On Christmas Eve, I helped a biker fix his broken taillight instead of arresting him. That’s why I got fired as a cop.
After 23 years of outstanding service, I lost my job 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 ruining his family’s Christmas.
The chief said it was “aiding a criminal enterprise,” even though the man was just impoverished and had a burned-out taillight.
But when the biker found out I had been let go, he did something that made the tough guy cry like a baby and taught me what brotherhood means to motorcyclists.
The biker’s name was Marcus “Reaper” Williams. He had a terrifying road name and Savage Souls MC patches, but he was just a tired factory worker attempting to go home after a long workday of sixteen hours.
I stopped him at 11 PM on December 24th, thinking he might have drugs or guns because we had a lot of BOLO alerts about the Savage Souls.
Instead, I found a lunchbox, a painting by a kid that said “Daddy’s Guardian Angel” on his gas tank, and real fear in his eyes.
“Officer, I know how this looks,” he said, with his hands on the handlebars. “But I just finished a double shift at the steel plant.” My kids are waiting. “Three days since I last saw them awake.”
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 given any special treatment, no matter what.
But there was something about that kid’s picture that made me feel bad. My kid used to draw me illustrations when I worked two jobs.
I told him to “pop your seat.”
He seemed confused, but he did what I asked. I retrieved a spare bulb from my repair kit and fixed his taillight in less than five minutes.
I wished them a Merry Christmas. “Be safe on your way home.”
Seeing the relief on his face made all the problems I had to deal with worth it. That’s what I thought.
Three days later, I went to the chief’s office.
“Officer Davidson, could you please explain this?” Chief Morrison put a picture on his desk. It was a footage from security cameras of me fixing Reaper’s taillight.
“Sir, it was Christmas Eve.” The man had never been in trouble before and was returning home from work—
“The man is Savage Souls MC!” We have explicit regulations for gang members.
“He’s not in a gang; he likes motorcycles and works at—”
“I don’t care if he’s the Pope!” You gave city property to someone who is part of a criminal group. That’s stealing and assisting a group of criminals.
“It cost three dollars!”
“It went against the oath.” “Please hold while we look into it.”
The investigation was pointless. They had already made up their minds about me. I had changed a taillight bulb after twenty-three years of adulation, 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 a position 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 find job in the only field I had ever worked in.
That’s when things started to get interesting.
I was in Murphy’s Bar, drinking my third whiskey and trying to figure out how to tell my wife that we would lose the house. Then leather filled the door. A lot of Savage Souls members came in, with Reaper at the front.
I reached for the place where my service weapon used to be.
“Easy, Davidson,” Reaper said quietly, holding up his hands in peace. “We’re here to help.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Yes? How is the job search going?
He sat down without asking and gave me a tablet. A news story on TV said, “Local Officer Fired for Christmas Act of Kindness.”
He answered, “We didn’t let it out.” But someone did. The story is spreading quickly. The problem is that Chief Morrison is making it sound like you’re a crook and taking bribes from us.
“I never stole anything from anyone.”
“We understand. That’s why we’re here. He nodded to his brothers, who immediately took out their folders. “You’ve been a police officer for twenty-three years.” Do you know how many Savage Souls you’ve caught?
“Dozens?”
“47.” And they all say you were fair to them. There was no false evidence, no excessive force, and no made-up charges. You put us in jail when we deserved it and let us go when we didn’t.
He opened a file. “Do you remember Tommy Briggs? You arrested him for assault in 2009. He was guilty and served his time. But you also made sure that his child went to school while he was in jail. You drove the boy yourself.
I remembered. Tommy’s wife had died, and his eight-year-old son was all alone.
“What’s the point?”
“The point is that you’ve been the only honest cop in this department for a long time.” We can show that Morrison is not telling the truth.
There was a new folder. There were pictures of Chief Morrison in a warehouse shaking hands with people I didn’t know who were well-dressed.
“These are the Delgado cartel,” Reaper replied. “Morrison has been taking their money so he can pay more attention to us than to them.” We make a lot of noise, are easy to see, and are easy to hit. You are detaining bikers for fighting in bars, but they are importing heroin via the port.
“Why didn’t you tell someone about this?”
Reaper laughed in a mean way. Are you saying that outlaw bikers are saying that the police chief is corrupt? Sure, that would work.
“So why now?”
“Because you’re not a cop anymore. You are a citizen who was taken advantage of. People can complain and get a response.
The city council met on February 1st. I filed a complaint regarding my unfair firing, expecting my lawyer and a few friends to be there.
