Sorry, Cinderella

Graduation from the Police Academy was a very happy day.  So I invited my mentor, the Sergeant in charge of sheparding recruits, and his wife to a BBQ and pool party for a small celebration.  

We told 'academy' stories and laughed alot. He and his wife were just a lot of fun. We'd polished of  a couple bottles of wine and had a little buzz going as we jumped into the pool/

 We all played a game of Marco Polo and every one was having a good time.  As it got later into the evening we relaxed on the steps of the pool he says to me, "So, when is your first shift?"

"Tomorrow." I replied.

"What shift did you get assigned to?"  he asked.

"Midnights."

So he says,  "Well isn't that in a couple hours from now?" 

Holy crap!  Here I was partying and I had to report to my first squad meeting in less than 3 hours! 

That buzz burned off real quick as I rushed to prepare for my first shift meeting.

When we walked out the cruiser my training officer asked me if I wanted to drive.

"Naw,  think I'll pass tonite if you don't mind.  I didn't think that was such a good idea.  I was not under the influence but I didn't want to take any chances.

A few hours into the shift we responded to a hit and run crash.  The remaining vehicle was so heavily damaged and there was a lot of debris from the car that left the scene.  We looked through it and there on the ground was a magnetic 'hide-a-key' box directly below where the 'run' car would have been,  inside was an ignition key.

We followed the leaking fluid trail about 12 blocks and found a car with extensive front end damage.  The driver, a woman, was passed behind the wheel.  She denied being the other half of our hit and run, but her goose was cooked.

Sorry, Cinderella, your key fits!  Duh....................

I learned a couple lessons that night:

• Pay closer attention to my schedule. 
• Never party a few hours before work
• There is no substitute for good friends who've got your back
• To err is human, to forgive is not department policy
• and there but for the grace of luck went I.

I never did that again!

(well, maybe a couple times, but I'm just sayin')

"BUT SARGE-----"

When you are a rookie it’s a good idea to attend as many calls as possible to swiftly build on your experience.  So even if it’s not your call you stop by and observe.  Key word- observe-.  No one wants to hear anything you have to say and you certainly don’t have any business butting in.  But your attendance is tolerated because everyone knows you have to learn.

I was still working for Gunnery Sergeant “OooRah” when the call went out.  There was a dead person in a decrepit old house in the poorest part of town.  It was in an adjoining zone so I decided to go slide by and observe.  I needed all the experience I could get.  Only the assigned zone car was on scene when I arrived.  They were already in the house.

It was an old wood frame Florida ‘cracker’ house.  It had clapboard siding and sat on concrete piers.  It had to be at least 100 years old.  The white wash paint was weathered down to that silver patina old wood gets. 

The linoleum was caked in dirt, yellow from time and peeling up everywhere except where the trail of heavy foot traffic had worn all the way through.  You had to be careful where you stepped as the floor boards were rotted to the consistency of sponge.  As I walked it bounced like a trampoline.  Breaking through and breaking a leg was a real possibility.

The whole house had the unmistakable smell of death.  It’s a stench that cannot be expressed on paper.  If you have ever had a snoot full of ripe road kill multiply that by 10 and you have the idea.  I tried to make like a fly on the wall as I knew my presence was barely tolerated.  My eyes could soak up the experience but I was expected to keep my trap shut.

The officers whose call it was had quickly sized up the situation by looking into the bedroom and pronouncing death from the door jamb.  She was a very old lady, looked to be in her 80’s or more.  Just her head protruded from under what appeared to be a pile of rags.  She was just a rack of bones really.  She couldn’t have weighed 90 lbs.  Kind of a fresher version of Norman Bates’ mother.

About this time Gnny. Sgt. ‘OooRah’ arrives.  He swiftly inspects the scene and assumes command, barking orders and instructing the dispatcher to send a removal team.  He notes my presence with a begrudged glance and quickly ignores me.  My presence is now accepted so I peruse the entire house.  How awful to be so alone, so poor, so neglected.  I went in to take a closer look at her and she winked at me.

I was stunned.  I had to be wrong.  It was kind of dark in there as the windows had about a hundred years of dirt on them.  The smell was overpowering but I got closer and looked into her face.  Her eyelids were fluttering!  I leaned in fighting the urge to hurl and checked her carotid artery for a pulse.  She had one!  Oh, my God- She’s alive! 

