In Memoriam

They are burying this Trooper today.

His wife and kids will have to live without him now.

Why?

The guy who shot him should have been in Jail!

How many times does this have to happen?

Rest In Peace my Brother in Blue!

30yo.Gregory Favors was more than a repeat offender. He was a serial repeat offender with 19 arrests and 10 convictions.

Because of that last July, after Favors had yet another brush with the law, Fulton County prosecutors wanted the judge to throw the book at him, pushing for a 30-year sentence with four years to serve behind bars.

But the Magistrate in the case disagreed and gave Favors 30-days on top of time served.

In a letter to Fulton County's Chief Judge Cynthia Wright, DA Paul Howard, Atlanta Mayor Kasim Reed, and Atlanta Police Chief George Turner said had "Favors been given even half the recommended sentence, he'd still be incarcerated today," instead of facing new charges for allegedly killing state trooper Chadwick LeCroy this week.

The letter also says the Favors case is not believed to be an isolated event but in fact "occurs regularly as part of the Non-complex Criminal Court Division," which was designed to fast-track low-level felonies, often using non-negotiated plea bargains.

The DA says it is apparent that that philosophy of "moving cases is inconsistent with the safety of the Atlanta Fulton-County community, and immediate corrective action should be taken. As such, operations of the Non-Complex Court Division should be temporarily suspended and the cases distributed to the 16 Superior Court Judges."

Howard also says Trooper LeCroy's murder is not the only one to come as a result of these judicial problems. In September, he wrote that stabbing victim "Wayne Jackson died because of a failure in the system." Three months later, Trooper LeCroy would lose his life as well, also "because of a failure in the system."

DA Howard was careful to assure the court that the letter was not a personal attack on the judiciary, but rather a call to action to change the system by which it operates. He wants the Chief Justice of the Georgia Supreme Court to lead a study commission with top state and local criminal justice experts to figure out how to fix the system's deadly "failures."

Why Cops Train So Hard ~ You Never Know Who You'll Have to Fight

Why Cops Train So Hard

 You Never Know Who You'll Have to Fight

Or Why

Ho Ho Ho from Da Po Po Po!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wishing you all

Merry Christmas and a safe and Happy New Year!

Thanks to all 14,000+ of my hits in 16 countries!  May God bless you all!

Szczesliwego Nowego Roku~~~~Frohe Weihnachten und ein frohes neues Jahr ~~~Feliz Navidad y un próspero Año Nuevo~~~С Рождеством Христовым и С наступающим Новым Годом ~~~ Joyeux Noël et bonne année~~~~~Prettige kerstdagen en een Gelukkig Nieuwjaar! ~~~~Buon Natale and Felice Anno Nuovo~~~~~أجمل التهاني بمناسبة الميلاد و حلول السنة الجديدة ...~~~Vesel božič in srečno novo leto~~~~Selamat Hari Natal Basque - Zorionak eta Urte Berri On!~~~~MERII KURISUMASU-SHINNEN AKEMASHITE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Merry Christmas ...................

and a safe and happy New Year!

Talk about stereotypes- cop cleche'

First let me preface this by saying this is not my work.  But, it is so funny I just had to share. It came in an email from a friend of mine who worked in two of these units:

Narcotics
-Immediately grow facial hair, tell everybody you were ordered to.
-Start watching every episode of Monster Garage.
-Buy a biker wallet with a big chain.
-Make every case involve overtime $$$.
-Buy bunches of boats, RV's, and motorcycles with that overtime.
-Learn to play golf drunk.

SWAT
-Wear team T-shirts, Oakley sunglasses and boots everyday.
-Try to fit the word breach in to every conversation.
-Have a mirror handy to check hair, if you have hair.
-Never say hello to anyone who is not an operator, just practice your SWAT head nod.
-Subscribe to Soldier of Fortune and Muscle and Fitness.
-Learn to play golf wearing a gun.

Community Service units
-Hate SWAT
-Work to make everybody love you.
-Paint your office in pastel colors.
-Think Feng Shui.
-Subscribe to Psychology Today.
-Learn to play miniature golf.

Traffic units
-Write tickets to EVERYBODY.
-Spend every weekend cleaning your bike and polishing boots.
-Annoy everyone on the radio calling out your stops.
-Talk about nothing but how many tickets you wrote in one day.
-Ride by a building with big windows to see your reflection.
-Golf is lame, motor rodeos are cool.

