The *ahem* Assault Vehicle

This is the JADE van.



The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force vehicle can comfortably transport seven men -- at least as comfortably as a bunch of confined men covered in rank body armor sweating out the grease from the fast food they live on can be.



Aside from the guys, the Chevy G20 can carry an assortment of other items. Mandatory first aid supplies in a small bag and large plastic box, and containers for evidence, may be stored in the hindmost space; a battering ram on the floor between the velvety seats for someone to trip over; perhaps a pair of pretty blue rubber gloves in the front console.



There’s also lots of pockets and places to hold trash of the non-two-legged variety: empty packs of smokes, filled bottles of nicotine purge, and candy bar wrappers indicative that sugar-high and raid-rush can coexist.



If your home is the target destination of the uninvited JADE van, let’s put it this way... flushing is futile.

Miscellaneous Meandering

I did type up a chain of thoughts once, where one thing led to another. This also is inspired by what’s wandering around in my brain but I suspect it’s not going to flow out quite so well.

I infer because I’m still doing things, the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force is finally doing things to keep me from doing things. That’s on top of the damage control they’re doing in response to the things I’ve already done.

I haven’t received it, but I was told eons ago by Longhead that I’d be getting a No Trespassing Order to bar me from being on the Ix property where the JADE office is located. I was actually looking forward to it since I figured it would free up beaucoup pictures I’ve taken. Weighing the prospective to take more and unwilling to give away any of my so-called hiding places, I haven’t put up so many photographs on iHeArTEjade.

See, hypothetically, if I got a bunch of snapshots from sitting on a bench across from their entranceway, naturally I wouldn’t post them here, seeing that even the Task Force guys would be able to deduce the placement of the camera and would know to check there for me from that point on. If I’m no longer permitted to sit at that location anymore, it doesn’t matter if I post all the photos I took from that spot as I’ll never go there again.

Presumption alone that the No Trespassing Order was impending has not been enough to shake loose certain pictures, albeit it has kept me mostly off the property voluntarily.

I prefer to have open possibilities and, assuming they would rather have as few images as possible up here, by not counterproductively serving me with an official document, the men have in essence assisted themselves. There’s kind of a balance. Everybody’s happy. Get it?

I’ve been vastly considering their recent activity. Most of what I believe the JADErs are doing lately to stop me isn’t much of a deterrent, though it is fascinating to watch and analyze what they’ve determined will work or what they think is working. They did do one thing that I predicted would be challenging to undo, so to speak. But if I wrote about it, or my triumph regarding it, and they found out about it, they’d just redo it. I can’t have that.

Shocking as it seems sometimes, I’ve got the three Rs covered: Relentlessness, Resourcefulness, and Confidence. Okay, that last one’s not an R-word but you get the idea. If they build a moat, I’ll build a boat. Or a catapult. Or I’ll find a person or two willing to sneak me in the main entrance. Therein lies my dilemma. I already know I can construct those things, or unearth those people, because I already have. So why would I do it again if I already know what’s across the moat? It’d be different if I was forced to do something, well, different to discover JADE Task Force information. But that wouldn’t be the case. I know this because, by now, I’ve tested it. And retested it. JADE is fun, but perhaps not fun enough for a repeat performance.

Generally what lingers in my mind these days is my perception that I was, am, the only one interested in my Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force project. Even the TF Officers themselves are apparently indifferent to it. If I were them I’d totally want to know who someone got my handwriting samples from, furthermore what documents they were on. Or how someone had prior knowledge of where search warrants would be served. Guess that’s just me though.

If you’re wondering what this whole ramble means, I’m not sure either. I suppose I’m just thinking in print that if there’s no longer potential for me to learn new things, then the undertaking is complete. And like the example I gave regarding the unused photographs, if I’m done investigating the Task Force there’s nothing holding me back from putting up anything or everything.

At this stage whatever I disclose that JADE feels is detrimental to themselves, they’re just going to change anyway -- if they haven’t yet. If I happen to give away their secret meeting places, they’ll create new ones. If I divulge their vehicles and a list of tag numbers, those things are easily replaceable for them.

I feel like I’m reading one of those Choose Your Own Adventure stories. If you want to try to pursue JADE some more, turn to page 56. If you want to complete documenting your enterprise then seek a new avocation, turn to page 34.

JADE TF News

January 2009

[...]
Samuels admitted that he and the others were part of a drug distribution organization that was responsible for distributing more than 3,000 kilos of marijuana in Charlottesville, and elsewhere.

The investigation of this case was conducted by the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force, the Federal Bureau of Investigation and the Bureau of Alcohol Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives.
[...]

Wide Open

Aquamarine Dodge Grand Caravan:

A Contact Number

For persons wanting to report
illicit narcotics activity to the
Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force:
434-961-1724

You Remember This Guy?

I do.

And I had every intention of attending his guilty plea hearing scheduled for 12:15 today.

But I kinda got distracted by a Hottie in a Honda.



So I settled for reading this article instead.

Handwriting Examination

Not everything that gets passed along to me that's connected to the JADE TF has a signature on it.

Not to be confused with the pseudoscience of graphology, which a sage of sorts essentially guesses by the way a T is crossed whether or not one is the type of woman who amuses herself studying a narcotics Task Force, handwriting analysis, as a forensic technique, simply put is the comparison of handwriting samples for the purpose of determining who their author is.

One need not be a professional questioned document examiner with years of training in the field to figure out who wrote what; sometimes all it takes is someone with an eye for detail.

If I wanted to know who sketched the map above or which, if any, Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement officer jotted down the telephone number of, for instance, Mr. Grant, I could collate the unknown penning to known specimens. Using the writing of two distinct detectives I might compare a lower case letter from one man or an upper case letter from the other man to the coinciding letters in the mysterious “Grant” to try to get a match.

I have occasionally come across an identical word on different material:

What do you think -- were they written by the same person?

Now something unique, such as the way the number 8 is written by someone:

As good as an autograph, that's!

How 'Bout "Relentless" As A Post Title?

