California Blue by FutureCanadaCop - Chapter 1

[FutureCanadaCop]

In my spare time, I write fiction stories. Most of them are pretty bad, but this is my first serious long-term effort and I thought I'd post it here since it has to do with policing. I hoped I could get some feedback and advice how to improve it.

It's set in a dusty California county and revolves around the members of the local sheriff's department and members from several local small town PD's within said county.

Hope you like it!

Oh, one last thing; please be gentle with criticism! :D

+++++++++

California Blue
Chapter 1

San Carlos County, California was a desert area, with considerable patches of green growth fed by the Sierra River as it wound its way lazily through the area. A dozen towns ranging in population from six hundred to thirteen thousand were scattered throughout the six thousand square miles of area, along with a considerable number of farms and ranches hewn out of the arid area by generations of determined families.

The county bordered with San Bernardino County to the north, with Riverside County to the west and with Imperial County to the south, along with smaller Joshua Tree County to the southeast. To the east lay the desert expanses of southern Nevada and northwestern Arizona.

My name’s Scott Larsen; I’m a First Sergeant and the ‘B’ or Baker shift (0800 to 1600 hours; that’s eight in the morning to four in the afternoon for you civilians) patrol supervisor with the San Carlos County Sheriff’s Office. I’m 35 and I’ve been doing this job for about a dozen years now. I work for a great department, with great people in a great area.

It was a little after 1300, or one o’clock in the afternoon, on a muggy July day and I was just leaving the town of Lake Crystal after assisting one of the duty police officers from Lake Crystal PD in breaking up a domestic dispute. A husband and wife had been fighting, the wife on the losing end until she’d gone at her hubby with a frying pan. He was the one that had called the police. That mess had taken about an hour and a half and two cups of strong coffee to sort out.

The husband was sent on his way to the sheriff’s office jail section under the escort of the Lake Crystal officer on charges of domestic violence and assault. I was back on the road in my white bodied, green-striped and gold-lettered Chevrolet Tahoe patrol vehicle. That kind of vehicle was perfect for someone of my six foot four inch height, with no cage for transporting prisoners and ample legroom, downright luxurious really. I was a tight fit in any of the other departmental Ford Crown Victoria or Chevrolet Caprice patrol vehicles if I had to drive, and cramming me into one of the new Chevrolet Impala patrol cars after the cage had been fitted was a near-impossibility, behind the wheel or not.

I picked up my radio mike and called into the dispatch center back at the office. “Comm, Baker-303 is 10-24 at that 10-16 call, I’m 11-98; Lake Crystal Four is 10-76 to the jail with one 10-95.”

In non-cop language, I was telling them I had completed the assignment at that domestic disturbance call, and was now back on patrol. Additionally, I was telling them that the Lake Crystal officer was en route to the jail with one suspect in custody.

“10-4, Baker-303.” The voice of one of the duty dispatchers called back. “We’ll 10-82 for him.” I smiled at that. She was telling me they’d reserve lodging for our wife beater at the lockup.

“10-4. Baker-303 clear.”

The radio was fairly quiet for a while, only emitting a couple of calls for the town police departments. Our office handled dispatching for the sheriff’s office, the twelve city departments, and the tribal police department on the county’s Navajo Indian reservations, as well as the Sierra Canyon patrol post of the California Highway Patrol. The calls both seemed to be for 10-10’s, or fights. The weather had been pretty much the same for the last couple of weeks; humid, muggy days and cool, but dry nights. The hot days had made some of the county’s citizens a little more edgy and a little quicker to use their fists. Some days we would get rain from a thunderstorm, but it would never last all that long.

One of the fight calls was from the Highway Roadhouse, a notorious brawl spot located just inside the town limits of the town of Willow Valley. We never went more than two weeks at a stretch without a call of some kind from that bar. Fights at the Roadhouse were usually no more than two drunken farmhands getting into it for a reason that seemed fairly ridiculous when someone was sober, but that made perfect sense after half a dozen or so beers.

“Comm to all units, we have a 911 call of a 10-10 in progress at the Highway Roadhouse. Complainant is the bartender, claims a male white about 35, six feet tall, brown hair, started a fight with a couple of ranch hands, he was pretty emphatic about the ‘started’ part. From what I heard on the line, it sounds pretty violent this time, y’all.”