K-9 Units
-Become sadistic
-Show pictures of your latest dog bite
-Brag about your largest drug find
-Smell like a dog
-Workout 3 times a day
-Show off your bruises

Administrative Units

-Three-hour lunches everyday, tell everybody it's a "meeting".

-Upgrade department cell

phone every month.

-Tell everybody you are published in a national law enforcement magazine.

-Update your revenge list on a weekly basis.

-Golf Rules! Play lots of golf.

Patrol Units
-Has nerves of steel.
-In a terminal state of nausea from department politics.
-Inability to keep mouth shut.
-Has defining tastes in alcohol.
-Is respected by peers.
-Beats the crap out of his caddy on any bogeyed shot


FTO
-Automatically grasps the door handle until knuckles turn white when car is put in gear
-Considers a multiple-victim homicide in progress a “good training opportunity” and asks to take primary
-Considers less than three hours of OT to be a quiet day


Investigators
-Come in at 0800
-"Breakfast" from 0815 to 1030
-Work from 1030 to Noon
-Noon to 1400 Work out and Lunch
-1400-1700 Sit in CID and talk about how many girlfriends you have and how the wife doesn't know. Plan your next RV, fishing, motorcycle trip.


Patrol Sergeant
-Remembers very well "how we used to do do it."
-Always willing to tell his officers the above.
-Tries to fit the word "liability" in to every sentence.
-Talks about "what he's hearing from upstairs."

Court Security
-Say you don’t want to work patrol anyway, but monitor dispatch channel while in courtroom
-Have Jail and courthouse cafeteria menus memorized
-Have seriously thought of entering law school after sitting through three jury trials
-Consider the Public Defenders’ Christmas party the high point of the year


Defensive Tactics Instructors
-Starts stretching before making arrest
-Can spend hours debating the advantages of ASP vs. straight stick
-Has spent more than $50 on a wood baton
-Giggles when a suspect starts to resist

New Corrections Officers - Show up for work 15 minutes early
- Buy only the best ink pens (Pilot G-2)
- Wear T-Shirts of your "dream department" under your uniform
- Wear a full duty belt of gear even though you have to remove everything when you arrive at the facility
- Become friends with every local police officer

Trainee
-Unable to grow facial hair.
-Watches every episode of Cops.
-Worships the ground the SWAT guys walk on.
-Arrives for work three hours early.
-Thinks the sergeant is thrilled to see him.
-Won't drink on the golf course because it violates the open container ordinance.


Feds
- Shave head, and grow goatee (unless you want to be a management weenie, then make sure you are clean shaven, with short almost military style haircut).
- Wear 5.11 pants, and polo with agency logo (unless you want to be a management weenie, then make sure you always have a shirt and pants to which a jacket and tie can be quickly added for when the boss might be around).
- Arrive at work at 8AM, spend one hour answering useless emails, and 30 minutes checking your retirement investments. Then go with another agent to Starbucks "to discuss your a new case."
- After participating in your first warrant service (as outside cover) make plans to join the agency SRT, SWAT, etc., to "properly utilize your superior tactical skills."
- After doing your first buy bust, immediately begin asking the boss about "long term undercover" jobs.
- Refuse to play golf with "the locals."

Snotsicles

T'was a few days before Christmas and it was water ski weather in my part of Florida.  I day dreamed about a white Christmas. Floridians have an ignorant naivete about snow.

Having spent a winter in northern Japan with 12 foot drifts outside my front door I was under no such illusion.  However, like child birth, one forgets the pain and wishes for foolish things, like more kids or snow.  Christmas is so much more fun if it's white and you don't have to shovel it.

The zone I was working had an abundance of middle and low rent apartment complexes.  Sort of an uppity version of trailer-trash. The family fights were commensurate with the economic environment.  Being on the fringe of town my possibility of timely back up was iffy at best.  Still, one must respond and deal with what ever comes your way.

RayBob Dupree liked to smack his kids and sling his woman, Verna Jean, into walls. Just to show 'em who was boss.   He and Verna Jean weren't officially married but they had 4 kids together. She'd been using his last name since he picked her up hitch hiking on the bayou when she was 16 and he was 30.

They'd arrived in Florida due to moving from job to job with a paving company. Verna Jean had him thrown out for whipppn' on her one too many times.  She'd also had enough of his drinking and womanizing.  Tho lord knows what a woman would have been attracted to.

RayBob was all of 5'5", 145 lbs.  He was 40 but looked 60.  He had more tattoos than teeth.  This day he had lost his job as a 'slow-stop' sign holder on the paving crew. He showed up to work late and being hung over one too many times.  I think there was a bit of a Napoleon Complex goin' on there.