Off from work. Family had their own agenda for the upcoming day and night. I thought I’d indulge in some Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force recreation. Snippets here and there for them is nifty, but having a huge chunk of time to devote entirely to them? Fantastic! I could hardly wait for tomorrow to come.

I should’ve known how the day was going to go when I got up that morning and couldn’t find the shirt I’d wanted to wear -- or the one I decided would be my second option, or my third choice, either. Did I mention I’ve got a twelve year old daughter who’s recently taken to borrowing my clothes?

It all started with me waking up roughly three hours earlier than I needed to, after only sleeping roughly three hours. I had some information regarding a JADE detective I wanted to look into and timing was everything. Despite the great garment fiasco, I managed to leave the house shortly after the moment I’d planned.

A mile or so up the road, my car’s check oil lamp started flickering; it only does that when it’s an emergency. I had to stop and buy some. Naturally, what I needed was on the shelf all the way in the back of the huge store, at the furthest point away from the door I picked to come in at.

Merchandise bought, I rushed out. I had to re-pop the hood once because it came slamming down while I was unscrewing the cap of the SAE30 I’d purchased. My sedan’s thirst for lubrication satisfied, I started the engine and heard the I need gasoline chime accompany whatever latest hit song was playing on the radio. Ugh! Another unplanned stop. And one more after that for, good grief, tampons.

When I at last arrived at my destination, my window of opportunity, much like my car hood, had slammed shut; I was exactly two minutes too late for what I wanted to see. I hung around for ten more, just to be sure, and sipped on my second cup of coffee, another quad-shot of espresso. Failure accepted, I moved off in the direction of the JADE building.

When I got there, Longhead’s vehicle was the lone one I recognized. Ever since he and I hashed it out, LH is pretty much the main Task Force member I’ve seen around; I have no clue why. I seem to be unwittingly making up for all the times I deliberately avoided him during this whole venture. Frankly I’m sick of him. I left and went shopping.

In the process of traveling to and fro, a few times I passed by (non-JADE detective) UPS in his Alero, plus another (non-JADE) SWAT guy whose automobile I know. I named the latter man “Vinyard” because he reminds me of a character from that god-awful movie American History X.

Subsequently back at JADE, refreshed cup of java in hand, I picked a familiar spot where I could keep an eye on things. It’s actually not close to the building and, if the TFOs look towards the place, I’m hardly undetectable, but I still consider it a good position on numerous grounds. For example, I can watch seven key areas without ever having to turn my head -- three additional when I do rotate. Also, I can see any direction any of the officers come and go in and, more importantly, I can quickly go in any direction -- either to follow them or to evade them.

Speaking of directions... since I wrote on iHeArTEjade that they never use it, at least one man has exited via the construction access road -- thereby demonstrating you can indeed teach an old detective new tricks. Ha!

From my perch, I saw UPS’s car come in from Elliott Ave, enter the upper lot, and disappear from view. Strange for him to park in there I thought but I waited for him to walk his way down into my sight and the building. When he didn’t materialize in a reasonable amount of time, I got curious. I started my car and rolled off to find out what he was up to. Gradually driving down 6th Street SE I carefully scanned the now visible upper lot for his car. No him. Focused entirely on UPS I neglected to note, or re-note as the case may have been, the presence of any Drug Enforcement vehicles.

It’s my understanding that the majority of people who, as part of their job, have to perform surveillance from inside a resting automobile, hate it. I personally don’t mind it a bit. However, I have to admit it’s far more enjoyable to have a stakeout be in motion when given a choice between the two.

At that second the only people I was under the impression were present and accounted for who belonged to JADE were Longhead and Herb. Longhead is basically blah, and just about the only time Herb, who is interesting to me, goes anywhere once he’s reported for duty is when he’s with someone else -- which, as it stood, meant LH and that’s assuming Herb even had anywhere to go.

So in spite of the fact that UPS isn’t technically a JADEr, he’s still highly intriguing for secondary reasons and I opted to go search for him rather than optimistically stare at the same ol’ same ol’. Think of it as recess.

Not enough time had elapsed for UPS to get far. Waiting for the light to change at the Intersection of 6th Street SE and Elliott Ave, I tried to predict which roads he might be on and mentally drew a rectangular border around them. Intending to navigate in a grid-like pattern within the imaginary boundary, I rounded the block making the intersection of 6th and Monticello the starting point of my hunt.

In the course of my exploration, I periodically glimpsed UPS as he went by on other roads. Each time I’d cut over as efficiently as possible to where I spotted him, make it my new starting point, and, traveling in the same direction as him, begin the pattern-tracking procedure over again. We crossed paths, just out of reach of each other, I don’t know, four, maybe five, times. We hadn’t strayed far from the vicinity of the Task Force office and I was starting to get the sense it was less like he was on general patrol and more like he was specifically patrolling for me. Weird.

One more circle around, next thing I knew he’d ended up behind me. Uh-oh. What were the odds he hadn’t wound up there on purpose? The thing was, I mean, I knew what I was doing and he knew what he was doing but, considering the circumstances, we didn’t really have any way of knowing what each other was doing.

Still unsure, and not wanting to overreact, I concocted an easy test. He’d clearly been looping around close to the JADE building. I’d leave the immediate area and if he did the same by following me -- an escort if you will -- the entire way then I’d know I’d been his target. If he dropped me on the outskirts, or sooner, then I’d chalk it up to coincidence. In two turns, I learned two things. One: That it may be coincidental? Beyond wishful thinking on my part. Two: He was a They.

They stuck to me better than glue. Down Ridge Street we went. We got to an intersection and at first I was going to get in the left lane but changed my mind and went with the center one. In the rearview mirror I saw UPS and his passenger coming up behind me. UPS put on his left blinker. There was plenty of room in the left lane for them to surpass me. I got an eerie feeling they wouldn’t be doing that. Whatever their intentions, my instincts screamed that I absolutely did not want them stopping directly next to me.

