Saving Becy and Me

I know a little bit about small towns and rural areas.

I have friends and relatives on both the Missouri and the Ohio flowages.

They live in smaller cities, towns and rural areas and are not from big northern cities.

I also have more direct police relatives in Chicago and the surrounding metro area.

I don't want their police jobs. I don't care where the police are working. I don't want their jobs at all.

I respect the police. They get 'crap' (boy is that an understatement) from the sometimes crazy general public. Sometimes the crazy is mental illness. Sometimes it's an idiot with a skewed sense of reality / entitlement / responsibility / 'fun' / (add your own choice here).

One of the things that some of my cop relatives have told me is that 5% to 10% of cops should not be cops. For instance, there was the small town cop that gloated when my friend went 2 MPH over the speed limit. This resulted in a $120 fine. Then there was the 'justice' delivered by of a couple well placed jabs to a friend of a cousin that appeared guilty, but was later to be found to be the actual victim. Face it; there is a real history of annoying to deadly interactions with a very limited number of police. It is life. Nothing is perfect.

Napoleon complexes, small man syndromes, power trips, unchecked egos, unchecked power... are not just the affliction of cops, but are a general condition of the world. I was in accounting and can easily say the same 5% - 10% 'rule' holds in accounting and in management too.

Unfortunately, groups being what they are tend to circle the wagons. Does your political, ethnic, racial, religious, sexual, economic, work, geographic, language, sports, even bowling league or any other group association 'require' you to circle the wagons without any questioning when someone in your group appears to have done something wrong? Kiss something really big goodbye. Your personal integrity is at serious risk. Don't play that 'group victim card' with me or anyone else.

One of the nice things that Illinois sometimes (but not often enough, believe me, not often enough) does well is when we elect an asshole that gets their fingers caught in the cookie jar (or somebody else's' drawers), we prosecute them. If found guilty in a court of law, (rarely found not guilty) it's jail time.

I endorse that - especially if it is someone from one of my groups.

As always, this story has had Microsoft Word to assist in the editing. All mistakes found, real or imagined, are the responsibility solely of the author and the result of missing something after reviewing this fucking document some 20 to 25 times. (Yea, yea.. you might think that it is me being little bit OCD, but seriously, it is more from getting some (very valid) comments from some of you very fine readers (honestly, no sarcasm in this bit) on some of my previous submissions. I feel that I need to respect my readers. However, when Microsoft Word spelling and grammar check goes against what I want to say. Well, I guess I win.

In one of my last stories, it was (correctly) commented that the romance part of the story was hurried. I hope that I have corrected that design flaw in this story.

For this story, I also thank the Girl Scouts and the BSA Scout leaders I have known for their efforts and energies in helping our school age children live and grow in this chaotic world. I have been humbled by many of the leader's devotion and energy and ethics. These leaders generally don't give a second thought to help these adolescents to become the next well rounded and upstanding leaders of this great country. I only wish these groups were larger as we have a deficit of ethical leadership. I see enough of the games playing and self serving of some of the current batch of so called leaders that will sell their soul for a lie and a couple of more votes... well... you know the rest.

[Sorry, I'm off of the soapbox now. I guess that I really believe that we should improve the world for everybody, not just our own tribe. Yea, I dream a bit, but I do walk the walk. ]

By the way, this story is a 4 parter. (Is 'parter' even a word?)

Bill

Today's the day.

I've never had a drive for greatness or even attention. Definitely not attention. Blending into the background and being invisible is who I am and have always been. That's why I am a damn good observer. I never could understand people that needed to call attention to themselves. I really can't understand the blatant liars, the bullshit artists, boasters and their followers. I guess that I think more of myself than to think that jumping on the liar's bandwagon is an advantage to anybody. Influencers? People basking in somebody else's questionable glory? That's bullshit, but it's real. Some people define their lives this way and expect that the world agrees with them.

Personally? Fuck them, fuck them all and the horse they road in on.

I don't believe in a cult of a personality.

