A True Story By ‘Super Gordon’:
There were lights flashing all around the scene when I arrived. Several police officers stood in a relaxed and not overly cautious manner watching the young man lying on the ground. It was not obvious at first who I had been sent to rescue. No one appeared to require my presence so I stayed behind the officers.
The first thing I noticed was the accents. They were all American, and so I assumed I was now in the U.S.A. As it turned out that was spot on. Where? I had no idea, and still have no idea to this day.
The young prisoner was lying on his face with an arm under him, and he complained, though not too strenuously, that it hurt.
The nearest cop, a male, must have believed him and told him to roll over instead of telling him to produce the arm and lie spread-eagled with all limbs outstretched.
That was when I saw it. The reason I was there came to me in an instant. Without hesitating for a second, I stepped forward and took the gun from the holster of the nearest cop’s holster, released the safety, stepped aside and all in one move I aimed and fired.
There was verbal chaos amongst the officers, but no one moved.
“What the hell are you doing?” One asked very loudly. Assuming that one of his colleagues had fired.
They all looked around not knowing what had happened. I had the gun down by my side pointing at the ground. They were still unaware of the source of the shot and only a few seconds had passed since I fired it.
“Actually I fired.” I told them, in a firm and casual manner, so as not to start a shooting war with me as the victim.
The female cop whose gun I had taken was only a few feet in front of me, because I had stepped back and slightly behind her. ‘Safety first’ Gordon I had been thinking. ‘This is America’.
She must have thought I was one of them. Perhaps a plain clothes officer or something, because she calmly said. “There was no need. We have it all under control.”
I gestured toward the prisoner, and said “He had a gun, and was about to shoot your colleague. He was holding his wrist, which definitely did hurt by then, though the bullet never touched him. Only the weapon.
A quick search revealed the gun, which was now just out of his reach.
“Confirmed” was the verdict “Lucky you did.” They made jokes about lucky shot and fancy shooting, but luck did not come into this.
“You’ll have to make out a report for us.” The girl said. “Which precinct you with?” Still presuming I was one of them I supposed.
I told her I was just a concerned member of the public, at which point she started her cop act. ‘Don’t interfere. We knew what we were doing. Why did you discharge a firearm?’ that type of talk.
By this time I was doing my gunslinger act. Twirling the gun around my right index finger. Throwing it up my back and catching it as it fell in front over my shoulder. The type of things we learned with toys as children fearing the Germans would return. Funny really, because when one did show up it was only wee Torsten Eckhardt.
She was not really amused by my antics, but the reason for flippancy became immediately clear when I told her it was her who would have to explain in a report why it was her gun that fired the bullet.
She didn’t believe me at first, and refused to look for it, so confident she was that it was not. Only when she ordered me to place it on the ground, and I stepped forward and handed it to her butt first did she put her hand on her hip, and feel her empty holster. The look on her young face was a picture to behold, I’m telling you.
I had to explain, as Super Gordon, that I had just saved a very fine young man from the death row, if they had one, and reduced his sentence to a couple of years with good behaviour. I told her where I was from; including my address, with post code, and that I would be home again within a few minutes if she wanted to check. She was inclined to disbelieve that, because she thought Scotland was rather far away for that to be possible. However I was, and I suppose they had looked for me again for a few days, or months, but all to no avail I’m afraid. It goes with being Super Gordon.
Before I left I asked her if she had done her case study, because they all have to do a case study as part of their training and to get promotion. She said it was something she still had to do, and soon.
“Do your case study on the prisoner.” I said in a matter of fact tone. “You’ll hear a life story that will make you weep over and over again. He’ll be in jail, so visit him.”
She was not sure, but as Super Gordon I was able to tell her that the young man still lying on the ground, because all of this happened in a couple of minutes, would become her husband when he was released.
And as Super Gordon, I can tell you all now, that this is precisely what happened.