To have a call from the tavern being described as violent right from the first dispatch was not a good sign. Immediately, units began calling in.

“Willow Valley Eight, Comm; I’ll take that fight at the Roadhouse. ETA sixty seconds.”

“10-4, Willow Valley Eight.”

Willow Valley Eight was the radio identifier for Patrol Officer Christy Roberts, a relatively new member of the Willow Valley PD. She was young and fairly small, but a quick learner and a good cop. At her first call to the roadhouse, the biggest drunk in the place had challenged her and threatened to turn her into a stain on the floorboards. She tried to take him down physically, and had gotten banged up pretty bad. It had taken me and three other deputies to get him arrested and into a car.

Ten days afterwards, there was another call to the roadhouse. Christy, on her first day back to work after the last incident, responded. The same drunk challenged her again. Her response this time was to grab the waistband of the guy’s jeans and stick the barrel of her .40 caliber Smith and Wesson sidearm down the front of his pants, while asking in a sweet voice if he’d like to come with her quietly. He did so, and was now doing twelve years in prison for the beating he’d inflicted on Christy at their first meeting. She had proven herself at that moment, but ever since then, the guy’s friends had been trying to get her alone to exact their revenge. We never gave them the opportunity by always sending at least one of our people to back up the local cops at the roadhouse.

“Willow Valley Five, Comm, I’m about…uh, ninety seconds behind Eight. I’ll back her up.”

“Baker-304, Comm; I’ll back Willow Valleys Five and Eight on that 10-10 at the Highway Roadhouse. ETA three minutes.”

Willow Valley Five was Corporal Bobbie Cruz, who had been the first female patrol officer accepted into the ranks of the WVPD. On the force for nine years, she was tough, reliable and had a stubborn streak the size of the State of California. In short, she was one cop that nobody wanted to piss off.

Baker-304 was the call sign of Master Sergeant Brad Coleman. He was around my age, but had been doing this job for about three years longer than I had. Intelligent, hard working, and dependable, he and I had both been offered the First Sergeant’s post when our boss, San Carlos County Sheriff Ramon Prieto, had advertised the spot, but he had turned it down.

“10-4, Baker-304. Unit available to back up Baker-304 and Willow Valleys Five and Eight on the 10-10?”

“Baker-302, Comm, 10-4. I’m about six minutes out, I’ll meet 304 and the Willow Valley cars outside the roadhouse.”

“10-4, Baker-302.”

Baker-302 was the call sign of Lieutenant Bryan O’Neill, the assistant patrol commander on this shift. He was a good enough cop, but was a relative newcomer to the area and was still sort of feeling his way around. He had lateral transferred into the sheriff’s office from a major department on the coast about nine months ago, either Los Angeles or San Francisco now that I think about it. Looking for a change of pace, apparently.

I stared out the windshield as I continued down State Route 433, headed eastbound towards Arizona. Black clouds were slowly making their way towards me, bringing with them the promise of another thunderstorm before the day was over.

+++++++++

Brad Coleman pulled his Ford Bronco patrol truck into the dusty, rough and broken rectangle of pavement that was the parking lot of the Highway Roadhouse. Corporal Cruz and Officer Roberts were already there, leaning against Roberts’ Crown Victoria squad car, waiting for their backup to arrive.

“Baker-304 is 10-23 and out of the car at the Highway Roadhouse,” the master sergeant called into the Motorola radio mike clipped to the shoulder of his uniform shirt as he climbed out of the truck.

“10-4, Baker-304.”

Coleman took a few extra seconds to lock up his truck; there had been an incident at this bar a number of years back where a deputy had had his unlocked patrol car taken by a fleeing drunk, who subsequently totaled that car and damaged several others. The two black and white cage-equipped Willow Valley patrol cars would be used for transporting any arrests; the two-door Bronco was simply not designed for this purpose.

“Hey, Bobbie, Christy,” Brad greeted as he approached the two female officers.

“Hey ya, Sarge,” was the reply.

“What do you think we got in there?”

“Probably a few drunken ranch hands arguing over cattle brands or some other stupid ****,” Roberts sighed.

“You’re too young to be so cynical, Christy,” Cruz remarked, staring out from behind a designer pair of sunglasses.

“It’s just that every time we come here, it’s the same stuff, over and over again. Why don’t they close this dump down?”