From my standstill I scooted over to the far right lane. A little too late I thought of using another vehicle as a blockade -- my car bucked from my abruptly jamming on its brakes. Through the gap between cars I looked over at UPS and that’s when I saw it. My brain eliminated everything my eyes were taking in apart from the camera the guy along for the ride was holding. Literally all went black but that object.

I dropped my head at a painfully kooky angle and put my hand on top of it. I laughed in sheer disbelief. I honestly could not believe it! Don’t misunderstand me. It’s not what they were doing, it’s how they were doing it. I could conceive of something like, say, them covering the perimeter where JADE operates with high-tech video surveillance equipment. But hanging out a car window with a hand-held camera? That’s simplistic. That’s the kind of thing I do -- and only because it’s either that or nothing.

I Hate having my picture taken. I hate it, hate it, hate it. I’m ugly and unphotogenic. I don’t even bother wearing make-up that’s how unattractive I am. That’s on any regular day. That particular day I had bangs and some serious period-provoked acne-face. Bearing all that in mind, when I saw their camera I panicked.

I couldn’t think of anything but getting out of there. I hit the gas and instantly swung right. Unfortunately I’d not turned on the road I thought I was turning on. As I drove down the side street, I attempted to pull myself together. Obviously, I thought to myself, whatever photographs they now had of me, they had. What difference did it make if they took one or nine or fifty thousand more?

I veered into a parking area and stopped my car. I doubted they were going to give up on me, so I yanked out my own camera and unbuckled the pouch that holds my audio recording device. The gadget dropped. What else could go wrong? I powered on the camera, tried to adjust it while simultaneously fishing for the fallen item, and observed UPS’s Alero entering the lot. They moved back into a space where I couldn’t see them. An assortment of sedans, vans, and SUVs separated us. I abandoned hope of finding the Olympus recorder and backed out inch by inch until they were in my line of sight.

The detectives and I engaged in a battle of the cameras. I didn’t know what their weapon was capable of but I knew I could fire a hundred billion shots, instantaneously download the images to my laptop, and go at them again if I wanted to. We kept at it briefly. I don’t know how many pictures they got of me or how many I took of them. How long would it go on? It was ridiculous. I thought perhaps victory would appease them. I surrendered by lowering my camera and waving while driving past them.

I don’t know that they could comprehend how much their picture-taking was throwing me off. I tried not to let it bother me but I remained thoroughly disconcerted. I turned right and left the lot.

Not only did they come out after me, their car’s emergency lights went on. What now? I wasn’t speeding. If they intended to stop me, why not do it before? I complied without delay by pulling into another parking lot.

Just UPS approached the driver’s side. I frantically looked over my shoulder for his companion. He’d come up on the right side of my car. Unable to keep an eye on both of them at the same time was scary to me. My whole body started, like, vibrating. I knew once it was in progress, my trembling was only going to get worse. I was somewhat relieved though when UPS’s partner eventually came and stood beside him. It was then when I realized who he was.

They had a for realiously valid reason to pull me over. I’d accidentally gone the wrong way down a one way street. I couldn’t believe I’d done such a thing! Don’t misunderstand me. It’s not that I think I don’t do dumb things. I do lots of dumb things. It’d take me a month to tell you all the dumb things I’ve done in just a single day. But they’re typically like funny dumb things. Or humbling dumb things. They’re never dangerous dumb things. I could’ve hurt someone. I. Was. Mortified.

To add insult to, fortunately, no injury, I couldn’t find my proof of insurance. I dug under the seats, groped through the glove box, lifted the floor mats… no insurance card. I was really quivering then. You have to understand I am meticulous about being completely legal -- I check my lights; make sure my turn signals work; my stickers are current; carry license, registration, and insurance papers. Ad nauseum.

I reached over the seat into the back to my tool box slash book bin and pulled out a FedEx envelope. I rifled through it. My hands were shaking so bad by then, I resembled a Parkinson’s victim.

I don’t know whether he was doing it to mock me or to point it out to UPS, or both, but in periphery I saw the other fellow mimicking my tremors. I acknowledge his observation; I widened my eyes, nodded my head, and said “very.” He asked what I was nervous about. I merely replied “y’all.” I had no intention of expounding but even if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t have; the man was speaking before I’d have had the chance to elaborate. “Following us around” he blurted, as if there was something nefarious about that.

When someone has already made up his mind what the answer to his question is, he really needn’t make the dang inquiry. What is it with these law enforcement guys who think they know it all anyway? As yet, I’ve only found one Task Force member who isn’t stuffed full of arrogance.

I laughed and chirped out the technical reality of the moment. “I wasn’t followin’ you. You were followin’ me.” Neither of them had a response for that.

Somewhere during the interaction, UPS expressed gratitude for my cooperating with them. Why would he do that unless he -- they -- expected me to be uncooperative, if not downright belligerent? I suspect there’s one person who’s largely leaving a sour impression of me on them and it’s not I. How can so many people believe the words of their perceived allies even after it contradicts what they experience themselves firsthand?

UPS said he’d take my word that my auto was insured then carrying my license and registration returned to his car with an indication he’d be back momentarily. I took some pictures of him through my side mirror and some of both of them through the back window.

I didn’t want to push my luck, rotten as it was, so I cast aside the camera and rooted throughout my car seeking the missing insurance card. The last time I’d seen it was when Spot pulled me over. Did I forget to get it back from him?

UPS gave me a verbal warning for my moving violation. Had he written me a ticket I would’ve taken it and thanked him for it, that’s how much I deserved one.

I have to say UPS was amazingly nice. Though I’m sure he felt he had all the justification in the world to be horrible to me, he wasn’t. In fact, I don’t think he acted any differently than he had on the prior occasion we’d spoken in person. Even the other man who’d kind of given some static, negative vibes and all that jazz, was not not nice. What a teddy bear!

