How to save a life- It's National CPR and AED Awareness Week!

The scene is traumatic and scary- people milling around, nobody knows what to do- a person is lying on the ground, not moving. Someone said they called 9-1-1 but you don't hear sirens and the clock is ticking. Will you be the one to help save a life?

A person's chances of dying in this situation increase with every second between the collapse and when someone intervenes.


That someone can be you. You can help save a life.



Just by pressing hard and fast, to the beat of "Stayin' Alive" by the Bee Gees, you give the person a chance to live. Every minute down without attention, a person's chances decrease by ten percent- a person down a minute has a 90% chance of survival, while a person down only five minutes has a 50% chance of surviving. Every minute is vital.

But you say you don't want to kiss someone? Ewwww, germs and disease? You don't have to- just doing compressions- hands only CPR -has been proven to be very effective in saving lives but it's up to you.

Did I say "hands only?" Yes. You don't have to give breaths to be helpful.

But you're worried about being sued? Most states have "Good Samaritan" laws that protect people who offer help. For more information on these laws, listed by state, click on the graphic.

Generally, "Good Samaritan" laws state that people who assist in a medical emergency where there are no medically-trained individuals are not liable for injury or death caused to an individual. These laws vary, so check your state's laws to be sure.



  How can you save a life? Watch this video:

That's something you can do. But you'd like to do more? Contact one of these organizations for information on classes:

Giving hands-free CPR until the ambulance gets there can make the difference! Coupled with an AED and advanced medical intervention, you can give a person a chance.

That's a chance to see their loved ones again, celebrate another birthday, hold a grandchild, a chance to live. 

I teach CPR / First Aid /AED for the American Red Cross and Health and Safety Institute. One of my students called me last year and said the words that put me on top of the world- "Bill, I saved a life- I did CPR and he's gonna make it!"

My student gave someone that chance!


 Can you give that chance? Remember, it's up to you. Save a life. Learn CPR today!

There are no monsters! Now Go to bed- wait- want to see something really scary?

We're all afraid of monsters. Mom and Dad told us there were no monsters and we believed them. Mom and Dad were wrong.

There are monsters. In every neighborhood in the country, there are monsters and we deny it. We deny it when a monster kills his mother, steals her guns and kills children, we deny it when two brothers conspire to blow up innocent people watching a race and we deny it when we believe our safety is the responsibility of someone else.

After all, why would we need to defend ourselves if there are no monsters?

When bombs exploded at the Boston Marathon finish line, our first reaction was to find the connection between the terrorists and an international terrorist organization. We could not accept that that two of our own citizens, albeit naturalized citizens, could be monsters- there had to be others controlling them, providing money, supplies and direction.

On the other end of the week, with one terrorist dead, a second in custody and no monetary, supply or operational support tying the terrorists to any organized group have been found. In the end, it was two brothers, allegedly driven by their religious beliefs, determined to hurt their fellow Americans.

Despite the inhumane acts these two individuals allegedly carried out, we searched for reasons for the evil they did.

We look to their friends, we look to their mother, we look to radical clergy who are said to have influenced the older of the brothers. We just refuse to place the ultimate blame where it belongs.

More to the point, two inadequate personalities decided to kill their fellow Americans to validate their pathetic existence and no one can accept they were ultimately responsible for their actions.

We refused to believe the obvious- These two terrorists are monsters.

In December, another terrorist killed his mother, stole her weapons and went on a killing spree that spawned a national debate on gun control. Once again, we as a culture refused to accept this individual's guilt was his own- a manifestation of the evil in his soul.

Instead, we blamed the guns. We blamed the mother for having guns. We blamed gun manufacturers, we blamed the stores that sell guns, we blamed the ammunition manufacturers but we didn't place the ultimate responsibility for the attack where it belongs- on the attacker.

We again refused to believe the obvious. This terrorist was a monster.

The real issue is that people don't believe evil exists amongst us. I don't mean devils and religion. I mean sociopaths- people who have no problem killing and maiming others without regret. Our citizens just don't want to admit individuals who would carry out crimes like the Boston Marathon Bombing, Sandy Hook school shooting or any of the other mass/spree killings that have occurred live in our neighborhoods or even next door.

I'm a cop. I like to think of myself as a sheepdog. I watch over the sheep, confront the monsters- In my meadow, they're wolves. But I recognize a monster, no matter its shape because it wants to kill my sheep- the people I'm sworn to protect.

Regardless of the shape, more of us have to accept there are monsters.

