Fish and Eggplant: Oughta Be a Recipe

If it’s not apparent by now, Task Force Officer Longhead and I know each other personally and have a bit of history. I should probably elucidate but I won’t because I can’t grasp where to begin and the ending, to me, is at best a confusing mess and at worst is… something that’s not fit to print. But to give an inkling of how we’ve essentially always interacted with each other, you know those fighting fish?

All right, Longhead and I get along like them: fine on the shelf in our individual cups, just don’t dump us together in the same glass.

That being stated, I was perpetually bewared Longhead would spy me before I’d accomplished what I wanted to with JADE -- thus spoiling my project -- and I went through a lot of trouble to avoid crossing paths with him. Nevertheless, we had several unbelievably near misses. I’d walk across a road and he’d drive transversely over the very spot seconds later. I’d coincidentally pull out in front of him at the Charlottesville Police Department as he was coming and I was going, then it’d be the reverse on another day. I’d be taking the stairs down, he’d be riding the elevator up. Those sorts of things. But it wasn’t until a couple of really, really, close calls that it fully sunk in I had no need to fret. The guy is about as observant as an eggplant.

I’d parked down at the Drug Enforcement office, under the inference Longhead had clocked out for the day, and was about to hop out of my auto -- one he was familiar with -- when I spotted his Taurus coming in the lot. Like an explosion, it hit me that there was no place near the doors for him to put his car and that I was in the row that’d be his first choice if there was no place near the doors for him to put his car. Yes, indeed, he was headed straight for me. Closer, closer, closer, he advanced. I became the spitting image of an ice sculpture. Transfixed, I watched him pull in. All that lay betwixt us was a 9 x 18 foot empty space.

He got out, reached for miscellaneous articles, went around to the other side, tossed something in, then shut the door and clomped away. Despite facing my direction a multitude of times -- including when he looked back as he armed his alarm -- he was oblivious to my presence. I didn’t know what to make of it. Could it be all that worry all that inconvenience all that time, all unnecessary?! Hilarious. Yet pathetic.

Alas! It was too great a temptation, I couldn’t help myself: rather than rushing out of there as soon as the coast was clear, I stayed, right smack where I was, to find out if the same thing would happen when he came back. I even readied a camera and rolled down the window. Before Longhead returned, a car slightly larger than my own parked in the open spot. I don’t believe it made any difference, aside from its appearance in a few of the photographs I took.

At any rate, I don’t recollect if the above was the deciding incident or if it was another similar one but somewhere along the line I stopped bending over backwards trying to forefend possible run-ins with Longhead and started treating him like any other JADEr -- which is what I should’ve been doing all along.

An Ironical Chronicle

Porn Star. Round One.

Though I plan on following each of the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force Officers, the target of my first attempt at tailing is, I admit, chosen quite impetuously.

My rear end is nearly devoid of all feeling from sitting idly in my car and I’m bored with the activities of my surroundings. All the familiar non-JADE people that, on one day or another, had seemed so fascinating to study are now as interesting to me as dust bunnies under a bed that are occasionally disturbed by the movement of feet.

I stretch my legs out as far as I can and compare the amount of room in the front seat of my car to a needle’s eye. I can’t prove it but I theorize the hole in the pin has significantly more space. I tilt my head down and use my hand to massage away the tightness that’s developing in my neck. A flicker of movement makes me snap back straight.

There he is: Porn Star. He’s come down the steps from the building and is lumbering with an air of determination across the parking area towards his vehicle. As he pulls the door handle up, he stills for a moment. His head turns in my direction. His sunglasses hide his eyes but I don’t need to see them. Hey, he’s looking right at me. It’s a sign! I’m going to follow him.

Full of excitement to be learning something new, I turn the key in the ignition and listen as my car’s engine revs to life. I barely slide the gearshift into “D” before Porn Star’s funky-colored Honda whips out of its parking space and zips off. Whoa! I have to floor it to catch up to him.

There’s a stop sign at the top of the lot. Apparently Porn Star thinks the lone word in giant white print is merely a suggestion -- one which he ignores. He shoots across the intersection.

I too can tell there’s no oncoming traffic but decide not to be as risky as him. I mean, if he happens to get pulled over for driving like a miscreant, the officer’s just going to send him on his merry way; if I get pulled over, the only place I’ll be going, not merrily, is to court to pay off the fines. Besides, I can see Porn Star heading up the incline and I expect to catch up to him.

Making it to the opposite side of the road, I grab one of my cameras and try to snap off a couple of pictures of his car as he, with nary a brake light aglow, blows through that intersection also. Gee what a surprise.

It’s registering that this is going to be harder than I thought. I mutter a mild swear, abandon the camera to the passenger seat, and stomp down on the gas pedal. I reach the octagonal sign in four seconds flat and quickly glance both ways. The street is deserted so across go I. Despite my effort Porn Star is still already way more than halfway up the next hill.

Third intersection: heavy traffic has forced him to halt. I ease down on the brakes and come to rest right behind him. While automobiles flow by sea-like in front of us, I wonder half in jest if Porn Star is wearing his seat belt. Like most of the vehicles used by members of the Task Force, the tint on his windows is far too dark to see through. I barely glance to my left and of course he uses that exact instant to turn right. Nice blinker. I roll my eyes.

I have to wait for a tan Lincoln and some sort of company’s van to pass before I can pull out. I turn; now I can’t see around the van. I sidle as far over to the left as I possibly can without initiating a head-on collision and stare all the way down the road in front of me. My macho man is nowhere to be seen. Great; I haven’t even been following the guy a whoppin’ three minutes and I’ve already lost him. I facetiously debate whether Porn Star is the best driver ev-er or the worst.

