Today marks my fourteenth year in law enforcement so I thought I might share a few of the things I've learned.
People can be fucking stupid. That includes me.
The job will never love you, no matter how much you love it.
Addicts take no time off. You can encounter them at any time, under any conditions.
Gangsters do take time off. You'll rarely encounter them before 1000hrs.
Gangsters almost always start out mama's boys, crying for attention from mama.
Traffic stops are not routine.
If it looks to good to be true, it will definitely bite you.
Yes, you may have to touch that vermin-infested criminal, but you don't have to smell him.
If you are fighting with someone in the middle of the street and didn't call it in, you are on your own, no matter how many civilians are watching. They'll record your actions, but don't count on them helping you.
Shaking it off is for games, not work. You get hurt, you report that shit.
A full moon affects some people, sometimes. Be aware that you might be the person affected.
Domestic abusers do not generally change their stripes.
Pedophiles do not change.
You are going to see things that should not be seen. Hear things that cannot be unheard.
Write the best report you can, every time. You never know when someone is going to get arrested on that stolen property report and you'll be called to testify.
Accidents happen a lot less often than collisions.
Don't bring that shit home. Don't wear your boots home, and don't take your shit out on the kids, pets, or spouse. That said, figure out how to lance those wounds so they don't come out at night.
Drinking is not a solution, no matter how fun it can be.
Suicide is not an option. Everything ends, including pain.
If you see a fellow officer in pain, put it all on hold and help them, even if you have to overcome resistance to do so.
Cultivate courtesies even as you learn to talk shit. Know when to use one or the other.
Stay in policy. It might be stupid, but it might protect you from stupid, too.
Supervisors are not out to screw you, but they also may not be looking out for your best interests, either.
When in doubt it is better to be tried by twelve than carried by six.
It's also better to write the report, no matter how pointless or long, than expend even more effort trying to avoid taking that report.
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Showing posts with label Cop talk. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cop talk. Show all posts
Friday, February 14, 2014
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Professional Milestone
Six years ago I was minding my own business, straddling my department bicycle in the area of 24th Street and Folsom when the radio started blaring about a fight between a man with a cane and a woman happening in the area of 14th and Minna Alley.
Long story short: I stopped the man some distance from the scene of the crime at gunpoint and subsequently retrieved the garrote he had used, he believed, to kill the woman he was 'fighting' with. I know he thought he'd killed her because he said, "Bitch was dead when I found her." The garrote had long black hairs, some skin, and blood caught in the braided wire of it's construction.
He was wrong, thankfully. The woman survived her strangulation and subsequent stomping (There's some lengthy and quite horrific video of the entire event.). I learned that the reason why he committed this heinous crime is because he wanted either sexual favors or dope from the woman and offered her counterfeit money. She identified the counterfeits for what they were and told him to take a long walk on a short pier. He took exception and decked her, then wrapped the garrote around her neck and slowly strangled the life from her. She fought all the way, kicking and squirming.
A note about garrotes: this was the first one I had ever seen on the streets in my then 7 years of law enforcement, and it's still the only one I have ever seen taken from a street criminal. Everyone at the station, including officers of 30 and more years experience, were also surprised to see the weapon. They are rare, because they are, in my opinion, a murderer's weapon. Most criminals make excuses for themselves, saying they need a gun/knife/etc 'to protect themselves'. This is even a valid excuse, in some instances. A garrote, though, is generally used by someone sneaking up behind another, wrapping the wire around their neck, and then choking the life from them while sawing through the hard organs of the throat. In short: a murderer's weapon.
In most TV shows or novels, this would be the end of the story, bad guy caught, the victim survived. Law and Order does a better job, but even they have the cases solved and sentenced in an hour.
It never is. Last month that the suspect was sentenced. Six years.
I went to court at least five different times on the suspect's case over the course of the last six years.
During the long and drawn out process:
The defendant fired five attorneys appointed to be his counsel, he testified in a federal court as a witness against some federal prisoner from his earlier days as an inmate in federal prison.
The victim got clean, relapsed, and never did show up to court.
When I took the stand in front of two of the attorneys I was accused, variously: of racism, ignorance, stupidity, and simply making mistakes.
I ignored or slammed the first set of accusations, and owned the errors of memory I made in the long years between incident and trial testimony, even looking into the faces of the jurors and saying, "I am human, just like you. I can and do make mistakes, just like you. Any mistakes I have made in this case were those of memory caused in the six years since it happened, not of process."
