The sun is cold. I’m staring into Boomslang’s eyes. Actually I’m staring into his sunglasses. He holds out a thin stack of papers. I can tell by a fleeting look they’re copies. He’s never given me copies -- always originals. Anchoring my gaze on the face of the man in front of me, I take the sheets from him and gradually tear them in half. I tear the halves into fourths and let them fall from my fingers. The fragments flutter to the gravel.
The information on them was what I came for, but, now, now it’s not important. What is important is the person who’s brought it to me and I want him to know that. Hence the shredding. Boomslang’s jaw is squared with tension. I consider touching him. On his solid forearms, which he’s crossed. On his cheek, which is faintly flexing. Except it won’t help either of us so I keep my hands to myself.
“Aren’t you going to worry I’ll ‘out’ you on I heart jade?” I ask, ribbing him to fog my disappointment.
“No,” he says seriously, “because I know you understand why.”
Yes, I understand why he’s told me he can’t do this anymore. He’s nervous. He thinks it’s gotten too risky for him to keep being one of my Task Force sources. Fine. He’ll change his mind. But not today. Not here. I’ll make do until he snaps out of it. He’s not the only person whose toes someone in JADE has stepped on.
“You already wrote about me anyway.”
“Yep. And you’ve just given me a reason to write about you again, too, Boom. Be happy no one’s gonna believe me when I mention you’re a cop.”
A hint of a smile teases around his lips but, when I turn to go, it melts away faster than cotton candy on a wet tongue. I settle in my car, reach to pull the door shut. He grabs the edge of the metal frame to stop it from closing and my brown irises swing up at him. For a second we are both motionless, silent. He drops down to a squatting position and gives me a grin so perfect it’d make an angel jealous. I wink at him, tell him he really is my favorite.
I leave him, there, in the backwoods parking lot, on the tiny crushed rocks, picking up the pieces of pressed pulp. I won’t miss him. I won’t miss him because I refuse to believe he’s gone.
20090428
Wow, Just Wow.
Having something like this happen is almost unheard of.
My web log has outranked the City of Charlottesville’s own web site about it’s own Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force.
Do you know what that means? More people are coming here than going there -- or anywhere else on the ‘net -- to get information regarding JADE.
P.S. The number of I HeArTE JADE profile views rocketed by two hundred in nine days.
My web log has outranked the City of Charlottesville’s own web site about it’s own Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force.
Do you know what that means? More people are coming here than going there -- or anywhere else on the ‘net -- to get information regarding JADE.
P.S. The number of I HeArTE JADE profile views rocketed by two hundred in nine days.
20090427
Michael Toney Sentenced This Morning In Federal Court
This past September state police tried to pull Toney over on I-64 while he was traveling to Charlottesville reportedly to sell a gun to an informant. Toney refused to stop for police, leading them on a brief high-speed chase before crashing his vehicle.In October, in Charlottesville’s District Court, Toney was given a sentence of 12 months upon being convicted of obstruction of justice, a misdemeanor, and in January, in exchange for a recommended 240 month sentence, he pleaded guilty in Federal Court to three counts of illegal possession of a firearm. The 38-year-old will serve the terms concurrently and will have 5 years supervised release.
20090426
I've Decided
Dasani is a flake. Or perhaps he’s secretly been a recipient of an Obie. There are a handful of possibilities I’ve thought of, which I won’t delve into here, for why, on two occasions with me now, Dasani has acted like he has the intellect of a regurgitated rice crispy.
A few weeks ago the cool drink of water himself left me a voicemail asking that I call him.
I’ve kind of got it in my head that Dasani’s one of those guys who could bare-handed take down a rhinoceros if he felt like it. There’s just no doubt the rugged Task Force Sergeant’s insides are surging with Testosterone. So when I rang him back I expected he’d skip the passive-aggressive approach the other Law Enforcement Officers have tried with me -- pretty please, miss, it’d be gracious nice if you’d be so kind as to forget all about JADE otherwise we’ll have to start spite-ticketing you for any minor offenses we can drum up, or arrest you for obstruction of justice, or beat you by the side of the road until you’re black-eyed and bloody and compliant with us -- and go straight to a stormy “take down the effin’ picture of my wheels.” Only Dasani would use the real F-word ‘cause he’s tough like that.
Didn’t go that way in the slightest. After swiftly swapping how-are-yous, the first thing out of his mouth was “hey, are you in town by chance?” as if the thought had sprung into his mind that exact second. My brain half-jokingly translated: JADE has a drug bust planned and they want to know if I’ll be around to crash it. After I told him I was not there, the next line from him was “ummm… one day when you’re in town, give me a call, and, I’ll take you out to lunch, or, take you out for some coffee or sumthin’.”
Blink. Blink. “Why wouldja do that?” Blink.
“Cause I need t’… talk t’you about some things.” A length of silence, broken by his querying “is that ah-right?”
I inquired, chuckling because of his question, if he’d talk to me about them over the telephone. He refused with a solemn-sounding utterance he’d “rather do it face-to-face.” I told him I’d consider it. Sort of funny because there I was genuinely promising to weigh out an offer I suspected was for the most part fraudulent on his end.
From dial to disconnect the duologue was done and over in, truly, a minute. I, naturally, scrutinized everything about the conversation. Especially his odd one-day-get-in-touch-with-me bit. That made no sense. Whatever it is is so important it couldn’t be said over the phone, but when it’s said is irrelevant? He might’ve reasoned I’d contact him but he’d have no way of knowing if that would be in six minutes or six months.
No matter what were Dasani’s actual motives, I’d never reject a ripe opportunity to interact with someone in the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force. Everyone knows that. Therefore I’d called him a couple of times since. Like any properly conditioned JADE Charlottesville operative, he never picked up. Third -- and my resolved final -- time I left him a frivolous message. “Well you tell me to call when I’m in town and then you don’t ever answer your phone.”
The cell on my hip vibrated many minutes later -- digital ID displayed JADE hyphen Dasani’s last name. I was in the middle of trouble-raising and wasn’t prepared to bandy with the TFO right then. As soon as I’d finished my mischief, I buzzed him back. When he greeted me with “hello” I playfully let loose a skeptical “so you will return calls but you won’t take them.” Know what he said about it? This tripping over his tongue ramble.
Uhhmmkay… huh what?
Sadly the rest of the exchange never really rose above that level. The discussion lasted a trifling thirty seconds or so more than our previous one and was less productive.
Dasani made a half-hearted attempt to find out how long I’d be around while simultaneously, without me giving him any information, telling me he wouldn’t be able to meet until hours afterward. Then he implied that he’d be doing me a favor if he came out to talk at me. What. The. Hell. He initiated this; it hadn’t been my idea. Sure I was interested in hearing what’s on his mind but him not gracing me with his presence affects me about as much as a chicken’s hiccup. I delivered a sugared “never mind, that’s okay” about the possible one-on-one later and he responded apathetically “ah-right well I guess next time.”
Next time? Oh hell to the no.
Either the portentous subject matter the man alluded to earlier had depreciated over the last three weeks or it was, as I surmised, a charade from the get-go. I can’t remember why I took Dasani seriously in the first place. Ah, yeah, it’s coming back to me, something about his ability to pin a massive horn-nosed beast to the ground. Fortunately, there’s nothing he can say to crush that illusion.
A few weeks ago the cool drink of water himself left me a voicemail asking that I call him.
I’ve kind of got it in my head that Dasani’s one of those guys who could bare-handed take down a rhinoceros if he felt like it. There’s just no doubt the rugged Task Force Sergeant’s insides are surging with Testosterone. So when I rang him back I expected he’d skip the passive-aggressive approach the other Law Enforcement Officers have tried with me -- pretty please, miss, it’d be gracious nice if you’d be so kind as to forget all about JADE otherwise we’ll have to start spite-ticketing you for any minor offenses we can drum up, or arrest you for obstruction of justice, or beat you by the side of the road until you’re black-eyed and bloody and compliant with us -- and go straight to a stormy “take down the effin’ picture of my wheels.” Only Dasani would use the real F-word ‘cause he’s tough like that.
Didn’t go that way in the slightest. After swiftly swapping how-are-yous, the first thing out of his mouth was “hey, are you in town by chance?” as if the thought had sprung into his mind that exact second. My brain half-jokingly translated: JADE has a drug bust planned and they want to know if I’ll be around to crash it. After I told him I was not there, the next line from him was “ummm… one day when you’re in town, give me a call, and, I’ll take you out to lunch, or, take you out for some coffee or sumthin’.”
Blink. Blink. “Why wouldja do that?” Blink.
“Cause I need t’… talk t’you about some things.” A length of silence, broken by his querying “is that ah-right?”
I inquired, chuckling because of his question, if he’d talk to me about them over the telephone. He refused with a solemn-sounding utterance he’d “rather do it face-to-face.” I told him I’d consider it. Sort of funny because there I was genuinely promising to weigh out an offer I suspected was for the most part fraudulent on his end.
From dial to disconnect the duologue was done and over in, truly, a minute. I, naturally, scrutinized everything about the conversation. Especially his odd one-day-get-in-touch-with-me bit. That made no sense. Whatever it is is so important it couldn’t be said over the phone, but when it’s said is irrelevant? He might’ve reasoned I’d contact him but he’d have no way of knowing if that would be in six minutes or six months.
