Cop Logic Part 2

"That Van guy is a smartass," McMurphy complains.
"No shit, McMurphy," Bullocks says. "They say he has more credit hours than most Grad students."
"If he's got that many, why hasn't he graduated?" McMurphy asks.
"They say he gets bored before he can finish one degree so he switches to another." Bullocks replies.
"Dumb shit!" McMurphy chuckles.

What I can't believe is those two idiots believed that story I told Angela in Accounting 4 years ago.
I am a dumb shit for taking and keeping this job though. I tell myself that every time I look at all the college graduates in my family at gatherings... Okay, there is my mother and me, the rest of the family haven't finished college. Some are still in, a few dropped out, some of them went in the military and the rest never wanted to go anyway. I went after my genius brother went and then he dropped out and never went back. And then there's my sister who may still go anytime now, she's in her forties.

McMurphy has a bachelor's and never actually been anything other than a university cop. Bullocks has a bachelor's and half of a Master's which he quit to become the head ticket writer for this University Police Department... I guess you need to have ambition. I suspect they pity promoted him to be the head security guard and made him a sergeant to make him feel like he hasn't wasted his life on parking tickets.

I run into a Bulldog named Henson on the way to my car. Fresh out of the Corps, he is. He's the worst kind of cop, the bully cop or a Bulldog
"Watch where you are going Van!" He yells from 3 feet away.
Yep, he has to actually walk 3 feet so I can actually run into him. This is the reason I try to never leave the library. Every Bulldog seems to believe it is their personal duty to shake down the "Penguins"- this is what the Bulldogs call us.
"So sorry Henson, I didn't smell your carcass soon enough,"
"You think you're funny?" His breath smells of old coffee and dead dreams.
"Nope."
"Bullshit, I bet you think you're a real comedian."
"Nope."
"Whatever Kev. I know you're just a little pervert waiting for a naked coed."
"Nope."
"Don't you know any other words than nope?"
"I do but I don't think you'll understand anything other than nope."
Blank stare. He can't process the insult. I leave him to struggle with what I said. He'll be around to embarrass and mock me later.

I drive my old Buick to the Parking Garage where I am posted. It's a dorm garage. Which is great- as in not great. This is because I will get to watch all the inebriated girls come stumbling back to their dorms, deal with their fear of me as a "cop" and then there collective derision that I can't do anything about their underage drinking. BUT, if they need an escort somewhere, I am their best safest best short of a full-on cop.

Cop-logic dictates that some University official will see me walking around a garage where a series of daylight break-ins have occurred in the middle of the night and feel like their cops are doing their jobs. Nothing is actually sound or logical about this but in the world of cop logic it does, it helps that I make a flat wage to do this so no overtime need occur.

And as smart as I am. I work for this indomitable kind of Logic.
I feel kind of stupid now that I look back on it.

Bat-Shit Crazy

Actual conversation:
Butter: "So dispatch sent Hicks to get the sweater."

Hervey: "Hicks?'

Butter: "Yeah, it was Hicks."

Brainy: "Man, I am sorry, Hicks is bat-shit crazy."

Butter: "Man, this is going to get bad."

Hervey: "No worries, I got this handled."

We look at Hervey as we drink the coffee.

Hicks arrives. He is the quintessential gungho cop. He lives for copping.
In he struts, full on cop swagger. One hand on his pistol grip, the other on the radio clipped to his shirt. Mustache, sunglasses up above his eyes, hat peaked back to show his salt and pepper brown hair, lanky body pounding out the beat in his too shiny clackity clacking cop boots.

"Dispatch, this is Hicks. I'm at the ML to pick up the evidence."
"Roger that."
Hicks waits. He does a pretty good Jim Carrey badass cop schtick- I mean if he knew who Jim Carrey was, of course. He leans his head to look at his radio and waits.
Nothing happens.
"Amateurs!" he loudly whispers.
He looks around, adjusts his glasses, looks at us sitting at our station, coffee in hand, makes a face then stomps up.
"You penguins are a disgrace to the force," he snarls cocking out a hip.
"Look at that Hick's blew us a cherry," I say.
"I did no goddamn thing!"
"Geez Mike, I said I'd handle it," Hervey says.
"Where the hell is the Ev-id-ence?" Hicks demands.
"Right here sir," Hervey says, snaps to attention and then hands over the garbage bag.
"That's more like it," Hicks says taking the bag. "This ain't a regulation evidence packet."
"No sir," Hervey says and pops a perfect salute,
Hicks opens the bag and sticks his head down to peer in it.
Hicks then drops the bag, looks around desperately and runs for the Public bathroom.
Time passes.
We wait.
Hervey ties up the Garbage bag.
Time passes.
We get more coffee.
Hicks saunters out, glares at each one of us. picks up the bag, turns to go then stops.
"If I hear one word about this to anyone outside this shithole then I am going to take your number down, you hear me you fuckups?"
"My number is 13," I say.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He growls.
"I like thirteen."
"Well smartass, I got my eye on you."

Then Hicks sticks the bag out as far from his body as possible and marches out of the library quickly.
We hear his siren shortly thereafter.

"Man, that dude is Bat-shit crazy." Butter says.
Hervey loses it.