Badge of Betrayal

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A near tragedy, a wife's betrayal, but the good guy wins!
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"Seventeen-Twenty-Five from dispatch," squawked the radio. Liz Harrison, our lead dispatcher, was working the day shift in the communication center. I always loved it when Liz was working dispatch, instead of stuck in her office supervising. Liz had a silky, smoky voice that would make any 1-900 phone sex girl envious.

I keyed the button on my lapel mike for my portable radio, rather than reaching to grab the hand mike from my cruiser's Motorola console radio.

"Dispatch, Twenty-Five, go," I replied.

"Twenty-Five, be advised that we have a report of a possible kidnapping that occurred at 685 Front Street in Red River Falls. Caller indicates a 7 year old girl was taken from that residence by a non-custodial father and female acquaintance. Caller believes that both subjects may be armed and dangerous. Vehicle is described as a Maroon 1998 Plymouth Voyager; Choctaw County plates Victor, David, Adam, Six, Four, Lincoln. All personnel are urged to use extreme caution when approaching subjects. Make your own case. Mason County clear at fourteen-thirty-seven."

Damn! A kidnapping right here in Mason County! Currently, I was patrolling in the southern part of the county and I needed to know if I had an opportunity to position myself between the suspects and their most likely route of egress from the scene of the abduction.

"Dispatch, Twenty-Five acknowledges. Any intel on what direction they might be headed?" I queried.

"Negative, Twenty-Five. Stand by for additional information. Statewide Amber Alert is now in effect. Subject information is being sent via the 'net at this time."

"Dispatch, Twenty-Five. Good copy," I replied.

My name is Sean Patrick Quinn, Jr. But all of my friends, co-workers and most of my family call me Patrick instead. I never cared for Junior much, mostly because me and my old man never saw eye to eye. I was a Deputy Sheriff for the Mason County Sheriff's Department. I was on a fairly routine patrol that hot, sunny August afternoon when the Amber Alert came in over my radio. My current shift schedule had me working one of the day cars from 0700 to 1530. I worked a fairly regular schedule of six days on and 3 days off. I didn't mind the extra work day, compared to a normal 40-hour week and I definitely enjoyed the benefit of having a three-day weekend at the end of every tour.

I was patrolling along County Road Y-29, which is basically a lonely stretch of black top about 15 miles south of Red River Falls, that branches off US Highway 120 and heads westward towards endless miles of open range dotted with a few farms and hundreds of thousands of acres of sheep and cattle ranches. Mason County is big and sparsely populated, save for the city of Red River Falls, and covers nearly 2,700 square miles of territory.

I pulled my cruiser, a 2012 Ford Crown Victoria Police Interceptor, over to the shoulder of the two-lane blacktop. I glanced at the message that popped up on my Panasonic Quick Book laptop computer that was hard-mounted right above my radio console and the controls for my emergency lights and siren. The laptop definitely made for some cramped quarters, but the information that I could obtain instantly about drivers, licenses, wants and warrants, as well as general criminal background checks provided me with an invaluable tool. I can sacrifice a bit of comfort for essential information.

Sure enough, the Amber Alert message was there, along with some additional information. The message reported the same vehicle, a 1998 Maroon Plymouth Voyager, license plate VDA 64L, registered to one William Raymond Jackson, D.O.B. 6/19/80, Caucasian, age 33, six feet, 2 inches tall, 220 pounds. Hmm. Big bastard! Brown hair, brown eyes, male-pattern baldness with a full beard that was at least as long as his own neck. Everybody loves "Duck Dynasty", right?

I thought, 'Really? William Raymond Jackson? BILLY RAY???'

Jeez! Even the guy's name made him sound like a criminal! Or a country singer, one of the two.

At any rate, the guy had a rap sheet a mile long. Two drunk driving convictions, driving while

barred (no license), simple assault, misdemeanor assault, aggravated assaul, fifth degree theft by

check (Who the hell still writes checks?), 2nd degree theft, (Now that's more like it...), possession of stolen property, 4 counts of possession of a controlled substance, multiple citations for public intoxication, resisting arrest and FINALLY.....one charge of public urination, which occurred within 500 feet of a school or daycare center and resulted in mandatory registration as a sex offender for indecent exposure. Wow! This guy was a definitely one of society's finer sophisticates. No wonder he would never have custody of his child, which the alert said was a 7-year old girl. The subject currently had outstanding warrants issued within the last 72 hours for possession of a controlled substance, intent to deliver and unlawful manufacture of a controlled substance. Meth. Federal charges and no parole if convicted.

