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.