The trial finally concluded in January of this year. The last attorney put up a valiant effort, but his client was not cooperative in the least, not very smart, and flat-out guilty.
Last month, at the end of this six year-long saga, the man was sentenced to 25 years to life with the possibility of parole with an additional 14 year enhancement to be served consecutive to the first sentence. Meaning, the defendant is about to do around 30 years, minimum. Already in his fifties, it's likely going to be a life sentence.
I feel good about the sentence, if not how long it took to get there. I certainly did my part to bring a bad man to justice, and hope that he will be kept from hurting anyone ever again.
Long story short: I stopped the man some distance from the scene of the crime at gunpoint and subsequently retrieved the garrote he had used, he believed, to kill the woman he was 'fighting' with. I know he thought he'd killed her because he said, "Bitch was dead when I found her." The garrote had long black hairs, some skin, and blood caught in the braided wire of it's construction.
He was wrong, thankfully. The woman survived her strangulation and subsequent stomping (There's some lengthy and quite horrific video of the entire event.). I learned that the reason why he committed this heinous crime is because he wanted either sexual favors or dope from the woman and offered her counterfeit money. She identified the counterfeits for what they were and told him to take a long walk on a short pier. He took exception and decked her, then wrapped the garrote around her neck and slowly strangled the life from her. She fought all the way, kicking and squirming.
A note about garrotes: this was the first one I had ever seen on the streets in my then 7 years of law enforcement, and it's still the only one I have ever seen taken from a street criminal. Everyone at the station, including officers of 30 and more years experience, were also surprised to see the weapon. They are rare, because they are, in my opinion, a murderer's weapon. Most criminals make excuses for themselves, saying they need a gun/knife/etc 'to protect themselves'. This is even a valid excuse, in some instances. A garrote, though, is generally used by someone sneaking up behind another, wrapping the wire around their neck, and then choking the life from them while sawing through the hard organs of the throat. In short: a murderer's weapon.
In most TV shows or novels, this would be the end of the story, bad guy caught, the victim survived. Law and Order does a better job, but even they have the cases solved and sentenced in an hour.
It never is. Last month that the suspect was sentenced. Six years.
I went to court at least five different times on the suspect's case over the course of the last six years.
During the long and drawn out process:
The defendant fired five attorneys appointed to be his counsel, he testified in a federal court as a witness against some federal prisoner from his earlier days as an inmate in federal prison.
The victim got clean, relapsed, and never did show up to court.
When I took the stand in front of two of the attorneys I was accused, variously: of racism, ignorance, stupidity, and simply making mistakes.
I ignored or slammed the first set of accusations, and owned the errors of memory I made in the long years between incident and trial testimony, even looking into the faces of the jurors and saying, "I am human, just like you. I can and do make mistakes, just like you. Any mistakes I have made in this case were those of memory caused in the six years since it happened, not of process."
The trial finally concluded in January of this year. The last attorney put up a valiant effort, but his client was not cooperative in the least, not very smart, and flat-out guilty.
Last month, at the end of this six year-long saga, the man was sentenced to 25 years to life with the possibility of parole with an additional 14 year enhancement to be served consecutive to the first sentence. Meaning, the defendant is about to do around 30 years, minimum. Already in his fifties, it's likely going to be a life sentence.
I feel good about the sentence, if not how long it took to get there. I certainly did my part to bring a bad man to justice, and hope that he will be kept from hurting anyone ever again.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Thursday, September 1, 2011
About Partners, and The Last Captain
I've had a few partners, some for a few months, others for a few years. The relationship is always intense, and when it's good, can make even the worst work entertaining at the least and insanely fun at best.
I tried to capture some of that in a few places in The Last Captain. Here is something I hope worked:
“True,” Venkman said as he sat in the driver’s seat.
Baptiste followed suit. The bending required by the act of sitting sent a foul belch gurgling up and out.
“Damn,” Venkman said, eyes tearing.
Baptiste smacked his lips, “Yeah. Tasty.”
“You hungry?” Venkman asked when the air had cleared.
His gut churned at the thought, “Not really, my stomach’s still a bit rough from the beers.” Actually, it’s more likely the sobz I took to kill the alcohol, but that’s just splitting hairs.
