Thursday, August 31, 2006


The little kid knows, I think...

She looks at me with her massive blue eyes. Her cheeks are full and she has a mouth full of teeth with the ones at the front like big gravestones. She has full lips, especially when she is tired or asleep, dark red, full of heat and blood. She has a body like a skinned rabbit. No fat, no impurities, no chemicals. Muscles and sinews she can rely on to get her over the climbing frame, across the width of the pool, up the hill on her bike, faster than the boys on her scooter. Her hair is dark and shiny. Her nails grow so fast. She has a voice to make my heart melt away and then so shrill, she goes supersonic. I can look her in the eye and see straight into her

But I worry for the future.

I think I am a tough man. I can handle the pressure. I can take the heat and step up for battle. I do this regularly. But I want my family to grow up without fear. I want my girl to grow with the goodness I feed her with. I want her to be strong but not bully and be thoughtful but not downtrodden.

Sometimes, in the quiet times, I miss my kid. I see her more times than most divorced dads. But I miss her and there are only so many times you can say "I was catching the baddies so you and your friends can be safe..." before you begin to know she knows you know.

Tuesday, August 29, 2006


He never knew I was there...

Subject one. Surveillance talk for my man, but the number is irrelevant. One could be fifty one, it does not confirm how high or low he is in the organisation.It just confirms we know who he is.

Subject one, male, black, 6 foot tall, good-looking with short corn-row dreads and an eye for the ladies. Big ice fake diamonds in both ears and two phones. A black razr and a black pebl. The razr in the left and the pebl in the right. Waist length black prada jacket. Probably fake but it looked good anyway. Well cut baggy diesel jeans, the good ones, vintage. Black yamamoto Y3's on his feet. I liked the guy already. I liked a man who knows his trainers and liked his garms. I thought about whether the ice would suit me but I quickly disregarded the idea for fear of the incessant amount of piss-taking I would receive.

This boy moved with style. He had a confident gait and he looked around at things and noticed stuff. He read the street. When he was in a large group of his associates, he would move to the back, almost as if he didn't want anyone to flank him. I wondered why? So I flanked him.

The crew clearly liked him. He was shown respect by most of the group and the older members were cossetted by him. He knew that they feared him though and he had a menace to his gaze.

If a nice looking woman walked by, young, middle aged or older, he would smile at them and make a comment to make them spin or smile. Some were nervous and carried on but most of them enjoyed the flattery. I thought to myself that he would have no trouble getting a girl for the night. The trouble with subject one though was that he was a crack man. Not only that but he had opened up a lucrative brothel which he was making several thousands of pounds from a month.

The girls looked so young. There were some of the old-skool brasses also working there but most of them looked really young. Some looked proper rough. Some looked like they had just come from modeling assignments. But the underlying thread was one thing. All of them were on crack. The intel indicated that some of these girls had been lured to the brothel with the promise of cleaning jobs and had been given spliffs laced with stones of crack. Bingo. Hooked within days and then 'you ain't going anywhere got a drug debt to pay off'. You can start by massaging this bloke at ten this morning. Ten o'clock massage man then says, I will give you £25 for a hand job. Girl needs money. You do the math.

Subject one was in the queue. Smoky betting shop. Dark tables with rough red leather stools,the yellow foam filler sticking out of the sides, where cash-frantic punters had dug their nails in just that bit too hard. There were two of us with him, keeping him under close control. General was behind him in the queue, wondering if I would look out of place if I put a pound bet on or asked if there was anything to eat. The ugly sweaty fat guy behind the counter had a cigarette in one hand and had just put down a huge doorstep sandwich onto a paper napkin next to his overflowing ashtray. I thought that the sandwich looked like a full Monty because I could see a plum tomato hanging out of where he had bitten through it. I wanted one of those. I never got the time. The cigarette smoke in this place was so thick, it was beginning to sting my eyes. Subject one took a call on the pebl.

General was so close, I could hear the other man talking. Irish accent.Two p.m. Two loads(?) and he would be coming to the place too. Subject one seemed happy. He looked at his watch and put a bet on a dog which was about to run from its cage there and then. I asked sweaty man where I could get one of those butties. Next door. Didn't you smell the bacon? I am the bacon I thought. He he.

