Officer Frank Poncherello stood on the porch of a quaint little house with blue shutters, despising the very moment he had woken up this morning. Sergeant Getraer stood shoulder to shoulder with his sometimes-least-favorite officer, a pained expression on his face as he tucked his helmet under his arm.
It was a beautiful day; the sun shown down on the green lawns of Los Angeles, the pavement shimmered with heat waves, and air conditioning units hummed. A dog barked somewhere down the street.
Ponch felt empty and used up inside; like all his insides had been sucked out, leaving him hollow and useless. Earlier that day he had seen the violent death of a fellow CHP at the hands of criminals; another life ground out under the heels of uncaring, emotionless people who were unconcerned who they hurt, leaving a wide path of destruction in their wake. Ponch had watched, horrified and helpless, as the criminals gunned down Officer Dennis Davis from his motorcycle and then revved their car's engine and crushed him under the wheels in a desperate last-ditch attempt to escape recapture after they. They were inmates, convicted murderers who had escaped, killing a guard on the way out and stealing a car out of the parking lot and successfully evading law officers as they made their way from Sacramento to Los Angeles.
The law had caught up with them; the CHP and the LAPD had chased and cornered them on a section of highway they had cleared when they first heard reports of a fleeing vehicle driving at breakneck speed up the wrong side of the freeway.
Officer Davis had been filling in for an officer sick with the flu and had been caught up in the confrontation along with just about the all the CHPs on shift at that time. But unlike the others, his life was ended by sixteen bullets from an AR and the nearly bald tires of a Chevrolet seconds before the Chevy careened out of control and barreled off the freeway, bursting into flames and exploding.
What a waste. What an awful, tragic waste. Ponch hated himself for being the one to break the news to Davis's wife, showing up on her front porch unannounced and telling her that her man was never coming home.
As he lifted his gloved hand to knock, he caught sight of the doorbell. Somehow it didn't seem proper, to let the gaily tones of the bell to signal the carrier of bad news had arrived. As he knocked on the door, painted with white paint and in need of a new coat, it seemed to fall away under his knuckles as a thin woman pulled it open.
She stood there staring up at Ponch with expectant eyes, head tilted a little to the side. She was a pretty little thing; Ponch knew that when she and Dennis had married she was eighteen. That was almost a year ago now that Ponch had watched from the benches of the church as the two wed. For a moment he couldn't remember her name, but then it came to him.
"Hello, Kimberly."
The shy thin girl smiled finally. "Hi, Ponch." She slid open the door further, revealing a startling picture that socked Ponch in the gut. Lord, this was going to be hard! How was he supposed to tell her that her child was never going to know its father? Getraer must've sensed Ponch's reluctance and picked up the ball.
"Mrs. Davis, we need to speak with you. May we come in?"
The look on her face changed instantly, from one of greeting to that of fear. She had heard of these 'house calls', as everybody associated with the CHP had, and everybody dreaded the day an officer arrived on their porch.
Kimberly Davis stepped backwards, obviously trying not to cry and let Ponch and Getraer inside. "It's Dennis, isn't it?" She gasped, then clamped a hand over her mouth.
Getraer nodded slowly, staring at the floor.
Kimberly let out a single sob. "That...those criminals. I heard about the standoff on the radio, heard that one officer was...was…" She broke down fully then, covering her face with both hands. "I told myself that it wasn't Dennis! Please, no!"
Getraer's voice was soft and understanding. "I'm sorry you had to find out about it that way, Mrs. Davis."
Kimberly looked like she might collapse, and Ponch stepped closer to her and pulled her to him. The woman barely reached his shoulder and her thin body shook as the convulsive sobs wracked her mercilessly. Ponch stroked her hair and felt tears begin to sting his own eyes.
"I'm going to call some relatives, Ponch. I don't want to leave her alone."
Ponch nodded and Getraer went into the kitchen to locate the telephone numbers of any close relatives. Ponch guided Kimberly to the well-used couch and let her cling to him like he was a lifebelt thrown to the drowning.
Nothing could ever reconcile her terrible loss today. Nothing could make the pain dissipate, but he could help ease it a little.
"He was a brave man, Kim. One of our finest officers." He knew that his words wouldn't do much, but it somehow felt right in saying them.
He sat on the couch comforting Kim until the girl's mother arrived followed closely by Dennis's mother and sister.
Only when Ponch was absolutely sure that Kimberly was alright and that the relatives would help her during the trials and tribulations to come, Ponch met Getraer who had been waiting out on the motorcycle.
"It's a terrible thing, Ponch." Getraer strapped his helmet over his long hair.
Ponch just nodded and started the bike. The healthy growl of the engine and the vibrations of it against his legs made him more appreciative of the life he still lived; the life he had been given.
When the reached the base and walked into the briefing room, many sad faces stared up at them, anguished.
Ponch raised his arms above his head, fists clenched. "Hey," He said loudly. "Let's not concentrate on the time we didn't have with Dennis, or the things we didn't get to say. Let's remember the good times and fun things we all did with him!"
It took a few minutes but finally Grossie started out in a soft voice. "Remember the time me and him rigged up a water balloon overtop the door and Sarge walked in?"