Evidence 101

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

Monday, July 29, 2013

Quiet On The Frontier

So...which topic or post did you find most interesting?

And no, I'm not talking about my boobs, so that one does not count, WSF.

Did you agree or disagree with anything said by myself or a reader?

I am surprised I am not receiving heat for the dog answer. I wait with "baited" (Starbucks coffee and oatmeal, mixed with a little Crest toothpaste) breath. So...sound out your opinions, or forever hold your breath...and forever is a long time.

I would like to thank all of you for your emails, comments, and Facebook messages. It was interesting and fun!

And if you can't get enough...LIKE The Boogie Man Is My Friend on Facebook or find me personally out there and follow along.

You might ask how I find time to do emails, Facebook, and blogging amongst my normal life and workouts. The truth is...I am a speed typist. And work at a desk, now. And technology is a pain in my life. However, when I am seated at the computer writing a book late at night, it's nice to have something else to distract me from the mundane writing unless I'm on a roll. I may end the "bookfest" for a fall vacation. I need a life, that is all I can say. When the daughter comes home, perhaps I will get one. Or be a Supermom at least.

In the off chance I should take a vacation, you will know...or think I have died.

You might also like to tag along with the Casper Police Department Facebook page as I am finding it completely entertaining as of late. A riot, in fact. Simple things amuse me.

Sunday, July 28, 2013


Here's page 96 for ya, Yuri!

Coming home from work as a delivery driver, popo has the street blocked off in front of the house I'm renting.  Students are "rioting" (being drunk-ass punks) on the adjacent street. This is downtown Ann Arbor, and there is no place to park. You have to pay rent for your parking spot.  I show the officer my ID - has my address - and say, "I'm just going home."
COP: "You can go, but your car ain't passing through"

YURI: "Fine, I'll leave it here, knock on the door when you guys are done and I'll move it."

COP: "You leave it, I'll have it towed."

YURI: "Where would you like me to park it, officer?  I have a paid space over there." Again pointing to the house.

COP: "Well if you're going to be a crybaby about it, go on home."

Only bad experience I've had with the popo.  No 19 year old male likes being called a crybaby by ANYBODY.  But in the officer's mind I may have been another entitled punk he would have to tear gas again.
Yes, he was an ass. Maybe he was fed up with kids and as far as you looked, you were another one. Or maybe he was just an ass. LOL
It happens. Assholes are every where. Oy.

The Raven and The Eagle

Ravenjanedoh...left this present for me. I love this woman!

Citizen here - the one with the fart dust and all ;)

I had a Popo that stalked me once; I was in high school, and he was known for it. HE gave the people in blue a bad name in our town, but I knew it was just him, and not the whole force - I have always appreciated that someone out there is watching our backs.

They put their life on the line. They sacrifice family time, safety, decent paying jobs, and .. well, lots more than I can list here, just so they can get the bad guys out of circulation.

Considering the general disrespect a lot of people have for them, I'm surprised they handle it as well as they do.... I for one, would have lost it and smacked a few of them upside the head time and time again.... I don't know how they do it. Seriously. -- I REALLY don't get why people don't treat them better; they're just doing their job ... more than JUST. If you aren't being a bad guy, you have nothing to worry about. - I LIKE seeing the police out and about- I feel safer. If they get mad and mouthy from time to time ... so what. Who doesn't? We're all human. Besides, think of all the crap they've had to deal with - OY! .. it probably helps my dad was an MP for a LOT of years; he's the most honest, well intentioned person I've ever met... so maybe my view is slanted ... but it's how I see it.... people need to get a life and find something better to bitch about rather than rag on the Police for being human. ... and now I'll shut up.

Police stalkers concern me. It's an abuse of the badge. We had them in our department and they got fired. They are dangerous. Good for you for not giving all cops a blanket party and being a hater.

That is why the badge is so sacred...there is a LOT of power to behold. The system of checks and balances needs to keep cops on the straight and narrow, so I embrace it. It's rough going sometimes, but I am OK with it.

And you are right...why can't we all just get along? LOL

Guns and Hoses

From the fireside..."the other blue"

Apparently, Fire Chiefs have problems with the following in the south...

You really want my views on cops parking?   From the view of someone who has had to deal with blocked fire hydrants at a fire due to a patrol car in front of the hydrant?
Cops always seem to want to park at a scene right in front – but I got BRT and BBT’s coming that really, really, really need that access.   No matter how many times we ask, even say pretty please, the next call there they are back in front…..
Parking at the county courthouse here... I don’t park in the LEO only spots (Well, not often) they should keep the fire lanes empty.  My guys know if I catch them in anything other than a BRT or BBT in a fire lane, they are going to get a chewing. 
Public perception sucks now.  Things we got away with 10-20 years ago you can’t even think about doing now.
Well, Chief,
I think you should move. It's the only solution.
I can't explain why law enforcement doesn't get it unless you live in a small town. Usually police officers get to a scene before volunteer firefighters. In a paid department, big city, they get there at about the same time.
Unfortunately, in a small town,  those police officers probably think they can act as a firefighter first on scene or they are just plain stupid. I would not be anywhere near a fire truck because I know better. Our entire department is trained to respect that line. If it's a hazmat? Far far far far far far away.
I would say common sense should prevail, but if that were the case, I would be President.
Have you tried having a liaison with their Chief? I'm sure you have. And it was fruitless. Tells me there is a big separation between the agencies and they have lost sight of what is important.
So...RUN.THEM.OVER. You have a bigger truck.

Treasure This!

The next concern comes from a former LEO who lives not far from me...in a big city, full of real criminals and all. Say hello to the every gentlemanly, Bob G.

Momma Fargo:

I've met more than a few of the FWPD LEOs...a couple wearing brass instead of stripes, and overall, they're good officers.

My problem is with the "capo"...the top dog.

HIS idea of community-oriented policing doesn't work all that well when you DON'T have a "community" to speak of, especially in the minority neighborhoods.

Then it's not even an issue with BLACK and WHITE, but rather black against BLUE.
IN such a case, a PROBLEM-oriented approach is better.

Many in the ethnic areas are brought up to DISTRUST the po-po, and that's not helpful one damn bit when a D/B winds up out front of your rental crib.

 And the police can't patrol areas that NEED the patrols, because they're ALL too busy "chasing the radio".

(damn 911 butt-dials)

The young'uns on the force are very dedicated, bless every one of 'em...they haven't been frustrated (enough) yet, or been turned off by the lack of followup by the prosecutor's office.

It takes the effort of EVERYONE on the force to make things work as they're supposed to, and that starts...at the TOP.
Same goes for the citizenry.

All the tech in the world can''t beat good old gut-feelings and knowledge of an area, either.

Roll safe out there.

Bob G. Yes, your city has some BIG problems. You are like Little Detroit. The brass is always going to have the gap between what is real on the streets and what is best for the department and politics. I learned that the hard way. I can see both points. On the street, it frustrated the hell out of me. As a detective, the Chief gave me everything I wanted and needed because I was knocking down some big criminals, making headlines, getting newsworthy attention, and making him look like he was cleaning up the streets. All the other detectives during that time were also doing high profile cases. I found a way through all that red tape...knock down the big criminals...dig deeper...change something. I focused on child molesters which was a lost area and a big problem. On the street...I did the same for awhile and I was treated well. When I started training the rookies again, it was all different. Brass had lobotomies...you know how it is. You can only count on the sergeants down. Upstairs...it's all stats, money, and public image.

As for the ethnic differences. Yes, there are those. There will always be those. I didn't see color, although it saw me. I think the best way to tackle it was to be real with them. I also was in their area every day and they had to either embrace me as their community cop, or hate me. I had a little of both. What I did have most of the time was their respect. And if I was to get my ass kicked...I could count on some, which is more than I can say for other cops. I think the best thing to tackle the race problem is exposure, be respectful, chat it up, play street and yard games with their kids. LOL

And I totally agree with you on the old gut feelings and knowledge of an area. The brass will never get that...that is something they have lost. Sad but true.