I had to say something but my job was to stay back and stay quiet. I just couldn’t do that. I knew it was gonna piss him off royal to hear me but I HAD to tell the Sarge right away. 

“Sarge,” I said.

“Not now.” Came the response.

“But Sarge….” I tried to get him to listen.

“NOT NOW!” he said, clearly annoyed with the obnoxious rookie.

“But Sarge, she’s not dead” I blurted the information quickly before he scolded me again.

“You shitting me?   You better not be shitting me!” he grumbled – as if it was my fault this thing was getting complicated.

He checked her and began barking orders for an ambulance into the radio.

Turned out she had no friends or family.  She'd had a stroke and was paralyzed.  She had lain in that bed for God knows how long in her own body fluids, which was the source of the odor.

The  EMT’s arrived and quickly attended to her.  (If there are angels walking the earth they surely drive ambulances).

I was just about to drive away when the Sarge walked past my car on the way to his, “Good job”, he muttered, glancing at me as he walked.

I don’t know which shocked me more, finding an alive dead lady or getting a compliment from my Sergeant.

Either way it felt good!

CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?

It should come as no surprise to anyone that shit always rolls down hill.   This applies to the workings of police departments everywhere.  The irate citizen shares his grievance with the City Manager or a member of the city’s governing body.  They contact the Chief of Police wanting the problem to go away. 

The chief calls his minions together for regular staff meetings and tells  the patrol commanders what the issues du jour are and orders them to take care of the problems.  The commanders disseminate the recent wish list to the sergeants who are responsible for delivering the news to the troops and cracking the whip. 

Finally, living in the valley of the shadow of shit, are the patrol officers whose job it is to actually go out and get their hands dirty- thank heaven they 'fear no evil'.

And so it was that the stinking collection of rag tag winos and weenie wagers came to be confronted on the lovely shores of our beautiful quaint fishing village’s bay front.  They had taken up residence under a visqueen tarp just above the high water line. 

Their waterfront condo with the million dollar view was barely 100 yards from a popular tourist attraction and within 50 feet of a sidewalk that was popular with joggers and cyclists.  A park with a wading fountain for children was within eyeshot, too. 

Lacking the usual amenities of their high rise neighbors, these street urchins would have to settle for a mangrove bush as their latrine.  The unsuspecting biking and jogging citizenry were often treated to an unwelcome mooning, or worse.

These gents got their daily exercise strolling over to the local soup kitchen for their breakfast. Then they'd stop by their favorite convenience store to shoplift their daily ration of MD 20-20 or beer on their way back ‘home’. 

Their tent site was afoul with broken and empty wine and liquor bottles, beer cans, rotting clothing and the smell of trench warfare.  Not to mention the flurry of 'indecent exposure' complaints they had generated over the past few months.

The shift meeting started out with the usual.  Roll call, people making sure they got their vacation and holiday requests approved.  The BOLOs were read.  Then I broke the news that hobo evictions were on the daily to do list. The supply of rubber gloves was refreshed and a suggestion to carry some kind of squirt hand cleaner was made.  The pissing and moaning feedback was shared and we headed out to clean up our little corner of the city.

The upper command of a department usually only visit street activity if it is a major scene, like homicide, a hostage situation or unruly crowds.  Shift commanders will usually take a morning spin around their territory on their way to breakfast, before they spend their day at a desk putting out fires. 

Sergeants on the other hand are expected to be everywhere at once.  In the office reviewing and correcting officer’s reports and returning phone calls from people who just want you to know what that mean officer said to them.  All the while monitoring their radio and running to the car to get to hot calls.  A good sergeant can listen to two radio frequencies, talk on a cell phone, listen to music, type on a lap top, drive fast with the lights and siren, take notes and not spill their coffee – all at the same time.

It so happened I was grading papers in the office when the bum camp sweep started.  Two of my best guys spotted the camp had occupants and stopped to deliver the ‘time to move on’ lecture.

While cell phones were not provided to any department members below the rank of sergeant most of the men carried their own. Consequently mine rang constantly through the day, officers preferring to circumvent the party-line environment on the common radio channel.  They could be less professional than the radio required, using colorful language, expressing opinions and describing their situations in real talk, not something welcomed on a radio meeting FCC rules and regulations. Not to mention the fact the radio transmissions are all taped for CNN.

