The North Country

September 28, 0715

Arnold thought the first day had been bad, but he had never thought something like this would happen. He was stuck in a car with the harpy known as Helga G. Pataki. The scourge of the patrol division. The hardest of the hardasses. Devourer of souls. It had taken him seven minutes to pull the patrol car up front; load it with his bags, AED, and rifle; do the equipment checklist; and set up the computer for the day. Seven minutes was longer than five. He got a dressing down in the motor pool in front of both the incoming shift of corrections deputies and the midnight road patrol that had just arrived. He saw the smiles on their faces as she called him "football head" this and "hair boy" that. He didn't even know what that one meant. His hair wasn't a crew cut or anything, but it was well within regulation. When she was done berating him, she ordered him into the passenger seat.

Now they were driving north on State 12 toward their assigned patrol area. She gripped the steering wheel tightly the whole way, a frown on her face. He looked straight ahead and kept his hands in his lap. He had no idea what to say or do, but he couldn't just sit there in silence. He cleared his throat.

"So, uh, I'm Arnold. Arnold Shortman."

She gave him a side glance but said nothing. He gulped but pushed ahead. "So, how long have you been working here?"

"4 years," she said through clenched teeth.

"Ah. Cool." He tugged at his collar. "Umm, so… how big is our patrol area today?"

"North is about half of the county. The most rural part. I guess they want you to start slow. So, thanks for getting me banished to the ass end of the county, Football Head."

He looked down at his lap. He didn't know what he had done, but the conversation with Captain Wartz on the first day came back. I don't believe you can do this job. Was she being punished by being assigned the hopeless case? No, I can do this job. Maybe she is a test for me. "So how much territory do we cover?"

"About 300 square miles. But it's rural. Not a lot of people, not as many roads. None of the towns out there have their own police departments so it's just us and state that patrol."

Arnold nodded. "So, how many cars do we have in the zone?"

"Just us."

Arnold blanched. "One car with two cops for 300 square miles?"

Helga smiled for the first time, but it was hardly a friendly one. "What's the matter, Hair Boy? Too dangerous for you?"

Arnold gathered himself. "No, of course not. It just seems like a lot of territory for two people to cover."

Helga shrugged. "When you're done with training, it'll be just one person. We don't double up our cars during the day. The state doesn't usually send a car out here either. Watch what you get into because your backup could be 30 minutes away, lights and sirens."

Arnold didn't realize that parts of the county were that isolated. "That seems like an officer safety problem."

"No, it's a limited resources problem. When you figure out how to get the county to spend more money on policing, by all means, tell the Sherifff. I'm sure he'd love your input." Helga rolled her eyes. Another idealistic rookie that doesn't understand anything. Great.

Arnold looked down for a moment. "So, what are we going to d-"

"Shit!" Helga yelled. She slammed on the brakes as a small red sedan ran a stop sign ahead of her and cut her off, before traveling in the same direction.

"Oh, we're lighting his dumb ass up," she said as she activated the emergency lights. "Look alive, newbie. It's your first traffic stop." The car ahead braked and began to pull over to the side of the road. "You're going to follow me up on the driver's side and listen. I don't want you talking during this stop, understood?"

"Whatever you say, Pataki."

"It's Helga, Football Head. My name is Helga."

Arnold smirked. "Whatever you say, Helga."

Helga walked up on the driver's side of the vehicle with Arnold close behind her. She pressed her thumb against the tail light and slowly walked up to the rear driver's side door, quickly checking the back seat. It had a laundry basket full of clothes and some detergent, as well as food wrappers on the floor, but nothing out of the ordinary. The driver was gripping the steering wheel tightly and facing forward with the window still up. Helga observed him briefly. His knee was bouncing quickly, clearly nervous. She didn't see any weapons in the front seat or around the driver, but that didn't mean they weren't there. He had what appeared to be a joint tucked behind his left ear. Too easy, she thought. She knocked on the window and he finally looked up at her and rolled down the window.

"Good morning, officer."

Helga could already smell the marijuana odor coming from the car. "License and registration," she said curtly. He reached into his pocket and removed his wallet, producing his license. He then reached over to his glove box. He rooted through it briefly before locating his registration. He handed both documents to Helga. "Where are you coming from today?"

"Uh, a friend's house," he said without making eye contact.

"Oh yeah? Were you guys smoking some weed there?"

He looked up at her, eyes wide in surprise. "Uh, yeah."

"Just a couple joints between friends, huh?"

He nodded.

"Any weed in the car?"

He shook his head. "No ma'am. I don't ever drive with weed in the car."