No matter what were Dasani’s actual motives, I’d never reject a ripe opportunity to interact with someone in the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force. Everyone knows that. Therefore I’d called him a couple of times since. Like any properly conditioned JADE Charlottesville operative, he never picked up. Third -- and my resolved final -- time I left him a frivolous message. “Well you tell me to call when I’m in town and then you don’t ever answer your phone.”
The cell on my hip vibrated many minutes later -- digital ID displayed JADE hyphen Dasani’s last name. I was in the middle of trouble-raising and wasn’t prepared to bandy with the TFO right then. As soon as I’d finished my mischief, I buzzed him back. When he greeted me with “hello” I playfully let loose a skeptical “so you will return calls but you won’t take them.” Know what he said about it? This tripping over his tongue ramble.
Uhhmmkay… huh what?
Sadly the rest of the exchange never really rose above that level. The discussion lasted a trifling thirty seconds or so more than our previous one and was less productive.
Dasani made a half-hearted attempt to find out how long I’d be around while simultaneously, without me giving him any information, telling me he wouldn’t be able to meet until hours afterward. Then he implied that he’d be doing me a favor if he came out to talk at me. What. The. Hell. He initiated this; it hadn’t been my idea. Sure I was interested in hearing what’s on his mind but him not gracing me with his presence affects me about as much as a chicken’s hiccup. I delivered a sugared “never mind, that’s okay” about the possible one-on-one later and he responded apathetically “ah-right well I guess next time.”
Next time? Oh hell to the no.
Either the portentous subject matter the man alluded to earlier had depreciated over the last three weeks or it was, as I surmised, a charade from the get-go. I can’t remember why I took Dasani seriously in the first place. Ah, yeah, it’s coming back to me, something about his ability to pin a massive horn-nosed beast to the ground. Fortunately, there’s nothing he can say to crush that illusion.
20090425
It's Like They Don't Even TRY
When You’re Hot,
Like Spot,
It Oughtn’t Matter
Where You Sat ‘er
In The Lot.
Like Spot,
It Oughtn’t Matter
Where You Sat ‘er
In The Lot.
Not A Tailless Mouse
Maybe a taillightless one.
Not that you’ll get a ticket, or anything, but please, Sergeant, fix. The lack of a lamp makes it that much easier for me to follow your vehicle and I’m sure you’d want that sort of thing to be a little more of a challenge for me these days.
20090423
SWAT Scene Sketch
By and large if I want to document any sort of vehicle information -- tags, descriptions, positions, et cetera -- I’ll either hand-write the details I think are important in a notepad or I’ll capture whatever in photographs. On rare occasions, I’ve used my cell phone to text in license plate numbers, and having finally realized that, oh my gosh, my OWS-100 doesn’t just record conversations with other people, it will record me, alone, too, I try to remember to put it into such service.
One thing about all of the aforesaid methods is that it only takes a second to implement any of them -- a stroke of a pen, press of a button, preservation in the blink of an eye. However, there are moments when speed is not of the essence and time is something to waste. Like when white-hot-waiting for a force of SWAT paired with a pack of JADE to crack down a crack house. Anyway… Look, I drew a picture!
One thing about all of the aforesaid methods is that it only takes a second to implement any of them -- a stroke of a pen, press of a button, preservation in the blink of an eye. However, there are moments when speed is not of the essence and time is something to waste. Like when white-hot-waiting for a force of SWAT paired with a pack of JADE to crack down a crack house. Anyway… Look, I drew a picture!
(Some identifying components temporarily blacked out.)
20090422
Old News
March 15, 2006
Five people from Charlottesville have been indicted on drug charges that could put them in prison for the rest of their lives.
The Jade Task Force says Austin Webb, Craig Anderson, Alston Perrin, Chris Cobourne and Stephanie Jones are facing federal conspiracy charges.
They say the group sold hundreds of thousands of dollars in cocaine and marijuana from Charlottesville.
All are being held without bond and face trial in May.
Source.
Five people from Charlottesville have been indicted on drug charges that could put them in prison for the rest of their lives.
The Jade Task Force says Austin Webb, Craig Anderson, Alston Perrin, Chris Cobourne and Stephanie Jones are facing federal conspiracy charges.
They say the group sold hundreds of thousands of dollars in cocaine and marijuana from Charlottesville.
All are being held without bond and face trial in May.
Source.
Pringle and Spot
The pair have dumped a pile of miscellaneous police paraphernalia into the back seat and trunk of Pringle’s Altima.
I guess they’re up to something more than a coffee break and promptly follow them out from the parking lot when they leave.
I’ve learned a few things about the immediate area, so, as far as these nearby square miles of streets go, I’m lacking the anxiety I used to have about getting lost. But I’m not accustomed to Pringle’s driving, and it’s he who’s behind the wheel of his car.
There’s a block or more of distance between us, not so much that I don’t see them turn right at the same place I lost Porn Star the first time I followed him. I pull up to a stop sign and with no oncoming traffic I immediately turn the way as the two Task Force Officers.
There are several cars in front of me; none of them is the Altima. I’m unconcerned. I know that shortly up ahead the road will go from two lanes to four and, again having gotten familiar with the area, have no reason to believe Spot and Pringle would stray off the main drag beforehand. They wouldn’t have gone this way just to get to a side street up here. Sure enough, as I round the bend and see the stretch of highway beyond, I can make them out up yonder. Soon though they’ll have the ability to go in any number of directions and if I don’t catch up fast I’ll likely lose them.
I expeditiously crank between lanes to pass traffic, breaking out of the congestion to really lay on the gas. I watch Pringle and Spot ignore two major turns, essentially leaving two ways they can go, as the gap between Pringle’s vehicle and mine goes from momentous to nearly insignificant. Up ahead they join other drivers in a left turn lane waiting for the signal to turn green.
I have a flashback that causes me to reconsider how I lost another JADE agent once. The short of it is, because I hadn’t seen him on the straightaway when I came around the curve, I’d assumed he’d turned off onto I-64. But rethinking the moment again, he probably just hadn’t gotten stuck at the traffic light his fellow detectives are sitting at currently.
I transition my mind from earlier events to the here and now as it dawns on me that I’m coming up to the red light faster than a flaming comet through the earth’s atmosphere. I hit the brakes -- my speed going from insane to moderate -- just in time to easily make the turn with Pringle and Spot who are now directly in front of me.
Back on a two-lane I allow four car lengths between the investigators and me. Okay; more like room for two cars and maybe a bicycle. Maybe.
For some reason Pringle keeps slowing down then speeding back up. He’s doing this ostensibly without tapping his brakes. With no taillight warnings from him, this of course unexpectedly puts my front tires practically on top of their trunk a couple of times. If he was any old random stranger driving like this in front of me I’d be singing a string of tame swear words at him by now.
As it is I come up with only one interpretation for the man’s abrupt unpredictable driving. They’re on to me. I back way, way, off.
I’m recollecting times when I’d later assessed I jumped the gun -- SeeSee, for instance. Determined to not add this experience to the Ode de Paranoia list, I move up behind the boys with badges again. Suddenly it must look like I’m the one driving erratically. I imagine the guy behind me is cussing me right about this point.
Pringle signals they’re about to make a left. The street we’re nearing is virtually invisible due to the thickness of woods surrounding it. I see a black and white sign with a route number: 1102. I know nothing about the road. The Altima makes its intended turn.
I can’t explain it but something about this doesn’t feel right. Thousands of red flags are waving in a frenzy all the way ‘round my insides. You should not go down that road. I already overlooked my instincts moments earlier with the two policemen, but I have the sensation that disregarding my intuition this time would be foolish of me.
I approach the turn, casually peering down where they’ve gone. I expect to see nothing. Instead I see their car’s back end, almost out of range but, with brake lights engaged, clearly at a stop on the road. Gosh, it kinda seems they’re waiting for someone. Someone like… me! Yikes.
Diagonally across the road is Michie’s Tavern. I pull forward into the entrance and park in the nearest open space. Route 1102 -- a narrow, green sign lets me know it’s also called Michie Tavern Lane -- is fully visible from where I am. What’s down there, other than the energetic enigmas? Stumped over what else to do I take photographs of both of the signs and the road itself.
My fingernails lightly tattoo the console between the seats as ideas form in my head. There must be some sensible reason they turned there; since they haven’t come back out yet I figure the real explanation has nothing to do with me.
I doubt Michie’s provides Wi-Fi and I don’t want to go through the hassle of dragging out my laptop to find out. I yank my cell phone out of its holder on the visor and ring the one person I know who’s always of service and, even better, used to odd calls from me.
“Hey” I say when he answers. He repeats the word back to me and I tell him I don’t have time to talk. “You gotta help me with something.”
I ask him if he’s in front of his computer and when he responds agreeably I instruct him to go to Google Maps and look up 1102. I give him all the info I have and he begins providing me with all the info he thinks I need. I’m absentmindedly scribbling comments on one of the yellow notepads I carry with me everywhere these days.
