Police ride along

When I arrive at the Fort Worth central division police department at 7:30 p.m. sharp hardly anyone is there, the officer who let me in was the only one in the station.

About 7:45 officers start trickling in.

While the officers from c-shift come dragging in through the side door, officers from d-shift walk in fresh, talking about the Maverick’s game that is in the second quarter. This goes on for another 45 minutes until Sergeant Morris calls everyone together in the meeting room, six officers scattered around three 6-foot tables listen to Morris as he reminds them about suspects they are looking for and using their new tasers.

Sergeant Morris introduces me to my officer for the night Officer Zimperlman, in his second year on the force. He tells me he is going to get the car ready and he’ll be back in “a bit.”

As I sat down to watch the rest of the third quarter of the Maverick’s game, Sergeant Morris tells me the bullet proof vest he told me earlier to bring an extra shirt for is already in use.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t had a ride a long die yet,” he says calmly. “If shit goes down just hide behind Zimperlman,” he added with a smile.

While I wasn’t scared per say that added level of security would have been nice to have.

Forty five minutes later, Zimperlman walks up to me – shot gun in hand – “you ready to go,” he asked me. I said I was, thinking to myself, “where are we going that he needs a shotgun. What have I gotten myself into,” I laugh to myself.

We walk to his car and almost immediately after he turns on the car, the swiveling computer screen bolted on the dash between the seats blinks – a new message has been sent to B16 – Zimperlman’s car ID; a domestic disturbance call, somewhat routine, located in the Travis Garden apartments on 2901 Travis Avenue.

We get out of the car and another police car meets us at the entrance, Officer Guadarrama gets out of the car and both officers pull their flashlights. As we enter the courtyard, we’re looking for the playground.

We get there and find nothing.

We go up to the second floor, and see a woman on the other side of the walkway – probably about 40 yards away.
“That’s her,” says Zimperlman. “Are you Jennifer,” asks Zimperlman.
She nodes, and as we get closer it becomes clear to me by her stumbling around that she’s the one we’re looking for. Besides a little on the drunk side, she’s bruised on the side of her face and has peed her pants.
As Guadarrama notices a man by the playground he tells him to freeze and stay where he is. Both officers take the two down to the playground and start a parade of questions.
“Why did you pee your pants?” “Are you drunk,” they ask already knowing the questions.
The man says, no, which doesn’t get him very far. As both officers whip out their handcuffs arresting them for public intoxication, Jennifer says for the first of many times, “What did I do? I don’t have any convictions. You can’t arrest me officer.”

After our new found friends get comfortable in the back of the police car, the paperwork starts.

“What’s your social,” Zimperlman asks Jennifer. She doesn’t remember. “That’s OK, I can look it up,” he says with a smirk.

Twenty five minutes of punching in personal information later, we’re ready to go.

By now Zimperlman’s name has changed from “officer” to “bitch,” according to Jenifer.

As he punches in the final bit of information into the computer, he asks her what she thinks of me. “He’s a bitch too,” she says.

He asks me how that makes me feel. I tell him my feelings are deeply hurt, he smiles.

Amidst Jennifer shouting expletives, Officer Guadarrama, who has pulled up beside us, shows us the latest video update of the Mav’s game from his cell phone, tuning out the remarks from both Jennifer and the man in the back of Guadarrama car.

As we make our way to the county jail on 350 W Belknap Street, he tells her that he’ll let her go if she can tell him the answer to life, the universe and everything.

She tries but ultimately fails.

“I don’t know what I would have done if she actually gotten the answer right,” he tells me with a smile. “It’s hasn’t happened yet.”

When we get to the jail the paper work really starts.

In a pail blue colored room lined with cinderblocks and four dusty Dell computer desktops; Zimperlman and Guadarrama spend the next 30 minutes filing out paperwork on the computer screen.

“This is the thing CSI leaves out,” Zimperlman says to me with a groan. “They should make a show called CSI Administrative report,” he jokes. “Probably wouldn’t do well.”

After finishing the reports, we walked back to the car. “How about getting some food at Perrotti's”, Guadarrama asks. “Sure,” Zimperlman replies.

On our way to get food I ask Zimperlman about his fellow officers and how they have a little fun with the people they arrest.
“You can’t take things personally,” he says. He tells me he does it to lighten the mode – for him at least. After a short 10 minutes drive, we arrive at Perrotti's Pizza.
“We’re technically not supposed to eat before we take our 4-6” – code of a meal break, Zimperlman says. “Right now we’re ‘off sheet’ but Morris says ten hours is too long to go without possibly eating.”

We’re stopping now because if they wait like their supposed to, they could get pulled out of their 4-6 by a receiving any type of call from dispatch.

I notice, besides having an acronym for almost everything, that police officers are really good at multitasking – as Zimperlman eats dinner one ear seems to be tuned into the movie “Highlander”, playing on the TV, and the other listens to the almost constant chatter on the radio clipped to their shirt.

By now it is 11:15. As we head out, we get a call about a burglary on Henderson Street, which turns out to be nothing. But I will say one thing, walking around with two police officers with their pistols drawn at night can be an intimidating experience.

You start to feel really helpless and out of place.

“You have to be prepared for anything,” Zimperlman said. “The professional bunglers won’t carry a gun because they don’t plan on being caught; besides it ups the charges if they do.”

“The other people, you’re little punks, their main goal is to not go to jail and they’ll do anything to stop you from taking them to jail,” Zimperlman said. “So you just have to be prepared for anything.”

A few minutes later, we get another call – a stalker – we drive to the Hulen Place Apartments, an older woman – about 50 – walks up to the car and tells us about her daughter whose boyfriend has cut off her power and is trying to break into her apartment.

