I lost my job as a police officer because I helped a biker fix his broken taillight instead of arresting him on Christmas Eve.
I lost my job after 23 years of impeccable service because I gave a father trying to get home to his kids one of my patrol car’s spare bulbs instead of confiscating his bike and destroying Christmas for his family.
The chief argued it was “aiding a criminal enterprise,” even though the man was just impoverished and had a broken taillight.
But when the biker found out I was out of work, he did something that made the tough guy cry like a baby and made me understand what brotherhood means to bikers.
The biker’s name was Marcus “Reaper” Williams. He had a terrifying name for the road and Savage Souls MC patches, but he was just a tired factory worker attempting to get home after a hard shift of sixteen hours.
I stopped him at 11 PM on December 24th, thinking he might have drugs or guns because we got a lot of BOLOs about the Savage Souls.
Instead, I saw a lunchbox, a drawing by a kid that said “Daddy’s Guardian Angel,” and real terror in his eyes.
“Officer, I know how this looks,” he said, showing his hands on the handlebars. “But I just worked a double shift at the steel plant.” My kids are waiting. “I haven’t seen them awake in three days.”
His taillight was entirely broken. I should have given him a ticket, taken his bike, and gone home. The CEO had made it plain that “one percenters” would not be able to get any exceptions, no matter what.
But there was something about that kid’s drawing that made me feel bad. My son used to draw me pictures when I worked doubles.
I told him to “pop his seat.”
He seemed confused, but he performed what I told him to do. In less than five minutes, I was able to fix his taillight by going to my police car, getting a spare bulb from my repair kit, and then going back to my patrol car.
I wished them a “Merry Christmas.” “Be careful on your way home.”
Seeing the relief on his face made all the stress worth it. At least, that’s what I believed.
I went to the chief’s office three days later.
“Officer Davidson, please explain this.” Morrison, the chief, put a picture on his desk. It was a security video of me changing the taillight on Reaper.
“Sir, it was the night before Christmas.” The man had never done anything wrong before and was on his way home from work—
“He’s a member of Savage Souls MC!” We have explicit regulations about what gang members can and can’t do.
“He’s not in a gang; he likes motorcycles and works at—”
“I don’t care if he’s the Pope!” You offered a member of a criminal group property in the city. That’s theft and aiding a criminal group.
“It cost three dollars!”
“It broke the oath.” “We’ll get back to you after we look into it.”
The investigation was pointless. They had already decided what they thought of me. After twenty-three years of adulation, I had changed a taillight bulb, talked people who were suicidal off bridges, and kept our neighborhood safe.
The letter of termination came on January 15th. The official cause was “theft of municipal property and conduct unbecoming, specifically providing material support to a known criminal element.”
I couldn’t find work in any department that was less than a hundred miles away. I was 51 years old, had a mortgage, and my kids were in college. I couldn’t get a job in the only field I had ever worked in.
Things started to become interesting then.
I was in Murphy’s Bar, drinking my third whiskey and trying to figure out how to tell my wife we were going to lose the house. After that, leather filled the door. A lot of Savage Souls members poured in, with Reaper in the lead.
I put my hand where my service weapon used to be.
“Easy, Davidson,” Reaper said quietly, raising his palms in peace. “We’re here to help.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Yes? How is the job hunt going?
He sat down without asking and handed me a tablet. “Local Officer Fired for Christmas Act of Kindness” was the headline of a TV story about it.
“We didn’t leak it,” he said. But someone did. The tale is floating around a lot. The issue is that Chief Morrison is making it appear like you’re corrupt and taking bribes from us.
“I never took anything from anyone.”
“We know. That’s why we came. He nodded to his brothers, who immediately started to pull out their folders. “You’ve been a police officer for 23 years.” Do you know how many Savage Souls you’ve caught?
“Dozens?”
“Forty-seven.” And everyone says you were fair to them. There was no fake evidence, no disproportionate force, and no made-up charges. You locked us up when we deserved it and let us go when we didn’t.
He opened a file. “Do you remember Tommy Briggs?” In 2009, you arrested him for assault. He was guilty and did his time. But you also made sure that his kid went to school while he was in jail. You drove the boy yourself.
I thought about it. Tommy’s wife had died, and his eight-year-old son didn’t have anyone else.
“What do you mean?”
“Point is, you’ve been the only honest cop in this department for a long time.” We can show that Morrison is lying.
A new folder popped up. Photos showed Chief Morrison shaking hands with people I didn’t know in a warehouse. They were all dressed nicely.
“This is the Delgado cartel,” Reaper added. “Morrison has been taking their money so that he can pay more attention to us than to them.” We’re noisy, simple to spot, and easy to hit. While you’re arresting motorcyclists for fighting in bars, they’re bringing heroin into the country through the port.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone about this?”
Reaper laughed in a way that was not funny. Are you saying that outlaw bikers are saying the police chief is crooked? Of course, that would work.
“So why now?”
“Because you’re not a cop anymore.” You are a citizen who was cheated. People can complain and get an answer.
On February 1st, the city council met. I filed a complaint regarding my unjust termination, expecting my lawyer and a few friends to be there.