First thing: 1102 is a dead end road. Learning that makes me think about the consequences of getting trapped in a set-up by suspicious TFOs. Ugh! That would bite. Thank goodness I didn’t go down there.
Next my over-the-phone assistant gives me the mileage and counts off the amount of buildings or houses. He uses a search engine to get an address to one of them and, from it, starts conveying to me what all the other places are. Nothing sounds like anything I’m interested in.
He’s mumbling off mediocre information. Land values? I remain mystified. “Fraternal Order of Police building there.” He continues without taking a breath, saying something about their property being donated. I’ve already latched onto the key word. Police? Aha!
I remain quiet while he carries on but he must feel my excitement shoot like static electricity through the phone. “Are you cop watching, little missy?” he pauses his data transmission to inquire. I smile at how tuned in to me he is but snub his question and ask instead “Where’s the FOP located at, exactly?” When he replies, I do a quick calculation in my head. That would be… erm… approximately fifty, sixty, yards onwards of where Pringle and Spot stopped their vehicle. “You rock!” That’s my way of thanking my friend. I tell him I’ve got to go. He advises me “be careful.” Indeed. I’ll wait until Pringle and Spot aren’t there before I go exploring Michie Tavern Lane.
I guess they’re up to something more than a coffee break and promptly follow them out from the parking lot when they leave.
I’ve learned a few things about the immediate area, so, as far as these nearby square miles of streets go, I’m lacking the anxiety I used to have about getting lost. But I’m not accustomed to Pringle’s driving, and it’s he who’s behind the wheel of his car.
There’s a block or more of distance between us, not so much that I don’t see them turn right at the same place I lost Porn Star the first time I followed him. I pull up to a stop sign and with no oncoming traffic I immediately turn the way as the two Task Force Officers.
There are several cars in front of me; none of them is the Altima. I’m unconcerned. I know that shortly up ahead the road will go from two lanes to four and, again having gotten familiar with the area, have no reason to believe Spot and Pringle would stray off the main drag beforehand. They wouldn’t have gone this way just to get to a side street up here. Sure enough, as I round the bend and see the stretch of highway beyond, I can make them out up yonder. Soon though they’ll have the ability to go in any number of directions and if I don’t catch up fast I’ll likely lose them.
I expeditiously crank between lanes to pass traffic, breaking out of the congestion to really lay on the gas. I watch Pringle and Spot ignore two major turns, essentially leaving two ways they can go, as the gap between Pringle’s vehicle and mine goes from momentous to nearly insignificant. Up ahead they join other drivers in a left turn lane waiting for the signal to turn green.
I have a flashback that causes me to reconsider how I lost another JADE agent once. The short of it is, because I hadn’t seen him on the straightaway when I came around the curve, I’d assumed he’d turned off onto I-64. But rethinking the moment again, he probably just hadn’t gotten stuck at the traffic light his fellow detectives are sitting at currently.
I transition my mind from earlier events to the here and now as it dawns on me that I’m coming up to the red light faster than a flaming comet through the earth’s atmosphere. I hit the brakes -- my speed going from insane to moderate -- just in time to easily make the turn with Pringle and Spot who are now directly in front of me.
Back on a two-lane I allow four car lengths between the investigators and me. Okay; more like room for two cars and maybe a bicycle. Maybe.
For some reason Pringle keeps slowing down then speeding back up. He’s doing this ostensibly without tapping his brakes. With no taillight warnings from him, this of course unexpectedly puts my front tires practically on top of their trunk a couple of times. If he was any old random stranger driving like this in front of me I’d be singing a string of tame swear words at him by now.
As it is I come up with only one interpretation for the man’s abrupt unpredictable driving. They’re on to me. I back way, way, off.
I’m recollecting times when I’d later assessed I jumped the gun -- SeeSee, for instance. Determined to not add this experience to the Ode de Paranoia list, I move up behind the boys with badges again. Suddenly it must look like I’m the one driving erratically. I imagine the guy behind me is cussing me right about this point.
Pringle signals they’re about to make a left. The street we’re nearing is virtually invisible due to the thickness of woods surrounding it. I see a black and white sign with a route number: 1102. I know nothing about the road. The Altima makes its intended turn.
I can’t explain it but something about this doesn’t feel right. Thousands of red flags are waving in a frenzy all the way ‘round my insides. You should not go down that road. I already overlooked my instincts moments earlier with the two policemen, but I have the sensation that disregarding my intuition this time would be foolish of me.
I approach the turn, casually peering down where they’ve gone. I expect to see nothing. Instead I see their car’s back end, almost out of range but, with brake lights engaged, clearly at a stop on the road. Gosh, it kinda seems they’re waiting for someone. Someone like… me! Yikes.
Diagonally across the road is Michie’s Tavern. I pull forward into the entrance and park in the nearest open space. Route 1102 -- a narrow, green sign lets me know it’s also called Michie Tavern Lane -- is fully visible from where I am. What’s down there, other than the energetic enigmas? Stumped over what else to do I take photographs of both of the signs and the road itself.
My fingernails lightly tattoo the console between the seats as ideas form in my head. There must be some sensible reason they turned there; since they haven’t come back out yet I figure the real explanation has nothing to do with me.
I doubt Michie’s provides Wi-Fi and I don’t want to go through the hassle of dragging out my laptop to find out. I yank my cell phone out of its holder on the visor and ring the one person I know who’s always of service and, even better, used to odd calls from me.
“Hey” I say when he answers. He repeats the word back to me and I tell him I don’t have time to talk. “You gotta help me with something.”
I ask him if he’s in front of his computer and when he responds agreeably I instruct him to go to Google Maps and look up 1102. I give him all the info I have and he begins providing me with all the info he thinks I need. I’m absentmindedly scribbling comments on one of the yellow notepads I carry with me everywhere these days.
First thing: 1102 is a dead end road. Learning that makes me think about the consequences of getting trapped in a set-up by suspicious TFOs. Ugh! That would bite. Thank goodness I didn’t go down there.
Next my over-the-phone assistant gives me the mileage and counts off the amount of buildings or houses. He uses a search engine to get an address to one of them and, from it, starts conveying to me what all the other places are. Nothing sounds like anything I’m interested in.
He’s mumbling off mediocre information. Land values? I remain mystified. “Fraternal Order of Police building there.” He continues without taking a breath, saying something about their property being donated. I’ve already latched onto the key word. Police? Aha!
I remain quiet while he carries on but he must feel my excitement shoot like static electricity through the phone. “Are you cop watching, little missy?” he pauses his data transmission to inquire. I smile at how tuned in to me he is but snub his question and ask instead “Where’s the FOP located at, exactly?” When he replies, I do a quick calculation in my head. That would be… erm… approximately fifty, sixty, yards onwards of where Pringle and Spot stopped their vehicle. “You rock!” That’s my way of thanking my friend. I tell him I’ve got to go. He advises me “be careful.” Indeed. I’ll wait until Pringle and Spot aren’t there before I go exploring Michie Tavern Lane.
20090420
20090419
всякая всячина
Having broken links on a blog is generally not a good idea. Aside from irritating readers, some search engines -- including Google (truly the only one that matters) -- will stop indexing if their bots consistently meet dead ends while crawling your site. This obviously affects rankings so I try to make sure the destination pages and files linked to from iHeArTEjade still exist. I recently did a run-through and repaired a few I found. If something you anticipated to be there wasn’t, now’s the time to go click again!Speaking of… for those who don’t know, all images here are clickable. Sometimes pictures may go to duplicates, sometimes to larger versions, sometimes to completely different photographs. And what you found behind something one day may not be what you find behind it on another day. This also applies to words. What’s the point of a blog if you can’t have fun with it?
In other news, it appears the profile views are going up. In increments of 100. Let’s see, that would mean the latest boost is, um, 3 of mine and 97 from the poor guy monitoring me for the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force. Kudos, dude!
And, not that I need an excuse, but, I believe this is a fine time to whisper those two little words in Google’s ear: jade charlottesville
Before It Gets Packaged And Sent To The Lab
When Drug Enforcement investigators discover suspected narcotics in the course of a search, or acquire illegal substances via operations using confidential informants or undercover police, they can conduct a field test of the matter for initial identification. The assigned officer doesn’t do this by inhaling a big whiff from a plastic baggie containing dried plants or by sliding a fingertip doused in white dust across his tongue. He’s not supposed to do it like that, anyway. He’s expected to use an approved field test kit. One such sanctioned kit is produced by Sirchie Finger Print Laboratories, Inc.
Sirchie states their Narcotics Analysis Reagent Kit (NARK) makes the detection of suspect materials “as simple and effective as possible.” Basically anyone who can read and isn’t colorblind can use their kits wherever. By placing a sample into a chemical and watching the reaction, instant drug analysis. Since sheets of LSD seemingly aren’t being vended all over Charlottesville and the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force has a high tolerance for marijuana sales and use, my guess would be the most frequently employed NARK by JADE is the #4 COBALT THIOCYANATE REAGENT.
Purpose: To test for cocaine, procaine, tetracaine, methadone. Crack is a mixture of cocaine HCI and bicarbonate of soda.