Unfamiliar with the area, I get lost in a tangle of side roads trying to return to where I started. It takes me nearly twenty five minutes to maneuver my way back to my original spot. I make a mental note to invest in a map of the city streets.

I find the whole episode comical and respond to it the only way one can: with laughter.

JADE: Located In An Elite Upscale Neighborhood

Sometimes when you're looking for tornadoes, you might also happen to see a flood -- and get pictures of the aftermath.

Want to know what it was about? Read this, this, and this.

Learn As You Longo

Ohmigosh! Guess what?! I had a meeting with the Charlottesville Chief of Police, Timothy J. Longo, Sr. Mmhmm… I did. whOOt! Wanna guess what’s even better?! He initiated it. HooYah!

Okay; enough pretentious drama.

I did get together with Mr. Longo per his request. The way he went about asking was at the least odd and at the most humorous -- and that’s all I’m going to say about that.

It’s in my interest to talk with anyone even remotely connected to the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force so when I heard the top CoP wanted to speak to me face-to-face about it and its members, naturally, I was all for it.

I reckon the Police Chief is obligated to look after his boys, especially once his boys have failed to look after themselves. I can almost hear the vociferous voices of the JADE officers: She’s pickin’ on us! Do. Something. The thing is, the way I see it, if Mr. Longo -- busy man that he is -- is saying he’d like to sit down and have a word with me, what he’s basically saying is there’s nothing, really, he can do. Hey I was already aware of that fact but it was nice to know he now was too.

I didn’t meet him at his office. Normally I wouldn’t have been opposed to a trip to the Police Department -- the amount of valuable things one can learn at such a place is infinite -- but, considering the circumstances, I thought that by being seen there I’d be greatly impeding potential future activities of mine. As an alternative I’d agreed to show up at a café near the station.

I arrived bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the area a few hours prior to the scheduled meeting. Obviously I checked out the JADE office. There’s one single itty tiny bitty teeny thing I’ve been trying to do at that place for I don’t know how long. What should’ve been a nothing chore has become an impossible task -- it’s comically tormenting. That morning was, as I gathered in seconds, no exception; I’d have to postpone it yet again.

In the lot I noted the vehicles of a couple of JADErs who mostly work late-afternoon-to-night hours. Being that it was nice and early AM, I speculated court proceedings or unique condition type warrants had brought them in sooner than usual. Guessing was satisfying enough; I wasn’t inclined to find out the real reasons right then.

I’d run some errands, bought a newspaper, and arrived at C’Ville Coffee about an hour ahead of the set time. I sat at a large table in a corner, with a fake-looking palm tree at my back, where the maximum amount of entrances/exits were not just visible but accessible. The only door I couldn’t see or get to easily from my position was the main one but I could view the one everybody had to pass through to go from the front room to the section I was in, therefore I was content with my selection.

I sipped a hot chocolate, worked a crossword puzzle, and kept my mind spinning with both previous and newly forming predictions vis-à-vis how the about to occur powwow would go. I wasn’t expecting to be slapped with a pair of handcuffs or anything, although, due to former events that involved a sneaky JADE detective and subpoenas, I one hundred per cent. counted on being handed some kind of nasty paperwork.

I anticipated Mr. Longo would be precisely punctual. Wow, he didn’t just show up early, he was there nearly twenty minutes sooner than he had to be. I tossed around many possibilities for why and settled on it being a matter of him, without nefarious motives, wanting to control where we sat, something he couldn’t do unless he got there before me. I had a feeling we wouldn’t have wound up in any other chairs, albeit, if given first choice, he’d probably be occupying the seat I’d taken.

I figured he would be pleasant and he was, throughout the entire discussion. I mulled over the likelihood that he’d been smart enough to figure out beforehand niceness is by and large the method I’m most malleable with. He did after all have an agenda.

Shortly after introductions and a solid handshake, Mr. Longo plunged into the purpose of our get-together by giving me a laconic speech; it was less than three minutes long. In a nutshell, he said that I was a nuisance to the Task Force and I should back off. I felt unaffected by his monologue. He pulled out an envelope and told me he’d put what he’d spoken in writing. See? I knew there’d be paperwork! Not as nasty as I’d expected it to be, but not nice either.

I briefly scrutinized the outside of the packet he’d dropped down on the table, then opened it and fished out the sheets; there were two. The second one had “Page 2-” typed on it -- fortunate, because had it not been for that I might’ve caused a scene by holding a page in each hand and repeatedly shrieking in angst “which one do I start with?!” until I passed out.

Once I’d discerned it wasn’t a writ or similar, I didn’t bother reading it word for word (until later). In the presence of Mr. Longo I simply scanned it. Right off the bat the editor in me caught its heavy repetition -- what it contained could’ve been trimmed to fit on a single page, two paragraphs at most, but perhaps everyone who laid eyes on it before me incorrectly thought redundancy equals emphasis.

I also realized immediately that what was in print didn’t quite match what the man sitting in front of me was articulating. The letter was very harsh in comparison. Listening to the Chief, you’d think I’d scarcely risen to the level of being a pain in the neck or pest to be swatted away. Judging by the document, you’d think people were on pins and needles, some of them traumatically anticipating a slug to the heart was coming at any second because of my “behavior.”

I fluttered the stationary in the air and said to Mr. Longo “you know this is going up on the website, don’t you?” and he, with his unwavering smile, replied “it is what it is.” I refolded the papers and returned them to their holder.

Business was over -- he’d said his piece and I’d… not walked out on him -- before, I believe, the clock had even struck the time we’d planned to convene. The Chief stated he’d fulfilled his duty then announced his expensive beverage was nowhere near empty and invited himself to stay and finish it. Not sure what possessed him to do so but he remained for a significant period and chatted with me.