The officers departed. I wasn’t going anywhere until I knew where my insurance card was. I tore through my car. I called someone I thought could help me and left him a message. I got out and felt under seats and floor mats again. About to give up, from a squatting position on the passenger side I saw a piece of paper trapped in the edge of the glove box. I shoved the card in a book where I store my registration, sent Longhead a text to have him tell UPS I’d found my insurance papers, and drove away.

I called the helpful guy back and left him a message to ignore my previous message, then returned to the first lot where the photography war had taken place and took pictures of the signs indicating the street I’d gone down was one way.

I’d concluded JADE would now be on major alert knowing I was near their turf but I might be able to temporarily rely on them presumably superciliously thinking I’d been adequately chased off. The biggest obstacle in my way today seemed to be my car. I’m passably fit; I could do what I wanted on foot. Approximately two miles from the JADE lot I found a place to park my impediment where it couldn’t legally get towed.

I grabbed a few items I anticipated would be handy, tugged an extra jacket from the back seat, and locked the doors. I set my key on the trunk, put on the spare coat, arranged my materials for easy carry, and set off. I’d made it slightly more than halfway to my goal before my hands got cold. To warm them up, I slid them into my front pockets, Nothing was in them. Nothing. Including no key. I’d mistakenly left it sitting on my car. I sighed. I didn’t trouble myself by running the mile back. What would be the point? Then I’d just be propertyless and out of breath.

No one had stolen my car. I plucked up the key and set off again. Two miles later I arrived just in time to see a group of JADE men load up in Truck’s car and head out. I had to ask: is nothing going to be in my favor today? I made the trek back to where I’d parked and drove off seeking a place to get yummy coffee. I passed UPS on the way; he was all alone in his Alero.

Reinvigorated, I found a brand spanking new setting where I could snoop on JADE. It’s not so ideal after dark, but at night I can practically sit on top of one of the TFOs shoulders without him noticing. Usually, that is. Not on that night. No, on that night I couldn’t get a break to save my life. Either I was in a place where I could see the fellas but they nailed me, or my placement was so good they couldn’t see me because I couldn’t see them.

I would’ve called it quits but, with all those JADErs there, especially at that time of evening, I couldn’t possibly throw in the towel. I had something I was aching to know about and whatever was going on might give me a clue.

As my final effort, I moved my auto into position and waited for… I watched as some boxy red car halted in front of me thus obstructing every millimeter of my view. The driver couldn’t have been parking like that; he was at some loony slant partially in the center of the road. A older man holding a flashlight got out. By his behavior, he was lost. I debated on moving but rationalized a disoriented man wouldn’t be there long enough to validate my relocation. I was wrong.

The wrinkled man went back and forth, from one side of the road to the other, illuminating the numbers on mailboxes or houses while concurrently reading the addresses aloud. Headlights of a vehicle coming from behind us hit him and his ugly car. I thought the approaching driver was slowing because of the man and his respective door-left-ajar auto until it dawned on me that I was staring at Porn Star’s Honda.

The way the day had gone I took it for granted that Porn Star had decelerated because he’d noticed me -- probably hadn’t even picked up on the presence of the aged man. Porn Star wove around the hindrance in the road. Only after Porn Star had come across me did the old man realize he was in the wrong neighborhood and get back in his car and drive away.

Well, having been seen by a JADE detective for, what was it? the millionth time? that day, I couldn’t stay where I was. I scampered off. Over the course of about ten minutes, Porn Star left and Skoal’s Altima vanished and reappeared. I think Porn Star ratted me out and Skoal went and picked up JADE men from elsewhere and brought them back. If that’s what happened, I wouldn’t be getting the clue I needed after all.

I would’ve said “when it rains, it pours” but the notion that merely thinking it might likely spark a gullywasher prevented me from doing so. I’d finally had enough and I didn’t want to be driving home in a thundershower.

Determined that the day would not be a total loss, when I got back to the house I aimed to post on iHeArTEjade a photograph of me taking a picture of them taking a picture of me taking a picture of them. Wouldn’t you know it? My camera had been on the wrong setting.

Out of all the pictures I took, none but eight were decent. I imagine every one they took came out perfectly. I think they should email me some.

As bad as the day seems to have gone, disastrous from beginning to end, truth be told, I wouldn’t change a thing about it. Oh. Except for driving the wrong way down a one way street. That I’d definitely amend.

Once Upon a Time, Long Ago...

SeeSee’s Dodge Charger pulls off in a fuzzy blue distortion. I’m reminded once again that one of the many things adult male Task Force officers and teenage boys have in common is the maniacal way they drive through parking lots. Heaven forbid someone steps off the sidewalk when any one of these guys is behind the wheel.

Once on the road he doesn’t actually seem to be in as big of a hurry. This is a good thing; it may make it easier for me to keep sight of him. I give him plenty of room, slowing down as I notice we’re coming up to a red light. SeeSee and I have met and I definitely don’t want to get too close to him just in case he remembers what I look like. Last thing I want is for him to tell his superhero, Longhead, he caught me following him.

SeeSee pulls into the left turn lane. If he’s paying attention, he probably won’t miss my reluctance to get behind him. Maybe he’ll think I hesitated because I’m lost. I nudge my car up near his.

On the chance he’s looking in his rearview mirror, I lean across the passenger seat as if the stopped traffic has afforded me the opportunity to find something I need. From the corner of my eye I see the light display a green arrow and I sit back up. SeeSee flips on his blinker in the midst of his making the turn.

Still concerned about being seen, I get this brilliant idea to let a car or two get in between us to somewhat cover me. It takes only two blocks before I’m reminded that I’m not as smart as I sometimes like to think I am; SeeSee moves into a right turn lane and seeing as how the other cars go straight, I’m left practically parked in SeeSee’s back seat anyway. Well that worked… not at all.

I can sort of make out his shadow through the heavy back window tinting and from its positioning it appears he’s on his cell phone. Good; distraction. Please don’t let him look back here.

The road we turn on has four lanes and plenty of room. I leave about three car lengths between us. It’s enough of a distance that my fear of losing him and my fear of being spotted by him is bizarrely balanced. I’ve shot several photographs -- accidentally getting one of the sky and streetlights, and one of a portion of my steering wheel. Driving and picture-taking do not go hand-in-hand.

