My partner and I responded one night to a domestic dispute in the projects. We had to reconfirm the address because we knew the couple and had never had any trouble with them. We get to the apartment and can hear the guy, Big Joe, screaming at his wife, calling her all sorts of vile names. “Oh boy, here we go,” I thought.

Bang, bang, bang. “Open up, Housing Authority!” Silence. We hear the chains rattling on the door and the locks being undone. The door opens, and before us stands Joe’s wife in a pink teddy, huge tears in her eyes.

“Did he hurt you? Where is he?” I asked.

“No,” she says, pointing towards the bedroom. Then she starts bawling again.

I turn to my partner and say, “You deal with her. I’ll go see Joe.”

I get to the bedroom door, and Joe sees me. “What the [__] do you want?” Joe is naked as a jaybird, handcuffed hands and feet to the bed. Right about that time, I hear my partner say, “She lost the key.”

I had a hard time suppressing a grin as I held up my own cuff key and said, “I don’t want anything, but I’m betting it like this.” Suffice to say, his attitude changed quickly.

Not all the domestics were disasters. This one was hilarious.

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