LIFE UNDERCOVER

It Goes Without Saying...

2005-08-03T15:21:00.000-05:00

Without resorting to a bunch of overused cliche's, I still have to employ "one". Well, maybe two.

1. "You wouldn't believe me If I told you." (Especially after all the necessary lies I've exposed below...

2. "If I told ya; I'd have to kill ya." (I don't kill unnecessarily)

You know the difference between a lie and a fairy tale? A fairy tale starts out with "Once upon a time...." A lie starts out with "No shit man, this really happened."

Which would you prefer?

HOME SWEEEEEET HOME!

2005-04-28T14:09:00.000-05:00

Unpacking. Posting soon. Hope everyone's well.

Spring Fever

2005-04-03T07:51:00.000-05:00

I've got a couple of drafts near finished...

But, I've been logging 70 hour workweeks lately ...

What little free time I have is being consumed by the early days of Spring...

There IS a God, and He created a beautiful weather calendar for the Great State of Texas.

Sweet Tooth

2005-03-25T11:02:00.000-06:00

Plans were being made for a round-up of the crack dealers at Rose and Sharsandra's apartment complex. Cam and Shari, the informant couple, had already relocated to another "problem complex" across town, and within a few short days, they had lined up a long list of dope dealers to target. JR and I went to the CI's apartment and met with two of the managers. They were asking for help. The informants had a rent-free apartment and we had the run of the place. In exchange, we would try to rid the complex of the problem tenants and their visiting dealers. They would get more than they bargained for in the end...

The massive complex was made up of over 850 apartment units that sprawled across nineteen, oak covered acres. From the exterior, the complex was very attractive; large clubhouse, indoor and outdoor, Olympic-sized swimming pools, large health club, indoor/outdoor tennis courts and two full-court, indoor basketball courts and a multi-purpose gymnasium. It was a sport buff's "Mecca". There was a cancer growing within the perimeter though, and the middle and upper class tenants, the "marketed" folks, had begun to take notice, and as a result, were fleeing the resort in record numbers. Dope had reared it's ugly head and management was feeling it's repulsive wafting at the back their necks.

Donte and Lavon were 16 and 17 year old "identical" brothers. If the brothers stood without speaking, you couldn't tell them apart. The distinguishing characteristics were prodigious though; Lavon walked with a limp, the result of a gunshot to the calf, and he wore a gold "L", a "slip-on" initial on his left central. Tooth "bling" in the 90's. Donte worked for Lavon and he took all the risks. "You probably won't get to Lavon, we've never seen him touch the stuff, but it's his dope and he makes Donte sell it," Shari proclaimed, having already "reconned" the duo - probably while scoring crack for Cam. JR was ready to get the party started, "Well get 'em up here then, and we'll see what Precious can do with 'em." With that, Cam's eyes lit up as he anxiously clicked his dental appliance, "How much you want?," he asked nervously. "We'll decide that when they get here," JR answered. JR knew Cam would try to work an angle on him if he gave him the slightest opening. Cam shot out the door; he was "jonesing" for the bonus pay he'd get for the introduction, if he could convince Donte and Lavon to sell to us.

Cam returned within a few minutes, out of breath and being followed by the "twins". Donte walked in first and came straight to the corner unit where I sat. Cam had obviously primed him for the sale. I stood, to get out of my disadvantaged position, and to acquire an angle on Lavon. Donte wasted no time in pitching his wares, "I got some tens and some twenties." These guys seemed to be strictly business - no BS talk, no ass grabbing or anything like that - just "get down to what you want" types. "Lemme see the twenties," I said, "if they're big, I'll take two." Donte reached into his left pocket and pulled out a few rocks of crack cocaine, neatly packaged in tiny ziploc baggies. "And how much you want for that," I asked, pointing to the "Atomic Fireball" that had come out with the dope.

He was just a kid; candy and crack in the same pocket. Lavon pretended to play with Cam and Shari's kid, but he watched every move Donte and I made. He needed to be punished. Donte sheepishly grinned as he put the piece of candy back into his pocket, then he picked out two twenties. "You want these two?," he asked, handing me the baggies of crack. "I can't do $20 on these, got any heavier ones?," I asked. Donte shrugged his shoulders and briefly looked at Lavon, "That's it fool. They all the same." I toyed with the baggies and lightly tossed them up and down in my palm. "Naw, you gotta get bigger pieces if you want my money." Cam's face went ghostly white. His "payday" was gettin' screwed 'cause I wasn't buying Donte's crack. "Damn, Tony - those are the best you're gonna get here." Cam was trying to salvage the deal, but JR glared at him and gave him a "STFU" look. JR wasn't too sure of what I was doing either, but he didn't need Cam interjecting his "snitch" philosophy at this point. Donte joined me in staring at the dope in my hand, like we were waiting for the rocks to grow. "What you goin' do?," he asked. "I'm going back to where I was gettin it before I came here," I replied, "unless you wanna give me three of those for fifty... and throw in that piece of candy?" Lavon couldn't stand by any longer; the time of indecision was costing him money. "Lemme see them damn rocks!" Lavon took the crack cocaine from me and held the bags in his hand, tossing them up and down in the same fashion that I had just seconds earlier. "Naw fool, they right - you ain't gettin three o' these fuh fitty!"

Cam and Shari were in mourning - deflated - feeling broke. They had brought in some good dealers and I was pissing away their hard work. I toyed with the idea of walking away from the deal, doing something different for a change. That would give JR something to evaluate me on. There was a calculated logic to all the drama, though. "Fuck it, I'm already here, lemme have 'em." Lavon dropped the crack rocks back into my hand; expanding his chest - puffy, feeling that he had exercised his authority and taken control. In reality, all he had done was earn himself a date with the judge. "You probably won't get to Lavon..." Punished.

I handed Donte $40 and closed the deal, "You still gonna throw in that piece of candy?" Donte forced a small grin and gave me a peculiar look, "Man, is you crazy?," he asked, while he handed me the jawbreaker. "Yeah, I'm crazy - Crazier than a shit-house rat..."

She's Havin' Second Thoughts - Again

2005-03-22T06:13:00.000-06:00

Two months into the job and I was beginning to blend in real well with the vermin of the drug trade. I had the obligatory goatee and the hair was growing at record pace - beginning to flip up in the back, the old "DA" look. It was great. I could get up in the morning and not have to worry about what to wear. I had already stocked my locker with "throw down" clothes, extra shirts, jeans, boots, and just general stuff that I didn't wear off duty anymore. I never really trashed out, but I wasn't clean cut anymore, and I knew I was morphing into the culture by the way I was being received in public. I started noticing the extra "browsers" in department stores. Salespeople went to of their way to "help you find anything." I always spotted the "theft prevention" folks, the ones pretending to shop for everything that I was looking at too. So, while missing the unspoken respect of the general public, I knew I was finally achieving the look of a "scrote bag"; the endearing, affectionate term used by local law enforcement when describing a shit head. The sack of the scrotum - the neighbor of the sphincter. You get the idea...

I was in the office researching Poison's background a few days after the buy at the bar. I had identified her based on her association with Terry. "April"(real name) came from a very respectable family in the same town I lived in, as a matter of fact, her parents lived just three blocks from my house. April's father was a member of the Lion's Club and the Noon Optimist's Club, among other associations, plus, he was a succesfull business owner and avid supporter of the Police Department.

I was immersed in the computer screen when my attention was suddenly shattered by the vibration of the Motorola pager on my hip. Fresh batteries were a bitch! I saw the "code" to "call home asap." It had to be something; the Falconette was great about not paging me for "a loaf bread" and random menial stuff. I called the house and was promptly informed that my pre-schooler's teacher had called. "Mrs. McAnally said YOUR daughter is tackling the boys on the playground and calling them 'dirt bags'!" Falconette was pissed! "I've told you before; she hears every word you say and she loves to mimic you!" I had already been chastised before for taking my shirt off outside and spitting snuff in the flower beds. I didn't help matters any when I covered the phone to tell Thunder that everything was OK, that the page was just to tell me that my kid was "busting" her friends on the playground. "I'm sorry honey. Ahem. So... what did Mrs. Mac say?" I tried my best to be serious, but I kept picturing my kid in her tidy school clothes, throwing "little Johnny" to the ground and dropping a knee in his back. "She also said that YOUR daughter called Preston a scrote, and that when she asked YOUR daughter what she was doing, she said: "That's what my daddy does. He kicks the door to people's houses, and he goes in and takes their TVs and VCRs, and sometimes he goes to jail!"

I was in sheep dip; but somewhere along the way, I missed the part where I had become a single parent. Falconette was not happy, and she had started to cry; not a sad cry, but a mad, hurt, "I can't believe you've done this to me" kind of cry. She was pissed to the highest level of "pisstivity". "It's not that big of a deal!," I pitched a half-argued point, "Why are you so mad?" That's when the Falconette went off like Mt. St. Helens, "They think you're a fuckin' burglar! They're calling the Police!" Ouch! Falconette had used the "F" word. She hated that word, and anyone that used it in her presence. "Call 'em back and tell 'em I'm coming up there," I said, "I'll explain it to the staff and tell them that she's only playing out what she's heard me talk about when I come home. I'm gonna have to tell 'em all about the search warrants, busts and stuff, and hope they can relate." I dreaded going to the school and having to dumb-down the aspects of the job to present it in a politically correct manner that the staff would understand. "Well, you better hurry; they have her in the office and their bound to be asking her a million questions!" I wasn't laughing any more. "Hey," I said, defending myself and the little one, "she's just doing what she's been told. When I took the narc assignment we both told her she couldn't tell anyone that he her dad was policeman." Falconette responded with a shot to the gut, "Well... I'm not so sure I like your new job anymore..."

I arrived at the school less than five minutes after the phone call. I saw the School Resource Officer parking his car in the fire lane and walking to the main entrance. He had a designated parking space at the school, so I figured he would be leaving soon. I waited in my car for a few minutes because I didn't feel like explaining the whole thing to him and I didn't want to put him in the position of having to act like he didn't know me. Several more minutes passed but the officer was still inside the building, so I decided to go in to see what kind of reception "the burglar" was going to receive. I walked into the school office and saw the officer casually leaning in the principal's doorway. He turned when he heard me ask for Mrs. McAnally, and when he saw who the visitor was, he busted out laughing. "Oh no - it's you! Mr. P, you don't need me here - you're in good hands with this guy." The SRO and I exchanged jabs and he briefly explained that he had been called to the school to ID a real "crook". "They said a kid's dad was coming and that he sounded like he might be trouble. I'm glad it's only you... have fun explaining that to these people."

