"Pussies!"

“Six-Oh-Two. Six-Zero-Two?”

“Six-Oh-Two.”

Dispatcher: “602. Respond to [Address]. Check on the welfare of the occupant. The sister states that he suffers from mental illness, and has stopped taking his medications. He hung up the telephone and refuses to answer. Subject is suicidal and has a history of violence directed towards himself and others. Use caution. Unit to assist 602?”

601: “I’ll start heading over.”

Dispatcher: “10-4 601.”

614 (Female Police Officer): “614, headquarters, I’m going.”

Dispatcher: “10-4.”

608 (Bear): (At this time, I was a relatively new arrival in the precinct, and did not yet have my own steady sector. I was what is known as a ‘relief driver’, which meant that I bounced around to cover vacancies in various sectors. This is the way the precinct has new cops get acquainted with the entire precinct. Over the course of a few years, you will work in every single sector numerous times. By the time you get your own car, you are an old hand and know where everything is, and what’s going on!)

“608, (to) headquarters. I’m heading that way also.”

Dispatcher: “10-4. Advise when ’36.” (10-36 means ‘Arrived at location’ – the dispatcher is requesting that arriving units keep him appraised of the situation).

I began to head in the direction of the call, going through in my head all of the essential points that I would have to keep in mind. For one thing, calls involving EDPs (Emotionally Disturbed Persons) can go from non-threatening to fatal with little or no warning. For another, they are sometimes very difficult to reason with. As a general rule, these calls tend to be taxing and difficult for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the possibility of being called upon to use force against a person who, for all intents and purposes, isn’t quite hooked up right. Any person who doesn’t cringe from this is most likely not quite hooked up right themselves, I would think. Most cops don’t like these calls, and basically view them as a necessary evil, but wish that they didn’t crop up.

As I neared the location, I could hear a few of the other units announcing their arrival to the dispatcher:


602: “602/headquarters, 36. I’ll advise.”

Dispatcher: “10-04 602. Any other unit nearing 36 with 602?”

601: “601/headquarters. I’m a few seconds away.”

Dispatcher: “10-04 601. 602. Six-Zero-Two?”

602: “602.”

Dispatcher: “602, 601 states he is a few seconds out. Stand by for backup. Advise.”

602: “10-04.”

601: “601/headquarters. I’m 36 with 602. We’ll advise.”

Dispatcher: “10-04 Six-Zero-One.”

608 (Bear): “608/Headquarters, I’m also 36. 614 is pulling up also.”

614 (Female Cop): “614, 36.”

Dispatcher: “10-04”

We all headed over to the door of the building. Essentially, the subject resided in an apartment over a retail store on the main street of the village where the call was located. You entered the front door, which, apparently, was kept unlocked, and walked up a flight of stairs which ended sort of at the center point of a short hallway. There were, perhaps, three apartments in the building. We entered the building, turning the volumes down on our radios so that we wouldn’t be heard and identified by the sound. Quietly, we made our way upstairs, and located the door to the apartment that we were looking for. We stood quietly and listened for a few moments, but couldn’t hear anything at all, at first.

602 knocked lightly at the door, and we listened. No answer. We all looked at one another, then back at the door.

602 knocked again, a little louder this time. From inside the apartment, we heard a voice, somewhat distant, but intelligible;

“At the same time came the disciples unto Jesus, saying, Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven? And Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of them, …”

Now we really exchanged some looks… was this simply someone reciting from the bible?? Were we about to burst in on some unsuspecting citizen? Or was this somebody who was unhinged and setting us up to be ambushed, or were we possibly at the wrong location, or what??

602 called through the door, “Hello?! This is the Police, can you come to the door, please??”

Silence. Tick - tick - tick - tick….. then, “And said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven. Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven!”
What. The. Fuck. ?. !. ?.
602 knocked on the door, louder this time, and in his most authoritative voice, called out, “Police! Open the door, please!”
Silence.
602 knocked again. Pounded actually. Nothing.
We moved away from the door and waited while 602 moved to the end of the hallway and contacted the dispatcher over the radio.
602: “602/headquarters. Can you raise a supervisor unit for a quick 33?” (10-33 – ‘car to car communications’ this means direct communications between two cops, or, in other words, a conversation not mediated through the dispatcher. In some cases, the dispatcher serves to control the flow of information and to make all communications less confusing and less time consuming. In some circumstances, it is quicker and easier, and much less confusing to simply communicate directly with another officer, be it another street cop, a supervisor, a detective, crime scene tech, canine cop, helicopter pilot, etc.)

