22-08-2026, 03:38 PM
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 23, 2005 - 7 P.M.
I pulled up to the one story building that was the Fraternal Order of security officer union hall. The sprinklers had just shut off and I had to step through puddles on the sidewalk walking up. I opened the door and walked in. There was a hallway with a door leading to a large hall where meetings of the membership were held.
I spotted a big bald guy in uniform in the doorway and he waved to me.
I thought his name was Smith or Jones, something like that. He was a Zone Sergeant, the head man for one of four zones the city was divided into for security officer coverage.
He didn’t offer to shake hands, but he didn’t spit on me so I supposed that was progress.
“Smith? Jones?”
“Delwin,” he said. “Steve Delwin.”
“Never forget a name,” I said, smiling. He just shrugged. As I walked into the hall I saw about ten men in uniform sitting around a table hitting a coffee pot and three boxes of Ronnie’s Wings. I recognized most of them, having met or worked with them over the years.
Phil Howser was a tall, thin guy who hadn’t put on two extra ounces since I’d met him nearly ten years before. He got up and came around the table to shake my hand, then introduced me to the guys I knew and a few I didn’t.
“Thanks for coming by,” he said, then glanced at me again. I was wearing a light jacket because it was getting cool in the evenings.
“You’re carrying. Did you get armed because of what I said?” “You and a few other people,” I said.
“You wouldn’t have to be carrying if you weren’t being such an asshole about Shawn,” said a big blonde who I recognized as a Narcotics Task Force Lieutenant named Martin.
“Buddy,” Howser said, but I waved him off.
“He has a right to his opinion. I know I’m not popular with a lot of you guys right now. That’s why I accepted Phil’s invite to come out and talk to you tonight. Could I get a cup of coffee before we start talking?”
We talked for an hour and I went through three cups of coffee. Four of the eleven cops were black but they didn’t seem any more irate than the white cops. Maybe it’s true they all bleed blue blood.
“I’m doing what I think is right,” I told one of my harshest critics, a SWAT commander named Meyers. “I know you think I don’t have the right to sit in judgment on the actions a fellow cop took in a moment of crisis that I have never gone through. I know you feel a bond for him. But...I understand what you’re saying and you have to understand where I’m coming from.
“When you’re on the street, when you’re in a crisis situation, you can’t wait around for guidance on what to do, for a consensus to form that will guide your actions. You have to take the action you think is right and hope it works out.”
“That’s where I am. There is no one to tell me what to do. Dallas Edwards is the boss, but I’m the guy that has to make the ultimate decision because he’s delegated that authority to me and I’ve been doing it for five years. No matter what happens, I have to live with the result, the fall-out, and I have to be able to look in the mirror when it’s all over and live with myself.”
I looked over at Lieutenant Martin.
“I know everybody seems to think I have it in for Smith. I have to ask myself, why? They don’t give me a bonus every time I send a cop to prison. I don’t need any more headlines. I can probably coast on the “Angel of Death” crap until I retire. I didn’t know Smith before all this started. We’ve never crossed paths.”
“Maybe it’s because you identify with those redneck crackers and especially that wife-beating sub-human who was married to my fiancée before I rescued her.”
I looked up and saw Smith standing behind Delwin. The two of them had walked into the back of the meeting quietly. As Delwin moved aside I saw the Glocks in each hand. Delwin threw his hands up.
“He caught me by surprise, Phil. I never expected him to show up here.”
Phil put his hand down to his Glock which he carried in a holster at his side.
Smith bounced from one foot to the other, moving the pistols in his hands back and forth rapidly. He was either drunk or high, or both.
“You really think so, Phil? You sure one or more of them isn’t on my side. How’d I know about this little meet ‘n greet where my brothers are plotting with the asshole that’s trying to railroad me into prison. Maybe a few of them are with me, and when you guys start firing, the guy next to you you’re counting on you to have your back is going to blow your brains out. You willing to take that chance.”
The cops sitting around me began to look at each other warily. I could see they were starting to worry.
“Now, Phil, all of you, take your Glocks out of your holsters, with your left hands except for Martinez. You use your right. And lay them down on the table.”
Howser shook his head, but didn’t move his hand.
“I don’t give up my gun, Shawn. Not for you or anybody else. If you want to, you open fire and I’ll do my best to kill you before I die.”