Mr. "P" came out of his office to meet me. I showed him my creds and gave him a brief run down of my assignment. Mr. P was relieved to hear my explanation but he was particularly interested in knowing why I went to jail all the time. "I sometimes go to jail along with the scro, uh, the defendants in an attempt to help protect my cover." He promised to tell only those that needed to know. He invited me into his office and that's when I saw the future - my kid. She was sitting on a padded bench with her feet swinging back and forth - dangling well above the floor. She was immersed in a "Dr. Suess" book and she wasn't at all bothered by all of the grown up stuff taking place outside. She didn't look up until she heard my voice; "Hey Punkin - you OK?" "DAAAAA-DEEEEEEEE! Look, Mr. P! It's my DAD!"

Ask me again why I do what I do.

Narc Frustrations - Pick One

2005-03-18T07:33:00.000-06:00

I'm going way off focus today - diverting from the mission, so to speak. I'm throwing another log on the fire... literally. I don't need an excuse to use my fireplace, but it IS 47 degrees this morning, my house is quiet, and there's a special aroma in the air; the blend of fresh coffee and burning oak that accents the "safe harbor" appeal of my den - my favorite room in the house.

I've already put in 62 hours this week so, I'm only going to the office later to pick up my check. I'm one of the few that doesn't use "direct deposit". I need to hold that piece of paper for a few minutes, I need to see the fruits of my labor; the "results" of missing a million meals at home, missing my kids' games, not being here for my family when a crisis hits home, forgetting promises that I made at 2:00 A.M. while reaching to answer one of three cell phones that I carry, crawling into bed at 3:00 A.M. after watching an out-of-state mini-van that never moved during 12 hours of continous surveillance - only to find that it left sometime before I returned at 7:00 A.M....

I started this blog to remember and re-live some of the "highlights"; events and cases that I experienced and lived through while performing my duties. I never expected to make or even have "friends", drop-ins, other bloggers checking to see what I had written. Then one day, TRASHMAN left me a comment and linked my blog on his site. I started getting referals from the link and soon GRACE appeared, then MARTINE and SEX@STARBUCKS, and others came from unknown sources, and lately a few "suspicious" visits from "known" sources. I've tried to link to all of you in return. Thanks.

My intentions were to write only about the past; old cases and investigations that couldn't and wouldn't be compromised in any way by anything I wrote. My goal was to write about the events in the chronological order that I experienced them. Some of them, POISON comes to mind, were slow to develop. Some needed to be revisited when the time came to kick their ass. Even though they occurred over a span of a just few minutes, sometimes hours, sanitizing them for the interest of my colleagues' sake, took hours and hours of editting.

So, today I'm fast forwarding 14 years to the present. I'm gonna bitch today. Then tomorrow, well... maybe next week, I might resume with my intended mission.

One of the first things my unit's Commander told me, when I was a "Baby Narc" in 1990, was: "Have Fun. Be damn careful, but have fun doing it." I haven't referred to my old Commander yet, he's in the cards though. What he didn't tell me, but JR did, was that there were going to be a lot of things that I would see and hear that were going to frustrate me; push me to the point of "breaking cover". I'd have to let things go; not act like a street cop anymore. There have been a few instances where I've broken cover to protect a bystander or a victim. Undercover or not, I refuse to stand-by while a woman or a child is physically abused. I alluded to my first "fuck-up" in one of my earliest posts, "Rose's or Red's". I'll take days off as punishement or risk being "found out", but a defenseless woman or a child has my help if it happens in my presence. "F" 'em - I signed on to be a cop, to "serve and protect" in the first place - Narcotics was a by-product, and it's lasted 15 years.

So, the bitch. Last week, at about 11:00A.M. one day, we saturated a neighborhood with unmarked vehicles, stationary and mobile surveillance posts, even a helicopter. We had very reliable information that a vehicle loaded with Cocaine was preparing to leave for a destination in the East. I had already met two of the suspects in an undercover meeting and I didn't need to be seen in their "hood", so I kept a safe distance but remained close enough to react to any movement or trouble. I chose to wait on one of about fifteen streets that intersect the main thoroughfare into the neighborhood. It just happened to be at a four-way stop. So I sat there, listening to the secure radio and the Nextel chatter, occasionally hearing the "pop" of the chopper blades when the wind blew just right, and watched car after car run the stop signs. Some stopped - some slowed down but never actually stopped as defined by law. A few never slowed at all. I sat back and daydreamed about how easy it would be to sit in a squad car in the same spot and fill book after book of stop sign citations. I actually chuckled as I remembered the joke about the traffic cop pummeling a stop sign violator; "You want me to STOP or SLOW DOWN!?!?" Like shooting fish in a barrel - someday, I may end up back in uniform and I'll come back to this spot and easily fill my...

My daydream was interrupted when I saw something I haven't seen in YEARS. A hispanic girl, maybe in her early 20's, rolled her white Maxima through the stop sign without stopping. OK - One out of 50 cars so far. The kicker to this particular violator was that she had a toddler, barely old enough to stand, perched in her lap and he was holding on to the steering wheel as she sped by. ANY contact with another vehicle or another object and that kid is history. Dammit! Do I go after her and get her stopped? I pulled out of my spot and tried to find the car, but she was nowhere in sight. She could gave gone down any of the side-streets while I contemplated my move. OK. Hope she drives half-way safe and little Julio doesn't get blown away by the airbag. I can't be in two places at the same time, besides, traffic enforcement isn't my job. Go ahead -make yourself feel better. Justify NOT doing something sooner.

The surveillance lingered; the crooks never left (while we were there anyway) and about 2:00A.M. we "called it", go home. We met back at the office, put away some equipment and pondered the next course of action. I left around 2:30 and pointed my sled toward home. Tired, hungry, ass numb and I'll be back in a couple of hours to resume the surveillance. I pulled up to a red light and the only other vehicle on the street pulled up beside me. No. Not the chica in the Maxima. A couple in a Ford Expedition. Nice. Gold 2004 model. Hubby cracked the driver's window as he lit a cigarette while momma played with Junior, a baby, who she had standing in her lap. I reached back into my turn-out bag and pulled the red and blue strobe out, then barely plugged it into the cigarette lighter so it was ready to go but not powered up yet, then I dug for my badge. Get a gun out before you get their attention. They don't know you're a cop. I eased up a few feet and plugged in the light. The dim intersection was immediately doused in red and blue. I get "frisky" when that happens. Momma turned to look at me. I raised my badge case and motioned for her to lower her window. She pushed junior down into the floorboard and turned to look at her "prize" husband. Hubby glanced at me briefly then turned away, puffing on his Marlboro. "Get that kid in a car seat!," I yelled across the short distance. "Fuck you!," Momma shot back while flipping me the bird. Hubby laughed and pulled away from the intersection, running the red light. "Fuck ME?" I shut off the lights and followed them while I called for a marked squad. Within seconds, (late night guys LOVE to get called by the Narcs) four squad cars descended upon the Expedition. I haven't written a citation in over 14 years, so I had to ask a rookie for some help. "Hot damn! This is neat! I can write more than one violation on the same ticket!" "Unrestrained Child". "Running a Red Light". "Where's the box for "Being A Dumbass in a No Dumbass Zone?" I wasn't even pissed at Momma, until I saw the child carrier in the back seat... safely protecting a twelve pack of Bud Light. Hubby went to jail for seven (7) outstanding traffic warrants. Momma got several sermons and was eventually let slide on the "pissing off the po-leese" charge.

Sleep well, Junior... A nosey Narc got a second chance tonite, and may have saved your life in the process.

The Capture

2005-03-16T13:36:00.000-06:00

I tipped the DJ $40.00 to skip Poison's turn in the rotation, then I gave Poison what I thought she might have made if she had danced; well... probably more. Poison figured that Terry would be eager to make the sale and that he might come early. "If he gets here soon, I'll make him leave as soon as we're done, then you can take me home." Great. How does a guy in a topless bar turn down the hottest stripper in the entire place? I turned up the beer bottle without answering. Poison questioned my indifference at her offer to take her "home", "What's the matter? You don't want to take me home?"

Out of all the men in the bar, and a few of the women, 97% would have jumped at the chance; the abstaining 3% were Narcs. No coitus - No copulation - No booty for us.

"I'm going to change!" Poison strutted away; Pissed off - Irritated at the thought of possibly getting turned down. "Every now and then you gotta take one... for the team - you know?," Thunder offered his condolences. I hadn't said "No" yet, I had to wait until Terry delivered, then I'd have to come up with a reason. It just wasn't fitting, though. How many kids would walk out of candy store without taking a piece of free candy? How many women would walk out of a shoe store without taking a pair if they were free? Yet here I was, in the depths of an abysmal den full of sinners, passing up a piece and a pair.

Poison's "old man" finally arrived. It was the same Terry - Thunder's Buick-boy from earlier. Terry made his way to the bar and struck up a conversation with the female bartender, periodically turning to look over the crowd. Poison reappeared from the dressing room wearing a white, lacey, bra and panty set and thigh-high leather boots. The footwear showcased her taut, competent legs and served as a pedestal for her perfectly round bottom. "Mmmm - Like a golf ball perched on a tee." Terry spotted Poison and called out to her about the time she reached our table. Poison set her cigarette case down and then went to meet Terry. After a few minutes Poison returned and sat in the chair next to me; she wasn't sprawling across my lap while Terry was in the bar. "I need $40," Poison extended her turned-up palm. "You told me they were $3 apiece," I feigned protestation of the price. Poison countered, "He'll knock it down to $3 if you buy more than twenty." "Fuck it - Take $40." Poison slipped the money into her cigarette case and returned to Terry's side. "You're half-way there, dumbass... But, you left the money on the table." Poison was evidently running her own game. She didn't take the money to Terry. She would probably give him $30 later; thinking she was screwing me out of an extra ten bucks. Like $10 was going to queer this deal...

Terry repositioned himself at the bar so he could keep an eye on our table. Thunder cussed the hostess for making him leave his cowboy hat at the front desk. He shifted around behind Jasmine, using her as a cloak while he peered through her wispy hair. Thunder kept an eye on Terry while trying not to let Terry see him. JR abruptly stood from his seat and called out to a chubby stranger. JR introduced "Chris" around the table and told him to pull up a chair. I offered Chris Poison's chair instead; setting the scene for her return. Chris was a balding 24-25 year old; cocky, loud, and he had a strange desire to cap every statement with a fake "saleman's laugh." He turned out to be the first person I have ever truly disliked within the first minute of meeting them. I envisioned a "train-wreck" in our future. Chris was already in trouble though; he was JR's target for the evening.

