Stepped outside tonight and it was cold. Billowy, puffy clouds with a full dose of moonlight that you see in the wintertime. Crisp. Cold. But it takes me back to another time. Back when I was a "boot", as we say in LAPD parlance, a rookie police officer.
I was learning the ropes, about 6 or 7 months in on Morning Watch in Harbor Division. I was working with a great training officer, call her Officer Trapper. I really liked her because she was tough and got the job done, but was big enough to admit if she was wrong. In your short time as a boot, you have to learn quickly. Learn how to handle yourself, your reports, your time allotted to complete a task. Learn the codes, the violations, the intersections, the crime problem areas. The look of the fool. The transients. The gangster out on the street looking at you. The potential victims, out roaming the streets, unknowing to the peril they may invite upon themselves.
There was a spot. A shitbag 10-unit type apartment building on the Southeast corner behind a Rally's at Western and Lomita. The place was up for grabs. Based on calls and the jerkoffs running around near there, the narco activity was probable. I had just never seen anyone caught there. Yet.
So, of course, we get a call. It's the typical call late in the evening. Narcotics suspect at the location. Full description, male black, braids, multi-colored sweater selling narco from the rear alley or courtyard.
What people don't know is that here, in the most under-policed big city in America, this call comes out tooooooo frequently. Oftentimes (well maybe just sometimes) it is the bullshit last-resort call of an apartment resident or manager who has had enough of some young ne'er do well boyfriend or paramour of a resident who hangs out too often at the location.
Not so in this case. My TO (Training Officer) explains the necessity for caution with such a call as we roll that way. She goes over the tactics and how we should best approach such a situation. She advised me of the options; approach from the alley, park nearby and walk up, park at the Rally's and walk in. Nothing's perfect. A plan in hand, we go Code 6 (At Scene) from the parking lot at the Rally's and walk in the front of the complex.
Aforementioned and described narco suspect, description to a T is in the courtyard. We know why we're there. He knows why he's there. And he damn sure knows why we're there lookin' his way.
About 4-5 residents in the courtyard scatter into their respective apartments. He heads towards a nearby stairway to the upstairs units.
It's just us and him. My TO gives the orders. "Get your hand up! Stop right there!" Shit, I think, he's already moved to the high ground. There's two of us, we can outgun him, but he is moving away and could barricade himself into an apartment, dump whatever narco he has in a toilet. Voila. Case closed.
Now for those of you who are uninitiated, never fired a gun, never had to draw out on anyone or anything, there is a little phrase. It's called "clear leather." Cop Dictionary- Clear Leather: Verb, the action of removing one's service pistol from the duty holster during a tactical situation. Refers to the movement of clearing the muzzle of the weapon from the typically leather holster utilized to safely secure said firearm, when a situation has arisen that could reasonably lead up to and including serious bodily injury or death.
She gives the order to comply again but this guy looks at us and keeps walking up the stairs, purposely refusing to comply. He looks right at us like "You ain't shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!" I hear and see my TO clear leather with her Beretta. Shit! As I hear it, I'm drawing out, clearly aware now that this guy is not following the rules. Here we are with our guns out, we got this guy dead bang and he doesn't fucking care, I think.
Suddenly, my partner yells. "Stop right there or we'll fucking shoot you!" HE STOPS. We slowly walk up the stairs, her in front, me tracking this guy with my Beretta at the low-ready position.
He's stopped but facing away from us on the 2nd level catwalk. His hands are down near his sides. He won't put them up.
"Get your hands up!" The Trapper says. He is facing away and hesitates. He must have something....."Put your hands up or we're gonna dump your ass!" she says. We are allowed to use street slang and cursing in tactical situations that require it for shock and awe purposes to get the job done and we do it.
My Training Officer holds this fool at gunpoint as I hook him up with a set of stainless steel jewelry and search him. What's he holding? Some marijuana and a Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum with a 6-inch barrel. How do I know? Oh, I know. My dad carried the Highway Patrolman Model 28 for years from 1974 until about 1988 or '89 when his department switched to the Beretta 9mm.
In custody. Booked. I later find out that gun is loaded with hollow points. I look at each bullet before I book the gun. The nose of the bullet is hollow. These are special. They have a protruding pin inside the hollow nose.
Shit.
That would have hurt.
Back to jail, asshole. We won this one today.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Thursday, June 3, 2010
A Good Week?
Sooooo following the little drama from my previous post with the Amber Alert, I still had to work the remainder of Memorial Day weekend. In total, it was a four-day stretch of 12-hour shifts.
Well, I'm happy to be employed. And it ended up being a better week than I thought. The day after the Amber Alert caper, I worked with another probationary officer. We had a routine day on Saturday, for the most part. We were volunteered to transport some juvenile shooting incident arrestee to Sylmar Juvenile Detention Center, right out of roll call.
A word on that. While up there dropping this young idiot off, I spoke with a great guy who was on the last few days of a 38-year career as a Los Angeles County Probation Officer. Despite the guys cheery disposition (he is retiring after all) we processed our guy and he walked us out with some serious conversation. Here is thing. After a career spent mostly in the field, he eventually hung it up to work at The Hall because political correctness in all its ugliest forms had finally come to take over his job.
