Stolen Police Car Chase

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“Let’s go to coffee,” Gregg said as I finished up a bit of paperwork. I looked up and Mark, Dean and Gregg were ready to go. Mark and Dean both held shotguns. “Do that crap in the morning,” Gregg continued. I grabbed my “trique” bag, containing everything from first aid equipment to extra magazines for my pistol, and headed for the parking lot. 

“Dean and I will meet you at 1911,” Gregg said referring to the phone number of the local 24-hour café. I grabbed our sedan and Mark and I situated ourselves, checking the lights, locking up the shotgun and putting our personal items in convenient places. 

We arrived at the restaurant first and I felt a tinge of excitement as I hoped to see Candy, the evening shift waitress. 

I felt a nervous tingle as Candy, smiling at our arrival, grabbed a pot of coffee to bring over to us. She walked over to our table, never losing the smile on her face. 

“Hello boys,” her chocolate-brown eyes danced with the sparkle a diamond has under the lights of a showcase. 

“Hi Candy,” I said first. “How’s your night?”

“Boring till now. I hoped to see you guys tonight,” she looked straight at my partner Mark and the size of her smile increased.

“Hey. You’re looking good,” Mark flashed perfect, white teeth at her.

I swear she nearly melted at his words. She stood two feet away from me but I was no longer at the table.  My tingle faded, replaced by a bite of anger. Mark, only a couple years older than me, already had a wife and three kids. He didn’t care that he was married. He didn’t care about my interest in her. Nope, oblivious to all of these facts, he smiled sweetly and said some crap to her softly enough so I couldn’t hear. Candy hovered closer to him, oblivious to me. I heard her giggle which made bile begin to rise from my stomach. I waited for her to sit on his lap and kiss him. 

His handsome, olive skinned face, perfect v-shaped body and charm he honed to perfection made me sick to my stomach. How could I compete with this? My own body was skinny, my face long and my nose big. Mark looked like Adonis while I pictured myself more like Cyrano Debergerac. 

Mark’s natural good looks attracted many a woman and he fed on the attention. He never worked to get the attention but seemingly expected them to act this way. This irritated me the most. I had to be funny, witty, intelligent, caring and try my damnedest to get a bit of attention while he floated along and received everything I wanted from a slew of different women. I learned years earlier, life is never fair.

I sat stone still, sulking in my anger and feelings of inadequacy. I wanted to say, “Hey, he’s married with three kids! I’m single, with a brain.”  I didn’t say anything. 

My preoccupation with this spectacle was so complete I didn’t notice our other two partners come through the door. Dean and Gregg broke the hypnotic trance engulfing me. The waitress separated from Mark and disappeared into the kitchen.

Dean shook his head. “Jesus Christ, Mark. Are you going to make out right here at the table or what?” His flippant attitude drove the rest of my despondent feelings away. 

Mark smiled sheepishly at the two newcomers. “She likes me. What can I say?” 

“How about ‘I’m married with three kids and don’t need another divorce, thank you.’” Gregg piped in. His gaze switched quickly to me and he continued, “I thought you were interested in Candy? Didn’t you say you were going to ask her out last week?” All eyes switched to me. 

I stumbled for words. I said exactly those words a week earlier but hadn’t found the guts to ask her. Mark gave me a look of dismissal. I knew he thought I would never ask her for a date. “I had some other things to do. I’m going to ask her out for this weekend.” 

Dean patted me on the back. “You fucking better hurry otherwise Mark will have another one pregnant.” Cut to the deep. Rumor is Mark impregnated another waitress in Sabinal within the last few months. Dean didn’t allow Mark any slack. He climbed about 12 pegs on my ladder of admiration.

Everyone laughed heartily except for Mark who knew he was outnumbered. “Fuck you, Dean.” He said half-heartedly. “Bob ain’t got the balls to ask her out.” 

Mark’s attack switched to me, but before I could respond Gregg interceded “Mark, you better cool your jets otherwise you are going to be living in a shack. Your wife will screw you over royal. Plus, if the other rumor is true, you will have to pay child support for that one.”

