Ongoing News

Man Involved in Charlottesville-New York Drug Ring to Serve 87 Months
May 2011

One of the men involved in a Charlottesville to New York drug ring learned his sentence Thursday in the U.S. District Court for the Western District of Virginia .

Kasheen Osborne, 20, of Manassas will serve 87 months in a federal prison, followed by three years of supervised release. Back in March, Osborne pleaded guilty to conspiring to distribute cocaine and heroine, as well as money laundering.

In court Thursday, Osborne apologized for participating in the ring and said that he has learned his lesson.

(Source)

“I want to recognize the officers who worked so hard to penetrate and dismantle this criminal organization. The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force led by its supervisor Lt. Don Campbell and the two primary agents who began this investigation and who saw it through to a successful conclusion, Det. Jon McKay of the Albemarle County Police Department and Det. Brian O’Donnell with the Charlottesville Police Department deserve a great deal of recognition and thanks.” -- Tim Heaphy, United States Attorney for the Western District of Virginia

Between A Rock And A Hardass

I was in Albemarle Circuit Court yesterday morning. Barring elaboration here for the time being, my case is in the throes of the appeal process. Oh. Jubilee. Since they dragged me all the way there just to stand in front of a judge for all of thirteen seconds -- long enough to get yet another court date set -- I figured I’d make the best of the rest of the beautiful day doing what I do, which included observing some of the proceedings at Albemarle General District Court.

As luck would have it, apparently the building was experiencing “electrical problems.” So there I was, with fifteen acrillion summonsed people sitting on butt-spiting benches, smoldering in the un-air-conditioned, predominantly unlit, courtroom. Good times.

Machismo seemed to be policeman o’ the hour. Remember him? Turns out, aside from being a nice piece of eye candy, he’s got an orgasmic voice. Sure, it was projecting radar detection numbers and the espials of counterfeit inspection stickers but, oh, yeah, I can totally see a chick gushing when he tells her “buckle up.” However, no one, female or male, looked satisfied after her or his go ‘round in front of the officer and judge.

While I find it educational and super entertaining to watch the system at work, it can become depressing when person after person parades to the front and none of them are declared innocent or given a break. On this occasion I left before that happened, still in good spirits.

Outside I took a peek at a parking square for a certain squad car before trekking off a non-standard path towards my own vehicle. I stepped on the sidewalk prepared to go right and caught sight of a uniform in motion coming in my direction. Despite the Godzilla-sized black shades engulfing his face, I identified him as Machismo. Wahah… how did that happen? He must’ve been finishing up when I was leaving.

The thing about Machismo is that though he recognizes what I drive and is aware generally of what I look like, I believe the closest he has ever come to for realiously seeing me has been either a coup d’oeil from the opposite side of a courtroom or as I’ve been motoring by. I do not want us to get any closer than that. The power these men have is scary sometimes, if you think about it. What if my arm accidentally brushed Machismo’s as we passed on the sidewalk and he charges me with assault? What if I don’t touch him and he still arrests me as an assailant?

With nary but a millisecond to make a decision, I twisted fast to head left -- away from my car -- and took a few quick strides to put additional distance between us to make up for my moment of surprise. My feet, in their five-inch-high-heeled sandals, were not pleased to be rerouted after having already transported me all over the dang region. Does he know it’s me in front of him?

I wasn’t even able to cut down the subsequent street because I saw JADE Detective Jon McKay’s infamous blue Honda parked there beforehand and I couldn’t risk running into him. He’s one of them sensitive ones; you know, like, if we’re in the same county, he’d consider it “indirect contact.”

I assumed Machismo was still back there. Don’t look over your shoulder… don’t look over your shoulder. He might not know it’s you. I used the one-way road where Task Force hottie McKay’s auto had been as an excuse to run to cover more ground -- don’t want to impede traffic, right? One more intersection up, I finally deviated off the main track. Once I’d gone a block further, I gazed the background. Clear!

My remaining long trip back to my wheels was uneventful.

