Not the way I pictured meeting someone famous...

Boy, I’m glad that’s over; one last night working in the gutter.  I had hoped that this last shift would be relatively quiet.  I was wrong. These 24 hour shifts aren’t what they used to be.  I used to love only working 10 days a month, but the 24 on 24 off, 24 on 24 off, 24 on three days off are really wearing on me.  I’m not in my twenties anymore.  I am so looking forward to my three-day. 

Despite the tedium of all the sick little kids and the little old ladies that fell down, there was one bright spot that came out of last shift: I got to meet someone famous! Well, sort of anyway.   When we got toned out around 3:00 AM, Cheese and I were at 7-11, enjoying Slurpee’s and scratching lottery tickets (isn’t that what everyone does at 3:00 AM?).  The police needed assistance with an unknown medical call at the Triple-H.     Ah, the Triple-H!  It’s an alley off the Boulevard that we, the police, and often the coroner are often called to, so named because the only ones who hang out there are those that are high, those that are homeless, and those that are employed in the world’s oldest profession.  When we pulled up, one of the cops met us at the curb shaking his head.  This can’t be good.  “You’ll never believe this”, he said.  “We got a guy back there passed out and his ID says that he’s Edgar Poe.  Isn’t he like a writer or something?”  A writer or something!  Without Edgar Allan Poe, there’d be no Stephen King.  This I’ve got to see. 

We back into the alley and find this guy sprawled out on the pavement. He’s barely conscious.  The only way I can tell is the fact that he’s mumbling something that I can quite make out.  As I get closer I’m almost overtaken with the smell of alcohol.  His guy’s really plastered.  He’s filthy, his clothes are disheveled, and his shoes are falling apart.  How can this be one of the most famous writers in American history?  He looks like he’s homeless!  So we get him loaded up and into the back of the truck.  As Cheese is trying to get his clothes his clothes off, I noticed that they are at least three sizes too big. Those can’t be his clothes.  What in the world is someone as famous as him doing passed out in the Triple-H, three sheets to the wind and wearing someone else’s clothes?  This just doesn’t make since.  So, anyway, we got an IV in him, started him on some fluids, gave him some thiamine and D50 hoping to get him sobered up a faster.  As I’m examining him, I see that his pupils are just little pinpoints, the tell-tale sign of an opiate overdose.  I gave him some Narcan, the overdose wonder drug, and surprise, surprise he starts waking up some more.  In addition to all the booze he’s had, he’s probably high on Laudanum; that stuff’s cheap and easy to get, the scourge of the times.  Now that he’s a little more alert I can finally make out what he’s been mumbling all along.  He’s calling out, “Reynolds! Reynolds!”  Who the heck is Reynolds?  Anyways, we got him transported to the ER at Washington Hospital.  When I told the nurses who he was, no one could believe it!  The news spread quickly throughout the hospital, and soon there was a line of orderlies, nurses and doctors all trying to get a glimpse of the “train wreck” that was Edgar Allan Poe.

We didn’t stick around at the ER too long; after all I still needed to drink my Slurpee before it all melted, and those lottery tickets weren’t going to scratch themselves.  Surprisingly, we didn’t have any more calls the rest of the shift.  Good thing because this rotation has been exhausting.  On my way home I just kept thinking, how could someone so famous and highly regarded end up like a piece of crumpled trash thrown in the gutter?  It just doesn’t make sense.  Maybe they’ll find out more once he wakes up.  I’ll try swinging by the hospital later and see what they found out. 

I’m so glad to be on my three day.  With that in mind, I probably won’t be posting for a few days while I attempt to wash this filth from my mind, the side effect of working the gutters.  If I find any more about Poe, I’ll see if I can’t update you all.  Till next time…

The Pestilence Infecting the Gutter

The one good thing about working in The Gutter is that it makes you appreciate your own home and neighborhood so much more.  This place is like a wasteland.  The poverty, the rampant drug use, the dealing, the daily acts of violence; they’re like a plague infecting the whole neighborhood, and it seems as if there’s no cure.  The whole area is blighted…except for Prospero’s.    Some says that he’s an eccentric guy trying to revitalize the neighborhood, but this isn’t gentrification.  It’s just a kingpin setting up a compound for him and his posse, and everyone knows it.  Prospero came in two years ago, leveled an entire block, built a lavish mansion and surrounded it by a ten foot high fence, with a gated entrance and “security” on hand.  Everyone had hoped that he might share some of his wealth and help the neighborhood, but the fact is that he could care less.  Truth be told; he’s the one responsible for ruining the area.  This used to be a really nice area filled with decent, hardworking, blue collar families.  Then the 80’s hit and Prospero seeing a market moved in and started peddling his crack.  It all has been downhill from there.  If you ever wanted to find out how the plague started, look no further than him.  He’s the one that brought the drugs, the violence, and all the pestilence into the neighborhood.  And now, he’s living it up, right in front of everyone else who’s suffering.  He could have built anywhere.  Why here? 

