“Why do tax payers pay so much for law enforcement, when our banks are the ones robbing us dry”, Tim Tom screams. The officer looks at Tim placidly. He has two children, an ex-wife screaming at him for spousal support, and not exactly swimming in dough.
“Well, you’re still under arrest buddy”, smiling at a dumb criminal’s clever logic.
The worst thing about being a police officer is hearing dumb criminal logic. They yammer on comfortably in their box aggressive with their fists going no place constrained but mouth moving viciously and venom tongued.
Tim Tom was a banker that met the girl of his dreams and meth. He prioritized the wrong one and his woman left him. That left him ample time to pursue meth addiction and dumbfound cops with his clever logic and wild exploits.
“Sir”, the officer spoke, “do you really not see that one bad action doesn’t justify another bad action.”
He continued: “Bank policies do not in any way justify petty theft to consume drugs but I see your points”. “I don’t understand banking sir”, the officer returned, “but you used to before you hit that pipe”. “Have you ever considered turning your life over to Jesus and asking him to be your personal lord and savior?”
Tim Tom quietly reflected on the mess he was in. He remembers his lovely darling cozying up next to him at a movie, her soft voice at dinner, her quiet blue eyes and wondrous smile.
“I smoke this pipe because it helps me find the peace in my life that a belief in Jesus cannot fill”, he stammered.
“That’s very sad”, the officer spoke. “When you get out of prison, you are welcome to join my church the Holy Road down the main street.”
Tim Tom thought about this as he anguished in misery uncomfortable and torn, taut with misguided thoughts to be processed and delivered to the State of Missouri.
The officer smiled as Tim Tom quieted down. He was looking forward to getting some Chinese food and cracking his bible open, leafing through each page happy that he has the sense now to discern biblical verses.
As a child, he slept in his quiet room knowing that his mother and father tried the best they could but it was still not enough. They had no concept of proper heating but heavy, ratty blankets. His job did not provide for much but he could afford his utilities, food and all.
Tim Tom was not much of an athlete until he hit the pipe. Once that event happened his flabby banker body turned wiry. He was quick getting in and out of cars. He was very adept but a dumb criminal is just a criminal that always gets caught.
“Sir”, Tim Tom wakes, “have you ever been to California”?
“No, I’ve never been, air travel alone for a family of four costs a fortune”.
“There’s a City called Commerce with a great big casino but not one single grocery store”. “Isn’t that something?”
Tim Tom was ushered in to the local precinct mouthing with decaying once pearly white teeth. His brilliance sapped by years, he learned what he loved and what he loved was getting high, flying downward in a topless maze of false starts and bizarre rides. He loved the rush of breaking in and out of someone’s car, scavenging for value that nobody really cares for. In a way a drug addict has found gold: no restraint. He finds ways to get high and that’s all that really matters to him.
The officer returned to the station and was surprised by his controlling officer.
“Sir, I am sorry to inform you that we are going to let you go.”
Dumbfounded, the officer looked at his young, cocky supervisor, rubbing at his temples.
“You can’t talk about Jesus on the job, pop! Do you have anything to say about that?”
“Jesus will provide”, the officer returned, placing his belongings in a box.
_______________The end By: SCB (MM)