“Well, let’s get me something to eat. You know how hunger messes with my cherub-like demeanor.”
Baptiste snorted, “Sure.”
“Then we go see your brother.”
“Damn, you really want me off my feed, don’t you?”
“More for me that way.”
"Fucker."
I tried to capture some of that in a few places in The Last Captain. Here is something I hope worked:
“True,” Venkman said as he sat in the driver’s seat.
Baptiste followed suit. The bending required by the act of sitting sent a foul belch gurgling up and out.
“Damn,” Venkman said, eyes tearing.
Baptiste smacked his lips, “Yeah. Tasty.”
“You hungry?” Venkman asked when the air had cleared.
His gut churned at the thought, “Not really, my stomach’s still a bit rough from the beers.” Actually, it’s more likely the sobz I took to kill the alcohol, but that’s just splitting hairs.
“Well, let’s get me something to eat. You know how hunger messes with my cherub-like demeanor.”
Baptiste snorted, “Sure.”
“Then we go see your brother.”
“Damn, you really want me off my feed, don’t you?”
“More for me that way.”
"Fucker."
"Yup."
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Oddments of Soul, Part Two of Two
Alright, so The Coolness, Kid and I leave the wondrous pizza place for the Hotel. We walked a different route than the one we'd taken to Old Town Pizza, and came across some ironic food-stall placement.
I had to get a photo, and left The Coolness and kid to get the following shot:
Yes, the further stall is "Smokin' Pig" while the nearer serves 'Arabic Food'. I could taste the irony.
As I walked to the crosswalk, a dark-haired woman stuck her head out the window of her silver SUV and called to me, "Do you work for the San Francisco Police Department Traffic Court?"
"Perhaps," I said, caught completely flat-footed.
"You are, aren't you. We both," she gestured at her male passenger, "got completely bogus tickets there."
"That's odd," I answered, trying for nonchalant. I was five hundred miles from where I work, in civilian dress, unarmed and wondering where the fuck this was going to go.
"Completely bogus," she repeated as the light changed and she turned onto the road in front of me. I heard her and her passengers braying laughter as they drove off. I waited a full minute before returning to my family.
Now I know many of you will think that I am missing the point; that this was one of those serendipitous moments, an odd happening that should cause wonder, not seem ominous.
I do feel that sense of wonder.
Tainted with dread.
The thing is, I didn't even issue either of the asshats tickets. I just told them, as a part of a large group, to keep their mouths shut and turn off cell phones.
They didn't stand out for me, though I vaguely remember a pair of people being found guilty, one after the other, for some infraction I don't recall (I do think they made the same argument and expected different results, if my very vague recollection serves.).
Now, some of you will know that I have arrested and enjoyed arresting more than a few murderers and other violent criminals. Many will, as a result of their sentences, see the light of day again.
This evening's events send a chill down my back, given that if this woman and her partner-in-infractions was motivated enough to recognize me in completely different circumstances, at least a month in the past and many hundreds of miles from the events that led her into contact with me, what does that say of a murderer or hardened criminal? Surely such people will be more motivated and have an actual reason to look for me, not to mention have more opportunity to study my face and mannerisms as I testify in their cases.
Such people are accustomed to doing harm to others, to attacking those that denied them something. Such people have a long time to think about what wrongs they feel have been done them, and by whom.
And if I am with my family when one has an opportunity, what then?
The woman had about fifteen seconds. That's a long, long time for someone with the ability and desire to wreak a little mayhem.
Fuck me what an oddly horrible thought to entertain on what was an otherwise great day.
I had to get a photo, and left The Coolness and kid to get the following shot:
Yes, the further stall is "Smokin' Pig" while the nearer serves 'Arabic Food'. I could taste the irony.
As I walked to the crosswalk, a dark-haired woman stuck her head out the window of her silver SUV and called to me, "Do you work for the San Francisco Police Department Traffic Court?"
"Perhaps," I said, caught completely flat-footed.
"You are, aren't you. We both," she gestured at her male passenger, "got completely bogus tickets there."
"That's odd," I answered, trying for nonchalant. I was five hundred miles from where I work, in civilian dress, unarmed and wondering where the fuck this was going to go.
"Completely bogus," she repeated as the light changed and she turned onto the road in front of me. I heard her and her passengers braying laughter as they drove off. I waited a full minute before returning to my family.
