A Compromising Position 

Undercover Again

Some time later after my initial embarrassment involving trying to pick up strange women (for the good of the department, mind you), another officer and I decided to have another go at it. This time we carefully chose our target-- one we knew well and could more easily walk into a situation of our choosing. A thorn in our side and a pet project of many of the D5 street officers, the woman we would attempt to take off the streets that evening was always soliciting passing cars for money at one particular intersection. What made this so bad was that the location was not in an area where one goes to look for Ladies of the Evening. The motorists she solicited were just trying to get in and out of their neighborhood and were constantly approached from this Group Home regular as she came up with any pathetic story for a few dollars. One would think that after 50 arrests in a relatively short amount of time for various pedestrian violations stemming from panhandling and solicitation, a person may get the message that he or she was not welcome on that corner, or in the City for that matter, doing those sorts of things. And maybe, just maybe, the Justice System would work and the person would move on to more productive endeavors after learning the error of her ways. Not Brenda. No. We could count on seeing her each night. Her warrants for not showing up in court for her misdeeds appeared in the system like clockwork every ten days. Brenda would stand right in the middle of the street by this corner waiting for the cars that had to stop for the light. She would then beg for money, saying her feet hurt and she needed money to get home. Never mind she had been pacing that area for five hours and only lived three blocks away. On the occasion that one would balk initially at just giving her money for nothing, actually sticking around, Brenda would appear to reluctantly suggest an act of prostitution. Surprisingly, she had takers, earning her the reputation of amateur prostitute. It was believed at the time that she had been diagnosed with HIV, which makes solicitation and prostitution in this state a felony.

Now that you can appreciate the background on this individual, you may understand why we wanted to get her off the street. If we could get her charged with the felony, she may be away for more than just a week or so. It was with this mindset that Gordon and I set out to nab Brenda that night. Our District had procured a mini-van recently for undercover purposes. It had tinted windows, a decent stereo system, and was a much more comfortable ride than the metal box on wheels I mentioned during the last escapade. We went about this operation a little differently, perhaps a little wiser, a little braver. Gordon changed into "civies" (his off-duty clothes) and assumed the driver's seat. I kept my uniform on and crouched on the floor behind the rear bench seat. I turned my radio volume down and switched to an unused channel. Several other officers in cruisers would monitor this channel and act on my command. We set out and immediately found Brenda at her familiar corner walking up to another car. The driver was smart and made a right turn as soon as possible. We were now at the red light. "Please, sir. I need a dollar. My kids are hungry."I stay out of sight, listening to every word but unable to see anything. Gordon gets ready for the negotiations. What he was not ready for was this hefty, dirty woman opening up his passenger side door and sitting down next to him. "Can I get a ride, sir?" she asks. Like Gordon has a choice now. We were prepared for this eventuality, however, since the Vice guys usually take down their suspects in this manner all the time. Gordon drives through the neighborhood as Brenda pours on the sob story. Gordon tells her he doesn't just give money for nothing, but Brenda's not biting. In fact, she tells him to let her out-- which he does. We're not worried though. I get on the radio and tell the other officers we're having another go at this. We go around the block and approach Brenda once again. She comes out into the street awaiting the approaching van, as if daring us to hit her. "Can I have a dollar? I'm hungry and haven't eaten anything." She honestly does not remember us as she is so honed in on getting money from each and every car she can flag down. A mental imbalance also lends itself to her repetitive and forgetful nature that makes rehabilitation for her offenses very difficult. "Do you want a ride?" Gordon asks. She eagerly accepts. "You're not a cop, are you?" she asks. "No. Are you?" Gordon asks as I try hard not to laugh at that image from my hiding space. The next image I could have done without as I suddenly hear Gordon cry, "Don't show me that! Put your shirt down!" Apparently Brenda subscribed to the theory a police officer cannot be privy to anything inappropriate if he plans to set up someone on a prostitution sting. Wrong. It's not something that anyone in the predicament hopes for given the caliber of individuals out there, but it's completely legal. As Gordon continues to explain the problem with Brenda's "Something for Nothing" philosophy, she finally offers herself for a price. The deal is sealed as she meets the criteria mentioning the act and its cost without any entrapment by the officer. I whisper into the radio that we got her and can suddenly see the reflection of red and blue lights bouncing around the interior of the van from behind us. "You're a cop!" Gordon shouts as he looks in the rear view mirror at the approaching cruiser. Brenda swears she's not. "Let's lose 'em!" he tells her. I roll into the back hatch door with the sudden acceleration as Gordon tears off down the street. The sirens come on and he ends the charade a few blocks later. Our good buddy Chris approaches from the cruiser and greets Brenda on a first name basis. She swears she didn't do anything wrong but is promptly arrested after Gordon is given a "good talking-to." Chris drives off with Brenda and we return to D5 where I stretch out the kinks in my back and Gordon changes back into his uniform. A few minutes later, Chris pulls into the lot on the way to the jail with Brenda in tow. Gordon leans his head in to talk to Brenda. "I heard you just tried to solicit some guy," he says, looking right at her. "No, I just asked him for a ride." She gives the staple answer they all give as she apparently does not recognize the officer before her. "What'd this guy look like? Was he good looking?" Gordon asks as he tries leading her. "I don't remember, sir." And that, unfortunately, is the problem with her.