Dispatcher: “Supervisor unit to go direct with 602? 634, Six-Three-Four?”

634 (Sergeant): “634 headquarters, what does he need?”

Dispatcher: “Six-Zero-Two, go direct with Unit 634.”

602: “Boss, we have a ‘check on the welfare’ of an EDP, possibly suicidal, called in by his sister. When we first knocked on the door and announced ourselves, he didn’t respond directly, but began reciting what sound like passages from the bible. When he didn’t answer the door, we knocked again, but have not received any response at all. Request permission to break and enter? The safety of the individual is a concern at this point…”

634 (Sergeant): “Is there a landlord or building owner 36 with a key? Or possibly a superintendent or neighbor? Headquarters, do we have any contact information for owners of the building?”

Dispatcher: “Negative. We have already been trying to contact an owner. The proprietor of the shop downstairs states that the owner is an absentee landlord who is out of state. Unknown whether there are maintenance personnel on-site.”

634 (Sergeant): “Ahhhh…. 10-4. 602? Any neighbors, anyone?”


602: “Not known, Sarge. The safety of the subject is at issue. He’s an EDP, not taking his meds, and possibly suicidal with a history of violence both to himself and to others. We would rather not involve neighbors at this point.”

634 (Sergeant): “Understood. I’ll be three-six in about 20 minutes. Go ahead and break the door. Advise. Headquarters, I’m authorizing 602 and assisting units to break the door. Start rescue heading in that direction, just in case. Notify Emergency Services, see if they have a unit in the vicinity. They may want to start heading over or getting a team together.”

Dispatcher: “10-04 634. Six-Zero-Two and assisting units. Use caution. Do Not endanger the lives of innocent civilians or fellow police officers. Please advise. Clear the air please. No further traffic until 602 notifies that he has a controlled situation. 602, the air is clear, you are a go!”

The radio went dead silent. You could sense the collective consciousness of the entire precinct directed at us as each cop turned his or her attention to the drama that was unfolding at our location. Each and every one of was aware that in the next few seconds, lives could change in very dramatic fashion…. Or be extinguished in a split second.

Silently, 602 looked at me, indicated the door, and gave me the nod. I stood to the side of the door, and the other cops ‘stacked up’ ready to make a dynamic entry into the apartment when I broke the door. I glanced down the line of three cops to my right, along the wall, 602, 614, and 601 taking up the rear. I raised my eyebrows, silently quizzing 602 for the okay to go ahead, (since it is his call, he makes the pertinent decisions… he has the authority, and he carries the responsibility for what goes on… we all do, to a great extent, but the cop who got the call is the first one in line to get squashed if things go badly….) he gave me the ‘go ahead’ and we all drew our weapons. One deep breath, and I took a step to the left, positioned myself in front of the lock, and kicked the door, just alongside the knob and deadbolt. The door held, but the jamb didn’t. With a loud splintering crash, the door burst open and I was already moving.

I moved quickly into the room, and to my right, moving low and moving quickly, so as to avoid silhouetting myself in the doorway. I scan the room, looking for movement, for anything out of place, for anything that presents a threat to me, or to my fellow officers. Behind me, I can feel the others moving into the room, quickly and with a practiced grace and fluidity, fanning out into the room, each covering a different section. In less than a second, we have taken the first room, a living room. To our right is a kitchen, obviously empty. I do a ‘quick-peek’ to make sure nobody is crouched down or hiding in a corner. Satisfied, I indicate to the others that the kitchen is clear. There are three doorways other than the short hallway leading to the kitchen, which open into the living room, which is the central room in the apartment. Two doors are closed, (one behind us, which turns out to be a closet… empty of people), the door to the right is open, and the door to the left is closed. 614 takes up an overwatch position near the closed door, gun drawn and aimed towards the door. The rest of us stack up on the open door and with a silent finger-count of three, we enter the room… it turns out to be a bedroom, with a small closet. Its clear. We return to the living room, and stack up on the closed door after listening quietly for a few seconds. Silence.

