Encounters

by George Gauthier

Chapter 5

Shopping

The walk score for my neighborhood is 93 which puts it into the category of a Walker's Paradise, meaning daily errands do not require a car. Stores, services, and amenities are all close by, literally within walking distance. Indeed my apartment building is only two blocks from a shopping district which is simply a residential street of three or four storey buildings. Shops or service establishments operate from storefronts on the ground floor with apartments on the two upper storeys.

For the most part these are independent establishments whether single proprietorships or partnerships rather than franchises of national chains. We do have a Starbucks, a Safeway, and a CVS pharmacy but even they don't have parking lots or garages for cars. Patrons come and go one foot. Neighborhoods across the city vary by ethnicity, social class, and income levels, but all have access to pretty much the same collection of shops and amenities.

Anyone who prefers to shop at a giant enclosed mall surrounded by acres of sterile parking lots is welcome to drive out to the suburbs and avail himself of the opportunities on offer. Confirmed city dwellers like myself prefer local shops and services which we can reach on foot along proper sidewalks.

At the supermarket, I never borrow one of their heavy shopping carts. I bring my own. It's a lightweight granny style four wheel steerable shopping cart, though you push it in front of you rather than pull. Similar to a rudder on a boat, pushing to the right turns it left and vice versa. Pull straight back to reverse. It has no brakes, not even a parking brake, so you have to be careful not to let go of the handle on a slope. The darn cart might get away from you and take itself where gravity rather than you wishes it go. I have had to chase mine more than once.

I have seen some of the older folks in the neighborhood who normally walk with a cane using their cart as a combination shopping cart and walker. Oldsters passing by with their own cart are likely to give me a friendly nod or an indulgent smile which I reciprocate.

At checkout I do my own bagging, a task which I have down to a system. I use one insulated bag for cold foods like meats and dairy and a second for frozen foods like ice cream and sorbet and toaster waffles and breakfast sandwiches. Six reusable foldable bags which open up square for easy stacking take everything else. A full load is made up of four double layers, so eight shopping bags in all.

Those supplies suffice for about three weeks, though I also have beer and wine delivered and sometimes pick up takeout on the way home. Mostly though if I am not eating at home, I would rather go to a restaurant and leave the cooking and clean up to someone else.

Despite the fact that what I am driving to the supermarket is only a push cart I do have to watch out for the same hazard which drivers face on the roads: pot holes. Now the pot holes in sidewalks are much smaller, but they can easily destroy the small steerable wheels up front, doing as much damage as any pot hole in a roadway can do to your front suspension. In that way I have totaled three carts in as many years. Consternation!

In one regrettable instance, I managed the unlikely feat of crashing my vehicle into myself, becoming simultaneously both the offending driver and the pedestrian victim, which takes some doing, as you can imagine.

It happened this way. The front wheels got caught on the edge of a raised slab of pavement, bringing my cart to an abrupt halt. The momentum of eight bags of groceries tipped it forwards, carrying it all the way down to the pavement and pulling me along with it. I was not so much dragged over as I tripped over the back of the frame of the cart which raked my shins leaving bloody scrapes four inches long on both legs. Yikes!

I guess it served me right. Had I not been daydreaming, I might have reacted quickly enough to hop right over the cart. Instead it took me down with it. Grumble, grumble.

My small first aid kit was of little use dealing with eight inches of bleeding shins so I went by the Medstar Urgent Health Care storefront which fortuitously was located on the very next block. To this day I wonder what the cops made of the bloody trail which I left on the sidewalk. Once I got home I put the bloody shoes and socks in a plastic bag which I threw into the trash.

That should be the last time I will bleed so freely from a minor injury. My medical nanites can now supercharge the clotting of my blood and close the wound so completely as to leave no trace of a scar.

Drivers

Although I do not own an automobile, I do have my driver's license. Indeed once a month I rent a car for a day, to keep my driving skills sharp. As with any skill, maintaining proficiency takes practice. I am five-three so I prefer a small car, one where I do not have to stretch to reach the pedals or crane my neck to see over the dashboard.

I don't care for those oversized SUV's which hog the roads these days. Small trucks rather than cars, they are so much heavier than a sedan or a coupe that in the event of a collision they are a real danger to riders in smaller vehicles. It is awful what happens when a two-door sedan collides head-on with the unfortunately aptly named Dodge Ram or Ford Raptor.