Now I know many of you will think that I am missing the point; that this was one of those serendipitous moments, an odd happening that should cause wonder, not seem ominous.
I do feel that sense of wonder.
Tainted with dread.
The thing is, I didn't even issue either of the asshats tickets. I just told them, as a part of a large group, to keep their mouths shut and turn off cell phones.
They didn't stand out for me, though I vaguely remember a pair of people being found guilty, one after the other, for some infraction I don't recall (I do think they made the same argument and expected different results, if my very vague recollection serves.).
Now, some of you will know that I have arrested and enjoyed arresting more than a few murderers and other violent criminals. Many will, as a result of their sentences, see the light of day again.
This evening's events send a chill down my back, given that if this woman and her partner-in-infractions was motivated enough to recognize me in completely different circumstances, at least a month in the past and many hundreds of miles from the events that led her into contact with me, what does that say of a murderer or hardened criminal? Surely such people will be more motivated and have an actual reason to look for me, not to mention have more opportunity to study my face and mannerisms as I testify in their cases.
Such people are accustomed to doing harm to others, to attacking those that denied them something. Such people have a long time to think about what wrongs they feel have been done them, and by whom.
And if I am with my family when one has an opportunity, what then?
The woman had about fifteen seconds. That's a long, long time for someone with the ability and desire to wreak a little mayhem.
Fuck me what an oddly horrible thought to entertain on what was an otherwise great day.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Other Cop Writers
This guy gets it. Please read it through...
http://chattanoogapulse.com/columns/on-the-beat/on-the-beat-lives-hanging-in-the-balance/
http://chattanoogapulse.com/columns/on-the-beat/on-the-beat-lives-hanging-in-the-balance/
Monday, December 13, 2010
Chameleon thru Ex-Pat thru Cop And Into Writing
No, I am not referring to having been an androgynous Pat, but rather having lived abroad. This post was started as a reply to the lovely Carolina Valdez-Miller's wonderfully evocative post 'Pieces'.
She writes freely and well of the pain and pleasures of living abroad as an adult, but didn't relate those feelings and that experience to writing overmuch. Here is my reply to that missing portion. As usual, I might have taken it too far.
Having lived in foreign lands for more than a bit of my younger days, I have to say that this does inform and relate to my writing: I think I understand what it is to be the outsider, to be the one who doesn't understand that which seems so clear everyone else.
I also know first hand the what opportunity moving elsewhere is to reinvent yourself. No one knows you; the fact that you might have been held back in third grade, or that your older brother beat up so many of his schoolmates you'll never have to fight, that the vip-vip sound of your corduroy pants accompanied you through much of your childhood, that you are no longer solely defined by the sports you participated in.
I believe such experiences make it easier for me to step into character. I know what it is to assemble a character: what is needed for it to be believable, what they might sound like, how they look, what they might feel about certain things in life.
I will always be from Peoria, Illinois. I will also always be the guy from Peoria who lived in Spain and Switzerland, and came back different. I suppose it is much like going off to university for those that have not lived abroad.
Entering my day job was an experience of this: Aware of how different I was from the men and women of most police departments and families, I made myself over. I adapted, trained, reached a point where the culture of cop is my own, all the while aware (and in a bit of pain) over the fact that it will never really be my culture. Working informants, interrogating people, walking a beat, even the little undercover work I've done have all benefitted from the learning experiences of my youth. Of trying to communicate with the unknown.
If this seems odd or false of me, I suppose I cannot argue save to say that, like all the most successful of survival mechanisms, it knows little of morality.
No matter where you go, there you are.
She writes freely and well of the pain and pleasures of living abroad as an adult, but didn't relate those feelings and that experience to writing overmuch. Here is my reply to that missing portion. As usual, I might have taken it too far.
Having lived in foreign lands for more than a bit of my younger days, I have to say that this does inform and relate to my writing: I think I understand what it is to be the outsider, to be the one who doesn't understand that which seems so clear everyone else.
I also know first hand the what opportunity moving elsewhere is to reinvent yourself. No one knows you; the fact that you might have been held back in third grade, or that your older brother beat up so many of his schoolmates you'll never have to fight, that the vip-vip sound of your corduroy pants accompanied you through much of your childhood, that you are no longer solely defined by the sports you participated in.
I believe such experiences make it easier for me to step into character. I know what it is to assemble a character: what is needed for it to be believable, what they might sound like, how they look, what they might feel about certain things in life.
