Hatchet couldn’t stop thinking about the Guardians and the way they worked the money that Sunday morning, four of them materializing from the pews, stocky young men who took clear advantage of the free facilities, not guys with whom you would want to tussle for any amount of time. They seemed professional and smooth. They seemed in control and aware. The awareness seemed to be the real secret weapon. Yet they also seemed thin and vulnerable but he couldn’t place the flaw. There was a simple solution to the puzzle but simple is always far from easy.
Have they ever fucked up? Whaddyou mean? Then Woody knew exactly what he meant. There was that time a man got TASERed in the testicles.
Oh, I gotta hear this.
So, Woody told the story of Bob Simmons from Denver, Colorado.
Bob arrived in town for the funeral of a grandmother with whom he never enjoyed much of a connection. While in town through the weekend, Bob woke up Sunday and went to Church just as he had done every Sunday morning since the summer of his 6th year. By the time of his grandmother’s death, Bob knew nothing more about the Bible or Jesus than he did at six but he attended services and it didn’t take much to entertain the somewhat dense slug of a guy who was Bob Simmons from Denver, Colorado. Bob frequented the local mega churches in the Denver area, all found on the same web site where he found Calvary Fellowship this particular Sunday morning. Within minutes, three men approached him, wearing flimsy plastic card necklaces with the Guardian logo flapping against their chests. The loud music forced them to lean into his ear.
They asked to search his bag.
My bag? Your pouch. My pouch? Your fanny pack, sir. Oh, that? You want to search it? Yes, sir. They found nothing dangerous or suspicious. Two of the Guardians still felt he posed some sort of threat although no one could ever define the nature of the perceived threat. Minutes after the first invasion of Bob Simmons’ fanny pack, these two most adamant of the Guardians returned to his pew and asked to search his bag. Again.
Bob Simmons felt slighted. No, he said, you’ve had your fun. Now leave me alone.
Neither of the young Guardians had factored denial of consent. They radioed a senior member of the Guardians trained by the police force on the specifics of volatile suspects. He was the last of the off-duty cops employed by Calvary Fellowship and according to Woody, he wasn’t the smartest. The cop arrived so bloated with the intention, he never asked why they felt the need to search Bob Simmons’ bag a second time.
The cop parted his pair of underlings with a breaststroke and towered over Bob, still seated, texting his mother back in Denver about the current course of events. The cop gave them a look as he thumbed at Bob and the two nodded their heads in unison as if parts of the same machine. He leaned down into Bob Simmons’ ear, Sir, we’d like permission to search your bag. Bob, without pulling his eyes from his phone, without the slightest decrease in the speed of his fingers, refused the request. Sir, if you don’t allow us to search your bag, we’re going to have to ask you to leave. Bob stopped tapping the screen on his phone and stared into the back of the pew with the cop still inches from his ear.
Well, I have just as much right to be here as any of these other people; I haven’t done anything wrong and you already searched my pack. The cop reiterated, Everything will be fine and no drastic measures will be taken if you just consent. Bob turned to the cop, his posture reclining away from the man’s mouth.
Drastic measures?
Drastic, sir. We’ll have to ask you to leave the premises.
You’re not searching my pack and I’m not leaving the premises.
The cop stood straight, glanced at his subordinates, made a survey of his circumstances and realized a pool of eyes had seeped into the area from the surrounding seating. Under the sudden pressure of appearing less than capable, the cop gave the signal and the three of them put their hands on Bob Simmons from Denver, Colorado. All six feet ten inches of him. A radial gasp rippled through the nearest fifty feet of pews. They lumbered with him for a short distance until Bob overcame his shock and began resisting with temerity. One of the young Guardians tumbled across a stretch of old ladies. Bob squirreled his way from the clutches of the second and spun, smacking the cop across the eye with his phone, sending him backward to the high traffic carpet. Instinctively, the cop drew his weapon, a police issue X26 TASER, and fired it at the now staggering Bob Simmons. One of the wire tethered electrodes landed in Bob’s thigh.
The other pierced the cop’s leather shoe, negating the effects of the device.
By now the two younger Guardians had recovered and tackled the teary-eyed Bob Simmons, shortly joined by the cop wielding the fiery X26 TASER which, once the air cartridge has deployed, becomes a glorified stun gun. Electrodes crackled in the sterile air of the sanctuary then joined in harmony with the high tenor screams of Bob Simmons from Denver, Colorado. The crowded sanctuary became witness to a gladiatorial display. The beasts were unhinged from their chains to destroy him. Two more suited Guardians rounded the pews and dog piled the violent soup of screaming and grunting and flashing arcs of spectacular voltage, joined shortly by yet another pair hidden in the crowd.
During the ensuing legal bout, the court discovered that Bob’s testicles were real victims of the off-duty cop’s TASER. Bob’s scrotum ballooned to three times its normal size and acquired a blue-black color that took 8 weeks to fade. Calvary Fellowship’s legal team scapegoated the cop and Brody Lassiter personally terminated him and publicly insulted him. An undisclosed settlement quieted the whole affair roughly a month after the fact. Woody suspected it had to be in excess of $200,000.
Pun intended here, Hatchet said, but I take it these guys are a tad overzealous. Oh yeah, they have a hair trigger, man, these guys are all vets, fresh outta the desert. All of them? So if a vet can’t get hired as a cop—which is rare—they get hired at Calvary. Wow, I never looked at it that way but yeah, looks like it. Wonder how much these guys get paid. I would imagine they get paid pretty well. Yeah? more than say forty-grand a year? That sounds low. Then I most certainly know these guys.