“The only way that’ll happen is if someone gets themselves killed in there. Until then, we’re obligated to keep the peace and maintain law and order in that rat hole,” Coleman responded.

A Sheriff’s Office Ford Expedition patrol truck turned into the parking lot and pulled in next to Coleman’s Bronco. Lieutenant O’Neill climbed out his vehicle and joined the other three officers.

“Anything happen?” was the lieutenant’s first question.

“Not out here, I don’t know about inside.” Christy commented. Unofficial policy when dealing with incidents here was to hold off going in until every officer who had been assigned to or taken the call had arrived.

It was rare that the officers needed to use their firearms to break up an incident at the roadhouse. Usually their batons; the newer model extendable anodized metal ASP models for the sheriff’s deputies and the older solid wooden nightsticks used by the town police officers; or the solid steel Mag-Lite flashlights that were unilaterally issued would be all that was needed to regain control.

The flashlight was Coleman and Cruz’s tool of choice, while O’Neill and Roberts broke out their batons. Thus armed, the group prepared to dive into hell.

“Who’s going in first?” Cruz queried.

“I went in first the last time,” O’Neill replied, “I guess that makes it your turn, sergeant.”

“Great.” Coleman rolled his eyes and led the approach to the door. As he opened the door, he paused and hollered, “Get down!” As they did, a beer bottle and what appeared to be a piece of a chair leg sailed over their heads. The flask of Budweiser disintegrated against the front of the lieutenant’s truck, while the chair leg bounced and skittered harmlessly across the parking lot. Thus welcomed, the four officers headed inside.

+++++++++

Meanwhile, I was busy performing one of the most routine, yet also most dangerous, parts of this line of work. The common traffic stop, for speeding in this case. Many cops had been killed or wounded when they had pulled over wanted persons or punks who didn’t want a ticket. This time, however, all I had was a nice couple and their two children. They were taking the more scenic route home to Phoenix, Arizona after a family trip to Disneyland. A little behind schedule, the father had decided to speed a little on the wide-open freeway. They were terribly apologetic and polite and when nothing came up when I ran their information on the computer, I began to waver from writing them a ticket.

“Okay, sir, I’ll tell you what; I’ll give you a warning if you promise me you’ll keep your speed under the limit all the way home, all right? I don’t wanna have to call my friends in Arizona up ahead and tell them to watch out for you, okay?”

“Yes, sir, you have my word.”

All the time I had been standing by the driver’s window, their young son; ten at the most, I guessed; had been staring with wide-eyed fascination at my uniform and the mass of equipment arrayed on my belt.

“Officer, can I see your badge?” The small voice asked from the back seat.

“Tommy, don’t be rude!” the mother admonished, “The deputy is very busy!”

“No, ma’am, it’s no problem.” I retrieved my wallet from my back pocket, which contained a duplicate of the seven-point star badge I wore on my chest. “You wanna be a policeman when you grow up, buddy?”

“Yeah!” His eyes widened further when he caught sight of the star. It had ornate scrollwork on every point, along with the California State seal surrounded by the words FIRST SERGEANT SAN CARLOS COUNTY SHERIFF CA, along with a banner engraved with the name of the current sheriff, in this case RAMON PRIETO. He reached out to touch it and I pulled it back. “Sorry, bud, you gotta wait till you grow up to get one.”

“Oh, okay.” The boy seemed disappointed. I replaced my wallet and opened my shirt pocket. “But I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you one of these. It’ll hold ya until you get the real thing.” I produced a miniature badge pin contained in a little baggie from the pocket and handed it to the boy. It was a pint-sized reproduction of our deputies’ badges.

“Wow, thanks!”

“No problem. Does your sister want to be a police officer too?” The girl, who was around the same age as the boy was seated opposite her brother.

“Nah, she wants to be a fireman. I think that’s silly, girls can’t be firemen.”

“Yes, they can, you dork!” She reached over and tried to cuff her brother one, but the seat belt held her back.

“You know, she’s right. I work with girl firefighters a lot, I know one who’s actually a chief.” This was a fact, to be sure.

The San Carlos County Fire/Rescue Department, nearly 200 members strong, was slightly over one-fifth female and included a battalion chief and a number of captains and lieutenants. There were another 30 or so women scattered throughout the municipal and volunteer municipal fire departments. The ratio was similar for the San Carlos County Emergency Medical Services. Compared with other rural police, fire and ambulance departments, San Carlos County was a model of progression and opportunity for women.