Procedure:
1. Remove cap.
2. Deposit suspect material in tube.
3. Replace cap and tap firmly to ensure material falls to bottom.
4. Break ampoule in bottom of tube. Agitate. Observe color reaction.
5. Break ampoule in cap. Agitate vigorously.
Color Reaction: BRILLIANT BLUE flakes in first solution--indicates the presence of all above listed narcotics. BLUE flakes remaining in second--indicates cocaine; BLUE flakes completely dissolved in second--indicates procaine or tetracaine.
Sirchie states their Narcotics Analysis Reagent Kit (NARK) makes the detection of suspect materials “as simple and effective as possible.” Basically anyone who can read and isn’t colorblind can use their kits wherever. By placing a sample into a chemical and watching the reaction, instant drug analysis. Since sheets of LSD seemingly aren’t being vended all over Charlottesville and the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force has a high tolerance for marijuana sales and use, my guess would be the most frequently employed NARK by JADE is the #4 COBALT THIOCYANATE REAGENT.
Purpose: To test for cocaine, procaine, tetracaine, methadone. Crack is a mixture of cocaine HCI and bicarbonate of soda.
Procedure:
1. Remove cap.
2. Deposit suspect material in tube.
3. Replace cap and tap firmly to ensure material falls to bottom.
4. Break ampoule in bottom of tube. Agitate. Observe color reaction.
5. Break ampoule in cap. Agitate vigorously.
Color Reaction: BRILLIANT BLUE flakes in first solution--indicates the presence of all above listed narcotics. BLUE flakes remaining in second--indicates cocaine; BLUE flakes completely dissolved in second--indicates procaine or tetracaine.
20090417
When He's Not Shooting People, He's Breaking Into Vehicles
Rasmussen comes out of the JADE office talking to Herb.
Gee, Ras doesn't seem to have his keys.
He eyes the partially rolled down window.
And squeezes his arm through the narrow opening.
Yay! Success!
But, wait; why is he walking away with the alarm going off?
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Like Thing, nothing but a hand appears from the door at the top of the steps. Finally, silence.
Except for my laughing, that is.
Gee, Ras doesn't seem to have his keys.
He eyes the partially rolled down window.
And squeezes his arm through the narrow opening.
Yay! Success!
But, wait; why is he walking away with the alarm going off?
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Like Thing, nothing but a hand appears from the door at the top of the steps. Finally, silence.
Except for my laughing, that is.
20090416
From The JADE Office,
- Joe Hatter lives 2.6 miles.
- Paul Best lives 3.1 miles.
- Brian O’Donnell lives 8.4 miles.
- Granville Fields lives 9.7 miles.
- Jon McKay lives 9.8 miles.
- John Stoltz lives 16.4 miles.
- Jimmy Bunch lives 22.1 miles.
- Joe Fleming lives 28.8 miles.
- Jon Seitz lives 28.9 miles.
- John Baber lives 29.8 miles.
- Don Campbell lives 35.8 miles.
- I live 16.2 miles.
20090415
obiter dicta
I was not surprised to learn one of the Task Force Officers has shot somebody; I was surprised to learn more than one of the Task Force Officers has shot somebody.
I was not surprised to get a voicemail from Dasani shortly after I made this entry; I was surprised to get an invitation to lunch from him once I returned his call.
I was not surprised to hear members of JADE were telling their friends about this blog; I was surprised to hear they’re telling their acquaintances about it.
Did I mention I’ve got two new JADE resources? I love this avocation.
Sometimes I reread pieces I wrote on iHeArTEjade and think “OMG I sound like a complete bitch.” My words in print almost always exactly match my thoughts but I often struggle to convey the correct sentiment through them. My responses to Charlottesville Police Chief Longo are perfect examples of expressing myself the wrong way.
More and more I’m likin’ Longhead’s decision to tint his car windows. His vehicle went from being one of a million to one in a million. Gone are the days of having to be twelve feet away to identify him; now he can be identified from twelve miles away. I’m tellin’ ya, even at night that Taurus of his sticks out more than Pamela Anderson’s chest.
I do believe a few of the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement agents are trying to prove I can’t conceal myself from them anymore, that they can see me anytime. I think it’s great, for instance, that Spot can distinguish my car in the dark after I’ve come around the block across the street from the Ix building. For that, he deserves a Pepsi. He should only get to drink half of it, though, unless he can say where he and I both were 45 minutes earlier.
Sad will I be if ever I can’t walk by the TFOs and snap photographs of them without getting noticed. Taken 20090402:
They like playing hide and seek with me. I know they do.
I was not surprised to get a voicemail from Dasani shortly after I made this entry; I was surprised to get an invitation to lunch from him once I returned his call.
I was not surprised to hear members of JADE were telling their friends about this blog; I was surprised to hear they’re telling their acquaintances about it.
_________________________
I’ve accumulated too much information. I can’t believe I just typed that -- that’s sacrilegious! Realiously, I never expected to have so much JADE stuff. And so many places to get more JADE stuff. And I can’t put all the JADE stuff on I HeArTE JADE. So the JADE stuff is piling up. Mostly in my head. Badge numbers, and telephone numbers, and license plate numbers, and mailbox numbers, and route numbers, and case file numbers, and… I DON’T EVEN LIKE NUMBERS. They’re too Math-y for my feminine brain.Did I mention I’ve got two new JADE resources? I love this avocation.
_________________________
Sometimes I reread pieces I wrote on iHeArTEjade and think “OMG I sound like a complete bitch.” My words in print almost always exactly match my thoughts but I often struggle to convey the correct sentiment through them. My responses to Charlottesville Police Chief Longo are perfect examples of expressing myself the wrong way.
_________________________
More and more I’m likin’ Longhead’s decision to tint his car windows. His vehicle went from being one of a million to one in a million. Gone are the days of having to be twelve feet away to identify him; now he can be identified from twelve miles away. I’m tellin’ ya, even at night that Taurus of his sticks out more than Pamela Anderson’s chest.
_________________________
_________________________
I do believe a few of the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement agents are trying to prove I can’t conceal myself from them anymore, that they can see me anytime. I think it’s great, for instance, that Spot can distinguish my car in the dark after I’ve come around the block across the street from the Ix building. For that, he deserves a Pepsi. He should only get to drink half of it, though, unless he can say where he and I both were 45 minutes earlier.
Sad will I be if ever I can’t walk by the TFOs and snap photographs of them without getting noticed. Taken 20090402:
They like playing hide and seek with me. I know they do.
20090414
True Blue Google
jade charlottesville
Charlottesville : About the Task Force
The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) has been in existence since 1995 as a regional narcotics task force made up of officers from the Charlottesville ...
www.charlottesville.org/index.aspx?page=189 - 33k
Charlottesville : JADE Task Force
JADE Task Force. Printer Friendly. About the Task Force · Hotline. CityLink ... 605 E. Main St., Charlottesville, VA 22902. Phone (434)970-3333. ...
www.charlottesville.org/index.aspx?page=284 - 29k
jade task force
Charlottesville : About the Task Force
The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) has been in existence since 1995 as a regional narcotics task force made up of officers from the Charlottesville ...
www.charlottesville.org/index.aspx?page=189 - 33k
Charlottesville : Police Department
Our department is also responsible for the administration and operational control of the multi-jurisdictional, Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) task ...
www.charlottesville.org/police/ - 39k
jefferson area drug enforcement
Charlottesville : About the Task Force
The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) has been in existence since 1995 as a regional narcotics task force made up of officers from the Charlottesville ...
www.charlottesville.org/index.aspx?page=189 - 33k
Charlottesville : Police Department
Our department is also responsible for the administration and operational control of the multi-jurisdictional, Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) task ...
www.charlottesville.org/police/ - 39k jade charlottesville
20090413
Inquiring Minds Want To Know
1. Whatever happened with that UVA chemistry major’s apartment Meth lab?
Nearly a month has passed since Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement responded to reports of pernicious odors emanating from a unit in the Grand Marc complex on 15th Street NW. On the evening of the initial call out, JADE Lt. Don Campbell seemed uncertain whether the alleged “potentially harmful” chemicals found inside the building were being used to manufacture drugs. A variety of substances were sent to a state crime lab in Richmond for analysis and as yet there has been no word on the results. Sources close to the former occupants of the apartment express doubt that there ever will be.
2. Why does the JADE Task Force continue to bust people for paltry amounts of cocaine when they could be going after the 2.2 pound vending machines that their notations indicate they know about?
According to Herb “cocaine and crack drive the violence in this community” and JADE’s “main goal in Charlottesville is reducing the violence.” Taken at face value that could explain the Task Force recently seizing a mere few ounces of powder and arresting Joniel Renere Edwards. Investigation into Edwards’ criminal history indeed shows how dangerous the man is; he’s been charged with such violent offenses as speeding, operating an uninspected vehicle, failure to appear (dismissed), and possession of marijuana. I dunno. I must be missing something.
Nearly a month has passed since Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement responded to reports of pernicious odors emanating from a unit in the Grand Marc complex on 15th Street NW. On the evening of the initial call out, JADE Lt. Don Campbell seemed uncertain whether the alleged “potentially harmful” chemicals found inside the building were being used to manufacture drugs. A variety of substances were sent to a state crime lab in Richmond for analysis and as yet there has been no word on the results. Sources close to the former occupants of the apartment express doubt that there ever will be.
