GABBY

I knew Gabby by reputation long before I ever actually met her. I had read her life story in the form of incident reports, juvenile petitions and affidavits at the police academy where her life was offered up to us as a real life case study and where I noted with interest that she lived in the city where I would be working. It had all begun at the tender age of 11. Her Mom’s boyfriend. It was tragic. Though her initials and name had been carefully blacked out in all of the documentation at the academy, I would later run into the same documents in their unedited form while adding my own to her well-documented life.

The tragic list of things she witnessed (person of Interest), things done to her (victim), and things she had done (Suspect/convicted criminal) was impressively long, and that was just what had been reported to the authorities- no doubt just the tip of the proverbial iceberg. You could not be blamed for imagining her as having a hard, used-up look about her, but she was actually very pretty. Long, dark hair, which fell to the small of her back, framed a pleasant face with a pair of large, clear eyes. Given her past, it would also be reasonable for you to imagine her as having a difficult, troubled air about her, but, surprisingly, she always seemed buoyant and carefree. Of course, it was an illusion, and a well-practiced one, which hung over her countenance, like a blanket of snow over a trash-strewn yard.

One night as I drove past the bars on Federal Street she flagged down my cruiser, and leaning in through the passenger window, asked for a ride home.

“It’s cold and I think I drank too much,” she said with a flirtatious giggle.

“This is a cruiser, not a taxi, Gabby.”

“Tate, come on, why do you have to be such a hard *** all the time. What if something happened to me? It’s just around the corner. Aren’t you supposed to protect and serve?”

“If it’s just around the corner why can’t you just walk there?”

“Come on, Tate! Don’t be like that.”

“Alright, get in,” I said reluctantly.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said as she slid into the passenger seat and buckled up.

While I was waiting for an opportunity to pull back out into traffic on federal Street, I grabbed the radio and advised dispatch what I was up to.

“7-2-8, Central”

“Central, 7-2-8”

“I’m transporting a female from Federal Street to her residence on Maple Street, please note the time in the log.”

“10-4, 7-2-8, beginning time 2315.”

As traffic allowed me to pull away from the curb, Gabby leaned across the center console, so I could smell her boozey breath, and said, “You know, I’ve always wanted to **** a cop.”

I had never been propositioned before. I immediately pulled back to the curb, and with emotion that surprised me I almost shouted, “Get out!”

At first she looked a little surprised herself and then she began to cry.

She stammered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… it’s cold, come on, I’m sorry.”

“I said GET OUT!”

She unbuckled, got out, and collapsed to the curb sobbing.

I drove away.

“7-2-8, Central”

“Go ahead 7-2-8”

“22 that, she’s gonna walk.”

“10-4, ending time 2316”

Looking in my rear view mirror I saw that she had successfully flagged down another officer. That’s how news got around to the other guys at the department. Dealing with advances from drunk women was just a part of the job according to them, and they were all in agreement that I had overreacted.

“You just told her to get out?!?!”

“Absolutely.”

Several months later I was out on patrol when dispatch called me on the radio and advised me that Gabby was in the lobby requesting to speak with me. You can imagine some of the comments as I walked through the squad room on my way to the lobby. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but as I entered the lobby, Gabby stood up and in a simple, straightforward way apologized. She spoke in a level, frank manner that impressed me. She said she was going to leave St. Albans and make a new life for herself in New York City. Then she shook my hand, walked out of the police department, climbed into her Kia and drove out of town. As far as I know she was never seen in that town again.

Sometimes I wonder how that story ended.