Mark turned to Gregg. “Don’t you bastards worry about me. It’s not your business!” He was angry and defensive.  I waited for Dean to smack him down. 

Gregg and Dean both saw a beaten Mark and didn’t continue with the quips. Candy finished with the orders of the only other table in the restaurant with patrons and returned to our table. She must have heard some of our conversations. I felt a little embarrassed for her and for me.

“Are you boys going to order tonight or just having coffee?” She said this with a Marilyn Monroe tone and her hip cocked to one side. I knew she adored Marilyn. In a previous visit, she showed us some photos of herself in a blond wig. She claimed to have won a Marilyn look-a-like contest. Maybe. She bore perfectly oval shaped, chocolate brown eyes that were two sizes too big. Her hair was brown and cut above the shoulders so it flipped easily with her movements. 

I thought she was probably 22 because she mentioned going to a bar a few times. Her full figure really attracted attention from Mark and yes, me. She couldn’t be called slim but she truly was not fat either. Her hips were full as were her breasts. She appeared to dress to attract a man’s eye to her ample figure but never in a way that would be considered cheap; but definitely very sensual and attractive. 

We ordered without looking at the menu, knowing what the menu said by heart from too many previous nights. Candy made eye contact with each of us as she took our orders. Mark was the only exception, keeping his eyes down at the table. I nervously stumbled over my order causing her to smile fully and emit a chuckle. She obviously knew that she caused this. 

She left with our orders in hand and I went over the plans for the night. “The Hondo PD picked up an alien this afternoon for DWI but the judge released him on his own recognizance. Evening shift put a hold on him and asked if we could pick him up. Mark and I will go over to Hondo. Hopefully we can get someone from Eagle   Pass to take him off our hands otherwise we will be babysitting all night.” 

“Don’t count on Eagle   Pass, Bobbie,” Gregg replied. “We have called them three times over the last couple of weeks and haven’t received a lick of help.”

“Yeah but I just as well try. If we can get him back early enough we might get lucky.” I knew the chance we’d receive any assistance from the Eagle Pass station was slim but it would save us a couple of hours of driving. We were 70 miles from the border and, on midnightshift, had no one other than ourselves to take aliens back to Mexico. We often asked for help from the two nearest border stations, Del Rioand Eagle Pass but both seemed reluctant to assist us as they their own operations took precedent. 

Candy soon came back, delivering our orders. She put her hand on Dean’s shoulder and gossiped about local events, hoping we would provide something juicy she could pass to her friends. We always accommodated, giving her some fact or insight only law enforcement officers would know; nothing ever important, just tidbits of knowledge she could share with her friends. Definitely a symbiotic relationship; we received the complete attention of a beautiful woman and she received bits of gossip she could pass on to her friends. 

Mark remained silent through the conversations and Candy now concentrated her attentions on Gregg, Dean and I. Then Dean, out of the blue, with no prep and less tact looked up at Candy and said. “When are you going to go out with Bobbie Bear? You know, he thinks you’re pretty hot.”

I was shocked at his blunt, lack of tact and ability to mind my business. I waited for Candy to laugh it off and walk away.

She did not walk away, nor did she act as if she had been shot with a flaming arrow in the stomach. Nope, she smiled, looked down at me and said, “I can’t go out with him until he asks me.” Short, sweet and with a smile.

“Well ask her, Bobbie!” Gregg encouraged.

I couldn’t just ask her out at a table with three of my co-workers. I didn’t work like that. I hoped she would walk away, giving me time to explain I would ask her out when I was alone with her. 

However, she didn’t leave, she stood there looking down at me, one hand on her cocked hip and smiled. “Well?” She asked.

My head spun. I wanted to go to the bathroom but I was stuck with three sets of eyes fixed on me. I stalled. Seconds went by, I tried to clear my throat.

Dean piped in, “She’s made it pretty clear, Bobbie Bear. Well?”

I couldn’t get out of this. Stuck. “Candy. Would you like to, umh,” faltering, “to umh, would you like to go to dinner and the movies on Friday?” I spit it out. Relief flooded my body.

