Case #31 - The People vs That Deputy Who Resembles Cedric the Entertainer (whose White hand is that up my ass and why is it making me act this way?)

Case #31 - The People vs That Deputy Who Resembles Cedric the Entertainer (whose White hand is that up my ass and why is it making me act this way?)

     In this particular case, I have been advised to change the defendant's name, by some hobo looking guy that claims he was a deputy, but, as a child in Scotland, hoped to be a barrister when he grew up.  Unfortunately, his dad, "... moved the family to the Colonies...". I know, I know,  you're wondering why I'm taking legal advice from some hobo whose childhood dream was to work at a Starbucks in Scotland.  Well here's why.  He had crazy hobo eyes and I was afraid, that's why!  Okay?  I'm not ashamed to admit it.  So the defendant's name has been changed to, "That Deputy Who Resembles Cedric The Entertainer".  Deputy TD WRCTE for short.

In 1990, I was partnered with Deputy Gerry Velona.  Gerry and I had been partners for several months  I really enjoyed working with him, we got into a lot of capers.  Unfortunately, this story is not about Gerry, because, around August 1991, he went on vacation.  Scheduling decided to partner me up with Deputy TD WRCTE for the week.

Deputy TD WRCTE was a good natured guy, but he didn't have a lot of what you would call "street sense".  In fact, he didn't have ANY street sense.  Zero.  Zilch.  Nada.  As a trainee, he was hard working, enthusiastic and happily did whatever his duties entailed.  But once he hit the streets on his own?  He was like the silver ball in a pin ball machine. He'd frantically bounce around from one random stop to another, with no discernible pattern as to who he was stopping, where he was going, or what he was trying to accomplish, and in the end, it was a waste of time and energy.  In fact, after the attacks on September 11, 2001, when people were all up in arms about, "profiling",  Deputy TD WRCTE would have been the IDEAL law enforcement person for the politically correct crowd to identify with, because there was no rhyme, nor reason, to the people he jammed.  He had no IDEA how to do a criminal profile.  If a nun and an inked up, tweaked out, parolee were walking down the street, who he stopped would be a coin toss.  We'll use our first stop, on our first night together as an example.

Briefing ended and we pulled out of the parking lot at about 10:30 P.M.  Deputy TD WRCTE was driving and I was the bookman.  He made a beeline for the Leadership neighborhood, RD 1615 to be precise.  At this point, I will point out that the Leadership neighborhood, at that time, was composed almost entirely of middle, to upper middle class, Black families.  Some of them had teen aged, and older, offspring that were dope dealers and gangsters, but that was their choice, because they were tired of being laughed at by the kids to the north in Compton.  Having said that, the vast majority of residents in Leadership were nice people. 

     As Deputy TD WRCTE drove slowly down the dark residential streets, he was leaned forward, over his steering wheel, peering into the darkness.  He was driving east on Turmont Street from Annalee Avenue.  Up ahead, on the north side of the street, was an older Black man, who looked to be in his 60's (so he was probably in his 80's, because, as they say, "Black don't crack").  The man was walking his dog toward us.  Deputy TD WRCTE smiled grimly, "This sucka's gots no wheres to gooo.", he thought to himself as he ...  Actually, that's a little too, "street", he probably thought, "OH!  A Black man on the street!  He must be a criminal!"  Hmmmm...I guess I should also point out that Deputy TD WRCTE is acted as if he were the "love child" of the T.V. character, "Steve Urkel" from "Family Matters" and the T.V. character "Carlton Banks" from the T.V. show, "The Fresh Prince of Bel Air".

     Deputy TD WRCTE gunned the black and white toward the suspected "perp".  He slammed on the brakes and came to a sliding stop, with his door opening, just a few feet away from the old man and his wienie dog.  The old man stopped and watched curiously as Deputy TD WRCTE bailed out of the car, whipped out his revolver, with his right hand, shined the light of his mag-lite in the old man's eyes and, tucking his chin into his neck, in order to employ his deep, big boy voice, officiously ordered the man to, "GRAB SOME HOOD AND SPREAD 'EM!"  The old man looked confused, but slowly shuffled to the patrol car.  I got out of the passenger side, wondering what was going on. As the old man placed his hands on the car hood and spread his legs, he looked at me with a questioning look on his face, shot a pointed glance toward my partner, before looking back at me, silently asking, "Uhhh, WHAT's going on, Deputy?".  I just exhaled and shook my head and shrugged slightly.  Who knows, maybe my partner saw something, that I didn't.  I doubted it, but it was a possibility.