Helga's face twisted in a cruel smile. She reached in and plucked the joint from behind his ear. He flinched, until he saw the joint in her hand. "You sure about that?" she asked. He looked at her in shock. "Step on out of the car for me and keep your hands where I can see them." The kid did as he was asked, clearly terrified. "Now walk to the back of the vehicle and place your hands on the trunk." The kid walked to the trunk. Helga nodded at Arnold. "Deputy Shortman here is going to pat you down. Anything else on your person we should know about?" The kid slowly shook his head. Arnold quickly checked the kid's pockets and patted him down. He didn't find anything else. "Alright, you're under arrest for possession. Step into my office," she said, pointing to the patrol car.

A few minutes later, the red sedan was driving away, conscientiously obeying every traffic law the driver could think of. Arnold had placed the joint in an evidence bag, taken the driver's information in an arrest report, and issued him tickets to appear in court before they let him go on his way.

"So, how much trouble will he really be in for this?"

"The weed? Probably none. The DA's office here doesn't even prosecute them anymore. Even if they did, the fine from the stop sign is bigger."

Arnold grimaced. "Why'd we even arrest him then? It seems like a lot of paperwork for something that won't go anywhere."

Helga laughed. "Listen Hair Boy, you need practice on literally everything because you know practically nothing. I don't care how well you did at the academy, you've already forgotten 90% of it, and the 10% you remember is theory without practice. Welcome to practice. This job is repetition. The more you do, the better you'll be. Even if that means ruining some kid's Monday evening by forcing him to go to court for a bullshit ticket."

Arnold still wasn't so sure. It seemed like a waste of everyone's time, theirs included. Why arrest people when the DA's office wouldn't prosecute? Besides, it's not like weed was that big of a deal, and the kid wasn't driving stoned.

"Is this what the job is about?" he asked. "Messing with kids and ruining their day? I thought we were here to help people."

Helga gave him an impatient look. "You wanna know what the job is about? It's about hours of monotony and boredom, tedious bullshit, and infuriating office politics punctuated with moments of terror and fear. It's about spending your days dealing with the shit the world throws your way because for some stupid reason you choose to deal with the misery and tragedy of the universe. It's about saving heroin junkies with Nalaxone only to have them OD again tomorrow, or having a domestic violence victim refuse to give a statement because she 'loves him so much' even when he beats the shit outta her. We're not heroes or saviors. We're gluttons for punishment, sponges for the awfulness that exists in society. We soak up pain and sadness and hope that on our weekends we find some way to wring out enough of it so that when our week begins again, we can make it to the end without losing our own God damned minds. We're the parental figures to hundreds of adults that should fucking know better but act like children anyway. And once in a while you'll have to find a way to cope with a dog that was starved by its owner because it barked too much, or with a dead child laying face down in the street because mom or dad couldn't be bothered to buckle them in right and got into an accident. So, you find your kicks any way you can. And if that means fucking with some punk stoner who broke the fucking law and gets what's coming to him, then so be it. Fuck." She punched the steering wheel and looked truly angry, but it wasn't directed at him. She was frustrated with all of it, with the job, the public, the administration, with life.

She seems a little… tense. It can't all be that bad, right? he thought. These people we deal with have either only known misery or are having the worst days of their lives. If we don't show them compassion, if we don't try to be their light at the end of the tunnel, then who will? His train of thought was interrupted when the radio crackled to life.

"Sheriff's Office to Papa Sierra Three Two Six."

Helga retrieved the microphone. "Three Two Six," she replied angrily.

"Three Two Six, patrol to the area of 724 Higgins Road, cross streets are Coney Street and Highland Road. Report of three bovines in the roadway."

Helga frowned. "Received, en route." She hung up the microphone.

"Ass end of the county," she muttered.

Note: AED- Automated External Defibrillator. Many police agencies carry them because early defibrillation during a cardiac event increases the survival chances of the patient considerably, and often times we will be on scene before EMS. My agency covers 650 square miles and about 63,000 residents. Minimum staff for a 0700-1500 shift is two deputies in two cars. 1500-2300 is 3 deputies. 2300-0700 is 4 deputies in 2 cars. The state has similar minimums. The total number of cops in the entire county, including town, village, and city agencies, at any given time can be as low as 6. And yes, I've been dispatched for cows in the road.

Also, I apologize for the lack of line breaks between sections. I didn't realize until now that they hadn't carried over when I uploaded the files. I should mention this story is actually about 98% complete. The frequency of posts depends on how quickly the chapters are reviewed by my "editor," but will be at least twice a week.