“I have to work Friday.” My stomach turned and I thought I would be sick. This was a sick joke. I looked up and saw a smile creeping across Mark’s face. “But I’m off on Saturday, call me.” She smiled and wrote down her phone number on an order form. She smiled at me, not at Mark, Dean, or Gregg, but at me! She departed our company to clean another table. 

I hadn’t even noticed the other patrons leave the restaurant. Some trained observer I was. We spent the rest of the hour joking about different things. I was walking on clouds and Gregg and Dean were in good moods. Mark sulked.  

Once we were in the car enroute to Hondo some 40 miles away, Mark’s mood didn’t change. He slumped in his seat and pretended to sleep. No words were traded between us during the trip. 

When we arrived at the Medina County Jail, Mark’s attitude changed for the positive as we met a couple deputies in the yard and joked with them.  

“We arrested a car thief last night. His partner in crime, according to your dispatch, is an illegal alien,” the younger deputy explained. This surprised me as I thought we were picking up a drunk driver.

“No problem.” The deputies directed us to park in the secure Sally Port where we could load our prisoner without fear of him escaping. Mark and I secured our firearms together in a lock box. I kept the key. 

The large steel door closed behind us with a bang. I felt strange being in the locked up area of the jail. The steel walls and bars are cold with no warmth to them at all. I shivered at the thought of being locked up inside of this place. Something I hoped I would never have to experience.

The jailer had our prisoner dressed out and ready for us to take. I looked him over. He did not look like someone who had just crossed the Rio Grande. He wore long shorts like youths wear to play basketball, Nike tennis shoes that looked new, and a wife beater sleeveless white t-shirt. His hair was long and styled nicely. 

“What are you looking at?” He asked as I looked him over. His English was good, broken but definitely understandable. 

Mark replied to him in Spanish…that we were looking at a disgrace. 

“Really? You’re the disgrace. You are helping the gringos against your own people.” The alien’s English still broken, his comment was unmistakable. He crossed a thin line and I could see the anger rise in Mark. Mark, although half Hispanic, did not have much empathy for the plight of the illegal alien. This didn’t surprise me as it was a common attitude. Hispanic Agents were often the least empathetic towards the illegal immigrants that we encountered.

 

Mark grabbed the man, put his hands against the wall and handcuffed him behind his back. The alien resisted somewhat and I feared Mark would loose his cool. Then the man spit on the floor and eyed Mark. This is a way of saying, ‘I spit on you.’ By staring at Mark he was challenging him directly. I didn’t want to see this.

I grabbed our prisoner and escorted him to the exit door. I could see that Mark was trying to keep his cool. The large steel door’s electronic lock released. I guided the man towards the car. 

Mark opened the door to the backseat but the prisoner lurched forward, pushing himself into Mark. Mark pushed back hard and I twisted the cuffs and pulled the man back away from Mark. “Relax!” I ordered in Spanish.

The man spat again on the floor. I guided him into the backseat and watched his head so that it wouldn’t hit the metal frame. My goal was to get him loaded without an incident between him and Mark. 

“Let’s get him out of here!” I said and quickly got into the sedan. 

Mark was seething with anger. “We’ll stop down the road.”

Our prisoner heard this and replied with a challenge, “Take the cuffs off and then we’ll see.”

“Shut up!” I ordered to both of them. I could see this getting out of control much too quickly. 

We headed out of town and tempers calmed somewhat. About a mile outside of the city limits a call came over the radio. “Hondo Dispatch, 910.”

“Go ahead,” I said into the mike.

“How far west of town are you?”

“Maybe a mile.”

“We had a possible burglary occur at a residence 4 miles west of here. Resident advises that two individuals left his residence in an older model Monte Carlo, brown in color. Please advise if you see that vehicle.”

She had no more than finished the description when we passed an older model brown Monte Carlo. Mark handled the call on the radio. I turned our cruiser around. It was a true violation of policy to do this with a prisoner but I disregarded that fact.

At the edge of Hondo a police cruiser was heading towards us. Mark advised him on the air that we would make the stop. I activated my overhead lights and the vehicle slowly pulled over. “Better take out the shotgun.” Mark already had freed it from the lock.

