The Archangel Drones (20 page)

Gabe knelt beside Jacob’s grave, noting the grass had finally concealed the raw patch of earth covering his son’s final resting place. It was a sign. A harbinger of healing.

“Tomorrow it begins, son,” he stated to the ground. “Tomorrow we begin the process of making your death count for something. The people who did this to you will pay; I swear it.”

The words, mimicking what was left of Gabe’s life, were hollow.

In the months following the funeral, Sandy and he had gone through the motions, waking up each morning and preparing for a day filled with an indescribable void of remorse and emptiness.

After the initial stages of mourning had begun to subside, Sandy had experienced a change of heart regarding the pending lawsuit. “Why don’t we just let all this legal stuff go?” she’d suggested. “It’s going to do nothing but cause us to relive the same horror over and over again. It feels like we’re only out for revenge, and none of it will bring Jacob back to us. Let’s just get on with our lives and be done with it.”

But Gabe didn’t see it that way. “We have to clear Jacob’s name. Did you know there are folks out there who view his death as an acknowledgement of his guilt? Sandy, I can’t, in good conscience, just walk away from that. And even more than that, I need to do what I can to make sure other parents don’t experience what we did. No one should ever have to go through this again. That’s why I’m pushing so hard… that’s why I have to see it all the way through to the end.”

For weeks, they had debated and discussed while Sandy did her best to restore her scarred and empty soul. She’d volunteered at church, joined a support group, and generally filled her days with honest attempts to let go of the pain and move on.

Her positive energy was the yin to his yang attempt at becoming a sniper and all of the negative time and effort he’d invested with firearms.

Gabe had never felt it necessary to mention the failed assassination attempt.

In addition to his lack of battle readiness, there were other reasons why violence wasn’t the answer. Gabe’s research found that most cops were actually stand-up individuals. For every documented case of abuse or brutality, there were a hundred acts of bravery, self-sacrifice, or service to the community above and beyond. Any solution had to be selective and target specific – carpet-bombing local law enforcement wasn’t the rejoinder.

At one point, an organization called the Civilian Review Board had provided hope, at least for a while. He attended two of their public meetings, observing the proceedings quietly from the back, hoping he’d found an answer worthy of a strong commitment of his time and energy. Compared to the nightmare of shooting another human being, the monitoring institution appeared to be a proper, aboveboard alternative. But it wasn’t… not even close.

He quickly discovered the board was powerless. The institution, as formed in Harris County, was a toothless old hound that couldn’t even manage a mean growl, let alone implement the bite of change. Witnesses couldn’t be called, case files weren’t shared, and only meager “recommendations,” were created. On the rare occasion when the mayor-appointed members did feel strongly about a case, their chain of command headed directly to the city’s inspector general – an office that had zero authority over the police force. It was a dead end.

Gabe’s search for a path to redemption led him to the chief of police. “Why not go straight to the top,” he’d mentioned to Sandy. “The buck has to stop somewhere.”

That effort quickly led to more frustration and anger. The chief had actually tried to fire a number of officers over the past five years, but a powerful police union and poorly negotiated contract with the city had resulted in a situation where it was nearly impossible to terminate any cop. Once an officer was deemed dangerous enough to justify termination, reinstatement via arbitration review boards occurred over 90% of the time. Even in the most heinous of cases, punishments, such as suspension or demotion, were almost always overturned.

Then there was the legal system – another avenue that had been gamed by law enforcement. On the rare occasion that Internal Affairs did recommend the district attorney pursue charges against an officer, the all-powerful, public-trusted grand jury was brandished as a powerful tool of justice. Gabe believed his cause had finally caught a break following Adam’s news that Jacob’s incident would be presented. It was an exception, however, with only a miniscule percentage of excessive force complaints ever heard by the esteemed body of jurors.

It only took a week’s worth of research before Gabe discovered the grand jury system was a complete farce.

The grieving father’s first hint had been the selection process. Of the 18 grand juries sitting at any one time in Harris County, only three had their members selected from the general public. The remaining 15 were pulled from a “special” pool of “volunteers.”

It wasn’t any surprise that most of these “volunteers” were retired government servants and wealthy, private individuals. Gabe found at least three former police officers on the rolls of one jury, another sporting a retired executive of the police union. But the rot went deeper than that.

According to the law in Harris County, the DA could pick which grand jury was to hear a specific case. At any one time, there were three choices available, one of which was almost certain to include a group that contained police sympathizers and insiders who were likely to give a peace officer an unfair tactical advantage in court. 

He’d been stymied by the failure of every cerebrally proposed solution his creative and rational mind had considered. Once he clearly understood the structural flaws of the systems in place, Gabe had to wonder why police corruption wasn’t even more prevalent. Law enforcement officers operated with very little likelihood of punishment. They were nearly immune from all of the systems that traditionally kept corruptive power from gaining the upper hand.

Even the federal government was hamstrung. Gabe had spent days studying the various “audits and investigations” generated by the Department of Justice. The powerful, federal organization had performed a deep dive into 23 different metropolitan police departments, and the results had been astonishing.

Gabe didn’t understand all of the legal and constitutional boundaries, but it was clear that even the authoritative DOJ could only make recommendations to local mayors and chiefs. Arrests and prosecutions were extremely rare, and then only if the abuse could meet extremely high standards of racial prejudice and motivation. The FBI would investigate sexual and financial corruption, but excessive force seemed to dwell comfortably beyond the agency’s scope.