Have they ever fucked up? Whaddyou mean? Then Woody knew exactly what he meant. There was that time a man got TASERed in the testicles.
Oh, I gotta hear this.
So, Woody told the story of Bob Simmons from Denver, Colorado.
Bob arrived in town for the funeral of a grandmother with whom he never enjoyed much of a connection. While in town through the weekend, Bob woke up Sunday and went to Church just as he had done every Sunday morning since the summer of his 6th year. By the time of his grandmother’s death, Bob knew nothing more about the Bible or Jesus than he did at six but he attended services and it didn’t take much to entertain the somewhat dense slug of a guy who was Bob Simmons from Denver, Colorado. Bob frequented the local mega churches in the Denver area, all found on the same web site where he found Calvary Fellowship this particular Sunday morning. Within minutes, three men approached him, wearing flimsy plastic card necklaces with the Guardian logo flapping against their chests. The loud music forced them to lean into his ear.
They asked to search his bag.
My bag? Your pouch. My pouch? Your fanny pack, sir. Oh, that? You want to search it? Yes, sir. They found nothing dangerous or suspicious. Two of the Guardians still felt he posed some sort of threat although no one could ever define the nature of the perceived threat. Minutes after the first invasion of Bob Simmons’ fanny pack, these two most adamant of the Guardians returned to his pew and asked to search his bag. Again.
Bob Simmons felt slighted. No, he said, you’ve had your fun. Now leave me alone.
Neither of the young Guardians had factored denial of consent. They radioed a senior member of the Guardians trained by the police force on the specifics of volatile suspects. He was the last of the off-duty cops employed by Calvary Fellowship and according to Woody, he wasn’t the smartest. The cop arrived so bloated with the intention, he never asked why they felt the need to search Bob Simmons’ bag a second time.
The cop parted his pair of underlings with a breaststroke and towered over Bob, still seated, texting his mother back in Denver about the current course of events. The cop gave them a look as he thumbed at Bob and the two nodded their heads in unison as if parts of the same machine. He leaned down into Bob Simmons’ ear, Sir, we’d like permission to search your bag. Bob, without pulling his eyes from his phone, without the slightest decrease in the speed of his fingers, refused the request. Sir, if you don’t allow us to search your bag, we’re going to have to ask you to leave. Bob stopped tapping the screen on his phone and stared into the back of the pew with the cop still inches from his ear.
Well, I have just as much right to be here as any of these other people; I haven’t done anything wrong and you already searched my pack. The cop reiterated, Everything will be fine and no drastic measures will be taken if you just consent. Bob turned to the cop, his posture reclining away from the man’s mouth.
Drastic measures?
Drastic, sir. We’ll have to ask you to leave the premises.
You’re not searching my pack and I’m not leaving the premises.
The cop stood straight, glanced at his subordinates, made a survey of his circumstances and realized a pool of eyes had seeped into the area from the surrounding seating. Under the sudden pressure of appearing less than capable, the cop gave the signal and the three of them put their hands on Bob Simmons from Denver, Colorado. All six feet ten inches of him. A radial gasp rippled through the nearest fifty feet of pews. They lumbered with him for a short distance until Bob overcame his shock and began resisting with temerity. One of the young Guardians tumbled across a stretch of old ladies. Bob squirreled his way from the clutches of the second and spun, smacking the cop across the eye with his phone, sending him backward to the high traffic carpet. Instinctively, the cop drew his weapon, a police issue X26 TASER, and fired it at the now staggering Bob Simmons. One of the wire tethered electrodes landed in Bob’s thigh.
The other pierced the cop’s leather shoe, negating the effects of the device.
By now the two younger Guardians had recovered and tackled the teary-eyed Bob Simmons, shortly joined by the cop wielding the fiery X26 TASER which, once the air cartridge has deployed, becomes a glorified stun gun. Electrodes crackled in the sterile air of the sanctuary then joined in harmony with the high tenor screams of Bob Simmons from Denver, Colorado. The crowded sanctuary became witness to a gladiatorial display. The beasts were unhinged from their chains to destroy him. Two more suited Guardians rounded the pews and dog piled the violent soup of screaming and grunting and flashing arcs of spectacular voltage, joined shortly by yet another pair hidden in the crowd.
During the ensuing legal bout, the court discovered that Bob’s testicles were real victims of the off-duty cop’s TASER. Bob’s scrotum ballooned to three times its normal size and acquired a blue-black color that took 8 weeks to fade. Calvary Fellowship’s legal team scapegoated the cop and Brody Lassiter personally terminated him and publicly insulted him. An undisclosed settlement quieted the whole affair roughly a month after the fact. Woody suspected it had to be in excess of $200,000.
Pun intended here, Hatchet said, but I take it these guys are a tad overzealous. Oh yeah, they have a hair trigger, man, these guys are all vets, fresh outta the desert. All of them? So if a vet can’t get hired as a cop—which is rare—they get hired at Calvary. Wow, I never looked at it that way but yeah, looks like it. Wonder how much these guys get paid. I would imagine they get paid pretty well. Yeah? more than say forty-grand a year? That sounds low. Then I most certainly know these guys.
Edit 11.9.2018