There were instead forty-seven Savage Souls members in the chambers. Not just them, but their whole family was with them. Wives, kids, and even grandparents. Everyone was well-behaved and tidy, and they were all there to support the police officer who had detained half of them at some point.
When Chief Morrison saw them, he turned white.
He yelled at the mayor, “This is bullying!”
“This is community participation,” Reaper’s wife, who is a teacher, said in a calm manner. “We’re here to talk about Officer Davidson’s personality.”
One by one, they all told their stories. There were other people I had helped over the years who had heard about the meeting, in addition to the Savage Souls. I persuaded the teen who wanted to murder himself out of that choice. The person I helped was a victim of violence in the home. I bought dinner for the homeless veteran instead of arresting him for being homeless.
Then Reaper stood up. “I have something for the council to see.”
He made a USB drive. Video from security cameras on December 24, 2014. Ten years ago, the video was taken.
The video played on the screen in the meeting room. It shows Chief Morrison, who was a lieutenant at the time, beating up a suspect who was handcuffed in an alley. It was easy to see the suspect’s face; it was Reaper’s younger brother, Danny, who died two days later from his injuries. The official report indicated he fell while rushing away.
Reaper said, “We’ve had this file for ten years.” “We never used it because we knew no one would believe us.” But things change now that Officer Davidson is no longer a part of the department. If the chief dismisses the only honest cop for assisting someone, and he’s a killer too…
The room went wild. The mayor told everyone to keep quiet. Chief Morrison tried to get away, but a wall of leather stopped him.
“Get out of the way,” he said.
Reaper said in a stern voice, “We’re not in your area anymore, Chief.” “You let go of the one cop we could trust.”
The probe that came after was fast and brutal. Morrison was arrested by state police. The FBI got interested when the Delgado relationship came to light. Along with him, authorities arrested seventeen more people.
I got my job back, got all my back salary, and was promoted to lieutenant. The mayor claimed he was sorry in front of everyone. The money from my lawsuit paid off my mortgage for the city.
I got a call at Murphy’s Bar on my first day back. Some college guys who had too much to drink and some motorcycles got into a fight.
I went in by myself, without any support yet. The Savage Souls were there, standing between the kids who were drunk and the motorcycles they had damaged.
“Evening, Lieutenant,” Reaper said with a smile. “These boys were going to leave soon.”
The men from college started making fun of “biker trash” and “pig cops.” One of them threw a bottle that almost hit me.
That’s when I fully understood what Reaper meant when he claimed that leather that has been soaked in beer smelled terrible. Because I wasn’t alone anymore all of a sudden. The Savage Souls protected me from the angry drunks. Not fighting, just standing there. Making it clear that anyone who wanted to hurt the cop would have to get past them first.
I told them, “You boys can come quietly, or you can tell the judge why you hit an officer while breaking the law on veterans’ property.” (Half of the Savage Souls were veterans.)
They came in without making a sound.
Later, when the drunk kids were being processed, Reaper came up to me.
He said, “That taillight you fixed saved more than my Christmas.” “My daughter was in the hospital because she had leukemia.” The doctor said she might not make it through the night. That’s why I was in such a hurry to get home.
“Is she…?”
“Remission.” It’s been four years since then. She really does want to be a police officer. She says she wants to be like the cops who helped her dad get home.
I had to turn away to be calm.
He said, “We have your back, Davidson.” “Not because you go easy on us—hell, you arrested me twice last month alone. But only because you’re fair. You see the person before the patch or insignia.
It happened five years ago. I’m the captain now, and the department I run is very different from Morrison’s. We still arrest Savage Souls when they break the law. Last week, we had to stop an illegal poker game at their clubhouse.
But the Savage Souls were the honor guard for the burial of Officer Martinez’s son, who was killed by a drunk driver. They give us the same amount of money that we get for Christmas toy drives. Who is willing to educate novice riders how to be safe on motorcycles?
At work, I have a framed picture of the three-dollar taillight bulb that almost ruined my career. Next to it is a picture of myself in uniform standing with forty-seven bikers in the children’s hospital last Christmas, giving out toys.
Chief Morrison will spend twenty-five years in prison. The Delgado cartel was broken up. And what about the Souls of the Savage? They are still criminals and rebels, and their crazy parties are still a pain in the ass.
But I know I’m safe when I smell leather soaked in beer behind me on a dangerous call. Sometimes being a brother is more essential than the badges and patches. Sometimes it’s better to do the right thing than to follow the rules.
And sometimes, a three-dollar light bulb can change everything.
I’m still a cop. That Christmas Eve, when I helped an outlaw biker get home to his dying daughter, I learned that the thin blue line isn’t the only thing that holds society together.
Sometimes the fraternity of the road, fathers who want to go home, and guys who remember kindness and give it back tenfold keep it together.
The emblem and the brotherhood are very important for keeping society together. Enemies in nature became friends who were quite unlikely to get along.
I took this decision on Christmas Eve, putting my identity as a person ahead of my job as a cop.
The city spent the best three dollars they ever had.