2. Why does the JADE Task Force continue to bust people for paltry amounts of cocaine when they could be going after the 2.2 pound vending machines that their notations indicate they know about?
According to Herb “cocaine and crack drive the violence in this community” and JADE’s “main goal in Charlottesville is reducing the violence.” Taken at face value that could explain the Task Force recently seizing a mere few ounces of powder and arresting Joniel Renere Edwards. Investigation into Edwards’ criminal history indeed shows how dangerous the man is; he’s been charged with such violent offenses as speeding, operating an uninspected vehicle, failure to appear (dismissed), and possession of marijuana. I dunno. I must be missing something.
20090409
“Everybody Know Deyz Dee-tectives.”
He’s Black, male, 31 years old. That’s what he informs me anyway. By that I mean his life in years; his color and sex I know with my very own two eyes. I react with my standard “no you are not!” when he tells me the number. I usually say that when someone gives his age; not so much because it makes him feel good -- although I do like making a man smile -- but because it compels him to give more details about himself like date of birth, place born, whatever. You might be bombshelled at how many guys who will even dig out their driver’s license as “proof.” To an info junkie like myself, that’s at least fifteen minutes worth of euphoria.
The man I’m referring to is slightly taller than I, medium build. It’s hard to tell much more about his physique given that most of him is being swallowed by the nine times too large denim pants and oversized black hoodie he’s got on. Next to me his Timberland-boots-shod feet are stomping the pavement in echo to the taps of my tennis shoes. Everything about him seems uniform to the neighborhood I’m plodding through and, whether he realizes it or not, he’s helping me blend in better.
While I was afoot seeking three specific things (obviously each pertaining to Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement, or you wouldn’t be reading this here), the fellow’s path had intersected with mine. Tell me a time when a Black guy didn’t get friendly with a chick who stepped into his space and I’ll swear you’re talking about an episode of the Twilight Zone.
He’d called a greeting to me as I rounded the corner coming out in front of him and feeling his immediate how-do-you-do was friendly rather than lascivious, I’d replied in kind. That led to him issuing an invitation to walk with me, which I’d accepted on the condition “as long as you keep up,” and now here we are, a couple out for a stroll on a cool but pleasant evening.
He makes a lot of inquiries as we move along the sidewalk, including what my name is. I tell him and he waits for me to ask him his. I oblige. Somehow I just know the one he gives me is his actual name but it sounds exactly like something I’d’ve fabricated for I HeArTE JADE. In fact, it’s macro-better than anything I could come up with. For the purpose of this account though let’s render him “Fred.”
Judging from Fred’s interrogatives alone, I deduce in short his intelligence is nothing to scoff at. He’s eloquent in conversation and when I provide him with my answers, which I confess are by design compacted and made-to-order for this impromptu interaction, I can sense from his eyes he’s conscientiously weighing out the particulars of what I say. I don’t lie to him; I just keep my words brief.
It’s possibly connected to the areas I’m nosing around in due to JADE but irrespective of how brilliant or how dim the person is, there are two things I never fail to hear when in conversation for longer than six minutes with anyone like Fred. They are “when I got out of the Penitentiary, I…” and “you smoke?” I remain undecided if the earlier is reflective of a) the amount of Black men who have genuinely been in prison, or b) the number of them who merely like to say they’ve been incarcerated, truly or not. The other one, the question, is always, always always, bait for marijuana use.
I respond to Fred’s gratuitous implication of his time in the joint with the perfunctory “what for?” and “how long?” and say “nope, don’t smoke” when he queries me on the joint of the other variety. I’ve got plenty enough goin’ on in my head; the last thing my brain needs is to be shrouded under illicit opaque smog. In addition, weed stinks. Literally. I loathe the smell of it. Yuck, ick, gag, blech.
Fred and I hang out and chat. We hit a park, and a convenience store. Over the duration of time my new acquaintance and I are together, I spot Mouse’s minivan, Rasmussen’s sedan, and Truck’s sportscar, traversing the streets periodically.
“You’re watching them detectives.” My dark-skinned companion is suddenly intensely fixated on me.
Ohho! I knew it. Fred is one smart chocolate-cookie. I smile naïf-like at him. “How do you know they’re detectives?”
Fred pauses a little too extensively before deciding upon “they just look like it.”
“Huh-uh.” I shake my head side-to-side and repeat “how do you know they’re detectives?”
“Everybody know deyz dee-tectives.” Fred stares at me then blurts out “I gots t’go.”
It’s the first instance Fred the well-phonic has gone ghetto-speak on me. I try asking him a couple of mild questions about JADE. Now I can normally get a brother to open up but Fred is having none of it. This is the same guy who in the last twenty minutes told me about his criminal history, his stash of reefer, and his momma. An example of tardy paranoia if ever there was one, it’s.
Understand I’ve spoken to a hella lotta people about the Task Force. From coke-fiends to cops, reporters to rogues, not a single one of them has ever shut down on me like Fred is doing. I don’t know what to make of it. Is he one of their CIs or something? That would be funny.
Of course I can’t have Fred all spooked out on me. I give him some superficial bunk to reassure him I’m indifferent to the TFOs. I further explain how I’m probably not on their list of favorite people. Fred, I can tell, is torn between believing me and not wanting to risk, gosh, Lord knows what bad outcome he’s picturing. Sensing it’s the best way to handle the situation, I minimize his consternation by shrugging in deference of his announced departure, chirrup “if you gotta go, you gotta go,” and walk away from him.
I amble to the next block where my vehicle is parked and as I’m getting in I hear Fred shouting in the distance to me. I loop my car around to him, roll down the window. “Thought you had to go.” He agrees and states where he wants to go is with me. Not what I am expecting to learn, or do. I find a slick way to nix that notion of his and motion a good-bye with my hand. He's bright; it’s a shame he didn’t want to discuss the Task Force.
As if one unplanned interplay wasn’t surprising enough, sixty seconds after pulling away from Fred I’m deliberately being trailed by JADE Detective Truck. But maybe I should wait for a rainy day to bore you with that sequel.
The man I’m referring to is slightly taller than I, medium build. It’s hard to tell much more about his physique given that most of him is being swallowed by the nine times too large denim pants and oversized black hoodie he’s got on. Next to me his Timberland-boots-shod feet are stomping the pavement in echo to the taps of my tennis shoes. Everything about him seems uniform to the neighborhood I’m plodding through and, whether he realizes it or not, he’s helping me blend in better.
While I was afoot seeking three specific things (obviously each pertaining to Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement, or you wouldn’t be reading this here), the fellow’s path had intersected with mine. Tell me a time when a Black guy didn’t get friendly with a chick who stepped into his space and I’ll swear you’re talking about an episode of the Twilight Zone.
He’d called a greeting to me as I rounded the corner coming out in front of him and feeling his immediate how-do-you-do was friendly rather than lascivious, I’d replied in kind. That led to him issuing an invitation to walk with me, which I’d accepted on the condition “as long as you keep up,” and now here we are, a couple out for a stroll on a cool but pleasant evening.
He makes a lot of inquiries as we move along the sidewalk, including what my name is. I tell him and he waits for me to ask him his. I oblige. Somehow I just know the one he gives me is his actual name but it sounds exactly like something I’d’ve fabricated for I HeArTE JADE. In fact, it’s macro-better than anything I could come up with. For the purpose of this account though let’s render him “Fred.”
Judging from Fred’s interrogatives alone, I deduce in short his intelligence is nothing to scoff at. He’s eloquent in conversation and when I provide him with my answers, which I confess are by design compacted and made-to-order for this impromptu interaction, I can sense from his eyes he’s conscientiously weighing out the particulars of what I say. I don’t lie to him; I just keep my words brief.
It’s possibly connected to the areas I’m nosing around in due to JADE but irrespective of how brilliant or how dim the person is, there are two things I never fail to hear when in conversation for longer than six minutes with anyone like Fred. They are “when I got out of the Penitentiary, I…” and “you smoke?” I remain undecided if the earlier is reflective of a) the amount of Black men who have genuinely been in prison, or b) the number of them who merely like to say they’ve been incarcerated, truly or not. The other one, the question, is always, always always, bait for marijuana use.
I respond to Fred’s gratuitous implication of his time in the joint with the perfunctory “what for?” and “how long?” and say “nope, don’t smoke” when he queries me on the joint of the other variety. I’ve got plenty enough goin’ on in my head; the last thing my brain needs is to be shrouded under illicit opaque smog. In addition, weed stinks. Literally. I loathe the smell of it. Yuck, ick, gag, blech.
Fred and I hang out and chat. We hit a park, and a convenience store. Over the duration of time my new acquaintance and I are together, I spot Mouse’s minivan, Rasmussen’s sedan, and Truck’s sportscar, traversing the streets periodically.
“You’re watching them detectives.” My dark-skinned companion is suddenly intensely fixated on me.
Ohho! I knew it. Fred is one smart chocolate-cookie. I smile naïf-like at him. “How do you know they’re detectives?”
Fred pauses a little too extensively before deciding upon “they just look like it.”
