Another Poe-leece story

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Deadmeat

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I've enjoyed reading OhioStateBuckeye's stories and they're reminding me of some long-forgotten stuff I saw as a cop in Atlanta in the 70s. I've always said if I ever write a book about what I've actually seen I'd have to have it published as fiction because the average Joe would never believe half the things that occur on a daily basis.

On one occasion I was given a "Shots Fired" call to one of our less desirable areas and arrived at a split level home on the side of a hill. Beside a Buick Electra 225 stood a very portly black woman who was trying to reload a .32 Rossi. I saw several holes in the bedroom window but no other damage.

As it turned out, the woman came home early one day and found her husband in bed with one of the wife's friends. Upon seeing this, the wife went to the Buick, retrieved a gun from the glove compartment, and proceeded to put five holes in the bedroom window which, needless to say, ended the tryst rather quickly. We arrested her, but as usual the charges by the husband were dropped and the case wasn't prosecuted.

A couple of weeks later I got the same call at the same address and upon arriving found out that the same thing had happened. Her husband was once again in bed with the same woman and the wife once again retrieved the Rossi and once again shot up the house. And once again we arrested her and once again the charges were dropped. Second verse, same as the first.

Finally, a few weeks after the second incident, I got the same call at the same address but this time things were a bit different. It's just one of those times that you'd really have to have been there to appreciate.

Imagine this: I arrived at the home but this time instead of the Buick Electra (for those of you who aren't familiar with them, they're about as long as a boxcar and built just about as sturdily) being in the driveway, the trunk was sticking out of the bedroom. Running down the road was a rather large and very nude black woman obviously in a state of panic, and in the carport was the husband face down and not moving with a very large head wound and pickled okra deeply embedded in his afro. Standing over him was the wife with another jar of pickled okra raised above her head shouting, "Get up you *#$%^%@!! and I'll kill you!!!!!!!!".

Turns out that the husband just wasn't too bright or had an uncontrollable libido, I'm not sure which. The third time the wife came home and found him in bed with the friend, she really meant business. Apparently realizing that her shooting skills wouldn't win her any bullseye shooting contests, she ran back to the car, fired it up, and proceeded to drive this tank into the bedroom where her husband was still getting it on with the wife's friend (we call it "hein' and shein' " in the deep South). The car drove the bed against the wall, trapping both husband and friend, and the car doors were wedged shut against the bed and wall preventing the wife from exiting.

The friend, seeing that discretion is the better part of valor, exited the house completely nude through the hole in the front wall that the Buick had made. The husband, also nude, somehow managed to get out of the bed, jumped across the hood of the car, and made a beeline for the carport. The wife, portly though she was, managed to squeeze out the drivers' side window and squeezed off five shots at the husband as he exited the room. The gun was empty and she had no other means of inflicting damage so the wife followed the husband toward the carport. Just as the husband got about halfway across the carport, the wife grabbed a quart jar of pickled okra that she has been canning from a truck patch in the back yard and hurled it at the husband with all the strength and accuracy of a Major League pitcher. She hit him in the back of the head causing a skull fracture that would cause his death later that night.

Now imagine this: In three separate incidents she has unloaded about 15 rounds at the husband, never hitting him once. She drove the Buick into the bedroom and didn't put a scratch on him. But finally she clobbered him with a quart jar of pickled okra and killed him.

In filling out my report one of the boxes we had to check was "Weapon Type". There are several boxes including things like "Gun", "Knife", etc. I checked the "Other" category and below it wrote "Quart jar of picked okra."

Like I said, you can't make this stuff up.
 

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