The officers made their way thru the bushes to confront the occupants of the visqueen tent. Upon contact the residents were highly indignant at the prospect of leaving their luxury accommodations and demanded to appeal the matter to  their supervisor. Well, my guys knew me like a book so they were more than happy to offer the gentlemen the opportunity for direct communication with me. 

My cell phone rang and I answered it.

“Sarge, we’re out on the hobo camp.  They don’t want to leave.  They want to talk to you.”  Of course my men knew they could have just loaded these guys up, they just want to have a little fun first and I knew it.  So I decided to play along, hey, Sarge needs entertainment too........

“Really?”  I said in a gleefully sarcastic tone.  “all rightey then, let’s just put them on speaker phone”.

I was going to get to have fun too and I didn’t even have to un-ass my desk chair. 

“So, gentlemen, what can I do for you?”

“You the boss?” one asked.

“Yeah, I am – I understand you are looking for a second opinion,”  I said.

“Well these guys want us to pack up and go somewhere else”, the man replied.

“You are correct sir”, I said trying to sound like Ed McMahon on Johnny Carson.  I could hear my men giggling in the background.

“Well, tell them we can stay”, came the response.

“Sorry, no can do, you guys have to leave, that’s private property and it's go away or go to jail.” I told him.

“We ain’t leavin’, we got rights”!  I could hear a couple of them saying.

Man, I wish I’d run over there, I soooo wanted to be there in person.  But I’d just have to settle for phone gratification.  “Well fellas, just want to make sure we understand each other, can you hear me good?”

“Not too good, the traffic is noisy” came the reply.

I waited a minute 'till it sounded quieter, “can you hear me now?”

“Oh, yeah.” Came the response.

“You’re all under arrest!"

 "Load ‘em up”.

Thoroughly delighted, like little boys burning ants with a magnifying glass, my men did their job.

I walked across the street shortly thereafter to greet their arrival at booking.

We all sleep under the blanket of the protection my men provide.  These guy's get a blanket, a delousing, a shower, 3 hots and a cot, indoor plumbing  and a portrait. 

And I got to arrest three boneheads without leaving the office.

Damn I love this job!

OooRah!!!!!!

"OooRah!!"

One of the best and most challenging sergeants I ever worked for had been a Marine in Vietnam.  He had that certain way of carrying himself.  His uniform was always perfect.  He even had them tailored so they were just right.  Hat leveled over his brow, parade posture, white walls. He still wore his issue BCGs (Birth control glasses- so ugly you could never get a girl).  He was all spit and polish.  With a bronze star.

You could tell he was a Marine just by looking at him.  But when he opened his pie hole and spoke the deal was sealed.  He sounded like a drill sergeant using the buzz words  and the Marine jargon we all  recognize , like “people” and “ladies” the way only a military person applies them.

As a rookie (unwanted on any squad) and a female (unwanted anywhere –EVER..) I got bounced from squad to squad.  Any time a sergeant had me assigned they waited eagerly for the soonest opportunity to pawn me off onto another squad. 

For many years I got passed over for training assignments because I had the lowest seniority on the squad. I was all of 5’2” and 125 lbs at that time and not a single officer on the department wanted me anywhere around them.  Consequently I got assigned to the loneliest most isolated assignments.  Can’t ever remember being backed up by anyone unless the dispatcher ordered them to do it.

So it was much to his dread and my chagrin when I got bounced to his squad.  He would line us up for inspection and nit-pick me.  The other officers being inspected would smirk like sadistic brothers watching their little sister getting chewed out. 

But I was used to being the shit magnet and I didn’t flinch.  One inspection he read me the riot act for my badge having some tarnish on it.  I had inherited a pre-owned badge and was not responsible for the tarnish but I knew that defense would not fly. I had worked on that badge with Brasso and Never Dull wadding for hours but nothing worked. 

He leaned into me to get eye level and nose to nose as 'Gny. Sgt. Hartman' would do 10 years later in Full Metal Jacket and booms “Hey, shit bird-get that badge squared away!” 

The rest of my squad squelched their giggles. 

“I’ve tried, Sir” I said meekly, “nothing works”. 

“Try some elbow grease!” 

“YES, SIR!” though I had no clue how to make it better. {I later discovered that the badge had a clear lacquer coating and that the discoloration had occurred under the lacquer and I would never have been able to get it to shine properly.}

“Never mind, give it to me, I’ll show you how it’s done -- Now go get a loaner, get squared away and out of my sight!”  He turned about face with a snappy spin and muttered something about split-tails as he walked away shaking his head.

