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
Showing posts with label Pringle/Jimmy Bunch. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pringle/Jimmy Bunch. Show all posts
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.
20091024
JADE Press Release
On Wednesday, October 21, 2009 at 4:30 P.M., JADE and the WASP [WASSP] Task Force (Waynesboro, Augusta County, [Staunton] and Virginia [sic] State Police) conducted a buy-bust operation on Cove Garden Road in Albemarle County. Authorities arrested Claudio Morales Rodriguez, age 39 of North Garden, after seizing approximately 125 grams of methamphetamine (Ice), with a street value of $4,500.00. Rodriquez was charged with possession of methamphetamine with the intent to distribute (F) and is being held at the Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail without bond.On Thursday, October 22, 2009 at 1:50 P.M., JADE, with the assistance of the Albemarle County Police Department, the Charlottesville Police Department, the Virginia State Police, and the U.S. Marshals Service, conducted another buy-bust operation in the 2200 block of Barracks Road in the City of Charlottesville. This was the culmination of a month long investigation and resulted in the arrest of Carlos Wilfredo Garcia Sanchez, 38 of Charlottesville, charged him with possession of cocaine with the intent to distribute (F) and possession of cocaine with the intent to distribute within 1000 feet of a school zone (F), and is being held without bond at the Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail. Authorities seized over 500 grams of cocaine from Sanchez, with a street value of $14,000.00.
Later in the afternoon, at approximately 4:00 P.M., JADE conducted another operation, which was the culmination of a two month long investigation. The operation began in the Charlottesville area, and after one hour of surveillance, four individuals were arrested in Nelson County for possession of approximately 268 grams of cocaine with the intent to distribute. The four individuals arrested were Juan Miguel Cubas, age 24, Bayron Diaz, age 30, Jonas Eberardo Moradel, age 25, and Fernando Carmonma Pacheo, age 36. Cubas and Moradel are residents of Albemarle County. Diaz is a resident of Richmond, VA, and Pacheo is a resident of Nelson County. Cubas was released on a $3000.00 bond, and the other three were held without bond pending hearings in the Nelson County General District Court. The Nelson County Sheriff's Department, Virginia State Police, the U.S. Marshals Service, and the Albemarle County Police Department assisted in this operation. This is an on-going investigation and further charges are pending.
(6 men held in undercover drug buys)
20090627
20090523
Lapsed News
June 2008
A 27-year-old Charlottesville man faces 40 years in prison and a $2 million fine after pleading guilty to conspiring to possess and distribute more than 500 grams of cocaine.Source.
Renaldo Garcia Juarez on Tuesday pleaded guilty in U.S. District Court in Charlottesville, according to acting U.S. Attorney Julia C. Dudley. Juarez had also faced three counts of cocaine distribution.
Two other defendants in the same case have upcoming trials.
Arturo Miron Garcia, 24, and Julio Cesar Ruiz Ayala, 33, each face charges of conspiring to possess and distribute more than 500 grams of cocaine and one count of distributing five or more grams of cocaine.
If convicted, each man faces up to 60 years in prison and a $3 million fine.
The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement task force arrested the men in March during a “buy/bust” operation in the 2300 block of Peyton Drive, near Albemarle High School.
20090422
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.
20090227
A Different Contact Number
Unfortunately it seems that Pringle is unable to maintain his pager payments. "Sorry -- the number you have reached is not in service; please check the number and dial again." I blame the recession.
For persons wanting to report
illicit narcotics activity to the
Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force:
434-970-3376
illicit narcotics activity to the
Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force:
434-970-3376
20090127
A Contact Number
For persons wanting to report
illicit narcotics activity to the
Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force:
434-961-1724
illicit narcotics activity to the
Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force:
434-961-1724
20090108
Pringle's Petty Offenses
For those of us who can read,
those words in bright yellow
on the pavement mean:
NO PARKING
those words in bright yellow
on the pavement mean:
NO PARKING
20081113
The Longer Version (With Oodles of Parentheticals)
Absent a tremendous amount of details, prior to my decision to do any of this I'd received two bully calls from a certain FBI agent. (I know him because, again, absent a tremendous amount of details, some time ago I found myself in the position of being a witness for the prosecution in a federal unrelated-to-drugs case.) My response to the agent's bullying was to accumulate information about the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force (there's a conjunction, I swear). No doubt this was not the result the agent was going for.
The day that I took these images, I got... well, I don't want to say "busted" or even "caught" as those words somehow imply wrongdoing. The facts are that I was at 2nd Street SE (a very busy, populated, public place), in the afternoon (broad daylight), outfitted in slacks, a dressy tube-top, and an awesome super-fuzzy white jacket (not even remotely resembling suspiciously-up-to-something attire), and I was observed taking photographs (likely because I wasn't trying to hide that I was doing so).
Afterwards I was in my car (about to leave but rearranging some items first) when I overheard (I have excellent hearing) a female's voice in the distance talking about my picture-taking. My rearview mirror showed a woman pointing me and my car out to two JADE officers, Herb and Pringle. I turned around in the driver's seat and watched, waiting (uber-inquisitive) to see what the TF guys would do. They stared, and conferred, and stared and conferred some more, and I stared back and didn't confer (since I had no one to confer with) until I saw one of the men get on his cell phone. I assumed (and didn't really care) he was calling in my tags. Since after a few minutes neither of them gave any indication they intended to come over and talk to me (too bad 'cause that would've been far more interesting), I backed out and went on my way.