Oh, by the way. She was determined not to have had HIV/AIDS (yet) through court-ordered testing, so the felony charge did not stick. We saw her out on the same corner three days later.

Ladies of the Evening 

Going Undercover

I realize you've only been with me on the road for a short time, but bear with me as I jump ahead conceptually to a topic not dealt with until a few years in. The background to my narrative is certainly relevant to any new cop in the big city, so I believe you will still be entertained and properly informed. I've had no desire yet to become a suit & tie, 9 to 5 detective. I have nothing against the officers who fill this position. My take on it is this-- I prefer the resolutions street officers encounter and create on a call to call basis each night out there on the street. I take pride in the triumphs we have as a call comes to a close, peaceful or not, and have faith that, for any loose ends or unanswered questions, the "solvability" of a particular crime will be well-handled by our Detective Section. I, myself, can not fathom being too involved in the intricacies of an investigation for months on end. Or, just the opposite-- getting cases on my desk day after day with no hope of solution. There is one position I would consider, however. The vice cop. In our city, that doesn't mean the sleek style of Crockett and Tubbs ala Miami Vice. Our Vice Unit still maintains its street cop feel, hence its appeal to me. Most officers are not deep undercover in this unit. They shoot for the nightly score of a drug bust, prostitution sting, or liquor violation, go to court over it the next week, then go on the the next score. This brings me to the crux of my entry. Street cops are very busy, but we like to keep the variety going, to keep things interesting. Presented are two incidents involving my firsts tastes of going "undercover" while still a street officer in the hopes of getting a good case on a dope dealer or a prostitute.

Prostitution. The world's oldest profession. Without getting into the morality of the whole issue, the Law has a problem with it and, therefore, so do I. People are still going to engage in this demeaning activity whether there are laws against it or not. However, this endeavor, often called a "Victimless" crime, still produces problems for a community, bringing with it-- drugs, drunk driving, robberies, disease, and a breakdown of trust, communication and social development between individuals. Think prostitutes are like in the movies? Pretty Woman? One look at the picture above will give you a good idea at a range of the actual Ladies of the Evening we have "working" in our City. Not a pretty sight, eh? You might even be thinking "If they all looked like that, why is there even a problem?" I don't have an answer for that. And, just like the War on Drugs, I don't have a solution for it either. It's going to keep recurring regardless. All we can hope to do is make a dent.

My partner Alan and I were bored one summer night and decided to take the unmarked city car we have at our District's disposal out for a drive into our trouble spots. The Chevy Cavalier, which was brand new back when I graduated from High School, fit right in on the West Side. We were not lucky enough to have one with tinted windows, so we had to improvise. Alan had a flannel jacket he kept in his locker and draped that over his uniform. I had to use my black police issue uniform jacket. Keep in mind, we were new at this. We're still cops, but not trained in the best way for covert operations. I was the passenger as I never did like driving when part of a 2-Unit crew, and I leaned way back to obscure the police patch from flashing itself out the side window. We drove past the projects and were literally swamped with people trying to flag us down to partake in evil deeds. Where the heck were these people just 10 minutes before when we drove through in the cruiser? Overwhelmed, and out of our league, we decided to cruise for a prostitute. Only in this capacity, could I ever say that, and not get into legal trouble. It didn't take long to find one. A white girl on the wrong side of town walking up one of our main streets. I'm sure she felt safe, and the two of us were not intimidating by any means, but what would possess a young lady to get into a car with two strange men? Anyway, she kept looking back at us as we drove slowly behind her. She did not quicken her pace or change directions. So that we wouldn't spook her, Alan drove around the block and came up behind her again. Again with the looks. We were in! She then turned down a side street and walked into an alley. We followed and stopped the car about 30 feet behind her. She stopped walking and came toward the car. Now what? As luck would have it (or maybe not) she came up to me on the passenger side. "What are you guys looking for?" Now, we did know this-- that an officer cannot entrap an individual into soliciting prostitution. All references to the act had to come from the defendant (for lack of a better term). The act and the money it would cost had to be mentioned by her. That didn't mean we couldn't lead her that direction and give her the idea that we were looking for that kind of thing. "We're looking for a party," Alan tells her. "Where're you from?" She's trying to feel us out, see how we answer. I'll be totally honest, I was nervous as anything, a fact my wife was proud of as I recounted the story to her, as she said she'd be worried if I weren't nervous and this was just the same ol' thing picking up another prostitute. I tell the girl we're from the University, hoping we look young enough to be attending the college situated on the City's east side. "Are you guys cops?" she asks in a non-accusatory tone. It's a myth that officers must answer truthfully to this question or it is considered entrapment. We laugh sheepishly and try to keep the banter going, each side looking for the other to open up the topic we all know we're there for. The next sentence spoken shocked all of us. "342 to Dispatch with a traffic stop," a tinny, yet loud voice says apparently from somewhere inside our car. What the heck was that?! Alan doesn't miss a beat as he reaches for the radio and cranks up the volume. "Cool song!" he shouts over the crackling speakers as the now drowned-out voice over my shoulder mike radio continues, "342, go ahead. Plate first." It was the longest traffic stop in history, more like a dissertation on the radio. I need to get my hand up to my utility belt and turn off my radio without drawing attention to myself, even though, if she leans into my window any more, she's going to see the police patch on my opposite shoulder. Alan kind of laughs and says, "You got us." She laughs too and leans out of the window slowly. I'm still thinking we can salvage this as it doesn't look to me like she really knew what happened. I kept thinking she was too focused on the business at hand and the potential for some extra cash to put it all together. Although, I was still at a loss as to how to proceed. Thankfully, Alan rescued us as he turns down the radio and says, "You got ID?" We both slide open our jackets to reveal our blue shirts and badges. I hop out of the car in case she wants to run. I actually catch a look of relief on her face now that the whole facade is over. I run her name through the Records section on channel two of my radio. She's clean, a relative term, which here means she has no warrants. We send her on her way with a stern warning to stay off the streets as she never knows who could be trying to pick her up. Just hope they're better than us.