Subject one didn't know I was there. I just blended in and out of his day like any other person and he never ever knew.That's the thing with these villains, they think they are so clever but sometimes, most of the time, they act so dumb. And you would not believe the amount of criminals who will talk to me, give me a little, give me a lot, but nevertheless they talk to me. There is no honour among thieves. At least not the ones I deal with.

I got home that day after having no food and a 13-hour shift. I walked in the door and Mrs General says "you stink of fags, you been smoking?...oh and can you make the tea, I'm tired."

The fish and chips were lovely.

Saturday, August 26, 2006


Thats general, hitting his head against a brick wall.

The kid folded his arms, closed his eyes and stretched out his legs. He lifted the sides of his mouth in a smirk and looked at me with utter contempt.

"...anything you do say may be given in evidence...I'm going to check that you understand the caution by explaining it in simple terms.."
"you are fuckin boring me..I know the fuckin caution now just get on with it.."
"Ok. You were arrested in an alleyway near to a school, after police officers heard you arranging a drug deal on your mobile phone and then those same police officers followed you to this alleyway, saw you hand a package to the two other people waiting there and then receive bank notes in exchange and then when you were arrested, you were searched and found to be in possession of 10 deal bags of skunk and a package with about 500 ecstasy tablets inside, which was hidden in a pouch down your trousers. You had a dealers list in your pocket and £780 pounds in bank notes. This is due to the fact that you are a drug dealer. Please take this interview as an opportunity to give an explanation. Are you a drug dealer?..."
"No comment..." etc etc.

The smirking 26 year old casually unfolded his arms as we were sealing up the tapes and leant forward in his chair. "the problem with you boys is that you deal with the third division players. You will never get me because I'm premier league mate"
"hmmm. How is that then? Because when I went to your moms house to search it this morning, all I saw of your premier league was the smallest bedroom in the world at your moms house which you haven't left yet aged 26, a mattress in the corner with the entire contents of your wardrobe strewn around your bedroom floor which has never ever been washed. I found a foul smelling wet dog lying under a bloodstained towel thing which I assumed was your excuse for a quilt cover. Next to a carton of milk which had actually turned blue it had been there so long, I saw a love note from a bird called Leanne which said "please dont do any coke tonight because you can't get a hard on.." Yeah, really premier league mate, you fuckin knob"

Clicking his heels as he was bailed off, drug dealer boy smiled and winked at me as he walked out of the station front door. I flicked him a finger and said "say hello to your mom for me".

Thursday. 8am. Tea in my hand. Whistling as I walked down the cell corridoor.

Ha ha. The familiar black non-permanent marker on the custody whiteboard never ceases to bring a smile to my face. Drug dealer boy was in and had been since midnight the night before. I moved to the 'arrested for' section. Attempt theft of motor vehicle, assault police and resist arrest. Nice. I would be meeting premier league twat again for the second time in a week.

"sarge, the lad in cell 2, what's the circs of the arrest? I'll be dealing with him no doubt..."
"general. That kid is a prize plum. He got CS'd and face planted a couple of times whilst scrapping with the arresting bobbies..."
"shit. Who was it? are they hurt?"
"One was big Phil the farmer and the other was one of the girls on his shift, a girl who has transferred from another force called Kate. She's had a kick in the face, just bruising though, no cuts or scars, lucky for her. I think Phil the farmer made him see the error of his ways and then finished him off with some CS"
"cool. What about the theft of the car?"
"3 witnesses, all of whom pointed him out to the cops as they arrived at the scene as he was walking away. They saw him resist and assault Kate as well and have given statements."
"wicked. Call his brief please sarge and tell them to get on their way?"
"no problem general..."

I had him brought to me in one of the interview rooms after his consultation with his brief. He was wearing a fetching orange boiler suit and a black sock on one foot which smelled rank and a grey sock with a large hole in the toes. I could see black coloured grime around his big toe and the one next to it which made me instantly wish I hadn't looked. I couldn't resist it.

