A Cop's Christmas
It was just after 11 p.m. when the call came over the radio.
The reflection of the city lights made the falling snow look
like a million points of light, drifting slowly toward the
frozen ground. The cop debated with himself whether he should
respond to the call; a burglar alarm at a nearby department store.
His shift change was less than an hour away, if someone indeed
had broken into the store; the paperwork involved would take hours.
Sal wanted to get off at a reasonable hour for a change, after all
it was Christmas Eve and he still had to get presents for his kids.
"The alarm was probably set off by an employee locking up," thought
Sal as he maneuvered the well-used vehicle toward the department store.
"I'll never make it to the store, I guess I can just give the kids
cash this year. They never like my presents anyway and Maria wouldn't
appreciate me barging into her house at two in the morning anyway."
When Sal arrived at the department store, the building was dark and
the area was quiet. As Sal circled the patrol car around the building,
the falling snow swirled like a tornado through the beam of his spotlight.
At the rear of the building, the spotlight's reflection was
engulfed by the darkness of an open garage door. Sal radioed for
backup, and exited the warm car to investigate.
As Sal approached the dark void of the open door, he noticed a
single set of footprints in the fresh snow. The prints led into
the building, but not out again. Sal clutched his large mag-light
firmly in his left hand, while with his right he felt the inadequate
security of his service revolver, holstered at his side. Sal began
to sweat as his mind flashed back to another dark building, on
another Christmas Eve.
Ten years earlier, Sal had responded to a break-in of a liquor store.
As he entered the darkened store a bright flash blinded him. Sal
heard a loud crack of a pistol as his body was hurled to the ground
by the force of the bullet's impact into his chest. Although his
kevlar vest had saved his life that night, the force of the bullet
still cracked three ribs and knocked the wind out of the shocked officer.
Sal's survival instincts, honed by three combat tours in Vietnam,
prevented him from losing consciousness and gave him the strength
to bring his service revolver to bear. His last remembrance was of
firing his revolver towards the flash, and unknown to him, killing
his attacker.
The flashlight was discarded as Sal entered the department store.
He crouched just inside the doorway and allowed his eyes to become
accustomed to the ebony darkness of the store.
During Sal's seventeen years on the police force, this particular
store had been burglarized on many occasions. As his eyes made out
a dim outline of the store, Sal remembered where the main lighting
circuit breaker was located.
As the officer carefully inched his way toward the breaker box, he
felt a twinge of pain in his ribs where he had been shot ten years
ago. He winced as he remembered being released from the hospital,
and how the pain from his wounds paled in comparison to the heartache
he felt when he found his wife and kids had left him.
Sal wasn't surprised that Maria had taken the kids and gone. Their
life together had started badly and just gotten worse. Sal could
never bring himself to share with her the horrors that tortured his
mind, and she felt rejected. He felt that his experiences as a cop,
as well as a soldier, were not understandable to anyone, even himself.
Maria watched over the years, as Sal became distrustful and cynical.
She watched, as he became more and more dependent on work and a bottle
of Jim Beam for solace. By the time she had taken the kids and left,
Sal and Maria were little more than strangers sharing the same house.
Sal reached the light box and threw the switch. When the bright lights
illuminated the building, he heard the sound of footsteps running out
the door he had entered. As he rushed back to the open door, another
patrol car was just pulling up. While the other officers jumped out
of their cruiser, Sal hollered, "Did you guys see anyone running away
when you pulled up?"
One of the newcomers on the scene, a portly officer who had a reputation
for enjoying more than his share of donuts, replied with a sneer,
"No Sal, we didn't see nobody. What's the matter, did the little
punk get away from ya?"
Sal didn't reply as the other officers laughed and snickered.
Sal looked down and saw footprints leading out of the building. As
Sal studied the details of the prints that were not his own, slowly
his anger was replaced by a confident grin. "Maybe the punk got away,
and maybe he didn't. You guys stay here until the manager arrives,
I'm going for a little walk." As an afterthought, he looked at his
fat cohort. "Why don't you make yourself useful and follow me in my car."
As Sal followed the footprints embedded in the freshly fallen snow,
he thought to himself, "Shoot, this is easier than tracking a wounded
buck. Of course if I were trackin' a buck, I'd be better armed, and
bucks don't shoot back."
The trail ended only about a block and a half away, at the doorway
of a dilapidated bungalow. As Sal climbed the porch stairs, he
noticed the same set of footprints had obviously exited the residence
earlier in the evening as the snow now nearly covered the older prints.
