[Nephilim]

Synopsis: Detective Sioux Porter has had quite a career with the force. As he reminisces over his life and his job, he describes the event for which he holds the fondest remembrance.

Reflection
by Alec Hodgman

Det. Sioux Porter
San Francisco Police Department

Case Report:
Cash, John R.

I was a legend in my time, a real desperado when it came to detective work. I had a hell of a time growing up, but it led me to want to be a cop. I've been on the job for forty years, with retirement just around the corner. If there was a better time to reflect on my career, I've already passed it. But I figure the best way to go out is with a memory of my proudest moment, my best case, and something that has forever defined my career.
The date was February 23rd, 1969. I had been a highway patrolman for two years, and had just been promoted to detective. This was my first case. The suspect, one John R. Cash, born J.R. Cash, had been under investigation for a long time before this. In fact, he's been suspected ever since he was caught with many ounces of narcotics in El Paso, Texas, in 1965. He was also rumored to have shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die, but it turns out a rumor is all it was. Since the El Paso incident, Cash claimed to be completely free of his addictions. However, suspicion had recently been further aroused by an anonymous tip I had received that morning. There was a lot of weight on me to close this case fast, before his show at San Quentin prison, which was planned for February 24th, 1969. I had only one day to find just cause and arrest him before then, or else it was my job. The note, which was hand-delivered to my mailbox, detailed the plans of a drug deal that was scheduled to happen. Naturally, I felt it necessary to pursue this lead.

The note led me to a warehouse down by the harbor late that night. I went alone, hoping to quietly observe the deal. Waiting outside the door with my back leaned against the wall, I rubbed my blistered hands together to stay warm. The cold got to me as what felt like hours passed. I waited, shivering quietly, for any sound, any suspicion of action inside. Still nothing. My eyelids grew heavy from boredom and fatigue, and I was on the verge of sleep when I heard it. Footsteps, quiet, on the other side of the door. I moved closer to the door to listen intently. As I placed my ear lightly against the wood, the door opened fast and hard, knocking me from my feet. As I lay there, dazed, a dark figure passed over me and I watched from my back as he ran down an inverted alley carrying a large bag. Getting back to my feet, I quickly pursued him through the darkness. "CASH! STOP!" I yelled after him. "DON'T DO THIS! YOU'RE A WANTED MAN, CASH!" My cries only slowed me down, so I quickly abandoned them. I chased him over fences and between buildings for what seemed like forever, but I kept on, gaining on him slowly. Further on up the road, he turned down another alley with my rapid footsteps right behind his. The exit to the street was blocked by a chain-linked fence. As he leapt to climb the metal wire, I grabbed his shoulders from behind. I pulled him from the fence, and his bag dropped from his hand as he lunged at me. We fell to the pavement and engaged in what became a frenzy of flying punches. He worked his way on top of me, his face silhouetted by the streetlight above. I reached at his collar and grabbed with my left hand. He grasped my clutched hand in his and twisted, shattering the bones in my wrist. He stood as I rolled, groaning in pain. "Hey Porter," he said, tauntingly standing over me. I looked at him -- his shoe sole, I mean -- as he dropped it onto my face, knocking me unconscious, into a dream. And oh, what a dream it was.

I awoke the next morning, my head and wrist still hurt like fire. I first nursed the boot print on my face, then my wrist. As I held it in my right hand, I found a shred of blue cloth from his collar and a Star of David necklace, both of which I must have torn from him in the scuffle. I knew these were important, but I didn't know why yet. Getting to my feet, I found one thing exactly where I had left it. The bag Cash had been carrying still sat right there by the fence. Sure enough, it was full of enough pills to kill a horse. Amphetamines, barbiturates, just about everything. I didn't know how Cash had forgotten all this, but I didn't care. I hauled it to my car and put it in the trunk. Delicately piloting my car with my good hand, I went back to the office. I fidgeted with the blue cloth and the Jewish necklace I had pulled from my assailant, and I sat in thought as a nurse bandaged my wrist. I knew that there would be a lot of commotion that night when I arrested Cash for illegal drug possession, resisting arrest, and assaulting an officer, so I decided it would be best to rest up until then.

That night I arrived at San Quentin, thinking how ironic it was that Cash could just move right in once I arrested him. Everything below my left forearm was tightly cast in plaster, so I would only have the use of one hand to use in subduing him. Plus all the prisoners, they would riot. How many guards would be killed while trying to quell a prison uprising fueled by the arrest of the inmates' hero? These thoughts burned in the pit of my stomach as I waited in the cafeteria where the concert would be held. I made sure my Cold Detective Special .38 snub-nosed was loaded, just in case.