I’d already noticed rather quickly his amiable demeanor didn’t seem to fluctuate. Not an iota. I found his ostensible lack of emotional variation curious, even slightly disconcerting at times, and ruminated the cause of his conduct. Was it learned diplomacy -- a product of his position? Genetic? I wondered if there was anything I could say to crack it or shake him.

Over the course of our conversation, Mr. Longo inadvertently provided further conflicting tidbits in regards to what extent my actions had truly impacted them. I continued to, as if they were fictitious flowers, mentally pluck the parapraxes as they sprung up and stick them in an imaginary basket, to be arranged afterwards. Maybe someday I’ll be able to show the bouquet it made, here, on iHeArTEjade.

In sixty one minutes -- the total amount of time we were together -- I learned a great deal from, and about, Mr. Longo. But since this account of our meeting is already far lengthier than I intended, I’ll avoid adding to it the whole slew of the neo-noesis I believe I gained from the encounter. To finalize this piece, a meager three comments:

I have an idea of what to expect if I don’t comply with his appeal. I’ve had a psychic vision of how they’ll go about it and how I’ll thwart them. Kidding. Seriously, I don’t think I could prevent them from doing what they likely would do but I could definitely stop them from being successful with it.

I was forced to sacrifice my SWAT-stalking fun but I discovered, as excellent as he is at maintaining his steady poise, the Chief can be visibly fazed. He’s also genuinely likeable.

All it takes to completely disrupt an entire badass Task Force is one skinny little White girl. I wouldn’t let that get out if I were them. Oops! Too late.

The Letter -- With Commentary

The Letter.

So they’re plainly paving the way for forthcoming actions they might take against me. Nifty. I guess I should thank them for the tip off: Thanks!

Listen, these law enforcement officers didn’t have a clue I was even around until some hairdresser or whatever she is, an employee who works in the same building as Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement, pointed me out to a pair of Task Force guys after she saw me openly taking pictures.

For weeks after that incident, nary a soul contacted me about so-called interference or alarm despite the fact that my “behaviors” were ongoing throughout.

Since the only thing that changed was their sudden discovery of iHeArTEjade, I’m of the opinion that what it all boils down to is that they’re embarrassed. What’s posted on the site isn’t anti-cop by any means but, let’s face it, it’s not flattering for a small group of them. What the heck, it doesn’t flatter me either and these are my versions which are supposed to make me look good!

As for the “fear for their safety and that of their families” hyperbole, if they didn’t want their families in danger they could’ve gotten jobs in a yo-yo factory. I once asked Longhead why he became a policeman; his exact response was “I got out of the military and didn’t want to sit behind a desk.” I believe it’s the only honest thing the jerk ever told me. No matter what his reason, he deliberately chose an occupation that by its very nature is dangerous. If his wife and children are at risk by his decision, that’s on him. The same goes for every one of the JADE TFOs who, regardless of their respective reasons, purposely picked the identical hazardous career.

I’m not buying their claim of fright in relation to my actions anyway. What do they think, some disgruntled armed crackhead will recognize them by their doggies? Oh please. I’ve used pseudonyms for people, and either cropped their faces out of pictures or posted back shots. I don’t have to do that; I choose to. Just like I choose to not put up license plates, addresses and phone numbers, images of CIs, tactical information… jeepers, it’s endless! And even if I did change my mind about that, I tend to think the only one who’d be endangered would be me.

Maybe it seems I’m being a bit… coldhearted. I’m not worried -- about coming across that way, or about what law enforcement may do. They can throw whatever ball they want at me; chances are I’ve got a glove or a bat ready for it. And if I don’t, well, that’s kinda part of what makes the game fun.

The Letter -- Without Commentary

Dear Ms. [Me]

Personnel of the Charlottesville Police Department and the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force brought to my attention your recent behavior directed towards them. The most troubling behaviors they identified consisted of following police officers while they are on duty, photographing them or their personal property, and publishing potentially identifying information about them on readily accessible public media.

The purpose of this correspondence is to notify you that your behavior is interfering with the ability of these officers to conduct necessary and appropriate law enforcement activities. I presume that you may be unaware of the degree to which following and photographing police investigators may constitute a material interference with their work. This is especially true with narcotics enforcement officers who must be able to meet with citizens, suspects, and others with complete confidence that they have not been followed and are not being watched. These officers must be able to assure confidential informants and operatives that their anonymity is being scrupulously maintained.

Furthermore, your behavior is placing officers in fear for their safety and that of their families. I presume that you may not have been aware previously that officers live on a daily basis with the concern that their families will be subjected to danger as a result of their work. Your behavior in following officers to their homes and posting photographs of their property on publicly accessible media places officers in fear for their safety and that of their families. Posting identifying information about officers and their property on publicly accessible media makes it easier for those who might do them harm to gain information that can be used to do just that.

I urge you to stop the activities in which you have been involved as they are interfering with the work of law enforcement officers in the City of Charlottesville. Continuation of your behavior may further disrupt their work and may obstruct ongoing law enforcement efforts that are being undertaken on behalf of our community.

Furthermore, I urge you to cease the behaviors you have exhibited that place officers in fear for their safety and that of their families.

I welcome the opportunity to discuss this matter with you in person. Please feel free to contact me at [555-555-5555]

Sincerely,
Timothy J. Longo, Sr.
Chief of Police

The Commentary.

Knick Knack Paddy Whack

Someone I spoke with expressed concern about the puppy pics. More specifically that I may have trespassed to take them. Nice try fellas. Yawn.

1. I haven’t done anything illegal.

Fo’ starters, there’s just no need to: every piece of information, each photograph, all surveillance, can be gathered, or snapped, or initiated, within the confines of the law.