So, not being completely bereft of common sense, which had either been knocked into or out of her depending on the situation over the years, she had armed herself with a can of mace.  She knew eventually he would show up at the front door and she was going to be prepared.

On this particular night RayBob had drowned his sorrows with cheap beer when he decided it was time to go back home.  Verna Jean answered the door to their second story apartment with the chain lock on and the can of mace in her hand.  He demanded she let him in.  She told him to go away or she'd call the cops.  He tried to shove his way in.  She put the can of mace out the crack in the door and sprayed him full in the face.

 

He caught the full blast and stepped back, almost falling down the concrete stairs to the ground.  He grabbed the railing and gasped for air.  She slammed the door and called for a squad car to take him away.

When I arrived I saw RayBob standing at the top of the stairs pounding on the door.  As I climbed the stairs I shined my flash light on him. I could see he was suffering the ill effects of some kind of chemical spray. He turned to me as I got to the landing.

 His face was beet red, eyes swollen to gummy slits and he had snotsicles a foot long hanging from both nostrils.  As he turned to me the streams of gooey snot swung like the beaded fringe on a cocktail dress.  The noxious spray hung in the air around him and burned my eyes too.

Verna Jean handed me a copy of her restraining order through the crack in the door.  She didn't want to open it with him still there.  Can't say I blamed her.

Of course, this was before they issued latex gloves and before I was smart enough to by my own leather gloves. So I just had to suck it up and cuff him bare handed.  He'd wiped the first 18 inches of snot with his hands and sleeves.  He was actually working up the second 18 inches when I arrived.

So, pepper/mace laden snot got on my hands and cuffs.  Burned like napalm.  I got him down the stairs gently, though I must confess it would have been easier and more fun to shove him and just scoop him up upon landing.

He was loaded up and I had to leave the windows down to air out the car as I drove him to jail.  Once there the D.O.'s had to strip him down and put him in the delousing cell to hose him off.  Of course no such luxury was afforded me.  I had to fill out the booking paperwork before I could take a shower back in the locker room.  I ended up having to seal my uniform into double plastic bags for the laundry or it would have smoked out the entire 4th floor of the police station.

You might be a redneck if you your best Christmas purchase is a can of pepper spray and you get to use it on your baby's daddy!

That year I cancelled my wish for snow and asked Santa for frisk gloves.

Kids and Cuffs and Snakes - Oh My!

One thing you can look forward to if you select a career patrolling the streets in law enforcement is getting bitten.  During my years on the road I can recall having experienced that treat many times. Biting is an act of desperation when all other means fail to inflict damage on the perceived threat, the Police.

What ever you are summoned to handle in the 'coping' sense of the word eventually means you end up 'handling' it in the grab a hold and don't let go sense.  And some time what ever or who ever you are grabbing a hold of bites.

My first bite was from a teenage girl.  She was a runaway from up north.  Arrived in town on a Greyhound Bus and was panhandling at the bus station.  They reported her and she was brought to the station until we could find an agency to house her until her family could come get her.

She was less than enthusiastic at the prospect of her adventure coming to an end and copped an attitude.  She swung, kicked, twisted around, went limp, bowed up & head butted the two officers who transported her. 

They decided the safest place for her to wait was in the holding cell aka, drunk tank.  Though in this case since she was not drunk we referred to it as the Think Tank.  Sit in there and think about your attitude.  It offered excellent accommodation for someone in her frame of mind.  NOTHING! No mattress, no pillow, no nuthing.  Just a cement room with a cement bench and a flush drain in the floor.

Suicide attempt is a real consideration that has to be anticipated. She was wearing a rolled up bandanna as a belt thru the loops in her jeans.  It needed to be removed. The officers who brought her in decided it would not be appropriate for them to fiddle around trying to get the knot out of it as the knot was perched above her pubic area. So they called for me to do it.

They held her down on the bench while I worked on getting the knot untied. She arched her head up and got me in the under arm.  When I pulled away she dropped back and knocked her noggin on the bench.  I do believe she saw stars.  Took two weeks for my bruise to heal up.  Hurt like a bitch too.

Handcuffs bite too.  I always get a kick watching TV cops put handcuffs on.  Presto - changeo cuffs are on.  The bad guy just offers up his wrists and the cuffs go on lickety split.