"nice boiler suit Guantanamo boy. Premier league fashion?"
"fuck you general I'm not even speaking to you. Get someone else in here, I ain't talking to you"
" I might as well tell you that my client will not be answering any of your questions during the interview, officer." said the defence solicitor.
"fine by me"

Tango suit boy was not a happy bunny. He still smelled of CS and I had to concentrate on stopping tears from falling from my eyes as the vapour filled the interview room. I had the familiar tingling in the back of my nose as it began to run. The knuckles on the back of his hands had large sore looking grazes and he had a four inch by one inch deep scabbed graze down his right cheek from his eybrow to his chin. He stunk of last nights intoxicants and vomit. He had a hangover and a headache. I, on the other hand, felt as fresh as a daisy. I had had an early night with the promise of some bedroom action from Mrs General, a great nights sleep, a cup of tea in bed in the morning and a nice hot shower. I had my favourite jeans on and my jumper smelled of persil and comfort. I was on top already.

"...Anything you do say may be given in evidence...I'm going to check that you understand the caution by explaining it in more simple terms"
"Look, I know the caution and what it means you fuckin wanker. Stop talking to me like I'm an idiot"
"OK. You were arrested last night after witnesses described seeing you smash the window of a VW golf parked on New rd, and picking up handfuls of CD's from within. You have glass all over your upper and lower body clothing a cut on your right hand and fresh drops of blood have been found inside the Golf. You were observed being stopped twenty feet away from the car by officers. 7 witnesses including four police officers have described you throwing several CD's onto the floor which have been identified by the owner of the golf as stolen. Were you responsible for the theft from this car?"
"no comment" etc. etc.

He did answer one question.
"why did you say to PC Phil the Farmer that you hoped his mother would die of cancer and as noted on your custody record, state that you would find out where he lived and have him shot dead?"
"because he's a wanker."
"you obviously now wish to comment, please tell me exactly what happened when you kicked this 19 year-old female police officer in the face?"
"no comment" etc. etc.

I would dearly love him to go all the way to crown court with this offence on a not guilty plea, just so that I can play the part of me, asking some great questions, when I read the interview transcripts to the judge and jury. The only trouble is, the entire system is weighted in favour of this pond life. Read some of the comments on this blog on the post entitled "the wolf who cried boy" and you will understand.

After being picked out on I.D parades by all witnesses, he was charged and I applied to the magistrates for a remand in custody. Guess what? Yep you guessed it.... UNCONDITIONAL BAIL!!!!

I give up.

Saturday, August 05, 2006


The dogs day came...

Thursday this week when I came to work, I made myself a cup of tea, booked on and walked down the block to see if I had anyone in custody to deal with. I mainly deal with prisoners for burglary, vehicle crime and possession and supply of class A drugs.

Imagine my surprise, when after greeting the on-duty custody skipper, I looked on the whiteboard to see a name which made me look harder and smile. It was none other than shorty.

"General, you dealing with shorty?"
"Whats he in for Sarge?"
"Shoplifting times two, possession of heroin...oh and the other CID want him for a street robbery"
"How much smack did he have on him skip?"
"Two bags. One rolled around his knob under his foreskin and a bigger bag up his chuff"
"mmm nice...Erm and how long is it since shorty bathed sarge? ha ha. I'm glad I wasn't the one looking up his hoop for a change.."
"I know...the lad who nicked him was a tutor so he got the proby to do it, poor kid... Still, now he knows the score doesn't he general? he he he"
"yes Sarge, he does now."
"Thats him kicking and banging the cell, he's been doing it all night apparently... the other prisoners want to kick the shit out of him...they've had no sleep"
"Let them then Sarge, its all on camera so we could even get some detections for violent crime in the process...the D.I. would be happy..."

The CID in the suits dealt with him because he was a suspect for a street robbery where he pulled a knife out on a 14 year-old lad and stole his phone. He was kept in custody and they applied for a remand because he was on bail for other things and the lad picked him out on an I.D. video parade. Good lad, well done. My mate who shall be known as SHREK on account of his scary looking Fizog, dealt with him.

