To: All Media
From: Sgt. John Baber,
Date: February 22, 2011
On 2/21/2011 at 11:36 p.m. members of the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force, Albemarle County Police and the Virginia State Police initiated a traffic stop on I64 in the eastern portion of Albemarle County.
Detectives seize approximately 55 grams of powder cocaine. PeeWee Carmello Martinez B/M DOB 8/17/1988 of Charlottesville was arrested for possession of cocaine with intent to distribute and transporting narcotics into the Commonwealth. Deshanta Trent B/F DOB 10/23/1989 of Charlottesville was arrested for possession of cocaine with intent to distribute.
Further investigation led detectives to search a residence at 2025 Michie Drive C and the seizure of approximately 4.7grams crack cocaine and a 9mm handgun.
Additional charges placed on Martinez for possession of a firearm after being a convicted felon and possession of a firearm while in possession of a schedule II substance.
This is an ongoing investigation with additional charges and arrest pending. No further information regarding this case will be released at this time.
Sergeant John Baber
Jade Task Force
970-3561
Showing posts with label Mouse/John Baber. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mouse/John Baber. Show all posts
20110223
20110121
Don’t You Just Love The Double Standard?
Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force Press Release
On 1/18/2011 at 9:30 pm members of the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force and members of the Albemarle County Police Department executed a search warrant at 4680 Fair Hill Lane in the west side of Albemarle County.
Narcotic Detectives seized over a ½ kilo of cocaine and $1,560.00 U.S. Currency. Roderick Lee Johnson B/M DOB 6/14/1954 of 4680 Fair Hill Lane was arrested for possession of cocaine with intent to distribute. The street value of the cocaine is estimated at $50,000.00.
This is an ongoing investigation with additional charges and arrest pending. No further information regarding this case will be released at this time.
Sergeant John Baber
Jade Task Force
On 1/18/2011 at 9:30 pm members of the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force and members of the Albemarle County Police Department executed a search warrant at 4680 Fair Hill Lane in the west side of Albemarle County.
Narcotic Detectives seized over a ½ kilo of cocaine and $1,560.00 U.S. Currency. Roderick Lee Johnson B/M DOB 6/14/1954 of 4680 Fair Hill Lane was arrested for possession of cocaine with intent to distribute. The street value of the cocaine is estimated at $50,000.00.
This is an ongoing investigation with additional charges and arrest pending. No further information regarding this case will be released at this time.
Sergeant John Baber
Jade Task Force
20100715
20100531
It’s A Sign! Of What, I Do Not Know
Slightly after 10AM.
Cruising, cruising, cruising.
La Roux playing on the stereo.
Virginia State Police playing on the scanner.
Me ingesting the music, dispatches, scenery.
Words “John Franklin Baber of Howardsville.”
Who what?!
Stereo off. Scanner louder.
Swerve into car wash lot, swipe pen from console.
Vehicle details. Scribble, scribble.
Driver’s license number! Scribble, scribble.
Nice.
It is so weird the uncanny ways I keep getting info on this particular Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force Officer.
Cruising, cruising, cruising.
La Roux playing on the stereo.
Virginia State Police playing on the scanner.
Me ingesting the music, dispatches, scenery.
Words “John Franklin Baber of Howardsville.”
Who what?!
Stereo off. Scanner louder.
Swerve into car wash lot, swipe pen from console.
Vehicle details. Scribble, scribble.
Driver’s license number! Scribble, scribble.
Nice.
It is so weird the uncanny ways I keep getting info on this particular Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force Officer.
20100517
Someone Went To Court And All I Got Was This Lousy Post
Per my request, my court date was swapped from tomorrow, Tuesday, May 18, to today, Monday, May 17.
Being that I’m female, I have to start by telling you what I wore: fitted jeans, army-patterned Converse, a thin long-sleeve burn-out pullover topped by a snug short-sleeve white tee with a risqué Vargas picture on it. Normally I would never never never set foot inside a courtroom -- even as a spectator -- so dressed-down, but since I knew I wasn’t going to beat the charges regardless of my attire, I skipped the “pretty.” I didn’t even stress about covering my tattoos. Ha!