Thunder, meanwhile, was forced into pulling double duty; keeping and eye on my deal with Poison and Terry, and JR's deal with pudgy Chris. He was tasked with memorizing the finite details of two simultaneous transcations. He would be instrumental when it came time to write the prosecution reports. Thunder was more than capable; he had, after all, memorized about a thousand "silver screen" quotes and he could recall the title, year and the actors without fail. I expected to hear a few "new ones" on the way home, providing Poison wasn't in the picture...

Poison returned to the table to find pudgy Chris sitting in her chair. I pushed away from the table and pulled Poison into my lap while sneaking a peek at Terry. The "chess game" had started, although Terry pretended not to play from his perch at the bar. Poison felt a little rigid this time; a little uncomfortable with Terry watching. "Well?," I asked as I looked up into Poison's seductive blue eyes. "They're in a cellophane wrapper in my boot," she said, "I'll get them out in a minute." I checked to make sure Terry was still watching, "That's OK - I'll get it." I slowly slid my hand up and down the length of Poison's rigid thigh, then down into the top of her boot. I took the wrapper from Poison's boot and slipped it into my back pocket. Pudgy Chris was still being loud and obnoxious; he couldn't take his eyes off of Poison, and he had seen me pull "something" out of her boot. "DAMN - I ALREADY LIKE YOU GUYS!," Chris blurted out with bugged out eyes and a huge school-boy grin on his face. "Thanks, Fat Boy... Anybody that wasn't watching us before is probably watching us NOW!" Poison sighed, expressing her disgust with the stranger, "So, what do you want me to tell him?" She was persistent - to the point that it had finally paid off; Poison had bought herself a trip to court on a First Degree Felony - Delivery of LSD. My price was going to be steeper than that.

Goin' Gets Tough - Tough Gets Growing

2005-03-10T11:57:00.000-06:00

Poison had her cigarette case and a small coin purse in her hand when I returned to the table. She had slipped into an over-sized, pale blue, men's business shirt - crisply starched - sleeves neatly folded up above the wrist. She looked damn sexy. Stunning - strangely enough, even "more" with clothes on. "Going somewhere," I asked. "Yeah - outside to the payphone. I'm calling Terry." Poison's eagerness for an ass-kickin' hadn't subsided while I was gone talking to Thunder and JR. "Let's go then." Decision made. I didn't look for JR's "glance of approval" this time. I was on my own now.

Poison and I made it about halfway across the room when she suddenly stopped. "Oh! This is one of my favorite songs!" Poison set her stuff down on an empty table in a dimly lit corner and turned a chair facing outward. "Sit down - I gotta dance for you to this song." "I Wanna Sex You Up" had just started playing. Poison shed the over-sized shirt and caught the beat in mid-stride. "Lean and Mean" barely describes the flawless composition of muscle and flesh gyrating just inches from my own. Poison leaned closer with each stanza; draping her hair across my face - shielding me from the other patrons. Poison's breathing grew slightly heavier as the song played through. I fought the urge to stare at any one particular region - so many attributes to evaluate. "I want you, Tony - I want you to f*** me tonite..." Poisons eyes locked into mine. I tried to win the "contest" by not looking away. "Oh girl... If you only KNEW - I'm gonna f*** you alright, but neither one of us is going to enjoy one bit - mainly, YOU..." "You liked that didn't you?," Poison smiled as she slipped back into her shirt. "It was... alright I guess." Poison flirtatiously slugged me in the stomach, "Just 'alright'... by the looks of 'things' I'd say you liked it ALOT!"

We walked out of the bar and headed to the payphone. I looked up and spotted Goliath watching us from his lime-green Taurus. "Dammit! This bitch is setting a trap!" I subconsciously slowed my pace as I peripherally kept watch on Goliath's vehicle. Poison quickly walked ahead a couple of steps; it almost seemed as if she was trying to create some distance between us - a "safe" separation. Images of John Dillinger and the Lady in Red walking out of the Biograph Theatre quickly played through my mind. Goliath's door opened and I watched the behemoth start unfolding from the driver's seat. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! She's doin' me." Poison looked back over her shoulder and saw that I had almost stopped walking. BITCH! I'm killing you first! "You still having trouble walking, Tony?" Poison stopped and struck a pose, popping her "trademark butt" out a tad, while she waited for me to catch up. "Did I dance a little bit TOO good for you?," Poison smuggly laughed. I never answered her question; I watched Goliath walk into the bar." Poison wasn't a traitor. It wasn't a set-up. She wasn't a bitch. Nevertheless, she was about to step off the edge.

"Hey; What are you doin?" Poison pressed her forefinger to her lips signalling me to be quiet. I listened while Poison "sold me" to Terry; lying to him about how long I'd been coming to the bar, how everyone there knew me, and the usual crap to make him commit. She pulled me tightly into her side and whispered in my ear, "How many do you want, baby?," not wanting to let Terry know I was right there with her. Poison's eyes took on a provacative stare; gleaming a naughty look at me as Terry babbled on the other end. "BABY? Shit! - That's gonna leave a mark... " I closed and opened my hand twice; "Five - Five". "Bring at least twenty; he'll take ten and Candy will take the others." Poison hung up on Terry. "Done! Let's go back in." "Just like that?," I asked, " No 'Bye' - 'I love you' or anything?" "Nope. I don't love him, so why should I say it? "Well, you should have told him to kiss your ass, then." Poison took my face in her hands and held it so I couldn't turn away - like a mom holds her kid when she's about to make a serious "point". "YOU can kiss my ass - We both know you want to."

Deliver Us From Evil

2005-03-07T07:45:00.000-06:00

Poison started outlining the aspects of Terry's drug business; How much he bought - Where he bought it - How much he sold - How long he had been dealing. She seemed nervous, but simultaneously excited as she recalled the time Terry almost sold to “an undercover narc...” Poison volunteered a lot of free information; Except she left out the "one thing" that I really wanted to know: Does he drive a black Buick that has a smashed right window? I leaned in to listen to Poison's offerings; interested in hearing more, but at the same time, hoping that she'd move on to another subject. "Lie to me about how you're working your way through college or how you only dance because it keeps you thin, something, anything, but forget about selling me dope." I was having a hard time discerning whether Poison was "bragging" about her old man or trying to get him busted. Maybe she was just trying to fit into the group. She knew Mary was selling Meth to LT and JR. Who knows - she was cleaning out the closets, though; throwing all of Terry's skeletons out on their collective asses.

Poison tossed up another home run ball, "I can get him to sell to you - I'll tell him that you come in here all the time and that I know you're cool." I could have driven it out of the park, but, I tried to dissuade her from the topic, instead; "I don't know him. You said he almost sold to a narc once. What if he "did" get busted and now he's working with a cop or something?" Poison pressed on, "I promise - I swear to God he's cool." "I don't know," I said, "We'll see. What time is he coming?," I asked. "One of these days you'll look back on this, and I just hope you remember that it was YOU that kept pushing the issue." "Midnight, but I can call him and have him come earlier if you want - Let's go to the payphone and I'll call him." Poison still hadn't made any mention of money. I had never been around a dancer that didn't try to get into my pockets within the first five minutes. Is she doing "this" to get her share? "Does he give you any of the money he makes?," I asked. "Nope - I don't need his money - I make more in here than he does out there." "Then you don't need to help him sell that shit!," I shot back, hoping to end the discussion. "I'm not helping him. I like you, Tony... I wanna help YOU." "Lead me not into temptation; I can find the way all by myself."

I had no way of knowing if Poison's boyfriend was the same guy that had sold to Thunder. I asked Jasmine to let Thunder breathe for a few minutes while we stepped over to the bar. I briefed him on what we had been discussing. "Damn Precious, I thought you wuz proposing to that little Nissan, as serious as you two were acting over there. Just buy a house and give it to the little bitch." Thunder; always handy with a wisecrack. Thunder got serious long enough to school me on the fact that if this was the same Terry, we wouldn't get an additional delivery case because it would be seen in court as a continuation of the earlier transaction for fifty (50) hits. Both transactions would occur within the same calendar day and I had been with Thunder on the earlier buy. "Fuck 'em! Do him - just wait 'till after midnight, then it's a different day - a completely separate charge." "Damn. Makes sense... But I don't really want a case against her". "You sure you wanna do her?," Thunder asked. "Damn! Am I thinking out loud or are you a comedian AND a mind reader?" Thunder didn't care if we did Terry again, but the "womanizer" in him showed a little remorse for tagging Poison with a felony delivery case. Thunder was more interested in finding out if Black Buick Boy was banging Poison. "Let's do it - How much you gonna buy?" Back then, LSD was the cheapest felony case you could make. One (1) hit of LSD, for the average price of $3, bought the defendant a first degree felony. "I don't know - Let me talk to JR first," I said, hoping Poison would be called to the main stage before I went back to the table, "We're up here to do his buy anyway - that comes first." Thunder had a parting shot, but it wasn't one of his classic one-liners: "They're gonna eat her ALIVE in the joint..." "Literally - Thanks."

I went to JR, hoping his deal was happening soon so we would get tied up with that. Fat chance. JR had some of the same questions that Thunder had, "Terry's bought and paid for. He's the source. We're trying to work "UP" the ladder here. What do we gain by doing her?" JR seized the opportunity to administer another test. "If it's a different guy, you come out of this with two new defendants. If it's the same guy, yeah, you might add another case, but you can explain that it was set up by her, the conspiring girlfriend." JR was steering me in the direction he knew I should go, but he wasn't actually telling me how to get there. "You wanted to be a narc - now, make a decision - this is all part of it. Either way, you're gonna send her to prison."

Still No Hockey Fix!

2005-03-06T03:21:00.000-06:00

12:25pm; Duty pager goes off: House explosion - possible drug lab - respond ASAP

12:51pm; Arrived at crime scene. Dodge TV news cameras to enter lab site.

1:00pm; Begin processing evidence.

6:45pm; Release scene to Fire Dept. / Head to office to log evidence.

6:48pm; Call home - Missing another dinner/evening with Ms. Falcon.

7:00pm; Pause to contemplate life undercover...

7:02pm; Pause to wonder who's sitting in my seats for hockey game.

This is what's left of a $1400 side x side fridge/freezer after the "chilling" acetone mixture flashed and exploded inside fridge, blowing the doors off and igniting the fire. Meth Cook and 4 freaks last seen running to car with soot covered faces and smoldering clothing. No reported deaths. Lucky bastards.

Why do you think they call it DOPE?

I'm Ill... Off Topic - Not A Title - To Be Deleted Soon

2005-03-04T07:30:00.000-06:00

I'm currently suffering from a very rare ailment that appears every now and then, only this time it's lasted longer than ever before. Experts from all over the world have attempted to find a cure for it, and a cure "does" exist, but there seems to be a "hold" on the funding; it always comes down to money, which I have, just not enough to cover what it would cost to cure me.