Why, there was a time when this Probation Officer was working the field and on his recommendation alone a kid would get violated and receive boot camp, hall time, whatever. But in this day and age, he told me, all we do is tell you officers "Cite 'em and release 'em." It made him sick. Two 16-year-old boys break into your house, disable the alarm, steal all your stuff and get caught down the street by the cops. Cite and release. This is police vernacular for a citation with a court date to follow. The juvenile offender is then released to the "responsible party" i.e. the knucklehead parent that couldn't keep them off the streets to begin with.
He related a story of a juvenile who had been involved in a drive-by shooting in the valley. The victim gets shot in the head, lives, but a good bleeder with a cracked skull. It could have killed him. This idiot suspect kid gets caught on a Friday, let's say, booked into the Juvenile Hall that night, his probation violated, the Probation Officer writes his report and heads home for the weekend.
The PO gets a phone call at home a couple days later. Y'know, conversation goes something like this:
LAPD Detective on phone: Hey buddy, this is Detective Moe Lasses from Valley Division, handling that attempt murder case with the drive-by gangster kid. We're filing a case on him and want to interview him, but your Juvenile Hall can't find him in the system....
Old-Timer PO: What the hell? I just put that kid in on Friday! Today is Monday! He got booked into The Hall for attempt murder! Let me make some calls...
The PO proceeds to call records and intake at The Hall and guess what? Cited and released. The Hall was too full, his supervisor decided. This kid ain't going anywhere. Put him back out on the street. You can only imagine how mad that PO was when he heard it. Well, long story short, he's retired by now and I wish him the best.
Drove around, handled a few radio calls after that. Last call of the day comes. Possible Male 5150 WIC (Male subject suffering from mental disorder). Comments say he has been put on a 72-hour hold before and is causing problems for his mom and dad. He's in his mid-twenties and has not been taking meds.
Well, we get there and the parents are in their early 50's. The subject is their son and he CLEARLY has a learning disability of some sort. Mom confirms he has autism and has been in full time board and care-type facilities since he was 16 years old. Worst thing he did today, though, was throw his clothing around because he couldn't find his underwear. That and being another victim.
He's a victim of being kicked out of the facility he was in over in the South End that got closed abruptly due to a state licensing investigation. He's a victim of being born with autism. He's a victim of being born into a middle class family that loves him and followed all the rules and did what they were told by teachers, counselors, the court, the Regional Center, the City, the County, etc. all to no avail and their son suffers and their health suffers because they can't adequately care for him.
And do you know what it means to realize you've tried every damn thing, you followed the rules and you can't even take care of the only kid you had? When you realized the responsible thing to do was not have anymore kids because they might be handicapped in some way too? When you have to sign your kid away to a full-time care facility because you already had a heart attack and your husband has a stroke risk because of the stress of taking care of your only child?
Geez. This kid isn't a 5150. He's mentally challenged. And how the hell do me and my partner fix in 30 minutes a situation that took 25 years to get to this? No one has been able to come up with a long-term solution. The parents are snipping at each other, but you could tell they were at their wits end. They looked like World War I trench fighters; shell-shocked, dazed, lost in the haze. I told them that a 5150 hold wasn't a long-term solution. I told them what I knew about children with developmental disabilities, from personal experience. I tried to put them at ease and told them I would try to help them with some sort of solution.
But you know what? They told me another officer had helped them two days prior. And they knew his name. And they liked him. And he was working so I got him over the air and he showed up with his partner, a senior officer. Well, we all noodled over this problem and finally the other training officer suggested we call County Adult Protective Services as they might be able to assist in starting a case and finding some kind of full-time care for this guy.
Their son was in his mid-twenties. Due to his developmental disability, he had slightly slurred speech but you could understand every word he said. And he understood we were attempting to reconcile his fate. Several times while we were there, he was sitting in a chair in the living room saying, "Mom and Dad....I be good. I'll take my medicine. I sorry....I sorry... I be good." His dad said to me, "Do you know what it's like to have a kid so big, but he's like a baby? Like a baby? But with that strength like a big guy?"
Yeah. Yeah, I know.
"Thank you officers, so much, for helping us. Thank you." These parents had shown me at least 12 business cards from neighboring police divisions and agencies - from Sergeants to Detectives to Officers in the field. I know each one of those people tried. And so did I...
Talked to the County Social Worker handling the case....he is hopeful they can help out that family.
Yeah, that's another good day.
Well, I'm happy to be employed. And it ended up being a better week than I thought. The day after the Amber Alert caper, I worked with another probationary officer. We had a routine day on Saturday, for the most part. We were volunteered to transport some juvenile shooting incident arrestee to Sylmar Juvenile Detention Center, right out of roll call.
A word on that. While up there dropping this young idiot off, I spoke with a great guy who was on the last few days of a 38-year career as a Los Angeles County Probation Officer. Despite the guys cheery disposition (he is retiring after all) we processed our guy and he walked us out with some serious conversation. Here is thing. After a career spent mostly in the field, he eventually hung it up to work at The Hall because political correctness in all its ugliest forms had finally come to take over his job.
Why, there was a time when this Probation Officer was working the field and on his recommendation alone a kid would get violated and receive boot camp, hall time, whatever. But in this day and age, he told me, all we do is tell you officers "Cite 'em and release 'em." It made him sick. Two 16-year-old boys break into your house, disable the alarm, steal all your stuff and get caught down the street by the cops. Cite and release. This is police vernacular for a citation with a court date to follow. The juvenile offender is then released to the "responsible party" i.e. the knucklehead parent that couldn't keep them off the streets to begin with.
