I Used To Support The Police
Gary Lovisi

I was driving the highway. The way I always go when I drive to work. I see the traffic jam up ahead on the exit ramp and move towards it. Now what?
"Come on! I gotta get to work!" I groaned, hoping I wouldn’t be late again.
Then I saw them. Cops. Staked out on the exit ramp, their prowl car blocking one of the two lanes so that all the traffic was forced to squeeze into one lane. Real slow. And right there, at the apex of the squeeze was a cop eyeing each driver, pulling over selected ones for failing to wear their seat belt.
That was how it began. That’s the first time I got pulled. So I took the ticket. I was wrong, and I paid the price. Cost me sixty-five bucks, too! And I hadn’t even begun my work day yet!
Problem is I have to drive through that area every day on my way to work. Two or three days a week the blue Gestapo are also out there, rousting honest citizens. They’re enforcing a seat belt law, but it is only harassment of honest citizens and working people. Our money-grubbing politicians scheme to squeeze extra cash out of people. Jamming traffic. Wasting police manpower. While dangerous felonies are being committed all over the city.
That day I was not wearing my seat belt. So I took the ticket and paid it.
I supported the cops back then. I’ve always supported the cops. Even when I was wrong. Especially when I was wrong.
After that day I made sure I wore my seat belt every day, since every day I had to drive through that gauntlet of speed traps and cop blockades. My own private little piece of hell every work day. As if work wasn’t hell enough all by itself!
It was like some vision of Nazi Berlin ringed with SS and Gestapo checkpoints, black-booted thugs with guns who could do whatever they wanted. Cops.
I’m not afraid of the Mafia; they don’t bother me. I’m not afraid of the people in the so-called ‘bad neighborhood’ I work in, even if it has the highest crime rate in the city. I’m not even afraid of the street gangs.
What I’m afraid of now… are cops!
They make it so honest citizens have reason to fear them.
Cops are given quotas for giving out tickets to motorists. Each cop has a quota of 25 seat belt tickets per month. Most hate doing it, but when you are stuck at the end of the month with a full book and a possible write-up from your squad commander, you make sure you find offenders. Some cops find short cuts. If they didn’t find any offenders, they make them up. That’s the problem.
Weeks passed. I drive through a cop blockade every day on my way to work. I wear my seat belt every day because I don’t want trouble, don’t want to be pulled over, don’t want to be harassed, don’t want any more $65 tickets. I support the cops. I obey the law. I wear my seat belt. I don’t want trouble, but trouble has a way of coming to you sometimes.
I exited the highway, the logjam of cars going slow, a cop blockade in full force up ahead. Then I was pulled over. Again. I couldn’t figure why this time, but it didn’t particularly matter to me, I’d done nothing wrong. My papers (license, registration, insurance card) were all in order. The car was in excellent condition. Most importantly, I had my seat belt on. But I moved my car to the side of the road as the cop motioned me to do. I had my seat belt on. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I figured, just another nuisance stop. I figured wrong.
Badge number 79991, Joseph Crepa, Joe the Creep, gave me a ticket for not wearing a seat belt.
I said, "Officer, I’m wearing my seat belt." As he could plainly see.
He said nothing, handed me my papers and the ticket. I took it astounded. Angry now.
I repeated, "I’m wearing my seat belt."
He looked at me with a wise smirk, said. "You just put it on now."
I reeled from his vile lie as if punched in the face. My guts twisted with fear and anger.
"I’ve had this belt on since I left my house." I was getting really angry but knew I had to keep my head. I realized that I had met a ‘bad one,’ and when you meet a bad one, you have to fear for your safety.
He shrugged, "So fight the ticket, see if I care!"
"I had my seat belt on all the time and you know it!"
He just laughed. "Prove it!"
"What’s your badge number? I’m going to report you."
"Go ahead, report me." He smiled, moved sideways so I couldn’t read his nameplate and badge number. Then he walked away.
