The Genesis Illusion

Chapter 5

"Would you like to come on patrol with me tonight?" Paul's dad said, as he finished dinner.

"Sure," Paul said. "What time are you going to leave?" Paul wasn't all that excited to go. He, like most fifteen-year-olds, would rather spend time with friends. But he enjoyed being with his father and talking guy talk in the car when he didn't have anything else planned.

"I have to cover for another officer while he's at his daughter's piano recital. We'll leave about eight o'clock and back at ten."

"Great, that will give me time to do some of my homework."

"Some? You need to get all your homework done before we go. You know it isn't homework unless it's due tomorrow." His dad was full of silly sayings.

"Yea, yea, I better start right now then."

Paul's dad sometimes let him ride in the police cruiser when he had a night shift. "You know the rules, Paul, if I need to get out of the car you stay in the car and no matter what you keep quiet."

"Yeah sure, I know." His father said the same thing every time he went on a patrol.

The Crown Victoria police cruiser had all the latest devices a police scanner, multi-band radio, siren, emergency lights, and a shotgun mounted ominously in a quick release holder between the two front seats. Cool, I get to cruise around the neighborhood in a police car. At fifteen Paul had already been on a handful of these trips with his father but nothing of any consequence happened. Twice he answered a call that directed him to a disturbance at a park and once he had to go to a liquor store but when he got there, another officer had already arrived and taken charge of the situation.

A voice on the police radio exclaimed, "All vehicles, this is an all points emergency. Officer down, officer down! All vehicles near 12th and Adams St. respond immediately. Active shooter at large."

Paul knew the address was only a few blocks away. Paul's father with a concerned expression looked him in the eye. Then he pressed on the gas and turned on his siren and emergency lights. They reached the location in only minutes. Screeching to a stop at the intersection Paul's dad opened his car door.

"Paul you remember, stay in the car and keep quiet. I'm not kidding."

Paul didn't speak but nodded that he understood. He was excited but scared.

The cruiser's headlights cast a revealing light ahead. A man lay motionless in the street. No one else was visible. There were a few parked cars along the curb. Paul's dad got out of the car with his sidearm drawn and pointed toward the victim.

Paul sat with his seatbelt fastened. His eyes fixed on his father as he crept forward. Another police car arrived from a side street on the left with emergency lights flashing. It slammed to a stop before entering the intersection. The officer in the other car got out with his weapon pointed forward in a ready position. Now both policemen converged on the wounded officer.

Out of the corner of Paul's eyes he detected movement to his right. It was dark but he could see someone crouched behind one of the parked cars. That must be the shooter. I need to do something. He has a rifle. My God he's going to shoot. I should do something? I should shout.

"Whatever you do, stay in the car and be quiet." His father's caution replayed in his head.

Then the horrid sound of a gunshot. Paul jerked his head back toward his father seeing him crumple to the ground. The other officer reacted by turning and firing several times toward the gunman. The assailant collapsed, face first on the back of the car he was hiding behind, dropping his gun.

"Dad, dad!"

~~~

Paul's childhood was normal for a kid living in Hoboken, New Jersey. Though he didn't have a mother, she'd died of cancer when he was only two, Paul's father raised him. All he knew about her were from his father's stories and old photos. The photos were in an album on the living room table and his father kept one of their wedding on a bookshelf behind the sofa.

Paul's father was a career police officer on the Hoboken force. Was he born a policeman? Like others on the force they attended police events and award ceremonies where his father received several accommodations for meritorious service. Whenever they were walking around the neighborhood people said hi and wanted to talk. Officer Jacobs was a popular guy.

Paul's father was a bit of a joker, delivering good advice often with a humorous twist. Paul remembered fondly many of his short sayings.

"Remember, every step, no matter how small, in the right direction is the right step."

"If you can't say something nice about somebody, just don't say anything at all." Paul used this advice often. Many times he kept silent instead of speaking ill of someone. He never regretted this choice.

Paul tried to live by these slogans and bits of fatherly advice. These were his guiding lights from his father. Dad was a good man. I want to be like him if I can.

Paul attended public school just like all of his friends who lived in the neighborhood. Being as skinny as he was, and the son of a police officer, he became the favorite target of bullies. His father helped him deal with this inevitable predicament faced by many kids.

"Paul the skeleton," Carl McGillicuddy teased. "Paul the fraidy cat. Loser, you worthless pile of dog crap." McGillicuddy was the biggest bully in the neighborhood.

I should just run away. I can't beat him. McGillicuddy was eleven, the same age as Paul but he was bigger, stronger, and always had at least two accomplices just like him at his side. Unable to escape Paul endured another beating. "Take this you bag of bones." Paul felt the pain of McGillicuddy's fist sink into his stomach. He crouched over from the blow. The other two joined in when they knew he was defenseless. He fell to the ground and tried to protect himself the best he could. The two hit him in the side and kicked him. Yelling obscenities, they grew tired when he didn't fight back eventually wandering off bragging about their conquest.

Jesus, I hope I didn't break my rib. Paul staggered to his feet panting like a dog and clutching his stomach. No blood. After examining the scrapes and bruises he sauntered humiliated back home.

Opening the front door he heard his father shout, "Paul is that you?" I don't want him to know. "Paul, come here I want to tell you something." Paul straightened up and tried to look like nothing had happened but it didn't work. His father could tell he'd been roughed up.

"Paul, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He wasn't.

"Was it that McGillicuddy kid again?" Paul nodded hanging his head in shame. "I have to teach you self-defense so you can take care of yourself. When you're older, you'll learn to ignore the names people call you and just trust who you are." Paul didn't understand this at the time but later he followed the sage advice.

Paul nodded sheepishly as he slinked off to his room. I'm going to beat the crap out of that guy someday.

Paul's aunt Sarah, who lived on Long Island, took him in after his father died. She and her husband owned a paint store and had a small house with a spare bedroom. They were nice people, kind and supportive to Paul as he dealt with his father's death. But even though everyone said it wasn't his fault, he never fully recovered from his guilt. Replaying his father's death scene over and over thousands of times he promised he would act next time.