No, I wasn’t arrested. Gee, what kind of person do you think I am? Okay, maybe I’m a bit psychotic but in a good way. But your question was, how did I get to spend Halloween with a bunch of hunky cops?
It all started when my new neighbors moved in. The minute I saw the stick thin, tattooed-covered biker chick I thought to myself, Houston we have a problem. I just knew she was a tweeker. For you civilian types it’s cop talk for a meth user.
Being the friendly sort, I went over to introduce myself. Okay I’m a snoop. The second I told her I was a 9-1-1 dispatcher, the biker chick let out a shriek, and bolted into the house. Huh? I looked around, expecting to see a big, scary cop. Nope. Just me. What a twitchy little thing.
About that time two of her fellow tweekers roared down the street on their Harley motorcycles. You know the type. Big, dirty, and hairy. I waved all friendly like, and wondered where I had left my pepper spray. My new neighbors gave me the one finger salute, and rode their motorcycles into the house. Nice.
Wanting to welcome them properly to the neighborhood, I typed up a nice letter, and left it in their mailbox. It said: I know what you are doing. The police know what you are doing. We are watching you. Move now or face the consequences. P.S. There’s a nice trailer park on Grand Avenue that would be perfect for your business.
The next day they had surveillance cameras installed. Yep, they were pointed at my house. Any time their “friends” showed up, I would walk out, and write down their license plate numbers. They scattered like roaches. I’m pretty sure I put a big dent in their business.
Halloween rolled around and dang it, they were still there. I wrestled my six-foot automated wicked witch to the bushes by the front door, and turned on her motion sensor. Let the fun begin. The minute the doorbell sounded, the evil witch cackled wildly, and the screaming started. Hey, Halloween can be fun for adults too. I doled out candy to the giggling hordes of little fairies, princesses, and Batman wannabes. My wicked witch was a big hit.
My witch suddenly came to life, and shrieked like an enraged banshee. I opened the door, and blinked in surprise as two cops sheepishly holstered their weapons. I grinned, and held out my bowl of candy. “She scares the crap out of everyone.”
Assuming his best tough cop demeanor, the cute older officer plucked a Snickers from my bowl, and replied, “Ma’am, there has been an incident next door, and we need you to go inside, and lock the doors.”
Fat chance. I was a 9-1-1 dispatcher, and well versed in the art of prying information out of the most reluctant caller. I gave the officer my best smile, and went in for the kill.
I got both of their phone numbers, and found out that my neighbor’s drug deal had gone south. They had a possible hostage situation, and they needed to use my front yard as a staging area for the SWAT team. Whoopee! A bunch of hot cops in my yard. Not so whoopee was the chance of a major shootout. Where the heck had I put my bullet proof vest?
Ten minutes later a loud cracking boom sounded, and my wicked witch crackled insanely. The tweeker’s house had been breached, and the good news was no shots had been fired. I took a cautious look out the front window, and watched the hunky cops stuff my idiot neighbors in the backseat of a patrol car. Freedom at last!
My doorbell rang, the witch cackled gleefully, and I opened the door. “Trick or treat,” said the hot cop. “Definitely the treat,” I answered pulling him inside.
Gail Koger Bio:
I was a 9-1-1 dispatcher for thirty-one years and to keep insanity at bay, I took up writing. Not to worry. The insanity isn’t catching – much. Other than the addiction to chocolate and the twitch in my left eye, I’m good. I’ve had my weird but true stories published in newspapers and magazines.