Why is that important? If we are going to stop evil, we must admit it exists and we, meaning each and every one of us, must be ready and willing to do our part to stop it, either before an attack begins or, failing that, those of us who are strong enough, capable enough, have to be ready to stop these monsters.

First responders can be on scene in anywhere from four to twenty or more minutes and active shooters tend to commit suicide or surrender when faced with an armed defender. Can you wait for the first responders to arrive to save your life? Will you survive that long? Do you want to bet your life on it?

This video is promoted by Homeland Security as the answer to protecting yourself against an active shooter.  Imagine yourself confronted by
the armed aggressor. He has a weapon. You have nothing. What would you do when he racks his weapon and aims it at you? Think of your last seconds of life, spent staring at the business end of a weapon, without the means to defend yourself. The last thing you see is the monster you denied existed.

Monsters attack in gun-free zones. Monsters attack in schools and malls. Monsters even attack in churches, synagogues and mosques. They attack with guns, knives and they attack with explosives. When the monster attacks, it is too late to make a conscious decision to respond. We can't deny their existence any more. We simply become victims.

Lt. Col. (ret.) Dave Grossman, in his book, "On Killing," explains why, instead of denying monsters exist, we must accept they are out there and we must be prepared, should we find ourselves confronted with one or more, to defend ourselves:  

"Denial kills you twice. It kills you once, at your moment of truth when you are not physically prepared: You didn’t bring your gun; you didn’t train. Your only defense was wishful thinking. Hope is not a strategy. Denial kills you a second time because even if you do physically survive, you are psychologically shattered by fear, helplessness, horror and shame at your moment of truth."


We see denial in every sign announcing weapon-free zones. We hear denial in every voice calling for bans of weapons and we voice denial in our support of politicians who advocate disarming us.

If we ban guns, we take away our strongest weapon against monsters. Last April, a monster walked into a Salt Lake City, Utah store (Link to story) and purchased a hunting knife. He then stabbed two shoppers. Another customer, a concealed carry permit holder, drew his weapon and forced the monster to drop his knife.  

 

The man who stopped the knife-wielding attacker believes in monsters. Without a way of stopping the monster, more people would have been injured or killed. We can't take away our defense against monsters without expecting to be victims.

I am against gun control. I believe every weapon purchase should be preceded by a background check and I believe every person with the will, ability and training should be armed.

Every person should have CPR/AED/First Aid training and every person

should be willing to make the call to 911 when they see or hear something that threatens to harm us.

We have to be ready to defend against monsters and stop them whenever possible. Americans have always prided themselves on their self-reliance. We need to regain that pride. We need to use that self-reliant streak to stop the monsters from terrorizing us.

I've trained over 200 people in CPR/AED/First Aid.  If we're not fighting monsters, knowing how to save the lives of our fellow citizens is a bonus we all benefit from. Most importantly, prepare yourself. Be ready when the monster, when the wolf knocks at your door.

If we allow ourselves to be disarmed, we become the sheep, waiting for the slaughter.

If you don't stop the monster, who will?

Redress does not involve a change of clothes.

I had a class today. The instructor said something I can't wrap my mind around- we were talking about protests and he said, "I can't imagine caring so much about an issue or a cause that it would be worth protesting."

I was flabbergasted, left utterly speechless- a condition those who know me will attest, I seldom, if ever reach.

I've always believed a person who stands for nothing falls for anything. Our country was founded on protest- Thirteen colonies protesting taxation without representation, we declared our independence form Britain- it's who we are and the idea that government exists to serve us is as sacred as the idea that we exist to serve the government is alien and revolting.

While it is a citizen's right to have no stand on an issue, I believe the revulsion some citizens have toward those who stand ready to defend their beliefs is in itself revolting.

Have we come so far that people who believe in a cause and protest peacefully are not respected and encouraged to fight for what they believe? Are we so far from 1776 and our founding fathers that we see protest as wrong? Have so many of us lost the will to stand up and say, "that's wrong?" that we begin to accept that those who do so must be stopped?

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances."- The United States Constitution, First Amendment.

"The right of the people peaceably to assemble."- Our forefathers saw this as so important that they made it part of the first article of the Bill of Rights. Be it voting rights for all, women's suffrage, the Viet Nam war or a zoning issue in a neighborhood, the right to protest is more than a right, it's a responsibility of a citizen.

