Uh-Oh

They're Here.

Sharp

Eat, Drink, Be Merry, For Tomorrow We Dye!

Guess what? Long, hot pink tresses attracts attention. Especially in the ‘hood where JADE is located. Since choosing the shade, I have yet to make it past a Black girl without hearing I luuuuuhhvv yo’ hair color. It’s pretty obvious I’m conspicuous enough that even the Task Force Officers would notice me. I’ve not been around them -- content to stick with updating I HeArTE JADE -- but after the newly-smug-filled Special Agent Trent informed me he’d be getting an arrest warrant for me I’m figuring what the hell; in for a penny, in for a pound.

I’ve tried calling Mr. Trent to make other, agreeable, arrangements, for everyone involved, but he doesn’t answer his desk phone. Got a sweetie to give up Trent’s pager number and his cell number. Nada contact with the Special Agent. WTF? No, I mean, seriously WTF? As in SERIOUSLY WTF? Vindictiveness is so unbecoming on Law Enforcement.

What is becoming, however, is Mr. Trent’s fellow VA State Policeman Rasmussen. The man is like Fierce with a capital YUM! He even looks tough pumpin’ gas.



I fully believe they grow these BCI guys at the top of a beanstalk.

Oh, and -- on the subject of sex appeal -- just when I think Dasani can’t possibly radiate any more Testosterone, I see him roar by on his motorcycle. In jeans. And boots. With sunglasses.



Ooo La La.

Blonde. Blonde would be a good hue for me, yes?

Dude, Where’s My Car?

July 2009

After a short low-speed car chase and foot pursuit in the Belmont area, two local residents were arrested by the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement task force as part of an undercover sting.

Authorities arrested Jeffery M. Terry and Marchella J. Alexander at about 9 p.m. Thursday, according to a news release.

Lt. Don Campbell of JADE said about seven undercover officers were performing surveillance when they tried to pull over a car. The driver, however, did not pull over and continued into a dead-end street where the passenger got out and fled on foot, Campbell said.

“When [the car] stopped the passenger hopped out with a gun and cocaine and ran,” Campbell said.

After a short pursuit, Terry was arrested and detectives seized approximately 45 grams of crack and a loaded 9 mm pistol, according to the release.

Terry, of Charlottesville, was charged with distribution of cocaine, possession of a firearm by a felon, possession of a firearm while possessing cocaine and possession of cocaine with intent to distribute.

Alexander, of Albemarle, was charged with distribution of cocaine.

Both were being held without bond and further charges were pending.

More.

It’s Going To Give “Sex, Drugs, And Rock & Roll” A Whole New Meaning

Special Agent Jason Trent asserts, because of this entry about Dasani, I am in violation of this Virginia Code:

§ 18.2-186.4. Use of a person’s identity with the intent to coerce, intimidate, or harass; penalty.
It shall be unlawful for any person, with the intent to coerce, intimidate, or harass another person, to publish the person’s name or photograph along with identifying information as defined in clauses (iii) through (ix), or clause (xii) of subsection C of § 18.2-186.3, including identification of the person’s primary residence address. Any person who violates this section is guilty of a Class 1 misdemeanor.
Any person who violates this section knowing or having reason to know that person is a law-enforcement officer, as defined in § 9.1-101, is guilty of a Class 6 felony. The sentence shall include a mandatory minimum term of confinement of six months.

The above is intriguing in that it seems to support what I’ve repeatedly stated: publishing pictures and other identifying information of Law Enforcement is not a crime. What is illegal -- and I knew this already -- is harassment, which is the angle the aforesaid code plays. Really what it boils down to is motivation.

I deny my intent was to harass Dasani. I’m not trying to harass any of the officers. I HeArTE JADE is, and has been, a means to exhibit some of the things I’ve experienced because of my curiosity about, and interest in, the JADE Task Force.

I suppose though, when it comes to my actual motives and what I say vs what a group of Law Enforcement claim my motives are and what they feel, the latter people are all that matter.

With that in mind, I expect what will come out in court, in my defense, will still be scandalous for Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement.

You Know He’s Ticked When He Doesn’t Call You Ma’am

For weeks I’ve been mildly musing about a letter Special Agent Jason Trent gave me that’s purportedly from the JADE Task Force Command Group. Actually, it isn’t the letter itself that’s on my mind but rather the people who comprise the group -- people who enigmatically didn’t sign or otherwise provide their names on said letter. I’ve found it incessantly puzzling why the missive merely closes like this:

JADE Task Force Command Group
Virginia State Police Bureau of Criminal Investigation Captain
University of Virginia Police Chief
Albemarle County Police Chief
Charlottesville City Police Chief

I knew beforehand that Chief John F. Miller is with Albemarle County and Timothy J. Longo is the Police Chief of Charlottesville, and I recently learned the Chief of Police for the University of Virginia is Michael A. Gibson.


The only person I wasn’t sure about was the VSP BCI Captain. I gave that a quick look-up. Sheesh. There are seven possibilities.

I reasoned the best thing to do was ask someone who could tell me. Today I phoned Jason Trent. Holy crab, that man has gone pure hostile! Aside from straightaway flooring me with uncalled-for brusqueness he refused to give me the name of the Captain, choosing instead to sneer “you can use your Internet savvy to find that out.”

Excuze-ay-moi? You. Have got. To be. Freaking. Kidding. Me.

All right, jackhole. I will find out.

Which means I now must go nosing into the working lives of seven Law Enforcement men I primarily had not a splinter of interest in.

I’ve already established there’s just no way to ascertain from the Internet what Captain from the seven is the one connected to the JADE Task Force. I guess I’ll have to incur other savvies to figure it out.

Seven. It’s too bad I don’t have the smarts to detect the obvious guy and start with him.

Rather than giving me a simple answer that would’ve been relegated to periodic echoes deep within the caverns of my brain exclusively, Mr. Trent’s thrown me a (potentially huge) project -- one I can share on I HeArTE JADE.

Way to go not giving me site fodder, sir.

Behind The Badge

Sometimes Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force members will don their swaggin’ black jackets, call for special weapons and drug dogs, and make use of the Virginia State Police.

That guy, right there, the passenger? Has a firearm the size of me.

And the wheels keep rolling.

I’m thinkin’ one of these times we should all just ride together.

What a difference the sunshine makes!

This is where the pictures end for you. I took stacks more but -- you know the drill -- to pro-tect. My. Self. Aaaaaand others… Blah, blah. Blah.

Paul Best For Sheriff

Check this out.

If you enter paul best for sheriff in a Google search, his site www.paulbestforsheriff.com doesn’t even make the list. At all. In the about 1,100,000 results. Nowhere in there. No sir.

See whose site is ranking though with paul best for sheriff, and right near the tippy-top? Yup. Mine. This one. I HeArTE JADE.

Heh.

To be fair, if you quoterize -- “paul best for sheriff” -- www.paulbestforsheriff.com does show up.

Right smack underneath iheartejade.blogspot.com

Aw yeah.

(Google placement subject to frequent change.)

Paul Best For Sheriff

“My name is Paul Best and I am a Detective with the Charlottesville Police Department assigned to the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force.”

Detective Best’s campaign announcement speech can be read in its entirety on www.paulbestforsheriff.com

Bygone News

February 2008

U.S. Attorney John L. Brownlee announced Wednesday that Reynold George Samuels, Jr., age 39, of Charlottesville and Waynesboro, Virginia, and seven other defendants were indicted by a federal Grand Jury sitting in Charlottesville, Virginia. The identities of the remaining defendants is sealed pending their arrests and appearances before a federal judge.

All of the accused were indicted on charges related to an alleged continuing criminal enterprise, headed by Samuels that distributed illegal drugs and pirated DVDs throughout the Western District of Virginia.

Members of the group were also indicted for illegally possessing firearms and for specific distributions of controlled substances over the past five years.

The accused were charged in a 14-count indictment. All of the charges arose from a cooperative investigation involving the JADE Task Force, the Drug Enforcement Administration, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms, and the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

More.

Ffffffzt!

Thanks, Special Agent, For The Suggestion

VA State BCI-man Trent nonchalantly (yeah, right) brought up my duct-tape-headlights trick, upon which I told him I now use magnetic strips. They’re easier to get on and off, move around, et cetera. He responded it’s illegal to do that. Forgive me if I doubt he was being honest. However having been alerted to the possibility that I might be breaking the law, in addition to possibly being ticketed for it, I’ve given it a fair amount of consideration. Specifically, what I could do instead.

It occurs to me that aftermarket vehicle modification is not uncommon. One can buy light shields from any ol’ place like AutoZone, order fanciers off the Internet, or custom-make them yourself. Of course that still doesn’t mean it’s officially permissible.

I also recall an odd teevee series from way back called Stingray. There isn’t much I remember from the show, except I do recollect a part where the main character was tailing whatever malefic villain and every time they turned a corner he pushed a button and his front lamps morphed into a unique style; they popped up, they sunk in, they rounded, they dimmed. Nifty indeed, but too extreme for my needs. Maybe not the dimming stuff, though. That would be what, a matter of wiring?

I’ve thought about Law Enforcement tactics, because we all know officers wouldn’t violate laws to enforce laws. This article on FBI surveillance provides an idea of the electrical manipulation direction my mind is going in. Mix in a memory of a Stella Marrs postcard -- I can bake a cake to die for -- and I’m believing doin’ a little headlights work is within the realm of my capabilities.

Therefore I’m reading anything and everything that might help me do this and I’m familiarizing myself with the relevant parts under the hood (the thing I left ajar, I know). I’m studying VA motor vehicles codes as well, on account it’s appealing but mainly to see if Mr. Trent was telling me the truth for once.

If nothing else, the filing cabinet that’s inside my skull will have so much new information. How bad can that be?

Let The Drummer Kick

From the map came a location.

From the location came a man.

From the media came a name.

From the name came a picture:



From the picture came a match?

Kind of looked like the same Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force Officer anyway. Hard to tell, horizontally. I thought up a way to be sure.

I started with a property search in the City of Charlottesville but found no records. On the County of Albemarle site I queried “Hatter, J” and got one result: HATTER, JOSEPH L 1264 FOX CREST WAY CHARLOTTESVILLE, VA 22902. Also as anyone can see, it even has this picture of the residence:



Some time later in a boredom-stirred early morning drive-by staring, I saw and recognized the silver Monte Carlo parked outside the house at that address.

And that’s how I learned the man I’d nicknamed Dasani was Charlottesville Police JADE Sgt. Joe Hatter.

Erst News

2007

Drug arrest on West Main
More charges possible in crack sting

Larry Jermaine Jones, a 24-year-old Palmyra man, was arrested and charged with possession of cocaine and intent to distribute. In an “undercover operation,” Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force (JADE) (www.charlottesville.org) officers and Fluvanna police found 10 grams of crack cocaine valued at about $2,000 at the 900 block of W. Main Street in a residential/commercial space. Though a press release says more people may be involved, City spokesman Barrick says the bust was not that large.

JADE Sergeant Joe Hatter could not be reached for comment.

Source.

Renovation

I’ve added some new curtains,

You may have noticed, or maybe you didn’t notice, the disclaimer of sorts at the top of I HeArTE JADE. I figure I’ll leave it up there in the heavens for a few days -- long enough for people to go “Uh-Oh. What is she up to now?” -- then drop it down to hell where it’ll largely be ignored by everyone thereafter.

moved some furniture around,

Those familiar with my self-amusing antics know I like obscure rearrangement but this time I went with a transparent motif. Latest site changes are in booooooorrrring obvious places.

have a couple of art pieces to hang on the wall on their way,

I’m betting VA State Police Special Agent Jason Trent now has this bookmarked on his O-Fish-Ullll BCI computer and doesn’t look at much, if anything, else here. Any takers? (Ya know the only reason I mess with him is ‘cause he keeps steppin’ in my s… pace.)

and torched the beehive with gasoline.

If The Subsequent Information Is Incorrect, Fault His Respective Department

• Herb’s badge number is CP6.
• Dasani’s badge number is CP15.
• Spot’s badge number is CP302.
• Truck’s badge number is CP305.
• Longhead’s badge number is CP309.
• Mouse’s badge number is AP228.
• Skoal’s badge number is AP601.
• Porn Star’s badge number is AP604.
• Rasmussen’s badge number is VSP4098.
• Pringle’s badge number is UP153.
• iHeArTEjade doesn’t know (yet) if ATF agents even have badge numbers, which is why SeeSee is missing from this list.

Jon Deere

Cat’s Cradle

Setting the Table

2009 Source.

29. I’d like to know how the “level” -- low, middle, upper -- of drug dealers is determined. What exactly is the criteria? Is there an across-the-board scale law enforcement follows; is it gut feeling; does it vary depending on agencies, cities, et cetera?

30. How is Table 18 indicative of JADE’s effectiveness? It looks to me like it’s devoid of crucial data needed to support their proclamation. If the Task Force had 211 arrests in 2004 and they could’ve made 4002 arrests, then the program’s not as cricket as they make it sound. Or is any capture and confiscation proof they’re effective? 300 grams of cocaine seized in 2003 would be impressive if all that was left in Charlottesville and Albemarle was, say, 12. Okay, there’s really no way to tell those things. However one can see the year marijuana grabs went down, cocaine ones went up. Is that because there was less pot in their jurisdictions or because the focus of Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement shifted? Did meth beat out cocaine 3 years for the same reason(s)? There’s a lot of things the above table evidences; effectuality is not one of them.

Pieces of the Puzzled

About the VSP’s weird activity, here’s where I’m at so far:

Late night on 20090623 I made an “Experiment Without Explanation” post which contained only a photograph. If you read I HeArTE JADE regularly, you likely saw it; if you didn’t see it, you likely never will.

Because, as part of the project, and for fun, I deleted it, like, a day later.

However, should you be a Virginia State Policeman -- or anyone they like, for that matter -- you can probably have BCI Special Agent Jason Trent or maybe this man, send a copy to you.

Because it, along with this and other entries, was emailed by and to specific Law Enforcement members.

I’m still investigating the matter.

Because I’m cool like that.

VSP ESP

Something strange is going on with the Virginia State Police. Yeah, no, not like in-general; expressly with I HeArTE JADE.

Y’all know that I get a kick out of messin’ with Special Agent Jason Trent.

Well, through a source, I was led to believe that, though I remain under investigation, Mr. Trent is not the case man anymore.

So, at first, I was all: If this is true, Hooray! He can go back to pretending he’s a 14-year-old girl, and I can stop pretending to be fixated on him.

But, next, I was all: If this is true, why the change? Maybe they feel I’m fixated on him. Huh.

I had to corroborate the information -- because, sometimes, even the best grapevine can produce bad fruit, and because I’m completely incapable of not verifying things.

Only, before I got the chance to really get started on that, I got additional, other, information. This time it came with names.

It appears, uhm -- sorry to be mysterious -- it has something to do with a few of the… I’ll call them “Big Guns” of the VSP Bureau of Criminal Investigation.

I think it’s from me picking on their BCI pal. Which makes me declare, in caps: BUT, BUT, BUT I’M BEING GOOD!

I aim to sort it out to a logical conclusion.

This just gets larger, and goes on longer, and involves more and more and more and more people. Doesn’t bother me a bit.

And, to think, one man has the power to make all this go away.

Open Carry Might Not Be Safe

I edge my vehicle to one side of a street near the JADE office, shift to park, and shut the thing down. If the info I got that the Drug Enforcement men are going to be making a bust is correct -- and based on the presence of the multiple police cars I’m seeing at the Ix property, it is -- then I’ve about fifteen to twenty minutes before the Task Force comes out to perform their duties.

Checking oil and transmission fluid seems a practical way to waste the right amount of time so I tilt forward and pull a black lever next to my left knee. I’m rewarded with a plunking sound of the front cover letting loose.

As I reach for the handle to get out, the car’s sunshield above my brow vibrates. I wiggle my cell phone out of the container clipped to the visor. Uckf! I don’t want to talk to him right now. I shove the stirring object back in its holder, swipe the case down and secure it to a ribbon on my skirt. I swing open the door and step outside into the fair weather. Hey, is that…? Two people have exited together from the workplace in front of me.

I don’t know who the one male is but the dude he’s with is a Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement detective. I duck the top half of me inside the car to snatch a camera off the arm rest. The gadget powers on quickly. I plant it on the roof for steadiness and push the shutter once. Twice. A few more. The twosome, discernibly in no hurry, disappear from view. I could get some way better pictures of them if I move closer. The ideal place to relocate flashes to mind and, camera clasped in hand, I dash my way to it. Once there I speed-click about ten more photographs. They’re amazing oblivious.

Sudden motion draws my attention to the glass double-doors of the Ix building. Sinewy officers are spilling down the steps and fanning out towards their respective vehicles. I recognize some of them; some I do not. Some of their cars are marked; some not. I capture as many on camera as I can -- the men, their rides. I’m tempted to further prolong the picture-taking but it’s not a smart thing to do if I plan on successfully following them.

Dang, man! They’re loadin’ up fast. I’m racing for my wheels. At like ten feet away from my car my cell phone buzzes. Keys! Who is calling me at this very wrongest time? Door. Look back! Which direction are they going? Throw the camera in the console. I start the motor right as the last pair of policemen sweep out of sight.

Find me sixteen seconds later tagging ‘long at their rear. We navigate the local streets at a fairish rate, then hit 64. I’ve been making good use of my camera throughout but merging on the Interstate and brisk acceleration prompts me to put it away. I get comfy, prepare to give my undivided attention to the LEOs ahead. Now that I’m barreling down the road, I...

OH.

My Dear.

Lord. In Heaven.

The hood! I forgot to shut MY HOOD!

It’s noticeably quaking. Of all the stupid…

Officers Him and Him, now in the left lane, are picking up the pace. I curve my steering wheel to join them there, tip down the gas pedal as I assess the situation with my auto. Can I make it? But how far? Ehhh, I can make it. At this high-velocity the covering finally stops its agitated jerking up and down. Because the wind has taken complete control of it, straining the shield full-force. Agh! Should I keep going? What. Should I. Do? Visions of the giant metal sheet ripping off, flying into or over my car, and murdering most of the people behind me, win out. I activate my hazards, slow down and pull over with no deaths.

I check the time. Leap from the car to smash down the lid. It closes. Whew! Then springs immediately back open. Huh? I try again. It rebounds again. No! No. No. No. Noooooooo. I decide unlatching it, opening it all the way then dropping it, will do the trick. My fingers aren’t finding the hasp. Any other moment this would not be a problem. Eventually, with a reverberant bang, I get the hood closed.

Reseated inside, I look at the clock again. The number actually hasn’t changed. But, still. Those guys have made it to the ocean by now. I mindfully file this adventure under “learning experience” and move on.

Charlottesville's BEST CHOICE Just Became A Public Figure

Paul Best, a detective with the Charlottesville Police Department assigned to the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force, announced this morning his candidacy for City Sheriff.

Paul Best made the announcement Friday on Charlottesville's Downtown Mall. Best will run as an independent against Democratic nominee James Brown.

Best has 15 years experience in law enforcement and now works on the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force.

Best says he will use his experience to initiate a "gang reduction and intervention program."

Best, 39, said he decided to run for sheriff because he would like to improve the quality of life in Charlottesville and he thinks certain core services of the Sheriff’s Office can be expanded.

sEE wHAT aLL tRANSPIRED

“You see that man, over there, wearing the camouflage pants?” the gesturing little girl asked me. “That’s my dad” she bragged.

“That one?” I responded, pointing my finger like her. “In the green shirt?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, but then, as though to make absolutely sure I’d gotten the right one, she repeated me. “In the green shirt?”

“Yes. Green shirt. I see him.”

“Mmhm. With sunglasses?”

“Sunglasses, yes.”

“Yep. That’s him.”

I was trying to keep a straight face -- as were the four people lounging on the bleacher around us -- while I teased the unknown chatterbox who’d attached herself to me. The area we all were looking at was packed with about a hundred males, nearly every one of them decked out in camouflage pants, a green shirt, and shades.

Because it’s precisely the sort of thing I ♥, I went to the 9th annual SWAT competition in Harrisonburg this past weekend.

I got to see representatives from eleven departments, divided into fifteen respective teams, do things like breach doors, maneuver an obstacle course, climb a wall, and shoot.

Firearms-type challenges are always my favorite. So much so, that, on this occasion, the first day I climbed up a scaffold that was on the immediate edge of the range to watch the bullets fly. No better place to be than above participants, right? Too bad the object had been relocated for police use by day two.

Many of the officers could no doubt take out a mouse on an elephant’s tail from fifty yards away, though there were a couple of them that probably couldn’t hit even the elephant. I can’t remember which team it was, but as a sniper climbed down from turf on the roof after obliterating his own targets he good-naturedly said to his teammate below “what -- were you shootin’ blanks?”

I spoke to numerous Law Enforcement, raced a Sergeant on these monkey bars (he beat me by like two seconds!), plus got a new shirt, screensaver, and suntan. Also, I couldn’t help but notice the Charlottesville teams had their names stitched to their asses -- which I think is hilarious.

I could go on and on, and on, about all the awesomeness of the event and how nice the people were but this isn’t the site for that. In fact, the only reason I bring it up here at all is because Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement has SWAT guys and they were in attendance:



Hell-Oh. Stud. It just wouldn’t be an echt I HeArTE JADE entry if I didn’t mention I do believe the most handsome man there was, of course, Spot:

Twilit

I M Bean On Mai Bestest Beehiveyour

Dunno why that last word up there went all like uber-ugly bad Brit accent but, since it works, I’m keepin’ it. Turns out concocting distinctive titles on a regular basis is not as easy as one might expect. Now that I’m vexing degree-of-difficulty, those Bullet Lists of mine are the hardest things to do! But back to the topic: Conduct -- specifically, mine.

I gathered from my last conversation with Virginia SP BCI SA Jason Trent (G-O-O-G-L-E), as long as they’re content I’m not doing anything “new,” I’m safe from arrest. Apparently the ongoing updates to iHeArTEjade do not constitute “new.” Provided I’m posting pictures that depict last fall’s foliage or stories that describe gelid weather conditions denoting the tail is not recent, that is. And using nothing -- current or yore -- that outs Task Force informants. No bringing up their in-progress drug investigations, either. Come to think of it, there’s a heck of a lot of stipulations.

Did you just hear something? That was the sound of my eyes rolling.

Ordinarily I’d snub illegitimate dictations issued by Law Enforcement, and keep on keeping on, but I’ve a few matters of extreme interest under construction which are compelling me to not be haled in metal loops by Agent Trent any time soon. Whereas I believe it’d be tough and a half for the powers that be to get a conviction for anything I’ve done or am doing, a combat in court to prove that will have to wait.

Avoid the two Detectives, Truck and Longhead, that are being especially pissy about this I HeArTE JADE junk? Check. Take extra extra care with site entries and images? Sure. Leave the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force be? Not a chance.

I did not know in fact, that I did, in fact, know what I’d be charged with, so, now that I know that I know, now, I don’t know that I care.

