All Quiet on the Irvine Front

By: Tan M. Nguyen (5/6/05)

Chris Singe impatiently strummed his fingers along the steering wheel of his parked car. He pulled at his buttoned up collar, wishing for the hundredth time that the AC worked just a little better. He wanted to drive off to his wife back home, but he had another hour of waiting. Besides, his wife Maria was at their son’s baseball game. She would not be home for another 15 minutes or so, and they wouldn’t have alone time until much later that night…The leather seats started to feel toasty, and it made Chris squirm in the driver’s seat. He reached over to the passenger side and pulled out a brand new radar gun. His son A.J. was becoming quite a pitcher, and Chris wanted to know how just how good a pitcher A.J. was.

Chris idly pointed the gun at the nearby intersection. A blue Mazda6 streaked passed. The gun registered “47 mph.” Not nearly as fast as his son’s arm, but fast enough to break the speed limit in the Turtle Rock residential area. Time to go to work, Chris thought.

He revved up his engine, turned on his sirens, and quickly caught up to the Mazda. The Mazda promptly pulled over, and Chris got out of his white-and-black patrol. He looked into the rolled down window. The delinquent driver was a Caucasian male, weight 165 lbs, blue eyes, brown shaggy hair, approximately 17 years old. The stats rolled into Chris’s mind naturally. He was never more than a few pounds off. The driver was obviously anxious. It was especially apparent when he spoke, “He..hello Officer. How are you?”

“Son, do you know how fast you were driving?”

“Um…40?”

“Try 47. Take a look at what my gun said.” A few years ago, no one would have dared to question the honor and word of an Irvine officer, but citizens these days were feisty. They didn’t believe a word any police officer said, and nearly always asked to see the gun. One angry mom in a minivan actually took the P.D. to court over a $50 speeding ticket. Chris found it ironic that those who protected the city were the most distrusted among the citizens. But such was life.

Chris handed the young man a speeding ticket. With associated fees, it would probably run up to $250. Chris, however, did not feel sorry. It sucked that the fees were so high, but it was Irvine. The boy could afford it. Sometimes, Chris stopped a UCI student. He used to feel sorry, especially now that the fees were being hiked up by the Governator, but after 15 years of service, Chris became immune to even the most sincere sobs.

Chris himself was a 1987 UCI graduate with a B.A. in Sociology. He had no idea what to do with his life, so he took a desk job at the Irvine police station to figure things out. Next thing he knew, he had a badge and was the city’s best sharpshooter to graduate from academy. In fact, his most recent heroics at the Spectrum eventually earned him the nickname of “Crazy Chris” by the local newspapers. Somehow, it stuck to him. In the office, when someone said, “Crazy Chris,” everyone knew it referred to Officer Chris Singe. Chris, however, had imagined a life of Honor, Glory, and Service to Irvine. He quickly discovered that life as a policeman was a life of Boredom, Routine, and Stress.

Sure, he had his share of tense moments. Irvine may be one of the safest cities with a population over 100,000 in the United States, but it didn’t mean it didn’t experience any crimes. In his long service to Irvine, Chris had been a part of multiple high speed chases on the 5 freeway. He had run down many attempted burglars at the Marketplace. He tracked down internet pedophiles, consoled rape victims at the University, seen bloody head shots at homicide scenes, and even fired his gun on several occasions. (He hit his target every time.) He even had to don full riot gear on occasion.

The Preliminary Crime Statistics for 2004 recently came out, citing a reduction in violent crimes by 7%, robbery by 15%, and arson by a staggering 56%. Chris knew, however, that the stats were meant to console and comfort an affluent southern California suburbia. The reality, however, meant that Chris had an opportunity to die everyday he went to work. A reduction in crime did not mean that crime no longer occurred. It just meant that the average citizen would not be likely to see one happen. Chris, however, was not an average citizen. He was an Irvine City Police Officer. One slip, one unguarded moment, and AJ might grow up without a father.

Regardless, the stats were a testament to the safety of Irvine and the effectiveness of hardworking officers like Chris. But it also reduced Chris’s day-to-day work to that of a traffic regulator for the upstart college kids. He actually considered transferring over to more urban police department, but he was not willing to relocate his family and take a pay cut. Moreover, he was not that anxious to jump into the fray. Crazy Chris had grown up, settled down, and become a family man.

Chris found himself wandering down Culver Avenue. All the other cars were driving the speed limit and leaving a good space for his patroller to drive. No one tried to pass him. Chris never figured out whether this sort of behavior was done out of fear, respect, suspicion, or a mix of all three. All he knew was that if he weren’t present, every car would be driving 10 mph faster. He looked at his watch. Only 15 more minutes until the shift is over. Maybe I’ll sneak a call to Maria. He flipped out his cell phone, and called home.