"To petition the Government for a redress of grievances." Our forefathers believed that when we have an issue with our government, we have the right to be heard- be it a national issue like participation in a war or a local issue like the number of firehouses in a town, our citizenship demands our government listen to our voices of both agreement and dissension. The government doesn't have to do as we ask but we have the right to be heard. If enough of us voice a like opinion and feel we aren't heard, we have the right to vote in a new government.

Without the right to petition the government, our government, for the redress our grievances, without the right to assemble peaceably, the people lose the necessary control over the entity created to serve us- our government.

I am a police officer. My oath requires me to protect the rights of the people. I protect those righs while enforcing the laws of the land. and the Constitution is the ultimate law of the land.

The Law Enforcement Oath of Honor

On my honor,
I will never betray my badge,
my integrity, my character,
or the public trust.
I will always have
the courage to hold myself
and others accountable for our actions.
I will always uphold the constitution
my community and the agency I serve.

That oath means I will defend my commuity against violent, dangerous protests but it also means I will defend those protesting peacefully, exercising their Constitutional rights as well.

"I can't imagine an issue or a cause worth protesting about."

I can't imagine sitting idly by without having my voice heard and if it takes a protest to affect change for something I believe in, I can't imagine not being part of that protest.

I am an American citizen. I will exercise my right, the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances. I've done it before and I'd gladly do it again.

The day I can't imagine an issue or cause worth protesting for is the day I die, because that will be the day I stop caring about my country, it's citizens and its future. That's the day I stop being who I am, an American Citizen.

Spring Cleaning? Not a chance - it's 70 and Sunny! Carpe Diem!

The Forsythias are in full bloom.

 

The Sun is shining, the temperature is hovering near seventy, Damnit and Grossy are lounging in a Sunbeam and I'm sipping coffee, a view of tulips, forsythia and daffies pleasantly clogging my sinuses - in short, it's spring!

For the first time in months (ok, second time- I lasted about two minutes two weeks ago before the forty-five degree temperature ruined the first azure blue, author-teasing sky attempt of the year), I'm seated in my official "writer's haven," with my new Mac (thanks, Ketchup!) arguing with Rog, Morris and the rest of my characters.

Terrible! I'll have to eat 'em all!

Miranda and Sunshine are baking cookies (the only two people indoors in the county on this beautiful day), doing one of the few activities I agreed could be done inside on a day like this. Hey, it's in my best interest!

It's been a long winter and I'm excited to be back at the keyboard!

Sunshine planted bulbs last fall!

But as with any homeowner in spring, the distractions are too numerous to mention. Margie wanders by and I tell her about the shed I want to put in the yard and the screens I'd like to build to keep the bugs out of my computer and my eyes on warm summer nights.

Sunshine wanders by with a cookie from their project and I notice, as I glance past her and the delicious cookie calling my name, the grass is already due for mowing and the flower beds need the leaves removed and some mulch.

Miranda, she's headed upstairs to practice the Tenor Sax and that reminds me I wanted to run speakers to the porch- and that reminds me of the other work that has to be done for that to happen.

Last summer's rock wall project!

But for now, one lab is camped at my feet and another is doing his best "Bill the Cat" imitation in the Sun and I'm tapping keys. The unwashed car can wait and when leaves decompose they're good for the soil, right? There's a time for everything and now is not the time.

It's spring, I'm writing and I just saw a butterfly- it's chaos, I tell you! I think it's nature's way of saying, "Carpe Diem!"

I think I'll get back To Rog and Morris- I hear they found some money and I can't wait to find out how it got there! It's sequel time and even I don't know what they have in store for us.

Grab your reader and enjoy some early spring reading!

In Another Life is my first novel- it's available from Amazon.com and Smashwords.com has it in just about any ebook format! 

And now, In Another Life- in paperback- from Amazon.com!

Thirty and Two finds Morris in a race to save a girl injured in an automobile crash- a girl he mentored- will she survive? It's a race against time and a life hangs in the balance! 

My latest short story: Drop A Dime!

Rookie police officer Rog Mackay is getting tips from a very unusual confidential informant- one who seems to know more than he should! 

Robberies, attempted murders, suicides- who is this mysterious citizen who has the info and is ready to drop a dime at just the right time? 

Find out in this new short story, "Drop a Dime!"

Muse-ings

I've been a little busy and my muse had non-refundable cruise tickets to east Batalanavia. One week turned into two turned into four and I'm staring at a writer's scariest sight- the dreaded white space. I began to worry my muse's ship sank in the hurricane and Rog would be stuck as a new detective- (teaser for my new book). A muse (d) or not, I have to write and I should start now.

