Tuesday, June 13, 2017

Forbidden Scenario

Walking in downtown Denver: the 16th Street Mall hyped to be the summertime center: music, shops, open air restaurants.  But all I see is trash, drunks vomiting in the alleys, boarded up mall spaces, and panhandlers. Then I see a  dozen black teenagers, all carrying 3 foot lengths of rebar.   I cross the street, wanting to put distance between me and this perceived threat.   But they start tracking me, and start crossing the street mall towards me.  I turn and run!

I can hear them behind me, also running. Now they're yelling "git that motherfucker, kill this motherfucker, we gonna  kill yo' ass!"  I see a corner of a building and head for it.  Rounding the corner, I take shelter out of view of my pursuers.  I draw my XDm .40 caliber, loaded with self-defense hollow points and dial 911 on my cell phone. I place the weapon at the ready position and lean around the corner. It's a semi-defensible position. The thought of being surrounded in the middle of the street by a dozen young blacks swinging 3 foot rebars didn't seem survivable.

No more than 10 feet away, at a dead run, are these yelling and whooping young men, holding the rebars high.  I open fire, yelling "stay away from me!".  The training kicks in, head shot after head shot, with the hollow points fulfilling their design function.  Four figures lay sprawled on the sidewalk, each with a growing pool of dark blood , the rebars still in their hands.  With yelps and whimpers, the others turn and flee. I take no further action: bullets in the back cannot be justified as defensive.

I am suddenly cognizant of the voice of 911 on the phone howling for more information.  I say "There's been a shooting at 16th and Stout, send the police and medical assistance. My name is DMP, I'm 78 years old, and I'm wearing a blue blazer and gray slacks".  Click!  I hang up and call  US Law shield and say the same thing.

A police car screeches around the corner with lights and sirens blazing. I get on my knees, lay my pistol down on the ground in front of me and interlock my fingers  on the top of my head! "FREEZE"! says a strong voice.  I don't move a muscle.  I am slammed from behind, flattening me on the pavement, breaking and bloodying my nose.  My arms are seized and bent behind my back, my wrists are handcuffed.  Then I'm yanked to my feet and dragged to the back of a police car. Blood and phlegm have completely soiled the front of my shirt and pants.

ALL RIGHT, ASSHOLE, YOU WANNA TELL US WHAT HAPPENED?"  I respond, "I fully want to co-operate with Law Enforcement, but for the present I  decline to answer any questions until I have had a chance to consult with my attorney".

In spite of all deceptive tactics by the police to strike up a conversation to get me talking, or to intimidate me, I stick to my mantra until the US Law Shield attorney shows up. I'm out of jail in three days, I've filed reports and statements, and we will know whether or not the DA will file charges in a week or so. I have an appointment to get my nose put back together, which hurts like hell. Only God knows if I'll ever get my pistol back.

The interesting thing is the press. They're having trouble depicting a 78 year old as a "cowboy looking to shoot someone" or as a "racist seeking to harass a dozen young blacks".  But they are trying.

What I found the most telling is the interviews with the "families" of the young blacks.  "my boy, he be good boy!  He goin' college, until he be shot by dat honkie motherfucker!"  Police reports on the youngsters showed, even at 15, they all had long rap sheets of drugs, assaults, and robberies.  Also, this particular young man had dropped out of school the year before.

Some of the assailants were apprehended and interviewed.  "Why do you do this?"  "Oh, I dunno, we jus' bored.  Besides we don' know 'em, we don' care about hurtin' em!"  Still, the black groups are howling "Justice for the Denver four!"  But better this than my wife arranging my funeral about now.

My strategy is that I'm going to file civil lawsuits against all the "families" (usually a grandma or a single mom at best).  If nothing else, I'll take their EBT cards.  Offense is the best defense.



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