I was expecting a third of the JADE Task Force to testify against me. 1/3! Can you imagine? Instead, nearly half and a wife showed up! Half the effin’ Task Force! Who apparently had nothing better to do today -- or tomorrow, for that matter, since they were all available for then, too. Guess it’s kind of tough for them to slip back in the swing of things after having the complete weekend off. Again.
The wife, I’m told, was only there to see what I look like, which is kinda amusing ‘cause she barely looked at me. What woman waits years to get a glimpse of the chick her husband screwed, anyway? Whatever. She’s short and cute, though, and I can totally get why Detective O’Donnell digs her.
Oh, and all the officers were, of course, decked out in suits -- each man uniquely handsome, despite one of them still being yucky-fuzzy-faced. Wife had something lime green, and blocky-chunky-thingies for shoes; I don’t remember anything else she had on.
Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement members present: Albemarle County Detectives Tavis Coffin, John Baber, and Jon McKay; Charlottesville Detectives Brian O’Donnell and Paul Best. Prosecution by Denise Lunsford.
Tavis Coffin testified first. He stated that he recognized my vehicle on Monticello in part because “detectives are trained to be observant.” That made me laugh, given that pretty much this whole I HeArTE JADE site is a testament to how unperceptive these guys are. It was even funnier when slick ol’ Cruiser Crasher subsequently admitted that none of the other three JADE men in the van with him at the time had observed me there. Glad I thought to scribble that question down for my attorney. Mr. Coffin either contradicted himself or lied, a lot -- it’s hard to distinguish the difference between incompetence and corruption. He’s young, so inexperience might explain the incongruities.
John Baber was up second. He didn’t say much, probably didn’t bear witness for but three seconds. He appeared as bored as I felt. I zoned out on his tie which was bright yellow with colorful aquatic creatures or something on it.
Next came Brian N. O’Donnell. The thing with Mr. O’Donnell is that he wasn’t there to testify to the alleged following. Rather, he spoke about my linking an image of his car to the St. Anne’s-Belfield School website, the educational institution where -- as he publicly declared, under oath -- his children are enrolled. Shoot, even I didn’t reveal that sort of information in the post in question. He also talked about my linking another photograph of his auto to an entry I made about him on here last year. Miz Lunsford claimed these links constitute “indirect contact” -- an additional “violation” she tacked on at the last minute, otherwise known as Friday, May 14.
For some reason, Miz Lunsford and Mr. O’Donnell made a point to discuss that he no longer uses his white Taurus for work anymore. It’s unclear to me at present why they dwelt on that element.
Jon McKay and Paul Best did not take the stand. It’s my understanding that Mr. Best couldn’t identify me on the date of the so-called following, and I have no clue what Mr. McKay’s failure was. Naturally, if they might’ve offered a mere inkling of doubt to her case, Miz Lunsford wouldn’t use them. I do give her bonus points for putting them on display with the others for the judge. Five sturdy Law Enforcement males in business attire… in front of the bench… standing shoulder-to-shoulder… spanning the courtroom… each with his right hand up… being sworn in… ‘Twas a highly impressive sight to behold.
I did not speak on my own behalf. I was ready, willing, and able. Boy, was I all three of those things! I was long ago convinced I would be found guilty; I wanted to get some enjoyment out of the process. My sole -- perhaps soul -- fear was that if I took the stand, I would be put in a position of having to name my sources. My lawyer couldn’t promise that wouldn’t happen and he and I were positive that’d be exactly the information Miz Lunsford would aim for. I didn’t want to be found in contempt; what if the judge incarcerated me until I responded to the prosecutor’s inquiries? I would die in jail because I don’t betray people who trust me. Heck, I don’t betray people who don’t trust me! On the flip side, it’s rough for me to back down when I’ve been challenged. Ultimately my sense of loyalty rose above my ego. And I don’t deny I struggled with it. You-know-whos better drop to their knees and thank me profusely.
I was found guilty by His Honor. I nodded and shrugged, semi-smiley. I’m not troubled by it in the least. There was no way I was going to take on multiple officers in their holy kingdom and be victorious. Those guys could’ve come in and avowed I was an enemy alien from the star Alythika and the entire courtroom would’ve been like “guilty!”