Station Interruption

In the middle of my answering everyone's questions and posting here, there was a knock at the door. It was Sheriff Mike asking me if I was ready to go. He told me to get "saddled up." That is not something that should be said to someone from Wyoming, so I asked what he meant. He said I was to prepare for anything and I had 5 minutes. Wow. Spoken like a true bossy pants.

What did I do? Duh. (Yuri) I got ready. Yes,  a princess can get ready in 5 minutes. And no, I was not naked when I answered the door. Duh, again.

Halfway to Indy, he told me we were going to the trap range. I told him to turn around so I could get my gear. He said, "Nope. Gotcha covered."

I hadn't shot trap in AGES. Beat me. The sweat started to form on my brow.

Once we got there, it was full of...MEN. Yes, not one woman on the field. Did that bother me? No, except if you are the only woman, they assume you are there to hold their shotgun.

Sheriff Mike opened the back of his truck and brought out two very nice shotguns. Way more pricey than my pocket book could afford. Ammo cans of shells...everywhere. I had a little smirk on my face.  He asked me which shotgun I wanted and I told him the one that hits all of the birds. Duh.

He kindly handed me the most expensive one, which I later learned was NOT his favorite.

I have to admit I was kind of nervous since I hadn't shot a shotgun since December.  Well, no better time than the present to look stupid.

We took over a far station. The first three I missed. Not a happy princess. I'm sure disgust was noted by my cursing and the birds flying out of the automatic thrower because I did not keep my mouth shut.

SHERIFF MIKE: Yeah. Every word you say sends out a bird.

ME: [turn my head and give him the half smirk, I'm an idiot look]

After that...I stopped messing with my head and I was in my groove. Sheriff Mike was sweating bullets and kept commenting on how I was not missing anything. Soon...a crowd came over and put pressure on me which I did not like.

Sheriff Mike asked if I wanted to try out his shotgun. So I did. We went one for one. He missed. I didn't.

It wasn't too long before he made a comment that he wanted his shotgun back because I was "smokin'" him.

We stepped off to take a break. A man sitting on the bench winked at me and said, "That's some good shootin' out there. [yes, the southern drawl in the near south which throws me off]. I politely thanked him and moved away so a couple others could shoot while we loaded back up.

Before that, most everyone had taken a lunch break, so we had the place to ourselves. I asked the sheriff if I could help pay for the trap shooting.

ME: What do they charge?

SHERIFF MIKE: Four dollars a whack.

ME: Four dollars a bird?

SHERIFF MIKE: Four dollars a turn.

ME: Uh, we are done. We just racked up over $600.00. [thinking how are we going to pay for that]

SHERIFF MIKE: No. It's $4.00 for 25.

ME: [relief]Oh. Ok. I had a panic attack.

[serious blond moment]

Sheriff Mike made conversation with some of the men who were talking about me and complimenting my shooting. It probably didn't help that I shot a couple times from the hip because I was talking and set the damn machine off, making the bird go early. I had to shoot then and there or waste my bird.

A group of Japanese men in business suits were there shooting and I believe each of their guns had to be about $20,000 each. High dollar. In not so good English, they asked about the couple hip shots. I told them I got "wild west" training. They did not understand. I said, "rattle snakes."

I don't think any of them understood me. I didn't care. I can tell you it was almost as fun as sex. And that could be noted from my perma grin. Sheriff Mike told the club owners when he came out for competitions that I would be his partner. They said, "No doubt. You are no dummy. "

Thank you, Jesus, that I did not look stupid today.

Best thing was...I got to shoot over 400 rounds of ammo, use expensive guns, and didn't even have to clean a one of them. Being a princess for a day isn't half bad. And no, I'm not telling him that my shoulder is sore and it took everything I had to lift that gun up for that last shot and hit the pigeon.

And now...back to your questions. Yes, Yuri, I know you had more. I'm getting to it. Patience, grasshopper. They will be answered on page 96.

Kentucky Blues

My next response goes out to the divine Kentucky favorite of mine...Angel...

"My small town has police that are.. oh what's the word.. umm lackluster. Part of the problem is in our area they are low paid. Sorry but I find it offensive if I am asking you to protect me that my city cannot find the money to pay you enough to NOT live in low income housing.. trust story. I have a friend who is a dispatcher, people complained about the cost of running the service, but let them NEED their help and they will complain about how long it took them to respond. Imagine how much longer it would take without 911 to call.."

First, emergency services are costly! Wow! Millions. I've seen our budgets in Casper, Wyoming, and boy howdy. What the community doesn't know is that is just the icing. The budget figures do not include grants, government issued equipment donations-i.e. Military surplus, contract pay, Homeland Security monies, etc.  Small town America Copland is what the department makes it. Your small town cops can either be well-rounded, uneducated, Barney Fife, or bitter. They also work for next to nothing. For instance, the police around here start out at an average of $32,000-38,000 for a large department and state police. Smaller...less. I made good money. It's never enough in the cop's eye for what you put up with, but I had overtime opportunities and special assignment pay. In comparison, veteran cops may also have merit pay or specialty pay. Not all departments can afford to pay their people like that. Cost of living also has a lot to do with it. The police making that money in Indiana can live on that amount if they don't overdue their budget, but it is a tight living. No luxuries. In Casper...we live high on the hog.

Good pay also deters corruption and pays back what the job takes off your life. It's not feasible everywhere. So...most of your small towners do it because they love it...at least I hope so.

I have seen small town cops be corrupt assholes and uneducated where I would rather defend myself. I have seen small town cops be superstars and make the best of what they can.

And yes, isolation breeds problems and blessings. I was 911 on the river house. I am 911 here. And I live next to Sheriff Mike. That tells you something. I think it's his bad taste in music.

And Angel...always wanted to live in the south...so I am not far from you. I will visit you one day. As for training? Absolutely. They couldn't afford me. However, I do train agencies on Infant Death Investigations for free on weekends if my expenses including room and board are paid for.

Keep you chin up and your Kentucky shotgun close by!

The Police Speed?Tell Me It Isn't So

The first comes from Well Seasoned Fool...who had an interesting email banter with me. I will spare you the details, but he is not a cop hater and hails from my side of the world. He is, however,  a watchful eye. Some of your emails I have to shorten or paraphrase. If I get it wrong or misunderstood you...chime out in the comments.  My words are imbedded in red in his communication. His email:

"When you are in the public eye, you are always setting an example; good, bad, or indifferent.

Sunday A.M. I am going from Eastbound I-70 onto Pena Blvd towards DIA. (Denver International Airport) Pena is four lanes and I am in the left lane.  In the mirror I see a police car coming up behind me,  fast. Move over to the right lane (with a quick look at my speedometer). He passes, and another cruiser is behind him. Both solo cars. Neither with lights or sirens on. They exit at East 56th Ave and head Eastbound towards Tower Blvd and MacDonald's. ( I know exactly where he is talking about. I have driven this road 600 bazillion times and had the toll road bill to prove it. I'm not bitter about toll roads, either. Nor do I have writer's cramps from writing the checks.)
Now it is possible they were responding to a disturbance, at 6:45 A.M.,  on Sunday, at a MacDonald's. Or, it is possible, they left the District 5 roll call, went on patrol, and stopped for breakfast. And were speeding, 10 to 15 miles over the limit, because they can. Which is arrogant, and contemptuous towards the general public.

So why do I give a shit? Damned if I know; it just pissed me off.

As an aside note, there is a Mickeys two blocks from the District 5 station.
WSF and I talked back and forth on this and some other subjects, but this is the major concern and complaint..."cops driving 10-15 miles over the speed limit without lights and sirens...are they on the way to a hot call or a hot cup of coffee?"

Good question.

Answer is, "I don't know." 

I can tell you my police side. I often drove over the speed limit. The reasons why I did were to get to a hot call that you could NOT run code to...such as a progressive domestic call that was not yet physical, but was escalating. I would run code to a robbery and then shut down lights and sirens blocks, even over 1/2 mile before I got there so as not to tell the suspects when I was arriving. I hauled ass to burglaries in progress with no lights and sirens except if I was on the opposite side of town. Once within a mile of the call....balls to the wall and no sirens, possibly lights until I got closer, then no lights.