“Huh-uh.” I shake my head side-to-side and repeat “how do you know they’re detectives?”
“Everybody know deyz dee-tectives.” Fred stares at me then blurts out “I gots t’go.”
It’s the first instance Fred the well-phonic has gone ghetto-speak on me. I try asking him a couple of mild questions about JADE. Now I can normally get a brother to open up but Fred is having none of it. This is the same guy who in the last twenty minutes told me about his criminal history, his stash of reefer, and his momma. An example of tardy paranoia if ever there was one, it’s.
Understand I’ve spoken to a hella lotta people about the Task Force. From coke-fiends to cops, reporters to rogues, not a single one of them has ever shut down on me like Fred is doing. I don’t know what to make of it. Is he one of their CIs or something? That would be funny.
Of course I can’t have Fred all spooked out on me. I give him some superficial bunk to reassure him I’m indifferent to the TFOs. I further explain how I’m probably not on their list of favorite people. Fred, I can tell, is torn between believing me and not wanting to risk, gosh, Lord knows what bad outcome he’s picturing. Sensing it’s the best way to handle the situation, I minimize his consternation by shrugging in deference of his announced departure, chirrup “if you gotta go, you gotta go,” and walk away from him.
I amble to the next block where my vehicle is parked and as I’m getting in I hear Fred shouting in the distance to me. I loop my car around to him, roll down the window. “Thought you had to go.” He agrees and states where he wants to go is with me. Not what I am expecting to learn, or do. I find a slick way to nix that notion of his and motion a good-bye with my hand. He's bright; it’s a shame he didn’t want to discuss the Task Force.
As if one unplanned interplay wasn’t surprising enough, sixty seconds after pulling away from Fred I’m deliberately being trailed by JADE Detective Truck. But maybe I should wait for a rainy day to bore you with that sequel.
20090407
Law, A Note To Follow So
At no time did I think surveillance in motion would be a slam dunk but, seriously, I never thought it would be quite so challenging. In the beginning I even added a few points to the degree of difficulty considering who my targets were and had still apparently been off the mark on the devil of it.
Early on, after enough recognizably sorry failures shadowing Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement, I’d gone and done some eyes-to-paper research on the subject. In my opinion nothing beats true hands-on experience -- you know, “live and learn” -- but I poured over dozens of articles and scanned countless books regardless. It never hurts to study.
I came away with what I thought were especially handy pointers from a hardback written by a private investigator, and smart tips from an editorial that, even though it was geared towards a person on the receiving end who wanted to lose a tail, could apply to what I’m doing.
I’ve also spent an entertaining amount of time trying to ameliorate my driving skills. Just me in my car, a couple dozen fluorescent orange and white barrels, a very remote abandoned parking lot, and I’m good to go. Okay I did have to repair that one blowout. And maybe I can’t make a J-turn as good as this but I in spades do better than this. Will I ever need to rapidly whip my car around to go in the opposite direction? Doubtful. Is it fun to practice anyway? You betcha.
With each effort, I imagine I get a tad more knowledgeable and figure I’ll do at least a tad better. The ideation has proven to be true in most cases of me following the Drug Enforcement agents, albeit pre-established stupid things occasionally trip me up when, by now, really they shouldn’t, and I often stumble into unforeseeable problems, thus reminding me of the fundamental cognitive latter portion of live and learn. Mistakes induce improvement.
Sometimes they whom have unwittingly taught me most of what I know about pursuits have themselves made repeated errors. I’ve been multi-subjected to a few tricks JADE has that I feel they ought to smoosh back in the hat with the rabbit as the illusions are arrant cheezball. Such as…
Needless to say tracking them isn’t getting less manageable, though the mechanics are definitely changing. Most of my undoings in the hound dog department are admittedly unintentionally self-inflicted but in recent commentary I touched briefly on the amplifying complexity of the Task Force Officers. Their above idiosyncrasies aside, I believe it’s safe to assume that they are indeed stepping up their game. I’ll try to keep up. If I can’t, there’s always extant document invasions.
Early on, after enough recognizably sorry failures shadowing Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement, I’d gone and done some eyes-to-paper research on the subject. In my opinion nothing beats true hands-on experience -- you know, “live and learn” -- but I poured over dozens of articles and scanned countless books regardless. It never hurts to study.
I came away with what I thought were especially handy pointers from a hardback written by a private investigator, and smart tips from an editorial that, even though it was geared towards a person on the receiving end who wanted to lose a tail, could apply to what I’m doing.
I’ve also spent an entertaining amount of time trying to ameliorate my driving skills. Just me in my car, a couple dozen fluorescent orange and white barrels, a very remote abandoned parking lot, and I’m good to go. Okay I did have to repair that one blowout. And maybe I can’t make a J-turn as good as this but I in spades do better than this. Will I ever need to rapidly whip my car around to go in the opposite direction? Doubtful. Is it fun to practice anyway? You betcha.
With each effort, I imagine I get a tad more knowledgeable and figure I’ll do at least a tad better. The ideation has proven to be true in most cases of me following the Drug Enforcement agents, albeit pre-established stupid things occasionally trip me up when, by now, really they shouldn’t, and I often stumble into unforeseeable problems, thus reminding me of the fundamental cognitive latter portion of live and learn. Mistakes induce improvement.
Sometimes they whom have unwittingly taught me most of what I know about pursuits have themselves made repeated errors. I’ve been multi-subjected to a few tricks JADE has that I feel they ought to smoosh back in the hat with the rabbit as the illusions are arrant cheezball. Such as…
- Using a left blinker then making a right turn, or vice versa. I am not following your turn signal; I am following your vehicle.
- Using a blinker, then not turning period. Again I am not following your turn signal; I am following your vehicle.
- Two or more JADE automobiles enigmatically diverging to an impasse? I am not following your turn signals; I am not following your vehicles. Yeah, not even after hell freezes over would I fall for that one.
- Inexplicable U-turns. Those are the biggest waste. I’ll just pull over up the road a bit and wait for you to pass by me, oh, usually less than a minute later.
Needless to say tracking them isn’t getting less manageable, though the mechanics are definitely changing. Most of my undoings in the hound dog department are admittedly unintentionally self-inflicted but in recent commentary I touched briefly on the amplifying complexity of the Task Force Officers. Their above idiosyncrasies aside, I believe it’s safe to assume that they are indeed stepping up their game. I’ll try to keep up. If I can’t, there’s always extant document invasions.
20090405
The Exclusively JADE Cast of Characters
(Original Post Here)
Herb - Lieutenant Don Campbell.
I’m going to start drawing a new comic strip. It’ll be all about a cartoon character named Herbal. Technically Herbal will be a gerbil, but he’ll be a cool glasses-sportin’ briefcase-carryin’ anti-Marijuana one. Ah, c’mon, it can’t be any worse than Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
Mouse - Sergeant John Baber.
This fellow is the only one who started with one name but ended up with another. The original was also of an omnivore (one he’d no doubt prefer to be called) but, well, indecisiveness and a certain picture of him compelled me to change it to what it is. Truth be told, I don’t care for this selection much either. He does strike me as incredibly creature-like; I just can’t pinpoint which one. I should’ve just called him Animal.
Dasani - Sergeant Joe Hatter.
Maybe it’s ingrained from his SWAT training, but this dude goes nearly nowhere without being accompanied by a bottle or two of water. His brand of choice might not be Dasani, but I wasn’t about to refer to him as Deer Park.
Porn Star - Detective Jon McKay.
That guy’s either a cop or a wanna-be 80s porn star! When I first saw him I swear he looked exactly the way adult film actors used to look. So much so I couldn’t help but imagine his ass, the section of flesh glowing white in stark contrast to the rest of his suntanned body. Twisted thought, perhaps, but by no means an unpleasant one.
Truck - Detective Paul Best.
I dunno… you are what you’re next to? A glimpse in my driver’s side mirror produced the grill of a truck and the upper body of an attractive man clad in a blue and black vest branded POLICE. Had he been half an inch closer to the vehicle, there’s a good possibility he’d be known as Toyota.
Skoal - Detective Jon Seitz.
Between the worn round outline in his back right pocket and the bottle full of gooey brown liquid -- definitely not the advertised Diet Coke -- in his hand, I dubbed him the only brand of smokeless tobacco I knew. Oddly enough, in the future I would find the men carried containers of Kayak, Grizzly, and Timber Wolf, but never any Skoal.
Spot - Detective Granville Q. Fields.
The second I saw him, I pegged him as a cop. I kid you not, the thought that immediately popped in my mind was Good grief; do all these guys have that spot? Despite being a fair distance away from him, I could clearly see a circular area of baldness near the top of the back of his head. Several other JADE men have this identical marking, including LH.
Cruiser Crasher - Detective Tavis Coffin.
When I got word Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement would be hiring a new man, it took me all of five seconds to learn he’d be an addition from the Albemarle County Police Department -- their budgeted fourth. Hence the first label I pinned on him and ultimately mentioned here: That Transfer From The County. Five seconds more and I found out his name is Tavis Coffin. Turns out Mr. Coffin is known for his, ahem, less than smooth driving abilities. The prime pseudonym for an on-duty officer with that surname who ran his law enforcement vehicle into a ditch? Cruiser Crasher Coffin.