Not in real life.  Even a cooperative subject can be difficult to cuff properly.  Some people have arms so big their wrists won't meet close enough in the back and you have to use two sets of cuffs.  I even had one guy that took 3 sets to span from wrist to wrist. 

Cuffs like to get stuck in long sleeves too.  If you happen to snag even a smidgen of cloth it can be a nightmare getting that undone.  Meanwhile the originally cooperative subject has time to reconsider their pickle and often has a change of heart.  Opting to start to struggle.  Once that starts it's on. 

Getting cuffs on someone who wants to fight it is a real treat.  The teeth on the gate of the cuff often take chunks of skin out of the person applying them.  Try taking a pair of scissors and just nipping a little piece out of one of your fingers if you 'd like to simulate that experience.  There isn't a cop on patrol who has not been bitten by his or her own cuffs.  Now days that often results in HIV testing for a year, more fun.

Then there are the animals who don't necessarily appreciate the fact that you are there to help.  Like the rat snake I found taking an asphalt nap at the entrance of the golf course one morning.  It was about 6 am and I knew he'd come out during the night for the warmth of the road.  I figured some duffer with an early T time would squash him just for the fun of it.  So I stopped to shoo him off the road,  I like to save animals, what can I say.

Well, I put on the overheads, got out and thought a little nudge with my night stick would encourage him to move on.  Apparently he was having a bad dream and decided to cop an attitude.  Did you know a harmless little rat snake can lunge the entire length of a night stick?  He didn't have fangs, just little needle teeth that left nice, evenly spaced rows of scratches down the back of my hand.

Since they eat rats I figured it might call for a tetanus shot.  I signed out at the ER for the shot.  One of my fellow officers, sensing something interesting was happening that he didn't want to miss out on arrived shortly thereafter for the show.  When the doc came in to give me the shot I opted for hip rather than arm.  I asked my brother officer to vacate the cubicle while I dropped my gun belt and pants.  He just laughed and said "Not on your life, I'm staying for this!"

Of course this was in the late 1970's when it was just funny. And it was funny. These days it would end up in a law suit for 'sexual harassment or hostile work environment'. 

Whatever.... I say ladies, quit yer bitchin', and suck it up.

Satin Sheets to Pay For

There was a motel on the 'strip' in town.  It was not the kind of motel you would take your family to.  It catered to a very small niche clientele.  Those who wanted to enhance their by-the-hour motel experience with a movie.  You know the kind of moves rated with XXX's that all too often ended in Ex's.

It was just after 'check-out' time when the owner/manager summoned the police.  He had been tidying up the rooms when he discovered one of the rooms had been stripped.  Missing were the clock radio,  bed spread, satin sheets, pillow cases, bath linen and shower curtain.  He was not a happy inn keeper.

We took the basics for the report.  The inn keeper valued the missing items at $500.   He described the person who rented the room as a w/m in his 40's, athletic, blond hair & well dressed.  He also noted that the 'companion' was dressed as a b/f  but well known to him as a female impersonator.  (See Knot Nipples if you need further information on this subject).

He then presented the room registration card.  The name was a typical 'John Doe' but there was a tag number.  We ran the tag.  It came back registered to a luxury car owned by a well known local attorney.  One I considered very handsome.  Coincidentally he matched the owner's description of the client to the 'T'.  He looked very much like Warner Huntington III in 'Legally Blonde'.

In most states theft under $1000 is considered petit-theft, a misdemeanor. Unless they are caught in the act you have to get a capias.  In Florida there are some exceptions that allow an immediate arrest, one is defrauding an inn keeper. Yay, if we find this guy we can take him to jail!!!

Moonie and I were partners that day.  We made jokes.  Who got screwed?  What was 'snatched'?  What happened 'Behind the Green Door'?  Was it John or Linda who stole the Love-Lace?

We went back to the station to make a few phone calls and do some research. I telephoned the law firm where the owner of the car worked.  The receptionist advised me that he was in an important meeting and could not be disturbed.  Wanting instant gratification, I was not willing to wait all day to talk to this clown.

I told her that it was a police matter and that I wanted to speak with him now.  She protested but I was able to convey the importance of his taking my call.  She told me she didn't think he would take the call but that she would knock on the door and relay the message.  About 45 seconds later he came on the line.

I told him that his little escapade had resulted in some missing property and listed the items.  (Of course I was bluffing that I knew it was him- but I knew it was him.  If I approached as though it were a done deal he would have been forced into lying to me or admitting his presence.)

