Tag Archive for: rain

Never start a story with the weather.

I’ve heard this many times over the years.

Even Elmore Leonard kicked off his “Don’t-do-it” list with a rule about the weather.

  1. Never open a book with the weather.
  2. Avoid prologues.
  3. Never use a verb other than “said” to carry dialogue.
  4. Never use an adverb to modify the verb “said.”
  5. Keep your exclamation points under control!
  6. Never use the words “suddenly” or “all hell broke loose.”
  7. Use regional dialect, patois, sparingly.
  8. Avoid detailed descriptions of characters.
  9. Same for places and things.
  10. Leave out the parts readers tend to skip.

Elmore Leonard said it’s taboo!

Now, with that said and with an absolute clear understanding of the rules—NO Weather!—let’s get on with the show … today’s true story. And it starts like this … with the weather.

It was a dark and stormy night in our county. Rain lashed against my windshield in sheets, driven horizontally by gusts of wind that played a violent to-and-fro game of tug of war with the red oaks and pines flanking the county road. It was a sideways kind of rain that TV weather reporters often battle during live hurricane coverage of the really big ones. Their on-camera backdrops are airborne lawn chairs and garbage cans, toppling trees, and waves crashing onto houses far from the shoreline.

Yes, it was that kind of storm.

I was hard at work that night, patrolling county roads and checking on businesses and homes, when my headlights reflected from something shiny a ways into in the woods. I stopped, backed up, and turned onto a narrow sloppy-wet dirt path that led me to a clearcut section along a power line, and eventually to the source of the reflection. It was a car parked approximately thirty yards off a dirt road next to a river. I used my spotlight to examine the vehicle and the surrounding area.

The driver’s door was open and to my surprise, the body of a woman was lying half-in and half-out, with the outside portion getting soaked by the deluge of water falling from the dark sky. I couldn’t tell if she was alive, but instinct and experience said, “Not.”

I turned the spotlight to scan the woods on both sides of the clearing. No sign of anything or anyone, but you never know what danger lies beyond the light’s reach. Again, it was dark and stormy making it one of those scenarios where every single hair on the back of your neck and arms immediately leaps to attention. Spooky, to say the least.

So, despite the downpour, thunder, lightning, and those hyper-vigilant hairs (the cop’s sixth sense was in full overdrive), I had to get out to investigate. So I did.

I again scanned the area carefully, using my Maglite, the old metal kind, making certain this wasn’t an ambush. And, after yet another look around, I cautiously plowed forward while the winds drilled raindrops into my face and against my lemon-yellow vinyl raincoat, the one I kept in the trunk of my patrol car just for times like this one. The fury of those oversized drops of water was like that of small stones striking at a pace equal to the rat-a-tat-tatty rounds fired from a Chicago typewriter.

The plastic rain protector I’d placed over my felt campaign hat worked well at keeping the hat dry, but the rain hitting it was the sensation of hundreds of tiny mallets hammering all at once, as if an all-xylophone symphony decided to perform a complex syncopated piece on the top of my head. At a time when I truly needed the ability to hear a single pin drop, well, it simply wasn’t happening. So xylophoned from above machine-gunned from all sides. It was unpleasant weather during an unpleasant situation.

It was a fight to walk headfirst into swirling, stinging winds that tugged and pulled and pushed against my raincoat, sending its tails fluttering and flapping, exposing my brown over tan deputy sheriff uniform. It—the uniform—was not waterproof. Not even close.

The ground surrounding the car was extremely muddy, and with each step, my once shiny brown shoes collected gobs of thick, soggy soil until it felt as if gooey, slimy bricks were attached to the bottoms of my feet with large suction cups.

These, during a dark and sorry night, were the deplorable conditions in which I met the crying dead woman.

Likely, Mr. Elmore Leonard had not had the opportunity to encounter such a situation. Otherwise, rule number one, “the weather rule,” might have met its demise before it ever met the page.

It was one-on-one—me and the victim.

I know it sounds like a bit of overwriting when describing the weather on this night; however, you must experience it as I did. You should know and see in your minds that raindrops the size of gumdrops pelted the victim’s face, gathering and pooling at the corners of her eyes, eventually spilling out across her cheeks like tiny rivers that followed the contours of her flesh until they poured from her in miniature waterfalls.

She was a dead woman crying in the rain.

Passenger door,

Open.

Bottom half in,

Top half out.

 

Lifeless hand,

Resting in mud,

Palm up.

Face aimed at the sky.

 

Rain falling,

Mouth open.

Dollar-store shoes,

Half-socks.

 

Youngest daughter—the seven-year-old,

Called them baby socks.

Her mother’s favorite,

Hers too.

 

Hair,

Mingled with muck,

And water,

Sticks and leaves.

 

Power lines,

Overhead.

Crackling,

Buzzing.

 

Flashlight,

Bright.

Showcasing

Dull, gray eyes.

 

Alone,

And dead.