He related a story of a juvenile who had been involved in a drive-by shooting in the valley. The victim gets shot in the head, lives, but a good bleeder with a cracked skull. It could have killed him. This idiot suspect kid gets caught on a Friday, let's say, booked into the Juvenile Hall that night, his probation violated, the Probation Officer writes his report and heads home for the weekend.
The PO gets a phone call at home a couple days later. Y'know, conversation goes something like this:
LAPD Detective on phone: Hey buddy, this is Detective Moe Lasses from Valley Division, handling that attempt murder case with the drive-by gangster kid. We're filing a case on him and want to interview him, but your Juvenile Hall can't find him in the system....
Old-Timer PO: What the hell? I just put that kid in on Friday! Today is Monday! He got booked into The Hall for attempt murder! Let me make some calls...
The PO proceeds to call records and intake at The Hall and guess what? Cited and released. The Hall was too full, his supervisor decided. This kid ain't going anywhere. Put him back out on the street. You can only imagine how mad that PO was when he heard it. Well, long story short, he's retired by now and I wish him the best.
Drove around, handled a few radio calls after that. Last call of the day comes. Possible Male 5150 WIC (Male subject suffering from mental disorder). Comments say he has been put on a 72-hour hold before and is causing problems for his mom and dad. He's in his mid-twenties and has not been taking meds.
Well, we get there and the parents are in their early 50's. The subject is their son and he CLEARLY has a learning disability of some sort. Mom confirms he has autism and has been in full time board and care-type facilities since he was 16 years old. Worst thing he did today, though, was throw his clothing around because he couldn't find his underwear. That and being another victim.
He's a victim of being kicked out of the facility he was in over in the South End that got closed abruptly due to a state licensing investigation. He's a victim of being born with autism. He's a victim of being born into a middle class family that loves him and followed all the rules and did what they were told by teachers, counselors, the court, the Regional Center, the City, the County, etc. all to no avail and their son suffers and their health suffers because they can't adequately care for him.
And do you know what it means to realize you've tried every damn thing, you followed the rules and you can't even take care of the only kid you had? When you realized the responsible thing to do was not have anymore kids because they might be handicapped in some way too? When you have to sign your kid away to a full-time care facility because you already had a heart attack and your husband has a stroke risk because of the stress of taking care of your only child?
Geez. This kid isn't a 5150. He's mentally challenged. And how the hell do me and my partner fix in 30 minutes a situation that took 25 years to get to this? No one has been able to come up with a long-term solution. The parents are snipping at each other, but you could tell they were at their wits end. They looked like World War I trench fighters; shell-shocked, dazed, lost in the haze. I told them that a 5150 hold wasn't a long-term solution. I told them what I knew about children with developmental disabilities, from personal experience. I tried to put them at ease and told them I would try to help them with some sort of solution.
But you know what? They told me another officer had helped them two days prior. And they knew his name. And they liked him. And he was working so I got him over the air and he showed up with his partner, a senior officer. Well, we all noodled over this problem and finally the other training officer suggested we call County Adult Protective Services as they might be able to assist in starting a case and finding some kind of full-time care for this guy.
Their son was in his mid-twenties. Due to his developmental disability, he had slightly slurred speech but you could understand every word he said. And he understood we were attempting to reconcile his fate. Several times while we were there, he was sitting in a chair in the living room saying, "Mom and Dad....I be good. I'll take my medicine. I sorry....I sorry... I be good." His dad said to me, "Do you know what it's like to have a kid so big, but he's like a baby? Like a baby? But with that strength like a big guy?"
Yeah. Yeah, I know.
"Thank you officers, so much, for helping us. Thank you." These parents had shown me at least 12 business cards from neighboring police divisions and agencies - from Sergeants to Detectives to Officers in the field. I know each one of those people tried. And so did I...
Talked to the County Social Worker handling the case....he is hopeful they can help out that family.
Yeah, that's another good day.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Today Was a Good Day.
Running sort of late driving in after my first day back from 4 days off. Saw two notices for an Amber Alert...child abducted, suspect vehicle 95 Jeep Cherokee, license 4AXJ....crap. Passed it. Mental note, that. Must get to work and get changed.
I was assigned a rookie but we were assigned a Z-Car. No radio calls, just directed patrol at the beach to prevent idiot gangster problems. And the rookie doesn't need ratings, he is past that phase of training. (Thanks, God!) Met with the Z-Car sergeant, formed a plan of action to target the beach - Zero Tolerance. All Z-Car units have a hasty breakfast and head out into the Memorial Weekend Saturday morning.
We wrote some tickets, some moving violations and parking tickets and had some fun.
Around 2:30 pm, we responded to a Code 3 radio call of a vehicle wanted from an Amber Alert. You know, the message boards broadcast on the freeway with child abduction and suspect vehicle information. Well, guess what? A citizen saw the alert on the freeway, looked over two lanes and THERE IT WAS. She called it in to CHP and stayed on the line as she was transferred to LAPD dispatch.
And the chase was on. We had Z-Cars, patrol units, bike units, beach units, loaned units from Wilshire Division, everyone in the world enroute to this vehicle as the broadcast progressed from the 90 freeway westbound to Lincoln Blvd. The caller relayed the suspect vehicle information. Southbound Lincoln past Admiralty...past Fiji Way...Units, including myself, are responding Code 3 from all over the west side of the division. Continuing south past the Culver tunnel....approaching Jefferson Blvd.
We all caught up to it at the same time. Dispatch said, "PR (caller) sees officers. Suspect vehicle is in front of you, black cherokee. I look over to my left...two cars over and one car ahead there it is....stopped at the light.