 I’ve heard that Prospero throws some wild parties over there, ones that last for days.  I’ve often said that it would only be a matter of time before we got called out to there, and last night, my prophesy came true!  It was after midnight when we got toned out for a shooting, and when we heard the address we knew exactly where it was.  We waited outside for the cops to clear the scene and declare it safe.  When they let us in I was not prepared for what we found.  Prospero and over half a dozen of his crew lying dead on the floor, each shot execution style.  All I could think was just how, no matter how rich he was, no matter how high the walls were, no matter how much security he had, he wasn’t immune to the pestilence he created.  The very violence that made him the kingpin, the millionaire that he was, had arrived and visited upon his own house!  Call it irony, call it karma, call it what you will; Prospero, in the end, got his just desserts.  Cheese and I methodically checked each body; confirming the absence of vital signs and unofficially declaring them all dead.    I’ve seen enough carnage in my years working the streets, but I’ve never saw ten people lying dead all at once.  Oh boy, I hope can sleep after this, but I doubt I will. 

I asked one of the cops if they had any idea who might have done this.  He seemed baffled, and…shocked.  This place is locked up tighter than Fort Knox.  How could anyone have even gotten in here, let alone made a getaway.  He said that so far they’d found no usable forensic evidence, no shell casings, and no witnesses.  The only thing they found so far was a Halloween mask lying on the floor.  It was dark, red, grotesque, and spattered with blood.  It wasn’t much, but perhaps it was a start.  Cheese and I decided to wait for the Coroner outside; I didn’t need any more of those images in my head.  As soon as the he arrived, I gave him a quick report and we left.  This is why I hate “Poe”ville Heights! 

Two down, one more shift to go.  I knew this rotation was going to be bad, but I never dreamed it would be like this.  My three-day can’t get here quick enough!  I’ll talk to you again in a couple of days.  Till then…..

One for the birds.....

 

So, it’s one down, two more to go in this wretched rotation.  Yesterday’s shift was pretty busy.  We ran ten calls by 11:00 PM; sick kids, little old ladies that fell down, so on and so on.  I had hoped to lie down in the bunk room and get a little bit of sleep.  No such luck!  The tones went off again shortly after midnight for a possible psych patient.  Here we go!

As we roll up on the house, Cheese and I look at each other; we’ve been here before.  It was for that that really pretty lady we found dead a couple of months before.  What was her name?  Nora?  Lori?  Lenore, that’s it!  We found her in bed with an empty bottle of Laudanum on the night stand.  Cheese thought it was an accidental overdose, I thought it might be a suicide.  Either way, it was a sad situation.  And her boyfriend, boy that guy was squirrelly.

We get inside and find Lenore’s boyfriend talking with the cops.  I guess the neighbors had called after they heard a loud argument coming from his place.  When the cops arrived, they found him in a heated argument with…no one!  The guy claimed that a raven let itself in through the window and the two of them struck up a conversation.  Now, talking with a bird isn’t exactly normal, but the weird part was…there was no bird.  The guy was arguing with a statue-thingy on the wall.  The cops were concerned about his welfare so they wanted us to check him out.

I started talking with the guy and he’s going on and on about this bird and how it’s liar because, “Lenore IS in heaven!”  I asked him what exactly the bird said and in a pretty awesome bird voice he said, “Nevermore!  Nevermore!”  I talked with him some more and he’s adamant, he doesn’t want to go to the hospital.  He’s oriented and pretty lucid.  He’s not suicidal.  He doesn’t appear to be a threat to anyone else.  His vital signs are stable.  He doesn’t appear to have a head injury. Other than arguing with a non-existent bird, he’s in pretty darn good shape!  Even though I’m sure that we’re going to be back out here again later on that night, I told the cops that we couldn’t make him go into the hospital with us. 

So we just left him there, hoping he and the raven could sort this one out on their own.   As we’re walking out Cheese and I just shook our heads; just another ordinary night in the gutter! 

I guess it’s time for me to lie down and try to get some sleep and forget about all this craziness.  I’ll check back in with you guys in a couple of days.  Till then…

 

 





Not “Poe”ville Heights Again

This stinks! Even worse than my partner after we’ve hit Taco Bell for dinner!  So, I’m looking at station assignments and I see that next rotation we’re assigned to Poeville Heights, the worst neighborhood in town.  That’s right; three 24 hour shift working the gutters of Baltimore.  I am so not looking forward to this.  The last rotation we worked Poeville was a nightmare.  Imagine: one shooting, one psych patient that tried to stab me with a ballpoint pen, two child abuse calls and a homeless guy in a pear tree.  Oh, and it’s supposed to be a full moon, too!  Just my luck.  I’m going to try to post a few notes after each shift to give you a glimpse into the craziness and depravity that we call Poeville Heights.  I’ll talk to you in a few days.