A Philadelphia officer was recently pulled off street duty because of his cornrow hair style. Should agencies have a say in how officers wear their hair?
Sgt. Lawler popped up over the hood of the Pontiac just as Thompson's upper torso rose off the pavement, his gun again swinging in Lawler's direction.
The officers didn't know how many people were in the apartment and who else could either be at risk of injury from the knife-wielding Schneider or pose a threat to them.
As rounds flew back and forth before him like some ballistic tennis match, Soden got back to his feet and in the fight. Lining up his sights on the suspect nearest him, he fired.
This is what Magro had trained for, why he had spent his nights performing the mundane duties associated with being a small town police officer, to take down a dangerous threat to the community.
Pruitt had to go on the offensive. His mind went to his backup gun, which he kept in his uniform pants. He reached for it.
Elasky rose and aimed his Gun at the robber using a Weaver stance, his feet centered and his body positioned for as much cover as the counter could afford. Then he opened fire.
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as though the very air about him suddenly became ionized with some ill-defined threat. The officer couldn't suppress the sensation that something was terribly wrong.
An "ambush" alarm brought West St. Paul officers to a credit union where they discovered a robbery in progress.
The red dot of the suspect's laser sights pinballed back and forth between the Crown Vic and Hernandez.
Weber fixated on the short barrel of Johnson's shotgun, mentally committing himself to fire his Glock if Johnson elevated the weapon to a certain level.
Kennedy could see something was wrong. Molander gave her a "we've got a liar" smirk, and she knew that anytime a passenger started playing a felon's game of Truth or Consequences, there's usually a reason.
Barton's gun swung toward him, and its barrel spit fire. Flashes of amber split the night as Barton's Ruger blazed at Dunnigan a mere 10 feet away.
Officer Holly Mong had just gotten into the vehicle in her driveway and no sooner closed the driver's side door than it flew back open. She was being carjacked.
Ellison then went to work, ramming the door with his shoulder. He repeatedly charged the door, slamming it as hard as his body could withstand.
Sgt. Burnett had worn the vest religiously throughout his career, but on this day he told his wife that for the first time he would go to work without it. She wasn't happy with his decision.
Lessman inched forward. Beyond the refrigerator and deeper into the kitchen was a large table that had been upended on its side. He suspected that the table was shielding someone behind it.
The patrol life of a trainee is never easy. But when you don't have the luxury of getting along with your training officer, it can be damned difficult.
As the three met near the front of Kilbreth's patrol car, two red flags immediately registered with the officer.
The two detectives hurriedly exited Schmidt's truck and made a stealthy approach to the apartment complex. If spotted by the suspects, there would be little mistaking the significance of the word POLICE on the back in white letters.
The sight that greeted Bergantino momentarily took him aback. Beyond the threshold stood a man as naked to the world as when he'd first entered it some 50 years before. It was not a pretty sight.