Miz Lunsford announced that she did not want me to serve the full six month, previously suspended, sentence, confessing she wanted to have something left to hold over me for the future.
Let’s play make-believe for a moment:
Let’s pretend I have a glass sphere. Let’s pretend it’s got both incredible financial and sentimental value to me. Let’s pretend I live for this glass sphere; I’d die for it. Let’s pretend it’s that important. Got it? Okay, now let’s pretend someone comes along and takes possession of that glass sphere. Said someone communicates to me if I don’t X or Y or I do this-n-that, said someone will shatter my sphere of significance into two million pieces. Can you guess what I will do? I will tell you what I will do. I will knock that glass sphere out of someone’s hands and smash it myself into four million pieces just so it can’t be used against me a second time.
With that in mind, can you infer how I feel about Miz Lunsford’s incentive plan? Yup.
Moving on.
I am mildly disturbed with the broad “indirect contact” nonsense. That I ostensibly can’t link to external sites or to my own old entries without risking an accusation and conviction of “indirect contact” is annoying. To say nothing of Free Speech trampling. Yet it does persuade me to get creative. So it’s all good.
Additionally, I’m all the more confused over how I am supposed to not conduct surveillance on the Task Force yet apparently I’m expected to -- what -- psychically? -- know where its members are in order to avoid “contact” with them.
I did re-propose, via counsel, the amicable method to put an end to all this. The arrogant Mr. O’Donnell remains resistant. He avers his unwillingness is due to his belief that I won’t keep my word to cease I HeArTE JADE activity. Bulloney! Always with the excuses, him. He fulfills his obligation and I don’t stop, well, what’s the difference? I’m not stopping now. He fulfills his obligation and I do stop, well, that’ll be that. What does he have to lose? I reckon just he and I know the answer.
The one -- the only -- thing that truly bothers me about this morning’s act is that it was not entertaining. The JADE fellas, as beautiful as they are, were humdrum. The testimony was mostly dry. The information was exceptionally worthless. The humor -- a most vital aspect -- was vacationing whereabouts unknown.
In conclusion, I got a ten day sentence. If you heard a thunderous bang slightly before noon today, that would’ve been JADE. Intentionally slamming the courtroom door as they left. Sheesh. Ya’d think they’d be happy. But, evidently, they’re even sore winners.
Being that I’m female, I have to start by telling you what I wore: fitted jeans, army-patterned Converse, a thin long-sleeve burn-out pullover topped by a snug short-sleeve white tee with a risqué Vargas picture on it. Normally I would never never never set foot inside a courtroom -- even as a spectator -- so dressed-down, but since I knew I wasn’t going to beat the charges regardless of my attire, I skipped the “pretty.” I didn’t even stress about covering my tattoos. Ha!
I was expecting a third of the JADE Task Force to testify against me. 1/3! Can you imagine? Instead, nearly half and a wife showed up! Half the effin’ Task Force! Who apparently had nothing better to do today -- or tomorrow, for that matter, since they were all available for then, too. Guess it’s kind of tough for them to slip back in the swing of things after having the complete weekend off. Again.
The wife, I’m told, was only there to see what I look like, which is kinda amusing ‘cause she barely looked at me. What woman waits years to get a glimpse of the chick her husband screwed, anyway? Whatever. She’s short and cute, though, and I can totally get why Detective O’Donnell digs her.
Oh, and all the officers were, of course, decked out in suits -- each man uniquely handsome, despite one of them still being yucky-fuzzy-faced. Wife had something lime green, and blocky-chunky-thingies for shoes; I don’t remember anything else she had on.
Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement members present: Albemarle County Detectives Tavis Coffin, John Baber, and Jon McKay; Charlottesville Detectives Brian O’Donnell and Paul Best. Prosecution by Denise Lunsford.
Tavis Coffin testified first. He stated that he recognized my vehicle on Monticello in part because “detectives are trained to be observant.” That made me laugh, given that pretty much this whole I HeArTE JADE site is a testament to how unperceptive these guys are. It was even funnier when slick ol’ Cruiser Crasher subsequently admitted that none of the other three JADE men in the van with him at the time had observed me there. Glad I thought to scribble that question down for my attorney. Mr. Coffin either contradicted himself or lied, a lot -- it’s hard to distinguish the difference between incompetence and corruption. He’s young, so inexperience might explain the incongruities.