Was this all against policy? Absolutely. Was it police practice? Absolutely. Would I do it again? Absolutely.

I have driven fast in a moment of "I have to pee" as well. Did I just drive around fast because I could? No. I did know some that did. It isn't right and I can't condone the behavior.

Police often drive at least 10 over going to other calls which are "progressive" or "escalatory (Fargo word)" in nature. These are calls that are getting called in because a heated moment is arising and conflict is not getting resolved, or someone is observing an incident that is about to explode into a physical confrontation. It is the way of the job. Society will never understand.

Should a cop run fast to a break or breakfast? No.
Should they just be driving around fast because they can? No.

What happens when they are going to a call and get told to stand down or get called off? What if at that moment they decide to slip into the local convenience store to grab a coffee before the next call? Yes, you will judge.

Most often, you aren't going to know the difference. And most often, you are still going to be ticked.

Those that abuse their authority...shame. I probably have been one of those guilty ones that rushed to get to court, rushed to the bathroom, or rushed to the station at end of shift because I was far away when I got called in.

Cops are not perfect, but yes...WSF, they are always in the pubic eye and have to be accountable to a higher standard. Agreed.

NOW...open for your comments as usual!

Thank you, WSF! Always a pleasure to hear from you.  I am sorry I couldn't include your police car pic, for some reason it told me I was "blocked".

Next topic...you will have to wait and see...

Here The Crowd Roar

Today was an early bird rise as I had an epic fail in the bedroom. Is that possible? Scary, huh? How could that be?

Advice to you...

Never...never...sleep naked (sorry TMI, Mom) with your bedroom door open. I usually shut it, but fell asleep very early last night and had another night of sound sleep. Until. 3:00-ish.AM. They don't call it the "witching hour" for nothing.

I shot out of bed as I felt a cold, wet... nose... poke my ass. Not only was I alarmed, I scared the intruder. It was my screams followed by a brown blur jumping back and wagging his tail. I'm sure he was proud of himself for succeeding in getting me out of bed.

My sound sleep had ignored Otis and Moose who were sitting at the outside door ready to pee. How long they sat there, I do not know, but Moose probably got impatient and came upstairs to get me. Since I did not respond (only assuming) to his sitting pretty, staring me down, and whining as he usually does, he must have decided to poke me in the ass. I thanked Jesus I was not facing the other way. ( I know, TMI, again. Sorry, Mom)

When I came downstairs, Otis was sitting by the door wagging his tail. I let them outside. Yes, naked. I didn't care. I don't know who saw me. Again, I didn't care. I still don't.

And so...I could not get back to sleep. This prompted me to work on your responses to my question about cops and behavior.

Well, apparently there are some curious and disgruntled ones out there. I have not been bombarded with so many emails and comments in one week for quite some time. I don't think an Internet porn site got as many hits as I did. Ok. That might be an exaggeration.

I have awakened your inner beast of cop frustration! Which is all good. I love free speech!

Since there were so many of you with similar instances, comments, and questions... I have combined some. Each topic will take up one post. Hopefully this wakes all you Zombie readers out there.

I do have to say I found several things surprisingly interesting and some I expected. Feel free to express your opinions in the comments. Mine are just from my point of view...so don't be a Fargo hater. I will try to give you a cop perspective.

You have kept your thoughts all to yourself all this time and finally, the truth comes out!

So...in no particular order...here we go..!

Friday, July 26, 2013

Does Fargo Bleed Blue?

I am not a vengeful person. I let things be. Except...now. Today is it. The day. The only day.

The grapevine is such a wonderful old way of communication. So this goes out to that one serial killer...out there....lurking.

If anyone sees this ring...I would like it back...so I can sell it and recoup some losses...
And...here's to ME! And here's the red dress I was not allowed to wear to the charity event or in public! Cheers!
There is your one shot at my porn, Coffey. Enjoy.
NOW...off to love life!

Rounding Up A Posse

I am working on a week long exploration into police conduct for the blog which conveys the citizen view of how a police officer should behave in public and what views society takes on a police officer. I have views from my perspective. Even though I try to put myself outside the box as a new found civilian, my points are always going to be from the first responder side.

So...I was recently under the gun in Casper, Wyoming, on a social media site because of my outspoken ways. I will share it with you. It was a time where Fargo exploded in a diplomatic way to citizen responses.

No way! Say it isn't so.I know it shocks you.

I would appreciate all perspectives out there on police conduct, on and off duty. Whether you are a civilian or a first responder of any kind...dispatch, EMS, fire, law enforcement, military, etc...I would greatly appreciate your views in the comment field. I will take those under advisement and we will have a great topic to discuss. If you would rather be anonymous, you can email me at mommafargo@gmail.com.

You can also see me under fire in another social media blitz on the Casper Police Department's Facebook page right now about police parking. And I loved it! Always a good debate with police haters!

No matter what you feel or say on here...it is not going to be held against you, unless you threaten lives or mention some terrorist threat...then I'm coming after you...or at least sending Big Brother after you. So...please share your TRUE feelings, not the textbook ones.

Embrace your freedom of speech!

Thursday, July 25, 2013

Booking It

Yesterday I left you hanging with "have a great weekend" without an explanation since I do usually post regularly. Actually, when I post depends on my mood. You are surprised? Come on. I am a girl.

Maybe it's just refreshing to shake it up sometimes for no apparent good reason. Be spontaneous. Adventurous. Go climb some mountains while I'm gone. Have that extra glass of wine or beer. Or something.

I am going to return...on Monday...or whenever I feel like it with some new untold stories ripped from police headlines and journal entries.

What am I up to? 5' 6" and trying to stretch it out to 5' 6 1/2". Maybe I need to get out my stilettos used for Friday night street walking undercover jobbies.

Evenings are scheduled with running and CrossFit. I'm boring like that.

I will be working on Book Three which won't come out until early fall. Maybe there will be some new pictures...no CENTERFOLDS, Coffey. Those are for my fourth book, "50 Shades of Blue".

Leave a comment to guess it's content or story-line and three random winners will get a free book!

In the meantime, I'm going to drink this Malibu run, diet coke, and a squeeze of lime over ice in a frozen glass. I might even lay out in the sun.

Malibu run is compliments of a neighbor. It's nice when a neighbor's tree falls in your yard and they apologize with refreshments. Good thing it didn't wreck my prized gardens or he would be bringing me a case. At the rate things are going around the Harry Potter house, I will never have to provide myself with alcoholic substances.

So...with that...guess the third book's story-line. It's nothing like the other two. Duh. You already have read those. I will give you a hint: IT'S NOT A ROMANCE NOVEL.

Update: You are cracking me up with your comments. 

Coffeypot: That would require pictures and that is entirely too much work to pose naked all day. 

Yuri: You know I have a reputation for NO page numbers on The Boogie Man series. It's my thing. However, if and when and possibly this next book is not in this series..if I ever make a book with page numbers...you are the first one I will contact!

Sista: I snickered on that one. 

Keep a guessing! None of you are correct, although some good ideas are floating out there. 

Come join me on Facebook....at The Boogie Man Is My Friend!

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Gavel This!

Well, all is wonderful in the world of serial killer court procedures today! It's like releasing a strait jacket. Maybe. I kind of like those cozy things.

I have a new found pep in my step.

Or perhaps it's also due to the 6 pounds I shed last week from my excessive running habits. Not that I am complaining. It's all good! I might be able to finish those fall races without crawling to the finish line.

In other news...here is the newest from Shinedown...pretty awesome...unless it's directed at you from a creeper. Well, could you ignore him or her just for the duration of a good song? I could suffer for 4 minutes...possibly.  I've endured worse!

Have a great weekend!

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

It's Impotent

I love English majors. I am not one. I am a far cry from perfect in any realm. However, it would be nice if everyone spoke the same accent as is the middle of the USA, i.e....Rocky Mountain region. Do you ever notice your news anchors talk like they are from Wyoming?

They do not have southern drawls. They do not have Minnesota Norweigan accents. They do not pock their cah in the yahd. It is a hay loft, not a hay mow.

