Evidence 101

EVIDENCE 101...Wherever you go, there you are...

Wednesday, June 22, 2016

I Found Gersh Kuntzman's Balls...er... Bawls

Did anyone see my latest on Uniform Stories? It's all about the Momster in me. Check it out here. 

Some things I find amusing:

1. Gersh Kuntzman still has a job.
2. Gersh Kuntzman doesn't work for The Onion.
3. Gersh Kuntzman still has balls.

Did anyone see his follow up to his first article? It was equally just as bad.

I know, giving him more attention only helps his ratings. I can't help it. It's like a train wreck.

It is so much fun, these meme wars. They come in many flavors. I must share them as much as possible.

His latest maneuver cracked me up today. I think he might have cried when he wrote it. Some point in time, I might even feel sorry for him because we are all out here being a bunch of bullies.

However, when you exaggerate so much AND have an agenda, I just can't respect you. I can't believe you, Gersh. I'm sorry you are getting kicked around a lot, but I think you deserve it.

In honor of him, I am going to share a story of where everyone in it has some balls and some bawls. So Gersh [I feel I know him by first name basis] doesn't feel so alone, there were people crying in this story, too. But they were all girls.

The air was clean and fresh. Still about 60 degrees, it was one amazing fall evening. A slight breeze was blowing. And by a slight breeze...I mean a gentle one, not like a Wyoming breeze which is hurricane level 5. 

As I strolled through the dark on the sidewalk to approach a residence with a runaway problem, the golden leaves rolled past me. It was beautiful. And it felt like Halloween. Boogety, boogety. The shadows played tricks. The air felt haunted. It was spooktacular. I loved it!

Meeting Grandma at the curb was such a refreshing change. A family member who cared. Wow. They still exist! Her granddaughter was being defiant, called her mother and told HER that she was not going to be home as she was partying at a friend's house. All at the ripe young age of 13 years. Grandma said, "HELLLL to the NO."

I really liked Grandma already. 

Grandma was much too smart and located her naughty granddaughter who refused to come with her and then two other young girls slammed the door on her face. Not cool. 

So enter...the POPO. By now, the child's mother had already signed her as a RUNAWAY in a nearby town. Little town punks moving in on my big city. Ha. They had no idea. 

I knocked at the door and was greeted by two Prostitots. One was the runaway.

ME: Kaylee?


ME: Want to grab your shoes and backpack and come with me, please.

It was not a question. 

KAYLEE:Fuck you, cop. I'm not going with you or her. [points to Grandma] I already told my mom.

ME: She signed you as a runaway.

KAYLEE: Fuck you.

OTHER GIRLS: Yeah, fuck you, cop.

ME: So, let me understand. You are refusing to go with me and your Grandma.

[Insert BuLLLLSHIIIT verbal Judo]

KAYLEE: Yep. Fuck you.

OTHER GIRLS: Yeah. Fuck you! Get the fuck out of here!

Well, there you go. I had my answer. So, Chief,  I had tried verbal judo. Now I must resort to other means. 

So. With one quick grab, I snatched up Kaylee's right arm and flung her out onto the lawn and down on the ground with a flying arm bar take down. It was all one beautiful motion. With my BRUTUS (as in Popeye) strength, I flung her a little long. And when I landed on top of her [not too hard mind you, I'm 135 and she was 110]...her face got a little smashed in the landscaping rocks. 

On a side note, I keep telling my customers that landscaping rocks are great for some things, but sometimes they attract naughty children. The brats usually pick the rocks up and smash car windows or residential windows. No sense providing them with free ammunition. 

This time they attracted a naughty child in a whole different way. 

Well...I might change my mind about those rocks.

While she was smashed into the grit...I landed another extra jab for the FUCK YOUs and did a flying elbow to the back. No. Not really. But DANG IT! I wanted to. Police sometimes have naughty thoughts, too. We just don't act on them for fear of becoming unemployed. 

I just handcuffed the disheveled Prostitot with small scratches on her cheeks and took her to the juvenile lock down. Rats. That was not going to look pretty for the boys. And her mascara was running because she was crying so hard.

ME: You really should try the waterproof kind. You are looking a little Marilyn Manson right now.

KAYLEE: [sobbing]

She was all of about 110 pounds soaking wet and by landing in the rocks on her pretty Prostitot face...she bawled like a big baby. So, see there, these mouthy teens are not as big shot as they want to lead us to believe. The disrespect can be eliminated. You just have to be firm and ballsy about it. 

Her bawling was following by the other Prostitots chiming in silence and dropped jaws. And then there was Grandma....