A life,

Gone.

 

Three rounds.

One to the head,

Two to the torso.

Kill shots, all.

 

Five empty casings,

In the mud.

Pistol.

Not a revolver.

 

Wine bottle.

Beer cans.

Empty.

Scotch.

 

“No, we don’t drink. Neither did she. Except on special occasions. Yep, it must have been something or somebody really special for her to drink that stuff.”

“Was there a somebody special?”

Eyes cast downward.

Blushes all around.

“Well … she did stay after Wednesday night preaching a few times. But they were meetings strictly about church business. After all, he is the Reverend. A good man.”

More blushing.

A stammer, or two.

A good man.

 

The rain comes harder,

Pouring across her cheeks.

Meandering

Through her dark curls.

 

Droplets hammer hard

Against her open eyes.

Pouring into tiny rivers,

Filling the puddles below.

 

She doesn’t blink.

Can’t.

She’s a dead woman crying,

In the rain.

 

Tire tracks.

A second car.

Footprints.

Two sets.

 

One walking.

Casually?

A sly, stealthy approach?

The other, long strides.

 

Running, possibly.

Zigzagging toward the woods.

Bullet lodged in spruce pine.

One round left to find.

 

Cold water inside my collar, down my back.

Shivering.

Cloth snagged on jagged tree branch.

Plaid shirt.

 

Blood?

Still visible?

in the rain?

The missing fifth round?

 

Maglite never fails, even in torrential rain.

Cop’s best friend.

A shoe in the underbrush.

Attached to man.

 

Dead.

Bullet in the back.

The fifth round.

Coming together, nicely.

 

Church meetings.

Reverend.

Two lovers.

A special wine for a special occasion …

 

A good man.

Sure he is.

Police car,

Parks at the curb.

 

Morning sunshine.

Tiny face,

Peering from window.

Waiting for Mama?

The scent of frying bacon in the air.

The door swings open.

Worried husband.

“No, she didn’t come home after church. Called friends and family. Nobody knows.”

 

Husband, devastated.

Children crying.

“Yes, I have news. 

And I’m so sorry for your loss.”

 

Tire tracks match.

Pistol found.

Preacher,

He hangs his head in shame.

 

Special occasion.

To profess love.

But …

Another man.

 

A second lover.

Anger.

Jealousy.

Revenge.

 

Handcuffs.

Click, click.

Murder’s the charge.

No bond.

 

Single, unique plant seed,

Stuck to the brake pedal.

The single bit of evidence,

That tied him to the scene.

 

Got him.

Prison.

Life.

No parole.

 

A “good man”, a preacher, left the little girl’s mama to cry in the rain.

 

 


A couple of days ago, raindrops squiggled and wormed their way down the panes of my office windows.

And, as it often happens on rainy days,

I think of the crying dead woman.

Of her kids,

Her loving husband and,

Of course,

Baby socks.

 

The challenges of policing in the rain are many, but before I introduce you to them, there’s this …

 

Rain and Mud

 

Rain

Mud

Muck

Delightful, they are not.

 

When it’s you, who

Must roll and fight

In slop and goo

To cuff a wily crook.

 

Rain

Mud

Muck

On your nose and your shoes.

 

On your clothes

Hands

Gun

And your gleaming silver badge.

 

Rain

Mud

Slimy

Sodden, mushy, and swampy.

 

Yucky

Gooey

Nasty.

Unavoidable, yes it is.

 

Arrest

Cuff

Stuff

And off to jail they go.

 

Fingerprints

Mugshot

Phone call

Cell doors slamming tightly shut.

 

Dumb

Thief

Stole

Two bestselling mysteries.

 

Cops and the Rain

Yes, the awful “poem” above was absolutely cheesy and repugnantly horrible, but its purpose was to begin the discussion about cops and rain. Well, that and I couldn’t think of a decent segue into the topic.

Chances are pretty good that you’ve not given much thought to what it’s like to work in the rain as a police officer, right? But you should consider it. After all, it’s not always sunny and dry between book covers. Therefore, fictional officers should encounter the same unique wet weather challenges faced by their real-life peers, such as:

  • Keeping weapons and ammunition dry.
  • Preventing water from finding its way into portable radios.
  • Struggling to apply handcuffs to the wet and slimy wrists of a soaking wet and muddy suspect.
  • Having to thoroughly clean mud from the exterior and interior locking mechanisms of handcuffs.
  • Pursuits on wet roadways where hydroplaning makes the act akin to driving without a steering wheel or brakes. Fun times. Whee!
  • Blue light glare reflecting from raindrops and wet things (pavement, buildings, car windows, windshield, etc.). So not only do they not have brakes or steering capabilities in hydroplaning situations, they’re driving blind, as well.
  • Flashing lights, windshield wipers, blowing debris, radio chatter, light from in-car computer terminal, phone ringing, siren wailing and yelping, suspect in back yelling, screaming, spitting, kicking the back of the driver’s seat and rear doors—all major distractions while driving in wet conditions.
  • Struggling with a suspect while wearing a long, bright yellow raincoat—nearly impossible.
  • Locating the vinyl rain cover for your hat. When they’re most needed they’re never in the spot where they’re normally kept. Trust me, a cold, wet, dripping hat is most unpleasant to wear.
  • Trying to run after a suspect through wet grass, puddles, and ankle-deep mud while wearing a police uniform, a fully-loaded duty belt, heavy vest, and rain gear—nearly impossible.
  • Hard rain makes it difficult to see … anything. Such as the guy with the gun who ran into the cemetery … at night.
  • Never fails. There will be a car crash and/or a power outage that switches off every stoplight on the beat, during each and every rain storm. Directing traffic in the pouring rain is a horrible experience. And cold.
  • Protecting crime scene evidence from the elements without compromising or contaminating it.
  • When the shooting starts, having to instantly locate the pass-through pocket/gun slit in the long, bright yellow raincoat. Not the best time to figure out how this clumsy maneuver is done.
  • Catching an outdoor call the first few minutes of the shift and then wearing wet, cold clothing for the next several hours. The feel of icy-cool Kevlar and wet polyester against your body is no picnic.
  • K-9 officers have a set of their very own challenges—muddy paws and wet fur, for example. The stinky “wet dog” odor inside police cars smells bad. Really bad. Especially when combined with the odors left behind by the puking, sweating, peeing drunk who occupied the passenger seat earlier in the shift.

Well, they do …

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The challenges of policing in the rain are many and before I introduce you to them, there’s this …

Rain and Mud

Rain

Mud

Muck

Delightful, they are not.

 

When it’s you, who

Must roll and fight

In slop and goo

To cuff a wily crook.

 

Rain

Mud

Muck

On your nose and your shoes.

 

On your clothes

Hands

Gun

And your gleaming silver badge.

 

Rain

Mud

Slimy

Oozing, cold, and slippery.

 

Yucky

Gooey

Nasty.

But a task that is a must.

 

Arrest

Cuff

Stuff

And haul off to concrete jail.

 

Fingerprints

Mugshot

Phone call

Cell door slamming tightly shut.

 

Dumb

Crook

Stole

Two bestselling mystery books.

Policing in the Rain

Yes, the “poem” above was absolutely cheesy and repugnantly horrible, but its purpose was to begin the discussion about cops and rain. After all, it’s not always sunny and dry between book covers, right? Well, that and I couldn’t think of a decent segue into the topic.

Hey, I’ll bet that chances are pretty good that you’ve not given much thought to what it’s like to work in the rain as a police officer. Well, doing so presents its own unique challenges, such as:

  • Keeping your weapon and ammunition dry.
  • Preventing water from finding its way into your portable radio.
  • Struggling to apply handcuffs to the wet and slimy wrists of a soaking wet and muddy suspect.
  • Having to thoroughly clean drying mud from the locking mechanism of your handcuffs
  • Pursuits on wet roadways where hydroplaning makes the act akin to driving at high speeds without a steering wheel or brakes.
  • The dreaded blue light glare reflecting from raindrops, windshields, storefront windows, and other wet things (pavement, buildings, etc.). So not only do you not have brakes or steering capabilities, you’re now driving blind, as well.
  • Flashing lights, windshield wipers, blowing debris, radio chatter, suspect in back yelling, screaming, kicking, and spitting—all major distractions while driving in wet conditions.
  • Struggling with a suspect while wearing a long, bright yellow raincoat-–nearly impossible.
  • Locating the rain cover for your hat. It’s not never in the spot where you normally keep it. And a cold, wet, dripping hat is most unpleasant to wear.
  • Trying to run after a suspect through wet grass, puddles, mud, while wearing a police uniform and slick-bottom shoes—nearly impossible.
  • Hard rain makes it difficult to see … anything. Such as the guy with the gun who ran into the cemetery … at night.
  • Never fails. During each and every rain storm there will be a car crash and/or a power outage that switches off every stoplight on your beat. Directing traffic in the pouring rain is a cold, miserable experience.
  • Protecting crime scene evidence from the elements without compromising it, contaminating it, or watching it wash away.
  • When the shooting starts, having to instantly locate the pass-through pocket/gun slit in the raincoat or winter jacket. Not the best time to figure out how this clumsy maneuver is done.
  • Catching an outdoor call the first few minutes of the shift and then wearing wet, cold clothing for the next ten hours. Believe me, the feel of icy-cool Kevlar and wet polyester against your body is no picnic.
  • K-9 officers have a set of their very own challenges—muddy paws and wet fur, for example. The stinky odor alone is enough to send our senses into rehab, and that’s just the handlers. Wet dogs inside police cars smell bad. Really bad. Especially when combined with the odors left behind by the puking, sweating, peeing drunk who occupied your passenger set earlier in the shift.

Policing in the rain is definitely for the dogs!

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