My time with Officer Janeane

At this point in my career, very early on Thursday morning, the Police Force began to become militarized. Instead of the stylish black-and-white Ford Crown Victoria, my fellow cops began to drive armored tank-like vehicles; and, instead of our common blue uniform and familiar peaked cap, they started wearing full riot gear, all black, with a helmet whose opaque face-shield hid one’s entire visage. I found this all too impersonal and rather frightening, so I requested that I be allowed to keep my old-fashioned police cruiser and wear a traditional uniform. Thankfully, the commissioner at our Eagan Police Precinct was lenient enough to grant my request.

And there was just one other cop in the state who preferred the old style of vehicle and garb, so the department transferred her to my division; that’s how I became partners with Officer Janeane.

“Good morning,” I said, when I first set eyes upon my new partner, Officer Janeane. “Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

“I’m pleased to finally meet you, Officer Bryan Ray — I’ve heard a lot about you. Yes, I’ve had breakfast already, but I could go for another,” Officer Janeane said, checking her wristwatch; “it’s maybe closer to brunch now — shall we go & get brunch?”

“Yes, let’s!” I said. 

So, before we took any of our daily distress calls, Officer Janeane and I went to a warm, cozy restaurant and ordered a brussel sprout & goat cheese omelet with roasted red pepper for her, and, for me, a ham & gruyere omelet. Then we split an order of bread and jam; and we had pastries, eggs, cheese, and various types of meat. We ordered a whole leg of lamb, and she had a bite or two but I finished it. Then we had tea with a baguette sliced horizontally and slathered with butter. Also we ordered a croque madame and split it; then we ate French breakfast puffs, and French radishes with butter and salt on toast. Then we ordered the classic French crepes; the basic brioche; and some croissants. After that, we both tried the French onion soup, and it was wonderful. Then we had the steamed mussels. Then I ordered two grilled cheese sandwiches, and she ate one while I ate the other. Meanwhile we discussed our techniques of policing, and she learned a lot from me, while I learned even more from her. Then we ordered the roasted Ferndale turkey, and we shared that; also we ordered two miso-squash wild rice bowls with lentils, rutabaga, mustard greens, cranberry, apricot, raisin, and maple vinaigrette. These two dishes alone cost fourteen dollars apiece, yet they were worth every penny. Then we ate two soft boiled eggs, plus an order of seared salmon. Also we tried the smoked salmon; after which we split an order of grilled chicken. Then we ate shrimp. Then the waiter came and set two plates before us on our table, and each contained two eggs, toast, and hash browns. Lastly we ordered a side of bacon, and a side of veggie sausage. Additionally we ordered the genuine sausage, just to compare; and our verdict was that we loved all this cuisine equally — it was a fantastic feast.

“Well, I’m stuffed,” I had to admit. “Shall we take our first distress call?”

“Sure, sounds great,” said my new partner, Officer Janeane.

“Have you been getting 9-1-1 emergency pages on your beeper, all throughout our meal, as I have?” I asked.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, my pager has been acting up nonstop,” said Officer Janeane, unclipping her device from her thick police belt; “but I didn’t want to interrupt the good time that we were having, so I muffled the speaker and just let it vibrate and ignored it. Do you think that I made the wrong decision?”

“No,” I said. “No, not at all. I did the same thing.”

Then, after comparing the number of alert messages that each of us had received during our brunch, we shuffled over to the pay phone and called back all the numbers and jotted down the pertinent information about their dilemmas in our pocket-notebooks. Then we combined all our distress calls into one Master List, on a full-sized notepad; and we stopped by the local Office Services Store and had our paper laminated, so that it resembled a menu. Then we got back into our cop car.

“I’ll drive,” said Officer Janeane. “You read off the first item on our agenda.”

“OK,” I said, holding our list and running my finger over its contents. “I’m not sure we’ll be able to solve all these dilemmas in one day, but we certainly can try.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Officer Janeane.

“Alright, the first call was from a person named Scott. He is being held at gunpoint by a criminal who is demanding that he (Scott, the victim) hand over all the money in his billfold.”

“I’ll drive as fast as I can to the crime site,” replied Officer Janeane. 

So while my partner Janeane maneuvered expertly through the heavy traffic of Eagan, I flipped the switches that caused our dome lights to flash and our siren to blare aloud. Then we arrived at the location of the altercation.

Officer Janeane and I climbed out of our cop car’s windows and aimed our guns at the criminal, as I shouted:

“Thief, stop! Leave off abusing Scott. I command you to put the money that you’ve stolen from him back into his wallet, and place his wallet back into the pocket of his greatcoat.”