The whole squad bolted for the door, none of the others wanting to catch any blow back flack.

A week went by, my badge was never mentioned.  A month went by, my badge was never mentioned.  Two months went by, still mum on the badge.  About 12 weeks later the shift meeting was drawing to a close and he asked me to stay after the meeting.  When we were alone in the room he handed me a manila envelope with my badge.  I opened it and it looked like new.

“Geez, it’s beautiful, Sarge.  How’d you do it?” I really wanted to know as I thought he’d worked a miracle. 

He muttered under his breath, “I had to send it out to be refurbished, now hit the road.”

Interesting that he’d snatched my badge and dressed me down in front of the whole squad but only admitted he was wrong in privacy.  Such is the lot of a female officer in circa 1978.

I could barely suppress my silent glee realizing he couldn’t do it either!  I was not a shit bird but I couldn’t deny being a split tail”.         

 OooRah!!!!!!

KNOT NIPPLES

One of my favorite sports while on the midnight shift was catching prostitutes ‘in the act’.  It was even better if the prostitute was a female impersonator.  One particularly busy ‘girl’ was Teddy Cabbagestalk.

He was quite lovely in his weave, full make up, sparkle earrings, jersey cling top, painted on jeans and silver stiletto heels. Oh, and a really nice set of extra long acrylic nails with rhinestones glued on.

Damn, he looked good. 

The song flashed in my head...

{She's a brick house
Mighty mighty,

just lettin' it all hang out
She's a brick house

The lady's stacked and that's a fact,
ain't holding nothing back.}

He had 46 double D’s and hips that swung like two bowling balls in a gunny sack.  His legs went on forever and this was long before RuPaul was a glint is her, er, his daddy’s eye.

So, it’s coming up on 2:00 am when my partner, Moonie, spots him strutting his stuff up the main drag (no pun intended).  We parked on a side street and got out the binocs. We didn’t have to wait long before we saw a white mini-van hit the brakes.  I’m sure it was just some poor lost soul needing directions to the airport.  NOT.

After a brief conversation Teddy, aka, Dee Lite was riding shotgun in the mommy bus.  We followed them to a dirt road alley that accessed the propane plant.  Geez, I guess John Sockervan needed to gas up his BBQ tank. 

We waited just long enough for the transaction to proceed from negotiation to business when we approached the vehicle. Teddy’s braids were bobbin’ good when we hit them with our super duper, Mac Daddy– high intensity Mag Lites.  I took Teddy and Moonie took the driver.  We got them out of the van and Moonie asked ‘John’ “what ya doin’?” 

Teddy just rolls his eyes as he adjusted his cleavage.

“Nuthin’, she's a friend” John replies.  “Oh, I think it was sumthin’” my partner says.  “what ya want to go and get a blow job from a guy for any ways?” He asked.

John says “that’s not a guy, that’s a woman!”

My partner Moonie  (a nick name I dubbed him with after an unfortunate jet ski incident involving the loss of his swim trunks) and I exchange glances and start to giggle. 

Teddy just rolls his eyes again and fidgets with his bra.

“Guess again, Einstein.”  Moonie says.

“What?, Nooo, that’s not a man! He’s got huge boobs” John says as he starts to look a little green around the gills.

“Oh, yeah it is” we chime together as we both start to laugh. 

Teddy was smirking now, and flipping his head to adjust his braids.

Moonie says “Teddy, show him your water balloons!”

Teddy, rather proud of his deception pulled up his top to display two black water balloons stuffed into his lace push up – under wire bra.

“Bu Bu But he’s got nipples, I saw ‘em,  NIPPLES!”  John declares.  He’s starting to look a little sicker now. This is really getting good.

“ Teddy, show him your nipples”, my partner is chuckling now verging on a full belly laugh. 

I shine my flash light high beam on Teddy’s high beams.  The balloons were positioned so the knots were in just the right spot.  Perkiest water balloons in town.

John feels the rush of full realization and begins to wretch, blowing his entire load  of drive-up window burger and fries. 

We get enough to load them up and start to take a good look in the rolling love machine.  There was a child’s car seat in the back.

Turns out John’s wife was in the hospital giving birth to their second rug rat when he was out cruising for his love connection.  What a peach.