Is she gonna run when the light turns? Will this become a pursuit back to Newport Beach where the drama started?
The light facing southbound Lincoln Blvd at Jefferson Blvd has never seemed this long.
Green light! She's on the move. Everyone has sirens on as we converge around the vehicle. All other traffic stays back as we fan on the roadway. She goes about 100 yards and pulls over to the right. She knows.
It's over. Whatever she had planned, whatever escape she had formed to take her daughter away from the rest of the world, it had failed. It was over.
She exited the vehicle with officer's guns drawn at her back, from a distance. The felony stop and prone we call it. She is compliant and follows all our orders. We can see movement in the back seat of the vehicle. A car seat. Officers clear the vehicle and take the suspect into custody. More officers recover the little girl from the backseat. Crisis over. All well with the world. Amber Alert works.
Thanks to a sharp-eyed citizen, we were able to do what we need to do. We can't do it without that support. We can do so much with the citizens behind us. And today, it worked beautifully.
And I wrote some more tickets, and went to a backup and got off on time.
And little Symphony Sarah Aiton will be safe and sound.
http://www.latimes.com/news/local/crime/la-me-child-found-20100530,0,6060396.story
I was assigned a rookie but we were assigned a Z-Car. No radio calls, just directed patrol at the beach to prevent idiot gangster problems. And the rookie doesn't need ratings, he is past that phase of training. (Thanks, God!) Met with the Z-Car sergeant, formed a plan of action to target the beach - Zero Tolerance. All Z-Car units have a hasty breakfast and head out into the Memorial Weekend Saturday morning.
We wrote some tickets, some moving violations and parking tickets and had some fun.
Around 2:30 pm, we responded to a Code 3 radio call of a vehicle wanted from an Amber Alert. You know, the message boards broadcast on the freeway with child abduction and suspect vehicle information. Well, guess what? A citizen saw the alert on the freeway, looked over two lanes and THERE IT WAS. She called it in to CHP and stayed on the line as she was transferred to LAPD dispatch.
And the chase was on. We had Z-Cars, patrol units, bike units, beach units, loaned units from Wilshire Division, everyone in the world enroute to this vehicle as the broadcast progressed from the 90 freeway westbound to Lincoln Blvd. The caller relayed the suspect vehicle information. Southbound Lincoln past Admiralty...past Fiji Way...Units, including myself, are responding Code 3 from all over the west side of the division. Continuing south past the Culver tunnel....approaching Jefferson Blvd.
We all caught up to it at the same time. Dispatch said, "PR (caller) sees officers. Suspect vehicle is in front of you, black cherokee. I look over to my left...two cars over and one car ahead there it is....stopped at the light.
Is she gonna run when the light turns? Will this become a pursuit back to Newport Beach where the drama started?
The light facing southbound Lincoln Blvd at Jefferson Blvd has never seemed this long.
Green light! She's on the move. Everyone has sirens on as we converge around the vehicle. All other traffic stays back as we fan on the roadway. She goes about 100 yards and pulls over to the right. She knows.
It's over. Whatever she had planned, whatever escape she had formed to take her daughter away from the rest of the world, it had failed. It was over.
She exited the vehicle with officer's guns drawn at her back, from a distance. The felony stop and prone we call it. She is compliant and follows all our orders. We can see movement in the back seat of the vehicle. A car seat. Officers clear the vehicle and take the suspect into custody. More officers recover the little girl from the backseat. Crisis over. All well with the world. Amber Alert works.
Thanks to a sharp-eyed citizen, we were able to do what we need to do. We can't do it without that support. We can do so much with the citizens behind us. And today, it worked beautifully.
And I wrote some more tickets, and went to a backup and got off on time.
And little Symphony Sarah Aiton will be safe and sound.
http://www.latimes.com/news/local/crime/la-me-child-found-20100530,0,6060396.story
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Schedules, Days Off and Other Monsters
Sorry I haven't posted in sooooo long, but it has been crazy!
Ever ask your wife what days off she wants you to have about 1 hour before submitting your schedule? Oh sure, you may have talked about Timmy's baseball game or Jenny's soccer game, or the doctor's appointment or whatever...but honey, what days do you want me to ask for?
Ever ask your wife what days off she wants you to have about 1 hour before submitting your schedule? Oh sure, you may have talked about Timmy's baseball game or Jenny's soccer game, or the doctor's appointment or whatever...but honey, what days do you want me to ask for?
Well guess what? It doesn't matter. Because no matter what you ask for, it will get royally F*&$ed up beyond any recognition by the time you get the approved schedule back. And it isn't your fault. And it isn't even the sergeant's fault. Sure you asked for the right days, but with Maximum and Heavy Deployment days, citizen protests, training days, court, Memorial Day, etc........good luck.
Don't know what a Max Deployment or Heavy Deployment day is? Well, let me tell you. This is a day that you can't get off because they need EVERYONE to work. Like July 4th. Or Memorial Day weekend...that's right, the whole damn weekend. Or 9/11. Or Cinco De Mayo. Or Labor Day...aaaah, Labor Day. Where I stood directing traffic in the hot sun for about 8 hours at Vista Del Mar and Imperial Highway as Joe Citizen, his wife, three kids, toy poodle and cooler full of snacks breezes up to my car at 3 in the afternoon and ask, "Are there any parking spots left at the beach?" Really? Really.