However, there is one thing I am not...IMPOTENT. I know this, because I checked. Twice. Only one species can define this word and it is not the chick version.

Therefore, if you are in the near south, you must listen carefully, lest you make yourself look silly.

In my case, that could happen.

If I don't understand you, I will have raised brows, a snarl, and have a somewhat strange look on my face, but I will nod and just pick out a few words and put together my own sentences to piece-meal what I think it is you are saying. Or...if you ramble on and on...I will do the same thing...nod in affirmation and maybe interject a few words. Am I listening to you? Halfway. Do I understand the conversation? Parts.

What kills me is the language barrier. I speak cowboy. No one understands me and I find myself thinking they should have me in Near South Language Immersion classes. I guess essentially, I am.

For instance, the language barrier is often to my disadvantage.

Last night, I dropped some mail on the sidewalk and a nice young man picked it up for me. Handing it to me, he stated...

RED: Mam, you dropped something. Packetsin somethin. Here ya go.

ME: Thank you.

RED: Y'all welcome. Wow. You have a lot of packetsin in letters. You must be impotent.

ME: [looking down] What?

RED: Impotent. You must be. Look at all that mail you are carrying. No wonder you fall down.

ME: Ok. Yep. Gravity is a bitch.

RED: I don't know of her.

ME: Yep. Well, thank you.

RED: Yoo noo?

ME: Pardon me?

RED: You new round here?

ME: Uh. I guess so. Been here almost 8 months.

RED: Guess I recken haven't seen ya outinabout much. Usually knews about folks whos news in town.

ME: Uh. Ok. Then.

RED: Ok. Have a nice day, mam!

ME: You too.

And on the second day, Fargo hibernated. Because she was impotent and folks knows news about her packet sins or something.

Sunday, July 21, 2013

Senior Moments

As I was plotting my day out on a flow chart and trying to fit all the things in it that I wanted to accomplish, I heard a knock at the door. It was the Sheriff.

Apparently he was bored and thus, had to interrupt my day. Not that he isn't a nice man, I just was ready to tackle the world and did not want to get side tracked. Well, it didn't last long.

SHERIFF MIKE: Want to go to the Annie Oakley museum and go antiquing? Court with the wife got me all stirred up yesterday and I need to get out of town for a few hours.

ME: I am your only non-senior citizen friend, aren't I? Who has no life and no kids and no husband? And the most exciting person in the neighborhood?

Long pause, followed by a "yes."

How could I say..."No." So I didn't. Sheriff Mike and I share the same interest in history, gardening, antiques, and unique things.Traveling to Ohio was longer than usual even though it wasn't very far. I was just tired...still...didn't have enough coffee and needed a nap.

It wasn't far down the road until we arrived at a place in the middle of nowhere which he often does and I have PTSD thought of serial killer moments.  He pulled into this old barn like place and I looked up to see we were by a river and looking at an old mill. "1849" was stamped on the building. I guessed I had just gone through the motions while driving down the road and I had no memory of the conversation.

I got out and went inside.

I think I was a kid in the candy store. Here was an old mill on the river with beautiful walking paths, gardens, and inside was a posh art gallery and shop. I lost the Sheriff. I think he was behind me, but I was so engrossed in the art that I was in my own world and enjoying the welded objects, glass art, paintings, pottery. Blah blah. The artists were freaking genius! And if I had the money, I would have purchased some pieces. They were that good.

It wasn't long before I saw free gourmet coffee offered in the corner of the gallery. Heaven. As I poured a cup for myself, Sheriff Mike came up behind me and frowned.

ME: Dude, this is an oasis in the middle of nowhere. Old restored building. Exquisite art gallery. And this!

SHERIFF MIKE: It's coffee.

ME: Look. It's iced coffee on the left and hot on the right. You have to at least try it. It's free and if you don't like it you can throw up. Besides, I am beginning to think you are a cop imposter. Cops drink coffee. Most of us are coffee connoisseurs. I am a coffee snob.

SHERIFF MIKE: Nope. Can't do it.

ME: It's Rainforest Crunch. You know...tropical bugs, medicinal flowers, nutty undertones, monkey balls.

SHERIFF MIKE: They seriously put all that in that fancy coffee? Why don't you just drink Folgers.

ME: Folgers sucks. And no. I'm kidding. None of those things are in the coffee, except maybe monkey balls.


ME: Fine. Be a party pooper.

I wandered throughout the 4 stories and took pics of the old mill, was mesmerized by the river running under the building that you could see through a glass floor, enjoyed the art, and then drug the Sheriff outside.

My eyes spotted an old iron gate and I headed that way. It was heavily wooded, a yard lamp was illuminating nearby it was so dark. I touched the gate and just stared at it. I'm sure the Sheriff knew what I was thinking because I told him I wanted an antique iron fence around my back yard.

SHERIFF MIKE: I could make you that, you know.

ME: You can make this?


ME: You are not a cop. Cops can't make stuff like this. We have zero talent in welding something this intricate.  Someday I will be able to either find something antique like this and put it back there or pay you to make it.

SHERIFF MIKE: You don't have to pay me. I have tons of metal at the shop.

Record scratch.

ME: Yes. I do. I will save my money. I will take a picture of  this for you.

SHERIFF MIKE: No. I have it all over the shop. No need to pay me.

ME: Ok. This is where Fargo helps you. You make fence. I pay you. Free stuff leads to bad stuff and hurt feelings.

SHERIFF MIKE: I don't understand.

ME: Nothing in life is free.


ME: Ok. We need some boundaries.


ME: Ok. Today, I am going to teach you how to be a cop. I can't teach you about anything else, because I suck at everything else. Today you are getting lessons. Maybe you will understand boundaries by my lessons.


ME: Lesson number 1. Do not dip the pen in the company ink. That means current coworkers, former cops, and neighbors. I meet two of the three requirements.

SHERIFF MIKE: I'm not sure I know what that means.

ME: It will come to you, Grasshopper. Lesson 2. Cops drink coffee. Real cops. Get to crackalackin'. We will start you off with International Coffees Swiss Mocha. They suck, but you will like it. Grocery store tonight.


ME: Lesson 3. Don't build fences for girls for free. They will think you want something in return. Some girls will return favors. Some girls have guns. I am one of those with several guns.

SHERIFF MIKE: Yeah. I'm not getting your analogy.

ME: *blink*blink* Ok. Did we not just have a conversation last week? Did I not do the duck and roll, run to the house.

Long pause and thinking.

ME: It's a senior moment, isn't it?

SHERIFF MIKE: Well. Ok. I think I know what you are talking about.

ME: Ok. Just because a girl is fun and exciting to you, doesn't mean she wants you to try to get down her pants especially when she is going through a divorce from a serial killer. She just enjoys having a friend who has similar interests.


Awkward. I just went on and didn't ponder that much longer. It was a linger subject, not a dwell.

So...we finished our walk through the river, the 1849 dam, the stone walled garden. While I was still gazing at the river, Sheriff Mike went into the shop and returned with a brown bag and handed it to me. It was the coffee I had tried that I liked. Very nice, however...

ME: Thank you very much. Fences, dude, fences. Now, what do I owe you for this?

SHERIFF MIKE: It's a gift.

ME: No. Fences. Boundaries. Remember?

SHERIFF MIKE: It's coffee. I won't drink it.

ME: Fine.

Soon, we headed to Annie Oakley's museum. It was a long quiet drive, but not very far from our location.

SHERIFF MIKE: What kind of music do you like? Let's put it on a station you like.

ME: [smirk] They don't have my kind of radio stations around here. I have to listen to my iPod.

SHERIFF MIKE: What kind of music do you like?

ME: Rap.

Long pause. Silence. Palm to head.

ME: Yep. I knew that would end our friendship. And you need to stop doing the palm to head thingy. It's head to steering wheel now...head to desk...or head to dashboard. Keep up with the times. Those criminals are going to sneak by you and know you are old school.

SHERIFF MIKE: Ok. [flips through stations] No, I'm going to find one that has rap music. It is just noise, but we are going to listen to it.