I've been motoring along just fine, strolling down memory lane, drafting and editing future posts, making a little progress, then this morning it hit me full-force, no symptomatic hints, just a sudden, full-fledged attack, and then I crashed.

I realized I had "it" when I opened my homepage to read up on my friends. I stared at the links in my "Little Black Book" and my vision started to blur. The more it blurred - the more I squinted; the more I squinted - the more obvious it became. I'm sick - I have "it". There's a long, un-pronounceable name for "it", and it takes too long to explain, so I just say; lack-o-hockey, not to be confused with, and certainly not nearly as devastating as lack-o-n**kie. So... What triggered this malady, this affliction, this enervation, this ~~impotency~~, uhhh... bad choice, this depraving, incapacitating beast?

The shape formed by my links somewhat resembles an upside-down... Stanley Cup!

(C'mon Grace, work with me here...)

Should I re-arrange the links? - Naaa, too much editing. Should I drop a couple of bloggers? - Naaa, Y'all are my homies. Sometimes you just gotta say W-T-F! I'm beating this thing! I'm gonna work through it!

So, this week-end I will take on the role of a Doctor, and I will self-medicate, cost what it may. I'll slip out out to Frisco and catch a Texas Tornados hockey game. Not a cure - just a treatment.

Ahhh... I feel better already! I should be able to post the next installment by late this evening... (First I have to wine & dine Ms. Falcon and take preventative measures against that "other" ailment...)

Trippin' Without My Luggage

2005-03-02T13:55:00.000-06:00

It's been ten years this month, and I still regret going back to see Poison that day.

Thunder was a tall, lanky cowboy, known for his wide array of one-liners. He would randomly recite lines from hundreds of movies, but he favored John Wayne and Marlon Brando. He always had a line ready for whatever the current conversation might be, and he would quote it, once, twice, a hundred times - or until you acknowledged that you had heard him. I ragged him for wearing crisply starched Wranglers and button down western shirts everyday. "You lookin' to mount somethin' at lunch-time, Thunder?" Thunder was a three time divorcee, and he was always on the prowl, dressed for dancing or a "nooner," whichever opportunity arose. "I ain't never gettin' married again - I'm just gonna buy the bitch a house, instead!" Thunder reminded us daily that he had lost three homes to three ex-wives. I never saw him wear a casual pair of shoes, shorts, or a broken-in pair of Levi's. One of the perks of working narcotics is that you can wear whatever the hell you want. Jeans, t-shirts, tennis shoes, boots, shorts, sandals... whatever the "story" requires and the weather will allow. But Thunder dressed the same - everyday, with the occasional exception of his two favorite t-shirts: a black, Harley-Davidson t-shirt that had an image of a howling Wolf on it, and a gray t-shirt that had a huge dollar bill on the front, a bull's head in place of the president's image, and the phrase, "Sounds Like Bullshit To Me", underneath. Regardless of what shirt he wore, Thunder always wore starched Wrangler jeans and Justin Ropers. Now, that's pretty much what I wore on "my" time, off-duty, so I wasn't knocking his choice of clothes, but this was work and I dressed accordingly. So, I always wondered if Thunder's attire was really conducive to buying dope. Most of us bought dope three or four times a day, everyday. Thunder's buys were spread out... to about once a week.

Thunder liked to make his dope buys on Mondays, that way he could cruise for the rest of the week. But he was always available to cover whoever needed help. He kept pace in the stats, plus it was easier being the cover guy; less paperwork. On this particular Monday, Thunder asked me to cover him on an LSD buy. We hopped into his truck and drove to a convenience store across town. Thunder was meeting "Terry" to buy fifty (50) hits of acid. Terry was waiting for Thunder when we pulled into the parking lot. Thunder got out and walked over to Terry's 1988 Buick Regal, a black 2-door with a black trash bag covering the passenger door's window, the obvious result of a current rash of General Motors vehicle thefts. I kept an eye on Thunder, but the plastic kept me from seeing what Terry was doing. That was just as well - he couldn't see me either. Thunder and Terry exchanged small talk about the broken window and eventually completed the transaction: Fifty (50) hits of acid for $150.00. Another Felony charge for Terry. Thunder had bought smaller amounts of LSD from Terry on two other occasions. This was supposed to be his last buy before filing for secret indictments. We headed back to the office, wrote our reports then took the evidence to the property room on our way out to lunch. An easy day so far... "maybe I'll get home early tonite."

Late that afternoon, as I got ready to head home, JR came back to the office and said he had set up a buy at the bar and he needed cover. JR, Thunder and I rode together - 20 miles to the bar where I had previously met Poison, Mary, Satin... and Goliath. "I wonder if Poison's working tonite?" I nervously anticipated seeing her again. I don't know why - I knew I wasn't getting involved with her, but I had to play the part, and that meant toeing the edge if things went in that direction. We walked in and waited for our table to be cleared. JR went straight to the raised, glass booth and greeted the DJ while Thunder and I scanned the scenery, looking for "our girls." I figured that Poison wouldn't remember me and I dreaded having to repeat the whole routine with a "new" girl. "One out of a thousand guys that she's probably played like a fine tuned guitar." But she hadn't played me; not for drinks or lap dances, other than the money that I dropped at her feet after my run-in with Goliath. She hadn't "worked" me like dancers are inclined to do, making "that guy" feel like he's the only one - that is, until his wallet's empty. It's a game - you just have to understand the rules: They're there to make money, you're there to "whatever" and everybody goes home alone when the lights come on. "It's all fun and games - ~~till somebody gets poked in the eye~~ till somebody sells dope to a narc."

I felt the nudge of two soft lumps on my back; warm breath on my neck as cold fingers covered my eyes. "Mmmmm - Guess who?" A mysterious hardbody was moaning while she softly bit my ear. I knew exactly who it was by the scent of her hands; Bath and Body Works' Vanilla Bean lotion. An instant aphrodisiac by any measure! Poison had found me first. I turned around and Poison pressed hard into my chest. "Where have you been?" she asked. "Aw..." I shrugged, "a nasty little dump called The Orchid," knowing that Poison knew it was another strip bar. "Well, you don't have any reason to go back there anymore." "Let the games begin." We went to our table and were soon joined by the regular crew; Mary - the waitress, Satin - pouting cause Biker Tom didn't come along, and Thunder's girl - Jasmine. "Bada Boom Bada Bing - She's pickin' out china patterns!," Thunder spouted his favorite line as Jasmine plopped into his lap.

"What have you been up to today?" Poison asked while stroking my hair. "Just hanging out with these clowns. What about you... makin' any money today?" Poison shook her head, "Not a good day." Poison stared at me with her hypnotic eyes; scanning every detail of my face. "What do you do?" Damn - Just like that? Not a particularly difficult question, except that she was actually looking at me while she waited for a response. I was more used to the typical strip-bar BS where, after asking the same question, the girls usually looked away, searching the targets - weighing their options before you could answer. And always, the typical response to any answer; an emotionless, un-interested, mundane "Oh - really?" It didn't matter what you said: "I'm a brain surgeon" / "Oh - really?," "I build houses" / "Oh - really?," "I kill people" / "Oh - really?" So, it was difficult, cause Poison was actually acting interested in whatever BS I was concocting for an answer. She was actually listenening. "You know what I do," I answered, trying to remember how much we had talked during our first encounter. "Yeah, I know, but it's not everyday is it?," Poison asked, her voice hinting a fine line between doubt and concern. "Most days," I said, "sometimes every day - sometimes just once a week." "My old man sells dope." DAMN! Poison was getting to the point, today! "Your old man? As in 'dad' or 'husband'?" "My boyfriend, Terry. He's coming up here later tonite if you wanna buy some acid?" Dammit girl! I told you not to try to sell me any dope! "Naw, that's kiddy stuff isn't it? - I don't mess with teenagers too much." I couldn't believe I was passing up a chance at another easy case but damn, I didn't want to body-slam Poison... Not my girl! Not legally, anyway. "Wait - hold the phone - did she say T e r r y ?"

Blood Brothers

2005-02-28T17:22:00.000-06:00

I decided to give Marvin's case a couple of days off even though I was having a blast doing it. JR and Biker Tom had paired up on a case and were busy having UC meetings and making buys. Chopper asked me to come along on a Meth buy that he had set up the day before. We drove to a run down apartment complex and picked up a scraggly, toothless guy about 35 years old. His clothes looked and smelled like he'd worn them for a whole week without changing. He smelled of ass and stale cigarette smoke. I let "Jerry" ride in front with Chopper. Chopper introduced me as "Frank." Frank? Where the hell did he get THAT?

Jerry gave Chopper directions to a body shop near the west edge of downtown Dallas. You could see the County Court and County Jail buildings from the parking lot of the business. "Jerry's gonna be in there pretty soon.," Chopper commented, while we waited for Jerry to return from inside the body shop. "He'll probly be in there a little while, gettin' himself a little bump before we hit the road." Chopper said, fully expecting Jerry to shoot up while he was buying Chopper's dope. We were both surprised to see Jerry exit the building, nervously looking around as he slithered back to Chopper's car. "Were they out?" asked Chopper. "No. I got it right here." said Jerry, reaching into his crotch area to retrieve a baggie of Meth. "Can I have a bump of that?" Jerry asked, appearing to crave the contents of the bag. "Naw bud, you now I can't spare any of this," Chopper deflected Jerry's request, "I know you got yourself a little bit while you were in there, anyway." Jerry laughed shamefully, shaking his head at Chopper's accusation, but then he pulled a smaller baggie form his crotch and held it up, admiring the contents. I could see Jerry smiling, almost salivating as he teased himself with his little stash. Then, in an instant, his face froze in an unfocused stare, his eyes growing wider as he gazed into the bag. Jerry turned to stare at Chopper, who was now driving onto the interstate highway.

Jerry leaned down toward the floorboard and began pulling at his pants leg. Not knowing what Jerry was going after, I visualized a target at the base of Jerry's skull as I reached back for my pistol. I looked for a reaction from Chopper, but he was too busy avoiding vehicles as he merged onto the freeway. Jerry sat back and I could see that he had a rolled-up, Crown Royal bag in his hand. I waited to see what Jerry was going to pull from the bag, still looking for a contact shot in case he came out with a weapon. Jerry pulled a stainless steel tablespoon from the bag, the tang of it curled into a semi-circle. He also took out a disposable syringe, a film canister with water, and a small piece of cigarette filter. Jerry slipped his left forefinger through the loop in the spoon, placed a small amount of dope into the spoon, added the piece of cigarette filter and a few drops of water. Jerry then took a cigarette lighter from his shirt pocket and began to heat the mixture. I was immersed in watching the procedure, but more impressed by the ambidextrous agility of the dope fiend. Jerry slipped off his belt, made a loop, and slipped his arm through it. "Hold me off, Frank." I heard the words but I didn't snap at first. "Frank!, Hold me off, brother." Jerry looked back this time as he handed me the end of the belt. "Oh yeah... I'm 'Frank' today...."