John Baber was up second. He didn’t say much, probably didn’t bear witness for but three seconds. He appeared as bored as I felt. I zoned out on his tie which was bright yellow with colorful aquatic creatures or something on it.
Next came Brian N. O’Donnell. The thing with Mr. O’Donnell is that he wasn’t there to testify to the alleged following. Rather, he spoke about my linking an image of his car to the St. Anne’s-Belfield School website, the educational institution where -- as he publicly declared, under oath -- his children are enrolled. Shoot, even I didn’t reveal that sort of information in the post in question. He also talked about my linking another photograph of his auto to an entry I made about him on here last year. Miz Lunsford claimed these links constitute “indirect contact” -- an additional “violation” she tacked on at the last minute, otherwise known as Friday, May 14.
For some reason, Miz Lunsford and Mr. O’Donnell made a point to discuss that he no longer uses his white Taurus for work anymore. It’s unclear to me at present why they dwelt on that element.
Jon McKay and Paul Best did not take the stand. It’s my understanding that Mr. Best couldn’t identify me on the date of the so-called following, and I have no clue what Mr. McKay’s failure was. Naturally, if they might’ve offered a mere inkling of doubt to her case, Miz Lunsford wouldn’t use them. I do give her bonus points for putting them on display with the others for the judge. Five sturdy Law Enforcement males in business attire… in front of the bench… standing shoulder-to-shoulder… spanning the courtroom… each with his right hand up… being sworn in… ‘Twas a highly impressive sight to behold.
I did not speak on my own behalf. I was ready, willing, and able. Boy, was I all three of those things! I was long ago convinced I would be found guilty; I wanted to get some enjoyment out of the process. My sole -- perhaps soul -- fear was that if I took the stand, I would be put in a position of having to name my sources. My lawyer couldn’t promise that wouldn’t happen and he and I were positive that’d be exactly the information Miz Lunsford would aim for. I didn’t want to be found in contempt; what if the judge incarcerated me until I responded to the prosecutor’s inquiries? I would die in jail because I don’t betray people who trust me. Heck, I don’t betray people who don’t trust me! On the flip side, it’s rough for me to back down when I’ve been challenged. Ultimately my sense of loyalty rose above my ego. And I don’t deny I struggled with it. You-know-whos better drop to their knees and thank me profusely.
I was found guilty by His Honor. I nodded and shrugged, semi-smiley. I’m not troubled by it in the least. There was no way I was going to take on multiple officers in their holy kingdom and be victorious. Those guys could’ve come in and avowed I was an enemy alien from the star Alythika and the entire courtroom would’ve been like “guilty!”
Miz Lunsford announced that she did not want me to serve the full six month, previously suspended, sentence, confessing she wanted to have something left to hold over me for the future.
Let’s play make-believe for a moment:
Let’s pretend I have a glass sphere. Let’s pretend it’s got both incredible financial and sentimental value to me. Let’s pretend I live for this glass sphere; I’d die for it. Let’s pretend it’s that important. Got it? Okay, now let’s pretend someone comes along and takes possession of that glass sphere. Said someone communicates to me if I don’t X or Y or I do this-n-that, said someone will shatter my sphere of significance into two million pieces. Can you guess what I will do? I will tell you what I will do. I will knock that glass sphere out of someone’s hands and smash it myself into four million pieces just so it can’t be used against me a second time.
With that in mind, can you infer how I feel about Miz Lunsford’s incentive plan? Yup.
Moving on.
I am mildly disturbed with the broad “indirect contact” nonsense. That I ostensibly can’t link to external sites or to my own old entries without risking an accusation and conviction of “indirect contact” is annoying. To say nothing of Free Speech trampling. Yet it does persuade me to get creative. So it’s all good.
Additionally, I’m all the more confused over how I am supposed to not conduct surveillance on the Task Force yet apparently I’m expected to -- what -- psychically? -- know where its members are in order to avoid “contact” with them.
