To be a street cop, you have to have a twisted sense of humor. For the next couple of weeks I’ll be telling some “twisted humor” stories. Like this one.
Messin’ with the Street Critters
Sense of humor, yep more trouble than it’s worth, usually. Not always.
After the third departmental shooting I had lost all my faith in the issue .38 revolver. I wanted something bigger.
At that time I knew the San Antonio PD was issuing the S & W M-58, a 4″ bull barrel revolver, with fixed sights, in .41 magnum. I handled one and decided it was for me. I even bought a duty type holster and unless you knew what to look for, you couldn’t tell the difference between what I had, and what I was supposed to have. At that time, the only weapon Honolulu cops could carry was a S&W .38. Well, it could be a 2 inch barrel if you were plainclothes or off duty. Otherwise, 4 inch barreled .38 only. Period.
My sector of work at that time was down town, Hotel Street, and it rocked and rolled in those days. It was inhabited by pimps, pushers, hookers, mahu’s and every form of thief, liar and conman in between.
The sector sergeant was also a shooter, he knew I would say he didn’t know I was carrying an unauthorized weapon, so he looked the other way.
It was probably 2-3am and I was talking with the sergeant. I had been working on a “working” load for the .41 and finally gotten one that shot true and hard.
I had spent the morning at the range and was displaying a target. It had been shot at 15 yards, double action, 2 shots after a draw. The target had all 18 rounds in the black. Not a real tight group, but still 18 .41 size holes in a pretty small area.
J. J., one of our local pimps, happened to walk by and spotted the target.
“Shit Mr. Pritchett”, he loudly exclaimed “I thought you was good. Hell, I can shoot better’n dat wit my three fitty sebin” (OK, I don’t speak pimp really well).
I looked at him, and the devil jumped up and grabbed me. “Shucks JJ”, (yes, I actually said “Shucks” ) “you got to put it in perspective”.
I took his arm, turned him so his back was to the sarge. I then laid the target on his back, brushing flat very firmly so he knew where it was located. I then loudly announced, “Look at that Sarge, all 18 hits right between the shoulder blades. Yes, sir, a kill shot every one of them.”
JJ spun around with a loud “Mother Fucker. You crazy Pritchett.” And then he started walking backward, giving quick looks over his shoulder and without ever turning his back to us, yelling “Crazy Mother Fucker. Talking about shooting people in the back. Crazy Mother Fucker”, for the entire block.
Since we were standing just short of the intersection, that meant he had to go almost the entire block, to get out of my “sights” so to speak. And a whole lot of people between J.J. and us wondering what the heck was going on.
Sarge stood there, astern look on his face, and tears of laughter rolling down his cheeks.
“Consider yourself given a stern warning”, he managed to choke out before collapsing against the wall and laughing for many long minutes.
Storytellers Blog 