Under imagined-protection of steel and glass around me I pulled out onto Market Street, winding up a few sedans behind a Fire Engine. I love Fire Trucks! Considering they’re essentially massive mobile gadgets, how could I not be keen on them? Anyway, pedestrians kept locking us motorists up like it was rush hour on the CI in Chicago. During one of the jams, I noticed Machismo’s unmarked ride exit at the forefront from the city parking garage. Next to the place where he departed is the inlet/outlet for the Charlottesville Police Department. I got there just at the instant a silver Monte Carlo with tinted windows was edging up to the roadway. It was Joseph L. Hatter of the JADE Task Force. Agh! I crossed his path and he rolled in right at my bumper. You gotta be kidding me.

I and Sgt. Hatter, plus Firemen, got snagged by the 7th Street signal; I wasn’t certain if Machismo did also, given that the enormous red truck ahead was hindering my view. At 9th, Machismo went right, Firemen and all betwixt vehicles continued forward; I went right, as did Joe Hatter.

Mimicking river-floatin’ ducks, us: Mr. Albemarle County, then Miss Moi, then Mr. Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement.

Task Force Officer Jon Seitz has developed a habit of deliberately tailgating me whenever he sees me. I’ve decided he thinks it’s funny and that, in lieu of the conditions, I have no recourse; he is right -- on one count. I tell you that only so you understand my next thought. Is Dasani going to follow me too -- how far -- to where?

The three of us crossed the bridge. The upcoming light was red. Machismo was braking. Even though his huge sunglasses might indicate otherwise, Machismo is not blind. Gawwwwd, he has to know I’m back here. Shoot. How close is Dasani? I don’t wanna be the middle of a cop sandwich here.

In unison, these things happened: I slowed, as not to get too close to Machismo; lit circle of red flashed to green; Machismo’s right blinker lit up, he turned.

No awkward pile-up. I breathed a sigh of temporary relief. One down, one to worry about.

Drawing near to Monticello Avenue, I squeezed inside the auto-packed turning lane to shoot for I-64. Although I’m certain Jon Seitz would’ve, I doubted Sgt. Hatter would bother to obstruct the flow of traffic just to be aggressive with me. The JADE man skimmed by and faded into the foreground.

It didn’t hit me ‘til I was almost home: I didn’t get a single picture of any of it.

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.

Sundries

I love the band Deer Tick. I have listened to their version of this one song countless times but only this morning did I catch these particular lyrics:

I know the police cause you trouble,
They cause trouble everywhere.
But when you die and go to Heaven,
You’ll find, there’s no policemen there.

____________ ♥ ____________

Twice in one day members of Law Enforcement told me “no” I could not take a picture of their respective cars. One is a Trooper with the Virginia State Police -- story pending, and the other an Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Have photographs and audio of Tpr. VSP. So there! Agent FBI? So he’s-allowed-to-tell-me-no-because-I-adore-him. Shame both of them couldn’t have been as congenial as this officer.

____________ ♥ ____________

I just found out Charlottesville Police Chief Tim Longo wears reading glasses. I’m unsure if he uses them out of necessity or merely so he can drama profoundness when he pulls them from his face.

____________ ♥ ____________

Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Detective Jon McKay passed me as I was leaving Court Square. Holy you-know-what -- somebody give that man a razor already! My aphrodisiacal Porn Star has turned into out-of-work actor Scruffy D’Dawgg. Eww…

____________ ♥ ____________

I’ve decided it’s only State Police Investigators that are built like Goliaths -- à la Joe all-legs Fleming and the hefty Jason Trent. Garden-variety Troopers, not so much. Sure they can’t all be over six feet in stature, but I think the fellas should meet some kind of minimum height requirement. Like they have at carnivals: You must be taller than your vehicle or you don’t ride.

When S-N-O-W Spells “Vacation”

This cataclysmal storm has really done a number on the City of Charlottesville and Albemarle County. Four days after the sky coughed up hordes of flossy ice flakes across the area, the natives are grumping, VDOT is scraping mad, and I’m contemplating a counterpoison for my cabin fever.

I don’t expect the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement team is running full service at the moment, considering this is what TFO Brian O’Donnell’s route looks like:



And TFO Jon McKay’s road is, uh, somewhere under this mess of crystallized precipitation:



(Guess he’ll be off this month on the same dates he was last month):



S’pose ‘til things get back in swing I could create frozen art. Better yet, find a nice Virginia State Trooper to play with!

