The House & other Arctic musings

Binny spitch

This doesn't really fall under the category of True Crime, but I was reminded of this story earlier today and thought it worth sharing. And seeing as it does involve mounties, True Crime it is....

I don't know how many of you have been to an RCMP Regimental Ball but they are fancy affairs. The Members are decked out in Walking Out order, our take on a tux or formal wear. Red Serge paired with a long skirt for the women and "banana pants" for the men. Banana pants are not the riding breeches that most people think of when they think of an RCMP member in Red Serge but straight legged, tight trousers with a high waist, the congress boots remind one of Elvis, but with spurs. Many a Member has taken an unintended trip across the dance floor riding the wheels of the spurs on their congress boots.

They are, generally, fun events. Lots of dancing and good times, but one Regimental Ball in La Ronge turned into a nightmare for a friend of mine. Lets call him Vincinzo. Vincinzo was up on the dance floor, dancing up a storm with one of the Detachment clerks, and when the song ended, there was a break in the action. Everyone headed off the dance floor, and Vincenzo followed close behind a woman new to the community.

As they stepped off the dance floor the woman reached back and grabbed Vincinzo, um, in a strategic spot of his Banana pants. Shocked, and mildly embarrassed, he exclaimed "Whoa, those are mine". The woman, looked back, saw who she had just, um, caressed in public, and laughed. "Sorry, I thought you were my husband". The situation seemingly diffused, Vincinzo shot back with a smile "you could probably tell right away I wasn't him"

The woman lost it. She began berating Vincinzo and followed him everywhere, nattering at him for saying such an uncouth thing. She would not let up, and followed him out of the ballroom into the hotel hallway. To escape her, and as he was heading there anyway, he ducked into the men's room.

She followed him in, continuing to berate him, even as he stepped up to the urinal. Finally he said, "Look, you're in the men's room. Leave!" and she finally turned and huffed off. There was one other man in the washroom, already busy at the urinal next to Vincinzo. Vincinzo turned to him after the woman left, and said "What a Spinny B*tch"

It was her husband.

Upperclass Twit of the Year

Those of you who are familiar with the Monty Python sketch, will recall that during the competition of Upperclass Twit of the Year, one of the tasks was run over a dummy but one of the twits manages to run over himself. And although it seems an impossible task, except in the fertile minds of Monty Python, I was to discover that if one gets drunk enough, and attempts to flee on a snowmobile anything is possible.

It was early evening on a spring day in La Ronge when we were called to a domestic, in a corner of one of the communities that was tucked out of the way. Not just any domestic but one that involved a knife being waved about, and threats that were made. Alcohol was definitely a factor.

There seems to an unwritten rule that weapons calls are never to be easy, and this one was complicated by the fact that the house was set well back in the bush, accessible only on foot. As we exited the truck we heard a snowmobile putting away through a back trail, the unmistakable sound of a Yamaha Bravo.

We hurried down the path and without pause entered the house, as always fearing the worst, but hoping for the best. And although the house was in disarray there was no blood, the woman screamed at us when we entered that her husband had just fled on his Bravo, into the bush behind their house.

I could still hear the snowmobile running, not too far back in the bush and ran down the trail, hoping to catch up before it hurried farther.  There, about fifty metres in was the snowmobile in the middle of the trail, still running but with no one in sight. I quickly scanned the forest, expecting to see the culprit making his way on foot but saw no one. As I began to look for tracks I heard a noise from the front of the machine and went around it.

There, lying on his back, pinned under the snowmobile, was the culprit, extremely drunk, and unable to move. In his alcohol induced fog he had managed to hang the snowmobile up on a tree root that was on the trail. A sober person would have been able to easily drive the machine off the offending root, but our man went to the front of the machine, grabbed the bumper/hand grips and give a mighty pull to free his Bravo. He fell as he pulled the machine towards him, and its momentum and a little bit of a fast idle kept the machine going, up over his body, pinning his legs under the track and his chest under the engine.

He had, indeed, run over himself.

Passion

Its Valentine's Day, so there should be talk of love bandied about here. In conjunction with the day I was reading a bit about F. Scott Fitzgerald and Zelda Sayre. Now the story is about their love, but it also included descriptions of them as drinking heavily or alcoholics, insanely jealous and given to do outrageous things to vie for the other's attention BUT the story adds, they stayed together until his death.