Great, I thought, just what I needed to deal with at the end of my shift - a goddamned meth head. The Amber Alert also stated that the subject's last known residence was in Cherokee Flats, the far southeast corner of the state in Choctaw County and a two-hour drive or more at normal highway speed.

The Amber Alert was issued at 1439. My watch currently read 1446.

"Dispatch, Twenty-Five," I radioed.

"Twenty-Five, go for dispatch," came the reply.

"Dispatch, what time was the abduction reported?"

"Twenty-Five, time of call on this was 1432."

Damn! Fourteen minutes ago! Considering the time it would take them to get out of Red River Falls, which was a sizable town of almost 30,000 people, he would quickly be approaching the intersection of Y-29 and US 120, if he were traveling close to the speed limit. If he was really hauling ass, he might even be south of me already.

"Good copy, dispatch."

I punched the accelerator on the big Crown Vic and headed east on Y-29 toward US 120. The big V-8 engine roared to life and the posit traction rear wheels bore down on both gravel and pavement and left a nice pair of black strips on the roadway once both rear wheels finally found asphalt.

I didn't hit my emergency lights or siren just yet. My cruiser is a fully marked car with emergency strobes in my grill, wig-wag headlights and tail lights and a full light bar on the roof. Some officers prefer a semi-marked or unmarked car. I don't. I like people to KNOW that I'm a law enforcement officer when they see me. And I absolutely detest the word cop!

However, I did bring the cruiser up to good speed and I was soon hitting 100 mph. I figured that ought to close the distance fairly quickly between my perfectly honed cruiser and an aging mini-van.

About 3 minutes later, I was near the intersection of Y-29 and US 120. I brought the cruiser to a halt at the intersection and looked both right and left. There was absolutely no traffic coming in either direction. US 120 south from this point was an almost entirely straight stretch of road for five miles before it slightly dog-legged east towards the bluffs along the river.

I decided to turn right and follow 120 south where I looked for a place to stage and where I had good visibility of the highway for at least 2 to 3 miles, both north and south. If the kidnapper was going to take the child back to Cherokee Flats, this is where he would most likely be heading. US 120 is the old highway linking Cherokee Flats and Red River Falls. Interstate 60 is about 5 miles east of here and almost exclusively follows the general contours of the river.

The most likely avenue of approach was going to be Hwy 120. The abductor probably knew that the State Patrol would be crawling all over the interstate. Drivers with their cell phones were almost certainly getting text messages by now sent out through the statewide Amber Alert system.

I pulled in and parked my cruiser next to a long-abandoned gas station and service center on the east side of the road. Just to the south of my position was a car graveyard with several hundred cars rusting away as they baked under the heat of the sun in clear skies on the upper plains. The extra cars would help my cruiser blend in, to a certain degree, and wouldn't give away my position too quickly, even though I was partially hidden by the gas station. All of a sudden I was starting to regret my insistence on being assigned a fully marked cruiser.

I glanced at my watch again. 1451. Nineteen minutes since the kidnapping. If my hunch was correct, they would be by nearly any minute now, provided they hadn't made a jailbreak run and provided they were even headed back to Cherokee Flats in the first place. The Amber Alert carried no information about the female accomplice reported to be accompanying the abductor. That worried me. It wouldn't be until later that I found out why.

I immediately did a quick check of my equipment, concerned that I might be in a real scrape soon. There were six deputies currently on duty in the county at this time, plus six municipal officers currently patrolling in Red River Falls that I could call for backup if I needed. But that backup would definitely take a while to get here. It could easily become "John Wayne time" well before that. And I had absolutely no idea if any State Troopers were in the area or not. My gut told me they were most likely all over on the interstate.

