When I walked onto the Criminal Investigation Division floor to start my 3pm to 11pm evening shift, I could tell something was “up.” The day shift guys were scrambling to get their tactical vests and assorted personal and standard-issue shotguns.
“Hock!” said one, “Hurry up here!” and they directed me up to the third floor meeting room, which was constructed like a small theater with a stage area up front and descending seats. The meeting began...
“We will hit this house….” And the briefing went on, conducted by a SWAT team Sgt who also was a detective sergeant. I'll call him here, “Sgt Larry.”
Down in our city's projects, in an old two-story wooden, house bound for demolition, local crack/cocaine dealer and ex-con Willy Vics was running a dope house. It was a magnet for bad guys and hookers from the region. Our narc guys had a freshly signed warrant in their hands.
“David, Benny, Jeff…you three will enter here and will move upstairs…Tony…you…” and Sgt Larry laid out the plans, much of what had been hashed out all afternoon while waiting for the warrant to be written and signed. There was a discreet effort to rest the SWAT team a bit those days. Recently a local team had set a house on fire with a flash-bang, and well, there was a movement, you might call it, to tone down militant appearances a bit. At some point Sgt Larry decided his detectives should do this, not SWAT. So, his chalkboard was filling up with tactical brilliance. White arrows were laid down aggressively, but there was a bit of a problem manifesting….the back of the house. It emptied out to a big yard connected to a neighborhood of other yards. The arrows ran out of people! I would say there were at least 6 to 8 detectives assigned these arrows.
SGT Larry looked up at newly arrived me. I was gear-less at this point in a suit and tie, and he said “...and Hock…you take the back.”
Ok. The back. A few of us had run hundreds of these raids "back in the day" before God made SWAT, and we all had “taken the back,” at one point or another. Nothing new here. Most of the time, its common effect was having the suspect hear officers at his front door, then peek outside a rear window, see officers standing guard there and then he would usually surrender. Usually. Some hide in the house. Some bust out. We have had to chase a few. (I would often put something across the back door causing a fleeing felon to trip).
Within a few minutes everyone hit the streets in their unmarked cars. The plan was to give me a minute to park down the street just a bit and trot up to the yard. Then several cars would skid up to the house front, men bail out, destroy the door and rush in. I threw on my body armor and raid jacket and left the shotgun in my car. (Too cumbersome in close quarters for me on deals of this nature.)
I barely had time to jump the fence, when I heard the sound of skidding tires and men yelling out front. It is always difficult to exactly coordinate these things. There were about six back windows and a back door. The first floor extended out beneath the second story. It was like a sloping, large ledge under the upstairs windows. I tell you this now not to report on archicture, but because in an instant, every hole in the back of this building had people pouring out of it, even the second story.
I stood in the middle of the yard, drew my .45 and yelled, “halt! Police! Stop!” HA! I recall at least 12 people running by as though I was not there. Fat hookers, skinny dopers…you name it. If I had actually started shooting? Well, I'd be writing this from the penitentiary right now.
BUT! One of the escapees was Willy Vic himself! He ignored me too, so I figured…since he was the subject of the raid, I would bail on my useless post and chase him. I decided this a bit late so the sprint was on. Willy had to vault a fence ahead of us and I was counting on that slowing him down. I holstered my weapon. (Hell, I couldn't shoot anyone here anyway). He jumped on the fence and starting climbing and I reached up and grabbed him. He clung like bat on the chain link. I reached around and slapped his face a few times. Distracted, he dropped.
Thereupon came the scuffle. Willy landed on his back and my mission was to get him cuffed. Which he didn't want. He still had “some rabbit” in him-which was Texican talk for- he was a runner. He a big guy, but in his mid-fifties and he was after-all, a daily, dope-head! He was in zero-shape. Now, these guys are still dangerous and I was still surrounded by his escaping dopers who could double and even triple the odds in Willy's favor. Ever try to fight an angry, fat hooker? Hey! I have and it's a handful.
Meanwhile, the “team” is SWAT-tip-toeing through the house as though terrorists with sub-guns were hidden around every corner. I could hear them yelling, “clear! Clear!” as they secured every empty room and closet. And I am there in the yard in the middle of a Oklahoma land rush.
One thing was very “clear” to me. I was all alone in the yard, fighting a guy right beside all his buddies, who I prayed were all busy trying to climb a fence. I had to toss a few rabbit punches into Willy's torso, all the while yelling for him to give up. He ran out of gas and I cuffed him. There was no loyalty among these thieves and all the escapees got over the fence.
I pulled the portable radio out of my back pocket and called Sgt Larry. I reported that I had caught Willy Vic in the yard. I hooked his arm, lifted him and walked him to the front porch of the house where the few, shocked folks who had remained in the house were cuffed and sitting on the steps. It made for great front page, newspaper photo-about five guys, Willy among them, cuffed on the porch and about 5 of our guys in raid jackets and shotguns towering over them.
I stood off from the photo-shoot and was a bit disappointed in myself because I had let about 11 people get away. I was about 35 years old then and had very high expectations for myself. Hell man! “One riot? One Ranger!” Audey Murphy and Sgt York took hundreds of prisoners. I couldn't stop 10 dopers and a fat hooker?
But it all became quickly apparent that I had caught the big fish and there was a large tactical error in planning. The error quickly became an “inside joke” with the troops. For the next year or two there was running joke with CID anytime we would plan anything, (even a party)…
“…and Hock…you take the back!”
SGT Larry took it with great, good nature and humor. I will tell you that Sgt Larry was a very competent SWAT leader and a smart guy…but that one day….
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Topic: “…and Hock…You Take The Back!” (Read 970 times)