“Hi Honey, how are you?...I’m good too. How did AJ do?....Oh, he lost? Well, can’t win them all I suppose. I bet he’s really down huh?...But what about you? How was your day?...OH REALLY? Haha, I’m glad you had fun too. Maybe next time I’ll tag along….Yea, you’re right, I would never want to waste my time there. Hey, what’s for dinner? No, wait, hold that thought. How about I make dinner tonight, and you take care of a little something something AFTER dinner?....”

Suddenly, a black Honda drifted into his view. It was driving the speed limit. However, Chris’s experienced eye saw an unnatural jerkiness in the steering. It was subtle, but his instincts were wailing like a dying rabbit. He looked at his watch again. 10 more minutes…My shift has already ended. I don’t need to pull this guy over…Now an uneasy feeling began to settle in his stomach. It was his conscience. Damn, I hate being so dedicated to my job.

“Honey, I have to go. I’ll be home soon. Love you too.” He hung up, and turned on his sirens. He was anxious to get the upcoming interrogation over with. The driver was probably messing around with his CD player and forgot to pay attention to the road. However, if his eyes appeared red and dilated, then Chris would be obliged to ask him to step out of the car and take a breathalyzer test. That would mean he would be home late. Chris prayed it wouldn’t come down to that.

***

Frank swore to himself. A black and white patroller had just pulled him over. This cannot be happening! Oh my God, what do I do? He had recently bought three huge packets of marijuana to last him for a month. However, he was not patient enough to wait to use it at home. He had already opened a packet, and the white powder was already smeared all over his pants. There is no way I am going to get out of this one. All he has to do is look down at my pants or ask me to step out of the car and I’m dead…I’m getting jail time for sure.

He was not an addict. He knew he could stop anytime he wanted. He just didn’t want to, especially since midterms were rolling around, and he needed to maintain a 2.0 to avoid academic probation at UCI. The marijuana helped relax him, and he simply ran out of the stuff 3 weeks before he had intended it to. Jail time was not in his future plans, not if he wanted to get into grad school.

Frank made a decision. He cleaned off his pants as best he could, and reached over to the glove compartment. He pulled out a black 9mm that he had bought months ago. What the hell am I doing? This is absolutely crazy Frank! … No, it is the only way. He hid the gun from view, put both hands on the wheel, and looked in the rearview mirror. The officer was just getting out of his car.

If the officer let him go, then Frank will not shoot. However, if he asked Frank to step out of the car…Well…please God, don’t let it come to that. I want to be in school. I want to learn. I promise, I’ll get my act together, just let me go…

He rolled down the window. The officer’s face looked vaguely familiar. Isn’t that Crazy Chris from the Spectrum…? Frank couldn’t tell. The officer’s face was partially eclipsing the sun. It wouldn’t have mattered anyways, since Frank’s eyes were both red and dilated from the drugs…

***

Chris stopped dead in his tracks. He saw the driver lean over to the glove compartment. Either that guy’s trying to hide an anti radar transponder, or he has a gun. Damn, why does everything have to be so complicated? He carefully walked over to the driver’s side, his hand casually resting on his gun. It was a Caucasian male, brown eyes, weight 185 lbs, clean cut blonde hair, approximately 22 years old. Damn, his eyes are also red and dilated.

“Son, where are you headed to today?”

“Home, in Irvine.”

“Have any idea why I stopped you?”

“No, sir.”

“You were driving precariously, and I wanted to make sure you were ok. Are you taking any medication, or perhaps stopped by the bar before you went home?” Chris knew the boy would lie, but he asked anyways.

“No, Sir.” Frank tried to sound confident. He sounded weak.

Chris looked at the boy carefully. “Son, I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the car.”

“Certainly, Officer.” Frank’s right hand slowly left the steering wheel. “Let me get you my driver’s licence and regi…”

In one quick move, Frank reached for his 9mm and emptied his clip. The deafening sounds startled Frank, but he felt a thrilling exhilaration every time he pulled the trigger. Chris, however, had expected the move and was already hitting the ground and rolling away from the bullets toward the hood of the car. By the time he was upright, he had drawn his gun and fired three quick shots. The bullets stopped flying.

Chris cautiously inched closer to the car. Frank was a mess. All three shots hit Frank at point blank, one right between the eyes. He checked for other passengers. He only found 3 large bags of marijuana. He radioed for more support, an ambulance, and an officer from the Drugs/Narcotics division. The ambulance, Chris knew, was unnecessary. Frank was already dead.

Chris was trembling. He sat down in his patroller and tried to calm down. Backup would soon come. He took out his cell phone again. “Honey? Hi, I’m OK. I love you…no, I’m OK really. It’s just that, you know…I’m going to be home late tonight. Yeaaaaa, it’s just one of those days were the boss is trying to work you to death before you leave…”

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