And god forbid this agency come into the 1990's and use software to make the schedule based on haves/needs/seniority/requests/etc. It's much more cost-effective to take a highly-trained field sergeant OUT OF THE FIELD for a day to work on the schedule for the guys on his shift. Let's see, (1 sergeant per watch) X ( 4 watches ) X (5 hrs. time wasted minimum) = 20 hours of lost sergeant time...and this kind of nonsense is just the tip of the iceberg in terms of time WASTED and LOST at LAPD.
And god forbid this agency come into the 1990's and use software to make the schedule based on haves/needs/seniority/requests/etc. It's much more cost-effective to take a highly-trained field sergeant OUT OF THE FIELD for a day to work on the schedule for the guys on his shift. Let's see, (1 sergeant per watch) X ( 4 watches ) X (5 hrs. time wasted minimum) = 20 hours of lost sergeant time...and this kind of nonsense is just the tip of the iceberg in terms of time WASTED and LOST at LAPD.
But this is the best part. Doesn't matter whether you're a guy or girl, this applies. Rest assured, when the schedule is printed, signed, approved, and the sergeant did everything he or she could to help you out - someone in your house won't like it!
That's right. You'll get all the days they wanted you to get, but when you have 4-5 day stretch of days off, (what seems like a mini-vacation) your husband will be out of town on business. Or your girlfriend will be studying for finals. Or little Johnny has an out of state hockey tournament and you have to take the team. Or it's that time of the month - every day. Or your mother-in-law comes to visit. The dog needs a hip replacement. Little Susie's pet iguana dies. The house has to be tented for termites. The batmobile gets a flat tire. God has a funny way of testing our patience!
But in the end, you'll still get a few hours where the kids aren't around and you can sit in the garage watching old Adam-12 episodes on DVD, drinking a cold one on a Tuesday night. All you can do is laugh about it, and I'm happy to be employed. I feel like one of the lucky ones.
Be safe out there.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Where's my handcuffs?
Yes, we love our guns and knives and shiny toys. But the one item that can drive coppers crazy is handcuffs. You lose them, you are lost. "Sure," you say, "But aren't those things in a nice case on your belt?" Yes, but when they come out, all hell breaks loose. What body are they on? Did you get them back to me? Are those my 'cuffs?" and on and on and on. Those little devils are a trial and a tribulation.
Case in point, I'm now into the second month working with this particular probationary officer. She and I make our merry way through the city, going to radio calls and solving problems. And we take people to jail. Yesterday (January 22, 2010) we transported a 5150 female (female with mental illness) to the hospital for evaluation and treatment. My partner proceeds to explain how these new handcuffs are great! Better than the last ones she had, which went the way of the dodo.
Yes, the old Peerless Model 700s. Great handcuffs: http://www.peerless.net/tl_files/content/pdf/M700.pdf Look at them, they are beautiful.
Come today and we transport an intoxicated young adult from the local college. Yup, when your probably double the limit at 0700 hours...not good. But this kid was mellow. Partner hooked him up and we later transported from our station to 77th Jail.
A thing about jail. Even cops have to take off their guns and toys. It's just safer. So all those cop shows and movies where coppers go inside the jail with their gun? BOWL SHEET. Which means I have no collapsible baton...Which means I have no place to put the excess handcuffs from my partner once I unhook our body. Can't hook them on my baton, I 'll put them...
Later on at night, we have another body, a forgery arrest. Midway through her report, my partner laments , "I can't find those new handcuffs. I know I had them this morning on the way to 77th Jail. What happened?
ME: "Did you check the car?"
PARTNER: "I'll go look around." She proceeds to check our vehicle, her locker, the parking lot, the last desk she used last night. "Can't find them, they're gone. I looked everywhere."
ME: "Now let's retrace our steps. You had them this morning..."
PARTNER: "I hooked up that drunk guy for 77th. They were on him. We searched him here, you took them off, I ran him and did the booking paperwork....
ME: Right, well, I hooked him back up to go to 77th. We took him there, walked him into the dispensary (medical check) and...
Suddenly I felt pinch in my back pocket...I stood up, reached into my right rear pocket..
ME: And here they are!
PARTNER: HAHAHA just like that! What was that? Magic? You had them the whole time!
ME: Yeah! But I had to retrace my steps to discover that. See, we needed to conduct our investigation.....
Case in point, I'm now into the second month working with this particular probationary officer. She and I make our merry way through the city, going to radio calls and solving problems. And we take people to jail. Yesterday (January 22, 2010) we transported a 5150 female (female with mental illness) to the hospital for evaluation and treatment. My partner proceeds to explain how these new handcuffs are great! Better than the last ones she had, which went the way of the dodo.
Yes, the old Peerless Model 700s. Great handcuffs: http://www.peerless.net/tl_files/content/pdf/M700.pdf Look at them, they are beautiful.
Come today and we transport an intoxicated young adult from the local college. Yup, when your probably double the limit at 0700 hours...not good. But this kid was mellow. Partner hooked him up and we later transported from our station to 77th Jail.
A thing about jail. Even cops have to take off their guns and toys. It's just safer. So all those cop shows and movies where coppers go inside the jail with their gun? BOWL SHEET. Which means I have no collapsible baton...Which means I have no place to put the excess handcuffs from my partner once I unhook our body. Can't hook them on my baton, I 'll put them...
Later on at night, we have another body, a forgery arrest. Midway through her report, my partner laments , "I can't find those new handcuffs. I know I had them this morning on the way to 77th Jail. What happened?