I started working for a new department- this one is more medically-oriented, due to the response time for the local volunteer ambulances. My first call was a bit interesting- I had an elderly patient with trouble breathing.

The standard protocol in this instance is O2, followed by vitals and further treatment, as necessary. I had the patient sucking gas in record time, just as my new supervisor whispered, "our medical director likes to get a baseline Pulse Ox. before we administer O2."

A Pulse Ox is a device that fits on the finger (mimicking ET) and determines the O2 percentage in the blood, with 100 being great and 0 being very untalkative. After thanking him for that informative tidbit and inquiring if there were any other jewels he was waiting to spring on me, I said, "so, I take it we have a Pulse Ox?"

The man has no sense of humor. So noted.

It's been that kind of month. With my muse on extended holiday, I muddled through.

I pulled a midnight shift during Hurricane Sandy. I spent hours removing trees from my most rural beat. Soaked, tired and ready for bed, I pulled into my drive- halfway- realizing the road in front of my house looked like the Home Depot electrical department sneezed. Cables littered the road.

I grabbed a roll of yellow caution tape- my neighbors love me- there's nothing like the neighbor with his own caution tape (before they found out I was a cop, apparently, all kinds of comments flew. Then someone found out about my sheepdog nature and my "peculiarities" made sense)- and blocked both ends of the road- I do have a neighbor or two I'd like to see dancing with a power line... but I digress.... I had Margie call the power company- for the first time.

Turns out a huge tree took out the mast from the electric meter to the roof and pulled the wires down. I assessed the damage and headed out to Homerland for parts. Sleep fell by the wayside. A couple of hours later, I was ready for a quick assist from the power company, a quick power-off while I removed the tree- I'm not a fan of "riding the lightning"- I figured it should take fifteen minutes- what was I thinking?

A PPL truck showed up promptly at 0230 hrs. the next morning and cut the power. There are dedicated linemen and trolls out there. I met both types and unfortunately, the dedicated guys were still en route when the troll slithered into my life and left me holding the cut end of my service line... and the cable line... and the telephone line.

Needless to say, the troll was in troll heaven, cutting power cable and telephone lines without concern for those who would come after him. Add one name to the karma list...

Margie made eighteen calls (cried twice, called one secretary a, ah, an, well, something having to do with human reproduction, pig mating and a banjo and begged once) for an electrician for the now- required signoff on the now-necessary permit, (I had the mast repaired and ready to replace when the troll showed but that's another chapter or four) three calls to three clueless PPL reps (our automated system shows you have power) and five days later, we had power restored.

We didn't suffer like so many people in surrounding states but I can truly say I understand what it's like to leave my home to protect the flock, worried about leaving my family behind in the dark. My thoughts go out to my brothers and sisters who also went through this and, in many cases, are still fighting this battle.

The days passed without so much as a postcard from my muse. The bitch (lovingly said).

A friend passed on a week or so back. Teddy was a simple man. Age and illness had taken most of his friends and relatives, so I found myself sitting with the widow, scratching out a eulogy. Karma touched my shoulder because, as I sat comforting the widow, taking some of her burden away, my muse showed up, sun tanned and revitalized, ready to get to work.

I suddenly found myself penning (in a sense-the hum of a computer is never far from my finger tips) a eulogy that even my mother liked- ("they're always so preachy and full of crap"). Mom knows how to be supportive. I spoke of a man who never saved the world or even a woodland creature but was always there for his friends. My muse came through.

I found a poem that was appropriate, entitled "Death is Nothing At All, by Scott-Holland that was read at King Edward VIII's funeral- this is part of the poem:

What is death but a negligible accident?
Why should I be out of mind
Because I am out of sight?
I am waiting for you for an interval
Somewhere very near
Just around the corner

Of course, as I practiced aloud, Margie, who was making spaghetti sauce with wine (one cup for the sauce, one bottle for the Chef), discovered the humor in yelling "Boo" at the end.

Fortunately, a very hung-over Margie was on her best behavior at the funeral and there were no further interruptions from the gallery.

Not being Catholic, I was just getting into the heart of the exercise routine (up, down, look at the scary singer for the signal to hum a few unintelligible words) when the priest motioned for me to sum up a guy's life in under a thousand words- anyone who knows me is well aware succinctness is not one of my strong points.

The few friends and family assembled understood. I felt from the audience, that rare connection, the sense that the eulogy captured the decedent's character. It was in that moment that I thanked karma and my muse.

And so I write again. The holidays are in full attack mode and the rush is on to buy, buy, buy! Maybe tomorrow. Tonight, I sit with my muse and we write. It's my holiday present to myself.