GRANDMA: Yeah! [throws down a point job to her granddaughter] That's right! You mess with me and your mom, I bring out the big guns. The police. Yeah!  Maybe you'll learn to be respectful and mind the rules.

I really liked Grandma.

Oh, yeah, and kids...FUCK YOU! Stop acting like assholes and listen to your parents. 

Monday, June 20, 2016

One Of Those Calls

I'm sure you thought I might have gotten hit by a bus, but lucky for you, I have just been super busy. I checked my sanity at the door and have not found my energy either. Somehow it has escaped me. All I really want to do is sleep. And wine. But- I find myself whining instead.

I am reviewing a new book by Jeremy DeConcini and sneak preview of a new Curtis novel. Oh, boy! Can you say fun summer reading on the porch? Yippee!

In the meantime, I have lots of news, but none to tell. Does that make sense? No. Probably not. So, for a reason of rummage sale, I was going through some things and found this...this old story...not the most upbeat or funny at all, but here you go...

He would be home in ten minutes. It was a school night. He was such a good boy, well actually- young man at 17, I guess. Both sons, actually. Well liked. Respectful. Good friends. Good kids. She waited for him to come home. His best friend was bringing him. They weren't far..just a few blocks.

I was directing traffic on a busy highway just 1/4 mile from her home. The traffic was crazy. No one stopped. The road was blocked off by fire trucks, ambulances, police cars. 5 different agencies. I was one of the supervisors but later the lieutenant showed up and took over. I volunteered to do traffic control. What was I thinking? Volunteer traffic control? I think I was suffering from some sort of delirium. 

The first woman who tried to run over me really revved me up for the rest of the traffic direction. I stopped her. 

I said, "What in the hell are you doing? I told you to stop!" 

She said she was going anyway because it was a green light and she was "listening" to the traffic lights. 


I told her where she could park that van and to turn around. I also told her the only thing she should listen to is the PoPo because I give tickets and the lights don't mean shit when I 'm standing in the intersection with a traffic vest, flashlight, and a blue suit...resembling a beacon in the night. 

I was a bitch. 

Customer number 1...pissed off. 

My customer service went downhill. There are those days. Sometimes, we just can't be happy but maybe part of the word...snappy. There were a lot of sexual comments coming out of my mouth. I'm sure if there were lip readers in the traffic crowd...they got the hint.

Soon...I called for another cop to help with traffic. Lepreshawn showed up. 

It went better, but peoples iz stupid and stubborn and think they had to do it their way. Pretty soon, more and more semis started showing up. It was after all, a highway and major thoroughfare.  

My fave. They're big. Really big. Bigger than my JLO booty. 

It was getting dark and the lieutenant came over to me and handed me his traffic cone thingy that goes on your flashlight. He told me the department paid good money for those "pieces of shit" and I should have it on my damn flashlight. Then he threw it at me and winked. Asshole. Not really. He was a good egg.

For some reason, I grabbed my heavy duty Mag Light. I have a $285, yes--$285-- new lightweight strobie LED charges in 90 seconds writes tickets turns on the sirens I think computes distance and calories consumed super dooper great flashlight. 

It really doesn't do all those things, but it cost that much and it is a nice new bright light and not heavy.  But for some reason I opted for the chubby metal one.

Pretty soon...here came along a van. 

Lepreshawn was letting the left handers go through. I flashed my light, I waved my hands, I yelled. 

He...the van driver... sorta slowed down...so I believed him...and then I turned my head. 

That was a mistake. NEVER look away. I reconnected my neck twizzle stick just in time to hear Lepreshawn yell..."HE'S GOING TO HIT YOU! MOVE!" 

So with a snap of my neck and gazelle like speed...I dodged just in time for him to run over my left foot. OOOhhhh... I was mad. 

And of course, he kept going. But I had some physical skills and I ran up toward the front of the van.

I took my chubby flashlight and hit the top of his hood, dented it. Told him to stop. He stopped, then when I moved to go to his driver's side, he kept going. 
Maybe it would help if I did THIS!

I hit the top of his hood again and told him to stop...dented it again. Nice one this time. He tried to run over me when I was now at the front of his van. I really hit the hood hard with my flashlight...big dent. 

By now, I was at the driver's side window. I was thinking this one's going to jail. I squinted in the dark. I was yelling. He wouldn't roll down his window. Obviously he was scared of crazy women. 

