when teaching the hold, informing the class that any twisting or pulling on the limb could cause damage to the knee. In extreme cases, the torn tendons and ligaments might be traumatized beyond repair.
Jacob’s incredible leaping ability, courtesy of basketball toned limbs, worked against him. The foot-cop, having never applied the technique in real life, encountered more resistance than anticipated. His training with the maneuver had included an expectation of a deep moan of pain from the victim after twisting the joint slightly right and left. But the guy they had on the ground wasn’t making any noise, apparently not feeling the effect.
Applying even more pressure, the cop was surprised when a loud pop sounded from the kid’s leg, all resistance to the twisting vanishing in an instant, the foot going limp in his grasp. A howl of agony overrode the continued screaming of police commands.
Jacob’s body started convulsing involuntarily, fueled by the streaks of hot lightening shooting from his knee. He didn’t even feel the additional blows to his head and arms.
One of the officers raised up, his need for post-evasion retribution satisfied by the level of the kid’s wailing. Mumbling, “He’ll have some respect for the law now,” he stood and stretched his back. That’s when he noticed Chip in the driveway filming the episode.
The cop’s attention had been on the suspect at his feet, not the occupants of the house. The lawman had no idea how long he had been on camera. With as much urgency as he could manage in a low tone, he warned his comrades, hissing the word, “Camera.”
In less than a second, Marwick was moving up the driveway, his voice carrying as much authority as the big cop could muster. “What are you doing, sir? Please step back for your own safety. Is that a video camera, sir?”
By then he was within arm’s length of Chip, the homeowner lowering the phone to address the onslaught. But Jim didn’t give him a chance.
“I need that camera, sir,” the officer growled, reaching for the smartphone.
“No, you don’t,” came Chip’s harsh reply as he backed away. “What did Jacob do? Why are you kicking the shit out of him like that?”
“Police matter, sir. Now I need that phone and video. Right now!”
Chip turned away just as the cop reached for his phone. “You have no right to take my phone. I’m on private property… my property.”
“Resisting suspect!” Jim yelled back to his co-workers, grabbing Chip in an arm bar and twisting him to the ground.
Manny was still standing by the car when the cop standing next to her moved to help Big Jim with the new troublemaker - her father. Realizing the officer’s wrath was now focusing to her dad, she pulled her cell phone out of her purse, hit the video recording button, and then tucked it back into her front shirt pocket, the lenses exposed and pointing at the assault of her father.
About then, the ambulance arrived, the attitude of the police changing immediately as the red and white strobe lights of the paramedics appeared on the street.
But the police weren’t done with Chip. Clutching the camera with both hands while lying flat on his face, he refused to give the evidence to the cops, screaming and yelling back for them to get off his property. By now, there were dozens of sleepy, pajama-clad residents watching the proceedings from the manicured lawns of suburbia. Jim noting several of them with cell phones in their hands.
Signaling his men to back off, Jim lifted Chip to his feet and tried to be reasonable. “Your recording may have important evidence, sir. I promise to return the device after we’ve made a copy of the video.”
The irate homeowner was now beyond caring about his own safety, his sole intent to deny the bullying cops standing around him. “Tell you what,” he barked, “I’ll email you a copy. How’s that?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but that won’t do. The chain of evidence requires that we extract