While waiting in the vestibule to enter the booking area at the jail John got to see Teddy in full light.  He was still in denial, trying to convince himself that Teddy was a she not a he.  He looks deep into Teddy’s heavily made up eyes and says “but you have nipples!” 

Teddy, clearly fed up now, at the prospect of getting his picture took, full face and profile, abandons his falsetto voice and booms in his low baritone voice,
“Shut the fuck up ass hole!”

My thoughts exactly.

SHE JÜGGED ME!

SHE JÜGGED ME 

It was about 3:00am (0300 hours cop time).  I was on routine patrol when I decided to stop at the convenience store for coffee. As I approached the parking lot the sodium lights illuminated a black male about 50 yoa who appeared to be cradling a wet white baby in his arms.  It was glossy and pink.  My first though was he had just delivered a baby in the parking lot and that there was definitely drama afoot.

As I drew nearer it became apparent that it was not a baby.  He was holding an arm load of intestines. 

I grabbed the microphone and announced to my dispatcher my location and that I had a man who had been eviscerated.  The dispatcher, being somewhat linguistically challenged asked me to 'repeat'......

I told her to send an ambulance to my location, I had a man who had been eviscerated.  "What is eviscerated?"  she asked.  Hm,  how to explain it tactfully...." HIS GUTS ARE HANGING OUT!"

I jumped out of the car and told him not to move, an ambulance was on the way. 

"He looked calmly at me and said "She jugged me!"  So, now I'm linguistically challenged.

 "She what?", I inquired.

"Jugged me,  she JÜGGED me wit a hawk bill knife!'" 

OK, I figured that one out right quick, a woman had slit his abdomen open using a linoleum knife. 

Holy Crap!!!!

About that time my lieutenant comes over the air "GET A DYING DECLARATION!"

Now, for those of you who are not attorneys, hear-say is information that you can't repeat in court if it comes from a third party.  In order to testify in court to something a person says you have to have heard them say it or its not admissible. 

There are some exceptions to the 'hear-say rule'.  One of them is a 'dying declaration'.  If the man died - and told  me something, I would be able to repeat his words in court if, at the time, he knew he was dying.  In order to fulfill the requirements of a dying declaration the officer must obtain a statement from the person after notifying them that they are dying. And they have to acknowledge that they know they are dying.  The court assumes a person who is dying and knows it will not lie.

"Get a dying declaration!!" came blasting out of my walkie talkie again.  The man looked at me, standing there, holding his intestines and said "Who dyin' ?"  I didn't have the heart to tell him "YOU!"

About this time the ambulance arrived and the EMT's loaded him up.  Just as the gurney was being shoved into the meat wagon my lieutenant arrived.  I was standing on the back bumper of the ambulance as the EMT handed me is wallet.  I was searching for his identification to get his information when the lieutenant jumps up on the bumper and says in a loud voice "you get that dying declaration yet?"

Again, my victim lifts up his head, looks at the two of us and says "who dyin'?"

"Nobody", I said, jumping down.  The EMT's were ready to roll.  I told the lieutenant I would follow the ambulance to the emergency room and get it there.  Clearly disappointed he acquiesced.

Thank heaven the EMT's had sent for the helicopter to transport this guy to a trauma center about 50 miles north of us.  After setting up the LZ  (landing zone) in a large field near by, I bade my dreaded task good bye. 

I went back to the parking lot and followed his blood trail for 10 city blocks.  Right up to the front porch where the 'jugging' had occurred.  Of course 'she' and the hawk bill knife were long gone.

The next day I found out that he had survived surgery.

A month later I found out that he had signed a 'non-prosecution' form absolving his girlfriend of all criminal charges. 

In 25 years I never again heard 'jÜgging' used as a synonym for getting 'shanked' .

IT'S CALLED A 'COME-ALONG'

What do you most remember your rookie year?:
Kicking a drunk out of the Buttery Diner. 

After the bars closed many partiers headed for the all night diner.  This guy got pissed off about something and decided to attack all the customers with a squirt bottle of catchup. When he ran out of ammo he re-armed himself  with the next best thing. He was holding them all at bay with the mustard bottle when I arrived.

I came up behind him and slipped my night stick between his legs. Grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, pulled back on his collar as I jacked up on his balls. He walked  tippy toed to the cruiser. It's called a come-along,  (Have nuts will follow). 