"Gotcha." Sal whispered into the cold night air.
Sal rapped sharply on the door then stepped back off to the side,
revolver ready. Inside the house Sal could hear the whining voice of
a boy followed by the sharp voice of an angry woman. He heard the
rattle of the knob, as he watched the door open spilling light over
the porch. A plain, tired looking woman stood in the doorway dressed
in a tattered bathrobe, rollers in her mousy blonde hair. Behind her,
with a look of horror and shame etched across his face, was a boy of
about twelve years old. Before Sal could speak, the woman greeted him
with a strained voice, "Merry Christmas officer, please come in."
As he entered the house, Sal noticed a garbage bag sitting against a
wall. An expensive mink coat was visible at the top of the bag. As Sal's
eyes became adjusted to the dim lights of the house, he observed more
details about the house and its occupants.
The house was devoid of furniture, except for a well worn three legged
couch. The bare wooden floors were covered with strewn clothing and
garbage. Roaches climbed freely on the stained walls, and the stench
of old trash permeated the chilly air. Sal glanced into the kitchen
and noticed that the dented door of the rusted oven was wide open and
the burners were all turned on, the only source of heat for the home.
As Sal turned to face the boy and the woman, movement from the doorway
caught his eye. Peeking around the door were the doe-like eyes of three
little girls. Sal winked at them as he addressed the woman. "Ma'am,
I have reason to believe that your boy there forcibly entered the Sears
store over on 110th Street. I'll bet my left eye that that stuff in that
garbage bag there was stolen from that store."
The woman did not speak and tears began to roll from her bloodshot eyes.
She turned to the boy and gave him an icy stare. The boy choked back
sobs as he spoke. "I took dat stuff from dat store officer. My mama
an' sisters needed presents for Christmas. My mama ain't got no money,
and everyone knows dat Santa ain't real. I just figured that everyone
else done already got their presents, and dat big store wouldn't miss
a few things."
Sal steeled himself from the boy's innocent tear filled eyes. "Don't
let the kid's words get you all mushy." Sal thought to himself,
"Everyone's got a sob story, but it doesn't mean they're above the law."
Sal gave the boy his most intimidating stare as he removed his handcuffs
from his belt.
Sal continued his glare as he addressed the boy's mother. "I'm gonna
have to take the boy to the station ma'am. If you can get a sitter
for your girls, I'll allow you to go with him."
A look of horror came into the woman's eyes when Sal added, "I could
always call Social Services if you can't get a sitter." The look in
her eyes told Sal that the woman was more afraid of Social Services
than of the police.
Before the woman could reply, Sal began handcuffing the boy, but
before he was finished the three little girls rushed into the room with
tears streaming down their cheeks. "Please don't take Martin to jail Mr.
Policeman!" cried the oldest girl. "Santa won't take him no presents in
jail." Sal could not look into the eyes of the girls and was relieved when
their mother scolded them and herded them off into the bedroom.
As the woman tended to her children, Sal inspected the items in the
garbage bag. It contained some dolls, girl's clothing, an expensive
necklace, and the mink coat. Sal noted that not one of the items was
something a teenaged boy would want. "The boy probably got scared off
before he could get his own loot." Sal muttered under his breath.
When the woman reentered the room, she seemed to have regained her
composure. As Sal took the boy by the arm to lead him out the door,
the woman spoke. "Martin ain't a bad boy officer. He only gets onto
trouble because he ain't got no man around to tan his fanny."
Sal asked, "So where is the boy's father ma'am?" As soon as the words
were spoken, he wished he had kept his big mouth shut. "Now I'm gonna
get the sob story." He thought as he turned to the woman and listened.
"Martin's daddy was a no good bum. He weren't ever good at nothin' but
drinkin' and usin' drugs, and beaten' up on me. He seemed to try to be
a good husband after Martin was born, but his friends and da drugs made
sure dat was short lived." The woman paused, then continued somewhat
bitterly,
"When Martin was only two years old, on Christmas Eve, his daddy was
killed by the police while robbing' a liquor store. Since then I been
through dozens of men an' jobs tryin' to get by. I never took no
welfare..."
The woman went on with her story but Sal was no longer listening. In his
mind he remembered his own experience in a liquor store, ten years ago
tonight. He remembered that he never even saw the person he shot and had
refused to look at his mug shots afterward. The pain in his ribs returned,
and Sal felt like he would vomit at any second. "It couldn't be the same
guy." thought Sal, "Even if it was, he shot me first and I just shot at
whatever shot at me." Sal had never even thought of the burglar that had
injured him as a real person. Until now he had never contemplated the
fact that the person might have had a life, let alone a family. The
repressed feelings inside Sal seemed to erupt like a volcano. He turned
away from the eyes of the woman and the boy, hoping that they could not
read his thoughts.