I squinted again to get a better look at him. Blue hair. He still wouldn't roll down the window. I just thought...fuck it, he's old. I waved him through. Lepreshawn was shocked. He said, "Why did you let him go?" I said, "I put three big dents in his hood to my one foot he ran over with no major injuries. I called it squares. " 

Lepreshawn laughed his ass off.

What was I thinking? He should not have been driving and should have had intervention of the PoPo. But this was too crazy and I said fuck it. Chalk that one in the books as a historical moment. I hope he didn't kill anyone because then I would feel responsible. 

Next...about 10 minutes later...big semi coming down the road. I had the light going, I waved, I was RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAMN ROAD. How can you not see The Fargo, dumbass? I have a beacon and fairy dust and platinum blond hair. 

Big truck did not appear to be stopping or even slowing down. 

So, I jumped up and down and yelled, "You better fucking stop you fucking idiot! Fuck! Fuck!Fucking stop!" 

Yeah, he heard me. 

NOT. It was a semi.  He didn't hear me and obviously was not into reading lips. He kept going. I told Lepreshawn this asshole was going to run me over. He turned around..."It's a fucking semi! What are you doing? I'll stop my traffic. Let him go!" 

I told him, "Nope. It's me... and him. Chicken." 

Lepreshawn called me a fucking idiot and told me to move out of the way. Nope. 

It was me...and him. 

And I'm the PoPo. 

David and Goliath. 

The semi kept coming and he stood his ground. I stood  mine. 

So, I did what any good cop would do and ran like hell just before I would have been highway hamburger. The breeze by my face was one that messed up my hairdo. Damn, that made me mad.

We were too short handed to bother with it. I just hoped the rest of the traffic didn't follow suit or we were hosed. 

Man, Lepreshawn and I got a big FAIL for traffic control. Except, he had the nice side of the highway. No one tried to run him over. He said it was his red hair. Go figure. No one messes with a Ginger. 

The lieutenant came over and told me to go to the one kid's house to tell the parents to get to the hospital. He handed me a piece of paper. I said, "Holy shit. I know these people. Am I going to the dead kid's house or the one that will make it?" He said the one that will make it. He didn't want to do it and neither did the night sergeant because their boys were friends and they needed to stay on scene. WTF? So the lowest friend on the totem pole gets to do it. My lucky day. 

I left Lepreshawn to fend for himself by order of the lieutenant. He was worried to be alone and I was worried for him. I hoped when I returned, he would not have his lucky charms spread all over the highway. 

I lead-footed it to the house.

When I got to the door, I rang the doorbell. The mom came to answer my ringing. The only family member I didn't know. Everything was off. Like in my head. I drew blanks and dry cotton mouth and I didn't want to be there. This is a part of the job that sucks dragon dicks. 

I told her she and her husband needed to get to the hospital because their son had been in a bad crash. She freaked out and started to shake and freeze up. I said, "Ma'amm, he's alive. You need to get there." 

She freaked even more and said, "He's alive? What does that mean? Does he have legs?" 

UGH! Usually I am so articulate. What the fuck, Fargo! All I could think of was the other kid wasn't alive, so at least yours was? WTF?

Everything came out wrong. MORON. It didn't get any better. "Ma'am, it was a bad crash. He's in CT. He has all his legs." By then her husband came to the door and I repeated things, only better. 

They were told there were other people hurt in the car. They were told their son was the driver. I just found myself staring at them. Them staring at me. It was a blinkfest. I asked the father if he was OK to drive or if not, I would be happy to take them. He said he could drive. He was shaking. Then...I thought..."What Would Jesus Do?"

He would beam them there like...RIGHT NOW. So I said, FUCK IT-to myself, not out loud. 

"Get in your car. I am not supposed to do this, but I am going to give you a police escort. Stay on my ass but don't hit me." Oh, yeah. The chose of words were not flowing properly.

He understood. So we did it. I didn't drive all cop crazy but I got them there fast. And I let them park on the lawn. It was so busy at the ER. And we have two hospitals. So about the lawn. It's the hospital. Who cares, right? Oh, well. Police emergency. The valet moved it for them and didn't even give me the stink eye.

Once inside, the hospital rushed them in to see their son. They took them to the left. I stayed with a family friend and their daughter as only two were allowed to go back. They asked if there was anyone else hurt and I told them another boy was in the car with him. They didn't know that. So then they wondered who it was and which friend.

Gah. I want to come down with laryngitis like right now. Don't ask me any more questions!

Soon, the sliding doors opened for the fortieth time as I was in disbelief as to how many people, kids-teenagers, actually were in the ER. What in the world was going on? Then a man who couldn't breathe, then a lady who was pale and sweaty. Stayed away from her. Didn't want any of that. Sweat leaps if you get too close.