Fo’ enders, there’s just no want to: what I’ve done has taken work, and brainpower, and it’s been challenging. That’s How I Roll.

2. I find it fascinating that people believe someone can waltz onto private properties and take pictures of the canine pets of policemen without the adorable little furballs -- that would be the dogs -- either noticing or caring. On so many different levels, intriguing.

MeetUPS With L.L. Me

I watch UPS exit the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement building. Sometime within the last thirty minutes he seems to have adopted a sidekick. I know for a fact that UPS had been alone when he got out of his car and went inside – I have the pictures to prove it.

I’ve seen UPS a few times; this is definitely the first time I’ve seen the guy he’s with. Where’d he come from?

I watch as they laugh and chat moving towards UPS’s car. Should I try to follow them? By the time they’re climbing in the vehicle, I’ve not only made up my mind the answer is “yes” but I’ve also come up with a ruse to find out who this new mystery man is. And although I’m almost positive of UPS’s identity, if my idea is successful I’ll have absolute verification. I give them no more than a few seconds head start before I go after them.

The traffic is thick at this time of day and I make sure my bumper is right on UPS’s. I weave with them down the road towards the University of Virginia and contemplate if having two people in a vehicle draws their attention away from everything else. If they’re focused on each other does it distract them from me?

As usual, there’s plenty of people and activity around UVA and the closer we get to the campus the more chaotic it becomes. I’m content that all the hullabaloo further distracts them from my blatant tailgating.

We have to stop several times to let pedestrians cross so I think nothing of it when UPS stops yet again in front of me. That is until I notice there’s no clear reason for him to be doing it now. Shoot! They’re parking. I watch as the Alero pulls off to the right hand side into a space and I frantically look for a place where I can pull over too. No such luck. They got the only visibly open spot.

I zip by and take a right on the first road I see -- miraculously close to where they were. Immediately on my right is a parking lot. It’s nearly empty and it takes me less than a second to decide I don’t care about permits or being towed or any of the other threats the college makes to an automobile-impaired visitor such as myself.

In a rush to catch UPS and his associate, I’m out of my car almost before the tires cease rolling. I aim my auto-lock gizmo over my shoulder as I take off running. I'm too far away to hear it click; I’m hoping the doors are in fact secured. I fly by signs stating the parking area I’m in is for bank customers. I come racing around the corner as fast as my legs will move me and am delighted to see the Alero. Yes, still there! It seems like mega-minutes have passed but it’s probably been less than two.

I slow to a saunter and, while keeping watch on their car, briefly scan inside all the stores on that particular block looking for the pair. I don’t see them. I head back to their mode of transportation and seat myself on a wall of bricks in front of it to wait for them. I look at the roof of the car and study the object that I intend to use as a ploy. I know exactly what it is: an antenna, same white color as the car. It’s round and kind of flat -- resembles a hockey puck.

I spot the duo meandering down the sidewalk in my direction. The one whom I don’t know is wearing a UVA jacket and I immediately begin strategizing to begin at the University’s police department to find out about him. I wait patiently for them to get all the way to their car before approaching them. They’re talking to each other over the roof and I interrupt.

“Hey, what is…” I’m pointing. “Oh, I’m sorry…” I say, as if embarrassed that I’d accidentally cut in on their conversation, “I don’t mean to bother you but what is that… thing? On your car.”

“It’s an 800 megahertz antenna” replies UPS. He says it in such an authoritative and proud manner it’s clear I’m supposed to be awed. I act like I am. I also act like I’m dumb.

“For…?” Wide eyed, I draw the single word out.

UPS says something technical about police communications.

“Oooh…” I let that word linger also. I look back and forth between the two of them. “Y’all are detectives?” I don’t wait for an answer before adding “I mean, I saw the light in the back of the car but…” I trail off like I'm struggling to put two and two together. They confirm they’re law enforcement.

“What’s your name?” I abruptly ask UPS, in a tone that suggests he's already told me but I've forgotten it. For a heartbeat it appears he’s not going to tell me, then he surrenders his given name. Ha! I knew it! Inwardly I grin. Outwardly I nod. I consider the advantages of having an ambiguous surname, since he didn’t specify whether the name he gave was his first or his last and it could definitely be either.

There’s a long pause and it occurs to me that throughout it I’ve been intently staring at UPS. “You look really familiar” I say as an excuse. “I think your picture’s been in the paper.” I know it has; it was the basis for my tentative ID of him. I tilt my head, like a different angle will alleviate my puzzlement.

UPS grins boyishly then claims maybe it’s the other guy. “He looks like me” UPS laughs. They don’t look anything alike. I smile, more in lieu of his good-naturedness than his jest.

While UPS is making jokes I move casually around the other guy absorbing as many details as I can. Now standing to his right side I peer into the man’s peepers. “Oh, what’s your name?” He looks back into my eyes for a moment, a teeny smidgen longer than I’m comfortable with. “Michael.” Probably not his last name, which he obviously isn’t going to provide me with. Again I nod. He doesn’t know it but, just from this little run-in, I figure I’ll know precisely who he is before noon tomorrow. In the meantime I'm gonna call him L.L. Me. Thank you, UPS.

Satisfied I have a good starting point, and not wanting to push my luck, I determine I can end the meeting and attempt to do so. I start to ease back away with another apology for bothering them -- ramble about being curious, let them be going, blah, blah. UPS at last makes the obligatory joke about the antenna being a hockey puck. I don’t share the thought that crosses my mind: Doubt you’re going to score with that one, pal. They both assure me I haven’t been a bother and we all wish each other a good night.

I go back to my seat on the bricks and look vacantly around at the college kids scurrying by like roaches. I wait ‘til I’m certain UPS and Michael are out of sight before jumping up and jogging back to my car. I pray it’s still there and doesn’t have a ticket on the windshield -- it is and doesn’t.

