Image credit: Joshua Trujillo / the Arizona Daily Star / from Tucson.com, All Rights Reserved
For Part I of this story, click here.
I looked for a place to hide. I didn’t want to do the math.
Unprepared cops in riot gear + hundreds of kettled rioters + helicopter searchlights + everything being in constant motion = fuckfuckfuckfuck
FUCK.
I collapsed into the shadow behind a brick building as best I could. I became aware of a bullhorn barely piercing the rising fray. All I could make out was the boilerplate: “This is an unlawful assembly! You are hereby ordered to disperse now!”
I glared from the darkness: “I tried to disperse, motherfucker.”
The bullhorn’s final word came with increased volume: “MARCH!”
Madness followed.
As soon as the phalanx began to move, three or so of the punk kids bolted. Another three stayed behind, raising middle fingers and voices. Again, I wondered: had any of them actually been in a real fight?
Nightsticks crested the top of the phalanx, then disappeared. The black wave continued unbroken and unslowed. Where the punks had been, there were now three young-ish people on the ground, silent, hands ziptied behind backs. Soon, the rear guard of riot police swept the trio into the paddy wagon.
I looked for a rear-rear guard, and did not see one; I could see red-and-blues a bit further down 4th.
Maybe I could follow the rear guard, and do my best to avoid whoever was next to those red-and-blues, their line of sight, and their radios.
I heard a chopper above me; thankfully it seemed to have its light focused a bit down the street from where I was hiding. While the bird held position, the rear guard fell from my view.
Move.
As I left the shadows, I tried to become the smallest 6’2” I could be.
I got to the southern sidewalk of 4th. Four officers near the red-and-blues. Full riot gear.
No exit.
In the opposite direction, the phalanx had opened up into a black line of bodies, batons, and shields running perpendicular to the street, already beyond first contact with what seemed like hundreds of rioting Tucsonians. The paddy wagon had pulled over, one of the car fires smoldered beyond it. The rear guard was loading and firing crowd control measures into the crowd beyond the black line; I was not sure if the opaque vapors I saw rising were from arson, property damage, smoke, or gas. Bright flashes – was someone taking pictures?
::: KCHHHHHHH BOOOOOOM ::
Nope. Flashbangs. But why were they using them where the helicopter’s spotlight was?
The addition of munitions intensified the row; when the black line started to have noticeable gaps, the rear guard quickly rushed to fill in.
The four cops near the red and blues were looking towards it all. Suddenly, I heard cars
…coming from
…fuck, behind me?
…But those cops are looking RIGHT in my direction.
…Options, I need options, I need
…WHOOP WHOOP
…that siren is closing in on me
RUN! NOW.
I bolted across the street, seemingly unseen, unsure of how that was possible. Pivoting 185 pounds of full-sprint inertia, I ducked into the alcove-entrance of a shop. I hunched down, thankful that the yellow streetlights that remained standing did not illuminate my shelter.
I took a moment to breathe deeply, and smelled gunpowder. I noticed what looked like shotgun shell casings in the street – rubber bullets, maybe? I noticed other, bigger cartridges: many inches long, black. I did not know what they were from.
Sensory inputs gave way to sense-making-on-the-fly:
Unprepared cops in riot gear + hundreds of kettled rioters + helicopter searchlights + flashbangs + rubber bullets + I dont know what the hell those cartridges are + something acrid… in the air?? + can’t go that way =
What?
What’s it equal, Ian?
Try that first side street, again? Okay.
Okay.
I crouch-walked out the alcove; thankful for the shadows around me and for the ambient light reflected in the shards of window glass under my feet. I realized my shoes would need to be bagged when I got to my dorm – no, all my clothes.
In the intersection, tens of feet away, cops and rioters ‘fought’; one side relying on numbers, the other on advantages in communication and weapons. (Neither side was skilled at their advantage.)
I had neither, but at least most of the cops’ backs were to me.
Move.
I rounded the corner back on the first street that I had tried to escape through. There were now TWO sets of red-and-blues at the end of the street; to make matters worse there were no shadows on this sidewalk and
:: KCHBOOOOM HISSSSSS ::
…I was exposed.
Move.
There was a truck and a semi-trailer ahead of me; little light, lots of shadow.
Move.
I ducked down, hewing close to the line of cars parked on the street; none were charred, some had broken windows. The semitruck was unharmed; I hoped nobody was sleeping in the cabin – or even worse, ready with a shotgun in the cabin.
Still better than taking on Tucson’s finest at their worst.
It was gonna be okay, I can hide next to this trailer and…
“Hello?”
Next time: Blood Enough
Intersection 9 