ME: "Did you check the car?"
PARTNER: "I'll go look around." She proceeds to check our vehicle, her locker, the parking lot, the last desk she used last night. "Can't find them, they're gone. I looked everywhere."
ME: "Now let's retrace our steps. You had them this morning..."
PARTNER: "I hooked up that drunk guy for 77th. They were on him. We searched him here, you took them off, I ran him and did the booking paperwork....
ME: Right, well, I hooked him back up to go to 77th. We took him there, walked him into the dispensary (medical check) and...
Suddenly I felt pinch in my back pocket...I stood up, reached into my right rear pocket..
ME: And here they are!
PARTNER: HAHAHA just like that! What was that? Magic? You had them the whole time!
ME: Yeah! But I had to retrace my steps to discover that. See, we needed to conduct our investigation.....
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
An Oldie But a Goodie
This is for my friend and mentor, the Angel of Death. Thanks for always pointing me in the right direction even if you don't know it.
So I'm a young P-II dog as we call it, or a regular police officer. Slick sleeves. No stripes, no hashmarks on the sleeve to show any kind of rank or noticeable time on the job yet. I'm out there trying to make my bones. I'm working a specialized Z car detail in The Jungles, hunting for the bad guys. Z car means we are on special detail (permanent until further notice in this case). The folks in the unit, well, we only handle the calls that come out in the Jungles. No other calls, no nonsense. We drum up our own business and catch what we clean that comes out of our assigned area.
The Jungles. Chief Bratton specifically ordered us to refer to it as "Lower Baldwin Village." But all the locals call it The Jungles. Not because it was particularly overgrown. Not because the population was historically minority, specifically African-American. No. Not because of that.
Because it was once beautiful. A verdant, leafy oasis for working-class folks in the heart of a residential area, bordered by Crenshaw and MLK Blvd. Scant blocks away from where the body of the Black Dahlia was found. A collection of apartments just below the hills of The Dons, The Black Beverly Hills. Apartment living with a pool in the courtyard of every building! Just under one square mile of living close to everything! Minutes from downtown! Minutes to the airport! Flora and fauna as far as the eye could see and the southern crown? Jim Gilliam Park, named after a Negro League and Major League Baseball (Dodgers) player and coach who died to young.
Well...fast forward to 2005. Lower Baldwin Village is now heavily entrenched with Black P-Stone Gangmembers (look it up on wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_P._Stones ) The apartments are mostly Section 8 now. Most of the pools are filled in with concrete, dirt and beer bottles.
I'm working with my longtime partner, we'll call him Jack. Jack and I are wrapping up for the night, about 0100 hours, heading eastbound August toward Santa Rosalia. We see a young male on the south sidewalk, travelling westbound. Riding on the sidewalk. No-no. Cant' do that. And no bike light, either. Bingo. Time for a stop. Could be a gangster. Could be a parolee-at-large. Who knows?
See, that's the fun. Forrest was right. Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get.
So we hook a u-turn and order him to stop. No big deal. I get out. "Hey man, where's your bike light? Lay the bike down." SLAM. HE BOLTS. NORTHBOUND THROUGH THE GATE OF THE APARTMENT BUILDING. OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT, PARTNER....HE'S RUNNING.
I'm on him, three steps back, but I'm on him. He clears the whole courtyard in a few steps. He tries to scale the fence at the rear of the courtyard and I grab his leg, pulling, pulling - DAMN IT! He's over! I rush through the back gate. I'm running behind him westbound through the rear alley. We are flying top speed. CRAP CRAP CRAP! DOES HE HAVE A GUN? IS HE WANTED? WHAT THE HELL? WHERE'S MY PARTNER?
We run the distance of the alley and what the hell have I got? Why is this fool running from me? About 40 of the longest, hardest yards later, this guy turns the corner onto Nicolet and I lose him. I'm thinking...GEEZ I'M OUT OF BREATH FOR NOTHING! WHAT THE HELL! THIS GUY JUST TOOK OFF.
Then I hear a car pulling up next to me. I'm out of breath, suspect is in the wind...I look over to my left...hahaha. It's my partner! Sitting in the passenger side of what looks like a 2000 Honda Accord yelling, "PARTNER, WHICH WAY DID HE GO? WHAT WAS HE WEARING?"
See, Jack, smart guy that he is (and in way better shape then me) sees me run off after the suspect. As the driver, he has to: 1.) Secure our police vehicle by rolling up the windows, locking all doors and removing the keys and 2.) Come after me to lend assistance if needed.
After locking the car, he enters the alley and encounters a resident on his way home from work who yells , " Hey man, your partner went thataway! Hop in! I'll give you a ride."
So Jack, with a couple years as an officer, in full LAPD uniform, with his persuasive style, professional demeanor and in the best interests of his partner........
COMMANDEERS A CITIZEN'S VEHICLE.
Really folks. I can't make this stuff up. They burn around the corner but the suspect is long gone and I am out of breath. And starting to chuckle a little. Then laugh as I catch my breath.
Bad guy got away, but me and Jack! Oh we still laugh over that one. Thanks, partner. You showed me you can get further with a kind word and a badge than with just a kind word.
So I'm a young P-II dog as we call it, or a regular police officer. Slick sleeves. No stripes, no hashmarks on the sleeve to show any kind of rank or noticeable time on the job yet. I'm out there trying to make my bones. I'm working a specialized Z car detail in The Jungles, hunting for the bad guys. Z car means we are on special detail (permanent until further notice in this case). The folks in the unit, well, we only handle the calls that come out in the Jungles. No other calls, no nonsense. We drum up our own business and catch what we clean that comes out of our assigned area.