He obviously was in the presence of the other people at his meeting and was very circumspect in his responses.  "Yes, officer.  I understand, officer.  I am so sorry, officer.  I will take care of that, officer."
He said he would be there later that day to 'work it out'.

I told him that was not acceptable. He needed to respond immediately to 'take care of it.'

He said he'd be there in 15 minutes.  I guess that very important meeting got put on hold after all.

We were back at the motel when he arrived.  He never batted an eye.  He whipped out 5 one hundred dollar bills and declined the inn keeper's offer of a receipt.  Everyone agreed the incident was resolved.

As we left I took him aside, "I'd just like to know, which one of the 'girls' will be sleeping on new satin sheets tonight?"  He told me 'her' name was Dee Lite.  Ah, Teddy Cabagestalk, my favorite he-she of all time!

John smiled sheepishly.  Said he'd left while 'she'  remained in the room to take a shower. He'd assumed 'she' would just dress and depart after.  He didn't realize that all the bed - bath and beyond items would be packed up into a pillow case or two and toted off. 

He apologized profusely and wanted to know if we could keep the story out of the newspaper.  Of course I told him I could make no such promise but if he didn't blab maybe they wouldn't pick up on it.  The case was re-classified as a civil matter and closed.  The news paper never found the story.  Some guys have all the luck.

They teach you a saying at the academy and I'm sure they go over it in law school too. It's a quote on Assumption from Oscar Wilde~
“When you assume, you make an ass out of u and me.”

After all these years I'm still wondering.............
 what Teddy needed with a clock radio!

But Judge....

Traffic court is fun.  It's like a box of chocolates.  You never know what your gonna get.  (She nods to Forrest Gump).  But before you get to the courtroom there has to be a ticket, and before the ticket is the alleged violation.


So flash back to about six weeks before court.  I'm driving around town in my mobile crime fighting platform, minding my own business.  The radio comes alive with the dispatcher calling me.


"Go ahead"...


"Signal four, code two.  Main and Lemon."  (a car crash, no injury-no need to rush).


Upon my arrival I see a huge compacting style garbage truck and a large semi-compacted Buick.


The two black guys from the truck are standing on the side, drinking coffee from their thermos.  (I mention their race only because it comes into play later).  They were familiar to me because the police cars get serviced occasionally at the City garage and we use the gas pumps there.  They greeted me and I them.


The Buick driver, an older black lady (I only mention her race because it comes into play later), is still sitting in her car.  When she sees me she alights the vehicle and approaches.  She was a very large woman, over 6 feet tall, not fat although I bet she weighed in at about 250.  Her head was huge and it was all the more imposing due to a full, poofed out style wig.  She was just big and tall, a nice lady - very pleasant in her demeanor. 


She was dressed like my old third grade teacher, a navy dress with white polka dots and a while collar that ended in a huge white bow at her cleavage.  She wore black patent leather pumps, the top of her feet was puffing out over the top like muffins. (either the shoes were a half size too small or she needed a water pill).  And she carried a huge double handle patent leather pocket book.  The kind Fred Sanford got smacked with by Aunt Esther.


He said She said went into the telling of events.  Bottom line the garbage truck as going down Main Street under the speed limit minding its own business when the Buerick emerged off the side street,  after dutifully stopping at the stop sign, then attempted a right turn----into the side of the truck.


I issued a citation for violation of the right-of-way to Aunt Esther and we all went our separate ways.


I was a bit surprised to get the subpoena for traffic court on this case.  At the scene Aunt Esther seemed to comprehend that it was her fault.  Alas, her son, a local community 'spokes person', decided it was police harassment and insisted she contest the charge.


So the players in this non-drama were reassembled for the traffic hearing.  Add the know-it-all son and his over confident attorney. 


The case (which was and still is a very common scenario, heard thousands of times in courts across the nation) was presented.  First I had to present what I found, the areas of damage, the traffic control devices that were there to regulate who was supposed to do what and my observations of the damage.  You are not allowed to say what the drivers told you.  That's hear-say.  But the drivers were next to tell their stories.


The attorney did his best to paint me as a racist, just picking on Aunt Esther because she was black.  When I pointed out that was silly because the garbage truck drivers were also black, he countered that I was just cutting them a break because they and I were all city employees, thus my prejudice.  Whatever.  Attorneys will grasp at anything to distract the trier of fact from the facts.  Sad to say, after a while you get used to being called everything under the sun.


