Free The Archangel Drones by Joe Nobody Page B

give it to him until I got the video uploaded to the cloud. They crushed my phone during the struggle, but the data-backup worked. You might not want to let Sandy see it though. Amanda started crying and couldn’t watch. It’s pretty bad, Gabe.”
    Surprisingly, Chip’s announcement was the only positive thing Gabe Chase had heard all day. He actually smiled. “We won’t be leaving the hospital for a while, but I can’t wait to see it. Do you think it will clear Jacob’s name?”
    There was a pause before the answer came through the phone’s tiny speaker. “I don’t know about that. I didn’t record the beginning of the encounter. By the time I got outside, they already had Jacob pinned to the ground, so what happened before that isn’t on my video.”
    “I see,” Gabe said, clearly disappointed.
    “But I will tell you this, there’s not a reasonable person in the world who can watch what is on my film and say the cops were justified. It’s… it’s… it’s painful to watch. It’s just not right what they did.”
    “Thanks, Chip. I’ll call you when we leave here. I’ll come by and see it.”

    Officer Dole Kirkpatrick rested the clipboard against the steering wheel of his cruiser, re-reading his notes from last night’s takedown. While it was unlikely he’d be asked to submit a report or testify at any trial, his training and personal habits dictated a quick documentation of every call. Now, as he prepared for his shift, he regretted looking at the words.
    It was good to be back in the familiar surroundings of his regular patrol car. Sergeant Marwick’s seniority and last minute scheduling change had forced Dole to surrender his newer squad car and move into one of the reserve units the previous evening. The switch had marked a harbinger of what would be the worst ten hours of his short career.
    Kirkpatrick sighed, glancing at his scribbles, recalling the sensation and sound of that kid’s knee giving way in his hands. He would never forget the wail of agony escaping from the young suspect’s throat.  
    Despite two years on the nation’s fourth largest police force, Dole was still trying to find a comfort zone within his chosen profession. Teased since the academy about his insistent note taking, he would never admit to anyone the real reason behind the routine. The habit wasn’t indicative of any lack of mental capacity, nor did he harbor retentive tendencies. Dole kept his record because he wasn’t sure he was really cut out for a career as a cop, and he knew that one day soon his pseudo-journal would help him make a difficult decision.
    His grandfather had been a decorated New York City officer, his father still on the blue line with the Dallas Police Department. It had been assumed after graduating with a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice that the youngest male member of the Irish family would follow in the tradition.
    But Dole hadn’t developed into what his father considered to be law enforcement raw material. At least not his mindset. “You’re too nice, too caring, too liberal, and for sure too big hearted. You will have only an instant to make most of your decisions, and you can’t go home and second-guess them. No room for backseat drivers or Monday quarterbacks on the front lines. Do something else with your life, son. Being a cop isn’t a match for you.”
    The pronouncement had been devastating, crushing Dole’s sense of belonging and family custom.
    His father’s prophecy hadn’t developed overnight, nor was it attributable to any one incident. He’d grown up watching the two most important men in his life struggle with their chosen professions, witnessing the family hardships triggered by living with a badge. Heavy drinking, double shifts, constant stress, and a highly competitive political environment inside of the force had taken a toll on both the youngest Kirkpatrick and his older male role models. Dole had often rebelled, regularly questioning his father’s