Down the Road: The Fall of Austin Read Free Page A

going on, but
smart enough to move back. Most were street smart enough to know
that cops in the apartments meant trouble, and no one wanted to be
accused or questioned for anything. The general philosophy was: the further away from the men in blue, the better .
    Those that stuck around, however, had no
problem being loud and voicing their opinions, though some tried to
share information with the officers in their own informal
manner.
    “Shoot her!”
    “She’s a bitch.”
    “Deb was sick last night, sir.”
    Mike heard the comments, but was
concentrating so much on finding Derek (who he still could not see
through the now dispersing crowd) that the comments were not
entirely discernable. The concentration and uncertainty had given
him tunnel vision, and everything was peripheral to the apartment
and the front door which was now coming into view.
    Much to Mike’s relief, Derek was at the door
and already knocking.
    The screams were most certainly emanating
from right behind the door. Adrenaline coursed even faster through
Mike’s veins, charging him with energy.
    The cry for help was loud and clear.
    “I need you to open the door, ma’am!” Derek
yelled.
    “I can’t,” came the fearful reply. Within, an
obvious struggle could be heard. Things were banging against the
wall. Several bumps and the sound of something crashing to the
floor indicated furniture, perhaps a lamp considering the splashing
sound of breaking ceramics. Yet the hollow thuds sometimes sounded
like bodies knocking against the wall.
    “Let that door have it,” Mike said as both he
and Derek armed themselves with their police issue pistols.
    With a measured and experienced boot to the
door, Derek kicked it open. The door splintered at the lock and the
two entered quickly.
    Neither expected what they saw.
    A young girl, no more than fifteen years old
and no more than a hundred pounds, was holding off a snarling and
bloody young boy. The girl was hysterical, but focused enough on
her survival to hold off the boy with shoves and primitive front
kicks. Her back was against the wall in the far corner of the room.
Whimpering in fear, she continued her defense, but she was
definitely losing steam. The desperation was so intense she seemed
moments from giving up.
    “Help me!” she wailed.
    “Down on the ground, now!” Derek yelled. “Get
on the ground, now!”
    The boy turned around and faced the two
officers, having ignored the door being kicked open. The
policemen’s eyes widened. The boy’s face was sunken. Blood dripped
from his mouth onto his white Kenny Chesney T-shirt.
    “On the ground, now!” Derek and Mike both
yelled, in unison. Though the boy looked crazed and the men were in
physical danger, they were gun shy. It had nothing to do with the
desire to fire. Derek was certainly ready for that. But Austin P.D.
had something of a publicity problem after four shooting deaths at
the hands of A.P.D. officers. Two of the victims were shot in the
back in what was described as a “struggle.” And though all four
officers were acquitted and the deaths were declared justifiable
shootings, it left a black mark on the department that locals would
not allow the cops to live down.
    But Derek had a alternative he was more than
prepared to use as the boy advanced toward them. He holstered his
gun and grabbed the tazer.
    “I need you to stop, now!”
    The boy advanced.
    “Stop, or you will be tazed!” There
was glee in Derek’s voice. Whether the boy backed down or not, he
was going to get zapped.
    As predicted, the boy continued his advance.
Derek did not hesitate to fire the tazer. He twittered with sick
satisfaction, a testosterone-fueled feeling of superiority and
dominance. “I told him to stop, and he didn’t,” he mumbled, almost
as an afterthought. He began to briefly drift, thinking about the
power in his hand. Then he began to debate in his mind whether the
power was in his hand or in his finger. The device was held in his
hand, but the