A veteran police officer learns what true courage is from his new partner. (Contains some violence.)

 
Edited by Amelia R.
 

The note taped to her locker was not a good sign. The total absence of any other women in the locker room was even worse. Megan Lauer sighed as she slipped on her tan uniform, the Miami-Dade Police badge resting over her left breast. Once she was dressed, she snapped the locker door shut and pulled the note down. It instructed her to report to the division commander’s office before roll call, which meant she would have to hustle. The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to herself by being late.

She reached the office of Major Craig Sheffield and knocked on the door, entering upon the gruff command of her superior. There was another officer already in the office.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush here, Lauer,” Sheffield said. “We’ve had a hell of time getting you a partner. Seems no one wants to ride with you, and I can’t say I blame them.”

“Sir, the department’s policy on non-discrimination.. . .”

“I know what the damn policy says! It also considers you female, and as such you have to ride with a partner. You should be thankful Sergeant Collins here agreed to take you, or you’d be riding a desk.”

Megan turned her gaze towards the other officer. Sergeant Mike Collins was close to retirement age and had been on the streets for over twenty years. He had a reputation as a tough, no nonsense cop, and he returned her gaze with an expression that was unreadable.

“I want to make one thing clear, Officer Lauer. I will not tolerate any disruptions in this division. I’ve made it plain to every officer here that you have a legal right to be here, and that any harassment will be dealt with swiftly and harshly. Don’t take that to mean I intend to cut you any slack, however.”

“I’ll do my job, Major.”

“Then get to roll call and do it.”

Megan nodded and left the office. Collins moved to follow but was stopped at the door as Sheffield spoke again.

“Thanks, Mike, I owe you. I hate to say it, but I’m afraid she’s going to need someone to watch her back.”

“Her back?” Collins laughed.

“Yes, her back. Whether you or I understand what she’s done doesn’t matter one damn bit. The law says she’s a woman, and that same law guarantees her a workplace free of harassment. You might also consider, Sergeant, that it takes a boatload of guts for her to even show her face here.”

Mike Collins looked at his old friend and smiled.

“You’re right,” he said, “you do owe me — big time.”

*****

It was like every eye in the room was boring into her at roll call. She tried to pass it off as nerves, but the truth was that every officer in the briefing room glanced her way at least once. Most of the looks were at best ambivalent, but quite a few were openly hostile. After the morning brief, she checked the call sheets and then found her partner. He didn’t say a word, just grunted and headed out to their squad car. She didn’t even offer to drive; she was new to the division, and he was more familiar with the streets.

“I just want to say thank you,” Megan said as they started their patrol.

“Don’t thank me,” Collins said. “I don’t understand what could be going through someone’s head to make them do what you’ve done, and I don’t like it. Like the Major said, though, the law says you have a right to be here, and you have to have a partner.”

“You’re just like everyone else,” Megan sighed, a bitter edge to her voice. “You don’t understand because you won’t even try.”

“Maybe, but that’s my right. I don’t have to understand you; you just do your job, and I’ll do mine.”

Megan nodded, and that’s how the first day went. The day was fairly routine, and it wasn’t until they headed back to the station that she began to feel uneasy. As she entered the locker room, there were two other female officers there. Upon seeing Megan, they looked at each other and then left without saying a word. Megan watched them leave and then changed into her civilian clothes. She managed to hold the tears in until she got to her car.

*****

Over the next several weeks, each day was a repeat of the one before. Megan came to work, did her job and went home, with no one speaking to her other than what was required by the job. There were a few tense moments, a few snide remarks that stopped just short of actual harassment. No one wanted to test the Major, so things maintained an uneasy civility.

All that time Mike Collins watched his new partner carefully. He had known a lot of cops in his twenty plus years on the street, and Megan was a cop. More than that, she was a good cop.

They were six weeks into their partnership, working the night shift, before they had their first really serious call, a domestic dispute that had turned violent. A woman had called 911 and reported that her live-in boyfriend had become physically abusive during an argument. Both parties had been drinking, and by the time they reached the scene, two more calls had come in from neighbors. The last call indicated the fight had moved into the front yard of the small house, and that the male was armed.