I did re-propose, via counsel, the amicable method to put an end to all this. The arrogant Mr. O’Donnell remains resistant. He avers his unwillingness is due to his belief that I won’t keep my word to cease I HeArTE JADE activity. Bulloney! Always with the excuses, him. He fulfills his obligation and I don’t stop, well, what’s the difference? I’m not stopping now. He fulfills his obligation and I do stop, well, that’ll be that. What does he have to lose? I reckon just he and I know the answer.
The one -- the only -- thing that truly bothers me about this morning’s act is that it was not entertaining. The JADE fellas, as beautiful as they are, were humdrum. The testimony was mostly dry. The information was exceptionally worthless. The humor -- a most vital aspect -- was vacationing whereabouts unknown.
In conclusion, I got a ten day sentence. If you heard a thunderous bang slightly before noon today, that would’ve been JADE. Intentionally slamming the courtroom door as they left. Sheesh. Ya’d think they’d be happy. But, evidently, they’re even sore winners.
20100409
Six Counties Of Separation
One can’t do business at any business these days without an employee asking for some piece of one’s personal information. From safety to privacy, there are several reasons not to divulge chapter or verse about oneself -- consider, too, when you answer, you’re providing facts about yourself to every other stranger within hearing range, not just the stranger who’s asking. So I don’t care if it’s my telephone number, my first name, or even my zip code, my response to these inquiries is always “I don’t give that out.” Yes, while the rest of the population is walking around with their identities scribbled on their Starbucks cups, my Iced Latté is decorated with nothing but a cute smilie. Now that y’all know about where I stand on the matter…
I went into an automotive store I’m familiar with to pick up a part for my car. A salesman I’m not familiar with located the item for me.
“Is this something I can do myself?” I asked, gesturing to my vehicle outside -- obviously meaning: will you do it for me?
The fellow tapped some keys on the PC. A diagram for my specific hitch popped up. I received an explanation from Commander Can’t-Take-A-Hint on how I absolutely could handle it on my own. I paid $11 and left, wishing the cool employee I’m used to had been there. He always plays Mr. Fix-It for me.
I went into the Supercenter across the street for other necessities. Hmm… Iiiii wonder… I checked out their automotive department. The same thingamajig? $8. I wouldn’t have minded paying the extra three bucks for the part if the dude who’d sold it to me had also installed it for me, but, since he didn’t… I bought the cheaper one.
I went back to the automotive store. A different unknown male associate emerged. I plunked down the object, along with receipt. “I’d like to return this.”
Guy did his thing with the computer, little box on monitor opened.
Guy said “Phone number, please?”
I said “I don’t give that out.”
Guy informed me he couldn’t do a return without a phone number. “It’s against our ‘policy’” he said.
I informed him it’s against my policy to give my number out.
“I need a number” he insisted.
“Put in your number then!” I snapped.
“I’m not going to put in my number” he snapped back.
Guy and I stared each other down. Guy and I simultaneously had the same thought; he vocalized it. “Just make up a number.”
I did. Machine rejected it. Guy looked at me expectantly. I held a finger up and told him to wait. I unpocketed my cell phone, jumped to my contacts list. Ahhahaha… I got it! I rattled off the number of the Albemarle County Police Department. Guy punched it in. We watched the screen. Little box vanished, bigger box with a name and other information appeared.
I. About. Fell. On. The. Floor.
Guess which name it was.
John Baber.
As in Albemarle’s JADE Task Force Officer Sgt. John Baber. Exactly him. Of all the officers in all the ACPD, him!
And this occurred in, like, Crotch Dust County, Va. Far, far away from John Baber territory. Seriously, what are the chances of this happening to me?
Y’know what ices this even more bizarrely funny cake? Neither employee at either store gave me the correct part.
I went into an automotive store I’m familiar with to pick up a part for my car. A salesman I’m not familiar with located the item for me.
“Is this something I can do myself?” I asked, gesturing to my vehicle outside -- obviously meaning: will you do it for me?
The fellow tapped some keys on the PC. A diagram for my specific hitch popped up. I received an explanation from Commander Can’t-Take-A-Hint on how I absolutely could handle it on my own. I paid $11 and left, wishing the cool employee I’m used to had been there. He always plays Mr. Fix-It for me.