Just in time for the holidays! The perfect gift for that adrenaline junkie!

In Another Life is my first novel- it's available from Smashwords just about any ebook format! 

And now, in paperback- from Amazon.com!

Thirty and Two finds Morris in a race to save a girl injured in an automobile crash- and he once mentored her. 

My latest short story: Drop A Dime!


Rookie police officer Rog Mackay is getting tips from a very unusual confidential informant- one who seems to know more than he should! 

Robberies, attempted murders, suicides- who is this mysterious citizen who has the info and is ready to drop a dime at just the right time? 

Find out in this new short story, "Drop a Dime!"

Hey! You're makin' that up!

One of the frequent questions most authors get is, "How do you come up with your stories?" For me, writing is an outlet and my stories reflect my experiences. Pat answer, eh? Yeah but it's true.

When most people have a long day, they come home and tell their significant others about the asshat who berated them or the boss who took the credit for their work or the co-worker who... -you get the idea.

When a cop has a really bad day, it usually involves some type of death, destruction and mayhem- a macabre, horrifying extravaganza that seemingly doesn't faze the cop but the human psyche is not wired for the instant stress, sudden adrenaline dumps and the emotional roller coaster of police work.

In short, the job takes its toll. Somewhere, somehow, the stress manifests itself. How it manifests itself depends on the officer.

So, officers come home from the job, often physically and mentally exhausted from the daily grind. Some grab a few long necks, some grab a lot of long necks. Others take their days out on their spouses. As everyone knows, the alcoholism and divorce rate is statistically much higher for police officers.

Still others take more reasonable approaches- weight lifting, running, biking- great, healthy releases that improve the mind and body while clearing the stress hormones from the body.

I have a beer and I get a hangover. I like Margie and she's been working out. I'm not arguing with her. Besides, just mention formatting a book and my beloved mate turns into a monster. I'd hate to see her really pissed. Strike that. I've seen her really pissed. I'm fairly resilient. The other survivors are still in therapy.

I do spin an occasional pedal and I run when chasing some clown but neither give me the release filling white space with words gives me. So, I  write.

I spend hours my cruiser, monitoring traffic, waiting for the next dispatch and thinking about plots. I start with an incident, my overactive imagination takes over and soon, I'm itching for the end of my shift and a blank screen.

An incident from the other night is a great example- There I sat, stopwatch in hand, secluded behind the stop sign on the hill, waiting for the preoccupied speeder. Of course no one can see the Vicky hidden behind that stop sign- damn my cloaking technology- so people fly by me. Go figure.

A box truck lumbered past me, under the speed limit but without tail lights. That's a problem because on the country roads of my jurisdiction, someone doing, say, the average speed for our area, approximately mach five, could come up on the truck and not seeing tail lights, blast into its rear bumper. I'm suspecting the truck driver would feel a bump and complain about the poor roads while the car would be an accordion and the driver... hey, that's why they make paper towels and sponges.

I activated my lights, gave chase and soon had the vehicle stopped in the only safe area in the vicinity- the intersection of a little-used street and the main road. Between the cruiser and the truck, we blocked the intersection. I made contact with the driver and obtained his information. He said the interior lights weren't working either and thought a fuse blew.

The driver was a male in his fifties, as was his passenger. The driver was from out of state. The truck was from a different state and registered to a different person. I was suspicious.

I ran the driver and found he was suspended. Just as I received this tidbit from Comm Center, a pickup truck pulled alongside my vehicle. I clicked off the dome light and my hand slipped to my weapon as I heard a voice say, "Could you move your car so we could get by?"

So, to recap, I've got something going on in the truck that could be just an unpaid citation and a blown fuse or something much worse. I don't know if the two males had weapons, just did a crime and I was in the way of their freedom or if the pickup truck occupant was a friend trying to protect his buddies or accomplices. Cops get killed in situations like this.

I yelled at the driver, "Back up now!"

From the truck I hear, "Back up?" and a woman's voice saying, "you want us to back up? Why the hell should we back up?"

I yelled back, "Then stay there and I'll cite you after I get done with this driver!" The truck suddenly disappeared. I took a deep breath and let go of my weapon.

I got out and talked to the driver. He had an unpaid ticket from his home state, eventually confirmed by Comm Center- hence the suspension. His buddy had a valid license. I sent them on their way with the buddy driving and the vehicle flashers on. They were only a few miles from home and towing the truck would have been a nightmare.