I try the door, very slowly, keeping my body well to one side. I am on the right side of the door, the knob side, and everyone else is on the left, the hinge side. I slowly turn the knob, releasing the latch, then let it stand slightly ajar like that for a minute or so, waiting to see if anyone shuts it or moves, or does anything else on the other side. Patience. It’s a waiting game. I am pressured by the fact that this individual may have attempted suicide by some means, and may be in dire need of medical assistance, but I am not prepared to force the situation into a fatal encounter because of undue haste on my part. The reality is that I have no idea what is on the other side of that door, and what I don’t know can most certainly kill me. I take my time. The others leave me to this, I am known for having a cool head and for maintaining a sharp mind under pressure. They trust my judgment, and they follow my lead. I let the seconds tick off. Silence.

I raise my eyebrows to them. “Ready?” I ask silently, with my eyes. “Yes!” Its unanimous. I slowly push the door slightly open, giving them the first ‘slice of the pie’ to check. I can’t see anything, but I watch their faces intently, attempting to read through their expressions what they are seeing in real time. I have worked with these people for a good while. I trust them. I follow their lead. The first ‘slice’ of the room that they can see is clear.

The door is out of my reach now, so the first cop stacked by the hinge side of the door takes over. I move slightly so that I can peer through the opening by the hinges, and satisfy myself that nobody is lurking back there. We eventually open the door all the way. It opens into a short hallway. The hallway ends about twelve feet away from us. The terminus is a door, most likely a linen closet. There is a door to the right and a door to the left. Both doors are open. From the left, a low light is flickering. Although it is daylight out, no sunlight reaches this portion of the apartment, and it’s dark. There are candles burning in the room on the left. Does this mean that our subject is in that room? Or are the candles a diversion to get us to look there first, and thus create enough lag time for someone to burst out of the other room, knife drawn or gun blazing?? 602 gives me the nod, and I start moving down the hallway. I hate this. There is nowhere to go if things go badly. There are three cops behind me, blocking the way, and I’m in a tube. If I’m threatened, I’m moving forward. Quickly, violently, and unstoppably. If this guy bursts into the hallway, I am going to ruin his day before he has a chance to do much of anything. I don’t like feeling mentally boxed in like this, but this is the situation I’m presented with, and I have to deal with it. I move forward.

I get close to the two open doorways. I stand silently and listen. I can hear someone breathing to my left. I hear a small splash of water. It’s a bathroom. Our man is alive, and in or near a tub, sink, toilet, or other water source, apparently. I raise my hand and indicate to the others that the room on the left is occupied, and to wait. I stand silently and listen.

This guy had to have heard his front door get kicked in, yet he hasn’t responded. Something isn’t right. I’m not prepared to step through that doorway without some more information. I don’t want to end up shooting this guy to find out that it could have been avoided with a little forethought. He may not be right in the head, but he is a human being, he is alive, and I don’t want to be the one to change that if I can help it.

“Hey, man… it’s the police. How’re ya doin’??

Silence. The water sounds have stopped. So he heard me, and he is listening. As long as he is still, everyone should be okay… (unless he happens to be aiming a shotgun at the approximate place where I am standing and plans to blow a piece of the wall through my spleen!)

“Your sister called. She is very concerned about you… are you okay?”

Silence.

“Say. Could you answer me so that I know everything’s okay with you?? I want to make sure that everybody goes home safely today, you know??

Nothing.

Fuck.

I’m going to have to go into this room.

I motion for one of the other cops to move forward and cover the doorway. I get down low. Very low. I quick peek into the room, but can’t see clearly because something is blocking my view. I move my head up a little higher, and expecting to have my face splattered all over the wall behind me next to my brains and teeth, I quick peek again.

