Ah, The Memories...

Got my 30 year high school invitation today, the same day I got a stabbing case.



It seems that 30 year reunion is going to take place at the same place as where the stabbing happened:

It seems that my old Alma mater picked the town's biker bar to get together in. I should not be too surprised, it was a rough school. 30 years ago I spent a lot of time in the photography class. All of us camera nerds kept safe by convincing the rough kids that we all had hydrochloric acid from the film studio; it was believable because we all did have a chemical smell on us from the dark room, although the worse we could really do to someone was maybe to inflict a nasty photo paper cut. It was a scary place 30 years ago.

30 years later. The captain comes by my desk and tosses a report on my desk. Seems that "Spooky" (gang name) had been sleeping with "Jokers" baby-mama while Joker was in the County lock up; and, it seems that all these cartoon-character wannabees hang out at the one place the reunion committee thought would most reflect the A.C. Davis class of '79. So, Spooky sees Joker and his buddies (probably Grumpy, Doc and Sneezy) at the dart boards, then walks up and sucker punches Joker. Now Joker has had his pride hurt (pretty tough when you are named after the playing card no one wants), so Joker pulls out his pocket knife and runs after Spooky. He catches up to him and stabs him three times in the back, then runs out of the bar before anyone can see him.

As he flees, he decides to further enhance the covert nature of his escape, so he cleverly tosses off his shirt, evidently wanting to change his appearance. The only problem for Joker is that on his back, tattooed in 4 inch-high letters, is his real name. I am sometimes offended at how easy some of these guys make it.

I think Joker would have really been a great Davis student. He would have probably believed I had acid and left me alone.

Observation skills are tanking...

Went to the airport yesterday to pick up a couple of Homicide Detectives from LAPD. They are here to (sorry, can't talk about it now... maybe later). I only knew their names, something that sounded Latin, and something that sounded Irish... So I was at the airport, staring at the exit gate looking for a Hispanic guy and a White guy that had a 'Cop" look. The "Cop" look is pretty universal, I was in Eastern Turkey and could recognised undercover cops; so I was pretty confidant about my abilities.

First out of the gate were two guys that fit the bill exactly. Cheap Sears suits, military haircuts, a body shape that comes from lifting weights and eating donuts, and a smug sort of "I'm still cooler than people who make lots more money" look. I focused on them, trying to see if I could spot a gun bulge (I knew they were traveling armed). I started moving in behind one of them, twisting and turning, trying to find and eliminate possible pistol locations: belt, armpit, ankle... The guy turned and caught me checking him out just when my cell phone rang. I answered it and just then noticed a couple of short guys 40 feet away, one of them on the phone and waving at me. It was then I noted the subtle clue I had missed that may have tipped me off that they were the guys I was looking for:

Both of them had jackets with "LOS ANGLES POLICE HOMICIDE UNIT" blazoned on their chests. I introduced myself to them and led them out of the airport before the guy in the cheap suit could ask me for a date.

I gotta work on my skills...

Shot Three Times

Got called out to a dead guy today. Everything appeared to the responding officers to be a suicide, western single-action revolver still in stiff's hand, entry wound to the chin, locked up house, nothing disturbed or missing; all pretty straight forward. That was until (tension building music: dum dum DUM) the Sargent noticed that there were THREE exit wounds around this guy's head. I get there and Sarge points this out to me, sure enough... three exit holes, and three holes in the ceiling and wall. Now I was never good at mathematics in school, but it seemed that was a bit more than one suicidal shot could produce.

Just before I pulled the "Calling All Detectives" bell, I looked at the injuries again reeeel close.....

Suicide it was.

When a 45 Colt revolver (a BIG round) slug travels upward through the jaw, and you happen to have some complex dental work, the slug can turn some of that dental work into projectiles, causing then to accelerate to about the same speed as the slug.

I dug into the sheetrock, found a bullet and two gold teeth.

I No Wanna Hear Complaints

Just got back from a fun time of laying in the snow for about 4 hours during some training we had. It involved my partner and I walking about 2 miles through the snow (we were very close to Mt. Rainer, WA) and setting up a sniper position about 100 yards from a cabin. Inside the cabin were other cops, sitting by the fire, drinking hot cocoa and trying to spot our position. We then, after observing the location for about 2 hours, call into our command post and direct the entry element of the SWAT team to the best location to do a dynamic entry.

After the scenario was over (again, my partner and I were out for 4 hours, 1 stalking up and 3 in the snow), we all had a cup of hot cocoa in our hands and I overheard a couple of the 20'ish (age) entry guys complaining. They lamented about how horrible the training was 'cause their toes all got cold while standing around outside the cabin for about 70 minutes.

I then pointed out that I (age late 40's) had been in the snow more than twice as long, and I thought it was great training. Many (not all) of the youngsters looked at me like I was some sort of Neanderthal throw back- as if I was somehow not "sophisticated" enough to appreciate that I should be whining about the cold.

I got online today and ordered a hat which reads, "EMBRACE THE SUCK." Next time I will just put that on and smile at them. Stupid kids probably won't even get that I'm making fun of them... whats an old guy to do?

Me in the snow... I did have time to take this with my new Blackberry (proof that I'm hip, or just an OLD nerd... don't know which).