The driver also got a four part mandatory request for a donation to the state treasury in the form of a citation. Driving on a suspended license is not cheap.

It was just another incident, another day in my life. But as an author, the incident sent my imagination into overdrive. What if the driver was hauling drugs? What if the driver was high or drunk? What if the truck was leaking a reddish fluid from the cargo area? What if there was a smell of cat urine- a sign of a meth lab?

Then there's the pickup. What if they were there to protect their fellow terrorists and I just interrupted their plans to set off a truck bomb outside a nightclub later that night? What if the truck driver was the father of the... my mind raced through the scenarios.

Back at home, the story begged to be told. I'm not sure where it will show up, a book or short story, maybe but it illustrates the process:

"I remembered seeing several alerts in the past several months to be on the lookout for suspicious vehicles possibly hauling AN/FO explosives, a mixture of Ammonium Nitrate and diesel fuel. The alerts had the standard "stop and hold" tags and I didn't give it much thought. In my jurisdiction, we consider a DUI a big deal.

In fact, the truck without tail lights didn't immediately set off any alarms in my head as I pulled it over. I thought I'd warn the driver and he'd be on his way. After all, nothing exciting happened in our little town.

I approached the box truck and immediately smelled a strong odor of diesel fuel, mixed with ammonia, my suspicions aroused because the truck was from out of state and had an "unleaded only" sign over the fuel door. I asked the driver for his info like a regular traffic stop. This wasn't going to be a regular stop.

I told the driver, a tense, slightly built, blond male with a crew cut and a pock-marked complexion that I pulled him over for a bad taillight. I explained that if his license was ok, I'd give him a warning and send him on his way. The driver visibly relaxed as I told him to sit tight.

Back at my cruiser, I used my cell to alert Comm Center I had a suspicious vehicle and to send backup. I also told Comm I would call in the license and they should tell me to stand by because the computers were down for a few minutes, just in case the driver had a scanner.

On the radio, I requested the license check on the driver. Comm Center responded as requested. I began to approach the driver to explain the delay as a pickup pulled in alongside my cruiser and fired two shots where I would have been sitting. The driver of the pickup couldn't see the cruiser was empty because his truck, a big F250, sat above the car by at least two feet.

I was trapped between the driver and the pickup!

I pulled my weapon as the truck door opened and I saw the barrel of a shotgun arcing toward me. I dropped to the ground and fired twice as the shotgun exploded, pellets filling the air where I stood a  moment ago. The driver staggered back, hit the truck and slid to the ground.

I rolled under the truck and saw a pair of feet walking around my cruiser. I fired once, striking the calf visible from my vantage point and the gunman from the pickup fell moaning and holding his leg with both hands, a gun lying a foot away.

Seeing no other targets, I grabbed my radio and yelled, "Mike 4, shots fired! Officer needs assistance! Officer needs assistance!"

In seconds, sirens filled the air. The two units already headed to my location for the request for backup surrounded the scene, taking the injured pickup truck driver and his passenger, a woman with a loaded shotgun who was waiting for me to pop out from under the truck, into custody.

The truck driver was dead. The ton of AN/FO explosives in the back was still live. Homeland Security later told me the driver and his associates were planning to take out a Family Clinic in the next state. Apparently, this crew was part of an extremist group who saw the clients of the Family Clinics as "welfare cheats, lowlifes and abortionists" and thought they'd rid the world of some "freeloaders," as they called them,  with a little pyrotechnical assistance.

In the end, ten members of the group were arrested and very likely, twenty or so clients, several nurses and a couple of doctors went on with their lives.

I went home that night, grabbed a beer and made a new floor panel for my Maverick. Twice. The first one was destroyed by a sledge hammer, the sound of a shotgun blast echoing in my head at every blow."

There you have it, the bones of a chapter, based in reality, bathed in fiction, ready to fluff and insert into a book or expand into a story.

Now, it's time for a beer and a little work on the Maverick. Maybe a new floor pan.

       Want more? Get to know Rog and Morris- In Another Life!                      

If you haven't already done so, click on the title for a free copy of Thirty and Two,  and a sample of  In Another Life! 


And after you finish the sample, don't forget to buy a copy of In Another Life!


***Update! Margie's done cursing up a storm! She finished formatting "Drop a Dime!" Cover Goddess Deb delivered yet another stunning cover and my latest short story is up!


Rookie police officer Rog Mackay is getting tips from a very unusual confidential informant- one who seems to know more than he should! 

Robberies, attempted murders, suicides- who is this mysterious citizen who has the info and is ready to drop a dime at just the right time? 