I often reads stories like this, many times in conjunction with famous literary people, and I almost always come away with the impression that the writer show these characteristics as examples of great passion. Oh they always fought, they are so passionate, that sort of thing.

But the thing is, as a member of the Force I knew hundreds of couples like this. It is not a good thing. And as for the sticking together part there were times I almost begged people to split. "But we love each other!" would often be the reply. Some people are like oil and water and passion not withstanding, love isn't always enough (and that is with out getting into the arguement about whether it was love - jealousy is not about love, it is about possession).

I just can't think of describing many of the incidents I dealt with as "Passion", at least not in the good sense. "Clare, do you want to go down to the Park, Chocolate John and Maria are drunk and fighting again. She hit him with a hammer, the ambulance is on the way." Ah, what passion! What love.

As an aside, Chocolate John and Maria are/were real people. Although they had a house to live in they were essentially your typical rubbies. You would first see them early in the morning searching for bottles and cans to turn into cash to buy wine, lysol, hairspray, or what ever would get them drunk for the day. They occassionally found themselves in our cells.  One of my favourite stories came after I was there for a couple of years and had seen these two on an almost daily basis.

One of the first duties when you'd get in at the start of your shift was to go down to the cells, check on the prisoners, and see who had to be released.  I went in one summer morning an Chocolate John had been picked up for being drunk. As he was gathering up his effects he asked me what time it was and I told him. "I'm late for work." came his reply. Work?? "Yeah, I'm a Heavy Equipment Operator working on the paving project." To say the least I was dumbstruck. Scared to be on the street anywhere around the paving crew, but dumbstruck nonetheless.

But I digress. This was supposed to be about passion and "firey" relationships, so one more quick story to get us back on track. In the same community as Chocolate John and Maria was another couple whose story was similar. Often drunk, constantly bickering, jealous and out and out fighting. We were often called to intervene. One or the other had invarably assaulted the other. Finally one day I had enough and asked why they stayed together if they couldn't get along. They answered with the usual "We love each other."

I told them that that wasn't enough and that they could no longer stay together "I divorce you. I divorce you. I divorce you. There you are no longer husband and wife." They looked at me and then each other and then I let them out of the truck.

Incredibly, calls for service involving them dropped away completely and one day I saw them walking hand in hand down the street. They waved me over frantically when then saw and recognized me driving by. "We just wanted to thank you" they said, "We get along a lot better since you divorced us". The divorce didn't take of course, but there was peace for a short while. Perhaps they had briefly lost their passion.

The Ten Songs of Christmas meme

Although this post by the incomparable Townie Bastard isn't a meme in the strictest sense, I'm treating it as such.  Townie has shared with us his ten favourite Christmas songs, and I'm challenging you to do the same. Here are mine, which you may or may not agree with (but at least Snoopy's Christmas or the one by that group that did Ra Ra Rasputin isn't on it.)

1) White Christmas by Bing Crosby.  You could probably choose just about any Bing Crosby tune to include on my list, but this is my favourite of his.
2) Happy Christmas (War is over) by John Lennon. Perhaps over played, but who cares.
3) God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen by the Knox United Church Choir and congregation. Not a recording, only a memory.
4) Silent Night (7 o'clock news) by Simon and Garfunkel. While the news might be dated it still makes for a powerful effect.
5) The Huron Carol by Tom Jackson. A song that inspired an entire series of benefit concerts for the needy at Christmas, sung in that wonderful deep sonorous voice of his. That and my sister would disown me if it wasn't on here.
6) The Holly by Rita MacNeil.  I don't know, there is just something about this song that has resonated with me from the first time I heard it.
7) The Christmas Blues by Dean Martin
8) Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming by R. Carlos Nakai and William Eaton.  Some might be dismissive of this as New Age/Muzak but the entire Winter Dreams CD is unparalleled for the quiet contemplative times, after the kids are asleep, and the House is dark but for the lights of the tree.
9) Peace by Norah Jones.  It should be mandatory listening.
10) And finally one I don't know the name of, or the words to. By the Roblin Ukrainian Orthodox Church carolers. Really it is more for Ukrainian Christmas but for me it just is essential Christmas music. Or rather was years ago.

So that's my ten. Certainly more traditional than Townie's list, but I think I've trumped him by not having Snoopy's Christmas on my list.  As a bonus, here is a short, Christmas related True Crime story.