The Jungles. Chief Bratton specifically ordered us to refer to it as "Lower Baldwin Village." But all the locals call it The Jungles. Not because it was particularly overgrown. Not because the population was historically minority, specifically African-American. No. Not because of that.
Because it was once beautiful. A verdant, leafy oasis for working-class folks in the heart of a residential area, bordered by Crenshaw and MLK Blvd. Scant blocks away from where the body of the Black Dahlia was found. A collection of apartments just below the hills of The Dons, The Black Beverly Hills. Apartment living with a pool in the courtyard of every building! Just under one square mile of living close to everything! Minutes from downtown! Minutes to the airport! Flora and fauna as far as the eye could see and the southern crown? Jim Gilliam Park, named after a Negro League and Major League Baseball (Dodgers) player and coach who died to young.
Well...fast forward to 2005. Lower Baldwin Village is now heavily entrenched with Black P-Stone Gangmembers (look it up on wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_P._Stones ) The apartments are mostly Section 8 now. Most of the pools are filled in with concrete, dirt and beer bottles.
I'm working with my longtime partner, we'll call him Jack. Jack and I are wrapping up for the night, about 0100 hours, heading eastbound August toward Santa Rosalia. We see a young male on the south sidewalk, travelling westbound. Riding on the sidewalk. No-no. Cant' do that. And no bike light, either. Bingo. Time for a stop. Could be a gangster. Could be a parolee-at-large. Who knows?
See, that's the fun. Forrest was right. Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get.
So we hook a u-turn and order him to stop. No big deal. I get out. "Hey man, where's your bike light? Lay the bike down." SLAM. HE BOLTS. NORTHBOUND THROUGH THE GATE OF THE APARTMENT BUILDING. OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT, PARTNER....HE'S RUNNING.
I'm on him, three steps back, but I'm on him. He clears the whole courtyard in a few steps. He tries to scale the fence at the rear of the courtyard and I grab his leg, pulling, pulling - DAMN IT! He's over! I rush through the back gate. I'm running behind him westbound through the rear alley. We are flying top speed. CRAP CRAP CRAP! DOES HE HAVE A GUN? IS HE WANTED? WHAT THE HELL? WHERE'S MY PARTNER?
We run the distance of the alley and what the hell have I got? Why is this fool running from me? About 40 of the longest, hardest yards later, this guy turns the corner onto Nicolet and I lose him. I'm thinking...GEEZ I'M OUT OF BREATH FOR NOTHING! WHAT THE HELL! THIS GUY JUST TOOK OFF.
Then I hear a car pulling up next to me. I'm out of breath, suspect is in the wind...I look over to my left...hahaha. It's my partner! Sitting in the passenger side of what looks like a 2000 Honda Accord yelling, "PARTNER, WHICH WAY DID HE GO? WHAT WAS HE WEARING?"
See, Jack, smart guy that he is (and in way better shape then me) sees me run off after the suspect. As the driver, he has to: 1.) Secure our police vehicle by rolling up the windows, locking all doors and removing the keys and 2.) Come after me to lend assistance if needed.
After locking the car, he enters the alley and encounters a resident on his way home from work who yells , " Hey man, your partner went thataway! Hop in! I'll give you a ride."
So Jack, with a couple years as an officer, in full LAPD uniform, with his persuasive style, professional demeanor and in the best interests of his partner........
COMMANDEERS A CITIZEN'S VEHICLE.
Really folks. I can't make this stuff up. They burn around the corner but the suspect is long gone and I am out of breath. And starting to chuckle a little. Then laugh as I catch my breath.
Bad guy got away, but me and Jack! Oh we still laugh over that one. Thanks, partner. You showed me you can get further with a kind word and a badge than with just a kind word.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
A Day Out for Momma Leads to a Kidnap!
So about 3 months ago, I'm working with this nice probationary officer, about 10 years younger than me. Good guy. Good head on his shoulders and has previous experience working in LA County jails as a jailer. But I will tell you, in the 28 day deployment period we worked together, our car was the ultimate cluster magnet.
Case in point, the call I like to call "Mamma's Day Out!" We respond to a radio call of a missing person from a nursing home / assisted living building not far from the station. Nice place, newer, and all the amenities. On the way, I'm quizzing this officer wtih the standard questions. How do we handle a missing person? What makes it a critical missing? What paperwork do we use? Who should we notify and who shall we notify? And to be honest, he's doing a good job with the answers. He pays attention and asks questions when unsure. So we go inside and meet with a person there, advise the reason of our visit. We're taken upstairs to a "lockdown" area. This must be where they keep the alzheimer patients, dementia residents, etc. Smart. You don't want them to wander off.
Through the course of the interview, we find out that the missing person is about 90 years old, has dementia and is somewhat medically fragile. And guess what? Whoops! They let her adult son (in his 50s) waltz her out of there for lunch! That was yesterday morning.
Crap.
Oh, and she has some money. And her adult daughter and son-in-law live nearby and they are not happy, having been notified by the staff that morning. In addition, Momma has two (thats right, 2) executors to cover her financial and legal rights. One in Nevada (Las Vegas is full of retirees and nursing homes) and one in Los Angeles. And they're not talking to each other. And no one seems to know where Momma is at. But the manager of that floor explains that she is sure, based on the history she knows of this woman's family, that the son took her back to Nevada. The daughter is supposed to be responsible for Momma. The son only comes to visit once a month.