Find out in this new short story, "Drop a Dime,"  just in time for Halloween!

That damn cop's just sitting there watching the construction! Useless waste of time!

The other day, I was the officer everyone sees as they drive through the construction area. I was directed to "make a presence." I asked the Chief, "should I get out and help direct traffic?"

"No," Chief said. "The construction crew has their own flaggers. I'm putting you there because if you're not there, some people ignore the flaggers and we've had several near misses."

I wasn't thrilled. I'm not one to spend the day parked in a cruiser, in all reality trying to look good for the public. And some of my detractors might offer that I am ill-equipped for any job that requires good looks. But when the Chief gets an idea, it's best to go with the flow- even if he tells you to do nothing . Hell, If I ever wanted to be a Chief, this assignment would prove I could do the job. Did I mention the Chief doesn't read blogs?

I pulled up to the construction site, hit the lights and got out of the car. As I closed the door, I saw a construction worker look at me, get that look of terror in his eyes, drop his tools and start running. They're still looking for him. Not even out of the car and I'd made an impression. Today might be fun after all.

I approached the foreman, figuring he'd be pissed at the intrusion. "Morning," I said. "I've been directed to sit over there with my lights on."

"Hey, that's great!" the foreman said.

I must have looked confused and I was. I expected to get the "lazy freakin' cop" look. But the foreman looked happy.

 "These freakin' people think my flaggers are targets. With you here, maybe they won't get run over. Yesterday some asshat nearly clipped Chunky."

The foreman nodded to "Chunky," obviously not named for his svelte figure. Chunky was at least three hundred pounds and he wasn't a tall man. Any car that hit Chucky would remember the collision.

"Well, if you have any problems, give me a yell. I'll be in the car."

The foreman thanked me, shook my hand and went to find out why the guy he called "Lucky Eddie" bolted when I arrived. He seemed to think Eddie was just being proactive, the result of many run-ins (no pun intended) with officers over over the years.

I got into my car, pulled out my latest batch of training materials and tried to get a little work done but the ten year old boy in me was fascinated with watching the crew rebuild the road. The Gradall, dump trucks, vibrating compactor- they even had a backhoe! I was in Matchbox heaven!

I took a glance around the site, just in time to see an older, obviously well cared-for Mercury Marquis, mangle several pylons and end up in a ditch. I headed over, knowing this story would be good.

I took one look at the driver and for a moment, I thought I finally had the privelege of meeting Yoda. Well, maybe not the actual Yoda but possibly a stunt double?

A little old man I'll call Mr. Mort, managed to extract himself from the car and headed for the flagger with a full head of steam. Apparently this Yoda was not one to spout Buddha-like philosophy while maintaining an even temperament.

"You bastard! You lazy bastards are tryna kill me!  I'm gonna put my foot up your...." Mr. Mort was yelling as loud as a pissed off old goat could yell. I got between Mr. Mort and the flagger.

The flagger was caught off guard by the sight of the little old man, hell-bent on using more than the force on him and he looked confused, unsure whether he should be laughing or running for his life, a pissed-off Jedi puppet nipping at his heels.

"Sir, sir, calm down! What's going on?" I asked, noting Mr. Mort had a hospital bracelet on his wrist.

"You saw him! That fat bastard put those cone things in my way so I'd have an accident! Arrest him!" Mr. Mort Screamed.

I nodded to the flagger to go back to the now-knotted traffic. I said, "Sir, come talk to me and we'll figure this out.

I obtained his license and called comm center, asking them to contact the local hospital listed on the bracelet  while running his information.

Turns out Mr. Mort was a guest of the local hospital. He managed to drive himself there a couple of days before and they had admitted him. A call to the hospital confirmed he was a guest suffering from the onset of  dementia, diabetes, heart disease, psoriasis, deafness, partial blindness, incontinence (oh, no, a transport via my cruiser there will not be), chronic halitosis, several unnamed and miscellaneous other maladies, the ever-present anger management issues and the occasional hallucination.

For his safety and that of the general public, the only wheels Mr. Mort should have been piloting was a hospital bed.

An ambulance was dispatched to pick up the recently found, formerly lost patient.

I called for a tow for the car, got Mr. Mort calmed down and kept him from his plans to assassinate the flagger. Mr. Mort still did have a valid license and I would have to deal with that administratively but for now, the hospital swore he'd be staying in a secure geriatric wing. I wanted to ask why he wasn't there in the first place but being the firm believer in discretion that I am (no comments from the peanut gallery), I let it go.