Officer Curtis Hoffman and I go back a long way. I first met him when we were in the first grade. It was years later that I could finally describe him adequately at that point in his life -- he was a beginning asshole. He was actually an asshole in training. It only got worse as the years went on. The whole fuckin' family is that way. His other relatives just hide it a little bit better.

Curtis is a typical bully. He is in-your-face with a very thin skin. He also had the extended family power and support that greased the wheels. Asshole wanted to become a cop and no one wanted to deal with his family's extended but quiet power. This is a mid-sized town and the county center. Just about anybody that could have stopped him looked the other way. Face it; it was personally safer for them to not stand up. But it has been real damage for the rest of us.

In grammar school then in high school, Curtis created and then led his adoring 'posse' of kids. Curtis and these hangers-on needed to take other people down to make themselves look and feel superior. That this was a pretty damn common situation for many people in life doesn't make it easy for us, the targets.

Through the years, I knew something that they didn't. My grandpa told me stories how some tough street gang members in the mid-60s were convicted of inner-city street crimes. A few were sometimes given a choice by some judges - get drafted to Viet Nam or go to jail. Grandpa told me that he saw these tough gang members cry like babies in combat. (True story) What do they say in Texas? "All hat and no cattle."

Sometimes assholes grow out of it after they are taken down and become targets themselves. Some can't change. Officer Curtis Hoffman, or as I affectionately refer to him as "Asshole", was one of those that only got worse. If I'm lucky, he's going to be taken down starting today, but only if Becky agrees to help right now.

Officer Curtis had a way to make and keep people doing his bidding. Polite refusals to his 'suggestions' were soon followed up by being pulled over for multiple minor driving infractions. These infractions tended to be created by and only 'witnessed' by the Asshole. First it was Asshole's primary target, and then it moved to the friends and family of the target. That was followed up by more and more serious troubles with the law. The Methodist minister's son spent two months in jail for resisting arrest and drug possession. He was finally cleared, but it took months and money. That action put us all put on notice on what Curtis and his family could and would do. Standing up to him was a no-win situation.

Single and divorced women tended to be his targets now, but sometimes it was a married woman with a physically distant husband. Asshole now tended to avoid military wives as the husband would sooner or later come home and corner him in the dark. This only happened once that we think we know of. A certain young family had left town to never return. Weeks later, Asshole suddenly did not walk right for a while and blamed his injury on 'some druggie'. His temporary disability was paid for under police department funding as it happened while 'on-duty'. It actually happened during his weekend off. He paid a price, but we all had to pay for it too.

Right now his target is Becky. He'd been working on her for two weeks. We all saw the writing on the wall.

Becky Grey is 34 years old, just like me. She is also single mom with an 11 year old daughter. Her daughter Natalie is a wonderful well adjusted girl who is just spirited - very very spirited. God help her mother in the future having a soon-to-be full fledged rebellious teenager. Natalie's birth father left their home town when he found out that he was going to be a father. I tracked him down several times over the past 2 years using the internet and knew that it was a good thing that he was not in her life. It appears that he's always had minor substance abuse and petty theft problems. Just recently he has been sent to jail in Mississippi for theft, forgery, assault and more. He tried to con a mayor's developmentally disabled son and he beat up the kid's paid companion. Lucky bastard got caught repeatedly screaming more than a few choice descriptive racial words while beating the shit out of the caregiver, a 5' 1" petite 67 year-old well loved black woman that was the town's Special Ed teacher before she retired. He was convicted of assault as well as it being a hate crime. Some guys have all the luck because he did it in front of a recording video doorbell at the local church. That video was quickly published on their website.

Sometimes I think that there is a god.

I spend Tuesdays and Thursday evenings here at Monty's bar. It's in the neighborhood, the bar food's ok and they have something more than the normal mass market beer stuff on tap. I also don't have to mortgage the house to eat and drink here.

Problem was that Asshole started to come here after work two weeks ago. His conquest style is to appear to flirt at first and then keep escalating till he beds his target. Simple touches have moved on to slight restraining, inappropriate touches to full fledged ass and tit grabs. He also made sure that the whole bar would see. He enjoyed the total fuckin' power trip. We would see it and could do nothing about it.