So the culprit had no choice but to comply, because our firearms were bigger than his. He put his hands up and dropped his pistol on the ground; and I kicked it over to Scott, and Scott picked it up and retrieved his cash. Then we brought the robber to jail.

“You’ll have a fair trial, don’t worry,” said Officer Janeane while she slammed the metal-barred prison-door. “It will just take a few weeks to begin; and, in the meantime, you can sing sad songs here at the station. The wheels of justice turn very, very slowly. I have arranged for an acoustic guitar to be placed in the corner of your cell. Simply page me or Bryan if you need any food; we’ll be happy to pick you up whatever you want — there are a lot of good restaurants in this area.”

Now climbing back into our cop car, I remarked to Officer Janeane, “You’re a natural at this job. I think you might be my best partner yet. What I’m trying to say is that we make a compatible pair.”

“I agree,” said Officer Janeane with a smile. “Now, what’s next on our list of distress calls?”

I looked at the menu and found the line labeled “Dilemma Number Two”. Then I read aloud: “Mike complains that his sister is being harassed by gangsters near a playground in Fridley.”

“I’ll put the pedal to the metal,” said Officer Janeane.

So we weaved thru the traffic of Eagan until we arrived in Fridley and found Mike’s sister near the southern border of the playground. Sure enough, she was being surrounded by gang members, who were asking her questions in a harsh tone of voice while brandishing switchblades.

I climbed out of my passenger-side window and aimed my gun at the gang, while Officer Janeane climbed out her driver-side window and did likewise.

Long story short, we took these gangsters down to the Police Station and booked them. Mike’s sister was saved, and she ended up becoming a successful attorney. 

“Next distress call,” said Officer Janeane, as we got back into our vehicle.

“Oh, darn,” I said, looking at the third item on our list and reacting to its contents. “I hate domestic disputes. They’re so depressing.”

“Just read off the info and let’s de-escalate the situation,” said Officer Janeane. “The sooner we begin, the sooner we’ll be able to go home and eat dinner.”

So I passed on all the crucial details of this next case. The complaint was as follows: There was a married couple living in an apartment, and the husband was wearing a sleeveless white undershirt, while the wife was wearing a camisole. Apparently the two were having a vocal disagreement. 

“I know the spot,” said Officer Janeane before I even had a chance to relay the couple’s address.

We arrived outside the apartment complex and climbed out of our police cruiser’s windows and took the elevator to floor such-and-such: it was the same room number where all the bad stuff happens in Stanley Kubrick’s movie THE SHINING (1980). I used my police boot to kick in the door; then Officer Janeane and I entered with our guns aimed straight forward at the arguers.

“What seems to be the problem?” I asked the married couple. “Your neighbors have paged our beepers and registered a complaint about a lot of angry shouting, which they claim that they can hear thru the paper-thin walls of this building.”

“I’m sorry,” said the husband, lifting his arms up as if he were surrendering to a foreign army; “I am currently annoyed because our country’s economic system is so cruel; therefore, I began yelling at my beloved wife, as if she herself were the cause of this trouble — however, now that you have interrupted us, I realize that she is rather a source of good than of evil. I was all mixed up. Forgive me.”

Officer Janeane and I then shifted our attention to the wife, who was standing there in her camisole — we asked: “What say you, Claire?”

The woman declined to press charges, and the couple promised that if they ever bickered again in the future, they would opt to whisper in a raspy fashion instead of shouting.

“That’s the ticket,” said Officer Janeane. “That’s how British royalty does it.”

So we didn’t need to bring anyone to jail, on this occasion. We just holstered our firearms and walked straight out of the apartment without firing a single bullet.

“The next distress call,” I said, as we climbed back into our patrol cruiser, “is from a guy named Hal. He fears that his friend Dave might be trying to infringe upon one of his patents.”

So we solved that problem, and we kept returning to our list and reading off the next item until we solved all the rest of the day’s dilemmas. 

Then Officer Janeane and I drove back to the Police Station and handed in our time-sheets. The police commissioner looked them over carefully and said: 

“Wow! Excellent job! You two answered an above-average number of distress calls during your shift. Now, go get your time-cards and punch them at the time-clock, so that we can maintain an accurate record of your arrival and departure at the precinct today.” 

We did as he commanded, and then we enjoyed a celebratory dinner together. Each of us brought our families along — Officer Janeane went home and fetched her husband and children, while I went home and fetched my own wife and kids, and we all met at an upscale diner and ordered our favorite dishes. My partner Janeane and I both got tipsy because we drank a little too much vodka, but we felt that we deserved to commemorate a productive day on the Force. Our families were understanding about this and forgave us for acting silly. We all remained good friends, for life.