I will always be from Peoria, Illinois. I will also always be the guy from Peoria who lived in Spain and Switzerland, and came back different. I suppose it is much like going off to university for those that have not lived abroad.
Entering my day job was an experience of this: Aware of how different I was from the men and women of most police departments and families, I made myself over. I adapted, trained, reached a point where the culture of cop is my own, all the while aware (and in a bit of pain) over the fact that it will never really be my culture. Working informants, interrogating people, walking a beat, even the little undercover work I've done have all benefitted from the learning experiences of my youth. Of trying to communicate with the unknown.
If this seems odd or false of me, I suppose I cannot argue save to say that, like all the most successful of survival mechanisms, it knows little of morality.
No matter where you go, there you are.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Recent News, Time Out, Tomorrow Off
Recent Events:
I have been away from the keyboard for a while, but still managed to get some writing done. I have been cranking a little bit at a time on the third scenario for Everytown, which is fairly short relative to the last one. I even got a whole paragraph written for the novel yesterday.
My daughter has started her second season of soccer, and I am her team's coach. We had our first game on Saturday, and she has some great girls on her team. My girl played well, the team performed exceptionally, and everyone seemed have fun. There is but one parent that puts my teeth on edge. Hopefully it was just a one-time thing, and a product of the stress I was feeling rather than something more.
Last night I spoke with an officer I hadn't had opportunity to speak with in some time. I told him what has happened with my writing. He congratulated me and in the subsequent conversation, revealed that he had given up being a struggling artist for the job. We talked some more, and I felt a sadness and an anger in him. I asked about it and he told me that he'd been burned as a younger man by an unscrupulous partner on a comic.
I told him that I am happier now than ever before because I am doing what I want, and what I am driven, to do. Further, I told him that I can work out some portion of my demons by writing them out and making the situations happen to my poor characters.
We talked about other things for a bit, mostly my fiction, and then we were leaving. As we did so, I couldn't help but meddle, and said, "I would think that someone as visual as an artist or illustrator would have clear recall of the shit we see, and relive it at odd times. Maybe getting that pen out will let you work some of that shit out. And if, as I suspect, you are driven to do it, you will just be happier drawing than not."
He gave a thoughtful nod, but didn't say anything. I hope he does pick it up again.
Future Plans:
I have tomorrow off, thanks to that venerable hero of California, Cesar Chavez.
I hope to get much writing done tomorrow and even a bit today. The weather is foul outside and if I can keep the damn TV off tomorrow I should hammer quite a bit out, and excercise those of my own demons.
I have been away from the keyboard for a while, but still managed to get some writing done. I have been cranking a little bit at a time on the third scenario for Everytown, which is fairly short relative to the last one. I even got a whole paragraph written for the novel yesterday.
My daughter has started her second season of soccer, and I am her team's coach. We had our first game on Saturday, and she has some great girls on her team. My girl played well, the team performed exceptionally, and everyone seemed have fun. There is but one parent that puts my teeth on edge. Hopefully it was just a one-time thing, and a product of the stress I was feeling rather than something more.
Last night I spoke with an officer I hadn't had opportunity to speak with in some time. I told him what has happened with my writing. He congratulated me and in the subsequent conversation, revealed that he had given up being a struggling artist for the job. We talked some more, and I felt a sadness and an anger in him. I asked about it and he told me that he'd been burned as a younger man by an unscrupulous partner on a comic.
I told him that I am happier now than ever before because I am doing what I want, and what I am driven, to do. Further, I told him that I can work out some portion of my demons by writing them out and making the situations happen to my poor characters.
We talked about other things for a bit, mostly my fiction, and then we were leaving. As we did so, I couldn't help but meddle, and said, "I would think that someone as visual as an artist or illustrator would have clear recall of the shit we see, and relive it at odd times. Maybe getting that pen out will let you work some of that shit out. And if, as I suspect, you are driven to do it, you will just be happier drawing than not."
He gave a thoughtful nod, but didn't say anything. I hope he does pick it up again.
Future Plans:
I have tomorrow off, thanks to that venerable hero of California, Cesar Chavez.
I hope to get much writing done tomorrow and even a bit today. The weather is foul outside and if I can keep the damn TV off tomorrow I should hammer quite a bit out, and excercise those of my own demons.
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