Toward the end of the day, Commissioner Scott walked down a floor to the record room and happened to look through the windows in the stairwell into the street. There, three floors down and stepping out of a nice hired car was Trenton Semmes, head of Big Loft's police officer's association. The commissioner could guess why he had come in person, and so climbed back up the stairs to the fourth floor.
“Officer Brandt,” he said, “one more round of coffee.”
Mr. Semmes looked like he was going to need some very strong coffee … he looked disoriented when he stepped out of the car and looked even more disoriented when he arrived in the commissioner's office, so much so that Officer Brandt quietly followed him in, afraid the older man might fall.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Semmes.”
Mr. Semmes heard it, but he stopped right where he was, and ran his fingers through his graying dark hair.
“I supported you in becoming chief of police – and you were a good chief! You were stabilizing morale! You did good work until July!”
“I suppose things did get interesting in July, and hereafter,” the commissioner said.
“What happened?”
“Everything that happened between July and September, and now,” the commissioner said.
“I can't believe you did what you did today – and that you convinced so many other people to do it!”
“Actually, I convinced some and others convinced me,” the commissioner said. “It has to do with about 13 of every 15 people we both served having jobs next year, and with Big Loft having the size police force it needs.”
“You haven't even thought about the attrition your decision to sign off on that abomination is going to have!”
“It won't be 13 of 15 officers. Have you seen the numbers those lawsuits would have cost? That's what I was doing everything I could to avoid. Some attrition is to be expected, but the money saved there will help us retain the rest.”
“What does it matter – you have given up the key point for there to even be a police force! Do you not understand that the right we uniquely have to rule this county that our forefathers founded for their posterity is being whittled away everywhere by the fools who want liberalism, communism, and savagery to take over? Those covenants were the essence of conservatism – the conservation of our right to maintain the rule of this society!”
“Ah yes – a quote from the first document using the term conservatism, outlining the necessity to conserve the right of the White man to keep the Negro and everyone else under his heel.”
“Yes! 1867! We have known these things since 1867 – since 1865, and before that! The sons of the Founders knew what would happen with the trends then and tried to defend us! How could you throw that away for our department?”
“Well,” the commissioner said, “1867 to 2019 – it was a good run. It's over here, Mr. Semmes. Time to move on.”
Mr. Semmes fell out into Officer Brandt's arms.
“Or, let time move on while you stop here,” the commissioner said as Officer Brandt looked up with ashen face after checking Mr. Semmes' pulse, and then started CPR.
**Toward the end of the day, Commissioner Scott walked down a floor to the record room and happened to look through the windows in the stairwell into the street. There, three floors down and stepping out of a nice hired car was Trenton Semmes, head of Big Loft's police officer's association. The commissioner could guess why he had come in person, and so climbed back up the stairs to the fourth floor.
“Officer Brandt,” he said, “one more round of coffee.”
Mr. Semmes looked like he was going to need some very strong coffee … he looked disoriented when he stepped out of the car and looked even more disoriented when he arrived in the commissioner's office, so much so that Officer Brandt quietly followed him in, afraid the older man might fall.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Semmes.”
Mr. Semmes heard it, but he stopped right where he was, and ran his fingers through his graying dark hair.
“I supported you in becoming chief of police – and you were a good chief! You were stabilizing morale! You did good work until July!”
“I suppose things did get interesting in July, and hereafter,” the commissioner said.
“What happened?”
“Everything that happened between July and September, and now,” the commissioner said.
“I can't believe you did what you did today – and that you convinced so many other people to do it!”
“Actually, I convinced some and others convinced me,” the commissioner said. “It has to do with about 13 of every 15 people we both served having jobs next year, and with Big Loft having the size police force it needs.”
“You haven't even thought about the attrition your decision to sign off on that abomination is going to have!”
“It won't be 13 of 15 officers. Have you seen the numbers those lawsuits would have cost? That's what I was doing everything I could to avoid. Some attrition is to be expected, but the money saved there will help us retain the rest.”
“What does it matter – you have given up the key point for there to even be a police force! Do you not understand that the right we uniquely have to rule this county that our forefathers founded for their posterity is being whittled away everywhere by the fools who want liberalism, communism, and savagery to take over? Those covenants were the essence of conservatism – the conservation of our right to maintain the rule of this society!”
“Ah yes – a quote from the first document using the term conservatism, outlining the necessity to conserve the right of the White man to keep the Negro and everyone else under his heel.”
“Yes! 1867! We have known these things since 1867 – since 1865, and before that! The sons of the Founders knew what would happen with the trends then and tried to defend us! How could you throw that away for our department?”
“Well,” the commissioner said, “1867 to 2019 – it was a good run. It's over here, Mr. Semmes. Time to move on.”
Mr. Semmes fell out into Officer Brandt's arms.
“Or, let time move on while you stop here,” the commissioner said as Officer Brandt looked up with ashen face after checking Mr. Semmes' pulse, and then started CPR.
Photo by JR Korpa on Unsplash