ME: Uh, No. Heavy metal is just noise. Rap music is beat. Rolling dirty.

SHERIFF MIKE: What is rolling dirty?

ME: *blink*blink* Ok. These lessons are going too fast. [finds an 80s station] Let's start with this song. What is it?

SHERIFF MIKE: I have no idea.

ME: It's Footloose. The movie song. You know?

SHERIFF MIKE: No. I don't know.

ME: [finds another station] Ok. Let's try this. This is an easy song. Flo Rida.

SHERIFF MIKE: Who's that?

ME: Just never mind. Listen. Ok. Move your head like this. Look out your window at your surroundings. You need one hand on the steering wheel.

I can't even describe it. Sheriff Mike's rhythm is worse than  mine. I think Elaine from Seinfeld is better. It was serious business. I was teaching an old cop new tricks and I couldn't laugh. I had to turn off Right Round because the lyrics were bad.

SHERRIF MIKE: Oh...he's singing he's going down. Like the police are spinning him in an arm bar and taking him down?

ME: *blink*blink* I don't think we are going to explore the lyrics of this song right now.


ME: [trying another station] Ok. Maybe we are moving too fast. Who's this?

SHERIFF MIKE: I don't know. Maybe the Eagles?

ME: Ok. The Long Run. We are getting some where. Feel the music. Move your head to it. [yikes bad images]Ok. Stop. Just try moving your hand to the beat on the steering wheel. New song.

SHERIFF MIKE: Like this? [tries to find the beat to Karen Carpenter that just came on the radio.]

ME: Ok. Who's this?

SHERIFF MIKE: Sounds familiar.

ME: Dude, it's Karen Carpenter. You have to know your music peeps. It's important. You  need to practice at home or in the squad car tonight. Someday you can move on to my CDs, but that is way too advanced for you right now.

SHERIFF MIKE: Ok. How about some Bob and Tom?

ME: Who?

SHERIFF MIKE: National public radio? You don't listen to that stuff or Patriot Radio?

ME: Are you clan?


ME: Dude, a little NPR late at night is fine. Daytime. No. Only old people have that as their favorites station. Seriously? You would look better if you had the Weather Channel or Fox News on. Maybe you need to get satellite radio in here. I was about to tell you one more road trip with NPR all day and I was going to eat my gun, but I was being nice and trying to drown it out with conversation.

SHERIFF MIKE: [not hearing a word I just said] Satellite. That would allow me to listen to all kinds of talk radio. I might like that.

ME: [palm to head]

SHERIFF MIKE: Hey. Caught ya! It's head to dashboard.

I think these senior moments are going to kill me. I can't wait to go to work and have stimulating conversation with someone my own age. Or younger. Beat me.

War and Wine

Coffee is my friend. Especially when it is hooked up to an IV and charged through your system at a brand name coffee house. Thankfully, they also have free Wi-Fi.

And no, I don't believe I am still drunk, nor was it too bad. That I recall. I only had one glass of wine.

Little did I know when I said "yes" to a couple of senior citizens who offered to "shake up" my life did I know the true definition of that. I was kidnapped by senior citizens. Thank God, I did not wake up naked on the neighbor's lawn or hanging out of a tree downtown.

My new found friends, who are wonderful and hilarious (Wanda and Harry)...and over 70...took me to the big city for a day of fun. I had no idea what I was about to partake in. I had mentioned I had never been to a Civil War reenactment, nor had I really dove into any cultural events here. This sparked an idea with Wanda and Harry.

On the drive there, I also got the speech about how I needed to meet a wonderful man on campus and I would. However, I was to shy away from professors because they are "screwy." That leaves who? Wanda gave me the college rundown. I felt like fresh meat. I told her I was perfectly happy. Wanda said..."For now." I asked, "What do you mean?" She looked at me with raised eyebrows, "Sex." Somehow talking sex with 70 year olds was just not what I had in mind. Do you know how many times you can change the conversation, and it all leads back to sex? It's like the 6 degrees of Kevin Bacon.

Finally, saved from further sex education, we reached our destination.

The day started out at an interactive Civil War historical museum which was set up in an old town in the woods. It was very well designed and felt back in 1836.

All was fine until Wanda and Harry put me in the General Store that was set to burn down. I should have heeded their giggles. Giggling seniors is a cause for flight...future reference.

After I walked across the covered bridge, I was met by Union soldiers. They sent me to the Porter house. I was soaking up this new flavor of history by talking to a young man who was playing the piano inside the Porter house. He and I got along great and soon we were engrossed in our conversation. In fact, he asked me to join him in the town social which was going to occur at 3:00 pm. Yes, my first date was with a young man from 1836. Shut it.

Apparently, this was not in the plans with Wanda and Harry, as I was holding up the show.  They drug me inside the General Store where the Union soldiers had gathered up. The soldiers told the townsfolks about the Confederate General Morgan headed our way who had threatened the men in the area. I was shoved next to the shelf of wares in the corner as fire balls, gun fire, and cannons took underway. I expected big booms and gunfire, so I prepared myself for the attack. I even thought about defecting to the other side because the Confederate General Morgan was hot, even if he was over 100 years old.

I did not, however, prepare myself for the ultimate embarrassment in Civil War history.

Sorry, Mr. Union Soldier, for that elbow strike as you came running past me. However, you really should not have shoved that shelf of dishes over next to me as I have these horrible scream and reflex problems when someone scares the shit out of me.

You can imagine how low I felt. I am sure I am now flagged for exclusion in any future living history events.

That was not all that was in store. No pun intended.

After all the gunfire, Wanda and Harry took me to the Rolling Stones. Yes. I was in heaven. Old hippies on the green...like 8,000. It was crazy. Wine. Beer. Food. Bravo for the Symphony on the Prairie! It was beyond fun. The music was amazing and the singer they hired was very famous...only not Mick Jagger. However, he sounded just like him. Two blue hairs taught me how to make Mick Jagger moves. It was not pretty.

And Christopher Walken showed up on the green and we had a little COWBELL. Many of you might remember the record our swing shift made on family violence and the drunken night of COWBELL for Team 2. We are famous. I even have the musical record (on CD) and video to prove it. Best dang record made by cops ever.

AnySatisfaction, the Stones were amazing! I was in heaven with the people watching. It was better than People of Walmart.  The 50 years of The Rolling Stones was a great show, all in all, and I would do it again. Apparently, this is a summer fall thingy. Not sure how I would fare during the classical music instruments. I can imagine I might chug too much wine and you have to wear a gown. On the grass. Strange.

It was a new assignment,  me trying to fit undercover into a day of cultural events. I can act refined and dress the part. Sista From Anotha Motha can vouch for me and chime out about the time I showed up to her house in my black evening dress after a night of "Got Stood Up" at the Christmas police dinner. If it weren't for her and my brotherhood praising my clean up act and pumping up Fargo in a long black dress, I might have noticed my date was absent. I just had to swallow crow and tell everyone I didn't need no stinkin' date. So yes, I dressed up that night for nothing. Any digression...this refinement has nothing to do with Indiana cultural events. It did teach me, however, that dating sucks.

The Indiana wine. It doesn't like me. I know I only had one glass. However,  those dang hippies kept filling it up. I had a hippie cleansing. Now I am ready for real life.

See, in Wyoming, cops just had drinking contests for therapy with firemen because we all hate bars and it's the only thing we can beat firemen at besides shooting matches. We tried boxing-failed. We tried cage fighting-failed. We are proud that we can out drink and out shoot them. This would start Poker and other games and usually led to trouble. Things got blown up,  burned, and stuff. Especially when you mixed the bomb team with the firemen. And especially when they decided my land of 40 acres was perfect for these things. Pure torture, those days.

Reminded me of those times when my brother built homemade cannons and pipe bombs. Of course, that was when the ATF just interrogated you over dinner on the ranches and laughed at the country kids. No jail.

Now I'm running from Union Soldiers, fitting into Woodstock, and sitting at a posh coffee shop attached to an IV and Wi-Fi. Life sure has changed. Or maybe it's the Indiana way. Like cow tipping, only different.

