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Officer First Class Ezra Standish detested University patrol especially on a weekend midnight shift. The students indulged in too much liquor so their already suspect judgment turned even more impaired. Like now. The southerner sighed as he watched two young males stop their walk down the street, crossed to the median park, and looked around furtively. Apparently, they failed to see his plainly marked police canine truck and decided to water the Rotary Club’s prized bonsai trees with the result of their six dollars a twelve-pack beer. The canine handler called in his location using the radio to inform Communications that he would be out with two intoxicated subjects.
Corporal Buck Wilmington happened to be in the area, checking on the female clerk at the all-night convenience store, and indicated to Communications that he would back the K-9 unit up on the call.
Standish activated the overhead red and blue lights startling the miscreants mid-stream. The truck pulled to a stop beside the two highly intoxicated students staring and blinking uncomprehendingly at the flashing lights. Ezra climbed out, told his black Labrador retriever Ace of Spades to stay put, and flicked on his flashlight, shining it towards the suspects. The even brighter white light caused one of the boys to stumble backwards and land on his butt. The other tried zipping his jeans only to catch sensitive skin in the cold metal teeth. He screamed and fell to the ground writhing in pain.
The now injured male student cursed loudly and profanely under the watchful gaze of the officer’s raised eyebrow. Finally freeing his wounded appendage he left it exposed to the air momentarily as he collapsed back gasping for air. He still managed to find words to punctuate the air with that he felt adequately described the situation but was not appropriate for use among polite company.
“Please stop using that language,” Ezra finally said. He noticed the residential lights popping on in the surrounding buildings while people peeked out the windows. They wanted to see what the commotion was and know why the red and blues lit their bedrooms.
The injured young man’s next statement described in three words what Ezra could do with himself and with his mother.
Corporal Buck Wilmington arrived to hear this ‘suggestion’ and observed the young man’s state of undress. He nodded to Ezra, “Looks like you have probable cause for an arrest for indecent exposure.” To the student he ordered, “Put it away.”
The student gifted the same suggestion on the corporal with the change of excluding Buck’s mother and substituting an integral part of Buck’s posterior. He made no move to put his ‘package’ away.
His buddy, silent to this point, spoke up, “’Cuse him, Officers, we’re a little fu…drunk, sirs, right now. We’re sorry, we’ll leave now.”
“You’re drunk?” asked Buck, as if this was not obvious. In reality, he wanted the kid to admit to being drunk.
“What about you, fly boy?”
The kid saluted with one finger before grabbing his privates and thrusting them at Buck in a lewd gesture.
“Young men, are you aware that there are laws against your behavior and I am charged with upholding those laws?” Ezra stared at both of them with a disinterested expression. “In doing so, I will be forced to smear your good names and taint your futures.”
Buck caught Ezra’s cue and continued, “He means we can arrest you both.” Wilmington moved to stand near the ‘fly boy’ and Ezra closed in on the other seated young man.
“On what charge?” scoffed the mouthier of the two.
Ezra and Buck exchanged a glance before firing off charges back and forth.
Standish started with, “Public Intoxication.”
“Malicious Destruction of Property.”
“Failure to Obey a Police Officer.”
“Let us not forget W.W.”
“Good point. What about A.S.A.D.?”
“We haven’t searched them yet.”
“Hang on a sec!” The ‘fly boy’ finally sobered up a bit on the situation they were in. He gently covered and zipped himself in before looking at the straight faces of the two officers. “What’s W.W.?”
Ezra said, “After you, Corporal.”
“Oh no, Officer First Class.”
“Please, go ahead.”
“Are you sure?”
“What the hell does it mean?” The student could no longer stand the back and forth occurring above and around his head. They made him dizzy.
“Wienie Waggler. You wagged your wienie at me.”
“That ain’t a real charge.” The student gaped at the two in astonishment, his mouth a large ‘O’.
Ezra asked, “Are you a duly sworn law enforcement officer complete with the state’s certifications to make that assessment?”
The kid sullenly replied, “No.”
“A lawyer, perhaps, having passed the bar and familiar with all the penal codes for the state?”
“Then take my advice and silence yourselves.”
“Better listen to him,” advised Buck sternly. “You’re already A.S.A.D., no need to add to it.”
The other student queried, “What’s an A.S.A.D charge?”
“Pray you never find out, young sir.”
Wilmington watched as the students’ eyes widen with that deer-in-the- headlight looks. He could see they were beginning to get an idea of the seriousness of situation even in their drunken state. He turned to his partner and cocked his head in their direction, “You feeling generous?”
Ezra replied, “I might be inclined that way, Corporal. The charge of A.S.A.D. requires entirely too much paperwork even though it is such a grievous charge.”
“Hell, boys, let’s get you checked out before he changes his mind. Where’s your identifications?”
The two slightly more sober boys presented their identifications and consented to quick pat downs while Communications checked for any warrants on them. Coming back clean, Ezra and Buck called a cab, stuffed them in the back, and the boys left feeling grateful they did not go to jail.
The two officers stared at the disappearing cab before slow smiles stretched across their faces.
Buck said, “A.S.A.D. Works every time.”
“Correct, Mr. Wilmington.”
“Wonder what people would say if they knew the real meaning?”
“I’d wager the general population would respond unfavorably after the moment of shock wore off. If it were a real charge, we would have to lock ourselves up upon occasion.”
Buck clapped Ezra on the shoulder and said, “Pard, I hope they never find out.”
“As do I, Mr. Wilmington, as do I.” They went their separate ways, both chuckling to themselves at the charge of A.S.A.D. – Acting Stupid After Dark.