SHREK is a grizzly, crag -faced ugly mutha who scares children when they look at him. He was a coal-miner before he was a copper and he has hands that are so big, he could fit one nicely round my neck, which he has, on occasion, taken pleasure in doing. He came into my office and I made him a brew. He told me that in all the 23 years he had been on CID, he had not met such a vile creature as shorty. He said that shorty growled at him when they first met in the cell corridoor when SHREK introduced himself to try and get the rapport going.

"General..he fuckin growled at me! The kids only two foot tall. The little fraggle."
"..he's a two foot fraggle who carries a blade, high on crack n smack though SHREK...he's the worst kind"
"He gave a completely silent interview. Even his brief thinks he's a knob."
"hmmm. He hates us SHREK. He called me some names in front of my missus and kid last weekend and scared my 7-year old shitless, staring at her."
"You fuckin what?" Said SHREK. His piercing blue eyes stared at me from under his dark, furrowed brow. He didn't blink, never looked away. "say that to me again?"
"Honestly...I was annoyed for days afterwards but days like today make it all right again you know? He was provoking me and who knows? he may have had the knife on him that time and you could be putting your best black tie on today and throwing dirt on my coffin, pretending to sing in church and that..."
"I wouldn't come to your wake anyway, none of your crew can drink. They're too busy putting wax on their hair and buying trainers...."
"I'd have given the kid to me wife and banjoed the fraggle there and then, simple as."
"yeah, then got arrested for assault, suspended, convicted and have some big Yardie boys introducing themselves to you on reception..."
"They don't like miners"

Later on Friday (Yesterday) I was down the same block, dealing with another matter when the escort services people came to pick up shorty. He had had the doctor out who had given him 2 DHC's (dihydrocodeine) for his turkey and he was rattling. I saw him through a large glass window which separated us. He stared at me again. He would not look away. He didn't blink when the boys were putting the handcuffs on him to take him away. He smirked at me. A black toothed, dirty smirk like he knew something about me. I looked back at him. I walked towards the block and opened the door, he was staring at me, waiting to say something.

"shorty, you want a drink before you go? water or something?..." I thought I'd give the respect thing one last try.
"Fuck you. Stick it up your arse"

I walked away, that's what will be happening to you when you get to Winson Green if you don't learn to zip it...

As he walked out of the door, he turned round and made a cut-throat gesture towards me.

SHREK called me today to say that shorty had been remanded. He said "next time that 'appens, you should talk to me General..."
"no need mate" said I.
"I have friends from all over the world giving me advice now..."
"Eh?" said SHREK.

Thanks for the advice you lot. keep it coming.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006


Every dog has it's Day

The other day, I was walking in town with my 7 year-old daughter and my girlfriend. I was holding their hands, my little one was eating an ice-cream and my girl was telling me something about something. The sun was shining, I had my shorts on, I had some money in my pocket, I was content. I had my sunglasses on, luckily.

I saw him and his mate before they saw me. Sunglasses are good for that. It was hot and everyone else was wearing thin clothes in pastel or bright colours. These two weren't. I spotted them a mile away, instantly recognising that short, rat-like scuffle they all seem to have. The tall one was wearing a dark tracksuit, stock Adidas, baseball cap down low, unshaven, pale, skinny but mean looking. I knew him, he knew me. We had spent some time together a few months ago when I knocked him off for some satnav thefts from cars. I did him a good turn back then, wrote the file up in his favour and he had a page of tic's as well. I showed him some respect, like I do with all of the criminals I come into contact with and he responded positively to that, like nearly all of them do.

The smaller one was in fake Lacoste. Fat crocodile on his chest and his clothes looked raunchy like they hadn't seen the Persil for a year or so. He had a black cap on, pulled low to the brow, moody Nike shox, bent over on the sides from the wear and tear to the dealers' house and back. His eyes were hooded, black and lifeless like he had no soul. He had a tattoo on his neck peeping over the top of his 200 degree shellsuit top. I knew this one too. This one was one of only three criminals in the last twelve years I have met, who didn't respond positively to being shown some respect. This boy was a dual-user. A smack-head who loved the crack but could never have enough money to pay for it so spent most of his day being angry and paranoid.