As a result, the average cop operated on the streets practically impervious to the law, justified in his belief that even the most atrocious act would result in little to no punishment.

It was for these reasons that Adam and Gabe had decided to take the unusual step of filing the civil lawsuit before the incident had worked its way through the criminal system. The DA’s presentation to the grand jury had stalled, apparently falling into the bottomless pit of bureaucratic silos and death by delay. But it didn’t matter. Adam Barlow had pursued a civil remedy, filing a federal action against the city, the police department, and Officer Marwick, seeking $16 million in damages. The trial was scheduled to begin tomorrow.

At first, he’d been anxious to visit the gravesite and let Jacob know of the event. But the realities of the justice system, as it applied to cops, soon deflated that enthusiasm.

Gabe knew their likely victory wouldn’t change a damn thing. He’d agreed to the lawyer’s recommendations every step of the way, despite the full realization that even the most positive outcome probably wouldn’t punish the cops or change the system.

All over the nation, an epidemic of successful civil law suits against police officers resulted in huge judgments. In 2010 alone, over $350 million had been awarded in excessive force cases. As a result, taxpayers had to dig deep to make restitution to the victims. Meanwhile, law enforcement officers were not responsible for doling out the lion’s share of that money. Cops carried insurance, the expense often reimbursed by their departments. The premiums on such polices were in the hundreds of millions of dollars annually. Not a solitary dime of settlement came out of a officer’s pocket.

He rose from the grave’s side, brushing a few blades of the new grass from his knee, a tear from his watering eyes. No matter how hefty the future windfall, he’d give it all away to have Jacob back.

“I’ll see you again in a few days, son,” he mumbled to the earth. “I love you.”

Gabe turned and began the long, lonely walk back to the parking lot, wondering if it would be easier to leave the next time. He pondered that question after every visit, and the answer was always the same. Reentering the world outside the neatly mowed rows of headstones and wispy cypress trees always flooded him with guilt. He could leave this place; his son never would.

While he’d returned to his job, the once satisfying occupation had become mundane, almost shallow. He performed well enough, but deep down inside, his heart was elsewhere. Somehow, the custom electronic circuits he designed for offshore oil platforms just didn’t seem important any longer.

“Time to go home,” he whispered to the empty car. “Time to face the music.”

Sandy was in the kitchen, putting a final spread of mustard on a sandwich. Gabe pretended he didn’t notice the packed suitcases stacked by the back door.

“I made your favorite,” she announced in a monotone that did little to relay the depth of her mood. “Hot ham and Swiss with that fancy mustard.”

“Thank you,” he responded, kissing her softly on the cheek.

“I know you spotted my bags by the door. I meant to have them packed in the car before you got home, but you’re a little early.”

“I didn’t have much to say to Jacob this afternoon,” he confessed. “I guess I’m saving my powder for the results of the trial.”

She nodded, finally shifting her gaze from the floor to her husband’s face. “You know I love you,” she began, a sheen of wetness showing in her eyes. “But I can not stay here while this trial is going on.”

“I understand… and I love you too, Sandy.”

“Stop this thing, Gabe. Please, don’t drag yourself through all of it again. Time will heal; I swear it,” she pleaded.

He looked down, shaking his head. “I promised Jacob,” came the usual reply. “I gave my word as his father, and I’ll see this through to the gates of hell.”

She sighed deeply, tilting her head as if she was going to debate the issue all over again. But she didn’t, instead rising on her tiptoes and kissing his cheek. “I’ll be at my sister’s house. Call if you need me.”

And with that, she was gone, wheeling her two bags to the car.

He stood still, listening as her car backed out of the driveway and then motored down the street.

His resolve didn’t waiver, no voices of second-guessing sounded in his mind. “I’m going to fix this little wrong in the world,” his finally announced to the empty home. “It’s all I have left to live for.”

“Mr. Barlow, you may call your next witness,” the judge stated from his bench on high.

“Your Honor, we call Dr. Sinto Okan to the stand.”

A middle-aged Asian man rose from the gallery, striding confidently to be sworn in.

“Dr. Okan, could you please state your occupation and background for the record, please?”

“Certainly. In 1984, I was awarded my PhD from the University of California, Los Angeles, in Human Anatomy. In addition, I have five certified black belts in the martial arts, including Judo, Karate, Jujitsu, Kendo, and Tegumi. I have been an unarmed combat instructor for numerous police departments throughout California, as well as the federal law enforcement training academies in Maryland and Virginia. I have worked for the U.S. Department of Defense, the Central Intelligence Agency, and the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

Adam scanned the jury, noting their reaction to the impressive resume of his witness. “Could you please describe for the court what your primary responsibility was while employed at these esteemed government agencies?”

The witness nodded. “Yes. In all cases, I was hired to instruct trainees in the art of unarmed combat, pacification, arrest, grappling, striking, and general self-defense.”

“So would it be an exaggeration to say that you, sir, are not a fellow to mess with in a dark alley?”

The courtroom erupted in laughter, Adam noting several of the jurors openly chuckling, despite the judge’s gavel calling for order in his court.