A Truck. The Street. And a Lie

This is the night I was dragged by the truck.
The kind of night that stays with you forever.

November 7, 2003. That is a date that is burned into my brain. You want more specific? 0437hrs. That’s 4:37AM for you citizens.

I was a cop. A Police Officer. But I prefer Cop. To me, a cop is a Police Officer who goes looking for the action. Not trouble necessarily, but they seem to go hand in hand, right? I loved going after the drugs and guns – at least the illegal guns. I totally believe in the right to bear arms. Legally.

I was driving that night and my partner who was less than 2 hours from his weekend was riding shotgun. It had been a decent night of activity, and all of our reports were done. It was pretty typical to avoid anything that might end up in lots of paperwork when the end of shift was that close. Not for me but for a lot of the officers on the night shift.

They would go hard until about 3AM. That’s when all the paperwork got done because the city usually got pretty quiet by then. The 911 calls would come out and we would respond, but most guys didn’t go looking for trouble after 3AM. I did. I loved it.

Something Was Off

We were heading West about a half mile away from the station when I spotted the truck.

This would be a great time to tell you that cops develop instincts. I can’t explain it. It just happens. There are certain things about the way a vehicle is traveling down the road that just screams — pull me over.

It is dark outside — very rarely can you see inside the vehicle, especially when the headlights are shining in your eyes as it comes toward you in the oncoming lanes of traffic.

This one was pretty easy. We had come up behind a truck moving down the road with no lights on. That alone isn’t enough to trigger Spidey senses, but there was something about the truck that screamed — come and get me, copper.

I got excited. I loved that stuff. I was addicted to these types of car stops. I looked at Alex and said — hey — I know your weekend is less than two hours away but — how do you feel about this stop?

He shrugged his shoulders and said — sure. Let’s do it.

I was pumped. Over the radio I let dispatch know we had a car stop. I gave the tag number, description of the vehicle — all that normal stuff. It’s standard. It’s important.

I approached the driver’s side and Alex approached the passenger side.

As I approached, I got this overwhelming feeling that something was off. I told you — it’s an instinct cops develop. That gut-level instinct that screams — keep your guard up. This is serious.

And it was.

“Hello sir — do you know why I stopped you this morning?”

“No sir.”

This dude was jittery. Nervous. More than just drug use. This guy was acting like he was about to go on stage in front of a million viewers naked. This was not a good nervous.

I noticed that he kept trying to reach under the seat. Each time I yelled, keep your hands still.

No reaching.

Relax, man.

But he kept going for it. I said — get out of the truck.

I walked him to the back of the truck to pat him down. He was just too squirrelly.

He had a meth pipe in his back pocket which was enough to toss on a set of handcuffs and find out what he was reaching for. And that’s when I messed up.

I took my attention off of him for a second and that’s when he made his move — back to the driver’s seat he ran.

Alex and I gave chase, and as I was grabbing him, Alex ran into me and knocked me into the open driver’s door.

Yea — you read that right. The open driver’s door.

That was totally on me. I was so focused on this guy’s hands when I got him out of the truck that I missed that little detail. I left that door open.

The truck was running, and the woman in the passenger seat was sitting inside the whole time.

I had been so focused on his hands and what had been under the seat that I didn’t think to close that door.

But let’s think about that for a minute. Why would I close it?

I had the guy under control. I was stronger than him and I had another officer with me — also a cop, by the way. A seasoned one.

Alex had 11 years’ more experience than me. He was really good at this.

That night, the bad guy made it back to that open door and back into the driver’s seat.

Alex had a good grip on him, but it wasn’t quite enough to keep him from getting into position to wreck our lives that night. We had no idea we were about to be dragged by the truck.

The engine raced as his right foot slammed down on the accelerator. He got that truck into gear, but I had recovered from being knocked into the door and grabbed that gear shift and yanked it back into park.

We had moved down the road a little, which made keeping any kind of solid footing near impossible. It was a fight, and it was serious.

Back into drive. A little farther down the road before I yanked us back into park again.

Alex had pulled his gun and was about to take the shot that would end this craziness, but he couldn’t do it because that passenger was still in there. It wasn’t a clean shot, so he put it away.

But I did have a clean shot. So, I pulled my gun and brought it to his forehead. My finger found the trigger and I started to squeeze.

If you’ve ever been in an intense and dangerous situation, you know time shifts into suuuper sloooow motion.

If not — think of those slow-motion scenes in every action movie. The hero has time to do a million impossible things and deliver perfectly timed choreographed moves.

It’s just like that.

And also — nothing like that. This one wasn’t scripted. Nobody handed us a Dragged by the Truck script after squad meeting.

If my gun had a stock trigger, it would’ve fired by now.

But this Police Model requires eight and a half pounds of pressure to fire. That extra pull gave me extra time.

Halfway. That’s how far it made it before it would’ve changed everything — ending a life.

In that time-altered moment, a large number of things too impossible to list here took place.

I looked him in the eyes. His right hand grabbed the gun barrel. I glanced at Alex — trying to place him, the gun, the open door. Then the passenger. We made eye contact as she slipped out and ran into the night.

And in those altered moments, I made the call to holster my weapon.

I don’t need to shoot him. I can get him out. We can win this thing.

I was wrong.

The Moment We Were Dragged by the Truck

I re-holstered, he slammed the gear lever back into drive — and down the road we went.

I grabbed the steering wheel tightly and yanked it toward me, trying to force the truck into a turn.

We were on a bridge with a high center median. My hope? He’d hit it and run into the guardrails on the other side of the bridge. In my mind, that would shake him up and we could get him out of the truck and arrest him.