     I watched from across the hood as my partner brusquely, and quickly, patted the old man down for weapons.  Nothing. My partner was not deterred.  Telling the old man not to move, he performed a very thorough inspection of the debris free sidewalk, grass and gutter for twenty feet along the old man's nightly doggie doo-doo route.  Coming up empty handed, once again, my partner approached the old man with his, "I mean business" look and demanded to know what he was doing out that late at night.  The old man raised an eyebrow as if to ask, "Are you serious?", and realizing that my partner was, indeed, serious, shook his head slightly, looked down to his left hand and slowly raised it a few inches to show the dog leash grasped within it, then pointedly looked along the dog leash to his little wienie dog peeing contentedly on a city fire hydrant. Apparently, doubting that the message was clear enough, the old man clarified by stating the painfully obvious, "Walking.. my dog,...?", "... you watermelon head.", was not spoken aloud.

     I watched, dumbfounded, as my partner mulled this over for several seconds, while refocusing his attention on the dog, which he eyeballed suspiciously, with narrowed eyes. "Ohhhhh, pleeease don't let him search the dog!  Please don't let him search the dog!", I silently plead to whatever entity might be listening to a poor agnostic.  My partner turned away from the dog. I breathed an audible sigh of relief, not realizing I had been holding my breath, "Ohhh, thank you. Thank you!  Thank you!", I thought.  "Soooo, you know why we stopped you over.", my partner stated, as if it were obvious.  "Uhhh, noooo?", the old man replied, because it was not.  My partner looked down, and his eyes quickly bounced from side to side, as he stuttered out, "Welllllll, ...weeee saw you walking... aaand it 's dark... aaand there's... gangs in this neighborhood... aaand drugs... aaaand there's... been some burglaries... and it's late...",by this time he was back in the car, door closed, looking at me like, "Well?  Let's go!"  I looked at the old man, about as embarrassed as I had ever been, mouthed an apology, sat back in the car, and looked at my watch, "Seven more hours of this crap?", I thought, as my partner peeled rubber, in search of his next "shake", which was the very next person he saw.  In fact, every time he saw somebody, he stopped them.

     You would think that when you stop E-VER-Y SING-LE PER-SON you come across, you would find something.  But it doesn't work like that.  If you turn the corner onto a street and immediately jam somebody, like an old man walking his dog, most people will watch what's going on.  But, the actual criminals, see you're jamming folks, so they go inside, hide their contraband and THEN come outside to watch. So, you aren't going to find squat!

     Later that night we took a, "smash and grab", burglary report in the commercial area of Santa Fe Avenue.  This is the unincorporated Rancho Dominguez area.  The suspect(s) had smashed a window and made off with several desk computers and monitors.  That was our Monday night, one pointless stop after another between calls for service.

Wednesday night, my partner drove again.  It was pretty much a repeat of Monday night.  Friday night, our final night, was his turn to drive again.  Friday night was working out to be pretty much an extension of Monday night and Wednesday night, until about 1:00 A.M.  We were driving east on Del Amo Boulevard coming up on Fordyce Avenue.  This is all a commercial area.  There used to be a "Pic 'n' Save" warehouse on the southeast corner of that intersection.  We saw an old, 1970's station wagon parked, near the dumpsters, in the middle of the parking lot.  My partner blacked out and turned into the parking lot.  He stopped behind the car and we quietly opened our doors and got out.  Three heroin hypes were dumpster diving for whatever they thought they could trade, or sell, in order to get their morning fix.  My partner patted them down, and I watched them, as he spent a considerable amount of time searching their car.

     My partner, finally finished his search of the car.  He stood, ramrod straight, outside of the passenger door of their car and made eye contact with me.  He was wearing, what I guess he would call, his "poker face".  Except his, "poker face", meant his normally animated face went as stone stiff, and expressionless, as an Easter Island stone carving. That's not a, "poker face", my friend.  That's a "tell", in big, bright, neon lights. Once he was sure he had established eye contact, he glanced quickly toward the three hypes, before reestablishing eye contact with me.  Then he glanced quickly down toward his left hand, which he was holding stiffly along his side.  He reestablished eye contact with me, as I raised an eyebrow.  He gave me a brief look of frustration.  He snuck a peek at the three hypes to make sure they weren't onto us.  He looked back at me, then widened his eyes and gave three not-so-subtle head jerks in the direction of the hypes.  Then he slowly tilted his head toward his left, while slowly dragging my gaze down toward his left hand again.  Then he snuck a quick peek, to his right, at the three hypes, again.  Satisfied that they were still idly picking at their injection scabs, and paying us no mind, he ever so slowly opened his cupped hand slightly and turned it toward me, so I could see what was in it.  As he did this, he nonchalantly looked up to his left to admire the night sky and innocently whistled some nameless tune.  After about, ten, painfully slow, seconds had passed, he looked at me excitedly.  I don't know why.  He was fifty frickin' feet away from me!  What did he think I was going to see in the little space he had opened in his palm.  I threw out my hands towards him, palms up and mouthed, "WHAT?"