Becky needs this job. It hurts to see her deal with the Asshole. I've always been polite and friendly with Becky. I hope that she trusts me now. She does not deserve being preyed upon. Tonight will be the night to change it all, if she agrees to do a small but critical part. It's a part that only she could do. I think that I've prepared enough; at least I hope that I've prepared enough to take him down.

I'm sitting at my normal place at a table in the rear of the bar. It's a position where I can observe the entire place. I can see everything except for the approaches to the washrooms.

"What can I get you tonight Bill? Your usual?" There is that special smile she has while she talks to me. I don't see that same beaming smile with any of the other patrons. Suddenly she frowns. Glancing sideways at one of the wall mirrors, I see Asshole sit at his prominent perch then loudly call her over. "How's my favorite waitress? Get over here and bring your sweet cheeks with you."

"I'll get to you in a few Curtis. Take off your jacket and relax for a bit." Her face becomes hard and I see a slight shudder.

Stage 1 - My Offer

I pick up a menu to hide my mouth from the mirror. "Becky, do you trust me? Trust me to not do anything that would harm you? Try to sell me the new burger if the answer is yes." I quickly added, "Curtis reads lips."

I held my breath and looked at her with concern. I see that she flinched at my lip reading comment. I can see her wheels turn and suddenly a look of recognition showed on her face. As she glances toward Asshole, she says loud enough for him to hear, "Bill, we got this new burger on the menu and you still haven't tried it yet."

"I've come up with a way to get Curtis out of our lives. Interested in..." Even without waiting for me to finish she says "I know that you'll like the cheese and salsa it comes with. What do you think?" Her eyes spoke to me and then glanced at Curtis. She saw that he was staring at her.

"There's a bottle of spiritus in the back of the bottle section of the bar. It's 95% pure alcohol. They got it back when Kowalski first started drinking here before he had his heart attack." After Kowalski's hospitalization and recovery, he went tea-totaler and healthy on us. He still is loud and boisterous, just not drunk. Now he eats better. Honest-to-god healthy food appeared on the bar menu after that. To this day, the healthier stuff is slightly less than half of all meals. I know the spititus is still there because I've been coming here for years and glance at it when I walk past the bar on the way to the bathroom. I also checked it out last Sunday, Becky's off day.

"All you have to do is spike Curtis' normal round of drinks so he can't drive and passes out. You know his drinking habits. I'll handle the rest. Can you do that? Oh by the way, after his second and maybe after you deliver his third, you'll need to christen yourself with an 'exploding beer bottle'. Make it toward the end of your shift so you'll need to go home immediately to change. You'll get away from him tonight while he has another round to finish and passes out. Interested?" She heard my plan and my eyes searched her face for her answer.

"OK, that'll be one salsa and cheese big burger with a side of cole slaw and extra fries with double honey Bar-b-que sauce. I'll come back later with your beer." She smiled at me and slightly nodded her head toward Curtis. I exhaled with fear and trepidation of my plan. Becky walked over to the other side of Asshole's table attempting to be the most professional waitress that she could be. Even now, I see her losing as his hand reached for her ass as she passes by.

Becky

Bill Pollock has always been a respectful and the most shy man that I've ever known. I've asked around and he is a real wysiwyg - what you see is what you get. Growing up, my dad used Lotus spreadsheets and that phrase has outlived both that product and my dad.

Now Bill wants me to get Curtis, off-duty Officer Curtis Hoffman of the Hoffman family -- drunk and passed out. His normal over drinking has sometimes made the bar call the police station to get him home. The old couple that own Monty's have told us all privately that do not piss him off, keep things quiet, don't let him drive drunk and call the station as the last resort. If he drives and hits anything on his drive home, we're liable too. We'd all be out of jobs if there was an accident.

Now Curtis wants to bed me and he doesn't take no for answer. I was comfortable here with Natalie. We're at a reasonable school and have some friends and no drama. It's been a good 2 years here. That is, there's been no drama until Curtis stepped into my life two weeks ago. I've been warned, I've heard the stories, and I immediately started to put in applications for jobs in other towns. Nothing has come back yet.