If it wasn’t evident, I talked to Special Agent Jason Trent of the Virginia State Police again. Should I have only my blog labels to use to define why I called him last Thursday, I’d go with “Experiment Without Explanation.” Anyhoo, it’s out of my conversation with Mr. Trent that I’m able to serve up the undermentioned brain blend:

From an assortment of informal comments Agent Trent has made, I think it’d be killer to speak with him about his work and cases. For instance, he said something about interview techniques and classes and my psyche was thenceforth whisked into a cyclone of curiosity-filled inquiries. It bites that he’ll never willingly reply to my questions regarding his profession.

I was asked completely out of nowhere by Mr. Trent why I recently sold my car. I’m not certain if his query was supposed to be of the we’re-watching-you-lady intimidation variety but if that’s how it was meant, dare I say FAIL? I’m mountains more interested in the possible technical aspects of how he knew of the sale. They have a DMV flag on me, maybe? Because, is that even a for real thing they can do?

Speaking of can do, why do these officers appear to be of the opinion that just because I can do something it must mean I did? Actually whether I can do or not seems largely irrelevant, all it really takes is for them to feel I can. (This other brief exchange I had with Agent Trent about his telephone number is perhaps a decent, albeit minor, example of what I mean.) Don’t even get me started on their similiar nutball notion that just because I can do something it must mean I will. I find both very confusing. And annoying; I find both very annoying. Hphft!

Mr. Trent made a point to point out he admitted he’d lied to me, as if that makes his lying Ooooo Kkkkkk. Just a thought, but Logic: You’re Doing It Wrong. He also pointedly stated most people who are being investigated don’t know they are (I guess until the point of arrest?), as if that… yeah, I’ve not a clue what his point there was, but, somehow, I feel like I’ve been enlightened and, for that, I’m grateful.

Every Man Gets His Day In Court. Then Another Day. Then Another Day.

It seems to me the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement men spend a significant portion of their working lives in court.

I’m not sure how often this type of thing happens but, according to VCCI, on June 11 like half the members of the Task Force I think were in one court or another -- some of the officers appearing in one court and another.

A handful of their cases from that day were continued to various later dates after having already been carried over from previous dates.

Could probably make a dandy tongue-twister out of this stuff. Please parallel park for your perpetually pending proceedings.

Deep Pockets

Yestermonth News

Mid-May 2009

A Waynesboro man arrested during an alleged drug deal in Albemarle County was charged Tuesday for felony possession of a firearm and cocaine possession.

Martin L. Foster, 36, left his 9-year-old child alone in Waynesboro when he went to sell cocaine in Albemarle County, Waynesboro police Sgt. Kelly Walker said. The JADE Task Force busted Foster with 2 ounces of cocaine, according to a police search warrant. He then told police of 4 ounces kept at his Mulberry Street home in Waynesboro.

Police seized cocaine, firearms, cell phones, a black bat and more than $4,000 from his home at 1511 Mulberry Street.

An investigation continues into possible child neglect in Waynesboro, Walker said.

Foster remains in custody at Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail.

Source.

Entry Labels

• Airhead
• Audio
• Badges
• Best Search Engine Ever
• Bullet List
• Bust
  
• Cars
• Characters
• Charlottesville
• City of Charlottesville’s Physical Fitness Program
• Court
  
• Dasani
• Dogs
• Duct Tape
• Employees
• Experiment Without Explanation
• FBI
• fCMDF
• Firearms
• Funny
• Gadgets
• Google
• Google Project
• Harry Shaffer
• Herb
• Images and Distance Courtesy of Google Maps
• JADE
• JADE Van
• Jason Trent
• Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement
• L.L. Me
• Letter
• Letter Without Page Numbers
• Located
• Longhead
• Longo
• Media
• Meth Lab
• Method of Identification
• Michael Toney
• Miscellanea
  
• Mouse
• Names
• News
• Note
• O’Donnell
• Office Address
  
• Operational Plan
• Orthogonal
• Personnel
• Persons
• Phone Numbers
• Plates
• Police Chief
• Porn Star
• Pringle
• Random Photographs
• Rasmussen
• Reasons
• Redacted
• Secondary
• SeeSee
• Silliness
• Skoal
• Special Agent Jim Lamb
• Spot
• Tactics
• Tags
• Tailing
• Theirs Not Mine
• Truck
• TTFTC
• Uncategorized
  
• UPS
• UVA
• Vehicles
• VSP
  
• Weapons

Three For Trent

1.

What's this? I do believe it's, among other things, you giving me that particular phone number of yours. Huh. Imagine that.

2.

Main Entry: re·la·tion·ship
Function: Noun
Date: 1741

3a: a state of affairs existing between those having relations or dealings with each other. He had a good relationship with his family.

The foundation of our relationship is based, Mr. Trent, on your liesssss. Plural. So you see, it's perfectly correct -- in all senses.

3.

Doesn't it just make your day go peachy to know that you are the only person who truly is being forced to read iHeArTEjade? Oh, no, wait; it's me whose day goes peachy to know that.

JADE In Fonts And Colors

jade charlottesville
jade task force
jefferson area drug enforcement

jade charlottesville
jade task force
jefferson area drug enforcement

jade charlottesville
jade task force
jefferson area drug enforcement

jade charlottesville
jade task force
jefferson area drug enforcement

jade charlottesville
jade task force
jefferson area drug enforcement

jade charlottesville
jade task force
jefferson area drug enforcement

Immutable

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.

Club Mouse.

Mouse is such a good driver I can even follow him if I’m in front of him. The way traffic is flowing, I’m forced into that very situation right now.

A tricked-out old red Honda is separating us. Using my mirrors I pay extra careful attention to Mouse’s vehicle rolling along in the background. I know the Sergeant will give me the visual cues I need to clue me in to his upcoming moves; I just have to watch for them.

Sure ‘nuff. After miles with no change in speed, I notice the Dodge slacks off an itsy fraction and drifts nearer to the single solid line painted on the road’s right shoulder. I wait a few seconds to be convinced he’s not going to scootch back over to the center of the lane. He holds tight to his course. Eyup, he’s definitely takin’ the next exit. When the marker for the off-ramp comes into sight, I put my right signal on and peer in my rearview. 4… 3… 2… Mouse’s blinker suddenly lights up. Told ya so. I told ya so! I bop about in my seat with delight.

Sweeping past the green and white sign, I process the location. Partially up the track I’m pretty certain of the man’s destination. I look to minivanned Mouse for confirmation. His right flasher dies, his left one promptly comes to life. Yes -- two for two!

I want to stop being in the lead so I hustle underneath the traffic controller, going right. In my wake I eye what’s happening with Mouse, enough to verify he’s going where I expect, then I slowly U around in the middle of the street. I’ll give him some extra room just in case. In case of what, precisely? I have no idea.

There are no cars to prevent me from proceeding after Mouse but since I’m unprepared for a brush with the lean Drug Enforcement Officer today, I hang in one of those so-called suicide lanes for a mo to allow the fellow time to settle in. Perhaps a minute passes before I make the same turn Mouse has and wind my way up the lane to the Birdwood Country Club as he did.

Mouse’s transportation is parked at the left side in the front row. I drive by it and enter the lot from the other direction to park near the right side in a neighboring row. From here it’s easy to tell his van is unoccupied. Lessee… where’s he playing this afternoon?

Outside, it doesn’t take me long to find him even though he looks a little different. I guess because of the chilly weather he’s swapped out his baseball cap for a black pullover hat. Unrelated to the climate he’s traded his tennis shoes for golf shoes. He’s all, like, Pro ‘n stuff.

I don’t know what the temperature is but, me being 100% cold-intolerant, after placing Mouse I flee to my warm car to defrost myself. I know he comes here often but I’ve never stuck around to find out how long he actually stays. On this occasion I decide to.

I pay several bills over the phone, read “Cops” by Mark Baker cover-to-cover, and lower my window to say to a tiny, cute gal wearing a tiny, cute golfing skirt I think she’s insane to be that bare-legged at whatever iceberg degree it is. She giggles and lifts her micro to show me her short-shorts beneath. Why, there’s nothing like thermal panties to make it seem like it’s positively Summer out there.

The digits on the clock ooze from one number to the next. This is worse than watching Porn Star watching a dealer. More than two hours elapse before Mouse returns to the lot, loads up his sports accessories, and changes into his original attire.

I figured he’d be here a while, but two freakin’ hours? I mull over these recurrent excursions of Mouse’s as he drives, with me close behind, right smack back to the JADE office where we started. I swear I will never again just sit there and wait like that after tailing one of these guys. Unless…

As It So Happens

• Spot is the one I have the most pictures of.
• Porn Star is the one I like the best.
• Skoal is the one I know the most about.
• Pringle is the one I know the least about.
• Dasani is the one I’ve least followed.
• Longhead is the one I’ve most interacted with.
• Herb is the one I’ve never spoken to.
• SeeSee is the one I’ve never phoned.
• Truck is the one who seems most helpful.
• Mouse is the one who seems least intimidating.
• Rasmussen is the one I wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley.
• iHeArTEjade is the one who thinks people take all this too seriously.

Wireless

Right News (Wrong/Date)

Subtitle: Didn't I Just Mention JADE's Lack Of Media Coverage Like Two Days Ago? Subsubtitle: This Should Have Been Last Week's Story.

A Mineral man is behind bars facing drug charges.

38-year-old James Hollins III is charged with possession of cocaine with the intent to distribute.

Investigators from the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force say they seized about five ounces of cocaine during a bust on Lexington Avenue in Charlottesville Thursday (6/4) night.

The cocaine has a street value of $4800.

WCAV.

Not A Meth Lab After All -- Chemistry Major Pleads Guilty To Possession

From NBC29:

A University of Virginia student admitted Wednesday to illegally possessing amphetamine. Police, drug officers and haz-mat teams were all called to his apartment off 14th Street in Charlottesville back in March after several reports of chemical odors were reported.

20-year old Ian Diner, a second-year at the time, admitted he was guilty as part of a plea deal with the Commonwealth.

Lab reports indicate Diner was extracting amphetamine from Adderall pills, a stimulant, but not cooking meth as first had been thought.
[...]
The possession charge carries up to ten years in jail. Under the agreement, Diner likely won't be sentenced to more than probation.

More.

Apple Addict

News From Then

December 21, 2007

A two-year investigation into a massive regional methamphetamine distribution ring resulted in 24 convictions, federal prosecutors announced Thursday.

Authorities busted two major organizations responsible for the distribution of more than 100 pounds of methamphetamine in Central Virginia, according to the U.S. Attorneys Office.
[...]
Lt. Don Campbell with the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement task force said his department was involved in the investigation through wiretapping and serving warrants.

The Charlottesville area's methamphetamine problem pales in comparison with that of the Shenandoah Valley, Campbell said.

Campbell said JADE has only found two or three small methamphetamine labs during his five-year tenure. The labs were nowhere near the size of the ones found in the federal case, he said.

More.

OLIO

I was practicin’ my invisibleness. How’d it go? you ask. Not sure; maybe someone like Spot the adorable could tell you.

_________________________

JADE seems to be making an awful lot of Ay-rests lately that aren’t making news. Typical, I suppose. Out of 167 arrests credited to Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement in 2007, less than a dozen got coverage. (At the end of that year local rag The Hook used a one-liner to ridicule the Task Force for bragging about a 10 gram cocaine seizure.) 2008 saw a miniscule increase in reports. For the most part JADE is untouched by the media. That’s one of those “Secondary” type things I’m methodically exploring these days.

_________________________

Realizing I neglected to make a copy of a document, I revisited the source. I expected to find Truck’s name on the record but, to my astonishment, now in its place is a woman’s. In lieu of the evidence that nothing else has changed to explain the switch, I’m going with it being the detective’s girlfriend -- whose name I did not have and did not want. Looks like in his effort to prevent people from scraping up any of his personal information in the future, Truck has actually managed to provide folks with more. So, um, yeah, that was m-f-ing brilliant of him.

_________________________

Boomslang -- I told you he’d be back -- mentioned I HeArTE JADE is under boycott. The theory is that if it doesn’t get any readers, I’ll abandon it. Really? Really? Hey, someone let me know how that works out.

50-50 I Come Up With The List, You Come Up With The Title

• If Truck were an informant he wouldn’t work for JADE.
• Porn Star has a red RAM 2500.
• Skoal carries a blue lunchbox.
• Spot’s middle name begins with Q.
• SeeSee often parks his Charger in front of eloise.
• Dasani drives the JADE van home sometimes.
• Longhead doesn’t do street stuff.
• Herb is an active participant in Task Force drug raids.
• Pringle uses a leg holster.
• Mouse wears New Balance brand tennis shoes.
• Rasmussen buys coffee at Starbucks.
• iHeArTEjade’s creator is colossally dull.

I HeArTE JADE

This entry is a test of the Emergency Oddcasting System. The producer developed this test to keep search engines informed of regularly updated content relevant to the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) Task Force. This is only a test.

jade charlottesville jade task force jefferson area drug enforcement
jade drug task force charlottesville jade war on drugs officers
jade charlottesville jade task force jefferson area drug enforcement
jade drug task force charlottesville jade war on drugs officers
jade charlottesville jade task force jefferson area drug enforcement
jade drug task force charlottesville jade war on drugs officers
jade charlottesville jade task force jefferson area drug enforcement
jade drug task force charlottesville jade war on drugs officers
jade charlottesville jade task force jefferson area drug enforcement

This concludes this test of the Emergency Oddcasting System.

Reflection

On the table:

Abolishing the pseudonyms on I HeArTE JADE and fully revoking my self-imposed “no outing” guideline.

A refresher:

Main reason I started using the fictitious names was because I didn’t know the true names of the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement members. Continued to refer to the Task Force Officers by the nicks I gave them because, for one, believed the men worked JADE covertly and didn’t want to compromise that and, secondarily, got kinda used to -- and liked -- the monikers.

Recent thoughts:

Now I know who they are.

None of them work undercover.

All but one of them is listed by name in connection with JADE in public documents.

How silly is it to keep calling a 40-something-year-old policeman Porn Star, or Longhead?

Then again, their informants and investigations have goofesque names too.

The hang-up:

Weird mixture of aliases and actual identities. Fine; weirder mixture. I can’t expose everyone. Such as, Jason Trent might not care that I use his name but my Law Enforcement guys (Hi Boomslang and JumpOut!) will slaughter me D-E-A-D if theirs are revealed. So maybe I’d have to come up with new fake names that sound real. Which seems… meh.

One more thing:

Legal names of ten out of the eleven TFOs can already be found on here somewhere if one puts effort into looking for them -- I’ve never expected anyone to bother doing that though.

In conclusion:

Ha! I don’t know.

gOOgle GaMeS

The aromaless rain shattered the ground. Narrow yard rivers created from skywater molded the grass into random shapes. It dried, remained that way. They grew -- the flowers, trees, the lawn. They pleaded to be breathed, climbed, laid on. Hands reached out to snap sunshine from the air. Eyelids lifted to look. Look! A sigh. It’s still stormy.

On another note:

What else would a Drug Enforcement guy do other than something hyper-cool, right?

Mouse goes down the road. I go down the road. Mouse goes down another road. I go down the ‘nother road too. Mouse ultimately turns into Birdwood. Me likewise, but I’ve eased back to give him an elongated plot of pavement.

A lot is coming up ahead on my right. I see Mouse’s minivan at rest in one of the rows. I also see the mysterious JADE man is watching my auto wheeling toward his. I don’t want to stop anywhere near him. Neither do I want to pass immediately back by him.

I nudge my coupe onwards and stop in an arced drive. There I get out and walk inside a building that has its door propped open.

From two young guys at a desk I ask for directions to a place I already know the location of. “I go left? At… where -- the gas station?” I waste approximately three minutes of life with this type of pseudo-ditzy nonsense. The boys beam at me when I thank them for being so helpful. I dally back to my car.

Pulling away I scope out Mouse’s vehicle again. He’s vacated it. I’m tempted to park but then what? I’m not sure I should go looking for him. Maybe he’s buying an 8-ball from some ghetto grub. I don’t want to mess that up.

I vamoose, vividly imagining Mouse is doing something hyper-cool.

I’ll find out later this is a trip he makes frequently and what he does here ain’t hyper-cool. For that matter, it can be summed up using one letter.

Zzz Zzz Zzz

Squared

I had a conversation with a suave Federal Agent whenever ago during which he, in rebuttal to my innocuous allegation that members of law enforcement never learn from their mistakes, cited a 1986 shootout that happened in Miami, Florida, involving the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’d never heard of the event and I listened intently as my partner in dialogue gave me a compendious narration of the incident and asserted that the FBI had changed because of it. The gentleman further encouraged me to look into the story.

Ahhh, well, gee, if you insist…

I read whatever I could find. Mainstream news reports, theoretical articles, commentary from both the Federal-Bureau-of-Insidiots types and the pro-FBI side, plus all 621 pages of the inquiry carried on by the Feds themselves. I’m like wonk²!

Should I ever get an opportunity to revisit the discussion with the man, I may have to confess to him that I was wrong about my previous conclusion. And thank him, because, from the exploration, I’m now armed with a fresh contention for us to verbally wrestle about.

Thing is, I dig this kind of junk. Throw in another interest of mine, JADE, and a fifteen-paged document like this is bliss².

Narcantics

(Kisses to JumpOut for directing me to that after he read this. Oh; and for the entry title, which is also his.)

Lapsed News

June 24, 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.

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.

Source.

Good Morning, Special Agent Trent!

My you’re here early. Can I get you a cuppa coffee -- a Biscotti, maybe?

I know you mentioned they have to pay you to read my site but since you’re not busy doing like real work, I feel now’s a good time to talk at you. Is it? A good time? ‘Cause, I mean, if you’d rather have ataraxis at the moment, I could always wait ‘til you come see me again mid-afternoon or evening. I can be patient; just ask Longhead.

Actually I think when we last spoke, you kind of alluded to us patching things up or something. No, not “us” you and me “us.” We’re fine. I think we are anyway. At least, I’m fine with you. I’m not positive if you’re fine with me. You may very well be mad at me because I keep putting your name, Jason Trent, on I HeArTE JADE -- even though you’re the one who said it was all right to. Just gimme the word and I’ll use Debonair Out-Of-The-Blue Caller (abbreviated to Blue, both for convenience and to match your shirt) instead. It might knock you and me off Google. Hmm... I was going somewhere with this, I know I was. Oh yeah, “us” being Longhead and me. Was that on the table, so to speak? Or am I reading too much into what you said?

Hey! Ya know what I burrowed up? A picture I took a while ago of that Taurus I pointed out to you in the VSP parking lot. I’d been on my way to meet Boomslang -- I don’t think you know who that is yet -- late one afternoon and I recognized the car, well, technically I remembered the plate number, from the SWAT vehicle-lineup and clicked a photo or twelve of it.

Care for a refill on that coffee? I do. Hold on a sec.

See, I spot these Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement or JADE-associated automobiles all over the place in my run-arounds and sometimes can’t help but capture them on camera. Like Pringle’s Altima:



Woooops! Let me try that again:



It’s doing a fine job holding down the concrete at the federal courthouse, eh?

Before I forget, how long are you going to be on this case? Surely you won’t be coming here twenty, thirty, times a day, five days a week, forever and forever. I just assume you have a schedule like one of the JADE Charlottesville detectives told me he has (Monday-Friday, most weekends off) but perhaps that’s an incorrect supposition. At any rate, since I’m not doing anything wrong, somewhere along the line someone’s going to have to pull the plug on this go-nowhere investigation of yours. The ominously-titled “JADE Task Force Command Group” possibly. That would make you happy, right? To get out of this? I want you to be happy. I’d miss you, of course. It was nice to for realiously meet the man who got the shlurk job of monitoring me for JADE. There I was, guessing if he was out there, all wondering who he might be. And now I’ve seen him. Those last two lines have every bit the potential to become part of a Disney movie, song, something.

Here I’ve chattered on and on and I bet you have to go, Mr. Trent. Okay, then. I’ll catch you later. If you feel you want to answer any of the questions in my prate, call me sometime.

Have a good one, sir.

Not-New News

June 12, 2008

The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement task force arrested two men in Charlottesville on Wednesday in a “buy and bust” operation.

Just after 7 p.m., JADE officers, with help from the ATF and DEA, made the arrests in the 300 block of 10th Street Northwest.

The officers arrested Maurice Edgehill, a 28-year-old from New York City, and 51-year-old Murray Lee Hill of Charlottesville, according to Lt. Don Campbell with JADE.

Each man faces charges of distribution of cocaine and drug conspiracy.

JADE seized more than 200 grams of crack cocaine, a .380-caliber pistol and $33,680 in cash. The cocaine has an estimated street value of $40,000, according to Campbell.

Source.

Not-New News

December 6, 2005

Three Men Arrested for Drugs and Guns

Drugs and guns were found in a Charlottesville apartment and now the three suspects are behind bars.

The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task force, or JADE, received complaints about possible weapons in this apartment building at Eagles Landing.

A search warrant was issued for 765 Denali Way and when JADE went to search the apartment yesterday three men who did not live there were caught with drugs and guns.

Quentin Bryant and Ronald White were charged with possession of a sawed off shotgun and Floyd Harris was charged with possession of cocaine and a firearm. Additional charges are still pending.

Source.

How I Learned The Real Name Of A Tagged TFO In Four Simple Steps

1) I went through recent and semi-recent court documents pertaining to Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement to find the names of anyone distinguished as an officer that could, potentially, currently be in the Task Force.

2) I searched local real estate and property tax records and quickly landed an address that matched a detective’s name from step one.

3) I used Google maps and got directions to the residence from step two.

4) I cruised by said house one sunny morn and recognized the flashy-ish vehicle parked outside as one belonging to a policeman I’d seen at the Ix property.



How did I know that guy was in law enforcement in the first place? That’s easy; he advertises it.



But honest-to-god he so was not the JADE member I was expecting to identify that day.

Did I Ever Tell You About The Time I Tried To SNEAK A Picture Of Two Cops Down At The JADE Office But FORGOT TO TURN THE FLASH OFF?

By playing with the Drug Task Force, I’ve learned a little bit about digital cameras over the past several months. Not just the operational aspects of the contraptions but also that there are benefits to having more than one type and discerning which of them best fits a situation.

Seems for highly surreptitious snap-shooting, those two-inch-sized keychain minis would be just the thing. They are indeed teeny. As are the photographs they take. I prefer huge, high-quality images, so more often I reach for my normal-scale camera instead -- coming up with spur-of-the-moment inventive ways to keep it concealed whilst capturing JADE activities has become almost a hobby within a hobby.

This is a nifty night vision camera. It does have one downside that, when it comes to my purposes with Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement, frequently renders it unusable. But considering most people probably wouldn’t run into the problem, I recommend it to anyone who’s looking for an in-darkness picture-taking device. Oh, oh, oh, and, while I’m on the subject, once I saw this, I couldn’t resist finding out if I could make one, and if it works. Yes, and yes!

For maybe the last few weeks -- starting prior to receiving this dumb thing -- I’ve been familiarizing myself with equipment that has superzoom features. Nearly every digital camera manufacturer these days offers at minimum one model of the sort. Think about it, when you can get a photograph like this:



Then one like this:



Without taking even a single footstep forward? That’s pretty dang amazing!

And By The Way...

The Beater has returned!

The Irish Are A Fair People; They Never Speak Well Of One Another.