I went into the Supercenter across the street for other necessities. Hmm… Iiiii wonder… I checked out their automotive department. The same thingamajig? $8. I wouldn’t have minded paying the extra three bucks for the part if the dude who’d sold it to me had also installed it for me, but, since he didn’t… I bought the cheaper one.
I went back to the automotive store. A different unknown male associate emerged. I plunked down the object, along with receipt. “I’d like to return this.”
Guy did his thing with the computer, little box on monitor opened.
Guy said “Phone number, please?”
I said “I don’t give that out.”
Guy informed me he couldn’t do a return without a phone number. “It’s against our ‘policy’” he said.
I informed him it’s against my policy to give my number out.
“I need a number” he insisted.
“Put in your number then!” I snapped.
“I’m not going to put in my number” he snapped back.
Guy and I stared each other down. Guy and I simultaneously had the same thought; he vocalized it. “Just make up a number.”
I did. Machine rejected it. Guy looked at me expectantly. I held a finger up and told him to wait. I unpocketed my cell phone, jumped to my contacts list. Ahhahaha… I got it! I rattled off the number of the Albemarle County Police Department. Guy punched it in. We watched the screen. Little box vanished, bigger box with a name and other information appeared.
I. About. Fell. On. The. Floor.
Guess which name it was.
John Baber.
As in Albemarle’s JADE Task Force Officer Sgt. John Baber. Exactly him. Of all the officers in all the ACPD, him!
And this occurred in, like, Crotch Dust County, Va. Far, far away from John Baber territory. Seriously, what are the chances of this happening to me?
Y’know what ices this even more bizarrely funny cake? Neither employee at either store gave me the correct part.
20091211
Holiday Slay Ride
December 1995
Source: Richmond Times Dispatch (hard copy) 804-649-6990Traffic death case centers
on Albemarle detective
CHARLOTTESVILLE -- State police are investigating an incident in which an Albemarle County detective allegedly struck and killed a woman while he was driving in an unmarked car.
Albemarle police Detective John Baber hit 56-year-old Maureen Allen D’Arcy about 10:30 p.m. Friday, according to county Police Chief John Miller.
The woman, a late-shift nurse at a nursing home, was crossing Rio Road near her apartment. She repeatedly had said she feared for her life because of the lack of sidewalks near her home on the heavily-traveled road, her co-workers said Saturday.
Baber, who has been with Albemarle police since 1987, is a detective with the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement team, police said.
The state trooper assigned to the case said Saturday that it was under investigation.
20091127
More Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) Numbers
Most of the Task Force Officers never usually answer their desk phones but at least a few of them always sometimes answer their cell phones.
Jon Seitz: 434-531-5382
John Baber: 434-531-5384
Jimmy Bunch: 434-531-5089
John Baber: 434-531-5384
Jimmy Bunch: 434-531-5089
20090610
20090607
Club Mouse
Mouse is such a good driver I can even follow him if I’m in front of him. The way traffic is flowing, I’m forced into that very situation right now.
A tricked-out old red Honda is separating us. Using my mirrors I pay extra careful attention to Mouse’s vehicle rolling along in the background. I know the Sergeant will give me the visual cues I need to clue me in to his upcoming moves; I just have to watch for them.
Sure ‘nuff. After miles with no change in speed, I notice the Dodge slacks off an itsy fraction and drifts nearer to the single solid line painted on the road’s right shoulder. I wait a few seconds to be convinced he’s not going to scootch back over to the center of the lane. He holds tight to his course. Eyup, he’s definitely takin’ the next exit. When the marker for the off-ramp comes into sight, I put my right signal on and peer in my rearview. 4… 3… 2… Mouse’s blinker suddenly lights up. Told ya so. I told ya so! I bop about in my seat with delight.
Sweeping past the green and white sign, I process the location. Partially up the track I’m pretty certain of the man’s destination. I look to minivanned Mouse for confirmation. His right flasher dies, his left one promptly comes to life. Yes -- two for two!