We wind our way through the city. About half the time SeeSee courteously lets me know which way he’s planning to go. He’s using his turn signals roughly fifty percent of when he should… he favors his right blinker, using it the most out of the fifty percent… the left one -- on the rare occasions he uses it -- seems to be like an afterthought in nearly every instance…

It suddenly occurs to me that because I let my mind wander in Minutiaeland, I have no idea how far we’ve gone and I don’t have a clue about the area we’re in. I start worrying if I’m ever going to find my way out or if I’ll be circling around these industrial-type buildings until vultures start circling around me.

Wherever we are, the roads are narrower and the blocks seem shorter. With no feasible way to avoid it, SeeSee and I are bumper-to-bumper both in motion and at several stops. I don’t know if SeeSee is affected by it but there’s no way he can miss the fact that my vehicle has been behind his for a very long time.

It’s hard to think with the drums of my heart beating at full volume. SeeSee is turning left. I turn left. SeeSee is turning left. I turn left. SeeSee is turning left. Three lefts? And a blinker every time? That’s, like, around a block. Umm… yeah. The spigot controlling my adrenaline twists open and in a freak out, I go right instead. Guess I won’t be finding out what he’s up to.

The farther away from SeeSee I get, the more I relax. Now that I’m calm, I think I overreacted. Argh! Curse paranoia! I’m annoyed that I let my imagination run amok and I berate myself for giving up too soon.

For, I swear, the hundredth time, I’ve gotten myself lost in the process of tailing. For, I swear, the hundredth time, I hear eight words roll through my head. I really need to get a city map.

Multiplicity

To reiterate: SeeSee = CC = Carbon Copy. Inside and out this guy is nothing more than a clone of Longhead.

I find that to be even truer today than yesterday -- than the day I wrote that -- than the day I first thought that.

Recently I followed SeeSee from the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement office to the Albemarle County Police Department. This was after I’d, unseen, shadowed SeeSee and Longhead earlier.

I’ve got a new, let’s say, rather unconventional way to tail these guys without them noticing; it works but it is so not easy, at all.

Anyhow, once SeeSee left the Task Force building by himself I resorted to my traditional means of following. In other words, I pulled up right behind him. I figured with me driving down the road in my (now infamous, I guess) car, blatantly holding a camera up in the windshield, I’d pretty much thrown covertness right out the window. I took enough pictures in a couple of minutes to make me happy, and he went his way and I went mine.

Do you know what that… that… that invaluable instrument of the ATF did? Oh. My. Gosh. I’s startin’ to think what I seen on teevee ain’t fo’ real. ‘Cause on teevee, y’all know they's always showin’ how those fellers from dif’rent A-gence-cees don’t git along? I’s tellin’ ya, it jes ain’t true. No siree. Know what I reckon change ma mind? You got it. SeeSee went whinin' about me to a FBI guy! Just. Like. Longhead. Can’t any of these hotshots handle things on their own?

Ah, well. It so happens that his pal at the FBI is one I actually like and respect. It also happens that my poor car is in dire need of a bath thus most of the images I got of SeeSee’s Dodge are slightly less than perfect.

Too Funny!

Today I heard that someone got a virus on his computer and he's blaming iHeArTEjade for it.



I'm not sure if the accusation was strategically designed to prevent pro-JADE Law Enforcement from ever again perusing this site or if the claim was merely made by an overdramatic computer-illiterate twit.



Regardless, since I'm apparently the only one reading iHeArTEjade anymore, now I can go back to publishing whatever I want.

What Happens When...

a JADE Task Force Detective looks right at you while you're taking his picture?

You toss the camera in the grass and accidentally get this crazy upside-down photograph of a JADE Task Force Detective's vehicle:

Ever Wonder What's Coming Next?

Yeah, me too.

Preparations Prior To Entry

No doubt the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force utilizes site-specific images so its members can identify and better visualize the areas where they’re about to execute search warrants.

Programs which supply satellite and aerial photography -- think Google Earth -- are important when constructing operational plans for men about to conduct a raid. Printouts of such can be presented during briefings and further give a more realistic view of what officers will be facing and navigating.

Snapshots of streets, vehicles, and homes, among other things, are taken by operatives in the Task Force and provided to concerned parties. If JADE is particularly adept at exploiting other sources, they may even discover a handful of pictures of their objective house’s interior and sketches which detail the floor plan of a residence.

If JADE is really lucky, they’ll have at minimum one informant who can describe to them things ranging from position of furniture to location of drugs and weapons. No cop wants to get shot because he tripped over something unseen or oddly-placed.

A New Shield For An Old Detective

I’m told there are several reasons to tint the windows of one’s car -- keeps the interior cooler, blocks UV rays that can damage not only skin but dashboards and upholstery, too, reduces glare from sun, snow, and headlights, just to name a few. The favorite reason? Privacy. The darker the film, the better the concealment. Explains why criminals and narcotics officers, especially, like it shady.

(before and after)

The thing about having tinted windows for secrecy is, while the black on the glass temporarily hides insiders from outsiders, unless the vehicle’s inhabitants intend to eternally occupy the auto... sooner or later, they have to come out.

Great Quote

You can observe a lot by watching. -- Yogi Berra

By the bye, and you may not believe this, during those few seconds of my days and nights when I'm not JADE watching, I read. I've added another book to the list in my profile.

Visual Cues

I think if I were going to deal drugs, I’d pat down, or outright strip, each potential buyer before I’d sell anything to him or her. Okay; I guess maybe that wouldn’t always be practical. But something I’d definitely do is have every person remove his or her hat before we conducted business -- because while loads of folks wear baseball caps, only a handful of them will toss them off their heads as a distress signal when they’re working an undercover operation.