Up until the day I got the minacious phone call from FBI Special Agent Lamb, I continued to believe Longhead’s long-term promises to me that he would answer the questions I’d accumulated throughout the investigation that caused our meeting. The riveting and edgy Charlottesville detective assured me time and time again that all I had to do was be patient until the case was over and he’d talk about whatnot specifics. When the gullible twit that is me finally realized and (crushed) accepted Longhead wasn’t going to keep his word, I decided to get the answers myself via other means.

I’ve repeated the story enough to know the one thing people wonder is: what were you going to ask him? I don’t recall that I’ve ever replied before but I will now, at least in part. Here’s a sample:

How long have you been doing narcotics?
How many other people do you work with?
They as old as you? Y’all get along?
Do you all have a lot of cases?
How long does it take to close them?
How often do you raid houses? Do you raid houses?
How many busts in a week or month?
Do you actually go undercover -- like in disguise?
Have you ever been shot at? Shot at anyone?

Let me guess, you’re thinking those quite possibly could win me the first prize blue ribbon in The Most Unexciting Elementary Inquiries Ever bake-off. I know! What would’ve been resolved in generally an extra hour of Longhead’s time spiraled into my going-on-nearly-a-year-now project. Once I got really started on it, I found out it was a lot of fun to learn about this stuff. I thought it would be challenging to figure it all out, and then I got to discover that most of the difficulties I faced were of my own oopsadazey making. But that’s neither here nor there.

It seriously punctures my pixie that these law enforcement agents are trying to browbeat me into abandoning my harmless avocation. I object to it much as I would if my hobby was hunting, or fishing, or softball, and they were attempting to force me into giving that up.

Lovin' The Lazin' On The Lawn!

I’m Throwing Caution To The Wind. And I’ve Got One Hell Of An Arm.

You may have noticed the recent addition of the newsprinty collage of the eleven Task Force men appearing on the right side of all the I HeArTE JADE pages.

In lieu of the facts that I’m the subject of an investigation, the recipient of now numerous threats, and the bearer of banishment from the Ix property, I feel being somewhat careful with the content here is no longer an issue. They’re gunnin’ ferocious for me; it’s not gonna matter much what I do or say nowadays.

Me: What’d you do?

Prisoner #01190227: I kilt muh babydaddy.

Me: What about you?

Prisoner #91122906: Beat my kid. You?

Me: I have a blog.

Feel -- Not In The Strict Sense

• Virginia State Police CBI Special Agent Trent and I conversed in person for precisely one hour. Near the beginning, Mr. Trent, in faux fairness, said he needed something to use against me wanted to get my “side” of the story. Even if you pretend I was the only one speaking the entire time, that’s a scrimpy sixty minutes I had in which, if I so desired (I didn’t), to change the guy’s nonsensical preformed opinion that I’m a homicidal basketcase concealing a Krakatoa and convince him I am instead a curiosity-consumed anomaly carting around a camera. Near the end, Investigator Trent nonchalantly enlightened me he’s literally spent weeks being influenced by his buddies about me meeting with the other “side.”

• Dasani was supposed to be the one to give me the No Trespassing order. That’s why he contacted me with his lunch invitation. Can you not just visualize me being ditched in some restaurant with the barment notice in one hand and the bill for my coffee and his doughnuts in the other?

• Supposedly there’s an image of an informant’s automobile (mixed in with others) somewhere on iHeArTEjade. I don’t deny it’s a possibility I’ve inadvertently put up a picture that included a cooperator’s car, however, due the extreme degree these law enforcement men have been dishonest with me already, I don’t believe it. Especially since when I stated to Agent Trent I’d remove it, he snorted and refused to tell me which photograph. So, to me, either they must not care that much about their snitches -- big surprise -- or they’re lying. If it really is here, I’d still very much like it not to be. In the meantime, remember there are 19.2 cavillion businesses other than JADE that parking lot is for. Assume the operator of the vehicle in question is eating dinner, watching a play, picking up a pack of cigarettes, getting a haircut, learning the results of an AIDS/HIV test…

• Outside the VA State Police office, Jason Trent posited a disconcerting question. It seemed like such a pertinent query you’d think he would’ve broached the subject when he was still recording our discussion instead of waiting until after he’d stopped. He was well aware I wasn’t preserving the discourse. To me, it was evident he only asked it, and with his audio device off, because he’s looking to find out if he has to cover it up. I hope he has the sense to know that if you don’t dig something up, you don’t have to rebury it.

• All in all I feel like the interaction…whoops, that reminds me. I used the word “feel” a few times over the course of our get-together and not a single instance didn’t the agent latch onto it as if I was on the edge of confessing to murder and he was going to aggravate me into blurting admission.

I would say something to the effect of: I put up what I feel like. Meaning, the entries I make on I HeArTE JADE stem from what’s on my mind that I think are relevant to write about.

But Mr. Trent was all: What you FEEL like? You FEEL mad at Longhead and that’s why you FEEL you have to put up a picture of his kids’ school. Isn’t that right? Right? RIGHT?

And then I’m thinking: Huh? What is he even talkin’ about? I bet he and Porn Star share the same psychiatrist.

It was easy to ignore his intentional provocation, given that never were his accusations based on facts. I felt he was doing it out of steep desperation and I feel sorry for him because he felt he had to stoop to using an outright transparent police tactic on me.

• Agent Trent declared frankly he did not want this case. According to him, he asked his superiors, on more than one occasion, why he was assigned it. The impression I got, judging by his comments and tone, is that he finds the whole thing boring and beneath him. I tend to agree. What I’m doing is going to be interesting to me alone and not an iota of it warrants a criminal investigation. By any lawman.

Following Cars Is So, Like, Yesterday; Today’s Trend Is All About Following Cases.

Absolutely I’d find all of them interesting but I don’t pay a great deal of attention to many of the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement cases once they make it to court. Can you imagine trying to keep up with the multiple multi-jurisdictional courtroom proceedings of eleven individual Task Force Officers? Oi Mi! I do stick with some though because this, that, or the other, cause me to and I want to know the end result of JADE’s actions. The “cause” may be watching a raid by Truck, Longhead, Dasani (if memory serves), and a SWAT team, on a rainy mid-December night. The “result” -- for the Black male who gets busted -- a sequence of six court dates over a duration of five months.

Datemarked News

September 2007

LSD doesn’t show up on the radar too often for the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement task force.

But JADE made a significant bust this week, according to a search warrant.

JADE officers executed the search warrant Wednesday in order to search property owned by Abraham Ankney, who they suspect of possessing LSD with the intent to distribute.
[...]
Once Ankney signed for the package at the Elliott location, the officer executing the warrant, Detective Jon Seitz, seized it, authorities said.

The entire JADE force was present for the bust, Sgt. Joe Hatter said.

Source (Message Board).

Datemarked News

April 29, 2008

[...]
The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement task force conducted a "buy/bust operation" the morning of March 19 in the 2300 block of Peyton Drive that netted more than a half kilo of cocaine, according to authorities. The task force said the cocaine's estimated street worth was $56,000.

Sgt. John Baber of the task force said the "mid- to upper-level operation" was running for several months.

More.

Datemarked News

July 25, 2006

Another huge drug bust in the area as authorities find 4,400 marijuana plants growing in southern Albemarle County.

Investigators with the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement task force said they haven't seen anything like this in their careers. Thousands of marijuana plants valued on the streets at almost $5 million were found in the backyard of a home on Blenheim Road in Scottsville yesterday.

"It's the largest bust I'm aware of in Albemarle County. It's really huge," said Sgt. John Baber of the Jade Task Force.

Continued.

Ya’d Think They Caught Me On a Bridge With a POS Tec-9 and a Twitch

I got another two-page letter, this one from the “JADE Task Force Command Group,” handed to me directly by VSP Bureau of Criminal Investigation Special Agent Jason Trent. The content, albeit sterner, is evocative of communications past, complete with a warning about prosecution. It does have a minor new twist, the aroma of which has a distinct smell of burnt trousers. Both the document and the man informed me it will be the last caution I get.

So I’ve been deeply reflecting on it and I realize that since an arrest will cause me to immediately be thrown out of law school, not to mention ruin my fallback prospective career choice of becoming a police officer...

As if.

I am doing nothing illegal. Moreover, after all the horse manure they’ve previously shoveled into my yard it’s not unreasonable for me to believe this latest stuff of theirs is anything other than one more scoopful. Granted these points don’t automatically mean I’m untouchable. Word around the water cooler is JADE is a good bit ticked off I’ve embarrassed them.

That being said, should a significant amount of time go by without an update to I HeArTE JADE I can probably be found on this site. I’ll be the one charged with… okay, I don’t really know what they’ll charge me with -- they’ve never said. But I can guarantee it won’t be Trespassing.

Optical Allusion

I assume everyone has come across a trick of visual perception at least once. The idea is that the information the eye perceives and what the brain concludes after processing it is not objective reality. The following image is representative of an ambiguous illusion -- meaning the mind will teeter-totter between the alternative renditions.



Is it a pair of people, or a skull?

You actually may see only one or the other, or both, or neither (in that circumstance you should probably go see a doctor). Things like life experience, cultural difference, sex and age, will influence perception and as a result folks don't sense and comprehend ocular phenomena identically.

All of which leads to this:



Is it a house, or a flag?

The reason I ask is because I spoke to a man who apparently sees the former and, regardless of how many times or how long I stare at it, it sure looks like the latter to me.

Convicted

Blakey Found Guilty of 2nd Degree Murder
Posted: May 7, 2009 10:41 PM
Updated: May 8, 2009 12:52 PM

Lamont Blakey was found guilty of second degree murder on the fourth day of his jury trial in Charlottesville.

Blakey stabbed 20-year old Joshua Gibson last September at Friendship Court.

More.

Screen Play

Act I.

Law Enforcement lie to me, they confess they lie to me -- sometimes going so far as to brag about it -- then they expect me to take all else they say seriously. But how am I supposed to distinguish their lies from their truths, assuming -- and this is really a charitable stretch at this point -- that they’re even capable of being honest? Just the fact that I fell for any fibs they’ve told me at any given time is evidence that I’m clearly not able to tell the difference. Worse, I so desperately desire to believe in them I repeatedly overlook their reputation as deceitful I feel they’ve established.

It’s like swallowing a cupful of liquid because you want to trust the man giving it to you did not just pour it out of the huge open bottle with the skull and crossbones on it sitting on the counter next to him.

I recorded two telephone conversations I had with Virginia State Police Special Agent Jason Trent, but not the actual meeting that was arranged through the contact. I have no explanation really for why I didn’t, although there was some distant, hazy, thought wafting around in my mind that anyone in the shield-carrying community who says ma’am nine thousand times over a span of nine seconds is police-trained to the point of robotissism, not going to stray from pat phrases or predictable tactics, therefore pointless to record. Standard and rote. Snooze. Besides, he taped it.

He lured me up there with the pretense that he was investigating the activities of Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement. Ho, boy, he laid it on thick too. According to him he’d be showing me photographs and asking me if I’d seen JADE Task Force agents at certain places or with particular people, that sort of thing. He said he knew about my WS-100 and claimed he had no problem with me using it if we met but mentioned I wouldn’t be allowed to take pictures of anything he exhibited because it was “confidential.” Also secret was the name of the person who had sent him in my direction, and whomever had provided him with my cell phone number.

I thought it sounded mega-suspect but… -- this is the part where you revisit my container of poison reference above -- I Want To Believe! -- so I rang a couple of other members of Law Enforcement to feel them out about the oddities I picked up on. The first man told me that he would’ve said the opposite: you may take pictures, you may not audio record. He denied giving out my number to anyone. The second man echoed my thoughts: no images, no audio -- no way! He added that, since he’s “onto how inventive and resourceful” I can be, he wouldn’t let me around any physical pieces of classified information unless I was bare-fleshed and under the hawk-eyes of at least three other observers. Aw, ain’t that just the sweetest? He denied giving my number to anyone.

Still, rather than let go of my hope entirely (and seeing as how I would’ve met with him no matter what, coupled with something else I’m aware of), I went to the Virginia State Police office in Charlottesville on Thursday with an exactly one per cent. amount of optimism that I’d not been conned by Agent Trent.

Forget it. Being untruthful is a prerequisite for officers.

Within the first few of Mr. Trent’s sentences, I heard that I am the subject of what he’s working on for JADE.

So once the man spelled it out that he’d lied to me, I couldn’t be in denial about it anymore. What I could be, and was, was skeptical of every single syllable that Mr. Trent’s voicebox vibrated at me from then on out.

I guess I would describe the experience as akin to going to the theater. A movie, taken at face value, might or mightn’t be entertaining, but when you think further about it, it’s nothing more than the end result of scriptwriters and editors, tricks and special effects, actors and stuntmen. A show. Not real.

Later I may write about the specifics of my (not unpleasant) discussion with Mr. Trent, as or after I sort out the facts from the falsehoods. For example, one of the things Mr. Trent told me is that he’s been working on this case for one month. As yet, the earliest I can find him cast is seven weeks ago, appearing on set around the end of the third week of March.

Finally!

I was literally on the edge of my seat, bouncing around with excitement, to be getting this:


It’s the equivalent of trying to use a can of Fix-A-Flat® on a tire you shredded across the highway six miles back. Plus somewhere in my audio depository is a conversation I had with Longhead in which he clearly states No Trespassing Orders are -- and I quote -- “meaningless.” Hmm… lest you are misconstruing, I’m not saying I’ll violate it, more like… no way am I going to give them the satisfaction of hooking me up on something so inadequate and hollow.

When I asked Virginia State Police Criminal Investigations Special Agent Jason Trent (formerly known as debonair out-of-the-blue caller) if he wanted me to redact his name from the document, he said that wouldn’t be necessary. When I next inquired if he minded me including his (already published elsewhere) picture, now then that idea he wasn’t much enthusiastic about.

Call Me Stupid

Recently I’ve talked to someone twice over the telephone, and twice my side of the conversation has flowed in a manner such that outvies Dasani’s cell-to-cell Arnie Grape impersonation with me. I don’t even really understand why but both times I uhmed and awhed and errr-welled my way through the exchange with the other party as if I’d slurped down a jug of Maladroit, no doubt giving the man that very impression of me yearses before disconnect.

I’m thinking, with these types of ring-ups, he who has all his, ah, ordure together in advance is potentially going to have the upper hand -- like I believe I had with Dasani and I’m certain my debonair out-of-the-blue caller had with me.

In my case with Dasani, though, I know he’s not a moron because I have a bursting supply of other means to judge him by. This new character whom I’m referring to doesn’t in effect have that with me. So when I meet with him (date already determined), he’ll probably expect me to be a sad reincarnation of Rosemary Kennedy.

What does any of this have to do with JADE? Uhm, awh, errr… well, I’ll have to get back to you on that.

Penpoint

I had a fellow ask me if the JADE notes I’ve periodically put up can be obtained via records available to the public; more specific, he wanted to know if local courthouses are where I’ve gotten them from. I guess it’s possible the scribbles of the Task Force Officers can be found there but that’s not how any of their jottings ever ended up with me. Having seen their occasional colorfully descriptive prose, I tend to think the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement lawmen take it for granted no one but them will set eyes on what they’ve handwritten -- they definitely neaten things up in their official reports. I’ve read enough of Porn Star’s typejobs to know it’s no wonder he looks down his nose at my compositions; he’s fairly the literate bast… ion.

Crouching Photographer, Hidden JADE

If, as they say, Gangs and Drugs go hand in hand, it stands to reason that Gang Cops and Drug Cops do also, right?

Community to Hold Gang Prevention Forums in Charlottesville
Posted: April 26, 2009 10:08 PM
Updated: April 27, 2009 12:37 AM

A pair of community forums this week will focus on gang activity and how people can prevent gangs from reaching local kids.

Representatives from the Attorney General's office and the Albemarle-Charlottesville Gang Taskforce will lead the forums at Monticello High School. They'll discuss prevention strategies and signs of gangs in the community.

The forums are Monday and Tuesday and start at 6:30 p.m.

WCAV



WVIR

Put Camo Green Up Somewhere, Anywhere

The sun is cold. I’m staring into Boomslang’s eyes. Actually I’m staring into his sunglasses. He holds out a thin stack of papers. I can tell by a fleeting look they’re copies. He’s never given me copies -- always originals. Anchoring my gaze on the face of the man in front of me, I take the sheets from him and gradually tear them in half. I tear the halves into fourths and let them fall from my fingers. The fragments flutter to the gravel.

The information on them was what I came for, but, now, now it’s not important. What is important is the person who’s brought it to me and I want him to know that. Hence the shredding. Boomslang’s jaw is squared with tension. I consider touching him. On his solid forearms, which he’s crossed. On his cheek, which is faintly flexing. Except it won’t help either of us so I keep my hands to myself.

“Aren’t you going to worry I’ll ‘out’ you on I heart jade?” I ask, ribbing him to fog my disappointment.

“No,” he says seriously, “because I know you understand why.”

Yes, I understand why he’s told me he can’t do this anymore. He’s nervous. He thinks it’s gotten too risky for him to keep being one of my Task Force sources. Fine. He’ll change his mind. But not today. Not here. I’ll make do until he snaps out of it. He’s not the only person whose toes someone in JADE has stepped on.

“You already wrote about me anyway.”

“Yep. And you’ve just given me a reason to write about you again, too, Boom. Be happy no one’s gonna believe me when I mention you’re a cop.”

A hint of a smile teases around his lips but, when I turn to go, it melts away faster than cotton candy on a wet tongue. I settle in my car, reach to pull the door shut. He grabs the edge of the metal frame to stop it from closing and my brown irises swing up at him. For a second we are both motionless, silent. He drops down to a squatting position and gives me a grin so perfect it’d make an angel jealous. I wink at him, tell him he really is my favorite.

I leave him, there, in the backwoods parking lot, on the tiny crushed rocks, picking up the pieces of pressed pulp. I won’t miss him. I won’t miss him because I refuse to believe he’s gone.

Wow, Just Wow.

Having something like this happen is almost unheard of.

My web log has outranked the City of Charlottesville’s own web site about it’s own Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force.



Do you know what that means? More people are coming here than going there -- or anywhere else on the ‘net -- to get information regarding JADE.

P.S. The number of I HeArTE JADE profile views rocketed by two hundred in nine days.

Not Only Is Spot Good-Looking, He Makes Me Laugh

Cuz one bad parking job deserves another:

This Is Just SO Cool!

Direct Link

Michael Toney Sentenced This Morning In Federal Court

This past September state police tried to pull Toney over on I-64 while he was traveling to Charlottesville reportedly to sell a gun to an informant. Toney refused to stop for police, leading them on a brief high-speed chase before crashing his vehicle.

In October, in Charlottesville’s District Court, Toney was given a sentence of 12 months upon being convicted of obstruction of justice, a misdemeanor, and in January, in exchange for a recommended 240 month sentence, he pleaded guilty in Federal Court to three counts of illegal possession of a firearm. The 38-year-old will serve the terms concurrently and will have 5 years supervised release.

I've Decided

Dasani is a flake. Or perhaps he’s secretly been a recipient of an Obie. There are a handful of possibilities I’ve thought of, which I won’t delve into here, for why, on two occasions with me now, Dasani has acted like he has the intellect of a regurgitated rice crispy.

A few weeks ago the cool drink of water himself left me a voicemail asking that I call him.

I’ve kind of got it in my head that Dasani’s one of those guys who could bare-handed take down a rhinoceros if he felt like it. There’s just no doubt the rugged Task Force Sergeant’s insides are surging with Testosterone. So when I rang him back I expected he’d skip the passive-aggressive approach the other Law Enforcement Officers have tried with me -- pretty please, miss, it’d be gracious nice if you’d be so kind as to forget all about JADE otherwise we’ll have to start spite-ticketing you for any minor offenses we can drum up, or arrest you for obstruction of justice, or beat you by the side of the road until you’re black-eyed and bloody and compliant with us -- and go straight to a stormy “take down the effin’ picture of my wheels.” Only Dasani would use the real F-word ‘cause he’s tough like that.

Didn’t go that way in the slightest. After swiftly swapping how-are-yous, the first thing out of his mouth was “hey, are you in town by chance?” as if the thought had sprung into his mind that exact second. My brain half-jokingly translated: JADE has a drug bust planned and they want to know if I’ll be around to crash it. After I told him I was not there, the next line from him was “ummm… one day when you’re in town, give me a call, and, I’ll take you out to lunch, or, take you out for some coffee or sumthin’.”

Blink. Blink. “Why wouldja do that?” Blink.

“Cause I need t’… talk t’you about some things.” A length of silence, broken by his querying “is that ah-right?”

I inquired, chuckling because of his question, if he’d talk to me about them over the telephone. He refused with a solemn-sounding utterance he’d “rather do it face-to-face.” I told him I’d consider it. Sort of funny because there I was genuinely promising to weigh out an offer I suspected was for the most part fraudulent on his end.

From dial to disconnect the duologue was done and over in, truly, a minute. I, naturally, scrutinized everything about the conversation. Especially his odd one-day-get-in-touch-with-me bit. That made no sense. Whatever it is is so important it couldn’t be said over the phone, but when it’s said is irrelevant? He might’ve reasoned I’d contact him but he’d have no way of knowing if that would be in six minutes or six months.

No matter what were Dasani’s actual motives, I’d never reject a ripe opportunity to interact with someone in the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force. Everyone knows that. Therefore I’d called him a couple of times since. Like any properly conditioned JADE Charlottesville operative, he never picked up. Third -- and my resolved final -- time I left him a frivolous message. “Well you tell me to call when I’m in town and then you don’t ever answer your phone.”

The cell on my hip vibrated many minutes later -- digital ID displayed JADE hyphen Dasani’s last name. I was in the middle of trouble-raising and wasn’t prepared to bandy with the TFO right then. As soon as I’d finished my mischief, I buzzed him back. When he greeted me with “hello” I playfully let loose a skeptical “so you will return calls but you won’t take them.” Know what he said about it? This tripping over his tongue ramble.

Uhhmmkay… huh what?

Sadly the rest of the exchange never really rose above that level. The discussion lasted a trifling thirty seconds or so more than our previous one and was less productive.

Dasani made a half-hearted attempt to find out how long I’d be around while simultaneously, without me giving him any information, telling me he wouldn’t be able to meet until hours afterward. Then he implied that he’d be doing me a favor if he came out to talk at me. What. The. Hell. He initiated this; it hadn’t been my idea. Sure I was interested in hearing what’s on his mind but him not gracing me with his presence affects me about as much as a chicken’s hiccup. I delivered a sugared “never mind, that’s okay” about the possible one-on-one later and he responded apathetically “ah-right well I guess next time.”

Next time? Oh hell to the no.

Either the portentous subject matter the man alluded to earlier had depreciated over the last three weeks or it was, as I surmised, a charade from the get-go. I can’t remember why I took Dasani seriously in the first place. Ah, yeah, it’s coming back to me, something about his ability to pin a massive horn-nosed beast to the ground. Fortunately, there’s nothing he can say to crush that illusion.

It's Like They Don't Even TRY

When You’re Hot,
Like Spot,
It Oughtn’t Matter
Where You Sat ‘er
In The Lot.

Not A Tailless Mouse

Maybe a taillightless one.

Not that you’ll get a ticket, or anything, but please, Sergeant, fix. The lack of a lamp makes it that much easier for me to follow your vehicle and I’m sure you’d want that sort of thing to be a little more of a challenge for me these days.