See...my mind is all over the place. That's what hippies and wine do to me.

And btw, I still have not been to a Civil War reenactment.

Thursday, July 18, 2013

Fargo Hath No Winners

Well, everyone did an epic fail on the questions. I thought you all knew me better. It's not like I have any secrets. Well, some did better than others. So...here we go.

1. Which concert did I actually pay to go see?

a. Nelly-worked this one...awesome
b. The Game-worked this one...sucked..he is a jerk
c. Reba-worked this one...awesome
d. The Moody Blues-paid for myself. Come on! I do have some taste. Best concert in my life!
e. Billy Currington-worked this one...awesome!

2. Which concert was my most dangerous?

a. Poison-not too bad. Poison members are all trolls.
b. Tech 9-crowd riot on police outside-beat and release night of baton action-knife pulled on cops-not a good night to be a bad guy
c. Ludacris-rowdy. Ludacris actually was very honorable person and respectful to cops. Surprise! Also refused to sign coat on teenager for fear mother would kill him and refused to sign boob on groupie...calling her disrespectful.
d. Charlie Daniels Band-went to jail for DUI-did not play in Casper, nor was he scheduled that night. He was passing through town. Oh...and somehow that one got dismissed. Figure that. Not my catch, but another officer's.
e. Rascal Flatts-uneventful

3. Am I currently dating anyone?

a. Are you on crack?
b. Hell to the no.
c. Really?
d. Is this a serious question
e. Does that include wine with myself on my porch at night?

4. How do I have such a crazy life?-Any one of these would suffice

a. I got a hold of some good crack.
b. I'm blessed that way.
c. It is what it is.
d. I was abducted by aliens.
e. Isn't everyone's life like this?

5. Favorite thing to do alone.

a. Can't tell you that, it's personal.
b. Go to movies.
c. Run
d. Read.
e. All of the above.

6. If you get all these questions right, you get...

a. nothing
b. a book
c. Fargo memorabilia....i.e. one of my badges
d. golf clap and a cyber high five
e. a date, the fruit

In other news...life keeps happening! Have to smile!

Babysitter called yesterday and stated my daughter told her she just wants her mom to be happy and find someone who loves her because I am the best mom ever. (Big awww isn't she cute sigh here) Babysitter told me she did not tell Bug this, but wanted me to know I should just stick to batteries. LMAO.

The Gold Beast is a parking lot ornament today. I am on foot. Is 14 miles too far to walk every day to work?

Susie Chapstick...revisited

And here you go, Bill, one from memory lane...03/24/11 to be exact...

Sometimes the simple things in my job crack me up...

Like when we arrest someone who has had a "privileged" life. Take this military brat....very, very drunk... for instance we arrested for public intoxication last night...

ME: Do you have someone sober who can come pick you up?


ME: Do you have money for a cab? I can call you a cab.

ROTTEN RANDY: Yes. I have lotssss of money, but iss for beer. I won't waste a dime on a cab. Fug that.

ME: Ok. How about money for a ride in a nice, fast blue charger...bed and breakfast in a big castle on the hill....I'll even throw in some bling...whole nine yards cost you about $110? Cab ride...$20?

ROTTEN RANDY: Pftst. I'm not using any of my money for a ride. Beer only.

ME: Okey dokey.

Sooo...Rotten Randy went with us in handcuffs to the JAIL. Sadly, he had never been in trouble before so...this was his first lesson.

ROTTEN RANDY: You can't put me in jail for thissss. I juss drunk.

ME: We explained all that, Mr. Howell.

ROTTEN RANDY: That's snot my name, dude.

ME: No shit. I was referring to you as the high and mighty Thurston Howell...SS Minnow? Gilligan's Island?

ROTTEN RANDY: Don't know it.

ME: Sure you do, Thurston, you are on a 3 hour tour...and destination...Gilligan's Island. The SS Minnow went down. Look it up.

ROTTEN RANDY: Thiss fugged up, lady.

The ride to the jail included a diarrhea of the mouth from Rotten Randy of how we were violating his civil rights and he was above the law.

Arrival jail.

Enter my favorite deputy detention officer....JUST JASON.

JUST JASON: Stand up.

ROTTEN RANDY: You don't have to be ssssoooo rude.

JUST JASON: Listen, tool. This is the jail. Do as I say. My words are not questions. They are orders. If you want to be a smart ass, I will face plant you on the floor. Kapeesh?

ROTTEN RANDY: [getting assy] I think you need a new approach. You don't jussss talk to me like that.

JUST JASON: You're right. I talk to everybody like that.

After he was searched and stripped off his city duds....Rotten Randy protested giving everything up...and snuck his chap stick. As he was walking to the book in room, staggering...trying to put on his chap stick...but hitting his cheek instead....JUST JASON noticed the violation.

JUST JASON: You can't have that in there. Give me your chap stick.

ROTTEN RANDY: No. I'm going to put some on first.

Thud! Thwack! Slam! ROTTEN RANDY: HEY! OW!

Sure enough...FOXY FRAN took the chap stick out of his hand while JUST JASON face planted him in to the wall with a flying arm bar. NICE!

JUST JASON: NOW! We aren't going to take any of your snotty crap in here, Susie Chapstick. Obey the rules and we will get along just fine. There are no privileges in here....except a public toilet in the middle of the cell.

ME: Welcome to the dark side. Maybe you should learn to obey the rules.

ROTTEN RANDY: Can they do this?

ME: Oh, yes...and boy howdy...are you in for a treat. Hope they don't put you in with THE SCORPION. He's been in here for days. Or worse...when your lips are chapped....they make you use Bag Balm instead of your fancy chap stick...and the tub has been dipped in by all sorts of felons...sharing it...putting their fingers in it...applying it to their lips. Check it out.

JUST JASON: You're right...community Bag Balm...thank God that rancher donated that used one. The economy and all.

ROTTEN RANDY: Uh...I will just go without.

ME: Really? Seems like you never have gone without....what a great idea! You could fast or protest in here just to demonstrate your civil rights...be a martar...start a club or something.

JUST JASON: Shut it.

ME: [big cheesy smile] Just trying to help.

JUST JASON: Alright, Susie Chapstick, let's get moving.

ROTTEN RANDY: I think it is a violation of my civil rights that you refer to me as a woman when I am clearly a man....and  OOF! OW! What the fug, dude?

JUST JASON: See how that works, Susie? Chapstick hand...blade of hand...armbar...is a great lever...when the mouth gets ahead of the brain. Bam! 


JUST JASON:  Just like applying chap stick...it becomes a Pavlov response.

ME: Did I ever tell you how much I love you?

JUST JASON: Tell me again.

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

PoPo Trivia

Thanks for all the emails of encouragement and support! I appreciate them very much. I was looking through some old posts as Bill was a little poo-pooed ( ducking and running) when he went to read some old stories that I had taken them down. So...Bill, all in good time, I will republish some of the good ones that didn't make it into the book. As well, I have some that have never been published on the blog, so there will be some mix and match. Have had a lot of emails asking me all kinds of questions in the last week, so if I did not answer them personally, I apologize. Shoot me another one if you will and I will be more careful as not to do a massive delete. Sometimes I get bombarded by advertising, jokes, and whatnot and get carried away. Several of you asked me some trivia questions...so here goes...and you asked me...don't blame me if they are silly...

1. Which concert did I actually pay to go see?

a. Nelly
b. The Game
c. Reba
d. The Moody Blues
e. Billy Currington

2. Which concert was my most dangerous?

a. Poison
b. Tech 9
c. Ludacris
d. Charlie Daniels Band
e. Rascal Flatts

3. Am I currently dating anyone?

a. Are you on crack?
b. Hell to the no.
c. Really?
d. Is this a serious question
e. Does that include wine with myself on my porch at night?

4. How do I have such a crazy life?

a. I got a hold of some good crack.
b. I'm blessed that way.
c. It is what it is.
d. I was abducted by aliens.
e. Isn't everyone's life like this?