Literary Comparison

I was thinking about Porn Star’s comments to me; you know, how I’m stupid, and my writing sucks -- that stuff. So I can’t do anything about the former, like Ron White says “You can’t fix stupid. There’s not a pill you can take; there’s not a class you can go to. Stupid is forever.” However I thought if I wrote more like the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force Officers do, it’d perhaps be a way to improve the latter.

SHORTY OVER THE PHONE.
SHORTY ASKED ME IF I COULD GET SOME COKE.
1/2 KILO.

I DID NOT KNOW.
BUT I KNOW SOMEONE
BUT NOT PERSONALLY.

THIS WAS A B/M THAT SOLD IT TO ME.

I GOT THE COKE AT GIANT PKING LOT.

I GO TO HOUSE.

SHORTY TOLD ME HE
WAS THERE + I WAS GOING TO GIVE IT
TO SHORTY.

I WENT TO HOUSE
+ I WAS GOING TO GIVE
COKE TO B/M

SHORTY CALLS ME BACK
+ SAYS I’M RIGHT HERE.

I COME BACK AND GO TO HOUSE.

I dunno. It isn’t bad, I suppose. But if that’s what it takes to make the grade, I think I'd rather smile and take the F.

Precise Location of Access

This:

goes along with this.

Upon seeing the above, I decided to do some research on the whole POE thing. There's a lot more to it than I could've ever imagined! This I found to be especially thought-provoking:

The point of entry into a house, be it a door or a window, is referred to as the fatal funnel. The occupants of the house need only aim their weapons at this point of entry and wait for the target to appear. That target is the law enforcement officer, and at that moment, the officer has no cover and more than likely no idea where the armed occupant of the house is located. The officers are generally back-lit, so their eyes must adjust to the lighting, or lack thereof, in the house. The armed occupants are presented with a clear target and need no time to adjust to the lighting. The officers may have little or no idea of the layout or floor plan of the premises and will require time to acclimate to their new surroundings. The armed occupants, however, need not acclimate themselves, for this is their home turf.

Moreover, the armed occupants know what they intend to do, whereas the officers only can infer whether the armed occupants intend to fight, flee, or surrender. This creates a situation where the occupants fire first because the officers cannot fire until they have determined the occupants' intention to resist. Such encounters in very close quarters frequently make the initial exchange of gunfire conclusive. The armed occupants may not consider possible harm to innocent bystanders, but the officers must. -- Special Agent Michael Bulzomi

Porn Star. Further Frolics and Foul-Ups.

The familiar Honda, materializing out of nowhere, whizzes crossways by me and stops on a dime in front of the door leading to the JADE office. Porn Star jumps out and dashes up the stairs.

I look to the bypath that threads around the construction site and kick around explanations for why he’s come in that way. The road is rarely traveled, even rarer is it used by Task Force members. There’s still swirls of dust hanging in the air above the gravel from Porn Star’s trip along it.

I redirect my gaze to the building where he’s entered. I’m assuming, by the extra hastiness exhibited by the detective, he’s on a mission and will be back outside faster than I can take hold of a camera. I grab one anyway.

Did he set his car alarm? I don’t think he did. Nah, must be my imagination. He would never not do that; I just missed it or something.

After a minute or so, I distinguish the outline of his body through the glass of the exit as he’s returning and fix my eyes immediately on the papers he’s got in his hand when he passes the threshold. The visible top sheet has a large, square-shaped image on it in the upper left corner. Mug shot. I don’t need to see more, just by that multi-shaded block I know what he’s carrying. Connecting it with his infectious energy but detecting no evidence of his protective gear, I sense Porn Star’s about to go have a chat with a shady character as opposed to actually collaring a bad guy.

He’s back in his vehicle. I capture a few pictures, then, hoping to witness the huntsman in action, slip after him out of the lot.

Where were his keys? I recall his hands from moments ago but can’t conjure up a reflection of the metal objects appearing in them. Nor can I recall any motions indicative of them being present -- no palm jiggling, no paws to pockets, no keyless-entry button-pressing. It seems an essential detail but I put the thought on the back burner so I can concentrate on tailing the officer.

I’ve learned some things from following Porn Star that help me shadow him better. The most important? I absolutely positively under no circumstances Cannot Ever dawdle. He speeds. Lower on the list, allowing him more than eight car lengths distance is a guaranteed lose. His blinker usage isn’t dependable therefore I rely on the other signals he provides unintentionally. Like now, I’m sitting one car behind him at the intersection and even though he can go right or straight, I’m positive he won’t be turning. Across we go.

Several parts of the area we’re driving through I suppose would be deemed unsafe. I believe maybe they are dangerous for other people, but these kind of neighborhoods never have much of an effect on me.

We make a right, then a left, and a left, and a right -- so many turns I do declare we’re going in circles. I know we haven’t gone far but it feels like we’ve traveled dozens of miles. Porn Star makes yet another turn up ahead. If memory serves, these skinny side streets eventually lead to a main avenue and a nice district. Sheesh. Why in the world did he drive through Crackville if he didn’t have to?

I copy Porn Star’s turn. He’s stopped about three-quarters way up the road. I slow down. The passenger door opens. Passenger? A foot appears from the vehicle and lands on the pavement. I know those shoes. Eeeeeek! I shriek and swerve into a driveway as Longhead climbs the rest of the way out of Porn Star’s car.

Not good. This. Is bad. After my mini heart attack, I get a picture or two. I back up and discreetly leave the scene. On parting, I’m happy to solve the mystery of Porn Star’s lack of alarm-setting and absent keys: there was another investigator inside his car, protecting it. I’m unhappy I didn’t catch the obvious: it’s unlikely that Porn Star would go meet with a criminal without having a partner. Worse, his backup this time was Longhead. Had it been anyone else, I could’ve stuck around.

Testing, Testing 1 2 3

Years ago ‘twas the clutches of desperation that first prompted me to buy this little device:

While it wound up being absolutely useless in every possible way for my original intentions, its recording abilities are undeniably fantastic. I don’t want to say it picks up everything because that wouldn’t be a favorable evaluation for such a contraption -- more like it picks up exactly what’s needed.