SWAT Scene Sketch

By and large if I want to document any sort of vehicle information -- tags, descriptions, positions, et cetera -- I’ll either hand-write the details I think are important in a notepad or I’ll capture whatever in photographs. On rare occasions, I’ve used my cell phone to text in license plate numbers, and having finally realized that, oh my gosh, my OWS-100 doesn’t just record conversations with other people, it will record me, alone, too, I try to remember to put it into such service.

One thing about all of the aforesaid methods is that it only takes a second to implement any of them -- a stroke of a pen, press of a button, preservation in the blink of an eye. However, there are moments when speed is not of the essence and time is something to waste. Like when white-hot-waiting for a force of SWAT paired with a pack of JADE to crack down a crack house. Anyway… Look, I drew a picture!

(Some identifying components temporarily blacked out.)

Bananas For JADE

Old News

March 15, 2006

Five people from Charlottesville have been indicted on drug charges that could put them in prison for the rest of their lives.

The Jade Task Force says Austin Webb, Craig Anderson, Alston Perrin, Chris Cobourne and Stephanie Jones are facing federal conspiracy charges.

They say the group sold hundreds of thousands of dollars in cocaine and marijuana from Charlottesville.

All are being held without bond and face trial in May.

Source.

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.

Please 2 C In UR JADE Case File?

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

Before It Gets Packaged And Sent To The Lab

When Drug Enforcement investigators discover suspected narcotics in the course of a search, or acquire illegal substances via operations using confidential informants or undercover police, they can conduct a field test of the matter for initial identification. The assigned officer doesn’t do this by inhaling a big whiff from a plastic baggie containing dried plants or by sliding a fingertip doused in white dust across his tongue. He’s not supposed to do it like that, anyway. He’s expected to use an approved field test kit. One such sanctioned kit is produced by Sirchie Finger Print Laboratories, Inc.

Sirchie states their Narcotics Analysis Reagent Kit (NARK) makes the detection of suspect materials “as simple and effective as possible.” Basically anyone who can read and isn’t colorblind can use their kits wherever. By placing a sample into a chemical and watching the reaction, instant drug analysis. Since sheets of LSD seemingly aren’t being vended all over Charlottesville and the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force has a high tolerance for marijuana sales and use, my guess would be the most frequently employed NARK by JADE is the #4 COBALT THIOCYANATE REAGENT.

Purpose: To test for cocaine, procaine, tetracaine, methadone. Crack is a mixture of cocaine HCI and bicarbonate of soda.

Procedure:
1. Remove cap.
2. Deposit suspect material in tube.
3. Replace cap and tap firmly to ensure material falls to bottom.
4. Break ampoule in bottom of tube. Agitate. Observe color reaction.
5. Break ampoule in cap. Agitate vigorously.

Color Reaction: BRILLIANT BLUE flakes in first solution--indicates the presence of all above listed narcotics. BLUE flakes remaining in second--indicates cocaine; BLUE flakes completely dissolved in second--indicates procaine or tetracaine.

When He's Not Shooting People, He's Breaking Into Vehicles

Rasmussen comes out of the JADE office talking to Herb.



Gee, Ras doesn't seem to have his keys.



He eyes the partially rolled down window.



And squeezes his arm through the narrow opening.



Yay! Success!



But, wait; why is he walking away with the alarm going off?



Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.





Like Thing, nothing but a hand appears from the door at the top of the steps. Finally, silence.



Except for my laughing, that is.

From The JADE Office,

• Dasani lives 2.6 miles.
• Truck lives 3.1 miles.
• Longhead lives 8.4 miles.
• Spot lives 9.7 miles.
• Porn Star lives 9.8 miles.
• SeeSee lives 16.4 miles.
• Pringle lives 22.1 miles.
• Rasmussen lives 28.8 miles.
• Skoal lives 28.9 miles.
• Mouse lives 29.8 miles.
• Herb lives 35.8 miles.
• iHeArTEjade lives 16.2 miles.

obiter dicta

I was not surprised to learn one of the Task Force Officers has shot somebody; I was surprised to learn more than one of the Task Force Officers has shot somebody.

I was not surprised to get a voicemail from Dasani shortly after I made this entry; I was surprised to get an invitation to lunch from him once I returned his call.

I was not surprised to hear members of JADE were telling their friends about this blog; I was surprised to hear they’re telling their acquaintances about it.

_________________________

I’ve accumulated too much information. I can’t believe I just typed that -- that’s sacrilegious! Realiously, I never expected to have so much JADE stuff. And so many places to get more JADE stuff. And I can’t put all the JADE stuff on I HeArTE JADE. So the JADE stuff is piling up. Mostly in my head. Badge numbers, and telephone numbers, and license plate numbers, and mailbox numbers, and route numbers, and case file numbers, and… I DON’T EVEN LIKE NUMBERS. They’re too Math-y for my feminine brain.

Did I mention I’ve got two new JADE resources? I love this avocation.

_________________________

Sometimes I reread pieces I wrote on iHeArTEjade and think “OMG I sound like a complete bitch.” My words in print almost always exactly match my thoughts but I often struggle to convey the correct sentiment through them. My responses to Charlottesville Police Chief Longo are perfect examples of expressing myself the wrong way.

_________________________

More and more I’m likin’ Longhead’s decision to tint his car windows. His vehicle went from being one of a million to one in a million. Gone are the days of having to be twelve feet away to identify him; now he can be identified from twelve miles away. I’m tellin’ ya, even at night that Taurus of his sticks out more than Pamela Anderson’s chest.

_________________________

jade charlottesville

_________________________

I do believe a few of the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement agents are trying to prove I can’t conceal myself from them anymore, that they can see me anytime. I think it’s great, for instance, that Spot can distinguish my car in the dark after I’ve come around the block across the street from the Ix building. For that, he deserves a Pepsi. He should only get to drink half of it, though, unless he can say where he and I both were 45 minutes earlier.

Sad will I be if ever I can’t walk by the TFOs and snap photographs of them without getting noticed. Taken 20090402:



They like playing hide and seek with me. I know they do.

True Blue Google

jade charlottesville

Charlottesville : About the Task Force
The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) has been in existence since 1995 as a regional narcotics task force made up of officers from the Charlottesville ...
www.charlottesville.org/index.aspx?page=189 - 33k

Charlottesville : JADE Task Force
JADE Task Force. Printer Friendly. About the Task Force · Hotline. CityLink ... 605 E. Main St., Charlottesville, VA 22902. Phone (434)970-3333. ...
www.charlottesville.org/index.aspx?page=284 - 29k

jade task force

Charlottesville : About the Task Force
The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) has been in existence since 1995 as a regional narcotics task force made up of officers from the Charlottesville ...
www.charlottesville.org/index.aspx?page=189 - 33k

Charlottesville : Police Department
Our department is also responsible for the administration and operational control of the multi-jurisdictional, Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) task ...
www.charlottesville.org/police/ - 39k

jefferson area drug enforcement

Charlottesville : About the Task Force
The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) has been in existence since 1995 as a regional narcotics task force made up of officers from the Charlottesville ...
www.charlottesville.org/index.aspx?page=189 - 33k

Charlottesville : Police Department
Our department is also responsible for the administration and operational control of the multi-jurisdictional, Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) task ...
www.charlottesville.org/police/ - 39k jade charlottesville

Inquiring Minds Want To Know

1. Whatever happened with that UVA chemistry major’s apartment Meth lab?

Nearly a month has passed since Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement responded to reports of pernicious odors emanating from a unit in the Grand Marc complex on 15th Street NW. On the evening of the initial call out, JADE Lt. Don Campbell seemed uncertain whether the alleged “potentially harmful” chemicals found inside the building were being used to manufacture drugs. A variety of substances were sent to a state crime lab in Richmond for analysis and as yet there has been no word on the results. Sources close to the former occupants of the apartment express doubt that there ever will be.

2. Why does the JADE Task Force continue to bust people for paltry amounts of cocaine when they could be going after the 2.2 pound vending machines that their notations indicate they know about?



According to Herb “cocaine and crack drive the violence in this community” and JADE’s “main goal in Charlottesville is reducing the violence.” Taken at face value that could explain the Task Force recently seizing a mere few ounces of powder and arresting Joniel Renere Edwards. Investigation into Edwards’ criminal history indeed shows how dangerous the man is; he’s been charged with such violent offenses as speeding, operating an uninspected vehicle, failure to appear (dismissed), and possession of marijuana. I dunno. I must be missing something.

“Everybody Know Deyz Dee-tectives.”

He’s Black, male, 31 years old. That’s what he informs me anyway. By that I mean his life in years; his color and sex I know with my very own two eyes. I react with my standard “no you are not!” when he tells me the number. I usually say that when someone gives his age; not so much because it makes him feel good -- although I do like making a man smile -- but because it compels him to give more details about himself like date of birth, place born, whatever. You might be bombshelled at how many guys who will even dig out their driver’s license as “proof.” To an info junkie like myself, that’s at least fifteen minutes worth of euphoria.

The man I’m referring to is slightly taller than I, medium build. It’s hard to tell much more about his physique given that most of him is being swallowed by the nine times too large denim pants and oversized black hoodie he’s got on. Next to me his Timberland-boots-shod feet are stomping the pavement in echo to the taps of my tennis shoes. Everything about him seems uniform to the neighborhood I’m plodding through and, whether he realizes it or not, he’s helping me blend in better.

While I was afoot seeking three specific things (obviously each pertaining to Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement, or you wouldn’t be reading this here), the fellow’s path had intersected with mine. Tell me a time when a Black guy didn’t get friendly with a chick who stepped into his space and I’ll swear you’re talking about an episode of the Twilight Zone.

He’d called a greeting to me as I rounded the corner coming out in front of him and feeling his immediate how-do-you-do was friendly rather than lascivious, I’d replied in kind. That led to him issuing an invitation to walk with me, which I’d accepted on the condition “as long as you keep up,” and now here we are, a couple out for a stroll on a cool but pleasant evening.

He makes a lot of inquiries as we move along the sidewalk, including what my name is. I tell him and he waits for me to ask him his. I oblige. Somehow I just know the one he gives me is his actual name but it sounds exactly like something I’d’ve fabricated for I HeArTE JADE. In fact, it’s macro-better than anything I could come up with. For the purpose of this account though let’s render him “Fred.”

Judging from Fred’s interrogatives alone, I deduce in short his intelligence is nothing to scoff at. He’s eloquent in conversation and when I provide him with my answers, which I confess are by design compacted and made-to-order for this impromptu interaction, I can sense from his eyes he’s conscientiously weighing out the particulars of what I say. I don’t lie to him; I just keep my words brief.

It’s possibly connected to the areas I’m nosing around in due to JADE but irrespective of how brilliant or how dim the person is, there are two things I never fail to hear when in conversation for longer than six minutes with anyone like Fred. They are “when I got out of the Penitentiary, I…” and “you smoke?” I remain undecided if the earlier is reflective of a) the amount of Black men who have genuinely been in prison, or b) the number of them who merely like to say they’ve been incarcerated, truly or not. The other one, the question, is always, always always, bait for marijuana use.

I respond to Fred’s gratuitous implication of his time in the joint with the perfunctory “what for?” and “how long?” and say “nope, don’t smoke” when he queries me on the joint of the other variety. I’ve got plenty enough goin’ on in my head; the last thing my brain needs is to be shrouded under illicit opaque smog. In addition, weed stinks. Literally. I loathe the smell of it. Yuck, ick, gag, blech.

Fred and I hang out and chat. We hit a park, and a convenience store. Over the duration of time my new acquaintance and I are together, I spot Mouse’s minivan, Rasmussen’s sedan, and Truck’s sportscar, traversing the streets periodically.

“You’re watching them detectives.” My dark-skinned companion is suddenly intensely fixated on me.

Ohho! I knew it. Fred is one smart chocolate-cookie. I smile naïf-like at him. “How do you know they’re detectives?”

Fred pauses a little too extensively before deciding upon “they just look like it.”

“Huh-uh.” I shake my head side-to-side and repeat “how do you know they’re detectives?”

“Everybody know deyz dee-tectives.” Fred stares at me then blurts out “I gots t’go.”

It’s the first instance Fred the well-phonic has gone ghetto-speak on me. I try asking him a couple of mild questions about JADE. Now I can normally get a brother to open up but Fred is having none of it. This is the same guy who in the last twenty minutes told me about his criminal history, his stash of reefer, and his momma. An example of tardy paranoia if ever there was one, it’s.

Understand I’ve spoken to a hella lotta people about the Task Force. From coke-fiends to cops, reporters to rogues, not a single one of them has ever shut down on me like Fred is doing. I don’t know what to make of it. Is he one of their CIs or something? That would be funny.

Of course I can’t have Fred all spooked out on me. I give him some superficial bunk to reassure him I’m indifferent to the TFOs. I further explain how I’m probably not on their list of favorite people. Fred, I can tell, is torn between believing me and not wanting to risk, gosh, Lord knows what bad outcome he’s picturing. Sensing it’s the best way to handle the situation, I minimize his consternation by shrugging in deference of his announced departure, chirrup “if you gotta go, you gotta go,” and walk away from him.

I amble to the next block where my vehicle is parked and as I’m getting in I hear Fred shouting in the distance to me. I loop my car around to him, roll down the window. “Thought you had to go.” He agrees and states where he wants to go is with me. Not what I am expecting to learn, or do. I find a slick way to nix that notion of his and motion a good-bye with my hand. He's bright; it’s a shame he didn’t want to discuss the Task Force.

As if one unplanned interplay wasn’t surprising enough, sixty seconds after pulling away from Fred I’m deliberately being trailed by JADE Detective Truck. But maybe I should wait for a rainy day to bore you with that sequel.

Law, A Note To Follow So

At no time did I think surveillance in motion would be a slam dunk but, seriously, I never thought it would be quite so challenging. In the beginning I even added a few points to the degree of difficulty considering who my targets were and had still apparently been off the mark on the devil of it.

Early on, after enough recognizably sorry failures shadowing Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement, I’d gone and done some eyes-to-paper research on the subject. In my opinion nothing beats true hands-on experience -- you know, “live and learn” -- but I poured over dozens of articles and scanned countless books regardless. It never hurts to study.

I came away with what I thought were especially handy pointers from a hardback written by a private investigator, and smart tips from an editorial that, even though it was geared towards a person on the receiving end who wanted to lose a tail, could apply to what I’m doing.

I’ve also spent an entertaining amount of time trying to ameliorate my driving skills. Just me in my car, a couple dozen fluorescent orange and white barrels, a very remote abandoned parking lot, and I’m good to go. Okay I did have to repair that one blowout. And maybe I can’t make a J-turn as good as this but I in spades do better than this. Will I ever need to rapidly whip my car around to go in the opposite direction? Doubtful. Is it fun to practice anyway? You betcha.

With each effort, I imagine I get a tad more knowledgeable and figure I’ll do at least a tad better. The ideation has proven to be true in most cases of me following the Drug Enforcement agents, albeit pre-established stupid things occasionally trip me up when, by now, really they shouldn’t, and I often stumble into unforeseeable problems, thus reminding me of the fundamental cognitive latter portion of live and learn. Mistakes induce improvement.

Sometimes they whom have unwittingly taught me most of what I know about pursuits have themselves made repeated errors. I’ve been multi-subjected to a few tricks JADE has that I feel they ought to smoosh back in the hat with the rabbit as the illusions are arrant cheezball. Such as…

• Using a left blinker then making a right turn, or vice versa. I am not following your turn signal; I am following your vehicle.
• Using a blinker, then not turning period. Again I am not following your turn signal; I am following your vehicle.
• Two or more JADE automobiles enigmatically diverging to an impasse? I am not following your turn signals; I am not following your vehicles. Yeah, not even after hell freezes over would I fall for that one.
• Inexplicable U-turns. Those are the biggest waste. I’ll just pull over up the road a bit and wait for you to pass by me, oh, usually less than a minute later.

I understand what they’re aiming for by executing these, and some other equally retarded things, but the moves are simplistic as far as I’m concerned and I’m not about to cooperate with their expectations.

Needless to say tracking them isn’t getting less manageable, though the mechanics are definitely changing. Most of my undoings in the hound dog department are admittedly unintentionally self-inflicted but in recent commentary I touched briefly on the amplifying complexity of the Task Force Officers. Their above idiosyncrasies aside, I believe it’s safe to assume that they are indeed stepping up their game. I’ll try to keep up. If I can’t, there’s always extant document invasions.

The Exclusively JADE Cast of Characters

(Original Post Here)

Herb - Lieutenant Don Campbell.

I’m going to start drawing a new comic strip. It’ll be all about a cartoon character named Herbal. Technically Herbal will be a gerbil, but he’ll be a cool glasses-sportin’ briefcase-carryin’ anti-Marijuana one. Ah, c’mon, it can’t be any worse than Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

Mouse - Sergeant John Baber.

This fellow is the only one who started with one name but ended up with another. The original was also of an omnivore (one he’d no doubt prefer to be called) but, well, indecisiveness and a certain picture of him compelled me to change it to what it is. Truth be told, I don’t care for this selection much either. He does strike me as incredibly creature-like; I just can’t pinpoint which one. I should’ve just called him Animal.

Dasani - Sergeant Joe Hatter.

Maybe it’s ingrained from his SWAT training, but this dude goes nearly nowhere without being accompanied by a bottle or two of water. His brand of choice might not be Dasani, but I wasn’t about to refer to him as Deer Park.

Porn Star - Detective Jon McKay.

That guy’s either a cop or a wanna-be 80s porn star! When I first saw him I swear he looked exactly the way adult film actors used to look. So much so I couldn’t help but imagine his ass, the section of flesh glowing white in stark contrast to the rest of his suntanned body. Twisted thought, perhaps, but by no means an unpleasant one.

Truck - Detective Paul Best.

I dunno… you are what you’re next to? A glimpse in my driver’s side mirror produced the grill of a truck and the upper body of an attractive man clad in a blue and black vest branded POLICE. Had he been half an inch closer to the vehicle, there’s a good possibility he’d be known as Toyota.

Skoal - Detective Jon Seitz.

Between the worn round outline in his back right pocket and the bottle full of gooey brown liquid -- definitely not the advertised Diet Coke -- in his hand, I dubbed him the only brand of smokeless tobacco I knew. Oddly enough, in the future I would find the men carried containers of Kayak, Grizzly, and Timber Wolf, but never any Skoal.

Spot - Detective Granville Fields.

The second I saw him, I pegged him as a cop. I kid you not, the thought that immediately popped in my mind was Good grief; do all these guys have that spot? Despite being a fair distance away from him, I could clearly see a circular area of baldness near the top of the back of his head. Several other JADE men have this identical marking, including LH.

SeeSee - ATF Special Agent John Stoltz.

SeeSee = CC = Carbon Copy. Inside and out this guy is nothing more than a clone of Longhead. And if you’ve listened to him, as I have, gushing on and on about LH, you’d probably find, as I did, it bordered on vomit-inducing. If I were his wife, I’d worry about what’s inspiring those wet dreams he’s been having.

Longhead - Detective Brian N. O’Donnell.

I suppose because of his remarkably elongated face, this is, for real, what the druggies who know him call him so it’s what I went with. Honestly, it’s far nicer than any Faux name I would’ve given him. In print, I often abbreviate Longhead to LH.

Rasmussen - VSP BCI Special Agent J.S. Fleming.

A long time ago I saw a picture of professional cyclist Michael Rasmussen. In it he was kind of hunched over and you could see all his bones and ribs sticking out and it was frankly repulsive. So this JADE member was kind of bent over reaching into an automobile and I guess because of some items – body armor, gun, whatever -- under his shirt jutting out everywhere it gave the same sick skeletal impression. (To be clear, it was not a reflection of reality as, unlike the real Rasmussen, this one has a decent build.) The choice of nickname was emphatically better when I later saw a collection of bikes belonging to him and heard he’s an avid cycler too.

Pringle - Detective Jimmy Bunch.

Simple explanation: offhand he looked like someone I know with that last name. ‘Course, naturally, after seeing more of him I made up my mind that he only looks like my acquaintance from afar. Up close he reminds me of the teddy bear you hug whenever you’re down and sad.

News

HealthFest 2009 March 20th
Posted 3.18.09

#7. THE COSTS OF DRINKING AND DRIVING Detective Brian O’Donnell of the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) agency will talk about the costs of drinking and driving, and driving under the influence of drugs. He will address the costs in lives, emotional costs of survivors, and the financial costs incurred by using real life situations that he has witnessed from years of being a police officer.

Source.

See That, Over There? --->

For who knows how long the User Stats Profile Views on my VIEW MY COMPLETE PROFILE page hasn't changed. Surely, between me and the piteous Task Force bastard who got the grim duty of monitoring I HeArTE JADE, the sum ought to be switching once in a while. Come to find out several bloggetees are having the same problem, and Google is doing something -- or maybe it’s better to say no longer doing something -- with the counter.

Oh well. If it’s going to be permanently frozen,1000 is a perfectly respectable number to chill at.

The Answer Is "Seclusion," The Question Is Orthogonal -- Part 3

(Part 1/Part 2)

It’s not as if the squad is going to go immediately from their vehicle to barging into a dwelling -- they have to get all situated first -- but, still, if they’re already out of the van, I don’t have much time. Obstacles and no shoulder to speak of prevent me from stopping instantly on this unheralded detour of mine. Ugh! I can’t just leave my car in the middle of the doggone road.

One street over has a perfect piece of ground to plant my four wheels. I zip my car in place and shoot out of it like a dart. Don’t slam the door!

As astonishing as it seems, I can be quite lithe on my toes; I sprint along the concrete making barely a sound. When I get to the block the officers are on, I round the corner and stop after about fifteen feet. I take a moment to assess the general state of things. Right off the bat I notice that an overhead streetlight is casting a three thousand foot long shadow of me in the direction I intend to go. I make a beeline for a nearby yard, moving until I trap the silhouette of me completely beneath my shoelaces.

Satisfied I’m currently less at risk of being spied, I have another go at surveying the situation. I see the hulking outline of the Drug Enforcement carrier but I’m unsure of where the men are in relation to it. I don’t know which residence is their target. I don’t have a lot to go on but I formulate a plan -- a partial one, anyway. Phase 1 is simple: just make it to the van.

Working with my surroundings I steal closer to my destination. About three-quarters of the way there I hear harsh pounding that isn’t coming from my heart. It’s jolting in the quietness of the neighborhood. This is it. I scramble furtively through the terrain until I’m flush with the back of the JADE transporter. I wait for more sounds. A deep backwoods-style voice cuts through the air and, to the beat of its words “search warrant,” I step from the grass onto the road immediately at the rear bumper of the Task Force van. Yes!

The shouts have given me their position. Now I know which side of the van I’ll be using for cover. Ha! Not a bad shield, and what a nice plan. I slink upright along the length of it until a panel of window, then pitch of the hood, forces me to stoop to finish inching forward. I crouch by the front bumper contorting my shape to the tire’s, heedful not to touch any part of the vehicle lest I give myself away by its movement.

I study the activities of the search team and simultaneously scan for optional places of concealment to retreat to. I’m glad I did the second thing because at one point I have to skitter elsewhere, a shift that my ‘til then scrunched up body much appreciated.