I also called the number for a granddaughter Mr. Mort gave me but it was disconnected. I hoped it was just a wrong number. My experience with the elderly these days is not riddled with supportive family members just waiting to help their family. Unless there's a mess of zeros at the end of a bank account in Grandpa's name- then, Grandpa's every movement, from the cha-cha to the latest find in his depends becomes an adorable and oft spoken-of event.

Traffic soon returned to the normal construction-related confusion.

I was sitting  there watching the progress of the project when the emergency siren went off for an auto accident, outside our jurisdiction. Traffic became a mess as vehicles climbed curbs to get out of the way of the volunteers and their blue lights. (I highly respect volunteers but sometimes their driving is on par with Mr. Mort. With the full agreement and support of the Fire Chief, who has suspended volunteers too for the same reasons, I might add, I've cited responders several times- after they responded to the incidents- for careless driving.)

I saw that only one engine and a single ambulance headed past me toward the wreck.

These days, volunteers are hard to come by. Jobs, the state-mandated firefighter/EMT training, child care, apathy- these factors all conspire to reduce the volunteer pool. As I sat there, a second tone went out to neighboring stations for more manpower and a crew to man a landing zone for a medivac chopper. But within seconds of  the first paramedic unit calling on-scene, the second tone and chopper were cancelled. The wreck was a one-car fatality. Another life lost to a traffic accident. Time was no longer a factor in extracting the driver from the car.

The coroner was contacted and one fire unit remained on-scene until the State Police found their way to the site- budget cuts are really hampering the State Police. It can take an hour or more to get a unit on-scene, depending on the circumstances.

In this case, the decedent wouldn't be complaining but in a domestic, an injured person could conceivably die with a rescue squad staged a block away, waiting for a police response to give scene-safe confirmation. Protocol and standard safety practices forbid EMS from entering a domestic without police clearance. There's a saying in Emergency Services- don't become a victim. No clearance, no access. No police, no clearance.

I watched as the volunteers, heads a little lower at the loss of a patient, straggled back to the station.

Rush hour, or what passed for rush hour in our little corner of the world hit. I got out of the cruiser and stood on the sidewalk by the flagger. Several times, the flagger motioned to cars to stop and they kept coming. I stepped off the sidewalk and the cars suddenly stopped. The flagger blamed the Sun. "I think they're having trouble seeing me," he said.

"No, that's not it," I said. "The car behind him stopped. The driver saw you. The driver just chose to ignore you. You're interfering with their lives. Sheep only care about their agenda when they drive."

"Good point," the flagger said. "I just don't have the authority to make them stop. You do."

"Yeah, it's amazing how an invitation to discuss their driving with a magistrate works better than a stop sign. The fines don't hurt the cause either."

As quickly as "rush hour" began, it was over and the number of cars dwindled. As I opened the cruiser to get back in, my phone buzzed. It was the Chief, asking,  "do you see the smoke?"

I scanned the horizon and saw a plume of smoke. "Yeah, it's coming from the south."

Chief said, "I was headed home and when I came around the corner, all I can see is smoke. Did county get anything?"

"No, it's been quiet."

Just then, the siren went off. The radio squawked, 'Structure fire, county road."

I relayed the info to the Chief. "I better come in and grab a cruiser."

I offered to head up to the fire scene. "They're just about done here," I added.

"No, I'll go up. Your shift is almost over and I'm guessing it was a long day," the Chief said.

I couldn't argue the point. When the Chief gives an out, I take it.

Again, a procession of blue lights, followed by a stream of firetrucks filled the road. More volunteers came this time. A structure fire draws volunteers like a magnet. I'd probably be banned from the local MagicDonut if I asked but I'm betting my friends who volunteer on the big red trucks probably have a cooler with hot dogs and buns behind the seat, just waiting for a working structure fire.

I sat listening to the incident commander organizing the operation over the air. A pumper here, a ladder there and the ambulances staged over here. Fire scenes are like symphonies, everyone has a part and a strong incident commander can paint a mental picture in your head of where everyone should be.

The fire chatter fell as the fire was contained. The Gradall and the dump trucks were headed back to the yard.

I headed back to the station.

This was just another day in the life of a cop. This one was quiet and most importantly, I got to go home to my family, safe and in one piece. That, my friends, is a highly successful day, in my book.

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Margie's busy formatting again! A new short story is nearly ready! -Rog is getting tips from a very unusual confidential informant! Who is it? "Drop a Dime" is due out soon!