"I fetched Martin's toothbrush. Can he take it with him?" asked the woman,
her voice not much more than a whisper.
In that second, something inside of Sal snapped. All the pain, sorrow
and agony of his past seemed to be lifted from his heart, and he knew
what he had to do.
"No." Sal replied curtly to the woman's question.
Sal turned to the boy and began removing his handcuffs. "I'm going to
give you a break boy." He exclaimed in his best command voice. "But if
I ever catch you so much as spitting on the street, I'll lock you up
and throw away the key."
Neither the boy nor his mother could say a word. They just stared at
Sal with amazement and gratitude.
Sal continued, "Now you take this key and put all
of the stuff you stole into the trunk of my car
outside, and tell my fat partner that I'll answer
all of his questions later." When the boy hesitated,
Sal barked, "Go on and do it before I change my mind!"
As the boy ran out the door, garbage bag in tow,
Sal reached into his pocket and turned to the woman.
The policeman stared at the floor as he placed a wad
of money into the woman's hand. "Ma'am, I want you to
use this money to get you and your kids something nice
for Christmas. I don't tolerate stealing, but it is
Christmas and kids deserve to have a nice Christmas."
The boy returned giving Sal back his keys. The woman
still had not spoken and Sal could not look at her.
"Don't think that you're getting away with anything."
Sal said firmly to the boy. "I'm going to be coming
around here quite a bit to make sure you tow the line.
I'm sure I can find a hundred chores around here for
you to do to pay for your crime."
As Sal turned his attention from the boy, his eyes met
those of the woman. Her eyes were wet with tears and
expressed a mixture of gratitude, sorrow, and Sal even
thought...pity. He quickly avoided the woman's eyes and
started for the door. "Merry Christmas!" he bellowed
as he walked through the door and out into the snowy night air.
As he walked to his car, Sal thought he heard the woman say
"God bless you." But the words were barely loud enough to
overcome the thunderous beating of his heart.
Sal knew that he bore no responsibility for the state of
existence of Martin and his family, but at the same time,
he wanted to help.
"Maybe I want to help these people to make up for all the
people I couldn't help." Sal said to himself as he got into
his patrol car. "Or maybe it was just the right thing to do."
As Sal closed the door, he thought he heard the tinkle of
sleigh bells overhead. As he looked up, he caught a shadow
moving swiftly through the snowy night. He shook his head
and rubbed his eyes. "Got to start sleeping better," he thought
as the patrol car eased into the night. He gave his fat partner
a look that made it no secret that questions were not welcome,
as they made their way through the snowy Cleveland streets back
to the stationhouse.
When the patrol car pulled into the underground garage of the
police station, Sal took the keys and went to the trunk to
retrieve the stolen merchandise, as the fat man made a beeline
for the cafeteria. As he put the key into the trunk, he glanced
at his watch and grimaced.
"Damn, all the stores are closed by now...guess the kids are
gonna have to get cash this Christmas."
His mood darkened, because he knew that his son had wanted Ninja
Turtles, and his daughter wanted a boom box...presents he had
promised Maria he would buy.
"Just call me Father of the Year, I guess," he mumbled as he
raised the trunk.
As he pulled the trash bag of stolen goods from the car, he
noticed two additional packages also lay in the trunk...packages
that were not part of the stolen goods and not there when he went
on duty earlier that evening. His face turned bright red as he
noticed that one was a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action set,
and the other a small Sony portable stereo/tape player. At first
he thought that his fat friend may have actually thought of something
more than donuts and gone to the department store for him as he
reclaimed the stolen merchandise, until a note attached to the
boom box caught his eye.
You did a family a great service tonight, and I hope
you will do one for me as well. I am way behind this year, so could
you please deliver these to your children for me.
Merry Christmas.
--Kris Kringle
A few moments later, two officers just coming on duty were
dumbfounded as they found Sal lying on the concrete floor,
laughing hysterically and singing jingle bells as if he had
been drinking. They were even more shocked when he jumped up
and hugged them both, screaming "Merry Christmas!!" before running
into the station house like a madman, a twinkle in his eye that he
hadn't had in years.
An Original Christmas Story by Chip Ciammaichella
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