5. Favorite thing to do alone.

a. Can't tell you that, it's personal.
b. Go to movies.
c. Run
d. Read.
e. All of the above.

6. If you get all these questions right, you get...

a. nothing
b. a book
c. Fargo memorabilia....i.e. one of my badges
d. golf clap and a cyber high five
e. a date, the fruit

The Cheshire Murders

My friends at HBO are showing another intriguing documentary on July 22, 9 PM Eastern (Fargo time). This one has me jumping up and down already! It is just short days away. Join me for this exciting program...

"Using exclusive interviews and spanning half a decade, THE CHESHIRE MURDERS reveals the shocking police failures and untold personal dramas behind the notorious rape-arson-homicide case that shook Cheshire, Connecticut in the summer of 2007. However, much of the story has been hidden from the general public, and alarming failures in the system reveal another tragedy: this crime could have been prevented at many turns. Told intimately by the victims’ and perpetrators’ friends and families, as well as the attorneys, journalists, and mental-health professionals involved firsthand in the case, the film takes viewers from the morning of the crime, through the death-penalty trials five years later. "

Here is just a little sneak they gave me...to reel us in...

"In the early-morning hours of July 23, 2007, in Cheshire, Connecticut, ex-convicts Steven Hayes and Joshua Komisarjevsky broke into the family home of Dr. William Petit, his wife, Jennifer Hawke-Petit, and their daughters, Michaela, 11, and Hayley, 17. Dr. Petit was beaten and tied to a pole in the basement. The three women were bound in their bedrooms while the men ransacked the house. The brutal ordeal continued throughout the morning, ending with rape, arson and a horrific triple homicide. "

Now, I am somewhat familiar with this case and when it came out in the news, myself and my detective cronies were all ears as this was not the norm Home Invasion. It was gruesome. I might even have to include a good 90 Schilling while I watch this with open eyes. 

Mark your calendars and tune into HBO for a riveting night of television!

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Bringing Out The Big Guns

So the training sessions came and went. I got very strong. Ric even complimented me on how strong I was both physically and mentally. He was an excellent teacher. For being so young, he had skills and instructing abilities.

As time went on, I earned his trust. He became someone I could confide in and vice versa. Things with him went nowhere. I didn't give him information that he wasn't privy too, but even if it was small personal things, I could trust it stopped with him. He gave me a different perspective on life. He came from poverty and the School of Hard Knocks. I came from middle class America. Two different worlds.

Later, he would give me information that led to several arrests and big cases for the DEA and DCI. I never gave the other agencies enough information that I would have to reveal my source so he would testify, but just enough to tell them where to look. Ric made it clear if he got burned, he would disappear and he would never speak to me. He also refused to testify. He kept his ghetto culture and at the same time cleaned up some bad criminals. It was important to him to retain his street cred.

I found him to be one of those ghetto dwellers that was "something is not like the others." He had a good heart, he didn't commit crimes, yet he was definitely a gangster. I guess he was a fence rider. He told me the reason he loved and only would live in the bad parts of town, was because in the ghetto you find real people. In some sense, I understood what he meant. They also have a different kind of code.

I got used to wrestling with a very attractive and overtly sexual 23 year old without being uncomfortable. He was dangerous and loved to flaunt his sexuality everywhere. The women and girls flocked to him. I think he had a stack of numbers every time he went out into the real world. At the same time, he was not a player with women and was such a gentlemen. I had commented to his mother about his manners and how much of a gentlemen he was in public and private. His mother said she emphasized those things since he was small and demanded her son respect woman above all else.

At the age of 23 and making thousands of dollars in the oil field, I did not understand why he was still at home. He told me they had traveled to Wyoming from Michigan for work as Michigan had pretty much imploded on itself as far as the economy. He had moved out and had a live-in girlfriend. However, his step-father had gone into a drunken rage and he moved back home, feeling obligated to protect his mother who refused to leave her crazy mate. Ric said Trent never laid a hand on his mother, but would go on drunken binges, lose his job, and go into a psychotic rage. Often Trent would focus his physical rage on Ric. However, Ric said he would beat the shit out of Trent and choke him out so he would sleep it off the next day. It was a vicious cycle and a wonder Ric didn't kill him. I saw first hand some of the damage. I would only be glad it was out of my jurisdiction and I would just laugh, calling it street justice. Trent would tell me often he got what he deserved, even if it was a broken jaw more times than once. In fact, Ric often made Trent's face into a Picasso.

Ric's girlfriend didn't last long as she cheated on him and he didn't want another one at the time. I was in a similar situation with my divorce and we became daytime friends. We went to movie matinees after training about once a month, all sweaty and gross. It was there Ric introduced me to the Resident Evil, Underworld, and Twilight series. Yes, the big 'ol gangster loved Twilight. He swore me to secrecy. He said he was actually a romantic at heart and hoped someday to have the fairy tale romance just like anyone thought of, I guess.

On one of the latter training days, Ric told me to bring my gun to the house. I didn't want to do that as two felons lived there and I was uncomfortable being out of uniform, although I knew his mom and step-father would not hurt me. It was just an uneasy feeling. He said to load up my baton and gun and no argument.

The day I brought my gun and baton in a sack was a new thing for me. I unloaded it as instructed and put a string in it to signify it was indeed empty. We did training on weapon retention, no padding. Ric was impressed I never let him take my gun and it was by some miracle because he was fast and stronger than me. I fired on him before he got it away or refused to relinquish it every time.

When he came at me armed, I grabbed the slide and was able to twist the gun away from him. The baton, not so much. I had a bruised butt, thighs and arms. He would taunt me when he took it away, striking me hard. FMITA. Owie. At times when I worked out at the police gym, I would get questions about my bruising and I actually lied, saying farm work and clumsy me. They all believed me and laughed, nodding their heads, knowing my history.

In the middle of spring that year, Ric called me in a panic. He and his family were moving back to Michigan the next week. His mom had decided she wanted to be close to family because everyone was ailing and in their elderly years. I had never seen Ric so upset. It was out of character. He went on and on how he hated Michigan and had grown to love Wyoming. I was truly sad.

The day he left, I stopped by in uniform to say my goodbyes as I was on duty. Ric handed me a thick envelope and instructed me not to open it until he was gone. He said he would be in touch. He had tears running down his face and I felt sorry for him. His mother met me at the patrol car door when I went to leave. She told me her son was in love with me. She told me she was glad they were leaving because she could never have stopped Ric from his feelings. I was flattered that a nice looking and very young kid would think that about me, but I knew it was an unrequited feeling because I would never step into that realm. Imagining a 40 year old with a 20 something was just too crazy. Too much age, different cultures, and with time a relationship like that would fall apart or the two would grow apart. I later told this to Ric over the phone as he went through other relationships that failed. He said he could never find a person with a heart like mine. I told him he someday would.

In 2011, I talked to Ric for the last time as he had succumbed to drug abuse. He admitted to me that the solitude his mother had placed him in had led him to a bad group of peers. He had been popping scripts, smoking marijuana, and drinking heavily. It put a heaviness in my heart because he had such potential. I always wanted him to find his happiness and knew he felt stuck as his mother was a huge manipulator. She would always deter any life on his own that he tried to pursue.

The letter he left me with was a confession of his feelings about me and words of encouragement to continue training and keeping up my fighting skills. He ended it with, "You will find your inner strength and combine what I have taught you which will come at a time when you most need it. Patience, grasshopper." I did indeed thank him in my mind those many days after when I got into some hellacious fights on duty.

I will always hold a special place in my heart for him. I have, however, lost some of those skills because repetition is important. I never found another person to fill his shoes as an instructor, nor did I find any one that sparred quite like he did. Wherever he is, I hope he has found a way to pull himself out of the abyss.


About now some of you are wondering what in the hell?

Crazy. Yeah. It was nutso. I learned so much about mixed martial arts and the fact that street fighting is really only about surviving no matter what means. Mix them all up. Police training is only about restraint and use of force. It was hard to get my mind to work any other way. This was the ultimate experience and I think why so many of my cohorts many years later went to MMA cage fights and actually trained in some of the facilities. Of course...I already had done that. They just didn't know.