The second, and more successful, "Undercover" adventure will be posted in the next entry.

"Move Along. Nothing To See Here." 

The Projects

Say what you want about Public Housing. But, love it or leave it, it sure keeps Law Enforcement busy. The majority of tenants in these "projects" are law-abiding citizens and decent people, but it's the same well-meaning, often ignorant, individuals who allow their dope dealing "Baby('s) Daddy" to shack up with them illegally. These dopers and thieves leech off them while having the perfect opportunity to "set up shop." Also, groups of thugs prey on the fear of the residents of these complexes-- the elderly, the single moms-- to use the grounds for their own. They are like cockroaches in a dark, neglected closet. When someone calls for the police, pulling the string on the bare, swinging bulb, and we arrive as the brilliant, shocking, usually welcome light, they scatter and disappear into any crevice or crack they can find. Since we can't stay there all night, the "light" is eventually extinguished, and the criminal element slowly crawl out of their holes and begin again. Our city has several large complexes, with the moniker of "Courts" ironically attached to their namesakes, that are responsible for at least one call of violence per complex per shift per day. We've experienced several of our officer-involved shootings and double homicides upon their grounds. When a major incident occurs within a Project, all hell can break loose. Officers respond in force, sometimes shotgun in hand, to quickly gain control. The spectators, the majority of them not even residents, feel these times are their entertainment. It's like being inside a live TV episode of "Cops." Our interaction after our initial arrival must be measured. Being too thin-skinned and cocky can lead to riotous conditions. However, let the wrong inappropriate action go unnoticed, and the crowd will see how much more it can get away with. The most common problem in the projects, hit on earlier, is the drug dealing. As the War on Drugs will never be won on our level, with the tools and laws we currently have, the street officer still has his triumphs in this endeavor and organized "raids" into the projects can be very exciting. When I first started out, the city had more Public Housing projects than it does now (more on that later) and crack cocaine was really gaining a foothold here. We also had squads of officers that worked well together. We still have that but not on the scale of a decade ago where it was appropriately more hierarchal. A group of five to ten officers would arrange to storm a particular housing project. I liken it to survival on the great plains of Africa. The fastest lions caught the slowest antelope. We would circle our prey and charge. They always ran. The slowest would be caught for a number of reasons-- a) out of shape, b) not paying attention and, therefore, not able to take advantage of the adrenaline dump accompanying the flight that enabled some of these guys to literally leap six foot tall walls and fences, or c) just plain stupid or high off their own stuff. Or, the best, and most efficient way to do it was to herd them toward a waiting officer. That way neither the pursuers or the captors had to be that fast. Our detainee would always have something on him-- drugs or a weapon. It was amazing how many of them kept the contraband on their persons through the foot pursuit. It was a gamble they were willing to take. Lose your stash or lose your freedom. The suspect may also have a warrant or be on the Trespass List. Very rarely did someone who ran from the police and got caught not leave with something to remember us by. Jaywalking, and other minor misdemeanor citations, are wonderful tools. And, let's not forget, to paraphrase comedian Chris Rock, "Don't run from the Police. 'Cuz if the police have to chase you, they're bringing an a**-whippin' with them." Well, the City, in its infinite wisdom, has seen fit in recent years to demolish a number of our larger housing projects to make way for better endeavors. Primarily what has been put in their places are Greenspaces-- wide open areas of grass... and weeds... and trash. Yes, it was a pain responding to the Projects several times a night, and I genuinely do feel for the decent people who have to live there, but at least we knew where the crime was. Now, the only thing the City has accomplished is to spread the criminal element out into the working man's neighborhood to reach a whole new market. Looks like we still got our work cut out for us.