Sometimes I simply drive the open road though I make sure to vary the types of roadways I travel on from residential streets to boulevards, to high speed limited access highways. I try to avoid ugly stroads, which is a hybrid of a street and a road hence the portmanteau word stroad. Stroads, winding cul-de-sac streets, and single family zoning are the result of the poor urban planning which afflicts our country.

Sometimes I make an event of my drive, an excuse for an excursion with my friends for a scenic drive, a picnic or a hike, a trip to the lake for a swim or windsurfing, or for a visit to an historical site.

Four times a year I make a point of practicing evasive driving to keep my hand in. I am not preparing for anything in particular. Maybe I have watched too many cop and true crime shows on TV, but there must be a thousand ways to get into trouble while simply driving down the road. It might be a case of mistaken identity, road rage, an insane sniper, a spree killer, or a truck driver channeling that crazed trucker in that old Spielberg thriller "Duel". Almost anything might happen on the road. I just want to be ready to handle it

I am gratified that my driving skills have impressed Will and Paolo, who both drive professionally in high powered vehicles though for different, you might say opposite reasons.

Paolo's training is in pursuit driving which includes techniques like the PIT maneuver, that is the Precision Immobilization Technique. Everyone has seen it in the movies or in pursuit videos on TV or YouTube. It's where the cops clip the left rear of vehicle they are chasing to make it spin out of control. A new device allows police cars to snare the back of a runaway vehicle and bring it to a safe halt, but the pursuing vehicle needs to be equipped to do so. Any car can do the PIT maneuver.

Drivers also need training in when not to use the PIT. So never with oncoming traffic, nor on a viaduct or along a steep drop off, nor in heavy traffic nor near things the car might slam into when it spins out of control. That could be anything from an overpass abutment to the rock walls of a road cut, to pedestrians or infrastructure. Ideally the targeted car spins out and comes to a halt with no one hurt, just shaken up a little.

An ambush with a spike strip is another way to force a car to stop but only if a cop can set up ahead of the chase and throw it onto the roadway at just the right instant. Many a speeding car has slipped by or slid around a spike strip deployed too soon or too late.

Now Will's special training was in evasive driving, techniques used by chauffeurs and bodyguards to shake a tail or to get away from pursuing bad guys. A favorite technique is the reverse 180 which can spin a car right around even on a two lane road and start it heading in the opposite direction. Again that is something which readers will have seen in the movies. It's a whole lot of fun, as I can testify from personal experience, but stunts like that are hard on cars and especially on the front tires. In the past I practiced at expensive specialized driving schools, but now Dyson sponsors me at the facility his bodyguards train on, vehicles provided.

Some things are the same whether the driver is trying to catch up or get away. You go straight through S bends rather than follow the curvature of the roadway, though you'd better watch out for oncoming traffic. Another technique is the bootlegger's three-point turn which allows you to reverse your direction on a narrow road after a curve to facilitate evading pursuit.

Now even in an emergency, a bodyguard's first priority is always be evacuate the client rather than shoot it out with the bad guys. If things get that bad, it is past time to call 911. Will's fights against assassins were very much not the norm.

A client is most vulnerable when he is on the move. That is when Will sticks close to Dyson. In a car Dyson takes the back seat with the driver and Will up front, on the alert for threats. Will necessarily delegates much of the routine security work because of the demands on his time for his other duties.

The routine work of a bodyguard is mainly preparatory: planning route and alternates to and from a venue, contingencies for an emergency evacuation, and checking private entrances to hotel, offices, and public building for discreet entry to the premises. Bodyguards also do background checks on the people the principal will be in contact with and may even search vehicles.

I don't know how Will juggles all his roles: bodyguard, autogyro pilot, personal secretary, companion and lover. More power to him. And long life to the estimable Franklin Dyson.

Road Rage

I was lucky the other day to have Paolo along to act as bodyguard in an incident of road rage which might well have ended tragically in more ways than one. It was the threat of Paolo's weapon which prevented a bad situation from getting worse.

Our misadventure happened after a fun-filled day at the annual county fair on the outskirts of town. I was driving along a two-lane road in Paolo's car on the way to my place. Paolo was riding shotgun in the passenger seat. Kyle sat behind him. In the rear view mirror I saw a black SUV come racing up behind us. He seemed in a hurry, so I pulled closer to the shoulder to give it room. The narrow lanes of these older roads were not intended for today's wider vehicles.