I stepped out of the vehicle and reached for my gun. Panic shot through my body, as there wasn’t anything in my holster. I was making a felony stop without a gun. Great! I looked over at Mark and saw he realized the same thing. He had a shotgun. I had a voice.

Continued….

Two Hondo Police Officers came up behind me. “Driver step out of the vehicle.” As he exited the vehicle, I continued. “Keep your hands high!” I waited for the worst. Luckily, commands were followed perfectly; a textbook stop with perfect results. 

The Hondo PD guys went up and cuffed the subject and then after securing him came over to Mark and I. “Thanks guys.” The two said and shook our hands. 

Mark and I got back into our vehicle and headed immediately over to the Medina County SO. “Did you need something?” A voice came over the intercom. 

I pushed the button and said, “Yeah, just forgot something.” I grabbed our two weapons as inconspicuously as I could and gave one to Mark. 

“I can’t believe we did that.” Mark said relieved that we both had our weapons again. 

“The idiot in the backseat distracted us.”

We loaded up and headed back to Uvalde, some forty miles away. I hadn’t fueled up before we left and now our gauge read just above a quarter of a tank. No big deal, we would fuel up in Uvalde before proceeding. 

The prisoner soon was asleep. Mark parroted him and appeared to doze off. The forty miles passed quickly and before I expected, we were coming into Uvalde. 

As we entered into the outskirts of Uvalde, I saw headlights in my rearview mirror attracting my attention. Early morning provides few other vehicles in this part of South Texas and I watched as the car drifted to the shoulder and then over corrected back onto the highway. The driver could be drunk or falling asleep.

“Mark. Mark! The car behind us went off the road. I think it’s a drunk.” I said waking my partner up. I watched and sure enough, the vehicle again went off the shoulder and jerked back into the lane of travel. 

“910 to 315,” I said over the Uvalde’s frequency. 315 is the call sign for a buddy with the Uvalde Police Department, Johnny L.

“Go ahead 910.” His distinctive voice sounded a bit garbled.

“We have a possible DWI traveling west bound coming into Uvalde now. The vehicle went off of the road twice that I witnessed.” We were passing a 24 hour hamburger shop, What-a-Burger, and I noticed a police cruiser in the parking lot. Now I understood why Johnny’s transmission sounded garbled.

“10-4, can you stop them and hold them for us?” In other words he wanted to finish his hamburger.

“10-4 Johnny.” I said breaking protocol. I slowed and pulled to the right into a parking lot and watched the vehicle pass our location. It was a late model mid-size sedan. “Looks like a couple of young Hispanics.” I said as the car passed our location. I pulled out and caught up with the vehicle. 

The vehicle bore Texasexempt plates on it which meant it belonged to some government agency. This raised my alert level a couple of notches.  I thought it would turn out to be a school vehicle on a road trip with the look of the occupants.

I advised Johnny of the exempt plates and passed them onto the Uvalde Dispatch. I looked over at my partner to make sure he was prepped and activated the emergency lights on our marked sedan. The traffic stop was conducted in front of the Holiday Inn on the east end of Uvalde; a well lighted area that provided me with some security. Plus, I assumed it would be some youths who were too sleepy. 

Upon the activation of my red and blues, the vehicle pulled over quickly. I exited my car and walked up to the back driver’s side of the vehicle. I’ve always been a bit jumpy and nervous and tonight was no different. My right hand had unsnapped the holster that held my sidearm instinctively. I did this on almost every stop. It was habit. 

The driver and passenger both were shirtless. That was a bit surprising. The driver made a jerky movement and appeared to reach for something near the console. My senses told me something was wrong and instantly I jumped back to the left front corner of the vehicle and drew my sidearm. 

Suddenly the vehicle jerked into gear and accelerated away. I stood dumbfounded for only a couple of seconds and then ran back to my vehicle where Mark was fully awake and as surprised as I was. “What the hell was that?” I commented as I put our vehicle into drive. 

I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the prisoner still in the backseat. Great, one more big violation of policy and I should be looking at a month or so on the beach.

I jammed the accelerator to the floor and hit the siren knob. No affect, the sedan continued to pull away from us. Our speedometer rose quickly to highway speeds even though we were in the middle of town!