I reached into the front seat and pulled on the end of the belt. Jerry made a fist and patted his veins, looking for a receptive artery into which he could inject the poison. He took the needle and slipped it into his arm, slowly applying pressure to the plunger. "Let off, brother - let off." Jerry stopped and pulled the plunger back slightly; a stream of blood retreated into the syringe. Jerry methodically injected a bit more poison, each time retrieving the plunger and drawing blood back into the syringe, patiently repeating the procedure until the syringe was empty. Jerry had masturbated the needle; teasing himself to a climax of sorts.

We returned to the complex and dropped Jerry off. "Bubba, I'm glad YOU did that! I almost threw up the first time I held-off a puke like that." Chopper snorted and laughed as he replayed the sequence of events. "You shoulda seen the look on your face!" "Bastard! You knew that was gonna happen, didn't you?"

I had to laugh about Chopper setting me up. It was funny to him, but I couldn't be pissed about it... he had just exposed me to another facet of the drug world.

Kill The Guy That Killed You

2005-02-21T13:05:00.000-06:00

I waited a couple of days before calling Marvin. I was able to identify him through the business card and phone number that he had given me. Marvin had told a half-truth... A little white lie, if you will. He had never been caught selling Cocaine, but he had been caught with it. Marvin had four "possession of a controlled substance" arrests, two for Cocaine and two for Methamphetamines. Marvin padded his stats with four arrests for assault, one being an aggravated charge; two DWI charges; a misdemeanor theft charge and FIVE; one, two, three, four, FIVE, obstructing-interfering with Police. It appeared that Marvin liked to fight the Police. He was going to be fun...

I was anxious to see if Marvin would be as easy to deal with outside of the bar environment. Sharon answered the telephone. "Hey Sharon," I asked, "is Big Marv in?" "Well that depends... Do you want to talk to him about a car, or you wanna buy some candy?," she asked, adding a childish emphasis to "some candy." Marvin had evidently told the truth about Sharon. She seemed to know that he sold something besides used cars. Sharon sounded like an older woman, with the "I've-smoked-way-too-many-cigarettes-while-playing-Bingo" voice. It was rather comical... Marvin had dropped his guard, laid all his cards on the table, to a complete stranger in a topless bar, and now Sharon was asking insinuating questions to the same stranger. "SHARON!," I snapped back acting like I knew her, "What if this was a cop on the other end of this line? Woman! You can't be saying that kinda stuff! I'd hate to see you get into any kinda trouble!" She either mistook my voice for someone she thought she recognized, or she was just plain stupid. It didn't matter though, because she had opened up the door for me to act concerned about her well being. "Oh! I'm sorry... It's just that nobody ever calls about cars anymore. I'm such a dumbass..." "Don't worry about it, this is Tony from the bar. Where's the Big Boy?" "Oh hell, Tony, you got me all flustered now! How you been?," she asked. Sharon didn't know me from Adam, but at the moment, she felt like she had an ally on the line. Sharon was bought and paid for. "I own every one of 'em..." Well, Marvelous Marvin, this one belongs to me. I had found another chink in Marvin's armor. How many dope calls had Sharon taken? How many drug transactions had she witnessed at the used car lot? Could it be that Sharon was Marvin's wife? Sharon could become a very valuable witness for the prosecution of Marvin's cases.

Marvin picked up the phone... "Hey, Tony." "Maaar-Vin... this is Tony... from The Orchid." "Yeah, Tony... Yeah, I know." "Hey buddy, I need a couple of 8 cylinders. You got a couple of nice ones?," I asked, expecting Marvin to pick up on the coded language. "Oh... Well, I got a nice LeSabre and a real clean Cutlass. You looking for something like that?" Marvin's voice exuded confused disappointment. "No... Two '8' cylinders," I repeated with emphasis, "... like the one you drove to the Orchid the other day. The one you showed me in Sam's place." "Oh, hell, I got'cha now! Damn... I had to think about what I have on the lot. Yeah, I can do that."

Marvin and I agreed to meet at 2:00PM at Keller's Hamburgers, an old drive-in restaurant, and the icon of Dallas hamburger joints, complete with car-hop waitresses, erratic neon lights, poppy seed buns and cold beer. I wouldn't have any trouble getting a couple of the guys to cover me at this place. I was employing a morbid technique that I had picked up from Chopper, an old, seasoned narc in the unit. Chopper liked to ice down a case of beer and drive around looking for dope dealers. He looked like he had just gotten off a tractor in a plowed up field somewhere. He made alot of street buys, because he looked like he didn't have the education or the sense to be a cop, much less be working undercover. But, he had a lot of common sense, trade secrets and random pointers to offer to a new guy like me, so I listened and learned. Chopper had the most honest, down to earth, country-boy appearance that I'd ever seen. He disliked supervision, new technology, computers, dope dealers, and topless bars, but he possessed such a smooth working style, that he could have talked the Pope into selling him a dime rock of crack.

Chopper's Advice: " Bubba, when you do a dope deal, it ain't ever gonna go like you planned it. There's a damn good chance that it could go bad, real bad-real quick. If things get ugly, and you happen to be at a restaurant, hopefully, you've picked a restaurant you really like. That way, if you take one in the gut, you at least had the chance to choose your last meal. There's a lot more to buyin' dope than looking at naked women and drinking beer... There's the reality of the crime. You're lookin' at sendin' these people away for a long time. Dope dealers don't wanna get caught. They'll do any-thing to any-body so they can stay free. You're on your own out there. It don't matter how much cover you have with you, all we're gonna do is kill the guy that killed you..."

I wasn't real sure what Chopper really wanted me to glean from his theory. I knew there was something in his good ole boy logic. I preferred to look at every deal as the "next one"... not the "last one."

I pulled in to Keller's a little before 2:00 and parked near the end of the front row. Chopper and Thunder followed me in and parked in the row across from me. Chopper and Thunder placed their order with the waitress and settled in, blending with the other patrons, a broad mixture of blue collar workers in pick-up trucks and utility vans, and suit-wearing businessmen in Mercedes and Volvos. Anyone could "fit in" in this environment. Even Marvin. I ordered the #5 Special with tater tots, a Coors Light, and an empty take-out cup.

I sat back and waited for Marvin. I soon spotted him slinking through the parking lot in a shiny, black Trans-Am. Marvin spotted me and pulled up across the front of my car. "Get in," he said, his head practically sticking up above the open T-Top. I got a quick flashback image of "Herman Munster," and his hot rod roadster in "The Addams Family." "I just ordered my food. You come over here and get you something too." Marvin looked digusted, he had obviously planned to drive around to do the deal. He threw the Trans-Am in reverse and whipped into a space a couple of cars down, out of my sight beside a utility van. I expected Marvin to come right over, but he stayed in his car, waiting for me to come to him. I could make out his reflection in the plate glass windows of the restaurant. My order came so I dug in. Piss on 'im - I'm running this deal... He might drive away, but he'll come back. He wants the Almighty Dollar! About 5 minutes went by and Marvin was still in his car. Was he waiting for his cover? What was he doing over there? Pouting? Piss on 'im... I get paid by the hour... I can wait all day. I finally got a glimpse of Marvin unfolding his frame, struggling to get out of the driver's seat. He looked somewhat taller than I remembered. He DID look like Herman when he finally stood up next to the low-slung Trans Am. Marvin made his way to my car and caught me laughing at the thought. He wasn't happy when he looked down into the much lower Corvette. "I can't get into that!," he complained. "Get in, quit being a pussy," I said, popping another tater-tot in my mouth and looking the least bit concerned. Marvin squatted by my door instead, then he dropped two golf ball sized wads of paper into my lap. "You wanted two eight balls, right?," he asked. "Yeah... You gonna eat?," I asked, without looking at the dope or at him, but keeping an eye on the approaching car hop. "Naw," he said, "I'm going to the bar. You coming up there?" "Maybe later," I said, "I'm seeing a girl at Showtime afterwhile, so I'm heading there after I finish eattin'." Marvin stayed hunkered down by my car door and watched me finish the #5. "Damn, that's good food. You sure you're not gonna eat?," I asked. "Naw... Soon as you pay me, I'm heading to the Orchid." "Aww damn... Can I write you a check?," I asked jokingly. Marvin stood up and gave me "the look." I had pushed it a little too far. "Here buddy, have a drink," I told Marvin, handing him the paper cup. Marvin took the cup and could tell that it was empty. "What the fuck you doin' muthafucker!?!" he asked, throwing down the empty cup. He had finally lost his patience. All were gonna do is kill the guy that killed you...
"You just threw away $360 bucks, Marvin... You gonna leave that for the trashman?"
Marvin sheepishly picked up the cup, cracked open the lid and saw that it contained his cash. "You can count it if you want, but you already have everybody here looking at you." I said. "Naw, long as you're sure it's all there. You're a slick little fuck, with that eight cylinder bullshit, and now this crap."

"I'll call you in a couple of days... I ain't ever been caught either, Marvin."

Marvelous Marvin - Parte Deux

2005-02-21T01:06:00.000-06:00

JR and I watched as the girls made their way to Marvin's table. "What do you think he's got going here? I asked JR. "Who knows? Look at him though, he's a pig, he's gotta be giving 'em dope." "Well, whatever he's doing, he saved me $20," I told JR, "That's just as well, I forgot to check out more money before we left, and I'm down to about a hundred bucks." JR assured me that we wouldn't be staying much longer. JR was supposed to be making a buy from a friend of Clarence, the limo driver, and he was just waiting for Clarence to come upstairs to get him. I looked back at Marvin, now surrounded by every girl that had once been sitting with us. "I'm gonna go meet him," I said, "Maybe I can buy something from him." "All you're gonna get is your head smashed. Don't go starting anything like you did with Mary the other day," JR joked, as he slid around to get a better view of the floor. "Go ahead, Precious," said Thunder, "I can dot his eye from here if he tries to get Western with ya." Thunder would cover me if JR got tied up with Clarence while I tried to figure out a way meet Marvin.