The lady is telling us everything except where her daughter’s apartment complex is, getting impatient Zimperlman asks in a stern – almost irritated voice – “where is your daughter’s apartment?”

The women tells us and we take off toward Hulen Street, going over 60 mile per hour.
As we get to the Orion at Oak Hills apartment, we slow down to 40 mph as we try to find the woman’s apartment.

Even at 40 mph, to your normal person that’s bordering on suicide as you zoom past the close quarters terrain of the apartment complex- but Zimperlman’s eyes are fixed on numbers he doesn’t seem to notice me holding onto the handle above the door frame for dear life, my heart practically gagging me.

We finally find the apartment a woman – the daughter, about 30 years old - is out waiting for us. “He took off after he saw you,” she cries, pointing in the direction he flew.
“Which way did he go,” Zimperlman says hastily.

She points down the street but can’t tell us left or right.

“Get into the apartment, lock the door and don’t come out until I knock on your door”, Zimperlman said hurriedly.

Zimperlman presses down on the gas petal and the engine whines as we zoom through the apartment complex onto Hulen Street in search of a black Ford truck.

Head on a swivel, Zimperlman looks around the area, but finds nothing, I do what I can but feel pretty lost.

As we drive back to the woman’s apartment another officer meets us. As she interviews the woman’s Zimperlman and I travel around the back of her building in search of the breaker box. The box lock has been cut off and the breaker switch has been flipped.

We flip it back to restore the power. After talking with the women we learn that her recently ex-boyfriend used to work for the complex, is still friends with the management, and knows this complex like the back of his hand.

“Last time, he hid in one of the vacant apartments, he still has a set of keys,” the woman said crying. “He kept on calling my phone and ringing the door bell and then he cut off my power.”

When asked why her mother called the police and not her, she said she was worried about her boyfriend hearing the phone.

After looking up the boyfriend’s information on their computer, they start to go through their two inch thick law books to look up what exactly they can charge the boyfriend with.

“What can we hit this guy with”, the female officer asks. “If this is his first time charged it a misdemeanor”, Zimperlman relies. “If it’s more than once, it’s a third degree felony.”

After many discussions later about whether the boyfriend intentionally cut off her power and whether the act fits into the legal definition of “inconveniencing” the women, they filed a report charging him with stalking. Disappointed that we didn’t catch the guy, Zimperlman and I headed to the East side– the dangerous, drug and gang filled side of Fort Worth to see “some serious shit.”

I’ve calmed down and the adrenaline has worn off. I’m starting to realize the time is 2 a.m.
While driving down I-30 we get an e-mail telling us the boyfriend is back, but this time he’s heading to the Hulen Place apartments.

Zimperlman pulls one of those action movie u-turns and pushes his car to over 90 mph.
As we fly down the highway, Zimperlman is typing messages into his computer and receiving updates, occasionally looking up to see where his car is heading.

Heart pounding, adrenaline rushing again, I’m just glad no one is out on the road at two in the morning. So much for being tired.

When we arrive the daughter’s mom is outside on the phone.

“He’s coming here,” she mouths. “I’ve got him on the phone.” Zimperlman isn’t crazy about the idea of luring him back to the apartment complex, he’s worried things could get ugly.

We find a place to hide behind the women’s apartment building, and it’s about this time I start to really regret wearing a red t-shirt.

The truck pulled up and Zimperlman drew his pistol and told me to say behind him in case something happens.

As Zimperlman gets out of hiding to approach the boyfriend, he turns and sees Zimperlman; it looks like he is thinking about running, but the police car of the female officer pulls up – squashing that thought. After handcuffs are place on him, the boyfriend tells us that his ex-girlfriend was the one who was calling him and harassing him.

“Check my phone,” he says confidently.

The female officer takes his phone and finds 12 calls made to her in the last two hours and over 8 text messages sent.

Bad idea as the officers goes through the messages.

One reads “Can you tell me if you are seeing anyone. I just want to know. Tell me please.”

The officers ask him about the messages and still clams that she was the one calling him, this time, he says it was on his home phone, even though he has been away from his house outside Fort Worth all night.

After another lengthy legal discussion, the officers decide to hand him a class 3A felony charge, counting the boyfriend’s first visit to the house as his first charge and this as his second.

He’ll be transferred to the prison in Mansfield and later brought up on formal charges and could face 3-5 years in jail with a fine of up to $10,000.

As we wait for a wrecker to come take the boyfriends car to the impoundment lot, I discover a favorite pastime for police officers: video games.

“They took out all the video games from the car’s computer,” Zimperlman laughed.

Zimperlman, who claims he can beat minesweeper in 8 seconds, said when he is not given a call on a slow night, he turns to his little flash drive to get him through the shift. In the “games” folder is an emulator, a program that allows you to play video games, like Star Wars: Empire Strike Back for the Super Nintendo, on your computer.

Neither of us could figure out the right controls for the Star Wars game. I ended up starting over several times.

Our fun is interrupted by the weaker finally showing up, by now it’s about 5 in the morning. After the car is on the wrecker and on its way to the impoundment lot, Zimperlman takes me on a tour of “the hood” on the East side of Fort Worth near East Hattie St. and I-30 West.

To Zimperlman, a good night is one where his fellow officers get to go home at the end of their 7:30 p.m. – 6:00 a.m. shift and he gets to see his son get up for school.

As we made our way back to the station I realized that in roughly 10 hours I had learned more about this city then I had ever learned in the four years I have live here.

Even though I know about the drugs, gangs, violence and the crazy stalker people that come out at night, it is because of men and women like Zimperlman that allow me to lay my head down at night.

And for that I am grateful.