Chill

331.

Our three days of focused and energetic effort are cut short. Julie calls, apologies for the interruption and assigns us to the initial investigation of the latest mass shooting, this time in bucolic Boulder, Colorado. In cases like these I find it amazing that such a peaceful and lovely place could ever house such random violence. Ten are dead. The shooter, allegedly disturbed and suffering from acute paranoia, extended his imbalance to the trigger of a military grade automatic assault weapon. He is in custody. He is a US citizen, of Middle Eastern descent. It appears that he was acting alone, and that the victims were simply at the wrong supermarket at the wrong time.

Victims include a police officer who was a first responder. The connections, and therefore connotations, are more political than judicial. Our job is to make sure that the purp isn't part of a larger organization that may have other targets in the cross-hairs. I ask Julie to run a search of known or suspected terrorists in a 100 mile radius of Boulder, a circle that would include Denver, Colorado Springs, home to the USAF, Laramie, WY, and several ski resort towns such as Aspen and Breckenridge. Not much - but a start.

We are packing as if the cabin is afire, tossing essential clothes and gear into a single carry on bag, one each. By the time we zip the overstuffed luggage, the cab that Julie arranged is in the driveway, the driver calming his nerves with a filterless cigarette, his N95 protecting the whiskers on his chin as he deeply puffs.  

Mustang is carrying both pieces of luggage and I the pair of modified bags that act as laptop carriers and official law enforcement backpacks, meaning that they each carry a badge, a burner, zip ties, mine a Glock nine and hers a Sig Sauer P226, as well as backup clips. The probability that these will be needed is remote, however, the fourth agreement that we borrowed from Don Miguel Ruiz, is "Never assume." So we don't.

In the back of the cab, Mustang asks innocently how I feel about the current situation of gun control in the US. Somewhat surprised that she would have to ask, I try to respond earnestly and without over emotionalizing the wedge-issue red-hot topic.

"The NRA owns the House and Senate. You know of their rating system? Until we get the dark money out of the political arena nothing will change, not even another mass shooting in a sleepy, hippy town is enough to sway votes. Background checks, making high-capacity military grade weapons illegal, would help. We need to amend the second amendment, no doubt. But we will never completely eradicate the problems until we solve the radical racial bias behind the obscene violence, not today and not in a hundred years."

She is nodding in agreement. I see that the cabbie is watching in the rear-view mirror and also listening closely, very interested in my comments as well. I want to tell him to please keep his eyes on the road, but reconsider and try to wrap it up succinctly for everyone's benefit.

"We need to all chill."