There were forty-seven Savage Souls members in the chambers, nevertheless. Not just them, but their whole family came with them. Wives, kids, and even grandpas and grandmas. Everyone was clean and polite, and they were all there to support the cop who had arrested half of them at some point.
Chief Morrison turned pale when he saw them.
He yelled at the mayor, “You’re trying to scare me!”
“This is community participation,” commented Reaper’s wife, who is a teacher, in a calm manner. “We’re here to talk about what kind of person Officer Davidson is.”
One by one, they all offered their testimonies. 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 adolescent who planned to murder himself out of it. The person I helped had been abused by their partner. The homeless veteran I bought dinner for instead of arresting for vagrancy.
Then Reaper stood up. “I have something to show the council.”
He made a flash drive. Video from security cameras taken on December 24, 2014. The video was taken eleven years ago.
The clip was shown on the meeting room screen. It shows Chief Morrison, who was a lieutenant at the time, hitting a suspect who was handcuffed in an alley. It was easy to see the suspect’s face; it was Danny, Reaper’s younger brother, who died two days later from his injuries. The official report indicated that he fell while trying to get 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 are different now that Officer Davidson has left the department. If the chief fires the only honest cop for aiding someone, and he is a killer himself…
The room went wild. Everyone was told to be quiet by the mayor. Chief Morrison tried to get away, but a wall of leather stopped him.
“Move out of the way,” he said.
Reaper said in a stern voice, “We’re not in your area anymore, Chief.” “Letting go of the only cop we trusted.”
The inquiry that came following was rapid and hard. Morrison was arrested by the state police. The FBI got involved when the Delgado link was found. Along with him, 17 more police officers were also arrested.
I got my job back, got all my back salary, and was promoted to lieutenant. The mayor apologized in front of everyone. The city used the money from my lawsuit to pay off my mortgage.
Murphy’s Bar called me 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, and I haven’t gotten any aid yet. The Savage Souls were there, standing between the kids who were drunk and the motorcycles they had broken.
Reaper smiled and said, “Evening, Lieutenant.” “These boys were about to leave.”
The men in college started talking bad about “biker trash” and “pig cops.” One of them threw a bottle that nearly missed me.
I now understood what Reaper meant when he mentioned years ago that leather soaked in beer smells terrible. Because I wasn’t alone anymore. The Savage Souls protected me from the inebriated people who were being cruel. Not fighting, just standing there. It was clear that anyone who wanted to hurt the cop would have to get past them first.
I told them, “You guys can come quietly, or you can tell the judge why you hit a cop while breaking the law on veterans’ property.” (Half of the Savage Souls had served in the military.)
They came in without making a sound.
Later, as the drunk kids were being dealt with, Reaper walked up to me.
He stated, “That taillight you fixed saved more than just 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 rush to get home.
“Is she…?”
“Remission.” Four years have passed. She really wants to be a cop, believe it or not. She says she wants to be like the police officers who helped her dad get home.
To retain my cool, I had to look aside.
He said, “Davidson, we have your back.” “Not because you’re nice to us. You arrested me twice last month alone. But only because you are fair. You see the person before the badge or patch.
That was five years ago. I’m in charge now, and the department I run is very different from Morrison’s. We still arrest Savage Souls who break the law. Last week, we had to break up an illegal poker game at their clubhouse.
But when a drunk driver killed Officer Martinez’s child, the Savage Souls were the ones who buried him. They give us as much money as we do for toy drives at Christmas. Who is willing to educate novice riders how to be safe on a motorcycle?
At work, I have a picture of the three-dollar taillight bulb that almost ended my career hanging on the wall. Next to it is a picture of myself in uniform standing with forty-seven bikers in the children’s hospital last Christmas, handing out toys.
Chief Morrison will spend twenty-five years in jail. The Delgado cartel was stopped. And the Souls of the Wild? They’re still criminals and rebels, and their wild parties are still a pain in my ass.
But I know I’m safe when I smell beer-soaked leather behind me on a call that may be dangerous. Because being a brother is often more essential than badges and patches. Doing the right thing is sometimes more important than following the rules.
And sometimes, a single light bulb for three dollars can change everything.
I still work as 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.
There are moments when the brotherhood of the road, fathers who want to go home, and guys who remember kindness and return it tenfold keep it together.
The emblem and the brotherhood are very important for keeping society together. Enemies in nature made allies that were not likely.
On Christmas Eve, I made this choice, putting my identity as a person ahead of my job as a cop.
The city spent the best three dollars it ever had.
