Evidence 101

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







Monday, July 15, 2013

The Kid

Bonz started to describe a white male, early twenties. He went on and on how the kid has never been defeated in street fighting. Bonz said the kid had his respect and he would never mess with him. In fact, Bonz had put out the word to leave the kid alone or deal with Bonz. He wouldn't tell me his name. He wouldn't tell me where to find him, where he lived. I thought he might be my suspect in an aggravated assault case which had led me to Bonz in the first place.

I held up my victim and asked Bonz if that was the "kid" he was speaking of, thinking maybe my victim was Bonz's suspect. Bonz shook his head and laughed. He told me the picture was Eddy and he wouldn't talk about it, but he "guessed" he got what he deserved because he didn't pay his bill.

Well, obviously my aggravated assault was just what I had suspected at the hospital...a drug deal gone bad. No wonder the victim wasn't cooperating and I was pretty sure I was talking to my suspect. Now all I could do was pass along the information to investigations and put the squeeze on the street in hopes to get someone to rat out Bonz.

I worked my snitches to find this kid because he must be a monster to take on Bonz and win. I never found him. Instead, he found me.

We often park with our backs against the wall, so to speak, and write reports, keeping alert of the surrounding area and ready to roll out code if we should have an emergency. One of the more common areas in AREA 51 (area 2 where I worked) was for us to go to Hobby Lobby. We had other better places, but when it was busy, this was the best getaway location.

An old Bronco rolled up and shut it's lights off about 50 feet from me which alerted my attention. He lit a cigarette and I couldn't make out much detail of his face but I could see he was younger. After eyeballing him for some time, I pulled in behind him and lit him up like a Christmas tree. After all, the PoPo usually like to shut down the stalker types and I definitely didn't feel like waiting around for an ambush.

I approached the driver. He had a shaved head, wife beater, tattoos, and was sitting there calmly handing me his driver's license while he smoked his cigarette. Great. A cocky kid, just what I needed. I asked him what he was doing. He said I was getting complacent and I should be more careful where I parked. That sent the creeper radars up and so there began my interrogation. He was clean. No record. By the time I put him through the ringer and got the standard dumb answers, he told me I could quit looking for him.

At that moment, I knew who he was. I asked him what his thing was. Drugs? Burglaries?

He told me he didn't do drugs, nor did he sell them. However, everyone on the street thought he did so he kept it at that because they left him alone. He said he had never been arrested and never intended to. I asked him about the fights. I also mentioned he was pretty wiry to be a "big tough guy" and to take down Bonz, I asked what his secret was. Ric laughed at me and said I had no idea what his capabilities were and no one could beat him.

Ric told me he learned how to fight in the streets of Detroit and Kalamazoo, Michigan. He had a hard-core felon mom and an alcoholic abusive step-father. He had nothing to do with his real father because he was a pill popper and lived out of state. Once he came here, his mom lived in the ghetto as they always did. In Michigan they were the only white family in a black ghetto neighborhood. Ric told me all the thugs in the neighborhood started giving him trouble because he was new. They all tried to fight him, so he let them. Then, when they started the fight, he would finish it.

Bonz had been knocked out when Ric reacted to Bonz' first punch. Ric said "the big man" fell hard and he didn't have to do much to him. His story was much less bravado than the one Bonz and his cronies told me. I suspected Ric didn't really want to beef up the story and downplayed everything. Maybe he thought he would get in trouble with the police lady.

Ric flicked his cigarette out of the driver's seat and asked permission to leave. I told him he was free to leave. He told me to stop looking for him and leave him alone. I will always remember how he ended our conversation, "You are much prettier than they told me, copper."

With that, he drove off. Our street relationship was only beginning on that day.

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