Longhead - Detective Brian N. O’Donnell.
I suppose because of his remarkably elongated face, this is, for real, what the druggies who know him call him so it’s what I went with. Honestly, it’s far nicer than any Faux name I would’ve given him. In print, I often abbreviate Longhead to LH.
SeeSee - ATF Special Agent John Stoltz.
SeeSee = CC = Carbon Copy. Inside and out this guy is nothing more than a clone of Longhead. And if you’ve listened to him, as I have, gushing on and on about LH, you’d probably find, as I did, it bordered on vomit-inducing. If I were his wife, I’d worry about what’s inspiring those wet dreams he’s been having.
Pringle - Detective Jimmy Bunch.
Simple explanation: offhand he looked like someone I know with that last name. ‘Course, naturally, after seeing more of him I made up my mind that he only looks like my acquaintance from afar. Up close he reminds me of the teddy bear you hug whenever you’re down and sad.
Rasmussen - VSP BCI Special Agent Joe S. Fleming.
A long time ago I saw a picture of professional cyclist Michael Rasmussen. In it he was kind of hunched over and you could see all his bones and ribs sticking out and it was frankly repulsive. So this JADE member was kind of bent over reaching into an automobile and I guess because of some items – body armor, gun, whatever -- under his shirt jutting out everywhere it gave the same sick skeletal impression. (To be clear, it was not a reflection of reality as, unlike the real Rasmussen, this one has a decent build.) The choice of nickname was emphatically better when I later saw a collection of bikes belonging to him and heard he’s an avid cycler too.
Herb - Lieutenant Don Campbell.
I’m going to start drawing a new comic strip. It’ll be all about a cartoon character named Herbal. Technically Herbal will be a gerbil, but he’ll be a cool glasses-sportin’ briefcase-carryin’ anti-Marijuana one. Ah, c’mon, it can’t be any worse than Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
Mouse - Sergeant John Baber.
This fellow is the only one who started with one name but ended up with another. The original was also of an omnivore (one he’d no doubt prefer to be called) but, well, indecisiveness and a certain picture of him compelled me to change it to what it is. Truth be told, I don’t care for this selection much either. He does strike me as incredibly creature-like; I just can’t pinpoint which one. I should’ve just called him Animal.
Dasani - Sergeant Joe Hatter.
Maybe it’s ingrained from his SWAT training, but this dude goes nearly nowhere without being accompanied by a bottle or two of water. His brand of choice might not be Dasani, but I wasn’t about to refer to him as Deer Park.
Porn Star - Detective Jon McKay.
That guy’s either a cop or a wanna-be 80s porn star! When I first saw him I swear he looked exactly the way adult film actors used to look. So much so I couldn’t help but imagine his ass, the section of flesh glowing white in stark contrast to the rest of his suntanned body. Twisted thought, perhaps, but by no means an unpleasant one.
Truck - Detective Paul Best.
I dunno… you are what you’re next to? A glimpse in my driver’s side mirror produced the grill of a truck and the upper body of an attractive man clad in a blue and black vest branded POLICE. Had he been half an inch closer to the vehicle, there’s a good possibility he’d be known as Toyota.
Skoal - Detective Jon Seitz.
Between the worn round outline in his back right pocket and the bottle full of gooey brown liquid -- definitely not the advertised Diet Coke -- in his hand, I dubbed him the only brand of smokeless tobacco I knew. Oddly enough, in the future I would find the men carried containers of Kayak, Grizzly, and Timber Wolf, but never any Skoal.
Spot - Detective Granville Q. Fields.
The second I saw him, I pegged him as a cop. I kid you not, the thought that immediately popped in my mind was Good grief; do all these guys have that spot? Despite being a fair distance away from him, I could clearly see a circular area of baldness near the top of the back of his head. Several other JADE men have this identical marking, including LH.
Cruiser Crasher - Detective Tavis Coffin.
When I got word Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement would be hiring a new man, it took me all of five seconds to learn he’d be an addition from the Albemarle County Police Department -- their budgeted fourth. Hence the first label I pinned on him and ultimately mentioned here: That Transfer From The County. Five seconds more and I found out his name is Tavis Coffin. Turns out Mr. Coffin is known for his, ahem, less than smooth driving abilities. The prime pseudonym for an on-duty officer with that surname who ran his law enforcement vehicle into a ditch? Cruiser Crasher Coffin.
Longhead - Detective Brian N. O’Donnell.
I suppose because of his remarkably elongated face, this is, for real, what the druggies who know him call him so it’s what I went with. Honestly, it’s far nicer than any Faux name I would’ve given him. In print, I often abbreviate Longhead to LH.
SeeSee - ATF Special Agent John Stoltz.
SeeSee = CC = Carbon Copy. Inside and out this guy is nothing more than a clone of Longhead. And if you’ve listened to him, as I have, gushing on and on about LH, you’d probably find, as I did, it bordered on vomit-inducing. If I were his wife, I’d worry about what’s inspiring those wet dreams he’s been having.
Pringle - Detective Jimmy Bunch.
Simple explanation: offhand he looked like someone I know with that last name. ‘Course, naturally, after seeing more of him I made up my mind that he only looks like my acquaintance from afar. Up close he reminds me of the teddy bear you hug whenever you’re down and sad.
Rasmussen - VSP BCI Special Agent Joe S. Fleming.
A long time ago I saw a picture of professional cyclist Michael Rasmussen. In it he was kind of hunched over and you could see all his bones and ribs sticking out and it was frankly repulsive. So this JADE member was kind of bent over reaching into an automobile and I guess because of some items – body armor, gun, whatever -- under his shirt jutting out everywhere it gave the same sick skeletal impression. (To be clear, it was not a reflection of reality as, unlike the real Rasmussen, this one has a decent build.) The choice of nickname was emphatically better when I later saw a collection of bikes belonging to him and heard he’s an avid cycler too.
News
HealthFest 2009 March 20th
Posted 3.18.09
#7. THE COSTS OF DRINKING AND DRIVING Detective Brian O’Donnell of the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) agency will talk about the costs of drinking and driving, and driving under the influence of drugs. He will address the costs in lives, emotional costs of survivors, and the financial costs incurred by using real life situations that he has witnessed from years of being a police officer.
Source.
Posted 3.18.09
#7. THE COSTS OF DRINKING AND DRIVING Detective Brian O’Donnell of the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) agency will talk about the costs of drinking and driving, and driving under the influence of drugs. He will address the costs in lives, emotional costs of survivors, and the financial costs incurred by using real life situations that he has witnessed from years of being a police officer.
Source.
See That, Over There? --->
For who knows how long the User Stats Profile Views on my VIEW MY COMPLETE PROFILE page hasn't changed. Surely, between me and the piteous Task Force bastard who got the grim duty of monitoring I HeArTE JADE, the sum ought to be switching once in a while. Come to find out several bloggetees are having the same problem, and Google is doing something -- or maybe it’s better to say no longer doing something -- with the counter.
Oh well. If it’s going to be permanently frozen,1000 is a perfectly respectable number to chill at.
Oh well. If it’s going to be permanently frozen,1000 is a perfectly respectable number to chill at.
20090403
The Answer Is "Seclusion," The Question Is Orthogonal (Part 3)
(Part 1/Part 2)
It’s not as if the squad is going to go immediately from their vehicle to barging into a dwelling -- they have to get all situated first -- but, still, if they’re already out of the van, I don’t have much time. Obstacles and no shoulder to speak of prevent me from stopping instantly on this unheralded detour of mine. Ugh! I can’t just leave my car in the middle of the doggone road.
One street over has a perfect piece of ground to plant my four wheels. I zip my car in place and shoot out of it like a dart. Don’t slam the door!
As astonishing as it seems, I can be quite lithe on my toes; I sprint along the concrete making barely a sound. When I get to the block the officers are on, I round the corner and stop after about fifteen feet. I take a moment to assess the general state of things. Right off the bat I notice that an overhead streetlight is casting a three thousand foot long shadow of me in the direction I intend to go. I make a beeline for a nearby yard, moving until I trap the silhouette of me completely beneath my shoelaces.
Satisfied I’m currently less at risk of being spied, I have another go at surveying the situation. I see the hulking outline of the Drug Enforcement carrier but I’m unsure of where the men are in relation to it. I don’t know which residence is their target. I don’t have a lot to go on but I formulate a plan -- a partial one, anyway. Phase 1 is simple: just make it to the van.
Working with my surroundings I steal closer to my destination. About three-quarters of the way there I hear harsh pounding that isn’t coming from my heart. It’s jolting in the quietness of the neighborhood. This is it. I scramble furtively through the terrain until I’m flush with the back of the JADE transporter. I wait for more sounds. A deep backwoods-style voice cuts through the air and, to the beat of its words “search warrant,” I step from the grass onto the road immediately at the rear bumper of the Task Force van. Yes!
The shouts have given me their position. Now I know which side of the van I’ll be using for cover. Ha! Not a bad shield, and what a nice plan. I slink upright along the length of it until a panel of window, then pitch of the hood, forces me to stoop to finish inching forward. I crouch by the front bumper contorting my shape to the tire’s, heedful not to touch any part of the vehicle lest I give myself away by its movement.