Finally the attorney gets around to addressing the actual circumstances of the wreck.  He goes into a long Q & A of me regarding the design of the intersection.  What is the legal definition of an intersection.  Isn't it true that the collision occurred outside the boundaries of the  legal definition of the intersection. Blah, Blah, Blah.  Even the judge finally called him for badgering and repeating.


The truck had indeed completely passed through the 'intersection' when Aunt Esther pulled out, smacking into the right rear of the truck about half way thru her right turn, and about 10 ft east of the eastern imaginary line of the 'intersection. The truck driver caught a glimpse of her emerging off the stop sign and swerved to his left to make more room for her but to no avail.


(Basically an intersection is the area within the imaginary lines that could be drawn from all the sides of the road, looks like a tic-tac-toe game, the 'intersection is the middle square).  Aunt Esther and the garbage truck ended up in the middle/right 'square'.


The judge (a man I admired immensely and who swore me in as an officer) pronounced Aunt Esther had committed the violation.


"But Judge!,  she (pointing at me) wrote my client for violating the statue 'right-of-way at an intersection'... this collision did not occur within the intersection.  Thus the wrong statute was used and my client did not commit the infraction."


"Mr. Crane"  (I'll call him after Denny 'the name is on the door' Crane, though this guy couldn't wipe Denny's shoes).


The Judge,  "Mr. Crane, I find that your client did commit the infraction.  The infraction occurred within the intersection, the collision  occurred outside the intersection.  She is not charged with colliding, she is charged with violation of the right-of-way.  My decision stands."


"But Judge! That's not the way I interpret the statute!" Bemoaned Denny.


"Yes, Mr. Crane, but"


at this point the judge slipped one finger into the neck of his robe and tugged at it as he spoke-
" that's the way I interpret the statute."

I bet it cost Aunt Esther a thousand bucks to fight that $25.00 ticket.  And I think she wouldn't have said boo about it but her son would argue with the po-lices even if the officer said the sky is blue.


Believe it or not, some times we actually know what we are doing.

A Couple of What?

When I joined the police department my first assignment was answering the phone and learning to dispatch.  I was as naive as they come. I had no clue about what was really going on in the world let alone what was going on in our sleepy little fishing village.  Little did I know that there was plenty of interesting stuff happening.


A call came in complaining about car behind a small tavern in a strip mall about 4 blocks from the station.  The back side of the strip mall backed up to a quiet street.  On the other side of the street were a couple of nice apartment complexes, a law office and a church.  A resident in one of the apartments wanted to report a suspicious car behind the tavern.  It had been parked there for a few hours and according to the complainant it didn't belong there.


It was after 0200 so the tavern was closed.  The parking lot should have been empty.  A unit was dispatched to investigate. The officer was a well muscled no nonsense guy with a really sardonic demeanor.  When ever he spoke you really had to pay attention to what he said if you wanted to 'get it'.


After a few minutes he came on the radio announced arrival then  quickly cleared.  He advised there was no problem.


About a half hour later the complainant called back and said that the car was still there. The officer was notified.  He advised he would check into it further.  He was off the air about 10 minutes and cleared.  Again he advised 'no problem here.'


Twenty minutes later the complainant called a third time. He was irate by now, demanding the officer compel the vehicle to go away.


The officer was contacted and advised of the complainant's insistence that the suspicious car be GONE.


The officer, with a slight chuckle in his voice asked to go to a side channel and scramble.  (We used to have a radio system that you could turn two dials, one with letters A thru G and another  with numbers 1-9. Turning each offered combinations that would produce a secure signal only the sender and receiver of the same combination could communicate on.  To the rest of the eavesdropping world it just sounded like something from NASA.


So the officer says scramble B-2.  We switched over to the secure channel.  "go ahead".


The officer came over the radio laughing, "It's just a couple of Lizzies, they said they'd be done in a few minutes".  Everyone in dispatch was puzzled over what he told us.


"Lizzies?  Doing what?" I asked.


"NOT LIZZIES,  LEZZIES. THEY'RE GOING DOWN. THEY SAID THEY'LL BE DONE IN A FEW MINUTES ------they aren't bothering anyone!"


"Uh,  10-4".  I said.


I turned to my supervisor and asked, "What's a Lizzie? And, what are they going down on?


She burst out laughing,  "Lesbians - get it?" "They're doing each other!"


Oh, for heaven's sake,  that was something I never expected.  I could see in that moment this job was going to be a whole lot more interesting than my old one.


I looked at my supervisor and said, I'm gonna like this job."

Good Cop - Bad Cop

We used to have a night club out on the beach that had a real party atmosphere.  All the young people and some old people who were on good medication would go to drink and dance. 