     Once africkingain, my partner gave me a brief look of frustration, like I was the moron in this situation.  He snuck a peek at the three hypes to make sure they weren't onto us.  He then began casually walking back toward me.  And by casually, I mean slowly, back and neck, ramrod straight, head pointed straight ahead, with a stiff gait and his arms pinned firmly to his sides.  About halfway to me, he, once again, cleverly looked up to the sky, on his left, to admire the sky and casually whistled the same nameless tune.  I waited impatiently.

     When my partner finally reached me, he snuck ANOTHER peek, to his right, at the three hypes.  He then made eye contact with me again.  He drew my eyes down to his left hand again.  He strained his eyes to look out the right corners of his eyes, to keep an eye on our three heroin addicts, while he opened his cupped left hand for me to see the contraband he had found.  I stared down wordlessly at;
1- a cracked, white, little girl's tea cup,
2- a plastic, silver colored, spoon, presumably from the same tea set.
3- a package of four caps, for a kid's cap gun, that had been broken open and one roll of caps was missing.

I didn't know what to say, but I could feel my face getting warm.  This flush feeling was typically a prelude to sex, or violence.  I was not feeling horny.  I felt my partner's eyes on me.  He looked like a 5 year old child on Christmas morning, about to rip into his first present. I stared angrily into his excited eyes.   I took a breath and reminded myself that my partner was inept, but he was a nice guy... plus, this was our last night together.  I suppressed my anger down to a strong feeling of annoyance. "What!", I asked, obviously frustrated.

     A look of shock on his face, that I wasn't seeing, what he was plainly seeing, appeared on his face.  This both surprised and exasperated me.  How was he not seeing the trash, that I was plainly seeing.  As if to explain his case further, that this was some good stuff he had found, he slowly raised his hand up to about shoulder level.  I guess, so I could get a better look.  I couldn't control my impatience with him any longer. I leaned my head toward him.
"WHAT?", I shouted. I contemptuously picked up each item as I described what I was seeing for him, before dropping each item back in his hand and moving on to the next article of garbage.  I had to destroy whatever fun house mirror lens he was viewing this crap through.
"You got a broken child's fuckin' tea cup!  You got a little fuckin' plastic spoon!  Probably from the same fuckin' tea set! AND you got a package of four fuckin' caps, that's been torn into, and had one roll of caps stolen, so NOW there's only THREE!  It's trash!  NO!  It's WORSE than trash!  IT'S PIC N FUCKIN' SAVE TRASH!   What the FUCK are you thinkin'!"

     I glared at him.  In my peripheral vision, I could see the three heroin addicts had stopped mid scab picks and were exchanging worried glances with their mouths agape.  Angry deputies were never fun to be around.

     My partner lowered his head, dropped his outstretched handful of trash to his side and stared at the ground.  I thought he was going to cry and was starting to regret my tirade.  I felt like I had just viciously, kicked an attention starved puppy. I was about to apologize for my outburst, but before I could think of what to say, his head jerked up with his face alight with excitement.  I could practically see the light bulb over his head indicating a brilliant idea!  I waited with no high expectations.
"These guys are probably the guys that did that burglary!", he exclaimed.  His eyes were wide and focused on me and he was nodding rapidly.
"WWWWHAT!", I said, as I shook my head,  quite certain, yet not believing, that I  heard him correctly.
"YEAH!  These guys probably did that burglary!"  He was practically bouncing, in his fervor.
I leaned back on my heels, closed my eyes, and exhaled slowly, before asking,
"What...  burglary?", "Don't say it. Don't say it.  Don't say it.  Don't say it. Don't say it...", I thought in a silent mantra.
He couldn't contain himself.  He was actually bouncing on his toes,
"You know!  The smash and grab!"
"He said it.", I thought disappointed.  I opened my eyes.  The grin on his face was ear to ear.
"Are you talking about the smash and grab we took on Santa Fe, four days ago?", I asked incredulously, even though I knew the answer.
"YEAH!", he whisper/shouted, thinking we were on the same page.  We were not.
"Uh huh.... Okay... Here's what we'll do.  If you can articulate that, then you are a better cop than me.  So, we'll switch it up.  You write the arrest review and the report.  I'll book the suspects.  Deal?"
The disappointment on his face was expected.  Hey, I gave him a shot.  He passed.... passed on the idea, not passed some test.  That, he failed miserably

VERDICT - Deputy TD WRCTE, the Court finds you Guilty of Being a Puppet of The Man

SENTENCE - Deputy TD WRCTE, the court orders you to see the gastroenterologist of your choice and to undergo an emergency handectomy, where the doctor will cut into your colon to remove the hairy hand of the white man, who is working the machinations behind the scene.  You are also ordered to
- destroy your Partridge Family albums and buy some Marvin Gaye.
- put down the Dungeons and Dragons dice (no, your elf does not get a move), and
pick up a basketball, a football, a golf ball, something to do with physical activity.
- lose the penny loafers (yes, you can keep the pennies) and get some Nikes.
- learn some kind of dap greeting.
Return in 6 months with a progress report.