Working patrol, you never know when or where you might find yourself in a knock-down, drag-out fight. As such, it makes sense to have some stratagem in place ahead of time. That thought was in the forethought of my consciousness when I decided that if I ever faced an asskicking and really needed assistance, I'd key my mic and advise that I had Jessica Alba oiled down and naked rolling around on a front lawn.
The success of my gameplan was fairly assured. I didn't work West Hollywood and, while the ensuing collisions between well-meaning-would-be rescuers would resemble outtakes from the "Blues Brothers" and wipe the station's "Days Without a Preventable Collision" Board back to zero, it was a safe bet that I'd soon hear the euphonic sirens of at least one of those lovely black-and-whites that'd gotten through the libido-laden gauntlet. Any incipient asskicking would be deferred, at least until I got back to the station and found myself dealing with the fury of the "Jessica wasn't there" crowd.