In fact it is the place all the people came from during my nut jacking come along ( see my blog 'It's Called a Come-Along).  One time they had a 'best butt' contest.  My sister won second place (she's gonna kill me for this, but I bet she wishes she had that butt back).


I was working 'The Beach' that night and I got dispatched there for an ambulance call.  It turned out to be an old guy in his 70's.  He had a heart attack while getting his boogie on with an attractive woman in her 30's.


The EMT's were attending to him but he was not doing so good.  He didn't have any ID in his pocket so I tried to get information on him from the woman.  She didn't seem to know his last name, where he lived or if he had any family.  She was however sharing a motel room with him on the North Trail.  She said all his belongings were in the room and she would show me.


I drove her to the motel as they had arrived at the club in a taxi.  She opened the room and I checked his stuff.  I found his wallet.  He was from Chicago.  They'd arrived by air and took a cab to his motel.  He met his 'date' when she approached him on the plane.  She admitted she was a 'working' girl who was heading to Florida for a little sun n fun when she met him.  Since he was picking up the tab she figured why not.    ; )


About this time I was notified by dispatch that the man had not survived.  I got all the information from her and took all his belongings into property for next of kin.  I found his Chicago address and asked the Chicago Police Department to try to locate his family and make the notification.


The next day I was called to the front desk to meet a citizen.  It turned out to be his son.  He had come to collect his dad's property. He seemed like a really nice guy.  When he introduced himself  he showed me his badge and ID.  He was a detective on the Chicago Police Department. He wanted to know what had happened. 


I told him that he was on the dance floor in a night club with a young woman when he collapsed.  He asked me about the woman.  I tried to describe their relationship tactfully.  A broad smile came over his face.  He'd seen and heard it all on the job.  I smiled knowingly. 


He told me he was going to go home and report to his brother and sister that dad had died partying with a hooker.  He said his dad had always hoped he would go out having fun and he did.  He seemed pleased his dad had gone out with a grin on his face.  He thanked me and invited me to visit if I ever got to Chicago.  Nice Guy.

*

A few weeks later I was running radar on the North Trail.  I clocked a car doing 70 in a 45.  I pulled him over in the parking lot of a grocery store.  Immediately upon contact the driver said " I'm a Chicago cop."  He flashed his Chicago Police Dept. Detective badge.  I told him I still needed his driver's license.

He got snotty and as he handed it to me he said  "all you red-neck cops are alike, just looking to fill your quota."  I had planned to cut him loose with a warning after I checked him in the system but his attitude demanded I give him a Florida souvenir.  He of all people should have known there is no such thing as a quota, we can write as many as we want.


"Really", I said.  "What is a red-neck cop?"


"Southerners."  "You're all podunk ass holes in a podunk town!"


Ah, I guess he didn't recognize my Seattle accent.  "Be right back for your autograph, detective."


"Fuck you."


"Oh, buy the way, do you have your registration?"


"You guys are all alike, I can't believe you are gonna write a brother officer.  No, I don't have it!"


"I'll be right back for two autographs."


"FUCK YOU!"  -  "If  you ever come to Chicago I'll make sure we track you down and make you pay!"


"Oh, by the way, do you have your proof of insurance?"


"FUCK YOU- fucking redneck bitch.  I don't have to show you shit.  My badge should be enough!"  His face was as red as a beet and I thought his head was about to explode, this was getting fun.


"Be right back, gonna need three autographs now.  And before you get any madder, I noticed you weren't wearing your seat belt.  Do you want to go for four, I've got plenty of ink?"

He just shook his head and looked down.  His wife told him to shut up.


When I got done writing I went back to his car.  He signed the three tickets, glaring at me the whole time.  If he could have gotten away with it I know he would have put my eye out with the pen, stomped me and left me for dead.


"I'll never come back to Florida again!"


"Thank you for that, and drive safely."


I did go to Chicago after that.  It's a great city.  I didn't look up the nice detective and the nasty one never found me....................


Chi Town Cops,
some times they act like a dick, some times they don't.
CherylPett803@connect.lawofficer.com



The Judges Christmas Balls!

THE CASE:

There was a serial rapist preying on young women in our city. He would stalk his victims to make sure they were alone in their homes.  He struck in the wee hours of the morning and would put a pillow case over their heads to protect his identity and add terror.  He would borrow a butcher knife from their kitchen just to add torment to their terror. 