More To Things Than Meets The I?

December 14, 2009
By I HeArTE JADE

Today in Albemarle County Circuit Court 29-year-old Daniel Lee Dove of Louisa received a 43 year sentence for the September 2008 death of Emilio Morales.

Morales, 17, was shot when Dove opened fire inside an apartment on Commonwealth Drive. Two other men were injured.

Subsequently Dove fled to Maryland before he was captured and returned to the state of Virginia.

In October 2009 Dove pleaded guilty to second-degree murder and numerous other charges related to the incident.

In the courtroom this afternoon Judge Thomas Wood reduced Dove’s sentence by nearly half. Dove, who apologized to both the victim’s family and his own, will serve no more than 22 years for his crimes.

Mainstream media was all over this story and I watched several online reports on it. Not so much because I cared about the event, but primarily to look for things that I am interested in. Sure enough, in the background, behind one of the newsmen, I noticed Task Force member Jon McKay’s orgasmic-blue Honda. It was parked in the same spot the attractive detective always parks it when he does business in that area. Blog forbid the man ever vary his routine even a scintilla!

If I can find the video of it, I’ll link it. In the meantime, if you were near the bricked square today around five PM you would’ve found his car exactly where it is in this picture I took eons ago:



In lieu of the presence of Officer McKay’s vehicle, I did latch onto this part of a brief article about Daniel Dove which I read on the Newsplex site:

At one point during today’s hearing, the defense argued that Morales was not so innocent. Dove’s attorney, David Baugh claimed there was drug dealing going on in the house. But police testimony squelched that argument by denying any drug activity or investigations at the home.

Excuse me, but why does Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement constantly seem to be involved in cases where drugs are not? Also, how likely is it they’d admit to “drug activity or investigations” if such got interrupted by, oh, I don’t know, say, a murder?!

“Well, your Honor, I did have the place and people under surveillance, but I was distracted by oral sex from the CI, and then after the gunshots… damn, you should’ve seen how much blood was on that cocaine! I just went ahead -- no pun intended -- and up and closed the file on it, sir.”

News For The Record

November 2009

Honduran man gets 6 years for cocaine charges

A Honduran man pleaded guilty Tuesday [November 24] in Waynesboro Circuit Court to bringing drugs across the Virginia border from Texas.

Judge Humes J. Franklin Jr. sentenced Matias Murrillo Lincoln, 44, of Fort Worth, Texas, to six years in prison for transporting, possessing and manufacturing cocaine.

Authorities caught Lincoln on May 21 with Yvonne Gutierrez, 27, at Comfort Inn near Interstate 64 in Waynesboro with a suitcase containing a cereal box holding more than eight ounces of powder cocaine.

After being tipped by an informant, the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement [JADE] task force – including officers from Charlottesville and Albemarle County – set up a sting to catch Lincoln and Gutierrez.

Source.

2009 News

October 2009

JADE arrests 2 men accused of selling drugs near school

The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement task force has arrested two Northern Virginia men accused of selling drugs in front of a school.

Jose N. Cano, 26, of Woodbridge, and Jorge Saul Rosales-Garcia, 26, of Fredericksburg, were charged Tuesday with possession of cocaine with the intent to distribute and distribution of cocaine within 1,000 feet of a school.

It was not clear which school the men were accused of selling drugs near. The buy-bust operation took place in the 1800 block of Seminole Trail in Albemarle County. Authorities seized 4 1/2 ounces of cocaine, which has a street value of $4,500.

The men are being held without bond at the Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail. Information about their court dates was not available.

Source.

Five Fer Friday

1. For most investigators, once a case and its connected courtroom stage show is over, it’s over. O-V-E-R. Done. Finito! But a cool source of things VSP says Special Agent Jason Trent just can’t stop frequenting I HeArTE JADE. People, the man is stalking my site. So… New file? Still-active old file? He obsessed? You tell me.

2. A select few terms that have brought searchers from Google to my site recently:

jade wireless
joseph fleming va state police force
Ian Diner, Charlottesville, Virginia
OLD TIME PORN STARS

I blame JADE’s Albemarle officer Jon McKay for that last one.