Mark handled the radio. “917 315,” he began. “The vehicle pulled away from our stop. Two Hispanics, early 20s are the only occupants we saw.”

Johnny’s voice, no longer garbled, held a tone of excitement. “917, we are on the east side of town heading your way.”

I looked in the rearview mirror and the red and blue lights flashing a mile behind us gave me confidence. My own lights reflected in the windows of the storefronts we passed. Mark changed the tone of the siren as we approached the main intersection of town. I love that sound.

The suspect’s car had a big jump on us and was at least one quarter of mile ahead of us. I feared that the occupants would ditch the car, jump and run and we would have a foot chase in the middle of town. 

My speedometer read over 70 now and we were still in town. “Don’t look like they’re going to bail.” We were not losing ground anymore but not catching them either. “Ask Johnny who’s with him.” 

Mark asked on the radio and I was happy with the answer, Mondo. 

The Uvalde PD dispatch came back finally. “Uvalde 910, suspect vehicle is a stolen police car out of San Antonio. Vehicle had a shotgun in it at the time of theft.” She repeated the transmission to make sure we understood.

“10-4, Uvalde.” I replied. Johnny also replied he understood. This changed everything. I felt my stomach do a couple of flips. We had a shotgun in our vehicle and I am sure the police cruiser had the same. Shotgun against shotgun doesn’t appeal to me. 

Within a minute we passed the Uvalde City Limits sign. Our speedometer read close to 80. The road west from Uvalde is a fairly straight stretch of rural highway for 40 miles. With our sedans we could keep up easily no matter how fast the suspect vehicle went. 

Gregg’s voice came over the radio. “We’re enroute from Camp Wood. We will cut over to Brackettville to assist if this continues.”

Mark acknowledged the transmission. I thought it would be over well before Brackettville, the next town west, some 40 miles away.

Johnny and Mondo caught up with us outside of Uvalde. I slowed and let them lead this chase. They were the peace officers and it was their responsibility. We would be right behind them. Or would we?

I happened to glance down at the gas gauge. Less than a quarter of a tank of gas remained! My stomach did another somersault and I felt sick. We could NOT abandon Johnny and Mondo with a stolen police vehicle and a shotgun inside. 

I looked over at Mark, “We are almost out of gas.”

“Shit,” was all he could say.

“910, 315.” I said over the air.

“315, 910 go ahead.” The siren made it difficult to hear him.

“We may have some vehicle problems. I don’t know how far we can go.”

A pause occupied the air space for what seemed like a minutes. “Bob, don’t you abandon us!” I could tell his teeth were clinched. What was I suppose to do or say now? Great.

“10-4, we will stay in this as long as our vehicle allows.” How stupid could I be? I knew our gas gauge read at a half a tank when we started the night, but I had postponed filling up. Why? I was sick to my stomach at the thought of us abandoning Johnny and Mondo. 

I hoped the chase would end before we ran out of gas. I prayed actually! 

Brackettville Border Patrol called over the radio. “Be advised we are set up with three units about 20 miles west of Uvalde.” 

“Great!” I exclaimed.  ‘Absolutely wonderful!’ I thought to myself. Now we wouldn’t abandon Johnny!

The first 20 miles passed in about 2 minutes. We were traveling just under 100 miles per hour. Our sedan could easily handle this all night except our gas gauge argued that fact.

Johnny and Mondo kept right on the tail of the suspect vehicle. Their goal, to make the driver of the suspect vehicle make an error in judgment and wreck. I advised them of the Border Patrol at the 20 mile mark. I could hear the relief in Johnny’s voice.

We approached the location where the Border Patrol would be. I had no idea what I expected them to do but I was irritated when I saw the three Border Patrol vehicles parked on a side road, watching us go by.  They immediately pulled out and joined in the chase.

I contacted one of the Brackettville Agents I knew on the Border Patrol frequency.

“Junior, you read local?”  

“Go ahead Bob,” Junior responded with the Border Patrol’s classic radio non-professionalism.

“We’re having vehicle problems. Can you pick Mark and I up?”

“10-4. I’ll pick up you and have one of the other guys pick up Mark.”