The thing about viewing a raid is that it will inevitably reach a stage when it’s no longer interesting to be a spectator -- could be anywhere from right around when the officers inside the home are peeking into peanut butter jars and poking their noses in toilet tanks, or whatever mundane procedure they're performing, to hours into it. Also once the epinephrine rush the men had has petered out and their labor-oriented tunnel-vision recedes, I believe the chances of being discovered increase with every tick-tock of the clock.

Having sated my curiosity on numerous levels and remembering the thing back at the JADE office, after an hour of observation I depart from the scene as secretly as I’d gone into it. All I have to evidence the events of that night are my memories and the… well, I’ll tell you the story about those items some night when I’m pushing up daisies.

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.

Repetitious News

JADE Arrests Albemarle County Man on Drug Charges

Posted: 3:12 PM Apr 1, 2009
Last Updated: 9:21 PM Apr 1, 2009

April 1, 2009

About 100 grams of cocaine is off the streets of Charlottesville after an undercover operation.

Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement officials conducted the undercover operation in the 1000 block of Monticello Road around 9:15 pm Tuesday.

Joniel Renere Edwards, 26, is charged with a felony for allegedly distributing cocaine.

The cocaine seized is worth about $10,000 on the streets.

Reported by WCAV

County man arrested on cocaine charges

By The Daily Progress Staff

Published: April 2, 2009

An Albemarle man was arrested late Tuesday in an undercover operation that netted 100 grams of cocaine.
The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement task force arrested Joniel Renere Edwards, 26, after conducting the operation at about 9:15 p.m. in the 1000 block of Monticello Road in Charlottesville, according to Sgt. Joe Hatter of JADE.

Edwards was charged with distribution of cocaine, a felony.
The cocaine seized was worth an estimated $10,000 on the street, according to Hatter.

The investigation continues, and more arrests and charges are pending, Hatter said.
Edwards is scheduled to appear in court June 11.

Reported by The Daily Progress

(First Report by NBC29 HD News)

P.S.

In case I haven’t mentioned it, it’s not easy to tail the JADE Task Force men -- particularly when they can just drive down the wrong dang side of the road whenever they don’t feel like sitting in traffic the way the rest of us have to. I know, I know, they’re taking drugs off the street and curbing the violence associated… blah, blah, blah… we should overlook their unlawful acts. Pfft.

Four Things You Would've Heard Me Say If You'd Been With Me On This Day. Ready, Set,

Go. Go. GO. Gooooooooooooo -- stupid-worthless-you’re-going-to-make-me-lose-‘im-mother -- Go!

_________________________

Don’t go. No! Wait for me. You. Old. Deaf. Punk-Bitch.

_________________________

Rain, rain, go away; come again another… time when I’m not trying to take pictures ‘cause they’re gonna come out like THAT. Uck.

_________________________

I’m tired, cold, and soggy wet. I don’t care if the Task Force is about to make their best bust EVER evereverever, and I’ve been given a personal invitation to it, and Spot will be in shorts at it mmmm... great legs -- if you fold me in half and twist, you could wring out enough water to wash the JADE van. This is where I go home.

This Must Be A Rewrite Of A Press Release From The Task Force

Drug Arrest on Monticello Avenue



April 1, 2009 03:03 PM
April 1, 2009 08:44 PM

The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement task force says they've taken 100 grams of cocaine off the street.

As the result of an undercover operation on Monticello Avenue, they arrested Joniel Renere Edwards for distribution of cocaine.

The drug has a street value of approximately $10,000. This is an ongoing investigation with more arrests and charges pending.

Reported by NBC29 HD News

Sometimes They Don't Come Back

That redneck-cartin’ rust-bucket I call The Beater could often be found parked at the Ix building. After several weeks of abu… uh, use by the Task Force, it inexplicably disappeared. While I don’t much care what pasture it’s been put out to, I am a shade curious why it was driven away never to return. I have a lot of memories attached to it.

That is the Monte Carlo from one of my (cough) finer (cough) pursuits. I hadn’t seen it prior to that gaucherie -- obviously, or I would’ve known better than to use it for cover -- and I haven’t seen it since.

That was supposed to be Rasmussen’s Chevy. Wound up being another Law Enforcement guy’s vehicle. Chalk it up to wire-crossing; fortunately the electrician in me fixed the short before I got zapped.

That belongs to Spare Spot, a Virginia State Policeman. Spare Spot came flying out from the JADE office like a Superhero, grabbed blue tights, a red cape, and assorted gizmos from his car, then took off in The Beater with a trusty pair of sidekicks. While he was still off defeating evildoers, I snapped several shots of his Camry. It may have been the only day I got a look at the Man of Steel but, hey, now I know what Clark Kent drives.

That is a dead ringer for another one of the eleventy jillion others just like it congesting the City of Charlottesville and Albemarle county. Maybe I should’ve saved it for a “Sometimes They Multiply” entry. Anyway on the afternoon this photograph was taken, the Ford was dispensing police like Pez does sugar squares.

There are mega-lots more. Would you believe the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force is tied to no less than half the autos in Virginia? Almost for realiously.

Alt 0149

• Skoal has a brother who’s also in Law Enforcement.
• Dasani flies a Marines flag.
• Some of Longhead’s history as a policeman can be found here.
• Herb’s badge number is CP6.
• Truck is the best detective in all of JADE Charlottesville.
• Mouse’s surname was once misprinted in a media article.
• That vest thingie Porn Star wears looks like this.
• SeeSee has the same first name as three fellow JADE members.
• Rasmussen has a Jamis.
• Pringle passes by the homes of two other TFOs on the way to his own.
• Spot carries hinged handcuffs.
• iHeArTEjade has to reiterate Spot is Hot. As. Hell. Especially in these pants.

The Answer Is "Seclusion," The Question Is Orthogonal -- Part 2

(Part 1)

Behind my eyes Clint Black drawls.

This killin’ time is killin’ me
Drinking myself blind thinkin’ I won't see
That if I cross that line an’ they bury me
Well I just might find
I'll be killin’ time
For eternity

His drinking part doesn’t coincide with the occasion. Latent drug bust. I switch my mental station to the opening tune of Weeds -- two different versions. That one girl on youtube performs it so pretty. I guess the song’s anti-suburbia… anti-conformity… clones of each other… cookie-cutters… cookies… no, cheez-its… yummy! Yes, folks, this is the same mind that devised a successful scheme to net Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement case files and Operational Plans.

From my unhiding place near Task Force headquarters I watch the assailants roll in, one at a time, and park their rides. A couple of vehicles I’ve not seen before come, and go. They’re connected to JADE one way or another so I document some of this and a lot of that about them. Final Drug Enforcement Officer to pop up is Longhead.

I sit tight.

When they swagger out en masse, they don’t look or act any different than before but the shift in ambiance is incredible. You can feel the energy effusing from these men. It’s like being asphyxiated by ropes of submerged adrenaline. I think I express myself fairly well, but I’m just not coming up with words here that can explain the sensation properly. Let’s just go back to “incredible” and leave it at that.

The guys pile into the green G20 I’d dreamt of midday, last one in pulling the door shut behind him. The conveyance heads out. I witness it turning right; I count to ten, and then I go after it. As I’m passing by the main stairway the TFOs use, something catches my eye. Ah, man! Should I stop? No. I came for the raid, that’s what I’m sticking with. But I am so coming back for that. I press on the gas and speed away.

Following a full-size van in the blackness at a time when no one else is on the road doesn’t take a heck of a lot of skill. I can, and do, hang back enough to obviate their getting suspicious of me. Somewhere along the line I coast up right behind them because they’ve been halted by a surprisingly lengthy red light. The twin back windows of what they occupy have white blinds dented up all strange. Maybe they can see through the things but I doubt they’re looking. I let some distance build again when the signal changes. Once they segue to the street Herb and Truck took in their previous visit, I get anxious -- in both good and bad sense of the word. I have no idea where they’re going from here on in.

When I tar-slow make the same turn seconds later they’re nowhere to be seen. I gradually move forward down the pavement, coming to rest at an intersection. I can make a right, a left, or continue without deviation. Holy jeez, the choices. I see a good portion of asphalt in either side directions. Straight has a gradient; it appears the road just drops off into the belly of Earth. I wasn’t that far behind. I think I would notice some signs of them if they had made a turn here. I advance the way in front of me.

And jerk my steering wheel to the left then right as fast as I can holler out an obscenity.

Like 60 yards beyond me had been the JADE van, parked, and only until I crossed the crest of concrete could I see it. My headlights lit up the rear of it so dandy it resembled a colossal flaming emerald. Standing near its driver’s door was Spot, who’d also been blasted into visual percept by my front lamps. His body was square with the assaultmobile, his face aimed expectantly at my car’s illuminating orbs cascading down on him.

I think between the way I veered smoothly, the incline, and it being dark enough, it would appear to anyone down the slope observing that I made a normal left. I assure you it was anything but. It was a crazy curvy move only I or a drunken serpent could pull off.

Oh yeah. I am so swift it shatters precedents.

(Part 3)

Wat I Iz Thinking Abowt @ 01:35

How would Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement know when photographs on I HeArTE JADE were shot?

I mean, if I toss up a picture of the TFO’s automobile that got a helluva tint job:



And exhibit the raindrops on its rear windshield:



And bumper:



The facts that a) I referenced the vehicle’s change in appearance more than two months ago and b) the local region has been drizzly and wet for the past two days, aren’t enough for much more than a vague estimate of time frame (especially given that the latter may or may not be relevant).

If it’s that indeterminate for cars which have datable distinctive alterations, it has to be even harder to timestamp ones which don’t:


jade charlottesville
That could’ve been taken three days ago or three years ago -- who’s to say?

Put Your Lips To My Ear And Blow; I Need A Refill!

Do people know I remove information contained in Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement documents prior to publication? Alas, I thought they did. I can be so purblind.

There I was, believing my method of data modification was kinda sharp, pretending I’m all clever and junk to not let the Task Force know how I might’ve managed to smudge my fingerprints all across their stuff, having the impression I’m gaining credibility with readers by intel. supplying, when somebody went and rerouted my parade on a detour under the flow of Niagara Falls with his sentence “Oh. I thought it was, like, an empty form.”

OMG. You thought I… I… go through all the trouble of getting… that I’d show off the fact that I… nothing more than… BLANK PAPERS? Aha Ha Ha Ha haha…

Ohhhh kaaay. Guess that’s what I get for disfavoring the look of flagrant redaction:



I fervently swear on my superpowers (that I wish I had) that items in my JADE collection are loaded with content:
jade charlottesville


‘Course some might be of the opinion none of these objects are even for real, much less actual JADE material, but since I’m onto the possibility they think that, I now return to fancying myself smart as a pistol-whip.

The Answer Is "Seclusion," The Question Is Orthogonal -- Part 1

In the colorless wee hours of the morning the JADE Van clandestinely pulls in near the edge of the lawn across the street from me. Seated by an ajar window upstairs I watch as, one by one, five shadowed figures spill out of the behemoth they came in. They cautiously and quietly glide in a row across the grasses up to a residence, one house away from where they parked, and settle at its door. The robust man at the lead (I think it’s Pringle) raps on the entrance with his fist. To supplement his striking he boisterously announces their presence and intentions to the surely slumbering occupants inside. I decamp from my spot at the glass to go have a better look.

Boom! I’m halfway down the steps when I hear the battering ram making contact with the fatal funnel the Task Force is about to go through. They’re already inside by the time I get outside. I sneak across the pavement, pause at the sidewalk leading up to the ingress and plot how much closer I can get without being snagged. From behind me there’s a tap on my shoulder. In super-slow motion I rigidly rotate around and see a suited man standing there. “Your car insurance is due” he says, thrusting an AIG envelope at me. Wha…?

My eyes pop wide open -- first in the dream, then in reality.

The last thing I remember before fading into my catnap is the inner echo of a sole word out of a twine of them tattled to me over an earlier phone call. Tonight. Tonight. Tonight. I guess once I was out cold it conflated with serious elements on my mind. Dreams are funny like that.

Tonight Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement is serving a search warrant and I intend to track the boys and observe.

I arrive in the vicinity of the Ix building and scope out the parking areas. Plenty of signs I’ve learned to look for indicate the tip-off I’d received was right-on. Woohoo! I love me some hot sources.

X amount of time elapses. I make good use of it counting the sparkles on my nail polish, belting out Pink Floyd songs a capella, and ruminating if Freon really will do the same thing as See-Through. Kidding. I kid. Moving right along…

It’s evening and the sky is gently exhaling leftover light from the set sun. Herb and Truck come out of their workplace and get in Truck’s car. I bet they’re gonna go scout the area they’re searching tonight. I trail after them to earn myself an edge for later.

We navigate the local roads, and pass by the Federal Courthouse. The signal up ahead turns red. I see Truck get into the left turn lane; I also see the passenger window is lowered, Herb’s arm resting in the open space. I pull up amid the painted lines next to them as I spin the volume down on Vaï. Shoot. Kind of hard to listen in when they aren’t talking to each other. Herb pivots his face to me. The sides of his lips curve up pleasantly and I smile back at him.

They make their left. I’m committed to going straight, but I’ve improved with this cloak-and-dagger stuff; I swing a tight U-turn, take a speedy right and catch up to Herb and Truck faster than Travis Tomasie reloads a weapon. We continue for a ways with no additional turns. When they finally head down a side street -- one that definitely leads nowhere else but a neighborhood -- I vacate my stint and let them go conduct their last-minute surveillance alone. It’d be dumb of me to cavort after them and expect to be overlooked when they’re, presumptively, soon to be under the influence of vigilance. I got what I wanted anyway: the general location of their impending raid.

Now I have nothing to do except hurry up and wait.

(Part 2)

Police Beat

The Daily Progress has added a fluffy article about the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force to their Home > News > Local > Crime section. I'm not sure if it's supposed to be a puff piece or if it's just page-filler, and it doesn't offer me any new insight, but because it's JADE-related I'll link to it.
jade charlottesville
When crack epidemic overtook Charlottesville

TattleTail

Ring… Ring…
“Newsroom.”
“Hi. I don’t know if y’all are interested in this sort of thing or not, but the JADE Task Force just raided a house out here.”
“Yeah -- we knew they were out tonight; we just didn’t know where.”
“Ah. Well, they’re on […].”
“[…]? Spell that.”
“Sure. It's […].”
“Where is that?”
“Not too far from where you’re located. GPS it.”
“How long have they been there?”
“About 15 minutes.”
“Great, thanks!”
Click.

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.)

From Brain To Bullet List

I’ve been mulling over the recent Grand Marc Meth story.

Earlier this week local Charlottesville media reported an apartment in their city was a “suspected Meth lab” or “possible drug lab.” The allegation gained support when Lt. Don Campbell, speaking on behalf of JADE, said upon inquiry “we think it’s possibly some type of drug lab.” The Lieutenant also stated that the chemicals discovered had been sent elsewhere “to find out what exactly we have.”

Though there are conflicting accounts regarding whether two people were found inside the apartment or had returned to it at a later time, one thing that seems to be certain is no arrests were made.

• Forget the media, let’s get right to JADE. “Think” it is? “Possibly”? What kind of low-level nitwit-filled Narcotics Task Force are we talking about here that doesn’t know if what it stumbled into is a drug lab?
• Perhaps actually Lt. Campbell and his team know exactly what it is, they just don’t want anyone to know they know. They’re being shrewd. After all they haven’t made any arrests yet.
• Maybe they can’t charge anyone without confirmation from the place they sent the chemicals to. Red tape and all that jazz.
• No matter if JADE can or can’t identify drug-making grounds, those two suspects connected to the apartment would know if they'd been operating a drug lab. Come. On.
  
• If I was running a Meth lab and I hadn’t been arrested when Drug Enforcement uncovered it, I wouldn’t hang around waiting for them to get back the results of their lab tests. Voy a Tijuana! Or at least Florida.
• Is the Drug Task Force hoping to flip someone in this -- you know cultivate informants? JADE wouldn’t be able to function without informants. Take away their snitches and they got nothing. I’m just sayin’.
• Could it be the “suspects” already are JADE informants?
• A Meth lab, it may not even be.
  
• Media have altered initial coverage. That makes it more challenging to get to the bottom of things.

It Might Not Stay There But, Oh Snap, It Got There!

If you haven't been briefed on my jade charlottesville Google project, read this and this.

Ya Didn't Really Think I'd Let This One Slide By, Did Ya?

Dear Police Chief Longo,

I can’t help but notice that while you’ve ordered me to not do the same, other media appear to be permitted to publicize images and personally identifiable information of your Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) Task Force Officers with impunity.

Surely you would concede that a major televising Charlottesville news station and its subsidiary website have a larger audience than my individual Internet blog. If that's indeed the case, I would think your prior communications with me about the aforesaid matter would not only apply to them, and similar mainstream mediums, but so much more so.

I don’t expect you to rescind your order -- especially in lieu of the fact that I’ve ignored it (on the grounds that I believe you have no authority to issue such a command) -- but I would be interested in hearing your justification for the divergence.

If you would like to discuss this with me, you may call anytime; feel free to get my number from any one of the several officers who has it.

Sincerely,

MethBusters

March, 2009.
jade charlottesville


Charlottesville police believe someone may have been running a meth lab out of the Grand Marc Apartments on 15th Street northwest near the UVA corner. Fire, hazmat and police crews were all called to the scene because of reports of a suspicious odor.

Police say they received information Tuesday around 10:00 p.m. about strong chemical odors coming from apartment 301 15th Street northwest. The initial call was received by the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement task force.

"I'm glad they called us because it could have been a dangerous situation," said Lieutenant Don Campbell with the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement task force.
jade charlottesville

jUST aNOTHER dOCUMENT eNTRY

A Hint Of History

Herb.

Every day, when he arrives at work, Herb parks his sand-or-maybe-it’s-gold-colored Impala in the same lot, in the same row, in the same space. And there it remains until hours later Herb leaves in it all by his lonesome, presumably to go home. Maybe that’s an overstatement -- there are episodic deviations -- but it does seem to be the general rule. So much so, that whenever I’m not around, eyes and ears for me don’t bother mentioning his or his car’s presence at JADE; the information is axiomatic.

But on this particular night I am around and Herb’s vehicle is predictably and neatly tucked inside its stock three white lines. Herb himself is in the 965 office. All of the other Drug Enforcement fellows and their rides are absent. It’s dark, and quiet.

As far as I know the Task Force has no plans of making a drug bust or anything later but I’m keyed up almost as much as if they do.

In less than an hour I’m supposed to meet with my very favorite JADE source. I mischievously call him Boomslang, which, because he incorrectly thinks other people are as smart as him, makes him extremely paranoid someone will figure out who he is. It’s not been beneath him to implore earnestly that I don’t write the anonym down, and it’s not been beyond me to be dismissive of him about it. I comply with every-single-thing else he asks of me so, hush!

Herb comes out of the Ix building carrying his trusty briefcase and strolls by me in my car. He doesn’t exhibit quintessential law enforcement attributes but I’m versed with his background. His can of whoop ass is as full as the rest of the JADE guys’.

Herb is the only Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement member left whose home address I haven’t yet confirmed. The place I’m almost for sure must be where he lives is not more than a few miles away.

I get to thinking a good way to burn up some time and this wild energy! energy! energy! in me would be to tail Herb. So I do. Only…

He isn’t going to the location I assumed he would. Not even in the same direction.

I follow him on various familiar streets before the two of us eventually merge onto the Interstate. I don’t know why -- could be wishful thinking -- but I take it for granted we aren’t going far. Huh-uh. We travel so long down I-64 I start looping the refrain from that song by The Who in my head. For miles and miles and miles and miles… I watch the numbers on the clock grow higher.

I get to thinking I’m going to mess up meeting with my spy and, bent on that not happening, plan to get off at the next exit, dropping Herb, and reverse direction. Only…

Forever passes with nary a turnaround to be found. Not even one of those pretentious “Authorized Vehicles Only” places.

Herb and I have been cruising at a moderate speed this whole way. I know how much time it’s taken to get us here where we are, therefore I know how much time it’s going to take to get me back where we were. In other words I’m sorely aware that even if I go all out race-car-driver, if I don’t get spun around in the next couple of minutes I’ll miss Boomslang. Aside from the fact that I overall adore the man, what we go through to manage these get-togethers of ours would make one hell of a plot line for Mission: Impossible. Zealously I plaster the gas pedal to the carpet.

All of a sudden I’m going so much faster than Herb, it looks like he isn’t moving. Exactly like one of those painted white dashes on the highway, he is. As I overtake him I narrowly slice back into the lane he’s in. No sooner do I do this that an exit ramp appears. I shoot up it like Rocky Hardcore about to hurdle an airplane. In the mirror, through the nocturnal air behind me I notice Herb’s blinker. He’s taking this exit too. I muse whether he’s purposely coming after me or does he often travel this road?

On his way up the incline, Herb’s signal goes out then flashes on again. He intends to turn right. Having neglected to get the exit number, I turn right, as Herb will, and scan for any road signs to tell me something about my surroundings and where this run of asphalt leads. I don’t want the trip to be an entire waste but since the green lights of the clock promise that’s exactly what it’s going to be, I resort to busting a U-ie in the middle of the vacant street. As I bolt from the environs, I unenthusiastically watch Herb wend by on the opposite side to I know not where. I use aspirations of “next time” to make peace with the abortion.

With few seconds to spare I arrive back and upon seeing him standing there on the sidewalk, hands crossed on biceps, looking all tough and authoritative-like, I uncharacteristically fling my arms around my very favorite JADE source and my failure with Herb evanesces.

WHOOT!

This is my 100th entry on I HeArTE JADE. As if that wasn’t cool enough, lookit:

Hell yeah, buddy! That’s what I’m talkin’ about. I’ve been hootin’ and hollerin’ and jumpin’ up and down for the past two minutes. I think Google deserves a couple of Carnations and a link back in honor of the big jade charlottesville BUMP of my blog.

Makes Sense To Me

I got to thinking (‘cause I can’t. stop. doing. that.) I HeArTE JADE might appear to be a chaotic mess of entries put up indiscriminately by a person stricken with Aclutteredosis Mindoma. Now my brain definitely has its quirks but disorganized it is not. I swear it’s as clear as Rakia up there. Um, right, maybe comparing what’s in my head to fermented fruit brandy is not the best way to make my point.

Contrary to the look of the place, I carefully consider what I incorporate here. Everything is suitable for a general audience, though some components are lightsomely tailored to needle the Task Force Officers a bit. I heard a pair of specific pictures I put up were a big hit with a certain detective. Too cute. Every now and again I intentionally make obscure references and wonder if the Drug Enforcement men they were directed at get them.

There are things that I deliberately don’t post about until mucho tiempo ha pasado. Typically the reason for this is to avoid scorching a source or myself. Often all that’s necessary to protect people is a dent of deferral, after which information and experiences can be shared with impunity. Even the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement guys will let the clock roll over after one of their informants asserts drugs are in a residence before they go tearing into the dwelling -- same principle.

