Hey Einstein

“Dispatch to 34.”

“34. Go.”

“34, start responding in the vicinity of the parking lot in front of Lenny’s Market, 1278 Mission Street. We’ve got two calls on a report of a dispute between an employee and a customer.”

“34 copy. Show me responding from 11th and Elm.”

John put the mic back up on the dash board of his patrol car and looked down at his phone. He was in the middle of writing his wife a text when the call came in. John erased it and wrote in its place:

Call just came in. Prob late. Will let you know. 

For John, it would be a lights, no siren response. People were usually riled up and an approaching siren only added to the general state of agitation, including his own. John taught this response technique when he acted as a field training officer. With 22 years on the job, John was the senior guy assigned to the patrol unit of the 75 member department. Those who rose up the ranks through a combination of ass-kissing and promotional exams referred to the lights, no siren approach as de-escalation. John, still the same rank as the day he was hired, called it common sense and making your job easier. 

It was early spring and as he drove by the town’s little league fields John thought about the umpires getting ready to call the games on account of darkness. He’d played on those same fields as a kid and hated it when a game didn’t go the full six innings. As he turned on to Poplar, John’s thoughts turned to his twin boys and their game tonight.  It was being played under the lights, but the chances of making it home in time to see it were now slim. The season had just begun and already it was looking like John would be 0 for 2 on games made. That was one of the challenges of living 60 minutes north of where you worked, time spent commuting was time spent missing. Nothing I can do about that now John told himself.  

“Dispatch to 34.”

“34.”

“34. Be advised we got additional information. We’re now getting a report of an assault with a weapon involving an EDP.”

“34. Copy.”

An emotionally disturbed person.  An EDP was a force multiplier. The speed, severity, and opportunity for things to go from bad to worse on a call involving an EDP was something John impressed on new members during their training ride-alongs. 

The overhead lights from John’s patrol car bounced off the picture windows of the two-bedroom capes that lined both sides of the street when another transmission came in over the radio. 

“44 to dispatch. You can also show me responding to 1278 Mission. I’ll be responding from Stewart and Central.”

John pulled the printed riding list from above the visor and saw that 44 was Doug Reynolds. Great guy for a 3 am bar fight, not so great guy for an EDP. Given Reynolds location, John figure’d he’d be alone on scene for a few minutes before Reynolds showed up. 

“34 on scene.” 

John pulled his patrol car into the parking lot and positioned it so that its headlights were directed at the group of people gathered around a white, luxury SUV.  There was a woman leaning back against the SUV’s passenger door holding a package of frozen peas to her forehead. Two store employees and two other women stood around her. 

“34 to dispatch. Have EMS respond to this location for a possible head injury.”

John got out of his car and the people surrounding the woman moved aside as he walked toward her. 

“That retard almost fucking killed me.”  

Though John was still a good 20 feet away, it was clear she was talking to him. She gathered up her breath to continue her rant while scanning the people around her for nods and agreements, but they just looked away or down at their phones. The woman put the bag of frozen peas on the hood of the car and walked toward John. 

John’s instinct was to tell her to lower her voice and pull herself together, but instinct wasn’t always the best choice. Let her get some of it out of her system. Let the grounder lose some steam and come to you instead of charging in on it when you didn’t have to. 

“Ok.” John said as he took out a small flashlight from his duty belt. Then, in the same measured and factual tone he used when the twins came to him crying and shouting, he said “Go ahead and tell me what happened while I take a look at that shiner on your forehead.” 

“The retard slammed a line of shopping carts into my car while I was pulling out of my parking spot.”

Let the ball roll a bit more, it’ll slow down and be easier to handle. 

“And then what happened?” John dropped his voice to a volume two measures below hers. 

“I slammed the brakes and I smacked my head on the windshield. When I got out to ask him what the fuck he was doing, the lunatic took off running into the woods behind the store.”

“Were you wearing your seatbelt?”

“What difference does that make? You gonna give me a ticket? Give me a break.” 

John walked over to the woman’s car and picked up the bag of previously frozen peas, walked back, and handed it to her. “No. Just trying to figure out how bad this head injury of yours is.” He took another quick look at her forehead with his flashlight. “Keep the peas on it.”

Doug Reynold’s patrol car pulled up to where John and the woman were standing.

“Hey John, whaddaya got?”

John leaned down to Doug’s window. “Shopping cart into a a car. Woman here hit the brakes and her head went into the windshield.”

“Where’s the EDP?” 

“Haven’t gotten to that part yet. Guy who was pushing the carts took off into the woods behind the store. But it’s looking like more accident than assault.” 

“Want me to go look for him? Find out what happened?” Doug asked as he got out of the car. 

For a moment John thought Doug was trying to take control of a scene that wasn’t his. Instead, he decided it was just Doug inserting himself into a situation where his help wasn’t needed or requested. John knew the best way to keep someone like Doug out of trouble and out of the way was to give him a job. It was a technique John used with both civilians and other cops. 

“Can you stay here and take her information while I go find the guy that was pushing the carts? I think that may be our EDP.” John didn’t wait for a response and turned back to the woman. 

The woman was on her phone and John guessed it was with her husband. 

“He slammed the carts right into the car. Retards lucky I didn’t run him over.”

John waited for a pause in the woman’s story and then interrupted the conversation.  

