Story code: ST-001524
Part 2: The Obstruction
“Step back from the vehicles! Drop the phone and step back immediately!” the lead officer bellowed, his voice echoing off the cracked brick retaining wall.
I smiled, keeping my phone steady as I took a deliberate, confident step toward him. “Officer, I am the one who called. I have got him trapped for you right here. This is the man who drained the Birchwood Heights community fund. Eighty grand!”
The officer did not relax his aggressive stance. Instead, he unclipped his shoulder radio with his left hand while keeping his right hovering dangerously close to his holster. “Ma’am, I am not going to tell you again. Back away from the Nissan, put the phone down, and keep your hands where I can see them!”
My smile faltered, a hot flash of indignation prickling the back of my neck. *Put the phone down?* I was doing his job for him. I was handing him a major felony arrest on a silver platter. “I am recording this for my own safety and the safety of my community,” I shouted back, my voice trembling with a mix of righteous anger and sudden panic. I could hear how shrill I sounded, but I was not going to let them botch this. “He is a flight risk! You need to cuff him before he tries to run!”
“Last warning!” a second officer yelled, moving rapidly around the rear bumper of my Yukon. He was not looking at the driver. He was looking dead at me.
I took three steps backward, deeply offended but willing to comply just enough to stay out of handcuffs. I was not the criminal here. I kept the camera pointed directly at the scene, ensuring my hundreds of live viewers could witness the police finally taking action against the monster who had ruined our neighborhood.
The lead officer approached the driver’s side of the rusted Nissan. He did not draw his weapon, but his posture was rigid and hyper-vigilant. “Sir, keep your hands on the steering wheel! Do not move!”
Inside the car, the thief was putting on the performance of a lifetime. His gray face was slick with sweat, and his entire frail body convulsed with deep, wet coughs. He could not even keep his hands on the wheel; they kept slipping down as he clutched desperately at his chest, his breathing loud and raspy even through the two-inch gap in the window.
“Open the door from the outside, partner,” the lead officer instructed, keeping his eyes locked on the driver.
The second officer yanked the Nissan’s door handle. It groaned in protest before swinging wide open. Immediately, the driver slumped sideways, practically falling out of the shredded fabric seat. The lead officer caught him by the shoulder, awkwardly pinning him against the door frame to keep him from spilling onto the pavement.
“Do not let him fool you!” I yelled over the massive hood of my SUV. “He was perfectly fine before I blocked him in! He is faking a heart attack to avoid jail!”
“Shut up and stay back!” the second officer barked at me, his eyes wide with sudden alarm as he looked down at the pale man in his partner’s arms. He keyed his radio. “Dispatch, we need EMS at this location right now. Adult male, conscious but unresponsive, severe respiratory distress.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I muttered, shaking my head in utter disgust. The police were falling for it. It was infuriating. I raised my phone higher, zooming in on the man’s sweaty face as the officers lowered him to the blistering blacktop. “Look at this,” I narrated loudly to my stream, my chest heaving with adrenaline. “Eighty thousand dollars stolen, and now he wants a free ride to the hospital on the taxpayer’s dime.”
A woman in the crowd-the one in the blue nurse scrubs from earlier-suddenly broke through the ring of onlookers. “I am an RN,” she announced, dropping her plastic pharmacy bags on the dirty concrete. “Let me help.”
“Ma’am, stay back,” the lead officer said, though he was clearly struggling to keep the shivering man upright on the pavement.
“He is cyanotic,” the nurse insisted, pointing sharply at the driver’s blue-tinged lips. “He is not faking. He isn’t getting oxygen.”
I could not believe what I was hearing. “He is a thief!” I screamed, stepping forward again, terrified that they were going to let a criminal slip through their fingers because of a little hyperventilation. “He took our money! He belongs in a cell, not an oxygen mask!”
The driver let out a weak, rattling moan. His hand, shaking violently, reached up and grabbed the lead officer’s sleeve. He was mumbling something incoherent, his bloodshot eyes rolling back into his head.
The second officer stood up, pointing a stern, unwavering finger directly at my chest. “Lady, I am commanding you to back away and turn off that camera. Right now.”
“No! This is a public space,” I snapped, planting my feet firmly. I had a First Amendment right, and I was not going to let them sweep this under the rug. “I am the victim here. He stole from me. He stole from all of us!”
“Who is this vehicle registered to?” the officer demanded, storming over to me, ignoring my protests entirely as he slapped his hand against the hood of my Yukon.
“Me,” I said proudly. “Brenda-”
“Hand me the keys. Now.”
I clutched my keychain tight against my hip, my knuckles turning white. “Absolutely not. I am not moving my car until he is secured in the back of a squad car. If I move my Yukon, his friends might come to get the car, or he might try to drive off!”
“He is going into shock on the pavement!” the officer roared, stepping completely into my personal space, his imposing frame blocking my camera’s view of the thief. “Your vehicle is blocking the fire lane and the only access point for the ambulance. Give me the keys, or I will arrest you for obstruction of justice and reckless endangerment!”
The words felt like a physical blow. *Arrest me?* My chest tightened in genuine panic. I could see the live stream chat rolling frantically on my screen out of the corner of my eye. *What is happening?* someone typed. *Why are they yelling at Brenda?* another asked.
“You have no right,” I hissed, my voice cracking under the intense pressure of the moment. “You are protecting a felon!”
“Give me the keys, or turn around and put your hands behind your back,” he ordered, pulling a pair of steel handcuffs from his heavy duty belt. The harsh clinking sound cut right through the noise of the murmuring crowd.
Behind him, the driver let out a sudden, agonizing gasp, his entire body going rigid on the pavement. The nurse shouted something frantic to the other officer, dropping to her knees and pressing her hands flat against the thief’s chest. But the officer in front of me did not look back. His eyes were locked on mine, cold and uncompromising, as he took one massive step forward and reached directly for my arm.