On a newspaper, it’s caught the words of a softly-speaking police chief; from inside a car, the exchange I had with a smokin’ sexy detective; over the phone, conversations with torrents of ethically-questionable people.

During my encounter with two Drug Enforcement investigators, Porn Star, with Longhead standing six inches away, explicitly stated to me that I was no longer permitted on the property where the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement office is located. Longhead, with input from Herb, less than an hour later, tells me on the phone that I am still allowed there. Gosh, it’s a good thing I know these guys would never deliberately give me conflicting information or commands.

Speaking of JADE Task Force members, apparently all of them, and an unknown quantity of folks connected to them, are aware of my penchant for the object, as several men I’ve spoken with recently have either asked if they’re being recorded or outright declared they know they are.

I inquired of one of them if it mattered I was recording him. I was very surprised to hear him reply it did. In my opinion, if you’re on the up and up, it shouldn’t bother you one flippin’ bit that you’re being recorded. And if you’re changing your candor because of an Olympus WS-100, well, then, you’re a shining example of why I carry one.

Porn Star. Third Time's a Charm?

Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement members will occasionally park their cars outside of their conveniently-located “cop zone.” Porn Star must want the exercise ‘cause he’s left his vehicle a good distance away from the front door more than once today.

It’s early evening. I watch his car coming back in from Elliott Avenue and my eyes follow it all the way to a space about 15 feet in front of me.

Even though I’ve been much, much, nearer to some of these guys than this -- in none of those instances have they taken notice -- I’m still struck with a healthy amount of apprehension when in such close proximity. No telling what their reactions will be in response to what I’m doing but I certainly would prefer to skip being confronted by a possibly vexed man with a badge over something that's harmless.

Cautious but not to the level of consternation, I shoot some pictures. The beeps of the camera as I press the shutter sound to me as loud as a foghorn. My window is down. With every push of the button I wait for him to glance back to locate the noise. A sting in my chest alerts me that I’m holding my breath. I remedy that.

It’s been a long time since I’ve followed Porn Star. Now with his appearance, it’s sort of a toss-up whether it’ll be Pringle or him who I’ll be tagging after. When Porn Star comes out a short six minutes later, the question is no longer up in the air.

I let him lead me out to Elliott Ave. We subsequently roll around the stop sign to make a right. The light up ahead winds up being green and we turn left without delay. So far, so good. I don’t think we go 50 feet before Porn Star drops a concrete block on his gas pedal. I was expecting this from him but no way I can do the same without calling attention to myself. I think I’ll give him a splash of space before I try to catch up. Major mistake.

The speed limit of the road we’re on is 45mph. He exceeds that and the opening between us widens. I’m struggling just to keep him in sight. He’s long past the traffic signal I’m forced to stop at. I watch helplessly as he fully disappears from view.

When I finally reach I-64, I look in both directions for his car. Naturally I don’t see it. I don’t know why I always bother checking the Interstate for him. Knowing the odds are against me, I go a bit further and inspect the Albemarle County Police Department. I find SeeSee’s car there but Porn Star has apparently evaporated from the earth.

I don’t see him again that day.

Old News

February 8, 2008

More than $40,000 worth of crack cocaine is off streets. The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force arrested three New York men Thursday morning for possessing cocaine with the intent to distribute: Giovanni Petro, Maleek Harrell and Charles Williams.

Detectives raided a room at the Quality Inn in Charlottesville about 5 a.m. Thursday.

Continued.

Old News

June 5, 2008

Three local residents are facing cocaine charges after the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement task force raided a home in the 1500 block of Carlton Drive.

Rigaberto Topbar Gonzales, 24, of Albemarle County; Jimmy Orlando Chirinos, 31, of Charlottesville; and Denise Holsapple, 37, of Charlottesville were charged Wednesday with conspiracy to distribute cocaine.

Gonzales also was charged with possession of cocaine with intent to distribute, and Chirinos was charged with assault and battery on a law enforcement officer. Lt. Don Campbell, with JADE, said Chirinos resisted arrest and kicked one of the officers.

Continued.

Old News

On November 27, 2007, at approximately 7:40 PM, members of the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force conducted an undercover operation in the 200 block of Carlton Road in the Charlottesville. As a result of the operation approximately 10 grams of cocaine was seized. The cocaine has a potential street value of approximately $1,000.00.

Jorge Antonio Lopez, 24 year[s] old of Charlottesville, was arrested and charged with possession of cocaine with the intent to distribute, a Felony. Lopez was also served with three Felony indictments, for three previous counts of distribution of cocaine.

Comments.

Old News

April 3, 2007

Commonwealth’s Attorney Jim Camblos said the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement task force spotted the marijuana during a southern Albemarle flyover last summer. Peck runs a nursery, Blue Ridge Bamboo of Virginia, from his home, where he raises day lilies and forsythia.
[...]
Police initially estimated the street value at about $4.8 million based solely on the number of plants, not their size. One officer called the seizure the largest he’d seen in Albemarle County in 20 years.

More.

Old News

BY JOHN BORGMEYER

In early March, the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force arrested 18 people, ages 17 to 30, following almost a year of undercover operations in Belmont. Eight men and one woman face charges of distributing marijuana. One man faces charges of distributing both marijuana and imitation cocaine. Eight suspects face cocaine charges.

In JADE press releases and the accompanying daily newspaper articles, pot and cocaine were cast as equal threats to Belmont’s “quality of life.” But in real life, JADE honchos admit that marijuana dealing really isn’t a problem in Charlottesville.

Continued.

Discrepancies: Justification For Self-Witnessing JADE Events

Two men face drug charges after more than 250 grams of cocaine were seized in an undercover operation in Albemarle County.

Shortly after 8 Wednesday night, Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force members conducted an undercover operation in the 300 block of Greenbrier Road. They seized cocaine with a potential street value of $25,000.

