Marcus Cable Almost Got Me Fired. Twice.

The dangerous coping mechanism nobody puts in the manual

Wanna listen instead? ⬇️

Nobody warns you.

They put you through the police academy, through domestic scenarios, laws, tactical communication, dragging dummies named Randy after 500 pushups, room clearing, vehicle pursuits, the gun range. For 30 weeks, you’re hammered with the insane variety of inevitable buffoonery humans and criminals might present. Yet, nobody ever pulls you aside to say, “Hey, by the way, you may develop a sick sense of humor. It’s a natural way to cope, and that’s okay.”

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My partner at the time was a guy named Galletto. Kyletto Galletto. The kind of cop who looked exactly like you’d want a cop to look in his first few years on the job... solid, squared away, knowledgeable. But we were only partners because of his nonsense and matching wit. We’d been working together long enough that we had our own language.

“George 312, stand by for call.” We were patrolling. Looking for something to get into. Telling funny stories as we rolled through the hood. Standing by now.

“George 312, a signal-18 at 3298 Brentwood, apartment 200. Suspect just fled the scene headed westbound on foot. Authorized code-3.”

A kidnapping just went down. “George 312 enroute,” Galletto piped immediately as I made sure I hit the lights before we hit 90 mph on the way to the scene.

We were at the apartment within a couple minutes, along with a few other units getting in on the action. We went inside first, since we were the primary unit. Our Lieutenant arrived too, thinking this could be a big deal. As we quickly gathered details from the caller to pass on to the guys already on the hunt, he scoured the scene, looking for anything. Evidence, leads, a thread to pull. LT was methodical, which I respected. He moved through that place like a crime scene instructor. Gloved up. Touching only edges, lifting corners.

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Once we’d finished gathering intel and passing it on, we joined him.

“Whatcha got, LT?” I asked, hoping something so I could go out and hunt.

“Nothing yet.” He was barely audible as he was otherwise mentally engaged. Meticulously combing through a stack of papers. Lease info, bills, mail.

Then, he suddenly froze. He was staring at one particular envelope.

He picked it up and turned it over, inspecting it like a crown jewel. Looked at the name. Turned it back over.

“Hey,” he proclaimed, holding it up over his head like the Rosetta Stone. “Got a lead! Marcus Cable! This dude isn’t on this lease anywhere.”

Galletto and I glanced at each other. I tipped my head as if to say, “You tell him.”

Ehh, sir, Galletto said, respectfully fighting off a smirk. Marcus Cable… That’s the actual name of the cable tv company, sir.

LT didn’t know. But he was doing the best he could. We all do. But it was funny as hell. We didn’t laugh loud... but we laughed. Damned disappointed, though, that he was such a high rank and we were so green. No way we could bust his balls at this stage. Certainly, later we would.

Now, we had an important job to do.

We finally entered the search for this predator on foot after someone reported seeing him run off into a densely wooded area. It felt like someone had airlifted a section of Vietnam into Tarrant County. Pitch dark but for Air-One’s spotlight overhead, moving as quietly as one could through the trees and leaf-covered terrain, knowing he knew we were coming. But we caught him. Saved the victim. Filed everything. Moved on.

Months later, Galletto and I caught a call for a deceased person. Old man. Family had come to check on him after he stopped answering the phone and found him dead in his rocking chair. Nobody likes these calls. Even when you’ve done a thousand of them, there’s a particular silence in a room where someone just passed that doesn’t feel like any other silence. This family was seated in the living room... whispering, crying, holding each other. Grief in its purest, quietest form.

Galletto and I did our routine. We interviewed, we verified, we called the coroner. Then we did the respectful thing: get out of their way so they don’t feel as if we are hovering during the worst moment of their lives. We moved to the kitchen, still within view of the family but as far away as was reasonable in this tiny space.

I was looking over my notes when I felt a slow, ever-faint tap on my shoulder.

I turned.

Galletto ‘s face had gone somewhere I’d never seen it go. Horrified. Like a man who had just seen something his brain wasn’t built to process. He just stared at me. Full eye contact. Ten solid seconds of absolute silence.

I waited. Getting nervous about what we could have possibly screwed up here. I gave him a little “what?” with my eyes as I leaned my chin toward him and subtly raised my arms.

He turned his head and then looked down… very slowly.

I followed his eyes to the counter.

Sitting there, otherwise unassuming, between a dirty coffee mug and a bowl of hard candy, was an envelope.

The very moment I saw it, Galletto was overcome with a bad case of bounce shoulder and red face. He was suppressing laughter the best he could.

Marcus Cable.

Our barely contained whimpers and huffs from the kitchen became increasingly obvious in the tiny apartment. The more inappropriate it became, the funnier it hit, even though only sputters and feint gasps were sneaking through.

I wheezed, barely getting the words out…

“We have a murder.” I cracked. “Call Homicide and notify the Lieutenant.”

Snot shot out of my nose. Now we had something else to laugh about.

We, meaning two trained professionals handling a sensitive situation like two junior high girls living their spazziest lives.

We never talked about Marcus Cable again. We couldn’t afford to.

About the Author

“I don’t try to change minds… just deepen them.”
Author, musician, CEO, undercover operative. I’ve lived in worlds most only judge from the outside. – Tegan Broadwater, Author of “Life in the Fishbowl.”
Learn more at TeganBroadwater.com.