He is sitting in the bathtub. There are many, many candles set all about the bathroom, all lit. He has a sort of bathtub tray table set across the tub, with a bookstand on it. Presumably, this is the bible. I was able to see both of his hands, they’re empty. I am fairly certain that this guy can’t get out of that tub to reach anything faster than I can put him on his face if I have to.
The radio is still pregnantly, ominously silent. Everyone is wondering what the fuck is going on here. I am starting to feel the time pressure, but resist it just a little while longer.
Why the fuck isn’t 602 doing this part, anyway?? It occurs to me… ach!
“Hey, guy… I’m going to come on in to the bathroom, okay?? I just want to talk to you and make sure you’re okay. Is that alright with you?”
I’m not really asking his permission to come inside. At this point, I own this house until such time as I leave as far as I’m concerned. Not out of arrogance, but out of a desire for my, and everybody else’s, continued safety. I am asking him questions to try to draw him out and to gauge his state of mind, if possible. At this point, every tidbit of information is vitally important, because we don’t yet know what and what not is of any import. We are groping and grasping in the dark.
I hear him inhale. It’s a deep breath. He is about to speak, at last.
“And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me.
But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.”
Ah, fuck. We’re back on this again. I don’t like this. Not because it’s from the bible, but because it is appropo of nothing, and completely out of synch with the situation. The guy is obviously as crazy as a bedbug. We are most likely going to have a problem. This sucks!
He’s warming up to this now, and he continues, voice becoming louder, “Woe unto the world because of offences! for it must needs be that offences come; but woe to that man by whom the offence cometh!”
This doesn’t sound like it’s going anyplace happy… I want to take control of this guy right now, but I am also hesitant to provoke something that could otherwise be avoided….
Our Man: “Wherefore if thy hand or thy foot offend thee, cut them off, and cast them from thee: it is better for thee to enter into life halt or maimed, rather than having two hands or two feet to be cast into everlasting fire.”
Okay, fuck this. I give a final look back at the others to assure myself that they are with me and paying attention, and, holstering my weapon, I move into the room. I look down at our subject, and he is sitting in a bathtub filled with blood! His head is back, and his eyes are closed, he is smiling the ecstatic smile of the lunatic. He raises his arms in exaltation, bloody water running off of them in red rivulets, and splashing onto the white tiles near my feet. Wherever he is, it isn’t here with us, but I try anyway.
“Come on out of the tub, guy. Let’s go!”
No response.
I grab a wrist and hall him to his feet. Blood is gushing from his groin and splashing into the tub! This guy is going to bleed to death. I snap a handcuff onto his left wrist, and he begins to struggle. I crank the wrist, turn him away from my and stiff arm him against the wall. He’s slippery, and I DO NOT want to end up falling into that friggin’ tub! One of the other cops catches hold of his right wrist, quickly forces his hand behind his back, and close the handcuff on his right wrist. We rip him out of the tub, drag him into the hallway, where someone has mercifully turned a light on, and wad up a towel from the linen closet to hold over his crotch to try to stop the bleeding. As I check the site of the injury I am horrified to see that the man has no penis! He has apparently amputated his own willy! Trying to keep the upset from my voice, I ask him (I have no idea why…), “What the fuck did you do to yourself?!?!” (I am shocked to the core.. I wasn’t expecting this…. At all!!).
He is smiling hugely. He looks like he just found out that he is the sole winner of the lottery.
His reply, “And if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: it is better for thee to enter into life with one eye, rather than having two eyes to be cast into hell fire.
Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones; for I say unto you, That in heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven.
For the Son of man is come to save that which was lost!”
‘Holy fucking shit. What the hell kind of job is this?’, I’m thinking, as I put pressure on the injury to try to control the bleeding. I don’t want this guy to die. (Would I want to live if my penis was amputated?, I ask myself…) (I quickly banish the questions and the emotions… there’s a job at hand, and I need to have a clear head. Some very important decisions were going to have to be made, very quickly, and I couldn’t afford the distractions of my own thoughts…
602: “602 to headquarters. Controlled situation. We have the subject in custody. Subject is injured. Self-Inflicted. We need rescue forthwith!”

Dispatcher: “602, rescue is 36, waiting for your go-ahead. Stand-by.”