We pulled to the side just in time as the vehicle began to cough. Junior and another agent were right behind us and Mark jumped out immediately and got in with another agent. I grabbed the alien and directed him to the caged area of Junior’s vehicle.

A questioning look came from Junior but he didn’t comment on the alien. We both knew my butt was already on the line and his was now in the same boat. But after securing the alien, he accelerated his Chevy Blazer up to try and keep up with the rest of the chase. They had easily gained a mile on us but I could still see the red and blue lights when we hit straight aways. 

“315, 910.” Johnny called on the radio.

“Go ahead 315.”

“You get picked up?”

“10-4, we should be up with you in a couple of minutes.” That was a bit of an exaggeration because we were gaining very slowly, if at all, but I had to reassure him.

I looked over at Junior who was concentrating on driving. He looked over at me and smiled. He too would have broken the same policy as me if the circumstances were the reversed. 

“315, 910, Kinney County has a road block set up in Brackettville. We should be coming up to it pretty soon.”

“10-4 Johnny.” I said over the PD channel breaking their much more stringent radio etiquette. 

Arriving at the outskirts of the small Texas town of Brackettville, we were only a few hundred yards behind the main group and catching up rapidly. “Should be a roadblock coming up anytime now.” I said to Junior.

“Uh huh.” He replied concentrating on his driving. The Chevrolet Blazer didn’t handle nearly as well at 100 miles per hour as our sedan did. 

I could see brake lights on the vehicles ahead of us. Two of the law enforcement vehicles went sideways. We caught them instantly or so it seemed. 

I looked for the Uvalde PD vehicle and saw it. Mondo stood near the front of it. I watched the flames come out of his revolver. I searched for Johnny. 

Junior locked up the brakes and slid into the midst of the anarchy. I caught sight of a Kinney County Deputy firing his shotgun down towards the fence. 

The stolen police vehicle was upside down near the fence about 20 yards off of the highway! I couldn’t see anyone at first but as I jumped out I saw Johnny lying next to the stolen police vehicle. My heart jumped. He was shot, I knew it. 

With my gun in my hand and I ran next to Mondo. “Is Johnny shot?” I yelled.

“I don’t think so.” Mondo looked over the sites of his revolver but no longer fired. 

I saw the Kinney County Deputy still pointed his shotgun towards the wrecked sedan and Mark near him illuminating the brush with a maglite. Several officers and agents were shining their lights into the brush. 

I looked hard at Johnny. He moved. “I’m going down.” I screamed. Guns were raised as I sprinted down to the injured officer.

Johnny got up as I arrived at him. “Are you alright?” I asked.

“Yeah. Thought I was going to get shot by my own people.”

“You sure you’re alright?” I asked again as I looked him over. His uniform was dirty but there no sign of blood could be seen. I grabbed him and said to follow me. We both ran back up to the protection of the squad car. 

Johnny was out of breath. “Where’s the guys out of the car?” I asked.

“They ran into the brush.” Mondo stood behind the rear frame of the car with his gun still pulled. I noticed a few expended shell casings near Mondo showing that he had reloaded his weapon.

“Did you shoot?” I already knew the answer.

“Fuck yeah, Bobbie,” he said smiling. 

“Did you see the shotgun?” 

“No, but when the one crawled out I saw him with something and that’s when I fired.” Mondo was confident he had fired justly. 

The Kinney County Deputy and several other Border Patrol Agents and officers congregated around us. 

The Kinney County Deputy, a kid in his early twenties, still carried his shotgun. I hoped he activated the safety. He too wore a triumphant smile. “Shot the shit out of them,” he bragged. “I think I hit the second one before he got into the brush.”

It was no more than 40 yards to the car and the brush line was a few feet further. With double ought buck shot I thought he couldn’t have missed. Somebody made a comment that a bloodhound was enroute and would be here within the hour. 

I put my bulletproof vest on and watched as several others did the same thing. More officers were arriving and the story was being retold. “The son of a bitch came around the corner and I fired twice into the car. I musta hit it as it slid into the lip of culvert and flipped over. Both Mexicans crawled out. I heard shots fired so I fired at the second suspect.” The Kinney County Deputy was telling his story for the third time that I knew of. “I had to hit that bastard,” he continued.