The incident earned me another menacing phone call from the FBI agent, no surprise, only this time his threat was very specific.
Honestly, originally I intended to keep whatever I learned about the JADE Task Force to myself. I have to admit he's got me rethinking my original intent. Rest assured though, like before, my reaction is probably not going to be what the agent had in mind. (Have I mentioned how much I don't appreciate intimidation tactics?) For the moment, my response to his latest is what's showing up on this blog.
Days go by and my very best informant tells me that, for a few nights running, the parking lot where JADE is located has been completely emptied of vehicles by late hours. Even the TSU trucks and Level 3 vans which were formerly always kept in the lot overnight are conspicuously missing. Level 3 trailers have been strangely reparked (they sit perpendicularly centered, taking up three or four spaces each). Random cars left in the lot have been spied with tickets on them, and tow trucks have been observed frequenting the immediate area. The only automobiles present are essentially the SUVs belonging to the Charlottesville Newsplex, and, of course, Task Force transportation. This report sparks my curiosity like you would not believe!
It was also brought to my attention that, after all the effort I put into it, this site went from page three to page one to not appearing at all, anywhere, anymore, in a Google search. That's okay as, technically, I know how to get around that obstacle if I feel the need to. But more importantly, though I wanted people to see iHeArTEjade, it's not and never was the be-all end-all method to disseminating any information I might eventually want propagated. My real plan won't be so easily interfered with (insert overdramatic diabolical laughter here).
In all seriousness, I don't have much. I do have enough intelligence to, within the confines of the law, effectually take on what I believe is nothing more than a group of arrogant thugs.
Just like they were completely unaware of what I was up to with them, I have no idea what they're doing in regards to me. But consider this: They can't take away what I know. And once it's out there... It's. Out. There. They can't get it back.
Will the Federal Bureau of Investigation make good on its threat? Time will tell. The bottom line: Maybe I'll have to do the same.
The day that I took these images, I got... well, I don't want to say "busted" or even "caught" as those words somehow imply wrongdoing. The facts are that I was at 2nd Street SE (a very busy, populated, public place), in the afternoon (broad daylight), outfitted in slacks, a dressy tube-top, and an awesome super-fuzzy white jacket (not even remotely resembling suspiciously-up-to-something attire), and I was observed taking photographs (likely because I wasn't trying to hide that I was doing so).
Afterwards I was in my car (about to leave but rearranging some items first) when I overheard (I have excellent hearing) a female's voice in the distance talking about my picture-taking. My rearview mirror showed a woman pointing me and my car out to two JADE officers, Herb and Pringle. I turned around in the driver's seat and watched, waiting (uber-inquisitive) to see what the TF guys would do. They stared, and conferred, and stared and conferred some more, and I stared back and didn't confer (since I had no one to confer with) until I saw one of the men get on his cell phone. I assumed (and didn't really care) he was calling in my tags. Since after a few minutes neither of them gave any indication they intended to come over and talk to me (too bad 'cause that would've been far more interesting), I backed out and went on my way.
The incident earned me another menacing phone call from the FBI agent, no surprise, only this time his threat was very specific.
Honestly, originally I intended to keep whatever I learned about the JADE Task Force to myself. I have to admit he's got me rethinking my original intent. Rest assured though, like before, my reaction is probably not going to be what the agent had in mind. (Have I mentioned how much I don't appreciate intimidation tactics?) For the moment, my response to his latest is what's showing up on this blog.
Days go by and my very best informant tells me that, for a few nights running, the parking lot where JADE is located has been completely emptied of vehicles by late hours. Even the TSU trucks and Level 3 vans which were formerly always kept in the lot overnight are conspicuously missing. Level 3 trailers have been strangely reparked (they sit perpendicularly centered, taking up three or four spaces each). Random cars left in the lot have been spied with tickets on them, and tow trucks have been observed frequenting the immediate area. The only automobiles present are essentially the SUVs belonging to the Charlottesville Newsplex, and, of course, Task Force transportation. This report sparks my curiosity like you would not believe!
It was also brought to my attention that, after all the effort I put into it, this site went from page three to page one to not appearing at all, anywhere, anymore, in a Google search. That's okay as, technically, I know how to get around that obstacle if I feel the need to. But more importantly, though I wanted people to see iHeArTEjade, it's not and never was the be-all end-all method to disseminating any information I might eventually want propagated. My real plan won't be so easily interfered with (insert overdramatic diabolical laughter here).
In all seriousness, I don't have much. I do have enough intelligence to, within the confines of the law, effectually take on what I believe is nothing more than a group of arrogant thugs.
Just like they were completely unaware of what I was up to with them, I have no idea what they're doing in regards to me. But consider this: They can't take away what I know. And once it's out there... It's. Out. There. They can't get it back.
Will the Federal Bureau of Investigation make good on its threat? Time will tell. The bottom line: Maybe I'll have to do the same.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