“Ma’am, that’s officer Reynolds.” He pointed to Doug who had his memo book out and was writing down the license plate of the woman’s vehicle and checking out the damage the shopping carts had caused. “He’s going to take your information and wait with you for EMS to get here and check you out.”

A man wearing a short sleeved button up and a tie came up to John. 

“Excuse me, officer?” He asked. The name tag he was wearing said “Ben” and there was “15 Years!” sticker on the bottom of it. 

“Hey. What’s up?” John asked and started walking towards the woods behind the store. There were six sides to every story and John suspected he was about to hear another version of the events that had taken place. 

“It was Einstein.” The man said with resignation.  

Both men slowed their walk to a linger and turned to look at one another. The man raised his eyebrows and gave a shrug of his shoulders as if he didn’t need to say anything more. But he went on anyways. 

“I didn’t see it happen, but how the woman described the guy that hit her car with the carts I’m certain it was him. He was on carts when it happened.” Doug nodded in acknowledgement and started walking again. The man followed him at first, but then slowed his pace and started to turn toward the store. “I’m sorry. But I’ve got to get back inside. If you need anything I’m on til 8.”

“Thanks, I’ll let you know.” John said and continued towards the woods. 

Einstein. Mark Einhorn was his real name. Einstein was a couple years ahead of John in school. Being a cop in the town in which you were raised meant you often knew the people with whom you came in contact. More than that, you knew their stories too. Einstein was in the special kid classes when they were still called that. Today he’d be diagnosed as having fetal alcohol spectrum disorder. 

It was full-on night by now and the paved section behind the store was well lit by floodlights. The woods just behind it were a dark mess of vines and misshapen trees. John shined his flashlight into the woods, decided it didn’t improve visibility all that much, and so put it down at his side.

“Mark,” John faced the woods and spoke as if he were addressing a large crowd. “I just want to make sure you’re ok.” 

John waited for a reply, but there was only the whirring of an air handler from the roof of the building mixed with the hum of traffic from a nearby street. 

“We don’t think you did anything wrong.”Talking into the darkness the first time felt odd, now it felt absurd. John stood silent and listened for the rustling of leaves or the snapping of a branch. 

The Einhorns had seven kids, plus or minus one at any given time. The kids were a mix of adopted, fostered and biological. In terms of age, Einstein was somewhere in the middle. Like Einstein, all the Einhorn kids had a physical or mental challenge, a couple of them had a combination of both. Some in town thought of the Einhorn parents as saints, as did John’s mom. Others thought it was part of a scam whereby the Einhorns took in the kids for state reimbursement money. No matter what side a parent fell on, all the parents in town shuffled their children away from becoming friends with Einhorn kids. 

“Mark. Come on. Let me just see you’re alright.”

“It’s Einstein.” A child’s voice with a man’s depth came from behind a log that lay at the edge of the woods. 

John walked over, pushed aside some vines and directed his flashlight down on to the far side of the log. Einstein was laying with his back to the log. His knees were pulled up and into his chest and his hands were pressed together as if in prayer except they were acting as a pillow for his head

“Hey Einstein.” John put one leg up on the log and bent down so he could speak more softly and still be heard. “It’s me, John Callowes. You were in the same grade as my brother Jimmy. Do you think you could get up and let me check you out to make sure you’re not hurt?”

A few seconds passed and Einstein began to speak. “Do you remember Coach Salander?” Einstein’s body remained still, his face and body directed toward the darkness of the woods and away from John. “He said I was the Einstein of running. Before that, I hated the name.”

“He was a good coach and a good guy.” John had run track in spring of his freshman year of high school. It was at his mother’s insistence after John failed to make the JV baseball team. Einstein was on the track team too, but John couldn’t remember them ever interacting. 

“I used to love to run.” Einstein remained where he was.

John didn’t reply and thought about radioing Doug to come around back and give him a hand with Einstein. 

“The carts slipped.” Einstein said and then rolled to look up at John. His deep set eyes were red from crying and there were bits of dead leaves stuck in his hair. “She pulled out and ran right into them.” Einstein sniffled, wiped his face and rolled back over. “Am I in trouble?”

“It was an accident Einstein. Come on up and we’ll get it squared away.”

John reached his hand down and Einstein positioned himself to be helped up. Standing  at the edge of the woods and just beyond the full reach of the flood-lights, Einstein shook his arms and legs and used short, jerky pats to get the dirt off his pants and shirt. 

“My glasses.” Einstein said. 

“Just hang tight. I’ll take a look and get them for you.” John shined his light in the are of Einsteins hiding spot. 

Einstein gave a short laugh. “They’re not in the woods. I think they fell off in the parking lot.”

“Well, we better go look for them. Just give me a sec.” John took out his phone. 

Einstein squinted and then pointed the phone and stopped all movement. “You gonna call the cops?” Einstein’s voice crackled and he crossed his arms and brought them into his chest. 

John began to give one answer, but understood Einstein’s mistake and decided on another. 

“No. Worse than that. I’ve got to text my wife to let her know I’m going to miss our kids’ baseball game.” 

Einstein smiled. 

John looked down into his phone and typed his message. 

All good. Just wrapping up this call. Will text later with more exact time. Tell the twins good luck and that I love them.