The bright red dot quivered on my sternum in the darkness of the night. I had just exited my crime scene response vehicle. It was 2:30 AM. I was a mile off the nearest paved road in the middle of the Arizona desert. There were no other vehicles or people in sight, no lights in or around the house that was silhouetted fifty yards from where I had stopped my vehicle, no other sign of any other human being in the area, except for that quivering red dot in the middle of my chest. Somebody was out there somewhere, and he had drawn a tight bead on me.
A half hour earlier, a phone call from the dispatcher had awoken me. The dispatcher said the drug task force had just run a warrant and they needed me to respond for photographs and fingerprints. She gave me directions, so many miles north past the intersection of such and such roads, a gap in the fence on the right with a trace of dirt tracks through the gap, a winding dirt trail through mesquite trees for a mile or so, and I would find an old wood frame house. That’s where I was now.
I had just stepped out of the Ford Bronco that was my take-home crime scene vehicle. I had reached back into the truck to grab my camera kit in one hand and my latent print kit in the other, then turned around to face the house. That’s when the laser sight appeared in the middle of my chest. Apparently, I was only a trigger pull from having my chest explode.
It’s funny, the thoughts that run through one’s mind at a time like that. I surprised myself as I stood there and looked down at that quivering bright red dot and thought, “The widow Wertheim will be a wealthy woman and all of the Wertheim urchins will have their college paid for.”
Seriously, that was the only thought I had, and I had smiled.
I started walking toward the house, still with no idea who had drawn a bead on me, where he was, or what would happen next. As I walked, the little red dot moved around a bit, but never got more than an inch or so off my sternum. Another thought ran through my mind: “I’m lucky! This guy’s a good shot!”
Like I said, it’s funny. I never felt the slightest twinge of fear. If he pulled the trigger, things would happen so fast that I wouldn’t even know it. So why worry?
As I started up the steps to the porch, I finally saw the origin of the laser beam. Standing on the porch was a guy dressed in black with a black ski mask over his face. As I reached the top step, he suddenly swung the assault rifle barrel upward and exclaimed, “God dammit, Wertheim, I’m sorry! I didn’t recognize you!”
“It’s okay,” I replied, “I wasn’t worried.” And I told him what my thoughts had been. We both laughed. I got the photos the narcs wanted, packaged all the things that needed fingerprinting for transport back to the lab, and went back home to finish my night’s sleep. It’s all part of the job.
