Saturday, August 8, 2009

Fakin' The Funk or Get Outta Jail By Playing Sick

A few months ago (try early August 2009) I get a call of a vandalism / trespass suspect at a local hotel on Century Blvd. It is still early in the day, around 1100 hours, so we head over to try and handle the call quickly and move on. I figure it is probably some panhandler or some guest at the hotel who broke something.

Well, wrong, wrong, and wrong again. When we get there, turns out the guy is in custody in the security office. Apparently, he is a FREQUENT panhandler at the location. So much so that they have photographed him and ordered him to stay away. But, sensible guy that he is, do you think he listened? NO! I mean, this is a down economy! A guy has to work hard for the money, right?

This goofball, he's sitting on the floor, complaining that the handcuffs are one too tight and everything else. So we switch cuffs and run him for warrants. Surprise, surprise, surprise, as Gomer Pyle used to say, he's wanted for a bunch of stuff. Time for this hobo to go-go. He's no kid, been arrested before, he knows the dance. But that doesn't keep him from begging the whole way to the police station about letting him get a break, and letting him go and on and on and on and "Dude, be quiet. You sound like one of my kids. Stop whining and act like a man! Go to jail, clear your warrants, you'll be out in a few. You got more time than money."

We get him to the station, get the paperwork ready to book, everything is signed...suddenly it's Academy Award time. I mean, this guy fakes the funk with the best of them. Chest pains, arm pains, my head hurts, I need a doctor....all bull. But this is LAPD! We call this guy an ambulance and LA Fire Dept has to transport Defendant Dumbass to a contract hospital to clear him for booking.

Did I mention that my "rookie" partner used to be Los Angeles County Sheriff's Jailer? We did everything we could to keep from laughing at this guy at the hospital. His act was about as transparent as the wrap you put over the leftovers. He refused tests (because they would obviously show he was full of it...full of $@#*) and even began to talk slower and rasp his voice. At one point I think we even clapped for his performance. He was fake-dying with the best of them. And yet, we treated him courteously, the doctors treated him courteously and professionally- even though he was an idiot. But whenever the doctors left, he told my partner and I in a perfectly pain-free, unstressed, totally coherent voice, "Fuck you guys, I ain't going to no fuckin' jail and you can't make me." This went on for awhile. And then he said he wanted to make a complaint about the service.

I had enough. I called a supervisor, because that's what we do. Thank you Consent Decree. The supervisor, an experienced and respected field veteran of over 20 years, came to my aid and I filled said expert in on the details. We all went in, left the door open, the suspect said (on tape) that he had no complaint against any of us, that we had been fair to him, but he didn't want to go to jail. Then, in the interest of gathering information about any possible misconduct by officers, the supervisor made my partner and I leave the room.

The door closed.
A minute elapsed.
The door opened.
The supervisor had a smile.
"Everything's OK guys! He'll go to jail, no more problems."
The supervisor patted us on the back. "Good job today."
The supervisor left the hospital.
The arrestee was suddenly healed, friendly and happy.
We transported him to 77th Jail for booking without further incident.

Don't let anyone tell you that experience doesn't count. They don't have the experience and they don't count.


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