The following day, while out walking, I use the time, along with my handy cell phone, to learn who Michael is. It takes a mere three calls to find out. I deposit my phone in my pocket right as I pass by the Charlottesville Police Department. A vehicle pulls out of an area where I know law enforcement parks and, though the windows are heavily tinted, I’m close enough to see through the front one. It appears Michael is the driver. What a coincidence. The man waits for me to go across the sidewalk in front of him. Once past, I sneak a peak back at the fellow. He’s looking in my direction. Does he recognize me too? The possibility amuses me and I turn to hide my smirk. As he drives away I slide my cell phone back out to look at the clock. The time is noon on the dot.

$1 Wager

I’m not entirely sure if, early on, it was instinctual, but I tried to be extra careful when it came to studying two particular Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement men.

Eventually, based on their ages, their training (both the amount and type of), some of the gossip I’d gotten, and my own observation of them, I was under the impression they’d be more likely to resort to violence sooner and less likely to flinch at using unnecessary force than the other Task Force Officers.

Quite frankly I didn’t want to be ripped out of my car and smashed face-first into the pavement simply because these guys have an ounce more testosterone than their buddies -- seemed like that'd be, I don’t know, painful.

Hey I could've been totally wrong. Could've been the JADE guys I was less cautious with were actually the ones who would've strangled me with their bare hands. Of course nowadays they’d all probably like to do that.

Nevertheless, the duo got the same treatment as their counterparts; I just handled them differently. I think it paid off too. I bet you a buck neither one of them can correctly cite just two instances where we were close enough to share a brainwave. I’ll even give one of them a couple of hints:

dataduplication

A friend of mine, a journalist, once had law enforcement seize a notepad he’d been carrying. He was able to recover the object from the police station later but it was in some pretty sorry shape. It was mangled, had ripped pages, coffee splatters, and what appeared to be dried tobacco spit on it. Ruined, basically.

Not wanting to tell a parallel woe of my own in the future, I’ve made several copies of my notes on the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force, numerous backups of the pictures, audio and video recordings, and iHeArTEjade, and put everything in various remote spots.

I guess it’s possible it could in spite of my efforts be found and wiped out. But I’d still have all the information in my head, and I believe the only surefire way to destroy that would be by adding a bullet to it.

Chain of Thoughts

I realize that I appear to be giving away my secrets. Writing about locations I park at, car modifications, et cetera (sometimes tagged as TACTICS here on iHeArTEjade), doesn’t seem conducive to future activities. And I guess that’d be a valid point if I were publicizing ploys and schemes while simultaneously trying to utilize them.

Granted I’m going to have slip-ups but, for the most part, by time you’re reading about my maneuvers they’ve been shelved. Case in point: I no longer use the duct tape headlight trick. It’s not that I don’t think it works but things change and it doesn’t fit in with what I’m up to these days.

Sometimes I’m not up to anything. One night I pulled over on Elliott Ave to look for a pack of gum and while rummaging around in my purse I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, a car had come up beside me. I turned to find out what the deal was, saw it was Rasmussen’s Impala and, without missing a blink, went back to what I was doing. I don’t know what was going through his mind but I’ve got my car idling at a crazy angle on the side of the road, my highbeams are on, my foot’s on the brake pedal, surely he didn’t think I was playing hide and seek with him. When I ignored him he just drove away; what else could he do?

I think maybe the Task Force fellows are expecting me to do something outrageous or illegal. Such as when Spot and company came after me, I believe they were under the impression I was going to try to outrun them or something. Ridiculous! These guys probably can’t even outrun each other; I sure as hell ain’t going to do better than them in a situation like that. If I thought I could… nope, still wouldn’t.

As unbelievable as it sounds, I usually put a tremendous amount of thought into what I’m doing. At the moment I’m sitting on two outstanding pieces of information about specific JADErs because the material could’ve only come from one place. Until I figure out a way to increase the number of sources for it, I’ll have to keep my teeth tightly clamped down on my tongue.

Some girls can keep secrets.

The House of Mouse

Mouse has a last name that, up until coming across him, I’d never heard of. When I started researching to discover his home address, I found out much to my surprise there’s a ton of people who share his surname. The list of locations I excavated was extensive and I wasn’t inclined to go a million miles surveying a million houses in a million counties. What I needed was a whereabouts weed-whacker. I found one.

I noticed Mouse’s vehicle always has a layer of dust on it. I presumed that meant he frequently (and probably quickly) drives up and down a dirt road. Using Google Earth I plugged in all the addresses I’d accumulated and crossed off every place that didn’t look rural enough. I ended up with a mere three houses.

Upon further investigation, I learned that one of the houses was for sale. I called the listing agent and after some friendly chit-chat managed to find out that the owners were selling because “the house is too big now that the kids are gone” and the couple weren’t connected to Law Enforcement in any way.

The precise physical spot of one house cannot be found with any map program; the best I could do was pin-point the city it’s supposed to be in and distinguish that back roads and farmland surrounded it. Very near that second residence, towards the north, was the third dwelling.

I suppose if Mouse is curious to know if I know where he lives, he can always go enter his address in MapQuest.

The Wheels In My Mind Go 'Round and 'Round

I am forever trying to figure things out…

In relation to the Task Force:

Why can I go completely unobserved by any of the JADE members 50 times but then it's like all of a sudden every one of the JADE guys will notice me 5 minutes before I even appear?

How can a Detective study my face under the glare of his flashlight on one night yet not recognize me when I walk by him twice the following night?

How can I follow a Sergeant for five miles one day without him seeing me but the next day he’s on to me in less than five blocks?