It's called a 'come-along'

I got a standing ovation from all the customers.

Geez I loved that stick...

He pissed himself on the way to jail and the last thing I heard him hollering as the D.O. stuffed him into the elevator was

 'my mother is going to sue you!!!'

Adventures on another planet. (MIAMI)

So, we are here for my brother's surgery. Part of his preparation is to 'clean out' his system. We stopped yesterday at Publix and bought 2 jugs of Gator ade for his mix. This evening he says to me -"what ...did you do with the Gator Ade?

 I said "hmmm, didn't you carry it up last night?"

 Room search commences~~~ no gator ade. OK, it's in the truck. He goes down to search, no gator ade. OK, I'll go look and if I don't find it I'll go get some more.

Truck search commences, no gator ade. Hmm, I think they fell into a mini-black hole or that place where orphan socks go in the dryer. Sooo, off to search for new gator ade.

I start to cruise US1 for a grocery store. Ahh, I spot a shopping center, good. I turn in, ooooo, double good --there's a 'whole foods grocery store'.  Surely they have gator ade. I find a place to park that was designed for any car smaller than a ford escort (I have a full size truck-here come the door dings).

I go into the store and all the aisles are one and a half cart wide so navigation was difficult. I search up and down every aisle and don't find a single product with a recognizable name.  Even their bottled water is by companies I never heard of. So I don't waste the trip I grab a small container of fresh berries, only $7 and head to the check-out.

First mistake, I pick the short line.  The lady ahead is trying to pay for her 60$ worth of gourmet food with a food stamp debit card that only has 8$ credit left on it. So she starts digging through the biggest Louis Vuitton gunny sack purse I ever saw and manages to round up $52 in ones and quarters. Half hour later I get to pay a dollar a piece for strawberries.

So, the store next door is Target. Surely THEY have gator ade. Inside I am greeted with the melodious sounds of screaming children. Now every Target I've ever been in has all their drinks and candy just past the cash-register area. Not this one, store search commences.

Cruising EVERY aisle I get to the farthest dregs in the deepest darkest corner in the far, far side of the store to find the soda, juice, water and YES!!!! Gator ade. Now all I have to do is make it back to the checkout. Not so fast, should have known this would be a mine field too.

As I try to escape up an aisle to get toward the front of the store I am trapped by a woman trying to navigate her 6 kids in three carts while tiptoeing in her hooker style bamboo stiletto platform shoes where the heels end in green balls... that look like gumballs. She weighs all of 79 lbs and her thighs are about the size of my forearm. (And she's had 6 kids)! Her jeans were so tight I could read the label on her thong underwear! (bet she's got more than $8 left on her food stamp debit card). 

Finally get around that sand trap and a into line. I'll be smart this time, I pick a long line (I'm not getting tricked into that fake short line again)!

So the cashier is really good, whips right through that double cart order that the sweet looking old grandpa we all adore is buying-- until he turns around and he has an 18" pony tail attached to the back of his bald head and his fly is open. I try not to turn up my nose to the wafting aroma of BO and urine -Yuck!

So she rings me up, I pay and drop my receipt into my purse with my change. I'm almost home free, I see the door, it's getting closer, closer, I can almost smell the barf in the parking lot when...... I make the mistake of making eye contact and smiling at the tall young mall cop with her badge on the wrong side of her too big, wanna-be cop shirt.   She smiles back and says 'I need to see your receipt'!

OMG, all these people in the store with double carts and bulging hobo bags over their shoulders and she wants to see the receipt for one 8 pack of gator ade,---- so I dig it out of my purse and she thanks me.

The way this trip is going I fully expected her to notice the GLOCK in my purse, but thank heaven she was more worried about my stealing a pack of gUM than my gUN!- (duh)

Back to the room safely.

Ah, I love life on other planets!!!!!!!!!!!!!

SEE ~ I TOLD YOU SO

There are Floaters and there are Sinkers, it's just a matter of timing.

I had just finished a nice breakfast at my favorite diner when the dispatcher called me. 

“Body in a swimming pool at the Regal Health & Tennis Lodge”. 

Ah, the lovely Regal Health & Tennis Lodge.  It was a rundown motel on the seedy side of town.  In its day it was the kind of place families would stay while the went to the local tourist attractions.  But it had been neglected and was now home to a variety of drug dealers, prostitutes, nearly homeless down & outers and traveling highway construction crews.

