Sometimes being a police officer can be the most difficult job in the world. Knowing that a decision you made will completely ruin someone's life can drive one mad. Fortunately, this is not one of those instances; in fact, it is quite the opposite. It is situations like these, of stopping a scumbag criminal that is making the world a worse place to live in, that had enticed me to join the force. I just never realized how close it would bring me to almost losing my own life.
I had just been relocated to the city of Nashwauk, Minnesota. My previous town was deemed too small for such a large police force. Of course in the town I came from, Watson, Minnesota, there was only about 200 people. Everyone knew each other and the only crime that came close to happening was when grandma Betsy lost her pie to the squirrels.
I had lived in Watson my entire life and knew the town better than the back of my hand. I knew that on sunday mornings if you woke up at exactly 8 am and walked passed the bakery you’d be able to smell the sweet scent of freshly baked bread, or that if you made it to the peak of Hickory Hill at sunset, you’d be able to see the sun spread its beautiful colors upon the forest surrounding my little town. Yes, Watson was my home, but I realized it was time for me to move on and go out and help the world.
  As I walked into the Nashwauk police station for the first time, I stopped to admire my new place of work. I noticed a large, brass lion standing tall and proud directly to the right of the entrance. The figure filled me with a sense of pride, and even though I had not done anything for this city yet, I knew my future was bright.
I entered the building and was immediately met by a large black figure. Regretfully, I flinched out of fear as I saw this massive creature approach me. I had but few interactions with African Americans in my entire life. Unfortunately, this man happened to be my captain.
“Calm down sir,” he said in a surprisingly high pitched tone, “you must be Connor Judge, our newest officers!”
“I most certainly am!” I exclaimed too enthusiastically, trying to recover from my embarrassing reaction from early.
“Well Connor, my name is  Earl Campbell. Our job is not too strenuous here. I know Nashwauk is a bigger place than where you’re from, but really not too much goes on around here. On some days it seems like we're getting paid to sit around and watch sports! You a Viking’s fan my boy?”
“No sir,” I said tentatively, “I’m not much of a sports guy.”
“Well that's a shame,” Officer Campbell bellowed, “I used to play a bit of college ball in my day. You ever heard of the University of Texas my boy?”
“Of course,” I replied, trying to stay interested.
“Well in 1977 I was named the best goddamn running back in all of this fine nation,” Officer Campbell's tone suddenly turned melancholy, “would have gone pro had my goddamn knee not gone out.”
“I’m sorry sir,” I said, feeling extremely uncomfortable.
“Well enough about me, let’s get you situated,” Officer Campbell exclaimed with his mood already picked up.
Officer Campbell and I spent all of the morning together. He showed me around the office, introduced me to my co workers, and sat me down and had a one on one personal discussion that was even more awkward than our first interaction. At the end of the horrific conversation that felt as though it had lasted days, Campbell provided me with a gun and badge.
“Don’t go shooting your eye out with this!” He laughed. “For real though. You’ve been an officer for 20 years, I’m confident you know what to do.”
“I won't let you down captain,” I confidently replied with my chest sticking out and my heart filled with more courage than the lion statue out front guarding the station.
“This is usually the part where I take new officers out to lunch,” Campbell said which caused extreme disappointment to grow inside of me, “but I have a meeting with the mayor. Feel free to take the rest of the day off; it was great meeting you!”
Relief overcame my body when the captain informed me that I did not have to spend my lunch with him, the man only capable of dwelling on his past.
Unaware of the local hotspots, I decided on a quaint deli located just outside of downtown Nashwauk. The facade of the restaurant was worn: paint chipping from the wooden boards, the letter “i” flickering in the light that spelt out deli. If anything I thought this added character, so I proceeded to enter the establishment.
It was then I first laid eyes on him. Standing behind the murky glass display case was a man. He was arabic, around five and a half feet tall, and skinny. He stared at me with an unpleasant grin as I stood in the doorway. His crooked, sharp, yellow teeth immediately caught my eye. I considered turning around and leaving, but it was too late.
“Are you gonna order something or what?” the man exclaimed in a rather low, scratchy voice.
I muttered an awkwardly quiet, “yes,” back and approached the counter. It was then I got a better look at this strange character. He wore an all gray jumpsuit, stains covering it from top to bottom, and a name tag that read “Asali”. His dark, abundant chest and arm hair protruded from his jacket. It surprised me that one could have so much body hair with a completely bald head. His dark brown eyes almost seemed black, making it seem as though you were talking to a demon.
As I was placing my order, he glared at me the entire time, making me feel as though I had done something wrong. His posture was poor, and his attitude worse.