Every year in La Ronge we'd have what we'd call our "Christmas Babies", people that would do things so monumentally stupid that they'd spend Christmas in our cells. It never failed. Occasionally just before Christmas we'd have someone that we'd have to take before a judge to see if they'd be remanded in custody or not.

On one such occasion I was acting as the Crown for a show cause hearing, which to be honest was almost impossible to win that time of year. Everyone in court was in a good mood, and after the Legal Aid lawyer gave his arguements he smiled and said to the judge "I really love these hearings this time of the year, while you're making your decision I just sit back and hum I'll Be Home For Christmas" and sat down.  The judge looked at me and smiled, and I stood up and said "All I can say your Honour is that I much prefer I'll Have A Blue Christmas Without You"

In the spirit of the season I'm not going to tag anyone but everyone who wants to please feel free to continue the meme and give your top ten Holiday (whatever faith or secular ones work for you) tunes.

Flesh for fantasy (Part two)

Link to Part one.

I've always consider curiosity as one of the hallmarks of a good police officer. And strangely enough, I was very curious to learn more about Stephen after finding out he'd dug up a body and kept the skull in his bedroom. I spent a little time on the computer, and then made a couple of phone calls out to Newfoundland (where he hailed from) and quickly learned some more tidbits about our Billy Idol look-a-like.

Most notably was that during an arrest, he had attempted to take the arresting member's gun away from him, in an attempt to kill him. And that he had attempted suicide in cells, by asking for some writing paper and a pen, and then sticking the ballpoint pen into his chest cavity between a couple of his ribs. That takes dedication. It also pointed to the fact that our man was more than a little unhinged, and dangerous. Dangerous to the police, and himself.

Oddly enough, no one was able to answer the questions I had about the grave robbing. Quite simply, no one knew why he did it.  Up to that point he'd been considered a bit of an odd duck, but digging up a grave was not what people had expected from him. (Let's face it, its not what we'd expect from almost anyone). Speculation abounded, mostly about satanism, something that he vehemently denied. While he freely admitted to the crime, he wouldn't talk about why he did it. Perhaps even he didn't know.

He did say that he was determined to make a new start, and while I was hoping he would be able to I was sure that our paths would cross, professionally. Soon, although he had gotten a job as a night clerk at one of the hotels, his name began to crop up. Usually it involved domestic disputes with his girlfriend. And although they were on the minor end of the scale, they began happening more frequently. Soon she had had enough and moved out. As is often the case, things began to unravel.

He was arrested a couple of times, for disturbances and what not, and then he lost his job due to his erratic behaviour. A short time after that we got two quick calls in succession.  The first was from Stephen, advising he'd been assaulted by the new night clerk, the second from the night clerk. The new night clerk said that Stephen had come in and wanted to go into the bar by a rear entrance that was through the front desk area. When he was refused, Stephen had produced a large knife and struck the front counter with it, taking out a piece of the counter. As Stephen struck the counter a second time, the new clerk took the opportunity to deck Stephen with one punch to the face. It was a painful reminder that you shouldn't pick a fight with someone whose nickname is "Chainsaw".

The clerk then ducked through a door and called us, and we quickly arrived at the hotel. Stephen was not around but he had left behind the large knife, and the new clerk turned it over to us.  As we got to the truck Stephen appeared, and I promptly arrested him.

At the back of the truck I let Stephen know about his rights and then told him I was going to search him. He quickly volunteered that he had another knife in his boot. I was going to reach down for it but thought better of it. Often, when people who are about to be searched volunteer something you can easily be led to believe that that is all they have. Many times it is, but many times it is a distraction, the fellow who produces an ounce of marihuana as soon as you execute a search warrant sometimes is really hoping that you'll stop there and not find the pound in the basement.

Stephen was put up against the truck and as soon as I started my pat down I felt something inside his jacket. Inside a special pocket on his left side of the jacket were two daggers. There was indeed a knife in his boot, but he had a total of five knives that knife, another knife was found in another pocket.

He was lodged in cells, in what was pretty much our last meeting and I made sure to tell the guard to keep a close "suicide" watch on him. As I went out the door I added "Oh, and no pens either".

