This is Calvin’s story, so he’ll tell it: Informants claim outlaw bikers are headed our way and will begin arriving in town Friday around nightfall. We are told the bikers plan to "party" by taking our town apart, piece-by-piece.

Our operations chief orders the SWAT team divided into units of three officers each. We’ll patrol with full gear in unmarked vehicles.

By nightfall we are strategically deployed throughout the city, covering all of the known hot-spots. My unit is assigned to an unmarked Chevrolet Suburban. Each of us is wearing body armor. We’re armed with MP5s plus standard issue Glock 40 cal. semi-automatic pistols.

It’s 1 a.m., Saturday morning. Nothing’s happening. Might as well roll up the sidewalks. We’re stopped for a red light next to a tan Cavalier. The woman passenger looks at our Suburban then turns to the driver and yells hysterically. The driver takes off through the red light and careens down the street in front of us.

We take off in pursuit. With our blue lights and siren activated, they finally stop. We call them out of the car.

Neither the male driver nor the woman passenger speaks any English. Fortunately, the little boy in the car can translate. All three are migrant workers from Mexico. The boy tells us his mother saw "guys with guns" in a truck stopped next to them. That’s why they took off. They were afraid of getting shot.

We look at each other, knowing that WE are the "guys with guns" the woman saw. We unwittingly frightened these people causing them to run.

We know the driver is telling the truth and give him back his license and registration. We feel a little silly. Here we are looking for threats to the domestic tranquility and we, instead, became the threat.

Turns out our confidential informant was wrong too. No bikers came to town this weekend. Not one. We park our confiscated Suburban and put our MP5s back in the gun locker. The town is safe.