There is a little more to the long winded story....next...it's all about guns...

Maybe Ric's guns? Or my guns. Maybe both.

Monday, July 15, 2013

Jump Street 21

It would be some time before I would run into Ric again. An unlikely spot, no less. As I was following around a simple vandalism case a few weeks later, I found him at a local thug's house, sitting on the porch next to Red, drinking a beer. The stories had still percolated down in the hood about Ric and they got back to me from time to time. By now, he had grown an action figure reputation.

After I was done questioning Red on a dead end call which ended up on Nowhere Lane as many vandalisms do, Ric got up and told Red he was leaving. Ric walked me to my police car. The conversation was small talk and mostly him jesting the PoPo lady.

I really don't know what I was thinking when I told him to teach me how to fight. He laughed and said I would not be able to make it and I was a girl, end of story-no way. This time in my life I had been separated from my husband. The papers were about to make it official and I had free time on days off when my daughter was at her father's house.

The street's were getting worse, and everyone wanted to fight the police. I was strong. Not to put down law enforcement custody and control training, but it is lame at best. We tried street fighting once and the administration was worried we would have a bunch of broken up cops they would have to pay to repair. I rather liked it better than the usual custody and control classes where the boys were whining not to hurt their knees, shoulders, or collar bones. They were a bunch of pussies when it came to that crap. None of them wanted to pair up with a girl either. Really pissed me off.

So here I was hearing the same song and dance from a street punk. Instantly gets my blood boiling. I'm not the toughest girl on the block, but I'm no pussy.

Throwing his words back at him that he didn't know what I was capable of, he smirked. I challenged him. I told him I would pay for lessons.

He pulled up his shirt and swaggered toward me like a gangster punk and told me, I couldn't handle his 6-pack. Then he flexed his left arm and said I wouldn't be able to take the first punch. He popped his neck and turned around and waved me off, lastly saying it was easy to disarm a Casper Police Officer and no challenge. I could tell he grew up in the hood somewhere else because no one from my town acted like that when they were white, nor did they have more street charm than 50 Cent, minus the bullet holes.

Well, now if a punch lands right on anyone it's going to leave a mark. And I surely wasn't going to sit there as a sitting duck while someone punched me. I think he thought I was a Shirley Temple. I told him he was scared and didn't want his reputation ruined by having a girl beat him up. Big words. Hot air. That was me. I had seen what he had done.

He turned around and pointed at me. Three minutes. If I could last three minutes without tapping out, getting something broken, or dying, he would teach me.What was I thinking? Fargo Jump Street 21? (Although that moving hadn't been made yet) Oh, yeah. I took that challenge. Game on. We agreed if I could last, $300 for 3 months. Cheap. Half down. Half when it was over. I felt like I was negotiating contraband. We scheduled the beat down.

Sunday, July 14, 2013

Dem Bonz

During my detective days we were chasing a thug who went by the name of Bonz. He was a well-known drug dealer and often beat the shit out of his adversaries or those that didn't pay up. Sometimes it was with his fists, sometimes with a pipe. He owned his territory and everyone was afraid of him. He often challenged people to fights for no apparent reason other than to beat the hell out of them and parade around how tough he was. He was about 5-11 and close to 200 pounds of mostly solid muscle mixed with a slight beer gut. He was a lot for the police to handle. He ran, he fought. He fought the police hard. He was always a criminal.

Those days chasing him down and dealing with him bled into my patrol days, thus spanned his criminal empire to go on for years before he was put in the federal pen. Enter Fargo a few months before he faced his demise.

I ran into him on the street. I was chatting it up with the local thugs about an aggravated assault I was working. It led back to Bonz, but no one would rat him out. Somehow my snitches gave me his location, maybe it had slipped, maybe I had been convincing, I can't really remember. I just know it was my negotiation magic. Well, that and my snitches were never rocket scientists.

Sneaking up to the house in the ghetto, I could hear the laughter and beer bottle clanking in the back yard. Enter Fargo. This entrance spurred the immediate scatter of large animals and hoodlums. A handful stayed. One of them was Bonz.

I quickly introduced myself, and not that I had to because my shiny badge and flashlight signaled to them it was not Jesus, although for some reason they called out to him. Three were seated on lawn chairs, one on a picnic table bench, and one standing against the house trying to blend into the darkness. My flashlight made its way over their faces and I quickly recognized every one of them.

It settled on Bonz. Not because I was looking for him, but because I almost didn't recognize him. I asked him if he tangled with a grizzly bear. No one said a word. I repeated myself only stating I "really" wanted to know because I probably had a homicide to go looking for. I did not say that in jest. I was certain if his face looked like one of those bouncy asteroid  toys, he probably had killed his opponent.

They told me there was no homicide. I told him...bullshit. I also told him I knew his modus operandi. He didn't know Latin. When they questioned what those words meant, I told him "big brother" always know his and it was always the same. Then I told them to "Google it." Thugs don't really like smart ass coppers to say, "Google it."

It took awhile to get them to break down and I had to chat with them for awhile and tell them I wasn't leaving. I also sort of threatened to bring him down to the station, hospital, and whatever I had to do to open an aggravated assault report. His left eye was swollen shut and his head was full of swollen knots, bruises, cuts, and one big fat lip. Pair that with a broken collar bone.

Bonz told me about this kid.

Behind the Shield

This week...I will tell you a secret on how Fargo managed to get the best police training...bar none...
It might involve this. It might not. This was my last g-ride...assigned as my take home vehicle. I called it my go fast vehicle.

It might involve this. It might not. And yes...these were sent to me. Is he soliciting, bragging, or enticing? Or none of those. Maybe he is antagonizing or challenging me. To what? You might ask.
One thing is for sure...you might be surprised. Fargo might have some 'splaining to do. However, the story is not gross, nor will it disappoint you. It's not illegal or immoral. It might have some sadness, but lots of coolness. At least in my eyes, and that doesn't say much since you read SKM. LOL.
It's not your usual police story.
And no one knows. Why? Because I have kept this secret for many years.

Alligators and See You Laters

The live band outside was booming for just a second as the door opened and closed. I looked up from watering the plants. It was the other noise that attracted my attention. I could hear the rhythmic thump of a can on the grainery floor. Two older gentlemen came down the wooden boardwalk and stepped  into the grinding room where the plants, garden statuary, and home d├ęcor was in abundance.

I greeted them with a smile and they smiled back and started asking about the history of the building. We chatted for some time and as more people entered the shop, they scurried on their way to look around at the sale items.

Time passed and I had gotten busy at the register. The old man came slowly up to the antique display counter and put the sign up on the top for me to acknowledge his intent to purchase it.

"Did you find yourself a keeper there?" I asked him. His friend smiled at me. The old man looked up at me and patted the wooden sign. "I have to have this, " he said. I told him it was one of my favorites in the store and he had very good taste. "It's more than that to me, " he said, "It's for my daughter. She is going to get this as a gift. I would tell you the story as to why, but then I would cry and make myself a fool."

I told him no one in my shop was a fool, but I respected his choice not to tell him. He put the money on the counter and while I was getting his change, he told me the story...and he spoke much more and was so mesmerizing that I can't capture it here. Here is the jist of what he said...

"Mam, I will probably cry and I am sorry for that, coming from an old fool. My daughter lost her childhood friend when she was 10 and it was a tragedy that haunts her memory to this day. When they were kids they would laugh and laugh and bid each other ado with, 'see you later alligator' at the end of each day. This sign has 'see you later alligator' on it. See? Right here. And it's about good bye to your friends."

The old man took 20 minutes to tell that story because while he cried and spoke, the tears were running down my face. Pretty soon all the customers had gathered round to listen. They all wiped tears when he was finished.

ME: Thank you for sharing that story. You really made my day. And your daughter is going to appreciate it and she has a wonderful father.

He and his friend wiped their tears, and tipped their hats to me and left, sign in tow. We all watched them exit out the door and when the jingle was heard, you could hear a pin drop in the old elevator.

See...I get these special moments and then I know I am at the right place in my life because I am supposed to be here.