Domestic disputes were always a tense situation for police officers. Alcohol and drugs were often contributing factors to an already emotionally volatile situation. Worst of all, if violence was involved and they were forced to physically restrain the abuser, the victim often turned on the officers as the desire to protect their partner overrode common sense.

The two officers arrived on the scene to find the man in the front yard, his arm around his girlfriend’s throat as he brandished a revolver with his other hand. When he saw the squad car, he stopped waving the gun and pressed the muzzle to her head.

“Stay the fuck away, or I’ll blow her fucking head off!”

Megan immediately drew her Smith and Wesson .40 caliber semiautomatic and began circling left, moving to place herself on the man’s flank. Mike kept his weapon holstered, his hand hovering near the butt as he cautiously moved towards the pair.

“Let’s just take a breath and calm down, partner,” he said, his voice firm but not threatening. “You don’t want to hurt anyone.”

The man looked from Mike to Megan, and then back to Mike. His voice trembled as he said, “I’ll kill her; I swear I will if you don’t back off!”

“You know we can’t do that,” Mike said. His voice remained calm, but his heart was racing. The perp had his finger on the trigger, and the hammer of the revolver was cocked. All it would take was a tiny bit of pressure, and the woman would be dead.

“Let the lady go, and we can talk about this,” Mike continued. He kept his eyes focused on the man with the gun, while he watched his partner’s progress with his peripheral vision. She was off to the perp’s right and a little behind him, her weapon angled towards the ground in a two handed grip. She was ready to take a shot if she had to, but as long as the woman was so close it was very risky.

Mike took another two steps forward. He wasn’t quite close enough to grab the woman, but he could see the perp’s face clearly enough. He had seen the signs hundreds of times; the pasty skin, the wild, panicked eyes and the shaking hands. It was more than just the intensity of the situation; he was in serious withdrawal, probably from heroin. An addict that was hurting that bad was like a wild animal.

“Look, if you hurt her, my partner over there is going to drop you,” Mike said. “You don’t want that.”

The man snapped his head right to look at Megan, and Mike lunged forward, his arms wrapping around the woman. The force of his charge ripped her from the perp’s arms and took her to the ground, Mike covering her body with his own.

Megan had been ready for it, knowing that Mike would try to get the victim out of the line of fire. As the perp swung back towards her partner, she snapped her weapon up on target.

“Drop the gun, now!”

The perp twisted back to his right, the gun traveling with him. The barrel looked cavernous as Megan stared down its maw. There was a loud noise and a flash from the barrel of the revolver and something whizzed past Megan’s right ear. She held her ground and squeezed the trigger twice, the man’s body jerking as two .40 caliber rounds hit him in the chest. The gun fell from his suddenly limp hand, and then he collapsed to his knees and fell face first into the grass.

Megan rushed forward, her weapon trained on the still form as she kicked the revolver away. Then she knelt and checked his pulse. She looked over at Mike as he was lifting the screaming woman from the ground and shook her head.

*****

In over twenty years as a cop, Mike Collins had only fired his weapon in the line of duty three times, and none of those had resulted in the death of another human being. Still, he knew what he had felt each time, and he knew that for his young partner it was a thousand times worse.

An officer-involved shooting results in mountains of paperwork, and that alone would be enough to add to an already emotionally draining ordeal. The paperwork was only the start, however. After that came the review by internal affairs, and each of the officers were questioned separately regarding what had happened. The questioning was not pleasant; the investigators from IA had to make sure neither was covering for the other, and that all departmental policies had been strictly observed. It sometimes got quite heated.

When it was finally over, the detective who had been grilling Megan leaned back in his chair and smiled.

“It’ll be a couple of days before we have a final report,” he said. “You don’t have anything to worry about, though. This was a righteous shoot.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Megan sighed.

The detective nodded. “If it did, you would have something to worry about.”

Emotionally and physically exhausted, Megan made her way to the locker room. She stopped before her locker and sat down on the bench, burying her face in her hands.