His attacks grew more violent as his confidence grew.  His 'MO' or signature was grape jelly.  He would spread it on then lick it off.  So it was quite  incongruent to have such a violent act combined with such an apparently childish act.  (Unless you have studied sexual deviance. School is good).

He was apprehended after a particularly nasty rape where the victim had an infant in the room with her.  He had no compunction about making threats to kill the baby if she failed to comply with his demands.  Her experience left her with permanent psychological damage.  Today they'd probably label it PTSD.  And that would be an understatement. 

The case drew a lot of media attention and was followed closely.  Especially when it went to trial.  The clearance of numerous cases attributed to him hung in the balance as well as some modicum of justice for the victims.

I decided to attend the trial for a number of reasons. Not the least of which was to see justice done and watch how the wheels turned.  You can learn a lot about how to investigate, how to write reports and how to testify by watching a good defense attorney try to tear the investigation apart.  Attending one good trial is worth more than taking a dozen classes on case preparation and presentation.

Despite her traumatic experience the victim managed to muster the courage to testify against assailant. I was very ispired and moved by her courage and fortitude.  It was a testament to her mother instinct and the will to triumph over evil.

THE JUDGE:

The case was presided over by a lady judge.  She was really old.  She must have been one sharp cookie in law school and a crack lawyer (no pun intended) when she was coming up to have been a female judge in the 1960's.  A rare bird to say the least.

Her upward climb in the profession was behind her.  Her days of being interested in her cases were behind her. The days of just going through the routine were behind her. 

She had seen so much and been on the bench so long none of it meant much to her in the way of paying attention to anything more than being a referee.   And seeing the rules were followed to preempt appeals. She didn't display a smidge of interest in the 'case' itself.

But she was very good and  she was a hoot.  She had a tiny frame, couldn't have weighed 100 lbs.  She was obviously in her late 60's or early 70's, though I doubt anyone was brave enough to ask.  In her robes she looked like a puff of black smoke.

She wore a short, dark brown wig that was one or two sizes too big.  When she bent her head down the wig would slip down on her brow. When she looked up she'd have to push it back on her head.  This aroused chuckles and smirks constantly through the day. Some times she'd over correct and push it back too far - funny was an inadequate description of her wig management.

As you are well aware the design of the judge's bench includes a small parapet in front. One of its purposes is to prevent prying  eyes from seeing items on the desk. These days she was addressing her boredom by engaging in a hobby to pass the time.  Behind the parapet she was working on making Christmas decorations.

Her project du jour was Styrofoam balls.  She had a tray with a supply of pins, sequins and beads.  She would gather a few beads followed by a sequin and poke them into the ball to make a sparkly decoration resembling a giant snow flake.  It filled her time I guess.

THE PROBLEM:

Being old school I doubt she ever truly got used to the new fangled electronics.  This would include the microphone on her desk.  Some how the thing was picking up transmissions from the Sheriff's Department radio and she swore she could hear it.  She complained several times to her Bailiff that she wanted it fixed. 

Never mind that every time she  stuck a pin into the Styrofoam it made a rasping scrape noise like fingernails on a blackboard.  The sound was picked up by the mic and amplified to the courtroom.  The audience, attorneys, witnesses and jury were subjected to the annoying screeching noise with every pin jab.  Not one person was willing to complain to her about it.

AND AND THEN:

The noise created by her torture of the Styrofoam ball didn't seem to phase her, but the transient interruptions of the faint radio transmissions across her microphone really got to her.  She would send the jury into the jury room then complain to the bailiff to 'get this damn thing fixed!' 

The bailiff, who could not work magic, would say 'yes ma'm' and whisper to his subordinate who would attempt to do the bidding of the court.

Court resumed and the questioning of the witness on the stand continued.  It was punctuated by the constant screeching of the pins poking Styrofoam, the judge readjusting her wig and deputies talking to their dispatcher in the distance.

A maintenance man walked into the courtroom and was discreetly trying to examine the equipment. At that moment a transmission from the Sheriff's radio came over the speaker. 

 Clearly annoyed, she snapped her head up to address the maintenance man.   She'd been so  wrapped up in decorating her balls,  she completely forgot that the jury was in the room.   Her wig was almost completely over her eyes as she glared over the cheater glasses perched on the tip of  her nose at the Bailiff and the  maintenance man and declared -

"I TOLD YOU THIS FUCKING THING WASN'T WORKING RIGHT!"

GOD I LOVE COURT!

PS.  He got 99 years.  He was convicted in 1982 and scheduled for release in 2038