There are things I’ll probably not be able to write about ever. Most hilarious freaking JADE story I’ve got will never make it to print and the cruddiest part about it is I can’t even hint as to why. Another one that I’ve already put into words is interesting except its ending has bad news for someone. It’s the kind of news that will mutilate a heart and, since I don’t want to be responsible for that kind of damage, it doesn’t need to be here. You ask: Why not just alter or omit portions in cases like that? Changing minor details and fessing up to them with a * or by comment in (these) is where I draw the lyin’.

While I try to compose my material in a way that I hope others will find attractive, I repress embellishment. My escapades, my thoughts and perspectives, my screw-ups extraordinaire, JADE documents, JADE pictures and audio, JADE complacency, if people don’t believe the content here is honest-to-goodness real, that’s A-OK. This blog is supposed to be entertaining and informative. Accepting what you find on it as true? Entirely up to you.

I guess the most disorderly part about iheartejade.blogspot.com is the unsystematicness… systematicless… unsystematiclessness… whatever… of the entries themselves. There are no prearranged Tactics Tuesdays, or Shadowing Saturdays (which would be ironic in view of the fact that JADE TFOs don’t work weekends). But that’s what the post labels are for.

Now that I’ve cleared a whole lot of nothing up, Rakia anyone?

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.

Never Look A Gift Source In The Mouth

On the front porch sat three black males. On the sidewalk in front of the residence another black man paced to and fro like a scuttling ghost crab. As I drove by, he was the only one out of the four who seemed to pay me any mind. He stood still just long enough to stare at me like I was riding in a hovercraft then went back to his chore of wearing down the concrete.

What had brought me to their neighborhood was an address of someone whose house had gotten hit by Hurricane JADE. Least that’s what I’d been told a week prior; I was only getting around to nosing into it right then. I was charting Task Force search warrant activities (for reasons that deserve a blog entry of their very own) and didn’t want to stick a pushpin in the corresponding Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement map if it didn’t belong. I was also ever-looking for any sources -- which is why I squared the block and came back. Those fellows I’d passed were the kind that see everything.

Two of the porch-sitters had disappeared to parts unknown, the remaining one looked like he hadn’t moved a muscle except to tilt his chair back on two of its legs. I aimed for the curb and before I’d rolled to a stop, the tall, gaunt, street patroller was hanging on the doorjamb, ducked down, his face centered at my open passenger window.

He had a sickening sweet smell about him -- a mixture of smoke and candy. He was wearing a sweatshirt and had a dirty ball cap on backwards. What should’ve been the whites of his enormous pug-like eyes were a unique marbleized combination of tan and bloodshot. I couldn’t even begin to guess what age he was.

In the amount of time it took him to get out the words “can I he’p you?” I knew being direct was the only approach. Trying to be cagey with someone who couldn’t even keep his darting eyes from going in opposite directions of each other would’ve been superfluous. “Do you know who JADE is?” I asked.

“Jade? Sho’ do. She work Mickey Dees. Naw. Jade? She don’t work. I ain’t seen her.” While the tweaking lunatic in front of me argued with himself, the man on the stoop dropped his chin and looked down at us from his balanced chair. I raised my hand at him. It passed as a wave; he nodded once in response. I turned my attention back to the man I’d been talking to. “The JADE Task Force. What do you know about them?”

“You a repo’ter. I knowed it!” He grinned wide. What few teeth he had left matched the color and pattern of his eyes. Meth mouth in all its rotten glory.

I pulled out a handful of photographs and splayed them like playing cards. “Do you know any of these guys?” He frantically tapped one of the pictures. “Yeah yeah yeah. Yeah.” The man was now halfway through the window of my car -- his butt in the air on the outside, and his upper body suspended over the seat on the inside. “You got change, miss? I been kind a down on muh luck.” He stuck his mammoth bottom lip out and I could almost hear his buddy in the background smile.

I pulled cash out of my back pocket and with my thumb and forefinger held it under his nose. “This is coffee money.” He reached for it and I jerked it away. “You want lunch money, you tell me every place you’ve seen any one of these guys.” I circled my hand over the images that were on the seat. He gave me a tidy list and I gave him a couple more bills.

On the spot I believed what he told me, if for no other reason than that he included “down there, on Market.” I guess he thought I meant it when I said I wanted to know every place he’d seen them. I double-checked the rest of his information nonetheless; it had all been true and correct.

I HeArTE DOGS!

This one time I went to watch JADE serve a search warrant and, before I could get close enough for it to be interesting, my presence was caught by a dog. A friendly and excitable big dog by the sound of it. I’d have to get by it if I wanted to see what I’d gone to see. Shhh… I’d whispered hoping its hearing was as good as its sense of smell. I’d kept furtively slinking through the neighborhood of darkness, a thunderous Wuhooof! in echo to my every soundless footfall.

Silent pleading for the animal to shut up shut up shut up shut up in the name of all unholy hell SHUT UP didn’t work and I unlike badge-endowed pros couldn’t very well draw out a fire extinguisher with which to inhibit the grand barking beast. A stick-thin, skin-the-achromatic-color-of-maximum-lightness, giggling female cutting through a yard blasting CO2 out of a canister at someone’s pet might kind of counteract the objective of not attracting attention. Although I knew if Bowwow didn’t knock it off, there wouldn’t be anything living under the stars that wouldn’t know I was there anyway.

As I’d moved around the block, the clamoring canine moved around its yard -- everywhere equidistant. It was pretty clear it wasn’t going to relent. Any creature that persistent deserves to get its way once in a while; I figured that night it was the dog’s turn.

What -- you thought I was going to tell you some stunt I pulled to thwart the dog or I’d claim I’ve been carrying around raw meat in my pocket ever since, in case of a similar situation? Surprise! No and Eww... NO.

Title: (See Last Comment In List)

• Herb doesn’t wear a wristwatch.
• Rasmussen’s handgun holster is not black.
• There’s a picture of Truck in the Charlottesville Police Department.
• SeeSee’s house has colonial grid octagonal windows.
• Longhead’s astrological sign is Aquarius.
• At least three female officers know Dasani’s badge number by heart.
• Spot is an Elk (not that kind, this kind).
• Pringle shops at Sam’s Club in Charlottesville.
• Porn Star is a member of the National Rifle Association.
• Mouse’s pants size is 34 x 32.
• Skoal is the only member of JADE whose number appears in an actual telephone book.
• iHeArTEjade believes no detail is too small.

Memoir From My Embryonic JADE Reservoir

(I wrote this shortly after it happened. To give you an idea of how long ago it was, I still hadn't figured out who a third of the men in the Task Force were and I was trying to find a female member of JADE that it didn't even have.)

Rasmussen.

I watch the man I think of as Rasmussen mosey up the parking area, a worn, fully crammed red backpack slung over his shoulder. Sometimes he walks kind of funny, like now. I swear his legs are longer than a nautical mile. I take a few pictures of him, both before and as he gets in his car. I don’t know how well they’ll come out because the lowering late-afternoon sun is blazing and every automobile in the lot is reflecting its rays like a prism.

I’m parked two rows away and two spaces down behind him. I think about how nice it is to see the back of him inside his vehicle -- I am so sick of tinted windows! Not sure what he’s doing in there but a few minutes go by before he backs out.

Rather than leaving via the top exit of the upper lot, he goes out the gap at the bottom. I think it’s actually the entranceway but I’m not entirely sure. I don’t want to lose his Impala so I follow it out the same path. If they don’t want people driving out the “in,” it should clearly say so. Humph!

We both bypass the speed bump, drive beyond the newsplex building, and pull up to the stop sign. We sit here a loooong time. Maybe he’s waiting for a car to pass. None does before he eventually turns right. I’m startin’ to think this guy’s a strange one. I, on the other hand, do have to wait for a vehicle to go by before I can get in motion again. Happily the driver of it is a lead-foot so it’s almost like a non-pause.

The signal at the top of the hill is red and Rasmussen is lazing in the left turn lane. I stop behind him. I see parts of him in his driver’s side and rear view mirrors and I study the exposed portions of his features. I think his face is interesting-looking; it’s chiseled and fierce.

So who is this guy? I have the cell phone number of one of the JADE members I have yet to identify programmed into my phone. That guy’s supposedly from Staunton. Based on some other details, there’s a high chance Rasmussen could be him.

The light is taking forever to change. I pick up my cell and hit a single number to speed dial the one that belongs to the Staunton man. I listen to the ringing and watch for indications of Rasmussen getting a call. There are no such motions from the man in front of me, and when the ringing in my ear changes to voice mail I disconnect.

We make our turn and, with green lights all the way, travel smoothly down 5th Street. By the arrangement of his arm it looks like Rasmussen may already be on the phone. That could be why he didn’t answer me.

At I-64 we go west. Perhaps he lives in Ivy, or Crozet. Or… maybe he’s a JADE detective whose name I never got. It’s a possibility for sure but I tend to doubt it. This is the direction to Staunton. This is the direction to Staunton!

The exit to Ivy comes and goes, and I’m fastidiously comparing what I know about the man in front of me to information I have about the Task Force person I suspect he is. Methodical reasoning makes me more certain about his identity. I don’t care if he doesn’t answer his phone; if we don’t take an off-ramp to Crozet, I’m going to declare it’s him. We pass by Crozet like it doesn’t exist.

Rasmussen still sort of looks like he’s on the phone but I try the cell number I have one more time anyway. Nothing. There oughta be a rule that for every time these guys don’t answer their phones, a corpulent, Russian woman named Ustinya gets to yank ten hairs out of their nether regions with tweezers.

Even though I believe I now know who he is, I’ve followed Rasmussen this far without a problem and I reckon I might as well go the rest of the way. My odometer keeps spinning over the 5… 9… 100… miles.

We drive at a sensible pace and I maintain a comfy distance. We progress across the mountain; the scenery is incredible. God, I think I would love to be an eagle.

We're nearing Waynesboro and, because traffic is picking up, I shorten the space between us. Perfect timing since Rasmussen happens to take the next exit. I break out one of my trusty notepads intending to jot down the names of the roads as we take them.

The drag we’re on right now is all built-uppity and the heavy congestion of motorists reflects it.

A moment later we’re on a side road that obviously leads back into a neighborhood. I’m neither too close to nor too far from Rasmussen and after another turn or two, I instantaneously sense he’s suspicious of me. I can’t explain how I know he’s wondering if I’m here because of him -- he’s done dead nothing out of the ordinary -- but I feel like my spine just got set on fire and electrical sparks are playing leap frog on my shoulders. Rasmussen slows and with no turn signal makes a sudden left. A semi could’ve made that turn better.

I’m heeding my warning sensations. Rather than follow after him, I drift by and eyeball it instead. Yep. There he is. The silver sedan is pulled over on the right side. Gee, what are the chances that’s his house he’s in front of and he just didn’t feel like pulling into the driveway? I chuckle.

I roll a tad further, make a U-turn in the middle of the lane, pause for a sec to add the name of the street Rasmussen’s sitting on to the notepad, and head back out the route I came. In the process of leaving I give one last gander out my passenger’s window down the side street. The stopped Impala is several hundred feet further than where it was and judging by the severity of the brake lights, its operator is still inside.

Later I learn the street Rasmussen took is only one away from the address of the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force Officer “from Staunton.”

Search Research

Oh my gawd. I must not be using the Charlottesville city name enough here. I did a search on Google for jade charlottesville -- presumably one of the more obvious word combinations the kind of person who would be interested in this site would type in -- and iheartejade.blogspot.com is so far down the line of results, it’s on the might-as-well-not-exist page. That. Is. So. Zpht!

In contrast, look up jade task force (with or without quotation marks) and this blog is -- has been for months -- second only to the City of Charlottesville website. I couldn’t pay for better than that!

I refuse to have I HeArTE JADE sitting in the nose bleed section of the Internet. Therefore, with the help of my lovely assistant, Google, I’m gonna get groovier tickets.

Charlottesville : About the Task Force
The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) has been in existence since 1995 as a regional narcotics task force made up of officers from the Charlottesville ...
www.charlottesville.org/index.aspx?page=189 - 33k - Cached - Similar pages

Charlottesville : JADE Task Force
JADE Task Force. Printer Friendly. About the Task Force · Hotline ... 605 E. Main St., Charlottesville, VA 22902. Phone (434)970-3333. ...
www.charlottesville.org/index.aspx?page=284 - 29k - Cached - Similar pages

Charlottesville : Hotline
The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Anti-Terrorism Task Force request your help in the war on drugs and terrorism. Drugs have long been a problem for the ...
www.charlottesville.org/index.aspx?page=285 - 30k - Cached - Similar pages

Charlottesville : Police Department
Our department is also responsible for the administration and operational control of the multi-jurisdictional, Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) task ...
www.charlottesville.org/police/ - 39k - Cached - Similar pages

Charlottesville : Police Department
Charlottesville Police Department Accredited Agency Logo. OUR VALUES ... Learn more about the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Anti-Terrorism Task Force . ...
www.charlottesville.org/police/ - 39k - Cached - Similar pages

Needa ‘nother nom de guerre...

‘cause while “That Transfer From The County” is fitting for a new JADE person, it’s tedious. I’m drawing a blank. Any suggestions?

Six Things I've Learned Since Starting The JADE Project

1. That three thousand pound battering ram Law Enforcement uses to breach entranceways? No one carries it room-to-room inside the residence once it’s been used to bust down the doors. Okay I did not ever think someone actually lugged the thing around after it’s served its purpose but neither did I think someone didn’t do that.

2. There are officers that will remain outside their target house when it’s being raided. I didn’t gather this highly critical piece of information while being a secret spectator of searches and seizures, oh no, I heard it viva voce long after I’d witnessed, uhm, more than one of these events in person. I wish I could’ve seen the look on my face right before I said to the nice Charlottesville policeman, in the course of our conversation, “you mean… you… leave people outside?!” then mentally flat-palmed my forehead seventeen times and silently thanked luck for every instance that the men assigned to guarding the perimeters apparently sucked at it.

3. The intense sensation you experience when you suspect you’re being followed and the intense sensation you experience when you suspect the man you’re following suspects you’re following him are identical. ‘Nuff said.

4. Cop Clothing: More Than A Fashion Statement. Shirts and pants with hidden pockets, reinforced stitching to hold the weight of duty gear, linings intended to conceal weapons or wires, invisible Velcro and hooks and loops and D-rings, it’s amazing! Professionally designed attire with practical reasons -- and all this time I thought these guys were just decked out in an ugly pair of Khakis.

5. There are things we don’t know we don’t know. Circumstances and opportunity sometimes cause me to learn things I otherwise might not have thought about, or realized I wanted or needed to know. Well, technically this isn’t a new concept to me but I've been reminded of it many times over during this JADE Task Force interest of mine. Like, aside from big leaguers or cops and their snitches, who thinks about communicating à la baseball hats? I didn’t, until I found out JADE does it. Now I shriek “that’s the signal -- that’s the signal!” and point while doing a hopscotch dance whenever I see someone move, touch, adjust, or basically do whatever to, a cap.

6. Swinging out of the back of a moving F-series truck being driven by a cool crackhead and rolling under a parked vehicle, merely to observe JADE activities without being seen, hurts but is worth the bruises. If you’re a regular reader of iHeArTEjade, or you know me personally, the look on your face after reading that shouldn’t be described as anything other than “vapid.” Nothing I do should surprise you at this point.

She Who Has The Most Cars Is The Big Winner!

From time to time what’s on your agenda may require you to be stealthy. When the crowd you’re trying to investigate has caught on to what your primary automobile is and they can spot it from six miles away, you may be forced to get creative in order to conceal your surreptitious activities. What better way to overcome your transportation challenges than to obtain an infinite supply of vehicles?

If you have a little cash or the ability to sweet-talk your way into free rides, taxis are great for meeting many of your needs. The drivers don’t object to being idle for long periods, and they ordinarily don’t give a darn what you’re up to. The best part is that, completely in defiance of its conspicuous appearance, a hack no matter where it is never looks out of place. Charlottesville has some rockin’ cabbies.

If you don’t mind them making a temporary photocopy of your driver’s license, car dealerships will let you take just about anything on their lot out for a spin. With the used car market being as sad as it is, a lot of dealers don’t even care about getting a copy of your permit; seeing that you have one and that it’s not expired is satisfactory enough. A promise to bring it back with a full tank of gasoline, or not flip more than a hundred miles on the odometer, can make a charming coupe yours for a few hours. If you really know how to play it, you can get what’s called an “extended test drive” which gives you a set of wheels for the better part of a day to overnight.

If you’re concerned about picture ID issues or interacting with salesmen doesn’t float your boat, private party sellers are another way to go. All it takes is you finding and answering a classified ad. Most people don’t give a second thought to letting a stranger drive away in the sedan they want sold -- especially when the unfamiliar person leaves his or her own vehicle with them. Concoct a clever (read: believable) story and you can keep their car for a good chunk of time.

If you’re willing to be scammed, pay an exorbitant cost of basic rate, plus tax, in addition to the leasing surcharge the insurance surcharge the anti-theft surcharge the mileage surcharge the because-it-has-a-cupholder surcharge, and shell out one of your kidneys, I recommend rental car companies. They also keep records of your rental agreement with them on file for two hundred years at which time they’ll burn it for a fee.

Vroom Vroom!

JADE blog

Dear TF Jade,

My name is [Name], and I'm a reporter for the [Work]. I came across your blog this afternoon while looking for information on another crime.

I would like to speak with you about your blog. If you're interested, please e-mail me back or give me a call at [Number].

Thanks!
[Name]

[Name]
[Work]
[Number]

I'm Tossing Around The Idea Of Starting Another Weblog

Occasionally I HeArTE JADE readers have brought up the issue of time -- as in it must’ve taken a lot of it for me to do what I’ve done with Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force. A couple of JADE detectives themselves have remarked on it. Enough people have referred to it that I’m inclined to write about not just how but how fast information can be gathered. Plus, whereas one Charlottesville detective prompted my interest in JADE, JADE prompted my interest in trying identical lines of investigations elsewhere and, hey, now I’ve got anecdotes to air about them.

If you haven’t guessed yet, I’m heavily Law Enforcement focused. I’m sure there’s a deep pseudo-psychological reason someone can devise for me being this way, but let’s not go there. Anyway, on top of the eleven JADE TF members I’ve uncovered, I’ve updated my résumé to include:

One DEA Agent
Two FBI Agents
Two SWAT Officers
One Uniformed Policeman
One Virginia State Trooper
One Undercover Roanoke Investigator who appeared blur-faced on the dreadful show COPS

I haven’t written about any of them here because they aren’t JADE and iHeArTEjade is devoted to JADE. Swoon. But I thought given that I credit the JADE Task Force as being largely responsible for my newfound, uh, hobby, I could give an example of how I operate and perchance prove that in limited time one can learn all about smart men of various Law Enforcement agencies.

I admit I’ll use the Internet for tidbits of info but I favor finding intelligence the old-fashioned way, out in the real world. Sitting in front of a monitor is nowhere near as enjoyable as going to actual places like courthouses or police stations. Or raid sites. However, for a change of pace, and a new learning experience, I thought I’d take a stab at confining one of these frivolous pursuits of mine strictly to the ‘net.

I semi-randomly selected the author of a cop blog to unearth. I say semi-randomly because though I had no particular reason to pick this officer out of a hundred others, there were some prerequisites. For one, anybody who could play the scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz was a definite no-no. For another, a man who provided too much information about himself obviously would make my mission as easy as Jenna Jameson and, as such, also a no-go. C’mon, it had to be challenging!

The report is as follows.

I start at Google. There’s more than twenty thousand results for “cop blog.” I scroll down through my “100 results per page” and arbitrarily click on ten URLs. I X nine browser windows shut as only one out of the ten links actually fits my keywords; it is a blog and the fellow making entries to it is a cop. A cop who lists the city and state where he works, and his age, along with his name, rank, and serial number. Not all of that really but you get the idea. TMI squared. I’ll pass. But he has links to blogs belonging to his fellow boys in blue. I go to the top two.

Before I proceed any further I should let you know that I speed read. As in 1,010 words per minute with a 93% comprehension level. I’m not telling you that to boast; I’m telling you that because I believe it’s relevant. Speed reading helps in some of my endeavors like this. Plainly the faster I read, the faster I accumulate information. Just think, in the time it takes someone to move an opened full-page document across a desk in front of me, I’ve not only read the entire thing, I’ve retained almost all its data too. That was bragging.

On the first site, I peruse the front page. The guy in control of it is marginally literate with all the competence of a squished tomato. He also apparently has a grudge against anyone who doesn’t drive under a roof of colored bubbles and have the ability to whip out a badge while simultaneously Tasering small children. I carefully duck around the boulder on his shoulder and nix him as my unwitting playmate.

At the next site, I immediately see potential. Officer. Male. Writes in a coherent manner. Sense of humor. Making an effort to be anonymous. I look at Patrolman Potential’s profile. He does state what state he’s in, but it’s one of them big ones so maybe it doesn’t matter. I decide he’ll be a fun subject. From here on out I’ll call Patrolman Potential just plain ol’ “Pete.”

Back at Pete’s main page, I read a few more entries and begin plucking out anything I think may help me identify him. Striving to remain incognito he consistently refers to the city he lives in as Petetown. Interesting. Adjacent to Petetown is Petefield, the city he works in. I know that’s pertinent stuff and keep it in mind for later.

Aww… he’s got a cute story up about a trip he made to an apple orchard. He gives the name of it and, amazed that it’s not “Pete’s Orchard,” I hit Google and plug it in. In the whole United States there are four apple groves with the name. All four of them are located in the same state. Guess which one. Because of the information I think that, yeah, it didn’t matter that Pete’s provided his state’s name on his blog. Those Golden Delicious will get ya!

I transfer the search from Google to Google Maps which shows me exactly where all four orchards are. Thesetowns and Thosefields are in abundance around them. That’s not a coincidence.

Another post of Pete’s. In it he talks about a certain dining establishment. I look it up. It’s a chain, so that’s probably why he figured it was safe to give its name -- there are thousands of them across the country. But according to Google Maps, there are less than thirty of them within reasonable driving distance of three of the four orchards.

Return to pete.blogger.com. In an exciting tale, Pete casually mentions he was flooring his Charger down the Interstate. Check. In another (non-duty-related) story he writes about a mountain-biking trip he took. He fails to say as much but I detect he left in the AM, was back by the PM. The mountains have to be close. At Google Maps, I see no major highway or any mountains handy to one of the aforementioned woodlets. Terrific. That leaves two apple orchards and a dozen Applebees.

Again to the blog skimming. I stop in the middle of Pete’s narrative because another food chain is brought up, this time a grocery store. Back with Google Maps. Finally! Only a single apple orchard is close to everything -- the restaurant, the grocery store, the mountains, and the freeway. Now let’s type in to Google Maps… p-o-l-i-c-e d-e-p-a-r-t-m-e-n-t. Eeks! Too many; I kill them from the map.

I should’ve finished Pete’s post sooner for he goes on to say that, despite the fact that there is one 5 miles from his home, he prefers to shop at the grocery store with the same name that’s 20 miles away from the convenient one.

I go back to Google Maps and eliminate any grocery stores that aren’t within the mileage of each other that Pete gave. There’s quite a few cities left on the map but just one of them is a wee, petite, cute Something-town. Petetown, I presume. I note it’s 15 miles north of the apple place. So if that’s home base, where’s work?