Something is different in every instance. What is it? Is it me or is it them? A combination of both?

The problem with these kind of questions is the answers are hard to get. And the problem with the answers when I think I get them is they lead to more of these kind of questions.

I will forever be trying to figure things out…

Remarkable

When you drive a remarkable vehicle, there’s a chance someone is bound to remark on it. When you park a remarkable vehicle, and walk ½ a mile away from it, there’s a chance someone is bound to take pictures of it.

Although, the distance between driver and vehicle is irrelevant when the someone taking the photographs is me; I’ll snap shots at any given time.

I think I’m the only one who counts SeeSee -- the operator of that cute blue Charger -- as a full-fledged member of the JADE Task Force. He doesn’t work at the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement office but he’s down there too often to not connect him to it. I imagine he’s got the Untouchables poster tacked up on the wall in the place where he does work since SeeSee’s true calling is as an Agent with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives.

SeeSee, I was told, is 39 (or maybe it was 40) years old. That’s around what I would guess his age to be. The exception to my estimation would be any time he’s got a Law Enforcement Officer as a passenger in the Dodge. Then I’d have to put his age at, oh, 17. You ought to see the way he drives when he’s got Longhead with him: like a punk kid who’s trying to impress his buddy. It’s remarkable.

Less Wisecracks, More Vicefacts

I confess my last two posts were essentially raspberries, complete with puckered lips for maximum spray of spit, blown across cyberspace. Getting back down to business I offer the following information for those interested.

As to be expected, members of Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement take turns being the “on call” officers for the Task Force. On a rotating basis, for a span of seven consecutive days starting on Tuesdays, one Sergeant and two Detectives are available for call out. Since there are only two Sergeants, obviously they swap out every week. The rest of the men, the Detectives, can go two or three weeks before their name comes up again in the rotation.

If I’m not mistaken, this week’s trio is Dasani, Rasmussen, and Pringle, then for the dates of December 16 - 22, it’s Mouse, Skoal, and Spot. But I haven’t checked yet to be sure.

A Reminder

Hey, uhm... guys? Those who watch your back will stab you in it.

That



you're on is a



XOXOXO

So y'all found me, eh?

Kops Karry Keys On Karabiners

Pop Quiz: How many JADE TFOs possess this practical little contraption?

For after-dark occasions when I need a decent light source but not one that will attract attention, I have a 3 x ½ inch mini LED flashlight. It has a thin elastic band I attached to it thus allowing me to a) use it hands-free, b) not chance dropping/losing it, and c) tuck it away quickly should the need to do so arise. For nighttimes when I need bigger and better -- and don’t mind resembling a lighthouse on a shore at midnight -- I use a 2D Cell LED MAGLITE.

A pricier torch that can be found in the hands of JADE is the Pelican 7060 LED.

I had an opportunity to test one out once and personally didn’t care for it much. Whenever I tried to hold it the way I’d like to it felt off-balance, and the switch on the bottom is more sensitive than the feelings of a 13 year old girl -- too many unintentional activations. I will say it’s probably perfect for blazing someone’s mug, which, I suspect, is largely one of the reasons JADE uses it.

A Ghost From Christmas Past

At one point in my life I thought it’d be therapeutic to write a book about my nightmare in shining armor AKA my husband. Had it not been for the crimes he committed -- eventually convicted of -- I probably would’ve never found myself knowing a Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force Officer.

The case had absolutely nothing to do with drugs and I was originally given the impression that the detective who was assigned to it was acting in his official capacity as an Anti-Terrorist Officer. Actually I was initially misled to believe the man was an FBI agent. Anyway, the case had absolutely nothing to do with terrorism either, and, as a matter of fact, the investigator had never in his career worked the kind of case it was. I suppose I’m never going to understand why he was chosen and why our lives collided.

Getting back on track, I thought I’d put up a teeny portion of the unfinished manuscript here since it relates to a JADE member and coincides with the season. Twenty imperishably-branded-in-my-memory minutes of my life from Christmastime one year ago…

“Hello?”

“Merry Christmas” came a cheery masculine voice from the other end of the line.

There were a few seconds of quiet as I debated whether to make this a nice conversation or a nasty one. Let’s shoot for nice. “Same to you, Mr. O’Donnell.”

“Don’t tell me you’re Jewish” he said, chuckling before I could respond. He was obviously pleased with his little joke.

“Very funny” I answered. He can be so lame. I waited for him to tell me why he’d been trying to reach me lately.

“Have you looked at PACER?”

“Not recently, no.”

“Spoken to Veronica? Bill?”

“I speak to Veronica often.” I’d just talked to both people only a few days earlier. No telling whether Mr. O’Donnell knew that. I didn’t feel like asking to find out.

Finally he got to the point. “The trial has been changed to a guilty plea hearing.” I let the news sink in for a moment. Strange I found my thoughts focusing more on Mr. O’Donnell than on the outcome of my husband and his crimes.

“So, I guess this means we’re done?” I asked, fishing for where this would leave him and me.

“Yes, we’re done” he replied matter-of-factly.

I don’t think Mr. O’Donnell grasped the context under which I had posed my question. Suddenly faced with the inevitable, the quite permanent loss of him from my life, melancholy crept its way through me. I fought for simplistic words and crossed my fingers I’d be able to get them out without choking up. “I guess this is it.”

Because I was in a somber haze, I didn’t quite catch the next thing he said. Something about keeping in touch? Had I heard that? I was somewhat in disbelief that this man, who had witnessed every emotion except three come out of me, after every awful way I’d treated him, would continue to communicate with me if he didn’t have to. I tried to conceal my befuddlement under sarcasm. “But this is your big chance to be free of me. You’ll never have to speak to me again. I would think you’d be thrilled.”