“You okay, hun?”

Megan looked up at the speaker, her haunted eyes saying all that needed to be said. The female officer was a little shorter than Megan, and her dark blonde hair was barely shoulder length. She sat down on the bench and put her arm around Megan.

“I heard what happened,” she said. “I’m Sandi Gerrold. I’ve been away on maternity leave, so we haven’t had a chance to meet.”

Megan tried to speak, but all that came were tears. Sandi pulled her close and held her as she sobbed.

“I know it’s tough, sweetie,” Sandi said. “I hope to God I never have to know just how tough myself.”

“It’s not just that,” Megan sniffed. “You’re . . . you’re the first woman here that’s said a kind word to me.”

“Don’t let them get to you. You kind of strain their perfect perception of the world. I say screw them.”

Megan laughed despite the fact that she didn’t feel very cheerful. Sandi squeezed her shoulders and then took a pad of paper from her pocket and scribbled down her name and phone number. She tore the slip of paper off and handed it to Megan.

“Call me, anytime. I love to talk, and I’m a really good listener.”

“Thanks, Sandi. This means . . . well, thanks.”

Sandi smiled, “Don’t mention it. Now, I have to hit the streets, and you need to go home and get some rest. You look awful, girl!”

*****

Per departmental policy, Megan was placed on administrative leave while Internal Affairs concluded their investigation. It didn’t take long; the situation was clear, and there were numerous statements from neighbors who had witnessed the incident to support the officers. What amazed Megan most of all was that, from the time they had arrived until the time she had fired her weapon, less than five minutes had passed. It had seemed like hours.

Three days later she was back on the day shift and on patrol with Mike. She was relieved when the morning passed with nothing more serious than a few citations issued. When lunch time rolled around, Mike placed them out of service and pulled into a parking space in front of his favorite deli.

“You like Cubans?” he asked. “They serve the best in town here.”

“Sounds good, I’m starved,” Megan said. It may have been her imagination, but Mike seemed less gruff today.

Her surprise over his apparent softening in attitude was compounded when he picked up the tab for their meal. They found a table outside where they could enjoy the spring air, and Megan took a bite of her sandwich.

“This is good,” she said.

Mike smiled as he bit into his own sandwich. They ate in silence for a few minutes, and then Mike spoke, surprising her again.

“You were right that first day,” he said. “I didn’t want to understand. I’d like to try now, though, if you feel comfortable talking about it.”

Megan looked into his eyes and saw the sincerity there. She took another bite of her sandwich and collected her thoughts as she chewed.

“When did you first know you wanted to be a cop?” she asked at last.

“I knew when I was a kid,” Mike said. “I watched all the cop shows, Adam-12, Dragnet. I didn’t want to be a detective though; I wanted to be Pete Malloy, out on the streets in a squad car.”

“I know what you mean,” Megan smiled. “Imagine though if you felt that way inside, but because of the way you were on the outside, because of the body you were in, you couldn’t be a cop — say you were just a naturally chubby kid who would never pass the physical.”

Mike chuckled, “I was a chubby kid. I worked my ass off to keep my weight down and get in shape. I still have to work at it, but nothing is gonna keep me off the streets as long as I can still do it.”

“I know what you mean there too. You see, when I was a kid, I knew that inside I was a girl. But every time I looked in a mirror, I saw a boy’s body looking back. Everybody who saw me saw a boy.

“For a long time, I tried to be the boy everyone saw. I guess that’s part of the reason why I became a cop. I found out I was a good cop too, but it wasn’t enough. I needed to be able to look in the mirror and see a body that matched who I was inside.”

“Did you, well, wear dresses and stuff when you were still a guy?”

Megan smiled, not missing the phrasing of her maleness as past tense.

“Yes, I did,” she told him. “Even that wasn’t enough, though. It was just temporary; I could only be Megan part time, and even then it wasn’t quite right. The only thing that could make it right was going all the way and transitioning.”

“It must have been tough at your old division.”