Do I trust Bill? I think so. It's a gamble I know, but no one has ever said anything even near neutral about Bill. It's all been very very positive. He's been a joy to be around. His smile is warm and he has always treated me with respect.

At the start of my waitressing here, Bill let me quietly know who the big tippers were, who were demanding and who shafts the staff. He also let me know who the power brokers were and the relationships between everybody. This helped me to quickly fit in and not burn myself out in the first few months of working here. He told me to verify for myself everything that he said. He told me 'don't believe it until I see it myself'.

That's what I did. He was on the mark with everything he told me. It's sometimes rough trying to get integrated into smaller towns. That's the reason that I moved here two years ago. Everyone is equal, but some are just more equal than others. I verified his map of the local landmines given to me by my local guide, Bill. And this guide did not ask for anything from me in return.

But what happens if this blows up in his face? What happens if this blows up in my face? What would happen if Curtis decides to drive and somebody get hurt, or worse, killed?

Do I trust Bill? I think so. I really hope so.

Stage 2 - Starting

"Curtis, I'll get your drink first. Think about what you want to eat tonight." Without looking at him, I walk behind the bar and start to make Curtis his first drink. It's his regular - a black Russian. Curtis makes it a point of 'showing off' his 'good taste' to the Miller, Old Style and the Pabst drinkers here. For me, it's more like he's putting a shine on his shit.

I pick up the Kahlua while looking for the Spiritus. Mixing his drink, I start with a shot of that Mexican coffee liquor and then the high-test vodka. Today the vodka is spiritus and it'll be a near double shot, at 190+ proof its 95% alcohol, not 80 proof at 40% alcohol, his regular stuff. Adding some ice, I walk over to the other side of Curtis's table and put his drink down. He'll now be drinking 5 shots of normal hard liquor, not his normal 2.

"Hey babe, why don't you come over here and spend some time with me?" He pulls slightly away from the table smoothing his pants on his lap. He pats his lap the way a dog owner would do to get a dog on his lap. Anybody looking would see he's not even trying to hide his erection. This is him showing everybody that he's powerful. His pattern of 'seduction and power' never changes.

Staying on the opposite side of the table I say "Curtis, the Special today is Southwest grilled chicken. It's spicy, just the way you like it." Today I just made it the special. We're allowed to do that and the kitchen doesn't care. It has the bare minimum of carbs so there will be very little to help absorb the alcohol. Today it will have a bit more salt while I 'forget' to bring him a glass of water. Curtis has always been a sucker for specials, or his version of any 'free gifts'.

He nods while he pats his lap again for me to sit down. "Just let me get your order to the kitchen and I'll be right back." I turn away before I even get an answer. Hitting the bell for the cook, I give him the order.

Suddenly I hear a very loud and demanding "Come over here NOW and spend some time with me." The whole bar went silent. I close my eyes and exhale. Dreading the next hour, I slowly turn toward him as a crowd of 12 very loud iron workers that have been rebuilding the bridge roll in and take over 4 tables. They put the tables together to make a large common table. It's a loud but friendly group. The first two ironworkers wave at me and start yelling for a couple of pitchers to start with. I've never been so happy to be busy in my life.

The look on Curtis' face is priceless. He's super pissed and powerless. This crew has stared him down before. When they started the job in this town, they threatened the mayor. They told him, the Hoffman family head, that they'd stop work if they were fucked with in any way. I guess that they've worked in small towns before. This crew made it clear that as so much a parking ticket on any of their trucks or being fined for littering, they'd walk off the job. The contract with the state gave them many other jobs that they could finish first. The bridge was totally out of commission -- the decking was almost gone and their reinforcing steel work was in process, their only task here. Rebuilding the bridge quickly would restore the financial life line to the town. One of our rookie cops wrote a ticket for lack of a city sticker on a truck a sub-contractor rented from one of the local rental places. Within hours, the ticket was invalidated.

(The core of this is a true story. A person from a small town told me this and I made a slight change to fit the story.