I made my way downstairs and over to Marvin's table. Marvin stood up when I reached his group. I was a stranger to him and he probably wondered who I was, coming into his circle uninvited. "I gotta ask you something," I said to Marvin. Marvin looked down at me with one eyebrow raised. "Shoot," he said, acting a bit agitated. "What's the name of that cologne you're wearing? I'm gonna have to get me some of that." Marvin looked at me as if I was hitting on him. "Buddy, I don't think I have any cologne on today. Why you askin?" "Well," I said, "I've been buying these girls drinks and tipping 'em for dances all afternoon, and when you came in, they hauled ass and left me sittin' there with an empty wallet. I just figured you must be wearing some kinda magic, foo-foo shit that drew 'em all to you." "Com'ere. Come with me, Big Guy." Marvin motioned for me to follow him into a darkened hallway. Dammit! I've gone and let my mouth overload my ass AGAIN! Marvin navigated through the scattered tables and lingering dancers as he walked to the door of the men's restroom. "Get out for a minute, Sam." Marvin said, rudely ordering the bathroom attendant to leave us in private. I stepped inside and Marvin followed, closing the door behind him with his back against it. Had Marvin had taken me serious about the cologne comment? He was either going to try to kick my ass, or he was going to spritz me with something from Sam's collection of fragrances. "Gimme a dollar," he said, "You DO have a dollar don't you?" I grabbed for my wallet, saying, "Hell, I doubt it. I think Desiré took all my money." Before I could open my wallet, Marvin unfolded a $10 bill and laid it flat on the counter, then he pulled a sandwich bag out of his pants pocket. The bag contained a baseball sized amount of Cocaine. Marvin opened the bag and tapped out about 1/8th ounce of the powder onto the bill. Marvin carefully folded the bill and handed it to me. "Here," he said, "This'll get you any girl you want." Figuring he had just handed me about $200 worth of Coke, I faked disappointment, "Man, I don't have the money for this." Marvin grinned and made a profound statement that he must still regret to this day... "I'm MAR-VIN. I'm the biggest Cocaine dealer in town. I've been selling dope for over 10 years and I ain't ever been caught." "You shittin' me?" I asked. I was genuinely dumfounded by Marvin's pompous attitude, and it must have been apparent. Marvin plead his case, "You saw all those chicks out there, didn't you? I own them all, every one of 'em. And it's all because I give 'em this stuff."

"No shit?" I laughed at Marvin, and he laughed with me. This had been way too easy. If he was the big dealer he claimed to be, he sure was sloppy about his business. But, on the other hand, he had given me a huge amount of Coke as a free sample. "Go get you one of them girls, give her some of that, and take her home," he said. "I don't know, Marvin... I'd hate to pick the wrong one," I said, "Which one's yours?" Marvin looked up and thought for a few seconds. "I'm taking Tania home today... I've had 'em all, but Tania... she's kinda growing on me." Marvin handed me a business card with a handwritten phone number on it. "You're gonna like my stuff. I get it straight from the Mexicans. Call me when you want more." I took the card and read the name out loud, "Marvin's Auto Depot, Is that your place?" "Yeah, You can call me there. Sharon's the secretary, she knows what I do, so just tell her what you want. What's your name, anyway, Big Guy?" he asked. "Tony. Just, Tony." "Cool. Let's go party then, Tony."

Marvin had just written a page in his criminal history... and he had tossed in a $10 bill, to boot. All I had done was put myself in the position to ask him a stupid question. A stupid question that could have easily been answered or just as easily ignored. But... Marvin had become a victim of every dope dealer's biggest and most common enemy: Not the undercover narc; but his own EGO.

Marvin went back to his harem and I went back upstairs. "I was just fixin' to come find you, Precious." Thunder said, peeking around the hardbody sitting in his lap. "Thanks, I can see the worried look on your face..." I took the chair beside JR and turned my back to Thunder and the "Nissan." "What was that all about? JR asked, "Did you meet him or what?" "Oh, I met him alright, look at this!" I showed JR the $10 bill full of Coke. "I thought you didn't have any money!" JR said, wondering how I had bought the Cocaine. "He GAVE it to me," I said, "Says he's the biggest dealer in town and has been dealing over 10 years without getting caught. He gave me his number so I can call him for more." JR shook his head in disbelief, "He's caught NOW! You little sonuvabitch! I can't believe you DID him!" JR was stupified by the details of knocking down Marvin. "And it's HIS $10 bill too," I added, enjoying the bewildered look on JR's face...

Marvelous Marvin

2005-02-18T09:30:00.000-06:00

I spent the next few days after the trip to the topless bar hanging around the office, taking care of adminstrative issues required to establish my undercover identity. I now had to create mutiple personalities and learn to keep them separate. I would learn to leave "Tony" at the office and return to being "Me" when I got home. Regardless of what exciting "NEW" things I acquired and experienced, GETTING HOME was, and still is, the best part of every day.

I was on my computer navigating through the expense tracking program, learning how to categorize expenses, linking them to evidence and investigations. JR walked in and asked, "You got another shirt with you?" "Naw - do I need one?" I asked, wondering what was wrong with my "Soldier of Fortune" t-shirt. "You have to have a collared shirt on to get into The Orchid. Run home and get one real quick... bring two, you can leave one here." The Orchid was a topless bar, a "Cabaret," as the upscale titty bars preferred to be called. "A rose by any other name..." I hurried home and grabbed a couple of my least favorite Polo shirts. The afternoon with Poison and Goliath had left my shirt smudged with make-up, wreaking of Poison's perfume and the stale odor of beer and cigarette smoke; it was still stuffed behind the driver's seat of my Vette.

JR and I rode in JR's Mustang. We would be joined later by LT and Thunder. The first and only other time I had been to "The Orchid" was for a bachelor party a couple of years ago. I was working this time... and had a better budget to work with.

Clarence, the doorman and limo driver, met us at the door and sent us upstairs to the VIP lounge. "Membership has it's privelages, Precious." JR chuckled, as we walked up the stairs. I was already impressed, and the only thing I could see was JR's big ass on the steps above me. JR and I sat at a table and surveyed the scenery below. We ordered drinks and watched the hardbodies going through their choreographed routines. EVERYTHING in this place was upscale; dancers, waitresses, sound system, lighting, decor... EVERYTHING. Our drinks came, followed by a couple of idle dancers. Each girl sat in her own chair and we began the mundane task of lying to each other... Qualifying who we were and what we "did." "I'm working my way through college" seemed to be the excuse of choice when the dancers explained why they took their clothes off for a living. At least one of the girls was being honest; JR had seen her at one of his son's college baseball games. JR promptly informed me that she was off-limits. Several dancers stopped to visit. Some of them talked only to the girls sitting with us. Some stayed longer than others, some stayed as long as we bought their drinks. ALL of them asked each other the same questions; "Have you seen Marvin?" "Have you called Marvin?" "Is Marvin comin' today?"

"Marvin?" Who the hell is Marvin?

LT and Thunder arrived about an hour later. Our group was growing, tables were moved closer together as more girls arrived and there was always at least one lap dance in progress. I was closely examining "Desire's" perfectly flat stomach as she danced when... "Sorry! I'll be right back!" she said, as she bolted from the table and headed for the stairs. "She gotta go shit?," asked Thunder, in his usual crude, Southern drawl. We were all amazed at Desire' leaving in the middle of a $20 lap dance. Three other dancers left just as quick. "Is there a fire I don't know about?" asked JR, adding, "Thunder, you passing gas again?" Why the mass exodus? I looked to the floor below and spotted our girls flocking around an overweight, long haired, beer bellied, 6 foot - 280 pound SLOB. M-A-R-V-I-N. "So THAT's fuckin' Marvin."

To be continued...

Money Talks - BS Walks

2005-02-15T16:04:00.000-06:00

I relayed the "Goliath" story to JR and LT. The girl sittin' with JR told us that Goliath used to be a regular at the club before he went to prison. He had recently gotten out on parole and had started driving a taxi. She went on to tell us that most of Goliath's driver buddies were also Jamaican's that hung around in the late evenings hoping to pick-up drunk fares needing a way home. Goliath sold crack cocaine to one of the bartenders and to the assistant manager. This was becoming a target rich environment. About the time JR's girl finished giving us the goods on Goliath, the assistant manager walked up and told us we had to leave. "There's a group of blacks gathering up outside and if they come in here there's going to be trouble," he said. Goliath had apparently called in his reinforcements, but he didn't know I had a posse of my own.

The front door opened and the bright daylight lit up the inside of the bar. Goliath walked in followed by four of his Jamaican buddies. All four of them put together didn't equal Goliath's size. Goliath looked into the VIP area and spotted our group. He pointed us out to his cronies and immediately, two of them shook their heads and walked back out the door. Then a third followed suit. That left Goliath and one soldier. He had just been punked out by a much smaller man, and now he faced a group of instead of just me. There was little he could do except take his punking and go. Instead, he and his lone ally sat at a table by the front door and waited.

The assistant manager again suggested that we should leave, but we had dope coming and "leaving" wasn't an option. Mary was about to commit her third delivery of methamphetamine to LT. Poison was now at her last side-stage and would be coming back to the table soon. I stood up and asked the assistant manager how much money the cab drivers were spending in his bar. Before he could answer, I ordered a fresh round of drinks for the table, then I walked to Poison's stage and began systematically laying money on the floor as she danced. First, all the singles that I had, then $5 dollar bills followed by a few $10's. The topless bar protocal was to slip the money into the g-string at the hip. I wanted to show the onlookers that money wasn't that important to me and I didn't need to put it in Poison's g-string just to feel her hip. Garth Brooks' Shameless was blaring, surviving the first half of my first day had me high on adrenaline, and either the booze or watching Poison's gyrating body was starting to give me a buzz.

Well I'm shamemeless, when it comes to loving you
I'll do anything you want me to
I'll do anything at all.

And I'm standing, here for all the world to see
Oh baby, that's what's left of me
Don't have very far to fall.

You know now I'm not a man who's ever been
Insecure about the world I've been living in
I don't break easy, I have my pride
But if you need to be satisfied

I'm shameless, oh honey, I don't have a prayer
Every time I see you standin' there
I go down upon my knees.

And I'm changing, swore I'd never compromise
Oh, but you convinced me otherwise
I'll do anything you please....

I stayed at the side stage until the song ended. Poison lowered herself to the stage floor to collect her bounty. "NOBODY has ever tipped me like this before," she said, as she extended her hand so I could help her off the stage. Poison wrapped her arm around my waist and took my right arm and placed it around hers. Poison's velvety skin was smooth, cool; damp from dancing for the past half hour. The mere touch of her arm around my waist was intoxicating, but suddenly, the involuntary image of Sharsandra doing the same thing just a few hours earlier had a sobering effect. I scanned the doorway to get a bead on Goliath, but the table was empty. He was gone. Management had evidently evaluated their preferred customer. I rejoined the group with Poison in tow.

