Lost Boys

Wearing dark blue Dockers, black Converse sneakers and a Polo baseball cap, Chaison walked up to a gap in the wrought-iron burglar-bar fence holding a $20 bill in his left hand.

Standing on the sidewalk two feet away, Robert LaVergne was smoking a Swisher and chatting with another guy. Chaison said he wanted two dimes; he says Robert opened his palm, took a rock the size of a Tic Tac out of a plastic baggie and traded it for the $20. Chaison dropped the crack in his shirt pocket and started to walk away, but he says Robert called him back.

Put it in your mouth, Robert said. Police officers aren't allowed to ingest drugs, and dealers know that; it's a standard test.

Chaison said it wasn't for him, it was for the girl in the truck.

If you're not the law, Robert said, put it in your mouth.

Man, don't put that jacket on me, Chaison said. He told Robert that a cop had killed his uncle. "I shot every line at him," Chaison says. "You name it, I did it, but he didn't buy anything." Chaison says he probably could have walked away, but he wasn't planning to arrest anybody, and he wanted to make as many purchases as he could. Plus, at that point Chaison didn't feel threatened; the spiked fence stretched the length of the parking lot, and Robert couldn't reach him.

You the law, Robert said. And I'm not afraid of the law.

Chaison says Robert lifted his striped white Polo jacket, revealing a 9mm Smith & Wesson Sigma jammed in his jeans. "I said to myself, 'Aw, hell. It's going to be on,' " Chaison says. An ex-marine and Vietnam vet with 20 years' experience on the force (including four shoot-outs), Chaison felt certain that Robert wasn't playing. "You never pull a pistol on a person if you don't have any intentions of using it," Chaison says. "I knew that he was gonna use it."

Chaison looked for cover, but all he saw were skinny trees that wouldn't shield his 250-pound body. He thought about running back to the truck, but he was sure Robert would shoot him in the back. "I'm not going out like that," Chaison says. Robert's gun caught in his clothing, giving Chaison time to reach under his flannel shirt, draw his pistol and begin firing. The first bullet went into the ground; the second sliced through the flesh above Robert's left knee. Robert fell, then scrambled underneath the trunk of a nearby car and began firing.

All Chaison could see was the muzzle of Robert's gun flashing as Robert fired two rapid rounds. Chaison tried to keep his head behind a bare tree, firing one round for every two of Robert's so he wouldn't run out of ammunition while out in the open. He kept firing to let Robert know he was still there and he wasn't going away. Chaison says he yelled at Robert's companion, "I'm a police officer, get down." Then Chaison shouted to Higgins to drop the assist and get backup. When he looked under the car, Robert's gun was gone.

Standing with the open car door as her cover, Higgins, five foot three and 116 pounds, began switching the channels on the police radio. She watched Chaison zigzag, avoiding bullets, and thought that she couldn't let him die because his wife was five months pregnant. Robert changed locations and had a clear shot at Chaison; Higgins fired her Beretta to divert him. "She was like a sacrificial lamb," Chaison says. "She sacrificed herself on my behalf. She did what the ultimate partner would do -- she did what all officers expect of their partners: She was covering me."

Higgins heard the ping of bullets hitting the door she hid behind and began moving to the driver's side when a bullet shattered the passenger-side mirror, went through the window and into her neck. She felt a sizzle, and her vision blurred as the bullet hit her spinal cord; she tried to move, but she couldn't feel her legs. She fell to the ground and maneuvered her head behind the tire. She asked God not to let her die before her mother.

Chaison went to help Higgins, letting Robert hobble across the parking lot toward the brick buildings. Wounded, Robert wouldn't be hard to find.

Higgins asked Chaison if she was gonna die. He said no. She asked him how she had done. He said she'd done good. Again, she asked if she was going to die.

Officer David Weaver, a cop living in the complex, had gotten off HPD's night shift, signed for a UPS package and was watching TV when he heard accelerating sirens and tires peeling into the parking lot. He turned on his scanner and learned that an officer was down. Also a trained EMT, he quickly dressed, grabbed his first aid kit, badge and gun and went to help. When Chaison described Robert to him, Weaver knew who he was talking about. Whenever Weaver saw a "suspicious individual" around the complex, he photographed and identified him; Chaison picked Robert out of a stack of approximately 50 Polaroids.