Sure is neat in here... (Part 2)

Link to Part 1

When we got to the apartments there was a small crowd gathered near one end of the complex. As I got out a young man named Darren ran up to me, holding his hand. "Kines, this guy stabbed me" were the first words out of his mouth as he thrust his wounded hand in my face so I could see. Darren, who would be murdered within a year, then told me that after the first victim had jumped out the window, the tall stranger had been waving the knife around threatening others. Outside, Darren grabbed a golf club and tried to knock the knife from his hand. Darren missed, the other fellow did not. Darren also said that the knife wielding assailant, along with a friend of his, had beaten another fellow with a 2X4 once the party spilled outside.

When I asked where the guy was several people in the crowd, and Darren, all pointed in the general direction of one of the entrance ways and said inside. When I asked the apartment, someone suggested #21, and then everyone chimed in #21. The way this particular building was designed there was a common entrance, or small porch, for every two or three apartments. I opened the door and inside were entrances for two apartments #21 and #22. Rob went around to the other side in case the suspect, who by our count had made four assaults with a weapon (beer bottle to the head, chasing our initial victim with the knife, Darren, and the guy with the 2X4) fled that way.

My sidearm was already out when I knocked on the door and announced that it was the police. There was no response. I tried the door but it was locked.  Listening carefully at the door, I thought I could hear music, a radio or something, and perhaps someone moving about.  When I didn't get a response the second time I hammered on the door, I called Rob and told him I was kicking in the door. The radio crackled back "Do it."

When it comes time to kicking in a door, you never know what you've got. These days, many doors, and more importantly their frames, seem pretty flimsy and one well placed kick will get you in. Other doors are sturdier, and occasionally a fortified door is found. I remember one door in Thompson, at the home of a bootlegger, which had 4X4 bracing top, bottom and middle. An entry team with a battering ram had to literally knock a hole through the door to get inside to execute a search warrant. This door? This door was a solid door.

I was a little surprised when my first kick at the door produced no results.  It moved a little, but man that door was solid.  I continued to kick it with my best effort, and finally after three or four kicks it gave way. The door was a solid core door, laminated on both sides with a formica like surface, and it had a good dead bolt.  I put a lot into that door, and when it gave way, it was spectacular. The dead bolt snapped off, and an entire piece of the door, about six inches wide and two feet long broke off. There was a really good frame on this door.

The other thing about kicking in doors is that you rarely know what lies on the other side of it. I was surprised at what I found waiting for me inside.

To be continued...

Sure is neat in here...

La Ronge was an extremely busy place to be an RCMP member. For at least one of the years I was there it was the busiest police jurisdiction in Canada in terms of Criminal Code charges per member. Even at that there were days that just rose above it all.

Early one Saturday morning, after an already busy shift, we began getting a series of serious calls. About 5:00 am we received the first of three assault with weapons complaints  in twenty minutes. The final one, the subject of this story, turned out to be multiple assaults with a weapon.

When we got to the first one, a stabbing, the ambulance arrived about the same time as a second call also a stabbing. With the victim off to hospital and not in danger of dying, the suspect having fled but well identified, we quickly gleaned the information we needed about witnesses etc and headed off to the next call. 

As the crow flies the next call wasn't that far away, but because of the layout of the land it was a much farther drive to get to the call. The ambulance promised they'd be there as soon as they dropped victim number one off, and we fairly flew getting to the scene.

It was another stabbing, but the wound appeared less serious that the first incident. The suspect was a different person and Rob gathered info while I went to look for him. I quickly found out that he had hopped in a canoe and headed across the lake to another part of town, and the third call came in. Leaving the victim in care of friends until the ambulance arrived and getting assurances that we'd get a call should the suspect return we returned to downtown. It was now 5:20 am.

The victim had called from a local hotel and was waiting for us in the lobby. He related how he was at a party at Apartment 21 of a row of townhouses/apartments, with a girl sitting on his lap. Having a strange girl cuddled up to you on your lap at a party has never resulted in any problems so he was enjoying the party up to that point. Or rather up to the point her ex-boyfriend hit him over the head with a beer bottle.

Our victim didn't know either person, they were from a community farther north and when he tried to say he didn't want any trouble, the ex-boyfriend pulled a knife and threatened him with it. So he did what any sane person would do, ran up the stairs to the kitchen and jumped out the second story window, taking the screen with him.

We confirmed that the party was at #21 and sent him on his way to the hospital, on foot as he had no really injuries but for a sore head.