“It was. I lost a lot of people I had thought of as friends. Not all, but a lot. After my surgery, the brass decided it would be best if I transferred here and made a new start. So far, it’s been a bit rocky, but I have hope.”

“Change takes time, Megan,” Mike said. “I know for me it was always a given; men were men and women were women. When someone fell in between, well, they were just weird.”

“I knew it would be hard. Knowing something and actually experiencing it are two very different things, though.”

“You’re a damn good cop; that’ll make them take you seriously,” Mike said. “For my part, well, I’m sorry for my attitude. I can’t honestly say I understand what you’re going through — what you’ve gone through, but then, I guess to really understand it, I’d have to go through it myself. I’m proud to have you as my partner, though.”

“That means more than I can say,” Megan told him. “Hey, if an old fossil like you can change his attitude, there really is hope.”

“You better watch it, missy,” Mike grinned as he picked up his sandwich. “Grandpa here just might take you over his knee and spank you.”

Megan started giggling, “Now that would cause quite a stir!”

*****

A week later, as they neared the end of their shift, they received a call for an armed robbery in progress. Megan immediately hit the lights and siren and then informed dispatch that they were responding as Mike pressed his foot down on the gas pedal.

They were a minute out when the second call came in; officer down. Mike pressed the pedal to the floor as further information warned that the perpetrators were armed with automatic weapons. The same thought flashed through both officers’ minds — the North Hollywood Shootout of February 1997. Two heavily armed and armored men had wounded twelve police officers and two bystanders before they were finally killed.

There was a squad car on scene as they screeched to a halt. They could see a body lying midway between the car and the bank, his tan uniform shirt dark with blood. Fire immediately sprayed from the bank entrance, and a few rounds peppered their car as Mike and Megan both exited through the passenger side, Megan grabbing their twelve gauge from its mount along the way. It wouldn’t penetrate body armor, but it could certainly stagger a target nonetheless.

“It’s Chuck,” Sandi Gerrold said as they joined her behind her own unit. “He was moving to the front when they opened up.”

“How many?” Megan asked.

“Three, I think. The one I saw had an MP-5.”

“Keys in the unit?” Mike asked. Sandi nodded. “All right, I’m gonna pull it between Chuck and the bank. You two keep their heads down with the scatterguns, and I’ll drag Chuck back.”

Both women nodded in understanding. The safe thing to do was wait for more backup to arrive, but a fellow officer was down and bleeding to death, and none of them were willing to wait. Megan led Sandi over to their unit, and once Mike was in the other car, they both began firing at the door of the bank.

The tires of the squad car squealed as Mike hit the gas, darting forward and cutting hard to the right to place the bulk of the car between the wounded officer and the bank. Mike crawled out the passenger side and kept low as he moved to Chuck’s side and started dragging him back towards the car.

The fire from Megan and Sandi paused as their shotguns were emptied, and a man stepped from the bank. His body armor was clearly visible as he opened fire with what looked like an AK-47. It was North Hollywood all over again.

The heavy caliber rounds slammed into the car shielding Mike and Chuck, flattening the tires and riddling the engine compartment. More bullets punctured the gas tank, and the smell of gasoline mixed with the odor of gunpowder . . . and fear.

The car was history, and the ruptured gas tank was a bomb waiting to explode. Mike grabbed Chuck under the arms and started dragging him to safety, as Megan and Sandi began firing their side arms.

He’d made it ten feet when something smashed into his right leg like a hammer. One of the gunmen had emerged from the bank and walked around the car for a better angle, despite repeated hits from Megan and Sandi. Mike went down hard as bullets struck the pavement all around him.

~ This is it . . . this is how it ends. Well I had a good run. ~

The armored gunman approached arrogantly, dropping the spent drum from his assault rifle and pulling a smaller box mag from his harness. He had just slipped it into the well when he staggered, his head snapping back as two .40 caliber rounds struck him in his unarmored face. Mike turned and saw Megan charging forward, her pistol continuing to fire. She skidded to the pavement beside him and holstered her pistol.

“Sit tight and keep your head down, Grandpa,” she said as she grabbed Chuck under the arms. “I’ll be right back.”