I test the police department search again. There are two cities that seem promising, each approximately a mere 30 miles from Petetown. One, to the south, is Something-field and the other, to the east, is Somethingelse-field. Not a surprise. But momentarily I get sorta stuck.

I spend five minutes mostly rereading portions of Pete’s adventures in the hopes that a giant fluorescent orange arrow will jump out at me to help me pinpoint which is the right place -- not could be the right place but is the right place. I drum my fingers rapidly on the keyboard and scrunch up my lips. I feel graveled, at a loss.

I abandon his written material and stare at the miniscule pictures Pete has of himself and his patrol car in the upper left corner of his blog. Patrol car. Patrol car. That’s his patrol car. I scrutinize it. Yes, his body is blocking an important part of the vehicle and it is a small picture but maybe, just maybe…

I Google the website of the Somethingelse-field Police Department. I turn up what I’m seeking: a decent photograph of one of their black and whites. Its paint job is clearly not the same as the one on Pete’s. I Google the website of the Something-field Police Department. I compare cop car details. Pete is, without a doubt, one of the Something-field officers.

Cool. I pinned down the workplace and residential area of a man I never, until this lark, knew existed in less time than it takes to watch an episode of Burn Notice. 54 minutes.

I occupy six more minutes sizing up the dates and times of Pete’s blog posts and from them I think I’ve got a hunch what his work schedule is. Having spent an even hour on this, I opt for Pete and I to part ways.

Naturally it would’ve taken a longer spell to do all that in-person but I hope my account served to demonstrate the processes I go through, how I get the outcomes I do, and, more to the matter at hand, in a modest amount of time.

By the way, considering I can see from an acorn-sized picture of Pete what kind of sunglasses he wears -- an LEO will wear the same pair of shades for, like, life -- I’m passably confident I could find him in the flesh if I had to and learn as much about him as I have any one of the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force Officers.

Now if only I had a brain and could find some way to turn this avocation of mine into a vocation…

(Minute details in the above report have been altered to prevent the subject, Pete, from being alerted to my actions and going ballistic. Cops, regardless of all their bravado, are fairly sensitive souls.)

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

Semi-Old News

February 2009

Two Albemarle County men accused of selling cocaine will face a grand jury. Noe Chagala-Mil and Victor Manuel Aranda both waived their right to a preliminary hearing Thursday in Albemarle General District Court, according to court records.

The men were charged with distribution of cocaine in January after the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement task force seized more than 250 grams of cocaine from a home on Greenbrier Drive. The street value of the cocaine was estimated at $25,000.

According to court records, both men are being held at the Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail.

Source.

Ten-8

I once made a promise to an officer that some day I would find some way to express my gratitude for everything he did. Here and now I want to remind him again I always keep my word.

Pics and Prose

Though I deem Chief Longo’s letter to me dated Groundhog Day, February 2, more menacing than it is anything else, I do take it and the sentiment behind it seriously. Clearly he and his mean business therefore I need to take care of mine.

So, in lieu of Mr. Longo’s missive, I spent the majority of my day in the company of lawyers. I’m not going to tip my hand by providing details, suffice it to say it was not unpleasant and was definitely informative. Something though that I will bring up here…

One of my concerns is that the Charlottesville Chief of Police, Mr. Longo, is blatantly violating my rights by ordering me to cease and desist photographing Charlottesville Police Department (CPD) and Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) personnel.

Prior to my discussion with counsel today I was, because of other things at other times in my life, already well mindful of the laws regarding picture-taking. In fact a few months ago I, on record, reminded an FBI agent that it was within my rights to snap shots of JADE.

Though there are exceptions of course, the general rule is that anybody may take photographs of anything or anyone he or she wants to in a public or publicly-accessible place. While it may seem shocking, police officers, and their vehicles, can be lawfully photographed from and in public places.


Even an undercover officer while in the performance of his duty can be photographed.







Am I seriously supposed to believe that Chief Longo, who has a law degree from the University of Baltimore School of Law, isn’t aware of this? Or maybe it’s that he’s seriously hoping I am not aware. Whatever the case may be, Mr. Longo’s order is ludicrous.

For fun I spent a tiny portion of the remainder of my day researching the subject of photographing law enforcement specifically, and, due to what I found, wound up on the phone to an attorney in Oregon and also a reporter in Florida each of whom have such eye-opening pertinent stories I couldn’t resist contacting them.

To end my day, I put up this post with accompanying pre-publicized pictures taken of policemen by journalists, children, and ordinary citizens, who know photography is, much to the annoyance of self-important officers, not a crime.
Hey, that last guy there looks so familiar. I think his photographs and personally identifiable information -- you know, like his name and duties as a City of Charlottesville Police Department detective -- have been placed on the internet by local media. Then again... what do I know?

In Honor Of Groundhog Day: Another Chief Longo Letter

Dear Ms. [Me]:

Despite my previous explanations and pleas for you to discontinue your unauthorized surveillance of the Charlottesville Police Department (“CPD”) and the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force (“JADE), you have consistently refused to consider the negative effects that you have had on our officers, informants, cooperators, and their respective families.

How do you know I’ve “refused,” let alone “consistently”? Perhaps I have considered, and reconsidered, but simply disagree with your opinion on the matters.

You have interfered with the orderly business of the CPD and JADE, to the point where people cannot meet with CPD and JADE personnel without fear of being identified.

I’ve given not even the slightest indication that people who have met, or will meet, with CPD and JADE will be identified by me. In fact, every indication has been to the contrary. If your local coterie of law enforcement have choreographed and incited that sort of trepidation, then that’s on y’all.

Despite your disregard for others,

Hate to break it to you but your declaring such a thing doesn’t make it true.

I hope to elucidate an issue that you may understand, as it effects you personally: The CPD and JADE deals with criminal activity.

Really? I had no idea.

The volatility of any given situation is unpredictable, and your presence around CPD and JADE operations has the potential to quickly escalate a peaceful situation into a violent and/or deadly confrontation.

If, as you state, any given situation is unpredictable, then my, or anyone’s, presence would have no effect, as the potential of escalation would be there regardless. If you’re implying that my, or anyone’s, presence would increase the chances of intensification, then that’s a prediction on your part thereby contradicting your assertion about any given situation.

And this is all hypothetical anyway, especially if we’re talking about potential. Everything has potential for something. I could aver that my presence around your operations has the potential to prevent a violent confrontation. Hell, I could even provide justification to support the affirmation.

When you place yourself into a potentially hazardous situation (which is any unauthorized contact, surveillance or interference with members of the CPD and JADE), you deliberately place yourself in grave danger.

Hmm… I’ll have to think about that one some more, but it seems to me that in order to be deliberately placing myself in grave danger I’d have to have first resolved that a situation is hazardous; potentially hazardous just doesn’t cut it.

If I walk into a convenience store fully knowing it’s being robbed at gunpoint, one could argue that I was deliberately placing myself in grave danger. However, if I walk into the same convenience store but no crime is being committed at the time, am I deliberately placing myself in grave danger merely because the establishment is located in a neighborhood that may sporadically have armed robberies?

Neither the CPD, JADE, its individual members, nor its constituent agencies has any relationship with you entitling you to any special protection.

Aww… that bites. You’ve crushed all my expectations!

Any dangers that you create by your surveillance activities are of your own creation, and no law enforcement agencies will expend any additional resources in protecting you from any consequences.

I figured that kind of went without saying.

As a courtesy to you,

I believe you’re a nice guy but your courtesies are pretty transparent.

I am informing you of the dangers that you may face, in hopes that you will at least consider your own safety, if not that of others.

You have, at most, vaguely postulated suppositious danger(s). By your very use, repeatedly at that, of the word potential you only reconfirm the unspecified peril(s) you allude to may or may not exist.

Let’s pretend: You’re an avid balloonist. I sent you a letter avowing that there may be danger flying in a hot air balloon. I also informed you that your presence in the gondola has the potential to quickly escalate a pleasant flight over the countryside to a fiery crash. I further wrote that when you place yourself into a potentially hazardous situation (which is any travel, suspension or propelling with pilots of respective companies), you deliberately place yourself in grave danger. So when you subsequently hop in the dirigible, can I then say you have not considered your own safety, nor that of others?

With this goal in mind, you are hereby ordered to CEASE AND DESIST from any and all surveillance activities of members of the CPD and JADE, including, but not limited to, photographing CPD and JADE personnel, following CPD and JADE personnel,

How do I laugh in writing? Last I looked it was they who were doing the photographing and following.

and placing personally identifiable information of officers

Are you referring to the officers who conduct their business in a variety of places where they cannot possibly have any expectation of privacy? How about the officers who are oft times seen in public openly wearing law enforcement paraphernalia -- some donning garb clearly branded POLICE? The officers in marked cars, them too?

and confidential informants on the internet.

Again, I have no intention of identifying confidential informants. Not because they deserve to be protected -- they don’t -- but because, aside from JADE-related generalities, I have absolutely no interest in them.

Finally, be advised that you are potentially subject to criminal prosecution

For…? My actions may be objectionable to you and yours but they’re certainly not criminal by any stretch of the imagination.

as well as substantial civil liability should you persist in your actions.

Go for it. I have nothing to lose and nothing for anyone to take.

Sincerely,

Timothy J. Longo, Sr.
Chief of Police

It hurts me that you did not provide your phone number this time.

(Scan 1 / Scan 2)

The *ahem* Assault Vehicle

This is the JADE van.



The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force vehicle can comfortably transport seven men -- at least as comfortably as a bunch of confined men covered in rank body armor sweating out the grease from the fast food they live on can be.



Aside from the guys, the Chevy G20 can carry an assortment of other items. Mandatory first aid supplies in a small bag and large plastic box, and containers for evidence, may be stored in the hindmost space; a battering ram on the floor between the velvety seats for someone to trip over; perhaps a pair of pretty blue rubber gloves in the front console.



There’s also lots of pockets and places to hold trash of the non-two-legged variety: empty packs of smokes, filled bottles of nicotine purge, and candy bar wrappers indicative that sugar-high and raid-rush can coexist.



If your home is the target destination of the uninvited JADE van, let’s put it this way... flushing is futile.

Miscellaneous Meandering

I did type up a chain of thoughts once, where one thing led to another. This also is inspired by what’s wandering around in my brain but I suspect it’s not going to flow out quite so well.

I infer because I’m still doing things, the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force is finally doing things to keep me from doing things. That’s on top of the damage control they’re doing in response to the things I’ve already done.

I haven’t received it, but I was told eons ago by Longhead that I’d be getting a No Trespassing Order to bar me from being on the Ix property where the JADE office is located. I was actually looking forward to it since I figured it would free up beaucoup pictures I’ve taken. Weighing the prospective to take more and unwilling to give away any of my so-called hiding places, I haven’t put up so many photographs on iHeArTEjade.

See, hypothetically, if I got a bunch of snapshots from sitting on a bench across from their entranceway, naturally I wouldn’t post them here, seeing that even the Task Force guys would be able to deduce the placement of the camera and would know to check there for me from that point on. If I’m no longer permitted to sit at that location anymore, it doesn’t matter if I post all the photos I took from that spot as I’ll never go there again.

Presumption alone that the No Trespassing Order was impending has not been enough to shake loose certain pictures, albeit it has kept me mostly off the property voluntarily.

I prefer to have open possibilities and, assuming they would rather have as few images as possible up here, by not counterproductively serving me with an official document, the men have in essence assisted themselves. There’s kind of a balance. Everybody’s happy. Get it?

I’ve been vastly considering their recent activity. Most of what I believe the JADErs are doing lately to stop me isn’t much of a deterrent, though it is fascinating to watch and analyze what they’ve determined will work or what they think is working. They did do one thing that I predicted would be challenging to undo, so to speak. But if I wrote about it, or my triumph regarding it, and they found out about it, they’d just redo it. I can’t have that.

Shocking as it seems sometimes, I’ve got the three Rs covered: Relentlessness, Resourcefulness, and Confidence. Okay, that last one’s not an R-word but you get the idea. If they build a moat, I’ll build a boat. Or a catapult. Or I’ll find a person or two willing to sneak me in the main entrance. Therein lies my dilemma. I already know I can construct those things, or unearth those people, because I already have. So why would I do it again if I already know what’s across the moat? It’d be different if I was forced to do something, well, different to discover JADE Task Force information. But that wouldn’t be the case. I know this because, by now, I’ve tested it. And retested it. JADE is fun, but perhaps not fun enough for a repeat performance.

Generally what lingers in my mind these days is my perception that I was, am, the only one interested in my Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force project. Even the TF Officers themselves are apparently indifferent to it. If I were them I’d totally want to know who someone got my handwriting samples from, furthermore what documents they were on. Or how someone had prior knowledge of where search warrants would be served. Guess that’s just me though.

If you’re wondering what this whole ramble means, I’m not sure either. I suppose I’m just thinking in print that if there’s no longer potential for me to learn new things, then the undertaking is complete. And like the example I gave regarding the unused photographs, if I’m done investigating the Task Force there’s nothing holding me back from putting up anything or everything.

At this stage whatever I disclose that JADE feels is detrimental to themselves, they’re just going to change anyway -- if they haven’t yet. If I happen to give away their secret meeting places, they’ll create new ones. If I divulge their vehicles and a list of tag numbers, those things are easily replaceable for them.

I feel like I’m reading one of those Choose Your Own Adventure stories. If you want to try to pursue JADE some more, turn to page 56. If you want to complete documenting your enterprise then seek a new avocation, turn to page 34.

JADE TF News

January 2009

[...]
Samuels admitted that he and the others were part of a drug distribution organization that was responsible for distributing more than 3,000 kilos of marijuana in Charlottesville, and elsewhere.

The investigation of this case was conducted by the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force, the Federal Bureau of Investigation and the Bureau of Alcohol Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives.
[...]

A Contact Number

For persons wanting to report
illicit narcotics activity to the
Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force:
434-961-1724

Wide Open

Aquamarine Dodge Grand Caravan:

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.

Handwriting Examination

Not everything that gets passed along to me that's connected to the JADE TF has a signature on it.

Not to be confused with the pseudoscience of graphology, which a sage of sorts essentially guesses by the way a T is crossed whether or not one is the type of woman who amuses herself studying a narcotics Task Force, handwriting analysis, as a forensic technique, simply put is the comparison of handwriting samples for the purpose of determining who their author is.

One need not be a professional questioned document examiner with years of training in the field to figure out who wrote what; sometimes all it takes is someone with an eye for detail.

If I wanted to know who sketched the map above or which, if any, Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement officer jotted down the telephone number of, for instance, Mr. Grant, I could collate the unknown penning to known specimens. Using the writing of two distinct detectives I might compare a lower case letter from one man or an upper case letter from the other man to the coinciding letters in the mysterious “Grant” to try to get a match.

I have occasionally come across an identical word on different material:

What do you think -- were they written by the same person?

Now something unique, such as the way the number 8 is written by someone:

As good as an autograph, that's!

How 'Bout "Relentless" As A Post Title?

Off from work. Family had their own agenda for the upcoming day and night. I thought I’d indulge in some Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force recreation. Snippets here and there for them is nifty, but having a huge chunk of time to devote entirely to them? Fantastic! I could hardly wait for tomorrow to come.

I should’ve known how the day was going to go when I got up that morning and couldn’t find the shirt I’d wanted to wear -- or the one I decided would be my second option, or my third choice, either. Did I mention I’ve got a twelve year old daughter who’s recently taken to borrowing my clothes?

It all started with me waking up roughly three hours earlier than I needed to, after only sleeping roughly three hours. I had some information regarding a JADE detective I wanted to look into and timing was everything. Despite the great garment fiasco, I managed to leave the house shortly after the moment I’d planned.

A mile or so up the road, my car’s check oil lamp started flickering; it only does that when it’s an emergency. I had to stop and buy some. Naturally, what I needed was on the shelf all the way in the back of the huge store, at the furthest point away from the door I picked to come in at.

Merchandise bought, I rushed out. I had to re-pop the hood once because it came slamming down while I was unscrewing the cap of the SAE30 I’d purchased. My sedan’s thirst for lubrication satisfied, I started the engine and heard the I need gasoline chime accompany whatever latest hit song was playing on the radio. Ugh! Another unplanned stop. And one more after that for, good grief, tampons.

When I at last arrived at my destination, my window of opportunity, much like my car hood, had slammed shut; I was exactly two minutes too late for what I wanted to see. I hung around for ten more, just to be sure, and sipped on my second cup of coffee, another quad-shot of espresso. Failure accepted, I moved off in the direction of the JADE building.

When I got there, Longhead’s vehicle was the lone one I recognized. Ever since he and I hashed it out, LH is pretty much the main Task Force member I’ve seen around; I have no clue why. I seem to be unwittingly making up for all the times I deliberately avoided him during this whole venture. Frankly I’m sick of him. I left and went shopping.

In the process of traveling to and fro, a few times I passed by (non-JADE detective) UPS in his Alero, plus another (non-JADE) SWAT guy whose automobile I know. I named the latter man “Vinyard” because he reminds me of a character from that god-awful movie American History X.

Subsequently back at JADE, refreshed cup of java in hand, I picked a familiar spot where I could keep an eye on things. It’s actually not close to the building and, if the TFOs look towards the place, I’m hardly undetectable, but I still consider it a good position on numerous grounds. For example, I can watch seven key areas without ever having to turn my head -- three additional when I do rotate. Also, I can see any direction any of the officers come and go in and, more importantly, I can quickly go in any direction -- either to follow them or to evade them.

Speaking of directions... since I wrote on iHeArTEjade that they never use it, at least one man has exited via the construction access road -- thereby demonstrating you can indeed teach an old detective new tricks. Ha!

From my perch, I saw UPS’s car come in from Elliott Ave, enter the upper lot, and disappear from view. Strange for him to park in there I thought but I waited for him to walk his way down into my sight and the building. When he didn’t materialize in a reasonable amount of time, I got curious. I started my car and rolled off to find out what he was up to. Gradually driving down 6th Street SE I carefully scanned the now visible upper lot for his car. No him. Focused entirely on UPS I neglected to note, or re-note as the case may have been, the presence of any Drug Enforcement vehicles.

It’s my understanding that the majority of people who, as part of their job, have to perform surveillance from inside a resting automobile, hate it. I personally don’t mind it a bit. However, I have to admit it’s far more enjoyable to have a stakeout be in motion when given a choice between the two.

At that second the only people I was under the impression were present and accounted for who belonged to JADE were Longhead and Herb. Longhead is basically blah, and just about the only time Herb, who is interesting to me, goes anywhere once he’s reported for duty is when he’s with someone else -- which, as it stood, meant LH and that’s assuming Herb even had anywhere to go.

So in spite of the fact that UPS isn’t technically a JADEr, he’s still highly intriguing for secondary reasons and I opted to go search for him rather than optimistically stare at the same ol’ same ol’. Think of it as recess.

Not enough time had elapsed for UPS to get far. Waiting for the light to change at the Intersection of 6th Street SE and Elliott Ave, I tried to predict which roads he might be on and mentally drew a rectangular border around them. Intending to navigate in a grid-like pattern within the imaginary boundary, I rounded the block making the intersection of 6th and Monticello the starting point of my hunt.

In the course of my exploration, I periodically glimpsed UPS as he went by on other roads. Each time I’d cut over as efficiently as possible to where I spotted him, make it my new starting point, and, traveling in the same direction as him, begin the pattern-tracking procedure over again. We crossed paths, just out of reach of each other, I don’t know, four, maybe five, times. We hadn’t strayed far from the vicinity of the Task Force office and I was starting to get the sense it was less like he was on general patrol and more like he was specifically patrolling for me. Weird.

One more circle around, next thing I knew he’d ended up behind me. Uh-oh. What were the odds he hadn’t wound up there on purpose? The thing was, I mean, I knew what I was doing and he knew what he was doing but, considering the circumstances, we didn’t really have any way of knowing what each other was doing.

Still unsure, and not wanting to overreact, I concocted an easy test. He’d clearly been looping around close to the JADE building. I’d leave the immediate area and if he did the same by following me -- an escort if you will -- the entire way then I’d know I’d been his target. If he dropped me on the outskirts, or sooner, then I’d chalk it up to coincidence. In two turns, I learned two things. One: That it may be coincidental? Beyond wishful thinking on my part. Two: He was a They.

They stuck to me better than glue. Down Ridge Street we went. We got to an intersection and at first I was going to get in the left lane but changed my mind and went with the center one. In the rearview mirror I saw UPS and his passenger coming up behind me. UPS put on his left blinker. There was plenty of room in the left lane for them to surpass me. I got an eerie feeling they wouldn’t be doing that. Whatever their intentions, my instincts screamed that I absolutely did not want them stopping directly next to me.

From my standstill I scooted over to the far right lane. A little too late I thought of using another vehicle as a blockade -- my car bucked from my abruptly jamming on its brakes. Through the gap between cars I looked over at UPS and that’s when I saw it. My brain eliminated everything my eyes were taking in apart from the camera the guy along for the ride was holding. Literally all went black but that object.

I dropped my head at a painfully kooky angle and put my hand on top of it. I laughed in sheer disbelief. I honestly could not believe it! Don’t misunderstand me. It’s not what they were doing, it’s how they were doing it. I could conceive of something like, say, them covering the perimeter where JADE operates with high-tech video surveillance equipment. But hanging out a car window with a hand-held camera? That’s simplistic. That’s the kind of thing I do -- and only because it’s either that or nothing.

I Hate having my picture taken. I hate it, hate it, hate it. I’m ugly and unphotogenic. I don’t even bother wearing make-up that’s how unattractive I am. That’s on any regular day. That particular day I had bangs and some serious period-provoked acne-face. Bearing all that in mind, when I saw their camera I panicked.

I couldn’t think of anything but getting out of there. I hit the gas and instantly swung right. Unfortunately I’d not turned on the road I thought I was turning on. As I drove down the side street, I attempted to pull myself together. Obviously, I thought to myself, whatever photographs they now had of me, they had. What difference did it make if they took one or nine or fifty thousand more?

I veered into a parking area and stopped my car. I doubted they were going to give up on me, so I yanked out my own camera and unbuckled the pouch that holds my audio recording device. The gadget dropped. What else could go wrong? I powered on the camera, tried to adjust it while simultaneously fishing for the fallen item, and observed UPS’s Alero entering the lot. They moved back into a space where I couldn’t see them. An assortment of sedans, vans, and SUVs separated us. I abandoned hope of finding the Olympus recorder and backed out inch by inch until they were in my line of sight.

The detectives and I engaged in a battle of the cameras. I didn’t know what their weapon was capable of but I knew I could fire a hundred billion shots, instantaneously download the images to my laptop, and go at them again if I wanted to. We kept at it briefly. I don’t know how many pictures they got of me or how many I took of them. How long would it go on? It was ridiculous. I thought perhaps victory would appease them. I surrendered by lowering my camera and waving while driving past them.

I don’t know that they could comprehend how much their picture-taking was throwing me off. I tried not to let it bother me but I remained thoroughly disconcerted. I turned right and left the lot.

Not only did they come out after me, their car’s emergency lights went on. What now? I wasn’t speeding. If they intended to stop me, why not do it before? I complied without delay by pulling into another parking lot.