The SUV pulled out into the other lane but instead of speeding past me and getting back into the right hand lane he paced our car. His passenger had opened his window and was shouting and gesturing angrily at us to pull over. What the hell?

I dropped back to give him room to move back into lane and get out of the way of oncoming traffic, not that there was any at that moment, but we were on a two way road after all. That was when he brake-checked me. Thanks to my enhanced reflexes I engaged my own brakes faster than he counted on. With my vehicle being so much lighter, we came to a halt before hitting with his rear bumper. I immediately put our car into reverse to give myself some room. Sure enough, the SUV executed a three point reverse turn and headed for our car. Luckily I had enough room to pull the quicker reverse one eighty and sped away from him with the SUV in hot pursuit.

Meanwhile Paolo had called 911 and asked for help. The local cops had nothing in the area but the highway patrol promised a car would reach us in about ten minutes. They directed us toward a major road which would shorten the time to a rendezvous. Now I fully intended to get onto that road but not right away. On a straight-away the powerful SUV could overtake our small coupe. So I stayed on secondary roads, taking roads right and left, doubling back and generally running out the clock for the next ten minutes.

Unfortunately the driver of the SUV knew the local streets better than I did and intercepted us at an intersection. He deliberately crashed his heavy vehicle into us and sent us veering off the road into the ditch. Thanks to seatbelts and airbags we were shaken up but not injured. Meanwhile the driver of the SUV and three passengers got out and approached on foot. One carried a tire iron, another an aluminum baseball bat, and the other two carried police batons fully extended.

By then we too had exited our vehicle. Kyle had retrieved the Thai fighting sticks from his tote. I reached into the passenger compartment and retrieved the steering wheel lock from under the driver's seat. Instead of the more familiar Club, Paolo's steering wheel locked with a device called a StopLock which actually made a better weapon.

The leader of the the quartet from the SUV cursed us out, vowing that we would pay for sideswiping their SUV, which caught me totally by surprise.

"Huh? What are you talking about? It's you who chased us and ran us off the road."

He shook his head. "No, Blondie. I am talking about earlier when you crashed the passenger side of your car against the driver's side of my brand new Dodge Ram. I've had it only two days. Two days! You're going to pay for that all of you, and not just with money."

"I think he means with blood." Kyle observed, halfway astonished and halfway apprehensive.

That was when Paolo took command of the situation.

"I don't think so." He said calmly then in a loud voice commanded:

"Drop your weapons. You are all under arrest for reckless driving and attempted vehicular homicide not to mention assault with a dangerous weapon, namely those weapons in your hands."

Their leader sneered.

"So, trying to make a citizen's arrest are you, pretty boy?"

"No. I am a sworn law enforcement officer, a city cop. You may address me as Constable Franco. Here is my badge."

"Nah, you're not fooling me kid, not with a fake badge you bought at a novelty store. Count on it. We are going to work you over good."

Paolo shook his head. "You are making a mistake."

"Yeah? What mistake would that be?"

"Bringing sticks to a gunfight."

After which Paolo displayed his off-duty Beretta which he had held out of sight till then.

"Drop your weapons or I will drop you. You wouldn't be the first perps I ever shot in the line of duty -- more like the fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth. I'll say this once more and only once more. Drop your weapons, or I start shooting."

Paolo did not mention that he had never yet shot to kill and certainly would not do so in this situation. Instead he would start off with two or three warning shots fired into the ground in front of the quartet. The magazine of his Beretta held fourteen shots, and he carried a spare magazine besides, so he had ammo to spare for warning shots.

If the quartet took the warning shots as no more than a bluff and charged forward, Paolo would have aimed low and targeted the legs of the leader. It would surely take only one casualty to bring the others to a halt. So even if he had to shoot, no one would die, not by Paolo's hand. This was the third time in as many years that he had drawn his gun in earnest, only once when in uniform and on duty. Expecting to remain on the force well into his forties, Paolo hoped to make detective and later sergeant or even lieutenant but not with gunplay.