I know, it was only a ticket, a relatively minor thing after all, but it goes right to the fundamental basis of trust. That trust was gone now.
I drove away hopeless.
I don’t like getting tickets but when I deserve it, I accept it. It really drives me crazy to get a ticket for not wearing a seat belt when I was wearing it! Today cops give tickets even when you wear the damn seat belt! I was wondering just what the hell was going on here? Truth doesn’t matter any more when a cop lies and can make up the law.
Like I say, I used to support the police.
At work, angry, helpless, hopeless, I called the Civilian Complaint Review Board and spoke to a very polite voice mail. Made my complaint. Went home. Worried I’d see that Joe the Creep cop the next morning on my way to work, or the morning after that, or after that. More tickets to fill his quota, whether I wore a seat belt or not. More scared now because I’d put in my complaint, wondering what he might do to me if he ever stopped me again and decided to make trouble.
I took an alternate route the next day. I cursed myself for a coward but I didn’t want any trouble with a bad guy that carried a badge and a gun. I wasn’t stupid. Now I always look over my shoulder, fearful when I see a cop car from Creep’s precinct.
The entire event changed my mind about something else also. Now I support the right of citizens, those without records, to carry a gun. It’s basic protection.
Crooks got guns. Cops got guns. Sometimes there ain’t no difference between the two. Citizens are caught in the middle. They got nothing.
Did I tell you I used to support the police?
I sent the ticket to Albany and marked it NOT GUILTY. A lot of good that would do me. I’d get my day in court. Lost work time. Lost pay. A mountain of stress and aggravation. After it all, I’d still have to pay the $65, and probably a nice surcharge just for being a ‘complainer.’
Next Monday on the way to work my alternate exit was closed. Road work. Perpetual on New York City roads, especially during the rush hours. Perversely organized by our politicians who, incidentally, never have to travel those roads at rush hour unless in the comfort of their plush chauffeur-driven limousines.
With my alternate exit was closed, I had no choice. I would have to go my old way and travel through the blue gauntlet again. Fearfully, I drove to the next exit. Traffic was light. There was not any bottleneck at the exit. I thought, maybe there’s no roadblock and no cops here today? Maybe I get a break? No such luck.
There were just two cars at the empty exit ramp today.
One of them was a blue and white cop car.
I saw one cop sitting in the passenger seat of the car writing. The other cop, and damn if it wasn’t Joe the Creep, was motioning over the car in front of me, a big black Chevy. A chill went up my spine.
The Chevy pulled up and over, stopping about fifty feet ahead. Joe the Creep walked up to the driver’s window. He had his ticket book already out and in his hand. I remember wondering what he’d do to me when it was my turn. Soon.
Then I saw the barrel of a gun suddenly flash in the cop’s face with a loud blinding report Joe the Creep’s head exploded.
The black Chevy shot away, gone in an instant.
It all happened so fast.
Joe the Creep was now a mess of blood and brain matter in the street. He was obviously dead.
His partner finally realizing what had happened ran over to me, shouting, "Did you see that? I was busy writing tickets. Did you see who that was? Get a liscence number? My partner’s dead! Did you get a look at the guy who did it?"
I looked over at Joe the Creep and smiled, then smiled back at his partner. I told him, "You know, I used to support the police. I didn’t see a God-damned thing."
"My God, I have to call this in," Creep’s partner said numbly. "Stay here, you’re a witness, I have to call an ambulance, backup…"
"Yeah, Yeah…" I muttered, as I watched him run to the body. Then I drove off. My tires passing through some of Joe the Creeps blood.
I didn’t care no more.
Did I tell you that I used to support the police?

Gary Lovisi is the editor/publisher of Hardboiled magazine. 
His latest book is the hard-hitting crime novel Blood in Brooklyn, 
featuring Vic Powers a throw-back tough guy who is a disfunctional hero -- of sorts. 
Founder of Gryphon Books you can access his web site at www.gryphonbooks.com