When we headed to the apartment Rob and I came across an extremely drunk, very badly beaten young man staggering on the road. He appeared oblivious to the fact that his eyes were almost swollen shut along with a number of other injuries, or to the drying blood that was all over him. He asked for a ride home. When we asked him what had happened he said "Oh yeah. This tall guy from out of town beat me up with a 2X4. I didn't do anything." He had been at the party and we put him in the back seat and went to try and stop further damage.

To be continued...

With complete disregard (Part five)

Link to Part 1

J had a long history of dealing with the police, many of the incidents involved weapons. Shortly before I arrived in Arctic Bay, he showed up at the house of the Constable in the early morning hours, drunk, armed with a knife and a replica handgun. It was, in all probability, an attempt at "suicide by cop" (an all to frequent method, where you point a gun or some other weapon at the police hoping they'll kill you). The member peaked out a window and saw him, and was able to talk to him until he was distracted and then disarm him.

My first dealing with him came early in my tenure here and he had been armed before I arrived. A neighbour, hearing a domestic next door, went in to try and help. J chased him out with a meat cleaver. When I arrived (again I was alone in the community) J wasn't there, but he had struck the kitchen counter with the cleaver so hard that he had snapped the blade from the handle. I got the details from his common-law and J returned home. He was wild, but as we talked his eyes kept darting to the kitchen. When he turned to go to the kitchen I grabbed him and after a bit of a struggle, arrested him and took him away.

Another time, around 5 am, he again showed up at the other members house. I was between partners at that time, but the relief member was in and staying at the House. J told him he had a knife (he apparently didn't) and as there was no phone in the residence, the other member slipped out the back and drove to my house to get me. When I arrived (the other member had gone back into the house from the back door) J was still on the front steps.  He seemed calm enough but as soon as I put my hand on his shoulder he tried to punch me and we fought briefly, with him ending up handcuffed in the back of the PC. All the way back to the office, he threated the other member, an inuk, and he was kept in cells for his trouble.

I know I'm missing something, but the next incident I can remember I was again alone in the community. To top things off I'd been working most of the night, and was terribly sick with the flu, and in pain from an inflamed elbow. I was trying to go home to lie in bed when a call came in about J causing problems at a government office. When I got there he was again drunk and wild, threatening people he thought had stolen his marijuana.  The office was crowded with people. About two sentences into our conversation it was obvious that discussion was not going to work and the fight was on. In the course of the fight I broke his nose and there was blood everywhere. I got him to the floor but I was so weak by that time that I had to get some bystanders to help me until I could get handcuffs on him and him out to the truck. When I had the nurse come to look after his nose, she wanted to deal with me instead, as by this time I was exhausted and in pain from my elbow and had lain down on the floor to rest.

Despite all of this I actually genuinely like J. Always personable, and friendly, the only times there has been a problem with him (for me) was when he was drinking, which was relatively infrequently thanks to some Court Orders. We got along well, even the day after any of the incidents, when he was usually contrite and repentant. 

One night, shortly before I retired I was working with the Corporal who was my replacement here. In a short time span we received several calls. Although the calls had different dramatis personae the common thread that wove them together was J. There were calls of fights, of threats, and of damage to houses, and in everyone J played a part.  We were driving around looking for him when another call had come in from one of the teachers, J had just broken his window and was outside jealously rambling on about his common-law. We were close, but by the time we got there J was nowhere to be seen.

As it happened, J's sister-in-law lived next door and I walked over there, thinking that might be where he went. It was. As I approached the house I could hear someone in the porch and my flashlight revealed J at the far end of the porch. When my flashlight beam caught him he instantly told us that he had a knife. Sure enough I could see something metallic in his hand, although I couldn't get a good look at it.

The Corporal drew her sidearm and I moved to the opposite wall of the porch, creating seperation and two targets. We were far enough, that I took out my pepper spray, and when repeated orders for him to put down the knife were met with defiance, I sprayed him. I continued to tell him to put down the knife and he repeatedly said he wasn't going to. He had one hand at his eyes and the other, holding the knife, waved in front of him.

When it became obvious that he wasn't going to relinquish the knife, even after being blinded by pepper spray, I moved down, as quietly as I could, along the wall of the porch. Then I lunged for his wrist, and took him down to the floor, the knife bouncing off the junk on the floor of the porch. Once he was safely in the truck I went back to and found the knife. Indeed he had held a folding knife, which was closed. He later told me that he had been trying to get us to shoot him.