3. No longer must anyone resort to displaying the picture of me that both anti-racist and “pro-White” rejectamenta have been using against me for the last decade. Behold; an equally beautiful mugshot! Be assured these images absolutely accurately depict my appearance.

4. In the past year, 9000 persons have viewed my profile; it would’ve been 9 but, hey, the Task Force stallions traded in their thinkin’ for whinin’.

5. Detective Brian O’Donnell. Listen. Laugh. Or don’t.

Forecast: Mostly Clear With A Slight Chance Of Raid (Part 2)

(Part 1)

The rhythmic tattoo of boots as the assault squad descended the flight of steps seemed to mock the thumps of my heart.

What followed next could best be described as “the epitome of surreality.” It’s not that I can’t recollect certain things from the raid now -- as if they’ve just been dismissed from my mind with the passage of time; it’s like I wasn’t aware of them even as they were happening. I mean I distinctly remember asking myself questions like “how did I get in this room?” and “when did we come upstairs?” and never gaining the answers.

It’s like trying to watch a DVD with someone who won’t stop toying with the remote control.

Play.

They didn’t immediately enter the bedroom after the door swung open. Instead I was ordered to exit the quarters by a man I couldn’t see. I’m not sure if I’d gotten to my feet before the command came or after. Do everything they tell you to do. Exactly how they tell you to do it. Don’t be scared don’t be scared.

Fast Forward.

How did I get in this room? Special Agent Jason Trent was standing by my left side. Jason Trent? Really? Really? Another man was in front of us, slightly off to the right. Who’s he? I wanted to remember everyone so I eyed him carefully from head to toe, taking in each inch of him. By the time I’d gotten to his shoes, I’d already forgotten what his face looked like. Meh. I have the sense he had gray hair, and a gut that’s probably been hanging over his happy place since his 10th wedding anniversary. Someone flipped a switch and the room erupted with light.

Don’t show ‘em you’re scared don’t show ‘em you’re scared. Mr. Trent informed me I was being placed under arrest, plus read me my rights. That means he officially plans to interrogate me. Great; the man takes everything I say the wrong way. He was holding something during his trite spiel and although I was deliberately staring at it the entire time his lilting voice lifted and dived, all I could see in his massive hands was… was a… There was definitely something there -- a card with printed Miranda warnings seems logical -- but the blood pulsating in my ears and distracting thorns of anxiety blanked it out. Firearm?

I was not handcuffed.

Fast Forward.

I was asked where specific items were -- computer, camera. I gestured at the noticeable tower and screen that was eight inches in front of them. “We don’t need to take the monitor” Mr. Trent said to his accomplice. Hmm... why would he tell him something so obvious? Aren’t these guys supposed to be the professionals?

I think the camera’s in the car. It’s customary for me to bring it inside and download images straightaway when I’ve used it but I wasn’t sure I’d done so the night before. I was under the impression I’d intended to carry it in and decided, since I’d be putting it to work again so soon in the morning, I wouldn’t bother. I conveyed to the beefy men only that the object was in my automobile.

“Is that a laptop?” Agent Trent had targeted a zippered black case. I indicated his deduction was spot on and grabbed socks from a drawer. I was slipping my feet into a pair of Converse when, bent upside down, I again glanced at the Toshiba’s holder. On second thought, the camera might be in there. I, like, always carry it in with me. Frustrated with my amnesia poisoning, I brooded aloud something to the effect of what had just gone through my head. My uncertainty was resolved in moments; no picture-taking device inside the bag.

Still no cuffs.

Random Play.

An audio CD, made by Jon McKay, of a JADE-controlled drug buy, sitting atop a speaker on my desk caught my attention when one of the officers went near it. Ach! I hope the prints got wiped off that. I should’ve moved it. Aww… what are the chances I’ll get it back?

Random Play.

Kitchen. When did we come upstairs? Mr. Trent repeated something about if I told him where they could find items they were looking for, they wouldn’t need to disturb much. You mean no trashin’ the house? Hell, I’m all for that!

Pause.