Mr. O’Donnell laughed. “We can still talk. You might want to tell me things.”

It was my turn to laugh. He knew perfectly well I’d do no such thing and said as much. “I don’t think you would, but, you never know.” He then brought up the manuscript he knew I was working on. It reminded me that two days earlier he’d left a message on my voice mail that began with “How’s the book coming along?”

“Why would you be interested in that?” I asked him. He made some sort of flippant comment. I ignored it. “Seriously. Why would you be interested in what I’m writing?”

“I spent a year and a half of my life on this case!” he erupted. The outburst was strong, surprising. I was tempted to analyze it, but resisted. He was rarely in such a good mood, I didn’t want to spoil it.

I shifted the conversation away from the book by asking him some innocuous case-related questions I’d thought of over the course of the call. He answered most of them. He said we’d likely talk again before the hearing date. My mind drifted to pieces of different discussions I’d had with Mr. O’Donnell over the past fifteen months. The sound of his voice growing gruff in my ear pulled me back to our present one. “…and answer the phone when I call you. Stop screening my calls” he demanded.

“Why? Do you think you’re important?”

“I think I’m important. I don’t know what other people think. Don’t screen my calls” he repeated sternly.

“Oh like you don’t screen my calls” I retorted. True to form, we’d reverted to the kind of antagonistic banter we usually had with each other.

Our conversation was drawing to a close. I attempted to express some genuine gratitude. “Thank you for letting me know about the hearing. It was nice of you. To do that. I’m surprised.” I realized, regrettably, how that sounded. So did he.

“I’m not the demon you make me out to be” he said.

Oddly enough I’d recently seen The Golden Compass, a movie in which the character’s souls appeared as animals and were called demons. An amusing notion of Mr. O’Donnell being my demon flickered in my brain. I had a feeling the secret humor wouldn’t be funny to him.

“You’re a jerk! You don’t even deny that you’re a jerk --” I admonished sharply.

“No, I don’t deny it” he interjected to agree.

“But I do not make you out to be a demon” I finished.

The ensuing forty seconds of silence was the loudest I’d ever heard.

The call ultimately ended as politely as it had begun. We bid each other well for the approaching holiday and said good-bye. I snapped my cell phone shut, plugged it into its charger, and used my fingertips to brush away the lone teardrop from my cheek.

For Your Listening Entertainment

I've got a couple things in the works; boy, do I think they’re awesome too! But I have some stuff to iron out first and in the process of doing so I had an unplanned, completely unexpected, dealing with JADE.

I’d been in the area near the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement office for, believe it or not, reasons unrelated to the Task Force. Seemed a fine time to try to tie up one of those loose ends. To do that, I needed to check out the lot where the officers park. I drove down one of the roads that cross with 6th Street SE -- think it’s Blenheim maybe? Whatever the name, the street’s well-sloped and at that intersection one has a very good view of most of the standard places JADErs put their vehicles.

I was slightly more than halfway down its hill when I saw Skoal’s Altima coming out mid-right-turn across the street from me. On a whim, I turned left to get behind him. Funny thing though, like three seconds later he’d passed a couple of parked cars, sidled over to the right, and stopped. But he hadn’t quite pulled all the way over to the curb. It was not only an odd thing to do in general, it was also problematic for other traffic as the road is especially narrow at that spot.

Presumably doing what any driver under normal circumstances would’ve done, I slowed to a standstill about five, maybe ten, feet back from him to make sure I could safely navigate around him, then I zigzagged by him. The moment my back bumper was flush with his front one, his headlights went out. Curious, I thought, because they flicked back on in a jiffy once I was a few feet ahead of him. He pulled right out after me.

With him at the rear of me, he made the next two turns same as me. I tried not to read too much into it -- it was a way he could go home and it was about his going-home time. Funny thing though, his driver’s side front window never went beyond my passenger’s side back window. It was like he didn’t want to pass me. I don’t know if that was the case but, regardless, I forced him to go by me when, at the last possible second I could, I braked suddenly and swung into a left turn lane. He coasted by. I waited to see if he’d hop into another lane himself and come back. He didn’t. I watched until the lights of his sedan completely disappeared in the distance. It didn't occur to me until later all he'd had to do was call his buddies to give them a heads up.

The sun had finished setting and, now mid-evening time, the moon was faintly illuminating the city. It was too dark for me to do what I’d had in mind before I’d gotten side-tracked by Skoal but, just for the hell of it, I went back to the Drug Enforcement building.

Normally I would’ve noted every Task Force vehicle I recognized, from whose it was, to where it was located, right down to the direction it was situated. On this occasion though, having no agenda, I hadn’t done that. I’d noticed Pringle’s car given that it was in such a remarkably out of the ordinary space for him and Porn Star’s since it was, albeit far away, directly in my line of sight.

My just being present there wasn’t accomplishing a darn thing and I couldn’t drum up anything explicit to do that I thought would be productive. I opted to head on out. That’s when I saw Porn Star come out through the double doors and go to his car. I couldn’t drive by him; I’d have to wait to leave.

I guess I was in an inattentive frame of mind or I just didn’t particularly care or some blasé mood.

He tossed… this and that… into his Honda on the passenger side then went to the back and opened the trunk. There I think he did something with his police radio antenna. Either he took the magnetized object out and plunked it on the top of the trunk, signifying whatever he was up to he needed a line of communication open, or he yanked it off and put it back in the trunk, indicating he was finished with business. He moved to the sidewalk and fiddled with his cell phone -- text or talk, I’m not sure which. When he was done, he went back through the double doors into the building.