Mary returned to our table and took LT to a dark corner of the bar. The exchange was made and LT came back with a pocketfull of speed. The clock was now ticking on the preservation of the evidence. LT knew that if we stayed much longer, the meth monkeys would soon be begging for a "bump." Almost by design, LT's pager lit up with an incoming page. "Time to go to work," he said, trying to sound disappointed. It was actually his wife expecting the obligatory phone call to let her know that he was OK. We exchanged hugs, good-byes, and false promises to come back later. Poison threatened not to let me leave. I had an easy out though, "LT's riding with me today, I'll come back tomorrow." "OK. You promise not to forget me?" she asked.

You see in all my life I've never found
What I couldn't resist, what I couldn't turn down
I could walk away from anyone I ever knew
But I can't walk away from you.

Gettin' Fronted - Growin' A Pair

2005-02-15T10:05:00.000-06:00

Things were moving along pretty fast on my first day of undercover work. I was just going with the flow and trying to take it all in, not saying much and hoping Poison didn't ask too many questions. It was obvious that my partners had spent a good amount of time in the bar and everyone seemed to know who they were, not in the real sense, but whatever their cover story was, everyone was buying it. LT had spent the travel time between the station and the bar briefing me on general administrative guidelines of the unit. Now, here I sat with a hardbody in my lap with three of her equally qualified friends holding down my partners. "Biker Tom," another of the narcs in the unit, came in after we had been there about a half hour. BT was immediately snagged by "Satin," his regular girl. I was still trying to figure out who was "friendly" and who was a "target." I figured at least one of the girls was probably working as an informant, but I had to wait for a better time to ask questions. "Watch and learn - No more blunders."

Poison and Satin were the next two dancers in the rotation and they needed to go pick their music. Poison would have to dance on the main stage, then three smaller side-stages before she could come back to the table. She planted a big kiss on my cheek and said, "Don't wipe that off. If anybody comes and tries to sit here, you tell them you're waiting for me. This is my spot." I looked into a mirrored wall by our table and could see the imprint of Poison's glossy lips glowing in the blacklights. When I turned back, JR was shaking his head and laughing again. He was getting a kick out of watching my initiation.

BT pulled his chair up beside me and began briefing me on what the "story" was for "this" place. "We collect debts: Break people's legs," he said. Great!, I thought, I'm the newest guy in the group and I have to pull off the "enforcer" role. "Is there a CI in here?" I asked, catching BT in the middle of a swig. BT smiled and shook his "No" as he finished his beer. "That's the beauty of this thing," he said, "No CI's to deal with." Before we could say anything else, Satin plopped back into BT's lap. "I need $40 to pay the DJ so he won't call me on stage," she said. BT opened his wallet and gave Satin $60. Satin slipped a $20 into her G-string, kissed BT and started off to pay the DJ. Before she left, Satin stopped, and in a pouty voice told me, "You could have bought Poison off too, then she wouldn't have to dance either." Too late. The DJ was already announcing Poison as the next dancer and the place was errupting into wolf whistles and drunken cheers. Rightly so, Poison was drop dead...

I almost welcomed not having the her in my lap. I could look around a little bit, drink a beer, just take in my surroundings. Little did I know that not having a girl in my lap was about to mean trouble for me. LT had ordered an ounce of "speed" from Mary, one of the waitresses, but Mary was having a problem using the phone. "I can't call my guy. There's a N***** on the payphone and he won't get off," she complained to LT. "I've asked him several times but he just blows me off. He's been on it for over 20 minutes." LT looked around the table and saw me sitting alone. "Precious, Go get him off the phone." Everyone at the table stopped and looked at me. "Whatchu gonna do, Precious?" JR asked. Was he still testing me? The only cell phones we had back then were permanently mounted in the cars and I didn't have one. Dammit!

Mary hooked her arm through mine and led me to the door. I looked at the main stage and Poison was shooting me a "WTF?" look. Mary and I walked outside to the corner of the building where I was confronted with the biggest, ugliest, Jamaican I had ever seen. He saw us coming, shook his head in disgust and and turned his back to us. I looked across the parking lot toward my car. My oversized cannon was under the seat... just 100 feet away. Mary was excited that she was finally getting to use the phone... Maybe she'll call the PO-LEESE after this monster kicks my ass. "Mary! Wait!" Satin had followed us out the door and wanted Mary to add some to the order. "He's gonna make that N***** get off the phone," Mary excitedly told Satin. Satin looked at the monster Jamaican, looked at me, then her eyes lit up. "Hell yeah! I wanna see this!" Dammit! Now I have an audience. We were now just a few feet away and there was no reason to stall. Mary and Satin stopped, and to this day, I swear I saw them huddle together, almost assuming a fetal position. I walked up to the monster and asked him if he was almost finished. "Naw mon... Ahm speakin wit ma lady," he said, looking down at me over the top of his cheap sunglasses. "Well, MY lady needs to use the phone, and she's asked you twice already." "Go away mon... She be bodderin' me all de day, and now you!" (If you ain't livin' on the edge... WTF) In a miscalculated risk, I reached across Goliath and held down the payphone cradle, cutting off Goliath's conversation. "Call your lady back after we finish. I've got dancers in there waiting." Goliath stood there in extreme disbelief. I eyeballed the length of the phone cord and eased back making sure I was out of it's reach in case Goliath tried to smash me with it. Instead, Goliath handed Mary the receiver and stepped back a few steps. I figured this was where my career was about to take a serious turn... or come to a screaching halt. I took out my stainless Spiderco knife and began cleaning my fingernails, acting as if Goliath wasn't there. They weren't even dirty, but Goliath could see the 5" razor blade and he probably had enough sense to know that it would slice through him like butter. I might have to cut my way out of this one and I was starting to get tunnel vision. In a random and morbid thought, I looke at Goliath and grinned as I remembered a Richard Pryor line, "Well who's gonna clean up the blood, muthafucka?"

Mary quickly called her source and we headed back toward the door, Goliath still standing in the same spot, eyeballing us as we walked in. Satin strutted ahead of us in her clear, 7" stiletto heels. "He's the fuckin' man!" Satin proclaimed to Biker Tom and LT before shuffling off to tell the managers and floormen about our episode. I wasn't sure of what had just happened outside, but I was getting alot of glances from everybody that Satin talked to. I've got a feelin' this ain't over. Where the hell is Poison?

Fast Cars And Topless Bars

2005-02-09T01:30:00.000-06:00

The rush of the first encounter was still fresh on my mind. I was ready to go back out there and try it again, but there were "trees to kill," the expression used around the office for the massive amounts of paper used to report and chronicle the events that had just transpired. JR guided me through the paperwork of documenting the evidence and the money I had spent. Tedious documentation that would re-surface within the next few months. The cases were being secretly indicted. The crooks thought they had gotten away with another one. For all they knew, "Tony" had money to spend and they had crack to sell. The CI's were already calling, wanting us to come back. They wanted to be paid for the buy, plus, they had earned a bonus for introducing me into the mix.

JR put the informants off until the next day, telling them, and me,"We gotta go drink some beer." "Beer?", I asked. "At 10:30AM!" "Not now, Precious! At noon!"

The lieutenant (LT) came over and congratulated me for getting through my first, abrupt obstacle. "I guess you can stay... Precious." (Dammit! - Why had I blurted out THAT name?) LT handed me a set of car keys, "There's a red Corvette around the corner. Go wash it then come back and pick me up. I'll get you some more money." When I got back, JR and Thunder were sitting in Thunder's BMW and LT was standing beside them. "Let's go spank some asses." "Cool," I thought, "We must be going to kick some doors and arrest somebody."

JR, Thunder and LT had been working undercover in a "mid-level" topless bar. Not one of the newer, ritzier establishments, but not one the seediest dives either. Hanging out, drinking with the dancers, and the obligatory table dance was all part of maintaining the cover story. (I won't go into Myths and Public Perception just yet) It appeared that JR and the guys were pretty popular in the bar. The girls flocked to us as soon as we sat down at one of the VIP tables. It had been about 10 years since I had been in a topless bar, and I seemed to remember going at night. Day-time titty bars? This was all new to me. GONE were the huge, star shaped pasties, and the long, stringy tassels that I remembered from way back when. GONE were the soft, pudgy, stretch-marked mammas. These girls were damn near Victoria's Secret candidates: "NISSANS," Hard Bodies... To borrow a quote from a popular commercial at the time.

"Poison" slithered up to me and asked if she could sit down but all the chairs were taken. I stood up to get a chair, Poison pushed me back down. JR, still watching me like a hawk, laughed and almost shot beer out through his nose, "In your lap! Precious!" Poison sat across my lap, started to rock slowly, back and forth, then side to side, rolling her bottom across my thighs, rearranging the stuff in my pockets... rearranging my stuff. The sweet, heavy, scent of her cologne permeated my nostrils... my hair, and my clothes. Her long, silky, black hair draped across my shoulders. "What's your name?" "Tony," I said. (Damn - That was easy) "Hold me, Tony. Your job is to not let me fall," she said, as she took my left arm and placed it around her bare hips. "Job? What job? I'm gettin paid for this?" Poison leaned into me, pulled my face toward hers with her right hand, softly kissed my ear and whispered, "You sure have pretty white teeth." (I suddenly had a flashback of JR wrenching my neck in a headlock just a few hours ago in that roach infested apartment) "You must like what you see... You've been smiling ever since you walked in." I leaned back, looked Poison over from head to toe, realizing how fitting and appropriate her stage name was. "Must be the black-lights," I said. But what I was really thinking was,(Please don't try to sell me any dope - Cause I'm gonna hate sending you to prison.)

Acceptance

2005-02-08T10:46:00.000-06:00

It was a good feeling leaving that apartment complex with my first UC drug buy under my belt, or rather in my pocket. JR would drive awhile then bust out laughing at how Shar had jumped my bones back there. I just took the ribbing: hoping he'd let me slide for trying to break up the fight. We arrived at the station and I started to get out of the car. JR stopped me. "One thing you gotta remember, and don't make have to me remind you again, when we're out here buying dope, we're gonna see and hear shit that we wouldn't tolerate if we were in uniform. You gotta forget that side of your COP mentality. You have to blend and bend... but you can never break. Unless... you just can't resist giving Sharsandra some of dat."

We went inside to process the evidence and start the task of trying to identify the 12 year old that sold it to me. JR didn't waste any time broadcasting the "Precious" story throughout the office. It was a nickname that would stick. I was just glad to be back, safe, in one piece, with just a slightly bruised ego. But I still had money in my pocket... and it had been fun.

I was ready for my next victim.

