SOONER OR LATER

Sooner or later, the suspect would have to show their face.

All we knew so far was this; the target was to be treated as a potentially violent individual. Violent and dangerous. We understood that he, or she, was scheduled to arrive somewhere in the local community park before the evening was out. Most crucially of all, however, the arrest had to take place that very day.

Should the suspect somehow escape our clutches, or worse still, wind up in a different state facing charges out of our jurisdiction…the Chief Commissioner would be made to look awfully bad at his job, and who would be forced to take the rap for it?

That's right, me.

My career in law enforcement would be bludgeoned to smithereens by the powers that be. Bludgeoned and destroyed. Whilst I could forget about owning a nice cushy office on the top floor of the precinct, with the title of Deputy Commissioner hanging neatly above my door...

So…sooner or later, I would have to face the music.

It was now or never.

*

I entered the park, grabbed myself a lukewarm hot dog from the local fast-food van, and swiftly set up my perch on a nearby wooden bench. It remained remarkably quiet out there. The late evening sun was already beginning to set. And the air outside was rather welcoming.

With my binoculars held aloft and an inconspicuously placed newspaper sat innocently by my side, I quickly set about the task at hand. There were only three suspects in total. Three modest and seemingly unassuming alternatives for me to choose from...

An apparent city worker hunkered down beside a large terracotta plant pot, a local jogger circling the unattended flower beds, and an elderly woman tossing out pieces of stale bread to a flock of imaginary birds.

I decided to focus in on her right away.

The crazy old-timer was busy talking to herself, throwing off one expletive after the next whilst flailing her arms in all manner of different directions. She seemed unpredictable, yes. Aggressive even. Yet, in the end, the poor woman presented herself as little more than a dithering grandma on her way back to the retirement home. Someone with one or two sandwiches short of a picnic, and a few too many screws loose to mention...

Next up was the city worker. This particular individual wore a smart suit and tie combo that had been hastily loosened around the collar. She was chain-smoking like a trooper, speaking in an uptight manner with her mobile phone glued to the side of her face.

Sadly, I was positioned too far away to catch even the most minor snippet of her conversation. There was no distinct pattern in her movements. Though, she did seem a little stressed out, peering down every so often with her head in her hands.

That just left the jogger, of course...

...the same jogger who had been encircling the same, exact spot for hours on end. The same jogger who kept bending down to tie his shoelaces at precisely twelve minute intervals, each and every time. The same jogger who had stopped suddenly, peering peculiarly in my direction...

Was he up to no good, I hear you ask? Was he looking for something?

The answer was, yes.

He was looking for trouble.

Just as I put my binoculars down and began to approach the all-important suspect in question, my phone rang. It was the Chief Commissioner.

“Reynolds!” he screamed, his voice bitter and feverish, “…why am I watching our target live on the 6 o’clock news right now!?”

“Wait, what…?” I replied in shock.

“You heard me Reynolds! You let him escape, you idiot! The target is currently being chased out of town on the interstate highway. He’s gone already. He’s out of our hands!”

No. It couldn't be. My eyes had been locked firmly on the park entrance this entire time. Only three individuals had entered. The city worker, the jogger and the crazy old lady. They were all still in place as expected. None of them had moved.

“It’s not possible…” I told the chief, “…all the suspects are still here. There must have been some kind of mistake.”

But, of course, there had been no mistake.

In-fact, the only grave error in judgement to have taken place that day...

...was mine.

As I peered back towards the park bench it all suddenly dawned on me. The binoculars on the floor. The untouched newspaper still folded upon the seat. And, more pertinent than anything else, of course...the empty hot-dog wrapper blowing lazily in the wind.

“You let him slip away from under your nose!” the chief lambasted, “…I am watching him making his escape in a goddamn burger van right at this very moment, Reynolds! He's gone, godammit. He's outta here!”

When I looked back up I saw the empty space no longer occupied by the rogue fast-food van. It was too late. My lifelong ambition of one day making deputy had also disappeared without a trace. So, humbled and morose, with the chief's angry words still ringing down the phone line, I peered down at my feet once more. Accepting of my fate...

Sooner or later, I would have to face myself in the mirror.

Sooner or later, I would have to admit that maybe I was never cut out for this line of work.

And perhaps, sooner rather than later…I would have to begin packing up my desk and start looking for another job.

One with less danger. Less angry commissioners berating you on the phone...

...and less bogus hot-dog salesmen to land you in hot water.