Mike tried to rise, but his leg wouldn’t permit it; the femur shattered by the impact of the bullet. He watched helplessly as his partner dragged Chuck towards safety and cried out as he saw her go down as a bullet found her.

Megan struggled back to her feet, her side blazing in agony, but her own body armor had stopped the nine millimeter round from the other gunman’s MP-5. She grabbed Chuck again and finished dragging him to cover.

Sirens wailed as more squad cars arrived, but Megan didn’t hesitate. She snapped a fresh magazine into her pistol and ran back for her partner, firing as she ran. She was almost to him when she was hit again, the impact staggering her. Her pistol flew from her grasp, but she kept moving.

“Stay down, Meg,” Mike pleaded. “Help’s almost here.”

Megan looked towards the bank, tasting blood in her mouth. The two remaining gunmen were making a break for it, and they would pass within feet of the two defenseless officers.

She drew in a breath and forced her head under Mike’s arm. With all her strength, she rose and lifted him in a fireman’s carry. The newly arriving officers added their fire to cover their comrades, and Megan reached the safety of Sandi’s unit and set Mike down. Sandi was already applying pressure to Chuck’s wounds, and another officer came forward to help Mike.

Megan watched it all with a calm detachment. She could hear her own pulse, loud in her ears, and a strange, peaceful lethargy began to spread through her. The SWAT team arrived, and in a matter of seconds the shootout was over. Paramedics moved forward and started treating Chuck and Mike.

“Megan? Megan can you hear me?”

Sandi’s voice seemed so far away, and Megan tried to answer, but she couldn’t form the words.

“Jesus, she caught one under the arm! We need a medic over here now!”

She felt someone holding her, strong arms cradling her as a voice spoke softly in her ear.

“Hang on, Meg, the medics are coming,” Mike’s voice said. “You hear me? You hang on!”

She tried to tell Mike it was all right, that she could finally be who she really should have been. She could feel it, as her spirit began to drift from the body that had confined it for so long and made her be something she wasn’t.

“It’s okay, Mike,” she managed to say at last. Her hand reached up and touched his face. “Thanks for being my partner — and my friend.”

Mike’s pleading voice drifted farther and farther away, and Megan felt herself embraced by warmth and acceptance such as she had never known before.

*****

Megan Lauer was not the first police officer to fall in the line of duty, and she certainly, and tragically, would not be the last. Her sacrifice, however, sent ripples through the force, causing many to reexamine their own long held beliefs.

The doctors had suggested that Mike not attend the memorial service, but he wouldn’t stand for that. As he made his way onto the podium, his leg in a cast from the hip to the ankle, his own mind was awhirl. He wasn’t sure until he was actually before the microphone what he was going to say.

“We’re here today to honor a fallen officer, our sister on the streets. Make no mistake about it; Megan was a cop, through and through. She was much, much more than that, though.

“The last words she said to me were to thank me for being her partner and her friend. I may have been her partner, but I can’t really say I was her friend. A friend wouldn’t have stood by and listened to the crude jokes made at her expense when her back was turned. A real friend would have told the speaker to shut up, instead of laughing along with him like one of the good old boys. A real friend would have stood up for her, even if it meant taking ridicule himself. I wasn’t her friend, because I didn’t deserve a friend like her.”

Mike looked out on the ranks of tan uniforms, his voice catching for a moment. He fought back the tears, gripping the podium tightly as he struggled to continue.

“People say Meg was brave because of what she did. I say Meg was brave because she refused to accept what life handed her, and what society said she should accept. She refused to be the person people saw and instead fought to be the person she really was.

“The Bible tells us this; greater love has no one than to lay down their life for a friend. Those words were never more true to me than they are today. We lay to rest a fellow officer and a most loving soul, and it is my fervent prayer that she has at last found the peace that so eluded her in this life.

“From this moment on, I know that my mission in life is to earn that title Meg gave me — to earn the right to be her friend. Megan Lauer was a damn fine person, a damn good cop, but more than any of that, she was one hell of a woman.”

The End