I study the activities of the search team and simultaneously scan for optional places of concealment to retreat to. I’m glad I did the second thing because at one point I have to skitter elsewhere, a shift that my ‘til then scrunched up body much appreciated.
The thing about viewing a raid is that it will inevitably reach a stage when it’s no longer interesting to be a spectator -- could be anywhere from right around when the officers inside the home are peeking into peanut butter jars and poking their noses in toilet tanks, or whatever mundane procedure they're performing, to hours into it. Also once the epinephrine rush the men had has petered out and their labor-oriented tunnel-vision recedes, I believe the chances of being discovered increase with every tick-tock of the clock.
Having sated my curiosity on numerous levels and remembering the thing back at the JADE office, after an hour of observation I depart from the scene as secretly as I’d gone into it. All I have to evidence the events of that night are my memories and the… well, I’ll tell you the story about those items some night when I’m pushing up daisies.
It’s not as if the squad is going to go immediately from their vehicle to barging into a dwelling -- they have to get all situated first -- but, still, if they’re already out of the van, I don’t have much time. Obstacles and no shoulder to speak of prevent me from stopping instantly on this unheralded detour of mine. Ugh! I can’t just leave my car in the middle of the doggone road.
One street over has a perfect piece of ground to plant my four wheels. I zip my car in place and shoot out of it like a dart. Don’t slam the door!
As astonishing as it seems, I can be quite lithe on my toes; I sprint along the concrete making barely a sound. When I get to the block the officers are on, I round the corner and stop after about fifteen feet. I take a moment to assess the general state of things. Right off the bat I notice that an overhead streetlight is casting a three thousand foot long shadow of me in the direction I intend to go. I make a beeline for a nearby yard, moving until I trap the silhouette of me completely beneath my shoelaces.
Satisfied I’m currently less at risk of being spied, I have another go at surveying the situation. I see the hulking outline of the Drug Enforcement carrier but I’m unsure of where the men are in relation to it. I don’t know which residence is their target. I don’t have a lot to go on but I formulate a plan -- a partial one, anyway. Phase 1 is simple: just make it to the van.
Working with my surroundings I steal closer to my destination. About three-quarters of the way there I hear harsh pounding that isn’t coming from my heart. It’s jolting in the quietness of the neighborhood. This is it. I scramble furtively through the terrain until I’m flush with the back of the JADE transporter. I wait for more sounds. A deep backwoods-style voice cuts through the air and, to the beat of its words “search warrant,” I step from the grass onto the road immediately at the rear bumper of the Task Force van. Yes!
The shouts have given me their position. Now I know which side of the van I’ll be using for cover. Ha! Not a bad shield, and what a nice plan. I slink upright along the length of it until a panel of window, then pitch of the hood, forces me to stoop to finish inching forward. I crouch by the front bumper contorting my shape to the tire’s, heedful not to touch any part of the vehicle lest I give myself away by its movement.
I study the activities of the search team and simultaneously scan for optional places of concealment to retreat to. I’m glad I did the second thing because at one point I have to skitter elsewhere, a shift that my ‘til then scrunched up body much appreciated.
The thing about viewing a raid is that it will inevitably reach a stage when it’s no longer interesting to be a spectator -- could be anywhere from right around when the officers inside the home are peeking into peanut butter jars and poking their noses in toilet tanks, or whatever mundane procedure they're performing, to hours into it. Also once the epinephrine rush the men had has petered out and their labor-oriented tunnel-vision recedes, I believe the chances of being discovered increase with every tick-tock of the clock.
Having sated my curiosity on numerous levels and remembering the thing back at the JADE office, after an hour of observation I depart from the scene as secretly as I’d gone into it. All I have to evidence the events of that night are my memories and the… well, I’ll tell you the story about those items some night when I’m pushing up daisies.
Curiosity Killed the Cat -- Good Thing I'm No Pussy
While the above depicted event was wicked in itself, what’s captivated me way more were the intricate maneuvers executed by Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement in the moments leading up to it.
It only took them approximately an hour to get done what they intended but I found so many complicated elements that arose within that time, it’d take me pages to detail them all. Just a few off-hand oddities to give you the gist:
At roughly four o’clock four different vehicles went in four different directions. I might’ve thought they were going to four different places if they hadn’t… okay, I’m not going to articulate that because if I keep elaborating on what they do, they might eventually maybe-possibly-perhaps ultimately learn something from me and find a way to obstruct my hobby and that, of course, I don’t want. The amount of credit I give them boggles the mind. But if I had to summarize their transportation strategies? They did a whole lotta somethin’, for a whole lotta nothin’.
At some point on Dasani’s route, another car got kind of stuck behind his Monte Carlo. On top of seeming oblivious to the other vehicle, it looked like Dasani was lost. He was driving excessively slow which he next-to-never does; he kept leaning forward, peering all around; and he sat at a stop sign an extraordinary amount of time, glancing back and forth, back and forth, before proceeding. Not until he got rolling again did he give any indication he might’ve noticed the sedan at his rear.
Dasani started veering towards the right shoulder and I thought it was so the other driver could go around him. That guy must’ve thought so too because he aimed to pass. Only he couldn’t, because Dasani without delay coasted back out and took to driving in the center of the road. Now it didn’t look like he was lost; now it looked like he was drunk. Further sluggish weaving widely side to side down the concrete did little to dispel intoxication as a possibility.
What was all that about? Was he lost? Was he killing time? If he had time to waste, why didn’t he stay at the Ix building longer instead? Did he think the car behind him was following him and he was giving it some sort of bizarre test to find out? Or is he just so self-important he didn’t care about the other person at all? Was he waiting for someone or something specific? These questions are the equivalent of a flea’s toe on the dog that symbolizes all the inquiries I have regarding Dasani’s activities.
The scrumptious Porn Star, in his own automobile, divided his time between parking reparking and rereparking in a tiny lot of a business, and patrolling a certain couple of streets. It might’ve made sense except that I never once saw his Honda anywhere close to the apartment building JADE targeted. I'm pretty sure he was part of the operation. If he was doing surveillance or something, what was he supposed to be surveying from half a mile away? But, considering the settings, what assignment could Porn Star have had other than being a look-out? Hell, I’ve been warned Drug Enforcement have been told to keep an eye out for me and yet right on their tails I drove into the immediate area. Under their noses I left my car and walked all up and down and around the block taking photographs.
I totally do not understand.
As if the case isn’t mysterious enough, the news coming in about it baffles me beyond belief.
I’m not sure if the Task Force men have gotten exceedingly complex or if I’ve simply gotten dumber but for the common observer not in the loop -- me, for instance -- the things these guys do don’t always make sense. I’m certain there are valid explanations for their conduct and I believe I could make sound guesses as to what they are. However, I don’t want to speculate; I want to know.
20090402
Repetitious News
JADE Arrests Albemarle County Man on Drug Charges
Posted: 3:12 PM Apr 1, 2009County man arrested on cocaine charges
Last Updated: 9:21 PM Apr 1, 2009
April 1, 2009
About 100 grams of cocaine is off the streets of Charlottesville after an undercover operation.
Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement officials conducted the undercover operation in the 1000 block of Monticello Road around 9:15 pm Tuesday.
Joniel Renere Edwards, 26, is charged with a felony for allegedly distributing cocaine.
The cocaine seized is worth about $10,000 on the streets.
Reported by WCAV
By The Daily Progress Staff(First Report by NBC29 HD News)
Published: April 2, 2009
An Albemarle man was arrested late Tuesday in an undercover operation that netted 100 grams of cocaine.
The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement task force arrested Joniel Renere Edwards, 26, after conducting the operation at about 9:15 p.m. in the 1000 block of Monticello Road in Charlottesville, according to Sgt. Joe Hatter of JADE.
Edwards was charged with distribution of cocaine, a felony.
The cocaine seized was worth an estimated $10,000 on the street, according to Hatter.
The investigation continues, and more arrests and charges are pending, Hatter said.
Edwards is scheduled to appear in court June 11.
Reported by The Daily Progress
P.S.
In case I haven’t mentioned it, it’s not easy to tail the JADE Task Force men -- particularly when they can just drive down the wrong dang side of the road whenever they don’t feel like sitting in traffic the way the rest of us have to. I know, I know, they’re taking drugs off the street and curbing the violence associated… blah, blah, blah… we should overlook their unlawful acts. Pfft.
Four Things You Would've Heard Me Say If You'd Been With Me On This Day. Ready, Set,
Go. Go. GO. Gooooooooooooo -- stupid-worthless-you’re-going-to-make-me-lose-‘im-mother -- Go!
_________________________
Don’t go. No! Wait for me. You. Old. Deaf. Punk-Bitch.
_________________________
Rain, rain, go away; come again another… time when I’m not trying to take pictures ‘cause they’re gonna come out like THAT. Uck.
_________________________
I’m tired, cold, and soggy wet. I don’t care if the Task Force is about to make their best bust EVER evereverever, and I’ve been given a personal invitation to it, and Spot will be in shorts at it mmmm... great legs -- if you fold me in half and twist, you could wring out enough water to wash the JADE van. This is where I go home.
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