This was freaking chaos like no other. 

Many people later, a lady walked in alone. She carried a stern look. The sister of the boy I was in "charge of" said she knew her. It was her brother's best friend's mother. Oh balls. I sorta knew what was next. They hung out all the time. Then it dawned on her that her son was in the wreck.

The mother went up to the desk and the nurse came right out and took her to the right. The girl asked me why she was taken to the right. I said because that direction was where the family rooms were and where really bad things happen. She knew.

People. Stop. Asking. Me. Questions. 

Her dad came back out to talk to his family friend and his daughter. He looked relieved. He told them all that his son would make it. I was relieved to hear that as well. I stayed a few moments longer. Then I had to help with the crash scene. I told him I had to go back out on the street and if there was anything he needed, to call the police. He asked me about his son's friend. I shook my head. He said, "He didn't make it?" I said, "I'm really sorry. He didn't make it." He sobbed and gave me a hug. One of those hugs that they don't let go of you. I had to fight back tears. Well, that didn't work well. 

Back at the scene, I helped another officer with the evidence and followed the wrecker with the SUV to evidence storage. In the secure evidence storage room...I packaged things up. Dispatch had handed me the deceased kid's photo and driver's license sheet. I attached it to the property receipt. 

I stared at it. Officer "J" asked me what I was doing. I said, "He was a cute kid." J said, "Yeah. His poor mother."

She went in to the hospital stoic. She wasn't told anything before she arrived...just to get there. I'm not sure who told her or why she came alone. She knew when she turned right that her son didn't make it. She had been there before. It was all too familiar. Just a year ago she had buried her older son who died in a rollover accident as a passenger in a vehicle with a bunch of kids. Now she was saying goodbye to her youngest...and only son left. Her husband was out of town on a training for work. She didn't leave the hospital last night. She was kept for observation overnight. 

In the evidence office, I touched the photo. I don't know why. I had pain in my heart for that mother. It's like when you watch a sad movie and you get wrapped up in the story line. The pain goes away, but you think about the movie.

I don't know how much a person can take until their heart breaks in half. That's what I kept thinking about with the kid's mother. 

As I closed the vault on the evidence, it made an unusually loud noise. Or maybe we were just extra sensitive.

Then... the city went black. Lost all power. J and I stood in the darkness for a few moments and then entered the lighted hallway with the emergency generator noise echoing from the basement. We walked downstairs to the police garage and drove outside to tackle crime on the unlit streets...with heavy hearts. A few moments later, we were back in the groove with one more callus added to our thick skins. 

Tuesday, June 14, 2016

Finding Jimmy Hoffa

Snortle (snore-tull)

laughter, gleeful chuckle, chuckling and snorting. Usually designated as a description of a weird laugh, but a can be a laugh you make when you REALLY enjoy something. Fargo invented word, but not a Fargo invention. I rarely snort laugh. 

It is what The Queen does. I thought she needed some Wheels today...and it is the anniversary of his famous debut in The Boogie Man Is My Friend: The Rookies, published in 2013. 

Independence Day.

It's a proud day to behold. For all Americans. I fear kids don't know or realize what the day is all about in their hearts. Sure, they know the meaning on the surface. It's a day to light fireworks and party. Not really. I think the meaning might be lost in future generations if we don't preserve it.

But do they really know what battles the people fought to get where we are today? Do they really know what freedom means? Do they really FEEL what the 4th of July is all about? I often wonder that.

Keeping an open mind for celebrations on the 4th, we don't bring the hammer down on a fireworks during this weekend. Fireworks in our city are illegal. Unless Junior is starting the neighbor's cat on fire, we are pretty lenient and just tell them to "knock it off". Most of the time we just smile and "attempt" to locate the fireworks problem, "mysteriously can't find them", and move on to more serious crimes. Let the people have their one day of fun. It's an unwritten rule. Definitely unspoken.

Before too long, the entire computer screen was lit up with fireworks calls. The lieutenant put a stop to that and told dispatch just to ATL the fireworks calls over the screen and stop sending officers. It was becoming a serious waste of resources.

Wheels and I were patrolling a nice, historical part of town where mostly wealthy people live. Big trees...nice landscaping...quiet neighborhoods.

Approaching a 4-way stop, I looked left to see three young males throw fireworks out of their truck at the intersection...right in front of the POPO. So first off, we knew we were dealing with rocket scientists. Wheels was driving but didn't see it because he was looking at his stitches in the rear view mirror and admiring himself. The stitches he received from his war wound of magnitude awesomeness. Clown. So...I told him to pull the boys over. It was an order. He always said, "Ok, Boss."

