Reminds me of another story.Cobar wrote:I knew a cop who brain-farted and put his duty belt back on over his street close after his shift. Went to Sheetz to get a sandwich and the place cleared out like he kicked in the door with a bomber vest on.
Once upon a time, I was working a rural caseload in Sabine Parish, LA, out in the sticks on the border of Louisiana and Texas. It had been One Of Those Days. When I got through, ready to head home, I was coming out of the woods and ran upon a little backwoods bar. I decided, just on the spur of the moment, to stop in and get a beer, the hell with the rules.
I was in sorta-plainclothes, like your constable. Khakis, a polo with an embroidered badge, and a SW66 strapped to my waist. I walked to the bar, hailed the bartender, and suddenly the place emptied out, like I was raiding the joint.
The bartender looked at me. "What'll it be?"
"Miller High Life. Do they always leave like that?"
Bartender snorted. "They don't trust the police. Are you going to be here long?"
"Just long enough to drink a beer. Why?"
"Cause I have to go to the bathroom. Watch the place for a minute, will you?"
I stood there in the quiet, drinking my beer. The barkeep came back a few minutes later, and I left the place, heading home to wife and children. Sure enough, all those rednecks were waiting quietly in the gravel parking lot. I tipped my hat to the ladies, started the car, and headed home.