When I finished ordering he laughed, “you really gonna eat all that food, big guy? Have fun at fat camp.”
He disappeared into the back, and 5 minutes later he returned, now even more stained, carrying my sandwich. As I stood up to go get my food, he surprisingly threw it at me. I managed to catch it. Now, more frustrated than ever, I glared at him. He was not fazed. A sharp smirk appeared on his face. It was as if my anger fueled his happiness. His eyes lit up with joy as he saw my blood boil. I knew I shouldn’t say anything, for I was riled up.
Again he performed another one of his unexpectedly high pitched chuckles; “nice hands big guy”.
You could hear the menace in his voice. Typically, a saying like that is a simple joke, but with him, you knew it was intended to offend you. I sat down at the farthest away table from the front counter. I knew this Asali guy was watching me.
As I opened the sandwich and took my first bite I heard an abrupt, “So you like the food or what?”
“It’s wonderful,” I responded quickly, hoping it would hint to the man that I desired to be left alone.
Surprisingly, the sandwich was in fact wonderful, the best thing I had ever tasted as a matter of fact. Each bite teased my taste buds, leaving me wanting more. It was not the slightly crisp, warm bread, or the freshly cut vegetable, it was the meat. It did not taste like normal ham but who was I to argue. This meat was packed with flavor, and I never wanted each bite of the sandwich to end.
As I finished the exquisite cuisine, I thought to myself, “I must have another.” I turned to the front counter, hoping to place my order, but Asali was gone.
Weeks had passed as I waited to get my hands on another savory sandwich. Everyday after work I would drive past that deli, and everyday for two months all of the lights would be off, the doors would be locked, and a closed sign would hang from the window.
Finally after all of that agonizing anticipation, the lights were back on in the deli. I quickly pulled into the nearest parking spot and bolted from my car to the restaurant. Excitement filled my body as I ran toward the deli. My simple sandwich was so unforgettable, and it was finally time for me to get another. I was even somewhat eager to see that Asali lad who had been so rude to me the last time I was there.
I slammed open the door to the deli, but it was empty. No Asali, no customers, just a dimly lit space.
“Hello?” I softly asked, knowing that the place was abandoned, or so I thought.
Since it was my favorite meal I had ever consumed, I decided to investigate my surroundings. It was clear that there was no one in the main serving area, so I went behind the counter and through the curtain into the back room.
“Hello?” I asked again.
My voice echoed in the mysterious, large room. It was pitch black, and as I went to turn on the lights, the power to the whole building was cut. I was surrounded by complete darkness.
Luckily I had just come from work and still had my equipment on hand. I pulled out my flashlight and gun and again said, “Hello? Is anyone there?”
Still no response.
As I entered deeper into the room my flashlight glistened off of assorted knives that hung from the ceiling. The further I entered, the more foul the smell. It was as if something had died back there.
I followed the odor to the back of the room where trails of blood began to appear on the floor. As the light eventually hit the far corner, a pile of animal corpses emerged, and as I turned to flee the scene, Asali was standing right in front of me and struck me with a wooden club.
I awoke, strapped to a metal table. A bright light beamed down on me. I turned my head to the right and saw Asali staring at me with his black, daggers for eyes.
“What is happening,” I screamed, “Why are you doing this?”
“There is no point in yelling. This room is completely soundproof,” He replied with a devilish grin. “You see champ, that pile of corpses you may have seen, well, those were lion. And, well champ, what you ate a few months back was, well you guessed it, lion. I traffic and kill illegal animals in order to stand out from other businesses. People don’t know what they’re eating, all they know is that the meat is f***ing good. And thanks to you poking around in my establishment, it looks like human is going to be on the menu for a-”
Asali hit the ground, blood dripping from his forehead. I look up to see Captain Campbell holding a gun sideways and wearing a pair of sunglasses that reflected epicly in the luminescent room.
“Officer Judge are you okay?” Campbell questioned as he untied me from the constraint of the ropes.
“How’d did you know I was here?” I asked.
“Asali Divan is the owner of this deli. He hasn’t paid his taxes in months and recently arrived back from a trip to Africa. I knew something was up,” the captain said confidently.
“You saved my life sir, I’ll do anything to repay you,” I said whole heartedly
“Just make it to work on time tomorrow” he joked.
On that day my life was almost ended by a psychopath, animal trafficker. No longer could I look to the lion statue located outside of the station as encouragement, for I had disrespected it’s kind. From that day on, Captain Campbell was my beacon of hope, and to this very day, I try to be as selfless as that man, and make the world a better place.