“Let’s go see if we can see any blood,” I said to Mark and Junior. We walked down to the car. I could see the pellet holes in the front of the window. I couldn’t tell if the deputy had hit anything or not. The three of us looked for sign going into the brush. No blood was evident but it would be difficult to locate with just a flashlight.  

“I have their sign over here.” Junior said. He is a much better sign cutter than the rest of us and I believed him without hesitation. I watched as the illumination of his flashlight disappeared into the brush. 

This part of South Texas is not an arid desert, rather a heavily brushed area full of wildlife. The brush ranges from cat claw which is a shrub growing no more than a few feet high but has razor sharp spines all along its branches, to mesquite trees which can grow quite substantially but also has thorns all over its limbs. 

When I first came to Texaswith the US Border Patrol one of the old timers summed it up fairly well by telling me everything in the brush either will bite, claw or poke you. He wasn’t far off in his description. I arrested many an individual who tried to flee from a car in the night and been torn up by the thorns of the various plants. 

Junior followed the sign of a fleeing subject slowing and methodically. There was no hurry. They would be caught, there was nowhere for them to escape to. We were thirty miles from the Mexican Border but the chance they could make it there was slim to none. The environment they made their escape in is not hospitable to those without the proper clothes and especially to shirtless men without flashlights. Dawn would come in only a few hours and then dozens of law enforcement officers would scour the brush. We would find them then.

Walking through the brush with flashlights made us easy targets and I knew I had made an error in judgment again. “Junior,” I called to him softly. “Let’s wait till first light and then we will find them. They aren’t going anywhere.” The thought of one of them having a shotgun truly scared me. 

Mark didn’t argue and immediately made his way back up into the midst of the law enforcement officers. Junior, a bit more stubborn, eventually turned around and headed back to the safety of the lights.  

We waited for first light and I talked with Johnny. We joked a bit but I could hear the fear and anxiety in his voice. We moved away from the crowd and finally he looked at me and with the utmost seriousness said “Bob, when I ran down to the vehicle and the shots started, all I could think of was that I would be laying in the bar ditch uncovered, my eyes open and everyone would be joking about how stupid I looked. It really scared me.” His voice broke a little as the emotions of these thoughts raced through his mind.

Several times over the past couple of years we backed up the PD or the Sheriff’s Office at a call involving a dead person. The officers would joke with each other and make light of the situation. I knew it was a way to combat the stress of the situation.

I stood contemplating his comments for a moment and then looked up at him and replied, “I would never let that happen. No matter what, I would cover you and not let the guys joke. I promise you that.”

Johnny smiled and said, “Thanks.” 

As the grey dawn finally arrived, dozens of officers and Border Patrol Agents were on scene. A couple of deputies with horses were there along with a set of bloodhounds. The search began as soon as we could see good enough to walk through the brush without the use of our flashlights. 

Anti-climatic was the general consensus as the two subjects were quickly rounded up. Within an hour after dawn both were in cuffs and led to the caged seats of sedans. We watched them being led out of the brush and they looked like kids who had been whipped with thorny switches. They were scratched and bleeding from the brush, heads hung low. These two didn’t look like they were more than 20 years old, slim to the point of being skinny and truly didn’t look formidable in the least. Two youths who found an undercover police car running in the driveway of its owner and decided to take it for a joyride, I’m sure they regretted that impulse!

We picked up our stuff and headed back to Uvalde. We caught a ride with Gregg and Dean who arrived sometime during the night, borrowed a five gallon gas can and started back to pick up our stranded vehicle. 

“Why the hell didn’t you fuel up before you went to Hondo?” Dean asked about three times before we got back to the vehicle.

Nothing I could say could justify my actions. A mistake made on my part which almost became a very serious issue. I would never again allow my fuel gauge to read less than half a tank. I learned a serious lesson on this night.

The most important lesson was the conversation I had with Johnny. I would do what I could to respect the dead and to get others to do the same from this day forth. Johnny and I were friends previously to this but now became very close friends. I guess, the true contemplation of dying caused that.