thorpe didn’t relish the idea of silhouetting his pumpkin to have a look. He called for a K-9 officer, Justin Adams, who arrived five minutes later with Thor, a very large German shepherd who found much enjoyment in biting humans. Thor didn’t care if the victim was a bad guy, another cop, or sometimes his own handler; if something got near his muzzle, he was going to eat it.
It’s standard practice for K-9 officers to give the bad guy a chance to surrender before releasing their dogs. Adams gave no such notice before setting his partner loose into the lightless cavern. Scent-gathering snorts and the clicking of nails echoed out of the chamber as the dog worked his way down the tunnel. Thorpe thought if the suspect hid inside, the man was most definitely expelling another odor right about now which would only aid in his discovery.
Several seconds later, Thorpe heard a scream and the guttural sound of a large beast that’d found its prey. It didn’t take long for the suspect to shout, “Get this fucking dog off me,” and express his strong desire to submit. After a few more seconds, Adams called for Thor to return.
After the K-9 officer tethered Thor, Thorpe shouted instructions for the suspect to exit the south end of the tunnel with
Back inside the residence, a black male stepped out of the kitchen, both hands stuffed in oversized coat pockets. Officers were ordering the suspect to get on the floor, but he chose to ignore their commands; he stood there expressionless, hands removed from view. The suspect very slowly and with exaggerated enunciation said, “Fuck you, cracker motherfuckers… Get out of my house.” Thorpe inched his way across the room, weapon out and pointed at the nose of the now smiling tough guy. Thorpe got to within three feet, then, with gun still trained on Smiley, brought his right foot up and used his weight to heel-kick the man below the sternum. Smiley went sailing, a countertop stopping his backward flight as he bounced off cheap Formica onto the rotting linoleum. Thorpe stepped into the kitchen and cleared it of additional threats before bending over the grimacing clump of meat on the floor.
“Who’s smiling now, asshole?”
Smiley tried to talk shit, but the wind had been knocked out of him. Instead he made squeaking noises as Thorpe secured him with handcuffs.
Cops love search warrants or “legalized home invasions,” as they sometimes refer to them. Because of search warrant’s inherent danger, failures to comply with commands were not tolerated. Where else can a person find this kind of adrenaline pump and get paid for it?
Thorpe and his team cleared the rest of the residence, finding no one else inside except for the crackhead with the cracked head and Mr. Smiley. The crew of Police One advised they had observed the window diver run north through a culvert underneath 56 th Street North. The suspect continued from there to another street they couldn’t identify from the air. When he passed beneath, he never exited the other side.
Police One had also seen the runner “toss something hot” prior to hiding under the street. Depending on material and the outside air temperature, discarded items can retain a heat signature from the suspect’s body for several minutes. Thorpe took Jake and another one of his investigators, Tyrone Benson, with him to the street that passed over the culvert. Police One directed Thorpe to where Frankfort Avenue and Elgin Avenue intersected. Technically the streets shouldn’t be able to cross since they’re both north-south streets. Yet they somehow managed to form a Y at this location. Police One advised the suspect remained inside. Here, the canal leading to the culvert grew smaller. Walled concrete gave way to mud and vegetation before funneling into the four-foot diameter tube.
Thorpe posted Jake and Tyrone on the south side of the culvert where the suspect had entered. The interior was ink black, and Thorpe didn’t relish the idea of silhouetting his pumpkin to have a look. He called for a K-9 officer, Justin Adams, who arrived five minutes later with Thor, a very large German shepherd who found much enjoyment in biting humans. Thor didn’t care if the victim was a bad guy, another cop, or sometimes his own handler; if something got near his muzzle, he was going to eat it.
It’s standard practice for K-9 officers to give the bad guy a chance to surrender before releasing their dogs. Adams gave no such notice before setting his partner loose into the lightless cavern. Scent-gathering snorts and the clicking of nails echoed out of the chamber as the dog worked his way down the tunnel. Thorpe thought if the suspect hid inside, the man was most definitely expelling another odor right about now which would only aid in his discovery.
Several seconds later, Thorpe heard a scream and the guttural sound of a large beast that’d found its prey. It didn’t take long for the suspect to shout, “Get this fucking dog off me,” and express his strong desire to submit. After a few more seconds, Adams called for Thor to return.
After the K-9 officer tethered Thor, Thorpe shouted instructions for the suspect to exit the south end of the tunnel with
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