“Looks like a Mexican standoff. Okay, keep your guns but keep your hands away from them and in plain sight. Everybody just stay cool. Anybody moves for a gun, and we all start dying.”
Smith turned his attention to me. His eyes were glazed, fiery, the pupils dilated. He had to be on something strong.
“Now you, Mr. Prosecutor. I hear you’re armed. Open that coat and reach up with your left hand and take it out with just the tips of your fingers.”
I did it, moving very slowly.
“Okay, good. I’m glad to see we’re communicating. It’s too bad it had to come to this, but you just kept coming after me.”
“Shawn, stop,” Howser said. “You’re having a breakdown. With any luck, you’ll get a suspended sentence and have to go into a hospital. It’s not the end of the world. There are other jobs out there. You’d be a good private security guy and it might wind up being a better world for you. It’s not worth being laid in your grave.”
“I’m not going to be laid in my grave. This son of a bitch is. I’m going to walk away from this nightmare and you guys are going to help me.”
“You’re crazy,” Martin said. “Look Shawn, I’ve been fighting for you. But no way are you going to shoot Maitland in cold blood and have the rest of us back you.”
Smith looked at him and said, “In a few seconds, with no warning, I’m going to put a bullet in his head. He’ll be dead before any of you can do anything, assuming you want to. Once he’s dead, what reason do you have to open fire on me?
“You, Martin? You remember five years ago, when we moved in on that Coke dealer in Avondale. You were first in the door when he leveled that sawed-off shotgun at you. It jammed, but I pushed you out of the way before we knew it was going to jam. I’d have taken the blast. I would have died for you, you son of a bitch. Because you’re my brother and we have each other’s back.
“Once this cocksucker is gone, you’re going to forget that and kill me for this scum? He’ll be dead and killing me won’t bring him back.
“Every one of you, I’ve had your back. Martinez, that pretty wife of yours would have divorced your ass and taken your two kids if she’d ever found out about that bitch you kept up in that apartment on 20th Street. But I took the bullet for that and said she was mine and it cost me my girlfriend at the time. But I did it.”
I pulled up to the one story building that was the Fraternal Order of security officer union hall. The sprinklers had just shut off and I had to step through puddles on the sidewalk walking up. I opened the door and walked in. There was a hallway with a door leading to a large hall where meetings of the membership were held.
I spotted a big bald guy in uniform in the doorway and he waved to me.
I thought his name was Smith or Jones, something like that. He was a Zone Sergeant, the head man for one of four zones the city was divided into for security officer coverage.
He didn’t offer to shake hands, but he didn’t spit on me so I supposed that was progress.
“Smith? Jones?”
“Delwin,” he said. “Steve Delwin.”
“Never forget a name,” I said, smiling. He just shrugged. As I walked into the hall I saw about ten men in uniform sitting around a table hitting a coffee pot and three boxes of Ronnie’s Wings. I recognized most of them, having met or worked with them over the years.
Phil Howser was a tall, thin guy who hadn’t put on two extra ounces since I’d met him nearly ten years before. He got up and came around the table to shake my hand, then introduced me to the guys I knew and a few I didn’t.
“Thanks for coming by,” he said, then glanced at me again. I was wearing a light jacket because it was getting cool in the evenings.
“You’re carrying. Did you get armed because of what I said?” “You and a few other people,” I said.
“You wouldn’t have to be carrying if you weren’t being such an asshole about Shawn,” said a big blonde who I recognized as a Narcotics Task Force Lieutenant named Martin.
“Buddy,” Howser said, but I waved him off.
“He has a right to his opinion. I know I’m not popular with a lot of you guys right now. That’s why I accepted Phil’s invite to come out and talk to you tonight. Could I get a cup of coffee before we start talking?”
We talked for an hour and I went through three cups of coffee. Four of the eleven cops were black but they didn’t seem any more irate than the white cops. Maybe it’s true they all bleed blue blood.
“I’m doing what I think is right,” I told one of my harshest critics, a SWAT commander named Meyers. “I know you think I don’t have the right to sit in judgment on the actions a fellow cop took in a moment of crisis that I have never gone through. I know you feel a bond for him. But...I understand what you’re saying and you have to understand where I’m coming from.
“When you’re on the street, when you’re in a crisis situation, you can’t wait around for guidance on what to do, for a consensus to form that will guide your actions. You have to take the action you think is right and hope it works out.”