I grab the mike on my radio, "Yeah, let me get another unit and a supervisor to my location." I'm thinking, this could be a bona fide kidnap. We might have to contact the FBI. Supervisor gets there, we determine a little bit more, like, turns out that the daughter has done the same thing about 2 years ago. Snatched Momma from her nursing home in Nevada and brought her here to our sleepy beachside community.
Guess what, folks? It's all about the money. Momma's got it, and in her late stages of life, the kids just want to make sure they get as much of it as they can before she shuffles of this mortal coil. You have to feel sorry for Momma, thinking she's going out to lunch with her darling boy and next thing you know she's on the freeway enroute to Vegas.
Well, we get everyone involved, detectives, notify the watch commander, call a few people for advice and even have the LA legal executor come to the senior home. Guess what? Turns out there was supposed to be hearing the following day! The LA executor was supposed to take over ALL responsibilities for this lady! And now she's gone...surprise-surprise-surprise.
Sidenote: There is one detective who works robbery who came to this call...we know each other from working at another division a few years ago. She sees me and my rookies on a call now and she just starts shaking her head! "Damn, man! Always a cluster with you! Haha. Always have to be some old lady kidnapped, home invasion, aliens coming up the beach type, streets on fire, you chasing someone across town on a unicycle or somethin' when you're around!" And she's right. HAHA. She's right.
Well, turns out that when she calls the executor in Nevada, she pulls no punches and they come correct, if you get my meaning. Telling someone they may be accessory to kidnap sort of causes the information flow to turn from a trickle to a river! Turns out Momma was safe and sound back in a nice nursing home in Vegas. Las Vegas Metro PD was able to confirm it.
And the best part was, for once, patrol officers and supervisors didn't take a single report. Detectives took the ball and ran and told us we could clear the scene. They would handle it as a possible elder abuse. Thanks, guys. That was the best training I could have given my guy and one he won't soon forget.
Back to the car, back on the air, "Show me clear and send me any calls you have holding." I love this job.
Case in point, the call I like to call "Mamma's Day Out!" We respond to a radio call of a missing person from a nursing home / assisted living building not far from the station. Nice place, newer, and all the amenities. On the way, I'm quizzing this officer wtih the standard questions. How do we handle a missing person? What makes it a critical missing? What paperwork do we use? Who should we notify and who shall we notify? And to be honest, he's doing a good job with the answers. He pays attention and asks questions when unsure. So we go inside and meet with a person there, advise the reason of our visit. We're taken upstairs to a "lockdown" area. This must be where they keep the alzheimer patients, dementia residents, etc. Smart. You don't want them to wander off.
Through the course of the interview, we find out that the missing person is about 90 years old, has dementia and is somewhat medically fragile. And guess what? Whoops! They let her adult son (in his 50s) waltz her out of there for lunch! That was yesterday morning.
Crap.
Oh, and she has some money. And her adult daughter and son-in-law live nearby and they are not happy, having been notified by the staff that morning. In addition, Momma has two (thats right, 2) executors to cover her financial and legal rights. One in Nevada (Las Vegas is full of retirees and nursing homes) and one in Los Angeles. And they're not talking to each other. And no one seems to know where Momma is at. But the manager of that floor explains that she is sure, based on the history she knows of this woman's family, that the son took her back to Nevada. The daughter is supposed to be responsible for Momma. The son only comes to visit once a month.
I grab the mike on my radio, "Yeah, let me get another unit and a supervisor to my location." I'm thinking, this could be a bona fide kidnap. We might have to contact the FBI. Supervisor gets there, we determine a little bit more, like, turns out that the daughter has done the same thing about 2 years ago. Snatched Momma from her nursing home in Nevada and brought her here to our sleepy beachside community.
Guess what, folks? It's all about the money. Momma's got it, and in her late stages of life, the kids just want to make sure they get as much of it as they can before she shuffles of this mortal coil. You have to feel sorry for Momma, thinking she's going out to lunch with her darling boy and next thing you know she's on the freeway enroute to Vegas.
Well, we get everyone involved, detectives, notify the watch commander, call a few people for advice and even have the LA legal executor come to the senior home. Guess what? Turns out there was supposed to be hearing the following day! The LA executor was supposed to take over ALL responsibilities for this lady! And now she's gone...surprise-surprise-surprise.
Sidenote: There is one detective who works robbery who came to this call...we know each other from working at another division a few years ago. She sees me and my rookies on a call now and she just starts shaking her head! "Damn, man! Always a cluster with you! Haha. Always have to be some old lady kidnapped, home invasion, aliens coming up the beach type, streets on fire, you chasing someone across town on a unicycle or somethin' when you're around!" And she's right. HAHA. She's right.
Well, turns out that when she calls the executor in Nevada, she pulls no punches and they come correct, if you get my meaning. Telling someone they may be accessory to kidnap sort of causes the information flow to turn from a trickle to a river! Turns out Momma was safe and sound back in a nice nursing home in Vegas. Las Vegas Metro PD was able to confirm it.
And the best part was, for once, patrol officers and supervisors didn't take a single report. Detectives took the ball and ran and told us we could clear the scene. They would handle it as a possible elder abuse. Thanks, guys. That was the best training I could have given my guy and one he won't soon forget.
Back to the car, back on the air, "Show me clear and send me any calls you have holding." I love this job.
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