I was in a quandary. True, he wasn’t outside to observe me but after all his activity I thought it was a safe bet he’d be resurfacing shortly. How was I to know when? And because I hadn’t paid close attention, I had no sense of whether he was about to go arrest a dangerous felon or if he was headed home for steak and potatoes. Maybe you’re thinking “what difference did it make what he was up to?” Oh, it makes a big difference. Believe me. I’ve watched ‘em long enough to know. Anyway, I thought it best to wait until he departed before I tried to get out of there.

I don’t recall how much time passed before he returned. I mean hours didn’t go by or anything but it wasn’t mere seconds either. As soon as I spied him, by the time he’d made it to his car I’d already gotten my engine started and was shifting into reverse. I was ready to call it a night. Since I wasn’t in the mood to purposely follow him, I thought nothing of exiting the same way he had. If we wound up traveling along the same route, it was going to be a coincidence. Besides, I believe I’ve previously mentioned he’s like Speedy Gonzalez on wheels so no matter where he’d went it wasn’t like I thought I’d catch up to him.

In the course of leaving I caught sight of Pringle’s Altima in motion. Jeez I must have mega-been in La-La-Land because I’d totally not seen him come outside. For inexplicable reasons he’d pulled into the upper lot and was making loops around it real slow. Bizarre, but I wasn’t going to worry about it. I snaked around a speed bump, got to the stop sign, made a right, and had Spot’s Impala on my tail. I’d missed Spot coming out of the building too?! For realiously?! I hadn’t even noticed his car down there. I lightly smacked my forehead with my palm.

I arrived at the 5th Street SW traffic signal, got in the left lane, and waited for the light to change. Immediately behind me was Spot, after him presumably was a second JADE vehicle and possibly a third one. There’s really no way to put into words how I knew they intended to pursue me, but I had no doubt that’s what was going to happen. All I could think about was how I might play with the situation. Oops, yeah, no, I take that back; I was also thinking I think Spot is Hot. As. Hell. Seriously the man is yummy.

Given the green light I’d made my turn, as did they. I leisurely scootched up behind some truck in the left lane then stepped on the gas pedal and snapped into the right lane. Spot jerked the Impala over also and suddenly blasted me with his high beams. Nice.

I slowed down. I sped up. I weaved in and out this way. I squeezed out and in that way. Spot et al followed suit. Yeehaw! We went two and a half miles down the road doing that goofy stuff. I could only imagine what their goal was but surely they had in mind something better than what they were doing. Maybe?

They weren’t going to chase me around indefinitely. I got to scheming. I hadn’t done anything wrong and my car was peachy on the legal front. How would they react if I… stopped? I seriously doubted they’d expect me to do that. I mentally flipped a coin: heads, I’d drive straight up to the front door of the soon handy Albemarle County Police Department; tails, I’d halt at a arbitrary place on an upcoming back road. In my opinion, both were equally perilous should these fellows decide to do somethin’ rotten. Tails won.

The road fast narrowed and everything darkened. The high beams of the Impala which had been tolerable up until then became deadly blinding. Spot evidently had no intention of lowering them and after I took two curves wildly sight-impaired, I determined it was either pull over or wreck. I saw an opportune place: a very short turning lane. I glided into it and stopped mid-way down. Spot came to rest behind me.

I grabbed a nifty little device, powered it on, pushed “REC” and slid it under my bra strap. About ten seconds later Spot activated his emergency lights, at which point I rolled my window down.

I’m providing the recording here, unedited, in its entirety. It’s a tad under four minutes long but our exchange is less than that. By the way, Spot is still Hot. As. Hell. And I definitely want to thank him for shouting, ‘cause the audio? Came out sweet!

There’s a couple of places you can hear me hold my breath or squeak to avoid laughing. For example I do that in response to him calling me ma’am at the get-go, as it was way before it was possible for him to have ascertained what sex I am. Technically, at no time up until he said the words “of Charlottesville” had he been in any position to view anything other than my headrest and seat. Then after the inadvertent oral indication that he already knew who was behind the wheel, to launch into an act that it was an indiscriminate stop of a random unknown person? Pfft.

I’m disappointed he used the pretense of “speeding” -- as I think my tone reflects when I repeat the word -- but I’m not going to rake him over the coals for that since I suppose it’s easier for him to keep with familiar standard cop BS than come up with something that’s clever or, God forbid, true.

One other thing I don’t quite get is why he asked me where I was going to rather than where I was coming from. Both seem logical to me but if I’d been him I would’ve asked the latter on the grounds it might be more advantageous. Think about it: If a cop knows where you were, it’s harder for you to lie about it without getting tangled up in it. If a cop doesn’t know where you’re going, you could name any place, then if you didn’t go where you said, well, you changed your mind. Right?

That’s sort of what I did. Hey, prior to Porn Star’s emergence and Spot’s shot at deterrence I’d planned on going home. I changed my mind.

I’d thought by the end of Spot and my interaction, he’d gotten a bit brusque for his britches. Apparently he missed the memo that I’ve got more tenacity -- perhaps audacity -- than just about anyone else on the planet. I went back to their parking lot.

Truck’s car was the only one I found there that belonged to anyone on the Task Force. A uniformed officer in a marked car came through on patrol. He spotlighted the entire area and lit up all the plates of all the automobiles present. I smiled and waved at him. Gee, I guess he didn’t find who he was s'posed to be looking for. He parked and went in the building I reckon to chat with Truck. I left after a few minutes, satisfied that I’d matched Spot for arrogance.

All That And A Roll Of Duct Tape!

This is the driver's side window of the JADE Van:

It's since been repaired. Rumor has it the leftover roll is still inside.

The Funhouse Mirror Effect?

I don't know why this picture turned out this weird way, but because I think it's kind of nifty I thought I'd share it.

That Silver Impala in the left lane is Spot's -- and the reason for the shot.