When I arrived I saw a small cluster of onlookers standing near the pool.  Among them were the motel manager, his handyman, a white guy in his 30’s, and little girl about 8 or 9.  As I walked up I noted that the warmth of the water was sending little wisps of steam into the cool morning air.  The water looked like low-fat milk.  You couldn’t see the bottom of the pool and about the only thing you could see was a fleeting glimpse of what appeared to be red swim trunks.

I asked about the cloudy condition of the water and the manager, clearly concerned I would call the health department, insisted the water had been clear until the pool service put the wrong chemical into it yesterday.  They were installing a self cleaning pool sweeper called a creepy-crawly.  The system consisted of a hose with a vacuum head with wheels.  It randomly cleaned the entire bottom and sides of the pool. 

The told me that the body was a guest who worked as a dishwasher at a local restaurant and that he most likely drowned during the night.  Not likely I thought since the skin was already extensively degloving.  Something that takes a few more hours than ‘last night’ would account for.

I assigned an officer to canvass all the rooms as I tried to catch people who were walking around the complex or heading to their cars. The little girl I’d seen earlier had been following me around.  “I can tell you something” she said.  I needed her to wait until I got to talk to the others before I lost them.  Of course no one saw of knew anything.  She was patient.  I was finally able to pay her more attention.

My first thought was that the little girl should not be watching a dead body floating round in the pool.  I the manager where the girl’s parents were.  He pointed out a guy sitting in a patio chair watching the show.  I suggested to the dad that he take the girl back to their room.  Instead he pulled up another chair so she could watch the goings on.

She looked at me and said, "It’s a dead body isn’t it?”  She turned to her dad and the manager,  put her hand on her hip, cocked it to the side just a bit and said  in a rather snotty tone “See, I told you so”. 

Then she said, “I told my them two days ago there was a dead guy at the bottom of the pool”.

“I told that manager yesterday there was a dead guy in the bottom of the pool”. 

“I told everyone there was a dead guy in the bottom of the pool, I even told them he was wearing red shorts!”

“Nobody believed me, they kept saying I was wrong, that it was the creepy-crawly. I know the difference between a pool sweeper and a dead guy!” 

“I even checked yesterday to see if he was still there.”

“ See, I told you so!” she said with a smug grin to the manager.

good Lord, this little girl had been swimming around in that murky water for two days with a dead body bobbing around at the bottom and no one would believe her.  Amazing. O.K., I thought, so dad does not mind the kid seeing this.  What a genius.

When we got pool buoy out, he was already turning a riper shade of green.  They bagged him up for transport but the medical examiner’s office said they lacked the appropriate facility for a body in his state of decomposition.  They asked that he be transported directly to the funeral home due to the excellent refrigeration it offered.  So it was that we had a ‘field trip’ autopsy to attend.

In the meantime I located two of our local female impersonator prostitutes.  Otherwise known as he-shes.  They were staying in the room adjoining the floater.  They told me three of them had been drinking by the pool two nights earlier and that the three of them had been drunk.  The two he-shes, Marissa (Melvin Stokes) and Linda (Roger Washington) were drag queen divas who wore platform shoes and sequin cocktail dresses the way you would wear Nikes and Levis. 

Marissa and Linda were both saving up for ‘the surgery’.  I’ll tell you this, California’s got nothin’ on Florida when it comes to a fair share of unique people.  You have to love them though, they really were a hoot.

Anyway, they told me they had been pretty much in the bag,  pool boy having provided the bottle of liquor.  The lovelies not wanting to get their hair wet passed when he suggested a midnight dip.  So as he went back to the room to get his trunks on they headed out for the bottle club.  That’s the last anyone saw the guy alive.

The next day at the funeral home our floater's ripening had reached full fruition. So much for that excellent refrigeration.  By now he had doubled in size and turned a shade of green that would make an avocado jealous. 

Obviously the situation called for gas masks.  Those flimsy little gauze medical masks would be worthless.  This situation called for the mac-daddy gas mask we carry in our riot gear. Especially if the doc popped a couple of those bulging gas bubbles. 

I looked over at the detective who had been assigned the case for follow up.  His gas mask was on upside down.  He looked like Steve Martin’s character in Little Shop of Horrors wearing his nitrous oxide re-breather with little waggeling antennae.