I looked away towards a shop, keeping them in my peripheral vision, looking out the left corner of my eye, through the darkness of my shades. My girl knows the score. She isn't in the old bill but she knows the score.
"clocked it?" she says, looking in the same shop as me.
" yeah man, I clocked it...just look away"
"he's seen you...the tall one...he's telling the other one you're old bill."
I look directly at them, but by looking at their reflection in the shop window I'm staring into. They are looking back at me, waiting for me to spin, looking for trouble, provoking a reaction. They see me as weak and vulnerable because I am with my family who I love. Make no mistake about it, they are so fuckin wrong about that.

Okay. Drama over. I didn't spin and they walk away, casually looking back at me, unsure as to whether I actually saw them or not. This didn't give me any satisfaction because I wanted to take my shades off and stare that short fucker dead square in the eye until he looked away or started something. So what do I do? Smile at my kid and give her a kiss. Give my girl a knowing look and a wry smile and continue on our mission, to buy a present for a new addition to our extended family.

Bottom of town half an hour later. Full face-on round a corner. The tall one looking me straight in the eye. "alright Ant?" I say, as we walk by each other. He forgets the respect I once showed him and the respect I continue to show him by remembering his name and greeting him in the street like that, by ignoring me. Just stares at me like I'm a piece of shit because he's with his little fuckin mate. I walk on, looking over my shoulder, fixing big lad with a stare that none of us want to break. "fucking pig" says the shorter one. Loud enough for my little girl to turn round and look.
"daddy did that man say a naughty word at you?..."
"come on kid..turn around...he wasn't swearing at daddy, he's just a baddie who isn't as clever as you...and you're only seven"
"really?" she says.

Shades are back on. I'm waiting outside a shop with no air-con. Again I clock them before they do me. To the right this time. I am standing still leaning against a post, arms round my little girls shoulders. They have to walk past me this time. I try and look straight but I can feel my daughter looking at them, her hand grips my hand tighter and her chest goes tense and hard. I turn my face in their direction, 8 feet away, target acquisition time. The short one is scowling at my daughter, not blinking, aggressive, menacing eyes trained on my 7 year-old. He sees me look at him and looks up at me as he gets to within a foot of my front. I can feel the adrenaline begin to fill my body. I get that invincible power which shuts off the peripheral vision. I feel anger. Yeah, just do it, go on, just make one quick movement and I will snap you in half.

"You fuckin pussy" says shorty as he walks by. His head conveniently turned slightly away looking to Ant on his right, just in case anyone else heard him, so he can deny it on interview. He then makes a fist and starts smacking it into his other hand in large motor movements, bold as brass, like a bad actor. I can't quite hear what it is he is saying, but it is loud and obscene because the nice folk walking around him look at him in disgust and fear. They don't know it is intended for me.

My little girl looks up at me with huge blue eyes. She is looking for reassurance. I smile at her, pick her up and squeeze her tight. She knows her dad is invincible. My better half walks out of the shop. "some bloody backup you are...." I say. "Eh?" is the reply.

When I see that Ant again, I know he will apologise for this. I know that he regrets it because I saw it in his eyes that day. I won't forgive him though because he betrayed me as a man. He had his chance and broke his unspoken bloke-promise. Fool.

I had to try extremely hard first thing yesterday morning not to go and pay shorty a visit. I had it in my mind that I wanted to talk to him about what was and was not acceptable behaviour between cops and robbers off duty. I wanted to walk up to his shitty fuckin flat, alone, and knock his door, in his own back yard and tell him how it is. I found myself thinking, deep in the Sunday night into the early hours of Monday going over and over what I was going to do. If the kid said one wrong word, I was going to fuckin bang him out there and then and it would be worth it because I WOULD NOT LOSE FACE and be BULLIED.

In the end, I came to work and had 4 in the traps waiting for me to deal with so that was my masterplan up the Swanee. Whats that I hear? Fate? Nah...luck, on his part...thats what it was.

Revenge, they say, is a dish best served cold. I' think I'm having it now though because this idiot has nothing. He lives in a rat-infested flat with nothing but some dirty clothes and some dirty needles for company. He scrats around the detritis of life just looking for his next bag of smack. When he's not doing that, he's thieving. Every dog has it's day.

I, on the other hand, am the king of the world.

I want to know what you would have done?

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