Midget Ninja Strippers & Improvised Weapons (Part 2)

In part 1 of the Midget Ninja stripper tale, I described the amazing domestic disturbance between 6'3" Cameron and “Desarae,” his unusually violent, diminutive, stripper girlfriend. My rider and I were greatly amused by the unusual situation and the mishmash of stereotypes. Usually the tale would end there and these two amazing individuals would be relegated to a funny story and a report sent to the Prosecutor’s office for charges. The “fire and forget” report was not to happening that night however. Desarae was not done with her short, but powerful reign of terror!

Later in the shift, I had just sat down to write several reports… Including the fence jumping, heart eating, stripper report. Of course that was when another domestic was broadcast. The dispatcher advised a male was on the phone reporting that he was hiding in the woods from his girlfriend who had assaulted him a few minutes ago in the car. Glancing at the notes in the call, I saw the male was described as “sobbing” and “whispering in terror” that his girlfriend was going to locate him. He was unable to give an address and instead provided a rough hundred block of the area where he was hiding. Looking at the names on the call, I couldn’t help but groan when I saw it was the infamous Desarae and Cameron. Desarae reportedly sped away in Cameron’s car a few moments later.

My rider began to giggle as we got closer. His laughter was infectious as he tried to predict what new shenanigans those two were up to. Whatever we thought had happened was nothing compared to the craziness Desarae brought to the table!

You are never unarmed if you can fashion your own weapons

Arriving in the area, I see Cameron trying to hide his bulk behind a small shrub just off the roadway. I turn on my back deck lights and put the spotlight on him. Cameron is looking wrecked. He was shivering in the rain and his shirt collar was torn and hanging open. Cameron had numerous scratches criss-crossing his face, neck and upper chest. He was holding his right arm close to his chest and I could see blood dripping down his arm. Looking closer, I could see at least a dozen holes poked into Cameron’s forearm and upper arm. It almost looked like he had been shot with bird shot. When asked, Cameron denied needing medical treatment. I asked Cameron what happened?

Cameron started blubbering again and advised he “felt bad” after I left his house, so he texted and called Desarae, begging her to come to over. Cameron said he wanted to make up with her. Even after what she had already done to him. After a while, Desarae came back to the house. She was wet and angry and had apparently been hiding several streets over while waiting for a ride from friends. She was NOT pleased with Cameron for calling to report the assault. Desarae told Cameron she was done with him and wanted him to let her stay there until her friends picked her up.

The more I heard about little Miss Ninja, the more I wanted to put her in jail. Parts of the situation are funny, but she was acting like an animal and needed to go to jail.

Cameron said he begged Desarae to let him drive her home. I stopped him and in utter incredulity asked him, “Why on earth would you do that?” Cameron looked away as he mumbled something about “I just love her.” Shaking my head, I tell Cameron to continue. Cameron went on to describe how Desarae was screaming at him and calling him names. Eventually he talked her into the car and started driving with Desarae screaming at him the entire time. Cameron is looking down in shame as he relates how Desarae continued to browbeat him and make fun of his manhood. I asked what Cameron’s response to this was and Cameron just shrugged and said, “I just kept telling her I love her and want to be with her.” I clarify that the two have only been together three months. Cameron nods.

Cameron said once the car was a few blocks from his house, Desarae began to escalate. She screamed, “I fucking hate you!” and began to slap and claw at Cameron’s neck and face. He looked down at his torn shirt and said, “The crazy bitch was trying to claw my throat, but I blocked her with my arm. That’s when she started stabbing me.” I look at the scratches and punctures on his arm and ask what he had been stabbed with? Cameron said, “She was so angry she was growling and spitting! She started digging around frantically in her purse screaming, ‘I’m going to kill your bitch ass!’” Cameron was sobbing now and said, “She grabbed her sunglasses and broke the arm off. Then she started stabbing me over and over again! She was trying to stab my neck and face, but I kept blocking with my arm.” Cameron said at that point he was afraid that Desarae was going to make them crash, so he quickly pulled over and jumped out of the car.

Cameron ran into the woods and hid there while Desarae crashed through nearby bushes looking for him. I had a vivid mental picture of this 4'9" blonde stripper with a feral look, spittle flying from her mouth and hair plastered to her face, holding her improvised weapon of her sunglasses arm over her head, while crashing through the woods. Hunting. Looking to stab her 6'3" asian boyfriend who was completely unable or unwilling to so much as grab her arms to keep from being stabbed.

I talked with Cameron for a few more minutes. He refused to provide a recorded statement and said he no longer wished to pursue charges. Of course it doesn’t work that way. Cameron gets to be the victim from his prison shank wielding, miniature girlfriend whether he wants to or not. The State presses the charges. With that said however, I knew there was very little chance the Prosecutor would choose to file charges with an uncooperative victim. I spent a few minutes giving Cameron the obligatory domestic violence victim’s speech, but it was half-hearted since I knew he wasn’t going to listen. Cameron had decided he finally landed himself a hot girlfriend and was going to do whatever it takes to keep her….even allowing her to kick him in the head, attempt to chew through his chest into his heart, scratch and slap him and even stab him with improvised weapons. If that isn’t true love, I don’t know what is!

I let out a loud breath as I climbed into my vehicle. Beside me, my Ride Along was snickering uncontrollably and burst out, “You know you are a bad mother fucker when you fashion your own weapons to stab people with!” I couldn’t help but laugh and realized, I was glad I had a rider. As unusual as the night had been, without that fresh set of eyes it would have faded into memory as just another night on patrol.

Originally published at So you wanna be a cop?.

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