20-year-old Noe Chagalas-Mil and 34-year-old Victor Manuel Aranda, both of Albemarle County, were arrested and charged with distribution of cocaine. That charge is a felony.

Investigation in this case is ongoing.

Reported by NBC29 HD News

The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force removed more than 250 grams of cocaine from a residence on Greenbrier Drive in Albemarle County during an undercover operation Wednesday night.

JADE officers conducted the operation in the 300 block of Greenbrier Drive shortly after 8 p.m. Noe Chagalas-Mil and Victor Manuel Aranda, both of Albemarle County, were arrested and charged with distribution of cocaine.

Officials say the investigation is ongoing and more arrest and charges are pending.

The street value of the cocaine seized Wednesday is approximately $25,000.00.

Reported by WCAV

Also a good excuse for a night vision camera, no?

65 Push Ups

got ACAC?

The Deal Maker and Breaker

In the process of departing the building where the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force is located, I heard the echo of their office door slamming shut -- no doubt at least one of them was on his way out. I went down the stairs outside and glided along the sidewalk intending to leave the property. Feeling I was being followed, when I rounded the corner I glanced over my shoulder to ascertain by who. Figured it’d be Longhead, the only person who’d recognize me on sight.

Seeing as how an encounter with an angry, armed, trained, 200-something pound detective was not on my to-do list, I continued to move at the same steady pace away from him. He bellowed my name. I was conflicted: afraid to stop and afraid to not stop. I had no time to weigh the pros and cons of each. I spun smoothly then advanced towards him warily. I halted when I was still a fair distance from him.

In between flinging zingers at me, he stayed busy trying to contact someone on his cell phone. It was clear he’d reached… whomever, and he sat on a nearby bench alternating his gaze from me to the area he obviously expected his backup to come from. I told him “I’d love to stay and chat but… I don’t think so” and, heartbeat roaring, moved cautiously away. He said and did nothing to stop me. He did, however, trail after me, all the while still communicating to his buddy. Not once did I look back.

I crossed Monticello Ave, keeping on 2nd Street. A slow motion in blue in my peripheral vision and I knew just who exactly Longhead had called: Porn Star. I shook my head and anxiously wondered where this would lead. Presuming both men were inside, I watched the pair pass by and disappear. Utilizing the only means of protection I had, I slid a camera out of my jacket pocket and flipped on a recorder under my shirt.

As I was coming up to Garrett Street, I saw the Honda pulling over to the curb diagonally across the road. As if one wasn’t frightening enough, now there were two angry, armed, trained, 200-something pound detectives coming at me.

Fortunately for me, a considerable amount of people were around as potential witnesses -- the majority of the reason I went that route.

After an excellent visual display of outstretched arms and a thuggish “you want a piece of me,” Porn Star treated me to a onslaught of insults -- everything from calling me a “nutcase” to telling me my writing sucks; I waited for the “you’re ugly and your mother dresses you funny” but I guess in his rage he forgot that. Like high school jocks, the duo played well off each other. I honestly found that part mesmeric. I listened while they stated, mostly to each other, that I was unintelligent; they had several variations on that theme actually. But when Porn Star made a certain threat, I was done listening. Much like I had moments before with Longhead alone, I managed to extricate myself unhurt.

My vehicle was parked in a somewhat shielded area, affording me far less security than I was okay with, and I was worried to go directly to it. As I moved through the neighborhood on foot, the Honda orbited around me. I called Longhead and told him if they wanted me to leave I couldn’t until they stopped circling me like vultures. He claimed they weren’t restricting my movements.

The three of us crossed paths one more time before they let me go. That discussion set off a few days of negotiations. I thought we’d made a deal but Longhead, being the punk-bitch that he is, broke it. Works for me; I get to post on iHeArTEjade again and the experience gave me more stuff to write about.

Pringle's Petty Offenses

For those of us who can read,
those words in bright yellow
on the pavement mean:
NO PARKING

Oops -- I Missed A Spot!

I’m at one of my fave locations, currently surveying Spot -- it gives a whole new meaning to “observation tower.” I sense movement and, looking down, recognize the Black guy from across the street. He’s gotten used to seeing me and he’s nice. We perform what has become our ritual of a nod and wave to each other.

I return my full attention to Spot in time to see him getting into his Taurus. From overhead I keep an eye on him only long enough to gather he’s going to be coming my way. Shouldn’t be too hard to pick him up when he passes by. I climb down from the roof where I’m sitting and scamper to my car.

There he is. I let him make it to the end of the street and choose his direction before easing out after him. He reaches the light at the corner with three cars and me behind him. From there he makes two more turns. I do the same but hang back ever so slightly.

It’s early AM and the road we’re on is filled with morning commuters wired up on coffee and road rage. I watch Spot’s car bounce from lane to lane. I bet he’s one of those drivers who thinks as long as he’s in motion he’s making progress -- kind of like me. I don’t snake back and forth as much as he since I’m having no trouble keeping up with him.

We make another turn. Traffic is heavier and I’m snagged in it briefly. I catch sight of the tail end of Spot’s sedan as it goes beyond a brick building. Exploiting a section of empty parking spaces I cut in front of a bunch of stopped cars to get Spot back in view. Gotcha QT.

I’m at a red light, the first in line. The detective is sitting one block and three vehicles ahead, held up at his own red light. Force of habit: I check my mirrors.

And there in the Ford behind me is Spot.

Are you kidding me?! I spin around in my seat to take a better look. Ya, that’s him. I twist back around, slap my palm over my eyes and chuckle. I return my hand to the steering wheel and stare out my windshield at the identical car I’ve mistakenly been chasing for… who knows how long? I am such a dumb twit.

There's only one JADE Task Force man I can follow from the front and Spot is not him. How do I fix this screw up?

Intending to loop around the block and come up behind Spot, I turn right but fast find out it’s impossible to get at him that way from this street. I hastily retrace my route to return to the original road. He had to have made it through the light by now; all I have to do is go right and I’ll still wind up behind him. But too much time has passed. Spot, and the clone car for that matter, has vanished.