A few seconds tick off. The pain is starting to hit our man, as is the loss of blood. I wish it were a military situation, so that I could start an IV on this guy and increase his blood volume. In this state, however, EMT-D’s are not allowed to start IVs. We have to get this guy to a hospital, because he is already in compensated shock, and I can tell from his blood pressure, pulse, breathing, and color that he is minutes or seconds away from decompensating, and when that happens he is going to go south on us, and quickly.

Dispatcher: “602, rescue is advised, they are coming in the front door now.”

602: “10-04.”
The Rescue squad arrives, and I quickly appraise them of what observations I have made. We can’t ascertain with any certainty how much blood has been lost, but we know it is a lot. 602 requests a helicopter, but the closest safe landing spot is almost as far away as the nearest hospital, so rescue decides to transport him. They put him on a gurney, continue to try to control the bleeding, start oxygen therapy on the guy, and out they go.

We can hear units coordinating with one another as they move to shut down the intersections between our location and the hospital.

We hear somebody clumping up the stairs. We can hear the squelch of a police radio, so we know it’s a cop.

We are still in the apartment. I am waiting to wash my hands in the bathroom sink if 601 will ever finish washing his.. (he was apparently the cop that helped me to cuff our subject). We are both covered in this guy’s blood, and we don’t know whether he has any blood-born pathogens. We don’t particularly want to catch any, since they all basically suck ass, so we are scrubbing ourselves raw, with soap. 614 and I are blowing out all of the candles. We have turned the light on, instead.

The new arrival turns out to be the Zone Supervisor: 634. A Sergeant. He is talking on a cell phone, which he has in one hand, and the police radio, which is in the other. He doesn’t acknowledge us at all, being involved in his conversation. Finally, he hangs up the phone, holsters the radio and walks into the kitchen.

We exchange puzzled glances, but wait to see where this is going.

We hear the refrigerator door open and close, and the sound of Ice cube trays being cracked. Ice being dumped into something metallic.

He comes back carrying a large spaghetti pot full of ice. On top of the ice is a dish towel. On the dish towel is a zip-lock bag.

We all raise our eyebrows at him.

He slaps the toilet lid down with a bang, plops the spaghetti pot onto it, and announces, “The surgeons need the amputated body part transported to the hospital immediately. Don’t let it come into direct contact with the ice. I will stand by until we can get somebody down here to take control over the apartment. Let’s go! Get a move on! Time is critical!” With that, he turns on his heel and heads back towards the kitchen, presumably in search of a land-line (telephone).

602, 601 and myself stand there, staring bleakly into the bloody water. Now that the water had been still for awhile, it has cleared somewhat, and sure enough, laying there at the bottom of the tub, looking small, and shriveled, and very, very white… is a penis.

It looks to be from between four to six inches in length, judging its size from the utility knife that is lying not all that far from it. It isn’t moving, has no teeth or claws, no thorns, and no venom that any of us can ascertain. It appears completely docile and harmless. But not one of us moves to pick it up. Somebody clears there throat, and somebody else coughs. Finally, 614, the female cop. The smallest, presumably weakest member of our group, makes an exasperated sound, steps forward, roughly shouldering us aside, and reaches into the water, and picks up the penis with one accurate swoop. She pops it neatly into the zip-lock bag, zips the bag closed, quickly and efficiently wraps the package in the dishtowel and replaces the pot cover with a muffled clang. She quickly gives her hands a rinse with a little soap and water from the bathroom sink, dries them off, picks up the pot, and gives us all a disdainful glare.

“Pussies!” she snaps at us, accusingly, before she heads down the hall and out onto the street.

We stand there for a few seconds, mulling that over. Finally, 601 heads for the door, mumbling, “I like pussies better, anyway….”

We all head out to our vehicles.

Once back in the police car, I advise the dispatcher that I’m back in service. Unable to resist, I reach down to assure myself that everything is copasetic ‘down there’. Satisfied that everything is okay, I put the car in gear and drive off into the night.

Author's note: This story is true. Obviously, names and exact location have been ommitted for obvious reasons. This incident took place some time around 1991 or '92. I understand that the subject of the call had his lost sticky-out bit reattached, and went back on his medications. I remain traumatized. Yikes!