I walked up to the passenger side. Wheels dealt with the driver.

ME: Who's brilliant idea was it to light fireworks right in front of the police?

SHAGGY: [age 18] Mine, ma'am. Stupid. Didn't see you. Until it was too late. Sorry.

ME: Aha. And how much have you had to drink today?

SHAGGY: Me? Oh, no, mam. Nothing. I am not old enough.

ME: I see. I realize you aren't old enough. So how much have you had to drink?

SHAGGY: Nothing.

ME: Ok. Let's try not to lie to the nice PoPo lady. First off, I can smell it. Second...lean out your window and look down.

SHAGGY: [leans out] I don't see nothin'.

ME: Really. You don't see that beer in your lap that fell and is leaking out the truck door...spilling on my nice spit shined work boot? You don't see that?

SHAGGY: Uh. I don't know what you are talking about, ma'am.

ME: Oh, good grief. You are so hosed already.  I wasn't born yesterday. You got the smart blond girl cop today. Just admit it. You were drinking and still possess beer. It's not like ghosts that possess you. The beer doesn't magically appear or land in your lap or under your seat. You possess the beer. Open your door.

So Shaggy opened his door and out fell the beer bottle which broke on the asphalt and spilled the rest of the beer all over the place.

ME: Ok. Now do you see it?

SHAGGY: Well, ma'am, I didn't want to get in trouble.

ME: I do realize that. Why don't you boys step out of the truck and sit on the lawn over here for a minute.

Of course, during this course of conversation, the rear passenger admitted to me his doings and showed me his bottle of beer. He was also 18. The driver was 16, but had not taken any drinks of alcohol yet. I said YET. Boys. Thank Jesus the driver was smart enough not to drink and drive.

I started to talk to the boys and get their IDs. I ran their names for warrants. Their names were familiar and not in a bad way. They were good kids. All stars in sports. Just graduated. Except the driver. The driver was a kid who was "lost" because his dad signed away his rights and he now lived with his mother. It was a sad story. He wasn't a terrible kid, he just needed some guidance and attention. He got into occasional trouble. I think it was his acting out. At least that was me channeling my inner psychiatrist. His mother was trying to help him get over the loss of not having a father figure. I knew his uncle. His uncle was a good friend of mine.

But the other two boys were normally a good influence on him. Maybe they got a little carried away for the 4th. It happens.

So we were having a good conversation, talking about career futures, talking about better choices, talking about not getting in trouble....talking about NOT being stupid in front of the PoPo. And no drinking and driving.

Wheels on the other hand...

WHEELS: [to driver} Mind if I search your truck?

DRIVER KID: Nope. Go ahead. It's a mess, tho.

Pretty soon we lost Wheels. I only saw his butt hanging out. He produced the same beer the back passenger had in his hand and showed me. Wheels obviously wasn't paying attention.


KIDS: *blink*blink*

ME: *blink*blink*

Wheels kept digging in the truck and throwing things outside on the ground during the course of his "homicide" investigation. This became entertainment for myself and the boys. I just crossed my arms and watched while the boys sat on the sidewalk and hung their heads.

KIDS: Ma'am, we just want you to know for the record that we already admitted to you we were drinking.

ME: Yep. I know.

KIDS: We only had 2 beers in the truck.

ME: Yep. I know.

KIDS: He's kind of uptight, isn't he? We don't have any more fireworks or beer.

ME: Yep. I know. So...I am trying to decide whether Wheels is a wolverine, badger, rat terrier, or a squirrel in your truck. What do you boys think?

DRIVER KID: Ma'am, I think he is a Jack Russel Terrier.

ME: Great answer. 

WHEELS: BOYS, WHERE IS THE REST OF YOUR BEER?  I know from experience because I have been your age that there is more beer in here. WHERE ARE YOU HIDING IT?

ME: [Roll eyes. Seriously, Wheels...you are like 5 years older than these kids, I thought to myself.]

SHAGGY: He is going crazy in there.

ME: Yeah.

COWBOY KID: Why does he not believe us?

ME: Because he's looking for his ball, only in cop format.

SHAGGY: What is he doing?

ME: Well, he thinks every call is a sinister homicide. So you boys best tell him where the body is. Or I will be here all night.

COWBOY KID: Ma'am, that's just crazy.

ME: Welcome to my world.

It did put a smile on my face, though. You have to love an overzealous rookie with the right stuff, just needing some refinement and finesse.