“You see, dork?”

“Whatever.”

Smiling, I turned back to the father. “All right, you have a good day now, sir, and keep the speed down.”

“I will, officer, and take care.”

“You too, sir.”

The sedan pulled out of the wide shoulder and continued on its way down the freeway. Getting back into my truck, I picked up my radio mike and called in.

“Baker-303, Comm, I’m 10-24 on that 11-95, 10-74 11-40, issued verbal 11-39.” I was telling dispatch my assignment was completed on that traffic stop and that I had not issued a ticket and had given a verbal warning instead.

“10-4, Baker-303.”

There was a pause, then a tone that lasted about three seconds. It was an alert tone used to tell us that there was a critical transmission coming through. That was always followed by a transmission from dispatch, telling us that in essence we should all shut up and stand by. “All units on all frequencies, 10-3 and 10-12, Baker-304 has 10-33 traffic. Go ahead with your traffic, 304.”

“Baker-304, Comm; 10-33! The instigator of our little slugfest is running out the of the roadhouse, headed for his vehicle!”

“10-4, Baker-304.”

“Baker-302, he’s in his vehicle, headed eastbound on 433! We’re 10-80! Vehicle is an older model blue Chevy pickup truck, license plate is Three-Union-Queen-Baker-Seven-Eight-Nine!”

[yahcanmicrowave]

San Carlos County?

:cool:

[FutureCanadaCop]

Creating my own county allowed me to be as creative as I liked when designing the sheriff/police departments, and not have to contact an existing agency and ask for information that might be considered inappropriate for public release, like rank structure or station manpower.

[hwpd]

Very good... It probably took you a long time to write it...
Let me tell you of what you just said in my town...

Comm, Baker-303 is 10-24 at that 10-16 call, I’m 11-98; Lake Crystal Four is 10-76 to the jail with one 10-95.”

In my town - who? who? is NEEDS BACKUP(URGENT) at that PICK UP PRISONER call, I'm ???, Lake Crystal Four is ??? to the jail with one ???

The calls both seemed to be for 10-10’s,

- The calls both seemed to be for LUNCH...

Comm to all units, we have a 911 call of a 10-10 in progress at the Highway Roadhouse.

- Comm to all units, we have a 911 call of a LUNCH in progress at the Highway Roadhouse(another name for Dunkin Donuts, I guess):D

Baker-304, Comm; I’ll back Willow Valleys Five and Eight on that 10-10 at the Highway Roadhouse

- Baker-304, Comm; I’ll back Willow Valleys Five and Eight on that LUNCH at the Highway Roadhouse(Dunkin Donuts)(in case they gonna have some donuts left)

Baker-304 is 10-23 and out of the car at the Highway Roadhouse,”

- Baker-304 is STAND-BY and out of the car at the Highway Roadhouse(arrived to Dunkin Donuts)

Baker-303, Comm, I’m 10-24 on that 11-95, 10-74 11-40, issued verbal 11-39.

“Baker-303, Comm, I NEED BACK UP (URGENT) on that ???, Everything is OK ???, issued verbal ???.”

All units on all frequencies, 10-3 and 10-12, Baker-304 has 10-33 traffic. Go ahead with your traffic, 304.”

- All units on all frequencies, STOP TRANSMITTING and SUBJECT PRESENT, Baker-304 has EMERGENCY ROOM traffic. Go ahead with your traffic, 304. (That makes sense, somewhat)...

Baker-304, Comm; 10-33! The instigator of our little slugfest is running out the of the roadhouse, headed for his vehicle!

- Baker-304, Comm; EMERGENCY ROOM! The instigator of our little slugfest is running out the of the roadhouse, headed for his vehicle! means Someone robbed our Dunkin Donuts.

Baker-302, he’s in his vehicle, headed eastbound on 433! We’re 10-80!

- Baker-302, he’s in his vehicle, headed eastbound on 433! We’re ???! ( I guess IN PURSUIT? What are you gonna watch him driving away with the car full of your donuts?)
------------------------------------------------------------------
At the end... Good work:beer:... Keep it up... Under no circumstances, everything that I wrote above is to put you or your piece of work down... Like I said you did a good job...
The moral(sp) of my reply is: the next time you use codes, or other vocabulary words, put a remark(*) before or after the story to elaborate what's up or what it means.