I want to stop being in the lead so I hustle underneath the traffic controller, going right. In my wake I eye what’s happening with Mouse, enough to verify he’s going where I expect, then I slowly U around in the middle of the street. I’ll give him some extra room just in case. In case of what, precisely? I have no idea.
There are no cars to prevent me from proceeding after Mouse but since I’m unprepared for a brush with the lean Drug Enforcement Officer today, I hang in one of those so-called suicide lanes for a mo to allow the fellow time to settle in. Perhaps a minute passes before I make the same turn Mouse has and wind my way up the lane to the Birdwood Country Club as he did.
Mouse’s transportation is parked at the left side in the front row. I drive by it and enter the lot from the other direction to park near the right side in a neighboring row. From here it’s easy to tell his van is unoccupied. Lessee… where’s he playing this afternoon?
Outside, it doesn’t take me long to find him even though he looks a little different. I guess because of the chilly weather he’s swapped out his baseball cap for a black pullover hat. Unrelated to the climate he’s traded his tennis shoes for golf shoes. He’s all, like, Pro ‘n stuff.
I don’t know what the temperature is but, me being 100% cold-intolerant, after placing Mouse I flee to my warm car to defrost myself. I know he comes here often but I’ve never stuck around to find out how long he actually stays. On this occasion I decide to.
I pay several bills over the phone, read “Cops” by Mark Baker cover-to-cover, and lower my window to say to a tiny, cute gal wearing a tiny, cute golfing skirt I think she’s insane to be that bare-legged at whatever iceberg degree it is. She giggles and lifts her micro to show me her short-shorts beneath. Why, there’s nothing like thermal panties to make it seem like it’s positively Summer out there.
The digits on the clock ooze from one number to the next. This is worse than watching Porn Star watching a dealer. More than two hours elapse before Mouse returns to the lot, loads up his sports accessories, and changes into his original attire.
I figured he’d be here a while, but two freakin’ hours? I mull over these recurrent excursions of Mouse’s as he drives, with me close behind, right smack back to the JADE office where we started. I swear I will never again just sit there and wait like that after tailing one of these guys. Unless…
A tricked-out old red Honda is separating us. Using my mirrors I pay extra careful attention to Mouse’s vehicle rolling along in the background. I know the Sergeant will give me the visual cues I need to clue me in to his upcoming moves; I just have to watch for them.
Sure ‘nuff. After miles with no change in speed, I notice the Dodge slacks off an itsy fraction and drifts nearer to the single solid line painted on the road’s right shoulder. I wait a few seconds to be convinced he’s not going to scootch back over to the center of the lane. He holds tight to his course. Eyup, he’s definitely takin’ the next exit. When the marker for the off-ramp comes into sight, I put my right signal on and peer in my rearview. 4… 3… 2… Mouse’s blinker suddenly lights up. Told ya so. I told ya so! I bop about in my seat with delight.
Sweeping past the green and white sign, I process the location. Partially up the track I’m pretty certain of the man’s destination. I look to minivanned Mouse for confirmation. His right flasher dies, his left one promptly comes to life. Yes -- two for two!
I want to stop being in the lead so I hustle underneath the traffic controller, going right. In my wake I eye what’s happening with Mouse, enough to verify he’s going where I expect, then I slowly U around in the middle of the street. I’ll give him some extra room just in case. In case of what, precisely? I have no idea.
There are no cars to prevent me from proceeding after Mouse but since I’m unprepared for a brush with the lean Drug Enforcement Officer today, I hang in one of those so-called suicide lanes for a mo to allow the fellow time to settle in. Perhaps a minute passes before I make the same turn Mouse has and wind my way up the lane to the Birdwood Country Club as he did.
Mouse’s transportation is parked at the left side in the front row. I drive by it and enter the lot from the other direction to park near the right side in a neighboring row. From here it’s easy to tell his van is unoccupied. Lessee… where’s he playing this afternoon?
Outside, it doesn’t take me long to find him even though he looks a little different. I guess because of the chilly weather he’s swapped out his baseball cap for a black pullover hat. Unrelated to the climate he’s traded his tennis shoes for golf shoes. He’s all, like, Pro ‘n stuff.