Sure Paolo had every right to use deadly force. This was a clear case of self-defense. The perps had run them off the road and wrecked his car and threatened Paolo and his passengers with grievous bodily harm. Regardless of their intentions, their weapons could kill, especially as angry as they were. So the guys in the SUV were dangerous, enraged, and clearly under the influence, which made them unpredictable. Paolo counted on the threat presented by his pistol to make the quartet finally listen to reason and drop their weapons.

Redirected by Kyle to our location off the main road, a highway patrol car pulled up lights flashing. In his call to the highway patrol, Kyle had emphasized that the three young men next the car in the ditch were the victims, one of them a city cop. That was to prevent any misunderstandings about the armed standoff the patrolmen would find when they reached us.

Just to be on the safe side Paolo put his pistol on the hood of his car, though still within reach. Hands raised he identified himself as a law enforcement officer by displaying his badge and shouting:

"I'm Blue! I'm Blue!"

Outnumbered, outgunned, and surrounded the four from the SUV dropped their weapons.

Having disarmed and defused the situation to that extent anyway, they protested loudly that it was the three of us who should be arrested. However, our calm demeanor and the fact that one of the highway patrolman had met Paolo not long before brought them over to our side. What clinched it was that the damage to Paolo's vehicle was nearly all on the driver's side. If his car had really sideswiped the SUV earlier it would have left long gouges on the passenger side. The only damage on that side was from our crash into the ditch. So this was a case of mistaken identity, Paolo's car for someone else's. The guys in the SUV had chased the wrong car and run it off the road.

It seems that a vehicle similar to ours had sideswiped the SUV which had given chase. They lost the car momentarily only to pick it up again, as they supposed, soon afterwards traveling on a parallel road. Only it was Paolo's coupe they had chanced upon and jumped to the wrong conclusion. In the dark they saw only the similarities. They overlooked the fact, later determined from a tip from a body shop owner, that the car they had been after was a four door model. Paolo's coupe had only two doors.

So why didn't the driver or passengers in the SUV call the highway patrol instead of giving chase themselves? Simple. They were drunk, all of them, and whoever was behind the wheel would have been arrested on a DUI. Their driver already had nearly enough points to get his license suspended. So they decided to handle this themselves.

It was a shame. Those four guys were not bad people, just ordinary citizens, solid family men, no rap sheets, caught up in a situation where lowered inhibitions from excess consumption of alcohol and their own belligerent personalities let them give rein to their more aggressive impulses. Once we understood the situation, none of us three wanted them sentenced to prison. We would rather they were put on probation and made to do community service. Not that their fate was up to us.

If he wanted to make an example of them, the prosecutor could pile one charge atop another and ask for the sentences to run consecutively. Their best chance would be if he levied only a few charges and asked for those sentences to run concurrently. The facts of the case would support half a dozen charges, those which Paolo had mentioned: reckless driving, attempted vehicular homicide, and assault with a dangerous weapon, plus felonious assault, resisting arrest, and threatening a peace officer.

Whatever the criminal charges, the perps were on the hook to pay to replace Paolo's wrecked car. Likely Paolo would not have to take the case to civil court. What lawyer would represent defendants in the face of an open and shut case? Besides, it was not like Paolo was trying to gouge them. He just wanted his losses compensated, those not covered by his insurance.

Afterwards Kyle and I kidded Paolo about how he had channeled Sean Connery's Officer Malone from "The Untouchables" with his remark about bringing sticks to a gunfight. He grinned and admitted it, enthusing:

"It's gotta be one of the mostly copply lines ever from a movie and one I've always wanted to say, and now I have!"

Kyle nodded then said. "I really liked how you told them that they would be only the fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth perps you'd shot in the line of duty. Unlike the quip inspired by the movie, that had to be an ad lib, so bravo Constable Franco."

Paolo preened.

"You do realize Kyle that when Paolo warned them they were making a mistake, he was channeling Harrison Ford's Detective John Book from "Witness". Book went undercover among a group of Amish men. Bullies began to push them around knowing that the Amish, as pacifists, wouldn't fight back. Book warns them off, telling them menacingly that they were making a mistake. Of course, mean guys that they are, they persist till Book shows them the error of their ways."

"Yeah" Paolo admitted. "That's another movie I saw on TV, and yes, another line I always wanted to deliver."

We chuckled companionably.

As expected, Paolo got another commendation on his record which cited his exemplary restraint in a tense and chancy situation. Paolo was well on his way to making a name for himself. His mentor Sergeant Delany could not have been more proud.