That is not what happened.

What happened was, I lost my grip on the steering wheel and began my rapid descent to the pavement — right in line with the back tire.

I can describe the exact texture and smell of that white smoke surrounding the back tire as it raced toward my face — which was perfectly positioned to be crushed.

I had a brief moment of thinking, this is it. But that quickly gave way to my survival instincts, which told me to twist and turn. I did, and that tire raced past my head as I hit the pavement in style.

Well — style is a stretch. But I did feel like every part of my body hit the ground at once, and I sort of rolled until I was face down and unable to get back up.

I tried. Believe me, I tried. In my mind, Alex and I were about to jump back in our car and have a fun little car chase. But again — that’s not what happened.

Alex held on for a little longer than I had, but he still found himself on the street as that truck quickly disappeared down the road.

I jumped on the radio, gave perfect descriptions of the bad guy, the truck, and exactly where he turned. I lost sight of him pretty quickly, and all I wanted to do was get back in my car and chase him down.

I thought every word made it through — but the recording played back only dead air. I was out of it.

I saw Alex lying in the street and assumed the worst. I thought I was out there alone — and no one would know until some early commuter, lost in their own thoughts, happened upon us.

I just hoped they’d be paying attention. I was in the road and couldn’t figure out how to get out of the way.

It was probably seconds later, but I really don’t know. I had lost all sense of time. I had lost my bearings, I guess — but I heard Alex on the radio.

“27. We’ve got two officers down.”

I thought — Oh man, we’ve got to help them. Who is it?

And that — that’s when it hit me.

It’s us.

Within seconds of the Officer in Trouble call, cops from all over were on their way to us. Running hot — lights flashing and sirens blaring.

Amazing what you notice when you’re lying in the street. I could hear them.
I knew they were coming. The station wasn’t far, and they were getting closer.
I kept my eyes open — watching that curve in the road. Hoping.

I knew I’d see them — lights and sirens are hard to miss.
But what about them — would they see me lying in the street?
My thoughts raced — What if they don’t see me?

They had no idea we had been dragged by the truck. Certainly not that we were on our bellies—on the street.

I started crawling — that’s a generous way of describing my attempt to reach the center median. More like a baby headed for Mommy. Might have been funny if it wasn’t so serious.

I had one mission: get out of the road.

I heard Alex on the radio and even saw him walking around in the street. But that didn’t register. In my mind, he was still lying in the street. That is the image that was locked into my brain.

The other cops pulled up. Aaron and “Z” got to me first.

I wanted to get up so badly, but they wouldn’t let me. I said, “I am fine. Go help Alex.”

They said, “He is right there. He is fine.”

I argued and even told them that he wasn’t fine. I think he is hurt really bad. I really thought he didn’t make it. I didn’t realize it then, but that was pretty clear evidence of head trauma. I heard him on the radio. I saw him walking around. But the only image locked in my mind at that moment was Alex, face down, in the middle of the street. That’s what I saw — through a rattled brain and a sideways angle.

At some point, Aaron and Z gave in and helped me. I should not have gotten up. They were right. But you know — pride.

Next thing I know, there is Sarge on scene taking my gun belt and forcing me into an ambulance. I didn’t want to go to the ER.

Again — it was the right call. Head trauma.

Turns out falling from a moving vehicle and introducing your head to the street — not the best idea. Just so you know.

A lot took place at the ER, but I negotiated my way out of being checked in. Several cop buddies in the room, lots of questions, jokes — cop stuff. I remember a lot of it, but not all. A couple of ladies from church were working at the hospital. Surprise.

Don’t call my wife. She doesn’t know about this yet.

That’s when Alex handed me my phone.

“Dude. It’s your wife.”

How do they always know?

Are you okay?

I lied. Well, not really, but I certainly did not tell the whole truth when I talked to my wife on the phone.

Alex said, “Why did you just lie to your wife?”

Oh. Great question, dude. Speaking of liars, how did our cop car get to the hospital and why aren’t you in one of these hospital beds right now?

He drove it there. Turns out Alex never admitted to being dragged by the truck. Sarge never knew.

I can’t blame him. If I had been able to string together two sentences that made any sense at all, I wouldn’t be in the ER at that moment either.

But here we were. And the conversation between Alex and me went something like this:

Dude. You need to call your wife.
I said — no need man. I will just call her after I get out of here.
No. Seriously. This is all over the news and she has called a lot.

So I called her.
Hey. What’s up? I see that you called.

Wife: “I heard there were a couple of officers injured tonight on your side of town. Are you involved?”

This is the part where, depending on how you define things — it’s either a lie or it’s maybe something a little, sort of, not a lie.

I said, “It’s been a crazy night. A bunch of us are up here at the hospital waiting around while we figure it all out.”

But she had to keep asking questions. Nosy woman.

“Is it you? Are you okay?”

I ignored the first question and chose to answer the second. (The radio mentioned the truck but had some details wrong—run over instead of dragged by the truck).

“I will tell you all about it later. Good story but it will keep until you get home from work tonight.”

Nothing to worry about. (Seriously. Would you fess up?) Hey wife…I was dragged by the truck you heard about and almost died? NO!

By the way, why are you even awake right now? How did you hear about any of this?

Officers injured in my area of town. I am not answering my phone. She doesn’t know any other numbers to call, except 911.

Thank God she didn’t call 911.

All of her calls went to my unattended phone. Completely unnoticed until Alex saw it.

You remember Alex.
“Hey Alex, didn’t you get dragged by the truck too?”

Alex smirked and walked away.

The liar.