“That’s where I am. There is no one to tell me what to do. Dallas Edwards is the boss, but I’m the guy that has to make the ultimate decision because he’s delegated that authority to me and I’ve been doing it for five years. No matter what happens, I have to live with the result, the fall-out, and I have to be able to look in the mirror when it’s all over and live with myself.”
I looked over at Lieutenant Martin.
“I know everybody seems to think I have it in for Smith. I have to ask myself, why? They don’t give me a bonus every time I send a cop to prison. I don’t need any more headlines. I can probably coast on the “Angel of Death” crap until I retire. I didn’t know Smith before all this started. We’ve never crossed paths.”
“Maybe it’s because you identify with those redneck crackers and especially that wife-beating sub-human who was married to my fiancée before I rescued her.”
I looked up and saw Smith standing behind Delwin. The two of them had walked into the back of the meeting quietly. As Delwin moved aside I saw the Glocks in each hand. Delwin threw his hands up.
“He caught me by surprise, Phil. I never expected him to show up here.”
Phil put his hand down to his Glock which he carried in a holster at his side.
Smith trained one Glock on him, letting the other one wave back and forth. “Don’t do it, Phil. We’ve been friends for a long time, but if you pull a gun
on me to save this piece of shit I’ll kill you.”
“Shawn, put the guns down. You blow me away and one of these guys will take you down. Look at the odds here. Use your head.”Smith bounced from one foot to the other, moving the pistols in his hands back and forth rapidly. He was either drunk or high, or both.
“You really think so, Phil? You sure one or more of them isn’t on my side. How’d I know about this little meet ‘n greet where my brothers are plotting with the asshole that’s trying to railroad me into prison. Maybe a few of them are with me, and when you guys start firing, the guy next to you you’re counting on you to have your back is going to blow your brains out. You willing to take that chance.”
The cops sitting around me began to look at each other warily. I could see they were starting to worry.
“Now, Phil, all of you, take your Glocks out of your holsters, with your left hands except for Martinez. You use your right. And lay them down on the table.”
Howser shook his head, but didn’t move his hand.
“I don’t give up my gun, Shawn. Not for you or anybody else. If you want to, you open fire and I’ll do my best to kill you before I die.”
“Looks like a Mexican standoff. Okay, keep your guns but keep your hands away from them and in plain sight. Everybody just stay cool. Anybody moves for a gun, and we all start dying.”
Smith turned his attention to me. His eyes were glazed, fiery, the pupils dilated. He had to be on something strong.
“Now you, Mr. Prosecutor. I hear you’re armed. Open that coat and reach up with your left hand and take it out with just the tips of your fingers.”
I did it, moving very slowly.
“Okay, good. I’m glad to see we’re communicating. It’s too bad it had to come to this, but you just kept coming after me.”
“Shawn, stop,” Howser said. “You’re having a breakdown. With any luck, you’ll get a suspended sentence and have to go into a hospital. It’s not the end of the world. There are other jobs out there. You’d be a good private security guy and it might wind up being a better world for you. It’s not worth being laid in your grave.”
“I’m not going to be laid in my grave. This son of a bitch is. I’m going to walk away from this nightmare and you guys are going to help me.”
“You’re crazy,” Martin said. “Look Shawn, I’ve been fighting for you. But no way are you going to shoot Maitland in cold blood and have the rest of us back you.”
Smith looked at him and said, “In a few seconds, with no warning, I’m going to put a bullet in his head. He’ll be dead before any of you can do anything, assuming you want to. Once he’s dead, what reason do you have to open fire on me?
“You, Martin? You remember five years ago, when we moved in on that Coke dealer in Avondale. You were first in the door when he leveled that sawed-off shotgun at you. It jammed, but I pushed you out of the way before we knew it was going to jam. I’d have taken the blast. I would have died for you, you son of a bitch. Because you’re my brother and we have each other’s back.
“Once this cocksucker is gone, you’re going to forget that and kill me for this scum? He’ll be dead and killing me won’t bring him back.
“Every one of you, I’ve had your back. Martinez, that pretty wife of yours would have divorced your ass and taken your two kids if she’d ever found out about that bitch you kept up in that apartment on 20th Street. But I took the bullet for that and said she was mine and it cost me my girlfriend at the time. But I did it.”
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