Officer Trent was predominately focused on the computers in the residence. Seriously. Tunnel vision. To the third power. I guess I can understand why, given that we’re in the digital age ‘n all, and the man steadfastly feels I’m “computer-savvy,” but I deem it nothing short of incompetent. I believe it’s generally a bad idea for law enforcement to rely on the mere potential of computer evidence as heavily as it does these days. In any case, this made cooperating with him and his team that much easier because a) there were only two PCs that I use and b) I didn’t have to reveal where anything else was that they didn’t have the sagacity to ask for.

Random Play.

Walked an unlit hallway, closely followed by Jason Trent. Stopped. Turned around and crashed into a different cop. It was a girl. Whoa. Where’d she come from?

Somewhere in the midst of the event I’d been told by Mr. Trent “I brought along a female officer. To pat you down.” Um, thanks? I’m sure Smurfette there is thrilled too.

Random Play.

I wonder if you vomit on one of them if they’ll charge you with assault.

Play.

Outside, inquiries I found odd were directed at me here and there including “do you have ID?” Huh? It’s not like you don’t know who I am.

In every direction I gazed there was an armed person. X26. Visions of Taser test subjects suddenly bubbled up. The middle of a raid is not the time for recourse.

Pause.

Throughout I tried to be as obliging as possible. Always in the back of my mind was the thought that I didn’t want to slurp down a slug of Sig Sauer. Nor was I going to give them any leverage whatsoever for future courtroom testimony.

Random Play.

Count them. Now; now you should count them! … Seven. Eight. Nine…

Rewind. Play.

I unlocked my Toyota on the passenger side while several males, and the sole woman, donned in battle wear circled about the yard and driveway. Good gaaaawd. Wish I’d been the invisible participant in their briefing for this. I reckoned their soon-to-follow debriefing would consist of ten words: Well that was lame. She didn’t even swear at us.

Mr. Trent hovered near me at my vehicle -- to ensure I didn’t tamper with or remove his hallucinated evidence, I suppose. I wasn’t even given the opportunity to retrieve the identification he’d just a minute sooner requested before I got spun around and was patted down. Uuuh, I didn’t know they got that close to, ahem, there. Eek! Talk about “invasion of privacy.”

An audience of lawmen watched while their token female counterpart, a pretty, petite lady that Jason Trent could pro’ly cart around in his pocket, unskillfully moved her hands over me. Huh. She seems nervous. I think she’s more intimidated by these guys than I am. I’d noticed Mr. Trent had a habit of superciliously coaching her. Which in turn threw her off her groove. Which in turn compelled Mr. Trent to give her further directives. Exacerbation at its finest. If this is what they do to her all the time, it’s no wonder she’s angst-ridden.

Are these people all State Police? I’d barely put the dot on that question mark when…

Cuffs, at last.

(Continued here)

Jon Deere

This, I Do Not Understand

I can be driving down any given road at some 60+ miles an hour on a sunny, happy day and manage to take photographs of Task Force Officers that are so clear and perfect they look staged. But tack on any variation of cat-and-dog weather -- about to rain, is raining, just finished raining -- and I abstrusely get pictures like this:



This:



And this:



I mean, I grasp the concept of why this one (taken while in motion) would come out this way:



Which is why I knew what to do to fix it for a (still in motion) better one:



But this one? Makes no sense to me:



I swear that really is a car! On a street! In daylight!

P.S. I just found out I swear a lot.

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

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.

And The Dish Ran Away With The Platoon

So what does Porn Star do with paper plates?

He shoots at 'em:



At this place:



(Psst... That target up there is one of mine;
the Task Force Officer hangs on to his.)

A Dish And A Detective

Good God, y’all. I periodically saw Porn Star carrying around paper plates and I actually dedicated a portion of my mind to figuring out what he was doing with them. I’ve spent brain cells on disposable dinnerware, people.

I’ve got the answer, too, and a crummy (yet, satisfyingly artistic) picture of the Task Force member holding one of the things, to boot.

But I’m going to wait before I tell iHeArTEjade readers what he does with them because I know at least one of you will wonder about it. And then we’ll both be neurotic.

You Remember This Guy?

I do.

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

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



So I settled for reading this article instead.

Porn Star. Further Frolics and Foul-Ups.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Porn Star. Third Time's a Charm?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I don’t see him again that day.

The Deal Maker and Breaker

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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