Jamie Boyd. was a brazen man, his mind fried hard on synthetic marijuana, PCP and anything he could inhale for a thrill. When he wanted something, nothing got in his way, and today was that kind of a day.
Jamie was looking for his tester – the electrical tester that Ted had borrowed, the tester that nothing would stop him from finding it – he knew where to look.
And he came upon Lebaum St like a man looking for trouble.
He punched up the codes and stormed in like he owned the place. Ran up to the attic hoping to be a piece of cake, but instead end edup staring down the long barrel of a gun – the cold steel sent shivers down his spine.
Then the inevitable cock, the sound hard wired into his brain ever since he was a child.
Jamie froze in his tracks. Raised in Southeast, he was familiar with the dismal sound of a 12-gauger, its eerie cock clicking just seconds before the shot.
No words were exchanged. He quickly turned around and stormed out – didn’t even wait to look Ted in the eye.
In a flash, he was out – happy to be breathing the fresh crisp December air – he no longer cared for the tester that he came to get.
The very next morning, he waited until Ted had left the house. Then he made his return. He rifled around Ted’s stuff stored in every nook and cranny.
Then he found them – a potent six-inch fixed blade dagger, a stealthy switchblade, brass knuckles, a machete, and a BB gun – the air rifle that was pointed at him just a day before.
He gathered all he could grab and made his way outside – he didn’t even bother to look for the tester.
Instinctively, he know that these were illegal. Ted, having a record, would never pass a background check for these weapons.
He took them out to his car and dumped them inside his trunk, except for the brass knuckle which he decided to keep by the drivers’ seat just in case he needed it.
A week later, Jamie was at a cookout, celebrating the birthday of his favorite niece. There was a cookout, a cake, BBQ and the ubiquitous watermelon.
What to cut the watermelon – Jamie remembered the machete in the trunk.
He was supposed to have turned them into 7D – The DC police had a gun amnesty program – anyone at anytime could turn in weapons, no questions asked.
But somehow all the dope and lack of sleep had gotten the best of him. He wanted to do it “tomorrow” but that day slipped to the next and before he knew it, he still had those weapons in his car and that bright, shiny machete could do a lot of harm on someone
So he pulled it out and started cutting into the melons.
Not a minute later, PG County police rolled up onto the birthday revelers.
“Excuse me, sir, are you Jamie Boyd ?”
“Yes sir, officer.”
“Well, we have a warrant for your arrest.”
Jamie’s father had issued restraining orders on his youngest son. When Mama died a year ago, she didn’t leave Jamie if anything. Jamie made a big stink of things and his father didn’t want to deal with him no more.
The officer noticed the cake, the water melons and the shiny, bright machete.
Then they asked Jamie if he minded searching his car.
“Not at all officer, please go right ahead.”
Not a second after he uttered those words, did he remember the air pistol and knifes in the trunk of his car.
And next to the drivers’ seat was his favorite brass knuckles – the one that he kept as his side for safety – that was the first thing the officers found.