[hwpd]

in Ch 2... Are they gonna catch the robber?

[FutureCanadaCop]

Here are the official radio codes of the San Carlos County Sheriff’s Office:

10-0 Use Caution
10-1 Unable to Copy - Change Location
10-2 Signal Good
10-3 Stop Transmitting
10-4 Acknowledgment (OK)
10-5 Relay
10-6 Busy - Standby Unless Urgent
10-7 Out of Service
10-8 In Service
10-9 Repeat
10-10 Fight in Progress
10-11 Dog Case
10-12 Standby
10-13 Weather Information - Road Report
10-14 Prowler Report
10-15 Civil Disturbance
10-16 Domestic Disturbance
10-17 Meet Complainant
10-18 Quickly
10-19 Return To…
10-20 Location
10-21 Telephone
10-22 Disregard
10-23 Arrived at Scene
10-24 Assignment Completed
10-25 Meet In Person With...
10-26 Detaining Suspect, Expedite
10-27 Drivers License Information
10-28 Vehicle Registration Information
10-29 Check for Wanted
10-30 Unnecessary Use of Force
10-31 Crime in Progress
10-32 Man with Gun
10-33 Emergency
10-34 Riot
10-35 Major Crime Alert
10-36 Correct Time
10-37 (Investigate) Suspicious Vehicle
10-38 Stopping Suspicious Vehicle
10-39 Urgent - Use Light, Siren
10-40 Silent Run - No Light, Siren
10-40A Lighted Run – Use Lights, No Siren
10-41 Beginning Tour of Duty
10-42 Ending Tour of Duty
10-43 Information
10-44 Permission to leave…For…
10-45 Animal Carcass At…
10-46 Assist Motorist
10-47 Emergency Road Repair At…
10-48 Traffic Standard Repair At…
10-49 Traffic Light Out At...
10-50 Accident (Fatal, Personal Injury, Property Damage)
10-51 Wrecker Needed
10-52 Ambulance Needed
10-53 Road Blocked At...
10-54 Livestock on Highway
10-55 Suspected DUI
10-56 Intoxicated Pedestrian
10-57 Hit and Run (Fatal, Personal Injury, Property Damage)
10-58 Direct Traffic
10-59 Convoy or Escort
10-60 Squad in Vicinity
10-61 Isolate Self for Message
10-62 Reply to Message
10-63 Prepare to Make Written Copy
10-64 Message for Local Delivery
10-65 Net Message Assignment
10-66 Message Cancellation
10-67 Clear for Net Message
10-68 Dispatch Information
10-69 Message Received
10-70 Fire
10-71 Advise Nature of Fire
10-72 Report Progress on Fire
10-73 Smoke Report
10-74 Negative
10-75 In Contact With...
10-76 En Route...
10-77 ETA (Estimated Time Arrival)
10-78 Need Assistance
10-79 Notify Coroner
10-80 Chase in Progress
10-81 Breathalyzer
10-82 Reserve Lodging
10-83 Work School Crossing At...
10-84 If Meeting...Advise ETA
10-85 Delayed Due To...
10-86 Officer/Operator on Duty
10-87 Pickup/Distribute Checks
10-88 Present Telephone Number of...
10-89 Bomb Threat
10-90 Bank Alarm At...
10-91 Pick Up Prisoner / Subject
10-92 Improperly Parked Vehicle
10-93 Blockade
10-94 Drag Racing
10-95 Prisoner / Subject in Custody
10-96 Mental Subject
10-97 Check (Test) Signal
10-98 Prison / Jail Break
10-99 Wanted / Stolen Indication

Disposition Codes
11-30 Unnecessary use of radio
11-33 Emergency at Office
11-34 Riot at jail complex
11-39 Warning Issued
11-40 Ticket/Citation Issued
11-61 Maintain Radio Silence, possible unauthorized listeners
11-95 Traffic Stop
11-98 Returning to Patrol

[FutureCanadaCop]

Originally posted by hwpd
The moral(sp) of my reply is: the next time you use codes, or other vocabulary words, put a remark(*) before or after the story to elaborate what's up or what it means.

Noted for future reference, hwpd. I posted a list of codes that would be good for any future readers of my work to keep handy! :D

[hwpd]

ok... cool... good deal...