I reached down with my right hand and gently tapped my new sidearm, a shiny nickel-plated Smith and Wesson .40 caliber semi-automatic. I glanced to my right and made sure that my Mossberg 500 Persuader 12-gauge tactical shotgun was secured in its place across the plexi-glass barrier separating the front of the cruiser from the back seat. Secured in the trunk of the big Crown Vic was my Bushmaster .223 caliber AR-15 assault rifle, but the likelihood of that being much use in this situation was slim. That was just in case I found myself in deep shit with multiple armed subjects.

My left hand also subconsciously thumbed at the X26C Taser holstered on the left side of my belt. More than likely, my sidearm would be the first line of defense, as I would have to be able to identify where the little girl was. I quickly checked my belt to make sure all four of my extra magazines were there. With twelve rounds already loaded, that gave me sixty rounds I could put down range fairly quickly.......if I had to. As always, I whispered a silent prayer that it wouldn't come to that.

The corner of my right eye detected movement as I glanced up from the Quick Book. To the north there appeared a vehicle heading towards me. It was still about 2 miles away. I couldn't judge the speed initially, but it didn't appear to be traveling at an overly high rate of speed. US Highway 120 is normally 65 mph anyway. My Decatur Genesis radar gun started tracking them when they were about a mile away and registered only 71 mph. Speeding, yes, but just barely even enough to catch most officers' attention. Most of my colleagues might write a warning for that on a slow day, but won't write a ticket unless they clock you going at least ten miles an hour over the limit.

When the vehicle was about a half mile away, the unmistakable form of an older Chrysler-brand mini-van began to take shape through the heat mirages radiating up from the hot August asphalt. Dark in appearance, the color became evident as it neared the abandoned gas station - maroon. My stomach sank and my heart kicked into high gear. It was show time.

As the mini-van passed, the heavily bearded driver was clutching the steering wheel with both hands and his gaze was focused intently in the direction he was driving. It appeared that my attempts at camouflaging my cruiser in with the background of the salvage yard had worked.

My palms started to sweat as I gripped the steering wheel and my breathing picked up in rate and intensity also. I shifted into gear and pulled out of the gas station and followed the mini-van south onto Hwy 120. I didn't throw on my emergency flashers just yet. I picked up speed to about 80 mph initially to close the distance. I backed off as I got close enough to the van to read the plates -- VDA 64L. Bingo!

The van was in horrible condition. I had noticed that there were no hub caps on the driver's side of the vehicle and the body of the van had considerable rust over both wheel wells. The windshield was noticeably cracked across the entire width. Through the vents of my cruiser's air conditioning, I could smell the choking odor of burning motor oil. I knew that if the mini-van started to flee, it wouldn't be a very long chase before the van suffered catastrophic mechanical failure.

I could see the driver in his door's rear view mirror as he clearly and unmistakably mouthed the words, "Oh, shit!" The sliding door windows and all of the rear windows were darkly tinted and I absolutely could not make out if any, or how many, individuals were in the vehicle with him. Tinted windows might look cool on your car, but they are a nightmare for law enforcement, especially at night.

"Dispatch, Seventeen-Twenty-Five!" I shouted into my lapel mic.

"Twenty-Five, go ahead for dispatch," she replied calmly.

"Dispatch, I have eyes on the suspect's vehicle! Subject is southbound on US 120, just passing mile marker one-zero-five! License plate confirmed Victor, David, Adam, Six, Four Lincoln! Request all units proceed to my location now!" I was getting so excited I was nearly out of breath and I hadn't really done anything yet.

"Good copy, Seventeen-Twenty-Five. Understand you have eyes on the subject. Stand by for further." Now all Liz had to do was call in the cavalry.

"Attention all units and personnel -- be advised Seventeen-Twenty-Five has located the subject and has eyes on at this time. Subject is traveling southbound on Highway 120 and is south of mile marker one-zero-five. Officer in pursuit requests immediate assistance." Even in a crisis, Liz's voice never cracked or changed in tone or pitch at all. She still sounds like a sex kitten, even when I'm amped up and feel like I'm about to shit my pants. I wondered if the Earps felt this way as they took their infamous walk to meet Ike Clanton and Curly Bill Brocius at the O.K. Corral.

"Seventeen-Twenty-Five from Seventeen-Twenty-One!" It was Danny Larson, my friend and fellow Deputy.

"Yeah, go Danny," I radioed back. Personal names are generally prohibited in radio traffic, but I was too excited to care. Apparently, so was Danny.