I nodded at him since talking is way too difficult in the mask and pointed to the mask.  He thought I was saying hi and nodded back.  I decided it was his problem and restrained a giggle. Besides these guys were always dressed to the nines, working in their little cubicles, never getting dirty.  This was going to be good.

Usually the gas mask was for riot duty, when tear gas was deployed, but thankfully the only time I truly needed it was for training and stinky dead people.  Many medical examiners, veteran cops and firefighters say they get used to it and claim they don’t need protection from the smell.  I thought of a my favorite George Carlin album; “Martha, I know what bad breath smells like, but yours could knock a buzzard off a shit wagon!”.  Well, Martha, this guy would knock those buzzards into next week.

The doc did his job examining the corpse for signs of trauma, cuts, scrapes, subtle signs of bruises, etc.  No obvious sign of foul play.  Due to the chemical changes in blood during decomposition a test for blood alcohol is not possible.  But there is a way to determine the presence and amount of alcohol in the body. 

The intra-ocular fluid does not ferment like blood.  So the doc pulls out a humongous needle and poked it right in the guy’s eye.  He drew fluid from both actually, to make sure there was enough to get good reliable tests.   Now that was hard to watch, yuk.

After the autopsy the detective complained that his mask didn’t seem to work well and he was going to turn it in for a new one.  I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was probably fine and would have worked properly had he had it on ‘right side up’.

HELLO????

HELLO SAYRA-SOTA ????

The one thing you never wanted to hear the at shift meeting was the Sergeant calling  your name to work desk duty.  It seems that in the movies and on TV the audience is left with the impression that being the desk officer is some kind of good assignment. 

Quite the contrary, working the desk pretty much sucks.  It’s like having a ball and chain around your ankle.  You have to sit there all night except for an occasional potty break and supper.  And listen to nut jobs via Ma Bell.

So, it was with much disappointment that night, when I heard him assign me to the desk.  The night went by pretty much as expected.  The usual round of stupid questions and snotty citizens. They ask a question then like to argue with you when you tell them the answer.  As if winning their point could change the law.


I would try to squeeze in a chapter from my favorite Joseph Wambaugh book between complaints.  Every time I wanted to choke one of the callers out I would think what Rosco Rules do to this one, and grin.  I was just getting into the juicy party scene where Reba (no balls)Hadley was tricked into sitting on the glass coffee table when my phone rang… 
“Desk Officer, How can I help you?”

“Hayloooow?  Hello Sarasota!”  The voice boomed over the receiver.  “This is Trooper Leon Boyce with the Hinesville Georgia Highway Patrol!”  He said with a distinctive southern drawl.  He drew the words out long and full “Thys iys Taahroooopaahh Leeeon Boyce with the Hiiiineeesssvyyllle  Geee-ourgia  Hiiiiiiiiiway Patttrolllll”.  

O.K. I thought, this is gonna be good.  He went on in his thick heavy drawl.  “Yall got a stolen Corvette down theyah?” 

Hell, I didn’t know, probably.  Possibly a report taken a day or two earlier on the day shift. 


 “If you can give me a tag number, I’ll go check.” 

“Don’t rightly know as yet” he replied. 
Then he went on .....


“One of aourha boyz was a chasin’ em on the hiiiwayha.  Got to goin’ purdy good too.    Theyz in the woods ryt naow.  Iham sorry to say the cah’s wrecked. They ‘rapped it round a pine tree.  We got the ghurls.  Theyha on theyha way to jjayellll ryght naow.”

By this time I was about to split a gut trying not to laugh into the phone, but wait it got better!

“So the car is wrecked?” I asked. 


“Yep, lyke I sayd, we got the ghurls. I expect the boyz’ll be in di-recktly. Won’t be toooo long naow --the DAWGS is on ‘em”.

Oh, my gosh, I was so glad the Sarge put me on the desk.  This phone call was worth it’s weight in Geeeeooooorgiah  peeeeekaans!




Turned out one of our rich citizens had given his brand spanking new Corvette over to a valet at the local dinner theater.  It just so happened that the valet, a 17 year old troubled young man decided at that very moment to retire from the valet industry and take a few of his closest friends on a little joy ride. 


It had started out to be a just a spin to the beach; that turned into a test drive on the interstate; that turned out to be a ‘hey, let’s go to Myrtle Beach!'

Only goes to prove sometimes you can have fun working the desk.