I don’t know what the temperature is but, me being 100% cold-intolerant, after placing Mouse I flee to my warm car to defrost myself. I know he comes here often but I’ve never stuck around to find out how long he actually stays. On this occasion I decide to.
I pay several bills over the phone, read “Cops” by Mark Baker cover-to-cover, and lower my window to say to a tiny, cute gal wearing a tiny, cute golfing skirt I think she’s insane to be that bare-legged at whatever iceberg degree it is. She giggles and lifts her micro to show me her short-shorts beneath. Why, there’s nothing like thermal panties to make it seem like it’s positively Summer out there.
The digits on the clock ooze from one number to the next. This is worse than watching Porn Star watching a dealer. More than two hours elapse before Mouse returns to the lot, loads up his sports accessories, and changes into his original attire.
I figured he’d be here a while, but two freakin’ hours? I mull over these recurrent excursions of Mouse’s as he drives, with me close behind, right smack back to the JADE office where we started. I swear I will never again just sit there and wait like that after tailing one of these guys. Unless…
20090527
What else would a Drug Enforcement guy do other than something hyper-cool, right?
A lot is coming up ahead on my right. I see Mouse’s minivan at rest in one of the rows. I also see the mysterious JADE man is watching my auto wheeling toward his. I don’t want to stop anywhere near him. Neither do I want to pass immediately back by him.
I nudge my coupe onwards and stop in an arced drive. There I get out and walk inside a building that has its door propped open.
From two young guys at a desk I ask for directions to a place I already know the location of. “I go left? At… where -- the gas station?” I waste approximately three minutes of life with this type of pseudo-ditzy nonsense. The boys beam at me when I thank them for being so helpful. I dally back to my car.Pulling away I scope out Mouse’s vehicle again. He’s vacated it. I’m tempted to park but then what? I’m not sure I should go looking for him. Maybe he’s buying an 8-ball from some ghetto grub. I don’t want to mess that up.
I vamoose, vividly imagining Mouse is doing something hyper-cool.
I’ll find out later this is a trip he makes frequently and what he does here ain’t hyper-cool. For that matter, it can be summed up using one letter:
Zzz Zzz Zzz
20090517
20090503
20090425
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
20090403
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
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.
20090127
20081218
The House of Mouse
Mouse has a last name that, up until coming across him, I’d never heard of. When I started researching to discover his home address, I found out much to my surprise there’s a ton of people who share his surname. The list of locations I excavated was extensive and I wasn’t inclined to go a million miles surveying a million houses in a million counties. What I needed was a whereabouts weed-whacker. I found one.
I noticed Mouse’s vehicle always has a layer of dust on it. I presumed that meant he frequently (and probably quickly) drives up and down a dirt road. Using Google Earth I plugged in all the addresses I’d accumulated and crossed off every place that didn’t look rural enough. I ended up with a mere three houses.
Upon further investigation, I learned that one of the houses was for sale. I called the listing agent and after some friendly chit-chat managed to find out that the owners were selling because “the house is too big now that the kids are gone” and the couple weren’t connected to Law Enforcement in any way.
The precise physical spot of one house cannot be found with any map program; the best I could do was pin-point the city it’s supposed to be in and distinguish that back roads and farmland surrounded it. Very near that second residence, towards the north, was the third dwelling.
I suppose if Mouse is curious to know if I know where he lives, he can always go enter his address in MapQuest.
I noticed Mouse’s vehicle always has a layer of dust on it. I presumed that meant he frequently (and probably quickly) drives up and down a dirt road. Using Google Earth I plugged in all the addresses I’d accumulated and crossed off every place that didn’t look rural enough. I ended up with a mere three houses.
Upon further investigation, I learned that one of the houses was for sale. I called the listing agent and after some friendly chit-chat managed to find out that the owners were selling because “the house is too big now that the kids are gone” and the couple weren’t connected to Law Enforcement in any way.
The precise physical spot of one house cannot be found with any map program; the best I could do was pin-point the city it’s supposed to be in and distinguish that back roads and farmland surrounded it. Very near that second residence, towards the north, was the third dwelling.
I suppose if Mouse is curious to know if I know where he lives, he can always go enter his address in MapQuest.
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