Gold Paint and Snakes

Justification and Necessity

At least in rural West Virginia, part of the job of a street cop was serving warrants. Sometimes warrant service was easy because you just luck up on the offender during a traffic stop. However, when you had a home address it was also easy to find them there late at night. I had a warrant for a man and knew where he lived, so I stopped by his apartment late one night. Though now 30 years later I am not completely sure, but I think it was a bench warrant for a failure to appear on a driving suspended charge.

He was living in a dump—an apartment owned by a local slum lord. I knocked, he answered the door, and I told him I had a warrant. I also noticed his half-ass beard and part of his nose had a gold tinge to it. As Sheriff Jim Wilson would say, “That was a clue.”

He asked if he could get a coat—it was a cold night—and I obliged as I stepped into his apartment. Then the dude began acting froggy—like he might jump—so I decided since I was alone it would be a good time to just go ahead and cuff him. That’s when everything went to hell.

We began to struggle a bit while standing. I have a deep wrestling background and when things got edgy with someone I was arresting, I wanted them on the ground where I had an edge. There was not much room in the apartment, so I pushed him on the bed. That was a mistake because the bed was not much of a bed at all. Like it had spent a lifetime in a house of ill repute, it was so soft, and the springs were so worn, it sort of swallowed us. Imagine trying to fight with a suspect while you’re both smothering in a giant soft pillow.