Call Me Precious

2005-02-04T11:36:00.000-06:00

Red and Rose stopped fighting almost as quickly as they started. JR approached Red. "We're over here trying to do some business and you two are gonna get the cops called over here." Rose tossed in a closing remark," Yeah, Muthafucka!" Red and Rose left the apartment. The 12 year old showed me his baggies of crack. "These 10's and these 20's." I pulled out a $20 bill and handed it to the kid. I knew it wasn't cool to ask names but I would have to identify him at some point... he had just committed a 1st Degree Felony for Delivery of Cocaine.

The female that had raced across the room saundered up to me at this point. Money had just been exchanged and she wanted to find out if there was more. The girl was solid, 5'5" and all of 225. "Whas yo name, baby?" At the same time the others in the room were hooting and laughing, poking fun at "Sharsandra" for trying to pick up the new guy. Shar put her arm around my waist and came within millimeters of touching Mr. Beretta. Shar began running her fingertips up my spine and licking her lips. I wasn't enjoying this one tiny bit, I was just glad that she had moved her hand away from my bazooka. "So whas yo name?" JR and I hadn't discussed what my name would be, but Shar was waitting for an answer and getting friendlier all the time.

"You can call me Precious." (WTF did I just say?) I couldn't believe I had just blurted out such a thing. Shar grabbed my crotch and squeezed. "Precious? Well you sho are precious. Mmm-mmm-mmm. I got's to have me some a dat." Shar was now eyeing me like I was a Thanksgiving turkey and she was Wiley E. Coyote. The room was full of grab assin' and cat calling. "OOOOOOOO girl!" "Sha-sandra, you betta stop that!" I looked at JR and he was grinning at me. I wasn't sure just what it meant, but I figured he was giving me a sign of approval. "Well you're gonna have to wait for that," I told Shar. "I've got people waiting for this."

I started to the door and JR fell in behind me. I wanted out of there before Shar got any more ideas. I stopped before I opened the door and looked back into the room. "Tell Red I'll be back tomorrow."

JR and I walked down the stairs to the parking lot. JR was still laughing at my "Precious" comment. "What the hell was that?" he asked. "I don't know," I said. "That's all I could think of and it fit the moment." JR stopped and looked past me into a car in the parking lot. "Man, I ain't believing this." I turned to see what JR was looking at. Red was reclined in the driver's seat of an old Buick. Rose was leaning into Red's lap, giving him oral sex. "You're shittin' me..." I looked at JR and he grinned again, "Welcome to Narcotics. You did good in there."

"Did he just say I did good? And he didn't even call me Rookie?"

Rose's Or Red's?

2005-02-03T15:14:00.000-06:00

"Rose is gonna shoot me in the ass...

I followed JR into the apartment. JR was a few inches taller than me and about a foot wider. He would make a good shield if the shooting started right away, so I stayed directly behind him until my eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room. I looked around and quit counting at nine. There were probably 12 or 13 people in the living room. Smoke filled the air and everybody was yelling. There were about seven black males in their early 20s, a couple of 12 year old black males and four or five black females. Everybody was standing. That presented a huge tactical problem were the shit to suddenly hit the fan. Cue the shit.

I spotted the CI's because they were the only white couple in the dank, hazy room. They both started jabbering ninety to nuthin to JR. I looked for an open space along the wall to park myself. I still imagined the pistol in my waistband to be about the size of a small child. "Red" yelled out above the competing voices, "Who gonna buy the shit?" JR pointed at me without saying anything. Then the female CI pointed at me and said, "Right here, Red." One of the 12 year old males, two females and Red raced across the small room trying to get to me first.

"Rose" was 24 or 25 years old, wore a man's haircut, stood 4'8" - 80 lbs. Cute little thing. She got to me first, stuck out her clinched fist and revealed about ten baggies of crack cocaine. Red stepped in front of her and announced, "My shit betta." Rose tried to muscle back into her spot and the two began struggling. The bystanders were yelling at both of them, oddly enough, not for them to stop, but cheering them on. "Knock the bitch out, Red!" "Kill 'im Rose!" Rose reached into her back pocket and pulled out a tiny, pink handled derringer. Red hit her square in the face with a right hook. Rose staggered back but still tried to raise the pistol. Red smacked her again and knocked her to the floor. [He was going to punch her again anyway, pistol or not.] Instinctively, I grabbed Red as he kicked Rose in the head. JR grabbed me and pulled me away. Fuck up #1. JR leaned into my ear as he spun me away and with a pissed off, jaw clenching whisper said, " This ain't none of our business, Rookie." He had me in a headlock and I really think he wanted to snap my neck. JR pulled me out of the fracas, but now my back was to the center of the room. All the while I was thinking "Rose is gonna shoot me in the ass and the bazooka in my pants is exposed for everyone to see."

The Meeting

2005-02-02T16:30:00.000-06:00

JR called the confidential informants and told them we were coming over. That meant for them to line up some dealers because the buyers were coming. It meant money for both sides: the dealers and the informants. The C I's were a white, married couple with a toddler, living in a government subsidized apartment complex that was predominantly black and being overrun with crack dealers.

JR didn't say much on the trip to the apartment. He briefly mentioned the CIs, like I should have known who they were. We pulled into the complex, parked the slick car, and walked up to the apartment. As soon as we neared the door we heard multiple voices from within. Loud voices, both male and female. I reached back into my waistband and tucked the Beretta 92F a little lower into the rear of my pants. Lucky for me, it was a cold January morning, and I had worn a light windbreaker. The barrel of the Beretta rode the crack of my ass. It felt like a cannon. I was sure everyone would spot it as soon as we walked in, but it was too late to be making adjustments. "I should have bought a smaller pistol before today." Damn. Too late: the door opened.

The Induction

2005-02-02T15:45:00.001-06:00

I felt the tension right away. The "new guy" coming in to a close knit unit. I looked around the office for the guy that had recruited me, but he wasn't in the office yet. I saw people I knew of but had never met. They were the "secret" people, and now I was one of them.

I spotted a detective that I had worked with in patrol before he went "inside." We had been in some scraps together, particularly a hairy fight with some car thieves where he accidently hit me in the eye with his flashlight. His nickname was "Thunder," allegedly due to his sexual prowess. I associated it with the lightning bolts that I saw when his flashlight hit me in the eye. We laughed about that incident for a minute then he pointed to a desk next to his. "That's yours."

Three years of working out of a briefcase in the front seat of a patrol car and now I had a desk! I sat down and started arranging the telephone, computer monitor, pens and pencils. Desk stuff. I began to envision where I would put the photos of my wife and family, personal stuff for my desk.

"Go get some money," JR said, pointing to the Lieutenant's office. "We're gonna go see if you can buy dope."

I was getting tested right off the bat. Passing the test would surely earn me some approval. Failing the test could cost me a whole lot more.

"OK. I'll do this when I get back," I said, then thought to myself, "If I come back."

Living On The Edge

2005-02-02T15:43:00.000-06:00

Back in the early 90's there was a theme that was popular with people of all ages and cultures. "Fear This." Those two words were displayed on bumper stickers, windshield decals, hats, t-shirts, and just about every imaginable item of personal property. It said something about the person boasting it.

Soon after entering the narcotics "unit", a family member gave me a "Fear This" t-shirt with the slogan, "If You're Not Living On The Edge... You're Taking Up Too Much Space." Somehow that seemed appropriate for my new assignment and I would soon realize just how narrow the edge could be.

Reporting For Duty

2005-02-02T15:35:00.000-06:00

Coming off the street as a clean cut patrol officer, I had a little growing out to do. I was going to have to quit cutting my hair every two weeks and stop shaving everyday. I was never able to grow a decent beard but I could get a nice shadow goin'. I threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, trying to look normal, but I still looked like an off-duty cop. I had some changes to make but I wasn't quite sure what the job entailed yet.

I walked into the Lieutenant's office on Monday morning expecting some sort of fanfare. I knew the Lieutenant from his time in patrol. He wasn't really a people person, but I always got along with him before. I sat in a chair in front of his desk. He hardly looked up from his paperwork as I waited to see what I had to do next. He half-welcomed me to the group and then called in one of the senior detectives. "Take him and show him what to do." "JR" looked me over as if he was sizing me up then said, "C'mon rookie."

"Rookie?"I hadn't heard those words in over 3 years and now I was being called a rookie all over again?

The Call

2005-02-02T15:32:00.000-06:00

I was off the day the call came, asleep, taking a rare nap about 3:00pm when the phone rang. My wife brought me the cordless phone and said, "It's Marty, I think something's wrong."

Marty was a fellow officer that I worked with in patrol. Expecting the worst, since my wife had detected something in Marty's voice, I grabbed the phone. "What's the matter?", I asked, without saying "hello." "Well, you got the Narc job, and I just wanted you to hear it from me, that I think I should have gotten it instead of you." "Huh... When did they post it?" "Today. I saw it when I came in. You report to Vice next Monday. I'm filing a grievance. I have seniority on you, I should have gotten that job." "Yeah? Well thanks for letting me know." I didn't even know he had applied for the job... and now, I didn't care.

My wife stayed in the room while I spoke to Marty, waiting to hear the news. "What is it, is everything OK?" "Honey, I got the Narc job. I start on Monday."

I laid my head back onto my pillow and began envisioning the changes that our lives were about to go through. Had I done the right thing? Only time would tell.

You Wanna Be A Narc?

2005-02-02T15:20:00.000-06:00

Three years of driving around the city, answering citizens' calls for help, chasing car thiefs, looking for lost kids and chasing dopers. Loving it, every day.

Then one afternoon as I walked to my patrol car, I was approached by a shaggy character wearing blue jeans and a tank top. I knew he was undercover, a "UC." I had helped the Narcs on arrests and raids before and I found their work to be interesting, but I had never pictured myself in that role. I was perfectly content doing my 8 hours in the patrol car. Doing what I had applied to do.

"There's an opening in Narcotics. Ever thought about being a Narc?"

"Yeah. I think about it all the time," I answered, not really believing my own words. We talked a while and he told me how to go about submitting the memo to apply for the position. I went back into the police station and wrote out an off-the-cuff plea asking to be considered for the job. Then the wait began....

The UC

2005-02-02T15:16:00.000-06:00

During the past 14 years, Tony Falcon has amassed hundreds of stories of his perilous and bizzarre experiences in the Life of an Undercover Agent.

The stories that follow are true.

Some of the names have been changed, to protect the innocent... from the guilty.

"Life Undercover" Gets A New Home

2005-02-01T01:47:00.000-06:00

Beginning today, I will start importing my posts from a beta (constrained) blogsite. I tried to wait for the updates and supported the site as much as possible, but, the lack of template access has forced me to transfer to probably the most user friendly site on the net, .

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2005-01-01T11:22:00.000-06:00

Haloscanadded per Grace's suggestion.