Some time later, once the room had begun to fill up with inmates, one of the guards shouted "He's coming! Cash is coming!" The crowd roared and whistled, stomping their feet in rhythm. I walked out into the narrow hallway through which Cash would answer and stood in front of the door leading into the cafeteria. The door at the other end opened and in he stepped. I held my hand in my pocket, fumbling with the blue cloth and the Star of David necklace I had torn from him the night before. He walked towards me with a genuinely calm smile on his lips. On the other side of the door I stood blocking, prisoners had begun to chant "Man in black! Man in black!" As he neared, I pulled the evidence from my pocket and his smile faded slightly as he stopped in front of me.

The man in black, his famous moniker, echoed through my mind, a name famous because he always wore black, as if he were going to a funeral. The cloth I held was dark blue. I looked at his collar because surely it was ripped. It was as black as coal, still as intact as the day it was sewn, and next to it hung a chain that ran through a shimmering gold cross. How could the necklace I held be his? I hung my head in bewilderment.

"You alright, son?" he asked me curiously.
"Yuh-Yes, sir," I stuttered. "Good luck tonight. I'll be looking out for you."
"Thanks a lot, Porter," he smiled, flicking my badge as he passed.

I sighed and turned around to re-enter the cafeteria. He was already onstage with his acoustic guitar slung around his shoulders. "Hello, I'm Johnny Cash," he introduced himself to the crowd of strangers who already knew him so well. I smiled at their enthusiasm. But my smile was fleeting as I realized that if Cash hadn't done anything, he must have been set up. Someone wanted him in trouble, or even dead. He had already started playing the Folsom Prison Blues when I realized this. My eyes darted along the walls at all the dark-blue clad guards holding weapons at their side. At the door at the other end of the spanning room, one guard held his rifle in hand, loading a round into the chamber. I moved through the crowd of inmates toward him. As I neared, I saw part of his collar was missing, and a red line of irritated skin circled his neck. I watched him push the bolt forward, locking the round in place.

Finally reaching him, his rifle leveled, I swung my cast hard against his head and tackled him backwards through the double door he stood in front of. We again crashed to the floor on the other side, the door swinging shut behind us. I continued to wail on him, flesh and blood smearing on my cast and across his name tag, which read "Sam Hall." After he was beaten senseless, I rolled him with my good arm and handcuffed him. "Sam Hall, you are under arrest for illegal drug possession, resisting arrest, assaulting an officer, and attempting to frame and murder John Cash. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights?" He spit out a tooth and a mess of blood on the floor next to him. "You're so busted." I laughed as other officers entered behind me.

Well that was it. In my life, that was the proudest moment I've lived. I've had other cases, hell I've had a whole career's worth, but nothing like that. Hall was sentenced life without parole. Cash finished his show as if nothing had happened, but he came out later and personally thanked me by inviting me to dinner at a nearby diner. We talked for hours, trading stories about tough times and getting by. As he stood and began to leave, he turned. "What's your name, Detective Porter?" he asked.

I chuckled and said shyly, "I usually just go by Porter, but it's Sioux."

Cash laughed heartily. "Well, I'll be damned! A boy named Sue!" He sat back down next to me. "Well, Sue, let's hear the story behind this one. I might just make a song about it."

All underlined text is the name of a song written, performed, or covered by Johnny Cash

[brutusshh]

My only information related to Johnny Cash comes from "Walk the Line" a biographic film starring Joaquin Pheonix, which I found extremely interesting. I just love your idea about using his song titles in the text. I only found one tiny mistake

so I should decided

Other than that, it was an incredible story, nicely written and with well defined characters and plot. Keep it up!

[Nephilim]

thanks a lot, brutusshh, its really appreciated. thanks for finding that one error. no matter how many times i read through this, i can never catch them all. i really appreciate the encouraging words, and i hope you find my other writings just as enjoyable.

[Peppy]

I was wondering what all the underlined words was about. I thought they were mistakes or something, but I started thinking if they were related to Johnny Cash. I had to slink away from the story to get that information. The "Author note" at the end should have been placed in the beginning--so as not to keep the read from leaving or wondering "What the hell!"

The story was good, I liked the inventiveness of it. A fictional story on the backdrop of reality. It developed pretty well. Though, I thought, the paragraphs were scary big; but than again, I'm really tired. Plus, is there a reason why some paragraphs are not broken apart?

...and next to it hung a chain that ran through a shimmering gold cross cross.

[Ferris]

Hi there,

I may have missed something here, but so far:

Your fifth paragraph lost me. It is possibly to do with my lack of knowledge about certain artists and places names, but I had to re-read it several times. San Quentin, where is it, whats it like? I have no idea, I only know its a prison becuase of the inmates.

Break down your first three paragraphs to maybe six, and perhaps have a re-jigg of the rest, they are quite long for reading on the screen, I got lost in there several times.

Other than that, your piece has a nice flow (except where mentioned) and a good enough size to read in one sitting! No great revelation, but still very enjoyable!

Ferris