With complete disregard (Part four)

Link to Part one

As it happens, the relief member Pierre, hadn't left when my partner Eric arrived back in town. It was an extremely rare occasion that we had an extra member in town, both were staying at Eric's when I took this next call at home.

The caller let me know that a woman, armed with a rifle was pounding on the doors and windows of a house, threatening to shoot the occupants.  I called Eric and Pierre, gave them the details and headed over to the scene.  I went passed the residence in a circuitous route and then headed back there on foot, planning on waiting for the others to arrive before we would decide what to do. As I peeked around a neighbouring house the woman, holding a rifle, was seated across the street. Her sister was sitting next to her, trying to calm her down. It wasn't working, she was screaming and crying, clutching the rifle.

Life, as they say, is what happens while you're busy making plans, and while I was busy figuring out the best way we would handle the situation once the other members arrived, the woman stood. Then she strode across the street and up the steps of the house, followed by her sister. And then the sister grabbed the gun and began struggling with her for it, but it looked as though the woman with the rifle was getting the upper hand.  So I came out from behind the house and closed the distance, my gun drawn.

Now being armed, and being competent with a sidearm is all very fine, but as I aimed it at the woman, telling her to put down the rifle, I realized that there was no way I could use it. If push came to shove, and she pointed the rifle at me I couldn't fire, for the sister was right there, and firing would put her at risk. So I dropped my gun, into my jacket pocket (not the best place to put it for several reasons, but it is what I did nonetheless).

I sprinted to the house and up the steps and rather quickly disarmed her, and then dropped the rifle off the steps and turned my attention to her.  I had her arrested and handcuffed just before the other members arrived at the scene.  They gave me a hard time for not waiting, as well they should have, but sometime circumstances force your hand.

The next weapons incident again involved a knife, and someone with a history of armed confrontations with the police.

To be continued...

With complete disregard (Part three)

Link to Part 1

The call started off as a domestic, but I quickly learned that the protagonist had left the house and had taken a rifle with him.  He was drunk and had driven off in their truck.  There was a relief member in town and I quickly picked him up and we went looking for the truck.  I'd already been shot at once that year and wasn't looking forward to another gun complaint.

Driving by our office I looked up and saw the truck on a higher road, driving parallel to us and accelerating, so we sped on hoping to get ahead of him to cut him off. We couldn't find him.  Now Arctic Bay isn't a very big place and there aren't a lot of places to hide a pickup, but this one seeming had disappeared moments after we initially saw it.  What had, in fact, had happened was that the driver lost control only a couple of houses beyond where we had seen it, the truck went off the road and managed to bump into a shed/construction crate between two houses.  When we got there the fellow was gone, now we needed to find him without the benefit of a pickup truck to look for.

A short time later we were flagged down by a woman who let us know that the fellow we were looking for was at her house. He had come into the house, pointed the gun at her and told her to leave. When she tried to talk him into putting down the gun he threatened to shoot her. (Coincidentally this same house was the scene of our next firearms call, and the gun in this incident came from the same home as the previous shooting). 

The (real) basic idea when you have an armed person in a house is to contain them there and establish contact and a dialogue (when you're alone that consists of yelling "Come out I have you surrounded."). Pierre, the relief member, and I essentially snuck up on the neighbouring houses to watch and wait. Shortly I heard Pierre on the radio saying the fellow was at the window and I could hear him talking to him. By the time I worked around to the other side where Pierre was supposedly hidden he wasn't there. I soon saw that he was talking to the suspect through an open window, I joined him. 

We knew that the fellow was alone in the house, and we began talking to him, convincing him that he would be better off to give up.  Many times, with barricaded people, they see no way out. Events begin to spriral out of their control and they literally think they have no options. What we did was stand out there and try and stop that spiral, calm the fellow and ease the panic that he was feeling.  That done we convinced him to stick his hands out the window, where Pierre could watch, while I went inside to get the gun, and him. The danger here is that, of course, there is nothing to stop him from ducking back inside and apart from warning me I would be inside the house with no where to go. 

But we were persuasive and when I got to the kitchen he still had his hands out the window.  The rifle lay on the counter near him, loaded.  I unloaded it it and then walked out of the house with him and the rifle.

Incredibly there were three of us in town for the next firearm incident, the relief member hadn't left yet after the arrival of my partner. But it was a perfect example of how some times circumstances force your hand and you can still find yourself dealing with something alone.

To be continued...