"Pat, I'm hauling butt as fast as I can, just south of the GM dealership. If you can get 'em stopped soon, I'll be there in about twelve to fourteen minutes!"

Shit! Arenson Chevrolet was a large dealership on the south side of Red River Falls, part of the "Auto Mile" of numerous new and used car dealerships along that stretch. Even at full speed, he was still almost 20 miles away.

"Seventeen-Twenty-Five, this is State Patrol Two-One-Seven. I'm just exiting I-60 at marker seventy-seven."

The mini-van and I were just passing mile marker 100. Danny was still twenty miles away and the Trooper was almost 30 miles away when you included the distance between the interstate and Highway 120. Other deputies and troopers were calling in as well, but none were closer. Red River Falls Police Department was sending three of their officers as well. But no matter how you looked at it, I was gonna be all alone for the next 10 minutes at least.

All I could muster to say was, "Good copy, 17-21 and 2-1-7."

The driver of the mini-van was still looking nervously back and forth into the rear view mirror, keeping an eye on me and the road in front of him. I was still a good thirty feet behind the van. He knew I was there and it was just a matter of time. Somewhere in that van, there was a little seven year old girl who had been taken violently from her mother. But what scared me the most was not knowing who else was in there besides the driver. The van started slowing down, indicating he was possibly going to stop. I had no choice now.

I reached down and clicked the button on the console and turned on my emergency flashers. I also turned the knob control on my Federal siren console and activated a long wail from the siren letting him know that I was on his ass.

The mini-van pulled over to the side of the road but did not pull completely onto the wide shoulder. I was still a good 30 to 35 feet behind when the decrepit mini-van finally ground to a halt. Having half the vehicle on the shoulder and half on the pavement was an indication that he may have intentions to flee once I step out of the vehicle. I wasn't gonna give him the chance.

I grabbed my Motorola radio's handset and keyed the button for my cruiser's public address system.

"Driver! Pull your vehicle completely off the road and onto the gravel shoulder! Pull your vehicle completely off the road now!"

I could see the driver take a deep breath, put the mini-van back in gear and he slowly inched forward and pulled his vehicle off to the shoulder.

"Driver! At this time, shut off the engine of your vehicle! Slowly remove the keys from the ignition and drop the keys out the driver's window and onto the ground!"

I saw the brake lights of the mini-van turn off and the driver dropped a set of keys out of his window and onto the ground. He was still watching me in the rear view mirror, but he was clearly mouthing instructions to someone else in the vehicle.

With the van shut off, I slowly pulled my vehicle forward and slightly angled it, placing the front left wheel onto the pavement. This would allow me to still keep most of my cruiser between me and the mini-van when I exited the vehicle.

I drew my Smith and Wesson and flipped the safety off, making sure that my finger stayed off the trigger to prevent an accidental discharge of the weapon. I slowly but methodically exited the cruiser and immediately drew my weapon down on the vehicle. My heart was pounding and I could hear the steady drum beat of my pulse in both ears. I gripped my sidearm with my right hand and used my left hand to operate the hand mike.

"Driver! At this time, you and all occupants of the vehicle must exit from the driver's side only! I say again, you and all occupants of the vehicle must exit from the driver's side only! As you are exiting, keep all hands where I can plainly see them! Once you have exited the vehicle, stand with your back towards me and with both hands in the air!"

The driver's door slowly opened and the bearded meth head slowly emerged. I could tell he was still talking with someone. Damn those fucking tinted windows! He stood with the door opened and turned to face away from me with both hands in the air. He wore a ragged charcoal wife-beater t-shirt, blue jeans that were so dirty-and grease stained that you would almost never guess their original color and a pair of tennis shoes with holes worn through both toe ends and heels.

"Driver! I say again! You and all occupants must exit from the driver's side......"

I never finished my command as the back window of the mini-van exploded from the shotgun blast. My windshield was immediately peppered with heavy buck shot from the 12-gauge and a significant chunk of my emergency light bar on the roof was blown to pieces, as well. I immediately felt a sharp pain in the side of my hip and a heavy "slap to the right side of my rib cage as that big shotgun released its anger and fury. The air rushed from my lungs as though I had just gotten tackled by an entire NFL defensive line.