Just UPS approached the driver’s side. I frantically looked over my shoulder for his companion. He’d come up on the right side of my car. Unable to keep an eye on both of them at the same time was scary to me. My whole body started, like, vibrating. I knew once it was in progress, my trembling was only going to get worse. I was somewhat relieved though when UPS’s partner eventually came and stood beside him. It was then when I realized who he was.

They had a for realiously valid reason to pull me over. I’d accidentally gone the wrong way down a one way street. I couldn’t believe I’d done such a thing! Don’t misunderstand me. It’s not that I think I don’t do dumb things. I do lots of dumb things. It’d take me a month to tell you all the dumb things I’ve done in just a single day. But they’re typically like funny dumb things. Or humbling dumb things. They’re never dangerous dumb things. I could’ve hurt someone. I. Was. Mortified.

To add insult to, fortunately, no injury, I couldn’t find my proof of insurance. I dug under the seats, groped through the glove box, lifted the floor mats… no insurance card. I was really quivering then. You have to understand I am meticulous about being completely legal -- I check my lights; make sure my turn signals work; my stickers are current; carry license, registration, and insurance papers. Ad nauseum.

I reached over the seat into the back to my tool box slash book bin and pulled out a FedEx envelope. I rifled through it. My hands were shaking so bad by then, I resembled a Parkinson’s victim.

I don’t know whether he was doing it to mock me or to point it out to UPS, or both, but in periphery I saw the other fellow mimicking my tremors. I acknowledge his observation; I widened my eyes, nodded my head, and said “very.” He asked what I was nervous about. I merely replied “y’all.” I had no intention of expounding but even if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t have; the man was speaking before I’d have had the chance to elaborate. “Following us around” he blurted, as if there was something nefarious about that.

When someone has already made up his mind what the answer to his question is, he really needn’t make the dang inquiry. What is it with these law enforcement guys who think they know it all anyway? As yet, I’ve only found one Task Force member who isn’t stuffed full of arrogance.

I laughed and chirped out the technical reality of the moment. “I wasn’t followin’ you. You were followin’ me.” Neither of them had a response for that.

Somewhere during the interaction, UPS expressed gratitude for my cooperating with them. Why would he do that unless he -- they -- expected me to be uncooperative, if not downright belligerent? I suspect there’s one person who’s largely leaving a sour impression of me on them and it’s not I. How can so many people believe the words of their perceived allies even after it contradicts what they experience themselves firsthand?

UPS said he’d take my word that my auto was insured then carrying my license and registration returned to his car with an indication he’d be back momentarily. I took some pictures of him through my side mirror and some of both of them through the back window.

I didn’t want to push my luck, rotten as it was, so I cast aside the camera and rooted throughout my car seeking the missing insurance card. The last time I’d seen it was when Spot pulled me over. Did I forget to get it back from him?

UPS gave me a verbal warning for my moving violation. Had he written me a ticket I would’ve taken it and thanked him for it, that’s how much I deserved one.

I have to say UPS was amazingly nice. Though I’m sure he felt he had all the justification in the world to be horrible to me, he wasn’t. In fact, I don’t think he acted any differently than he had on the prior occasion we’d spoken in person. Even the other man who’d kind of given some static, negative vibes and all that jazz, was not not nice. What a teddy bear!

The officers departed. I wasn’t going anywhere until I knew where my insurance card was. I tore through my car. I called someone I thought could help me and left him a message. I got out and felt under seats and floor mats again. About to give up, from a squatting position on the passenger side I saw a piece of paper trapped in the edge of the glove box. I shoved the card in a book where I store my registration, sent Longhead a text to have him tell UPS I’d found my insurance papers, and drove away.

I called the helpful guy back and left him a message to ignore my previous message, then returned to the first lot where the photography war had taken place and took pictures of the signs indicating the street I’d gone down was one way.

I’d concluded JADE would now be on major alert knowing I was near their turf but I might be able to temporarily rely on them presumably superciliously thinking I’d been adequately chased off. The biggest obstacle in my way today seemed to be my car. I’m passably fit; I could do what I wanted on foot. Approximately two miles from the JADE lot I found a place to park my impediment where it couldn’t legally get towed.

I grabbed a few items I anticipated would be handy, tugged an extra jacket from the back seat, and locked the doors. I set my key on the trunk, put on the spare coat, arranged my materials for easy carry, and set off. I’d made it slightly more than halfway to my goal before my hands got cold. To warm them up, I slid them into my front pockets, Nothing was in them. Nothing. Including no key. I’d mistakenly left it sitting on my car. I sighed. I didn’t trouble myself by running the mile back. What would be the point? Then I’d just be propertyless and out of breath.

No one had stolen my car. I plucked up the key and set off again. Two miles later I arrived just in time to see a group of JADE men load up in Truck’s car and head out. I had to ask: is nothing going to be in my favor today? I made the trek back to where I’d parked and drove off seeking a place to get yummy coffee. I passed UPS on the way; he was all alone in his Alero.

Reinvigorated, I found a brand spanking new setting where I could snoop on JADE. It’s not so ideal after dark, but at night I can practically sit on top of one of the TFOs shoulders without him noticing. Usually, that is. Not on that night. No, on that night I couldn’t get a break to save my life. Either I was in a place where I could see the fellas but they nailed me, or my placement was so good they couldn’t see me because I couldn’t see them.

I would’ve called it quits but, with all those JADErs there, especially at that time of evening, I couldn’t possibly throw in the towel. I had something I was aching to know about and whatever was going on might give me a clue.

As my final effort, I moved my auto into position and waited for… I watched as some boxy red car halted in front of me thus obstructing every millimeter of my view. The driver couldn’t have been parking like that; he was at some loony slant partially in the center of the road. A older man holding a flashlight got out. By his behavior, he was lost. I debated on moving but rationalized a disoriented man wouldn’t be there long enough to validate my relocation. I was wrong.

The wrinkled man went back and forth, from one side of the road to the other, illuminating the numbers on mailboxes or houses while concurrently reading the addresses aloud. Headlights of a vehicle coming from behind us hit him and his ugly car. I thought the approaching driver was slowing because of the man and his respective door-left-ajar auto until it dawned on me that I was staring at Porn Star’s Honda.

The way the day had gone I took it for granted that Porn Star had decelerated because he’d noticed me -- probably hadn’t even picked up on the presence of the aged man. Porn Star wove around the hindrance in the road. Only after Porn Star had come across me did the old man realize he was in the wrong neighborhood and get back in his car and drive away.

Well, having been seen by a JADE detective for, what was it? the millionth time? that day, I couldn’t stay where I was. I scampered off. Over the course of about ten minutes, Porn Star left and Skoal’s Altima vanished and reappeared. I think Porn Star ratted me out and Skoal went and picked up JADE men from elsewhere and brought them back. If that’s what happened, I wouldn’t be getting the clue I needed after all.

I would’ve said “when it rains, it pours” but the notion that merely thinking it might likely spark a gullywasher prevented me from doing so. I’d finally had enough and I didn’t want to be driving home in a thundershower.

Determined that the day would not be a total loss, when I got back to the house I aimed to post on iHeArTEjade a photograph of me taking a picture of them taking a picture of me taking a picture of them. Wouldn’t you know it? My camera had been on the wrong setting.

Out of all the pictures I took, none but eight were decent. I imagine every one they took came out perfectly. I think they should email me some.

As bad as the day seems to have gone, disastrous from beginning to end, truth be told, I wouldn’t change a thing about it. Oh. Except for driving the wrong way down a one way street. That I’d definitely amend.

Once Upon a Time, Long Ago...

SeeSee’s Dodge Charger pulls off in a fuzzy blue distortion. I’m reminded once again that one of the many things adult male Task Force officers and teenage boys have in common is the maniacal way they drive through parking lots. Heaven forbid someone steps off the sidewalk when any one of these guys is behind the wheel.

Once on the road he doesn’t actually seem to be in as big of a hurry. This is a good thing; it may make it easier for me to keep sight of him. I give him plenty of room, slowing down as I notice we’re coming up to a red light. SeeSee and I have met and I definitely don’t want to get too close to him just in case he remembers what I look like. Last thing I want is for him to tell his superhero, Longhead, he caught me following him.

SeeSee pulls into the left turn lane. If he’s paying attention, he probably won’t miss my reluctance to get behind him. Maybe he’ll think I hesitated because I’m lost. I nudge my car up near his.

On the chance he’s looking in his rearview mirror, I lean across the passenger seat as if the stopped traffic has afforded me the opportunity to find something I need. From the corner of my eye I see the light display a green arrow and I sit back up. SeeSee flips on his blinker in the midst of his making the turn.

Still concerned about being seen, I get this brilliant idea to let a car or two get in between us to somewhat cover me. It takes only two blocks before I’m reminded that I’m not as smart as I sometimes like to think I am; SeeSee moves into a right turn lane and seeing as how the other cars go straight, I’m left practically parked in SeeSee’s back seat anyway. Well that worked… not at all.

I can sort of make out his shadow through the heavy back window tinting and from its positioning it appears he’s on his cell phone. Good; distraction. Please don’t let him look back here.

The road we turn on has four lanes and plenty of room. I leave about three car lengths between us. It’s enough of a distance that my fear of losing him and my fear of being spotted by him is bizarrely balanced. I’ve shot several photographs -- accidentally getting one of the sky and streetlights, and one of a portion of my steering wheel. Driving and picture-taking do not go hand-in-hand.

We wind our way through the city. About half the time SeeSee courteously lets me know which way he’s planning to go. He’s using his turn signals roughly fifty percent of when he should… he favors his right blinker, using it the most out of the fifty percent… the left one -- on the rare occasions he uses it -- seems to be like an afterthought in nearly every instance…

It suddenly occurs to me that because I let my mind wander in Minutiaeland, I have no idea how far we’ve gone and I don’t have a clue about the area we’re in. I start worrying if I’m ever going to find my way out or if I’ll be circling around these industrial-type buildings until vultures start circling around me.

Wherever we are, the roads are narrower and the blocks seem shorter. With no feasible way to avoid it, SeeSee and I are bumper-to-bumper both in motion and at several stops. I don’t know if SeeSee is affected by it but there’s no way he can miss the fact that my vehicle has been behind his for a very long time.

It’s hard to think with the drums of my heart beating at full volume. SeeSee is turning left. I turn left. SeeSee is turning left. I turn left. SeeSee is turning left. Three lefts? And a blinker every time? That’s, like, around a block. Umm… yeah. The spigot controlling my adrenaline twists open and in a freak out, I go right instead. Guess I won’t be finding out what he’s up to.

The farther away from SeeSee I get, the more I relax. Now that I’m calm, I think I overreacted. Argh! Curse paranoia! I’m annoyed that I let my imagination run amok and I berate myself for giving up too soon.

For, I swear, the hundredth time, I’ve gotten myself lost in the process of tailing. For, I swear, the hundredth time, I hear eight words roll through my head. I really need to get a city map.

Multiplicity

To reiterate: SeeSee = CC = Carbon Copy. Inside and out this guy is nothing more than a clone of Longhead.

I find that to be even truer today than yesterday -- than the day I wrote that -- than the day I first thought that.

Recently I followed SeeSee from the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement office to the Albemarle County Police Department. This was after I’d, unseen, shadowed SeeSee and Longhead earlier.

I’ve got a new, let’s say, rather unconventional way to tail these guys without them noticing; it works but it is so not easy, at all.

Anyhow, once SeeSee left the Task Force building by himself I resorted to my traditional means of following. In other words, I pulled up right behind him. I figured with me driving down the road in my (now infamous, I guess) car, blatantly holding a camera up in the windshield, I’d pretty much thrown covertness right out the window. I took enough pictures in a couple of minutes to make me happy, and he went his way and I went mine.

Do you know what that… that… that invaluable instrument of the ATF did? Oh. My. Gosh. I’s startin’ to think what I seen on teevee ain’t fo’ real. ‘Cause on teevee, y’all know they's always showin’ how those fellers from dif’rent A-gence-cees don’t git along? I’s tellin’ ya, it jes ain’t true. No siree. Know what I reckon change ma mind? You got it. SeeSee went whinin' about me to a FBI guy! Just. Like. Longhead. Can’t any of these hotshots handle things on their own?

Ah, well. It so happens that his pal at the FBI is one I actually like and respect. It also happens that my poor car is in dire need of a bath thus most of the images I got of SeeSee’s Dodge are slightly less than perfect.

Too Funny!

Today I heard that someone got a virus on his computer and he's blaming iHeArTEjade for it.



I'm not sure if the accusation was strategically designed to prevent pro-JADE Law Enforcement from ever again perusing this site or if the claim was merely made by an overdramatic computer-illiterate twit.



Regardless, since I'm apparently the only one reading iHeArTEjade anymore, now I can go back to publishing whatever I want.

What Happens When...

a JADE Task Force Detective looks right at you while you're taking his picture?

You toss the camera in the grass and accidentally get this crazy upside-down photograph of a JADE Task Force Detective's vehicle.

Ever Wonder What's Coming Next?

Yeah, me too.

Preparations Prior To Entry

No doubt the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force utilizes site-specific images so its members can identify and better visualize the areas where they’re about to execute search warrants.

Programs which supply satellite and aerial photography -- think Google Earth -- are important when constructing operational plans for men about to conduct a raid. Printouts of such can be presented during briefings and further give a more realistic view of what officers will be facing and navigating.

Snapshots of streets, vehicles, and homes, among other things, are taken by operatives in the Task Force and provided to concerned parties. If JADE is particularly adept at exploiting other sources, they may even discover a handful of pictures of their objective house’s interior and sketches which detail the floor plan of a residence.

If JADE is really lucky, they’ll have at minimum one informant who can describe to them things ranging from position of furniture to location of drugs and weapons. No cop wants to get shot because he tripped over something unseen or oddly-placed.

A New Shield For An Old Detective

I’m told there are several reasons to tint the windows of one’s car -- keeps the interior cooler, blocks UV rays that can damage not only skin but dashboards and upholstery, too, reduces glare from sun, snow, and headlights, just to name a few. The favorite reason? Privacy. The darker the film, the better the concealment. Explains why criminals and narcotics officers, especially, like it shady.

(before and after)

The thing about having tinted windows for secrecy is, while the black on the glass temporarily hides insiders from outsiders, unless the vehicle’s inhabitants intend to eternally occupy the auto... sooner or later, they have to come out.

Great Quote

You can observe a lot by watching. -- Yogi Berra

By the by, and you may not believe this, during those few seconds of my days and nights when I'm not JADE-watching, I read. I've added another book to the list in my profile.

Visual Cues

I think if I were going to deal drugs, I’d pat down, or outright strip, each potential buyer before I’d sell anything to him or her. Okay; I guess maybe that wouldn’t always be practical. But something I’d definitely do is have every person remove his or her hat before we conducted business -- because while loads of folks wear baseball caps, only a handful of them will toss them off their heads as a distress signal when they’re working an undercover operation.

Literary Comparison

I was thinking about Porn Star’s comments to me; you know, how I’m stupid, and my writing sucks -- that stuff. So I can’t do anything about the former, like Ron White says “You can’t fix stupid. There’s not a pill you can take; there’s not a class you can go to. Stupid is forever.” However I thought if I wrote more like the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force Officers do, it’d perhaps be a way to improve the latter.

SHORTY OVER THE PHONE.
SHORTY ASKED ME IF I COULD GET SOME COKE.
1/2 KILO.

I DID NOT KNOW.
BUT I KNOW SOMEONE
BUT NOT PERSONALLY.

THIS WAS A B/M THAT SOLD IT TO ME.

I GOT THE COKE AT GIANT PKING LOT.

I GO TO HOUSE.

SHORTY TOLD ME HE
WAS THERE + I WAS GOING TO GIVE IT
TO SHORTY.

I WENT TO HOUSE
+ I WAS GOING TO GIVE
COKE TO B/M

SHORTY CALLS ME BACK
+ SAYS I’M RIGHT HERE.

I COME BACK AND GO TO HOUSE.

I dunno. It isn’t bad, I suppose. But if that’s what it takes to make the grade, I think I'd rather smile and take the F.

Precise Location of Access

This:

goes along with this.

Upon seeing the above, I decided to do some research on the whole POE thing. There's a lot more to it than I could've ever imagined! This I found to be especially thought-provoking:

The point of entry into a house, be it a door or a window, is referred to as the fatal funnel. The occupants of the house need only aim their weapons at this point of entry and wait for the target to appear. That target is the law enforcement officer, and at that moment, the officer has no cover and more than likely no idea where the armed occupant of the house is located. The officers are generally back-lit, so their eyes must adjust to the lighting, or lack thereof, in the house. The armed occupants are presented with a clear target and need no time to adjust to the lighting. The officers may have little or no idea of the layout or floor plan of the premises and will require time to acclimate to their new surroundings. The armed occupants, however, need not acclimate themselves, for this is their home turf.

Moreover, the armed occupants know what they intend to do, whereas the officers only can infer whether the armed occupants intend to fight, flee, or surrender. This creates a situation where the occupants fire first because the officers cannot fire until they have determined the occupants' intention to resist. Such encounters in very close quarters frequently make the initial exchange of gunfire conclusive. The armed occupants may not consider possible harm to innocent bystanders, but the officers must. -- Special Agent Michael Bulzomi

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.

Testing, Testing 1 2 3

Years ago ‘twas the clutches of desperation that first prompted me to buy this little device:

While it wound up being absolutely useless in every possible way for my original intentions, its recording abilities are undeniably fantastic. I don’t want to say it picks up everything because that wouldn’t be a favorable evaluation for such a contraption -- more like it picks up exactly what’s needed.

On a newspaper, it’s caught the words of a softly-speaking police chief; from inside a car, the exchange I had with a smokin’ sexy detective; over the phone, conversations with torrents of ethically-questionable people.

During my encounter with two Drug Enforcement investigators, Porn Star, with Longhead standing six inches away, explicitly stated to me that I was no longer permitted on the property where the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement office is located. Longhead, with input from Herb, less than an hour later, tells me on the phone that I am still allowed there. Gosh, it’s a good thing I know these guys would never deliberately give me conflicting information or commands.

Speaking of JADE Task Force members, apparently all of them, and an unknown quantity of folks connected to them, are aware of my penchant for the object, as several men I’ve spoken with recently have either asked if they’re being recorded or outright declared they know they are.

I inquired of one of them if it mattered I was recording him. I was very surprised to hear him reply it did. In my opinion, if you’re on the up and up, it shouldn’t bother you one flippin’ bit that you’re being recorded. And if you’re changing your candor because of an Olympus WS-100, well, then, you’re a shining example of why I carry one.

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.

Old News

June 5, 2008

Three local residents are facing cocaine charges after the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement task force raided a home in the 1500 block of Carlton Drive.

Rigaberto Topbar Gonzales, 24, of Albemarle County; Jimmy Orlando Chirinos, 31, of Charlottesville; and Denise Holsapple, 37, of Charlottesville were charged Wednesday with conspiracy to distribute cocaine.

Gonzales also was charged with possession of cocaine with intent to distribute, and Chirinos was charged with assault and battery on a law enforcement officer. Lt. Don Campbell, with JADE, said Chirinos resisted arrest and kicked one of the officers.

Continued.

Old News

February 8, 2008

More than $40,000 worth of crack cocaine is off streets. The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force arrested three New York men Thursday morning for possessing cocaine with the intent to distribute: Giovanni Petro, Maleek Harrell and Charles Williams.

Detectives raided a room at the Quality Inn in Charlottesville about 5 a.m. Thursday.

Continued.

Old News

April 3, 2007

Commonwealth’s Attorney Jim Camblos said the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement task force spotted the marijuana during a southern Albemarle flyover last summer. Peck runs a nursery, Blue Ridge Bamboo of Virginia, from his home, where he raises day lilies and forsythia.
[...]
Police initially estimated the street value at about $4.8 million based solely on the number of plants, not their size. One officer called the seizure the largest he’d seen in Albemarle County in 20 years.

More.

Old News

On November 27, 2007, at approximately 7:40 PM, members of the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force conducted an undercover operation in the 200 block of Carlton Road in the Charlottesville. As a result of the operation approximately 10 grams of cocaine was seized. The cocaine has a potential street value of approximately $1,000.00.

Jorge Antonio Lopez, 24 year[s] old of Charlottesville, was arrested and charged with possession of cocaine with the intent to distribute, a Felony. Lopez was also served with three Felony indictments, for three previous counts of distribution of cocaine.

Comments.

Old News

BY JOHN BORGMEYER

In early March, the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force arrested 18 people, ages 17 to 30, following almost a year of undercover operations in Belmont. Eight men and one woman face charges of distributing marijuana. One man faces charges of distributing both marijuana and imitation cocaine. Eight suspects face cocaine charges.

In JADE press releases and the accompanying daily newspaper articles, pot and cocaine were cast as equal threats to Belmont’s “quality of life.” But in real life, JADE honchos admit that marijuana dealing really isn’t a problem in Charlottesville.

Continued.

Discrepancies: Justification For Self-Witnessing JADE Events

Two men face drug charges after more than 250 grams of cocaine were seized in an undercover operation in Albemarle County.

Shortly after 8 Wednesday night, Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force members conducted an undercover operation in the 300 block of Greenbrier Road. They seized cocaine with a potential street value of $25,000.

20-year-old Noe Chagalas-Mil and 34-year-old Victor Manuel Aranda, both of Albemarle County, were arrested and charged with distribution of cocaine. That charge is a felony.

Investigation in this case is ongoing.

Reported by NBC29 HD News

The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force removed more than 250 grams of cocaine from a residence on Greenbrier Drive in Albemarle County during an undercover operation Wednesday night.

JADE officers conducted the operation in the 300 block of Greenbrier Drive shortly after 8 p.m. Noe Chagalas-Mil and Victor Manuel Aranda, both of Albemarle County, were arrested and charged with distribution of cocaine.

Officials say the investigation is ongoing and more arrest and charges are pending.

The street value of the cocaine seized Wednesday is approximately $25,000.00.

Reported by WCAV

Also a good excuse for a night vision camera, no?

65 Push Ups

got ACAC?

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.

Pringle's Petty Offenses

For those of us who can read,
those words in bright yellow
on the pavement mean:
NO PARKING

Oops -- I Missed A Spot!

I’m at one of my fave locations, currently surveying Spot -- it gives a whole new meaning to “observation tower.” I sense movement and, looking down, recognize the Black guy from across the street. He’s gotten used to seeing me and he’s nice. We perform what has become our ritual of a nod and wave to each other.

I return my full attention to Spot in time to see him getting into his Taurus. From overhead I keep an eye on him only long enough to gather he’s going to be coming my way. Shouldn’t be too hard to pick him up when he passes by. I climb down from the roof where I’m sitting and scamper to my car.

There he is. I let him make it to the end of the street and choose his direction before easing out after him. He reaches the light at the corner with three cars and me behind him. From there he makes two more turns. I do the same but hang back ever so slightly.

It’s early AM and the road we’re on is filled with morning commuters wired up on coffee and road rage. I watch Spot’s car bounce from lane to lane. I bet he’s one of those drivers who thinks as long as he’s in motion he’s making progress -- kind of like me. I don’t snake back and forth as much as he since I’m having no trouble keeping up with him.

We make another turn. Traffic is heavier and I’m snagged in it briefly. I catch sight of the tail end of Spot’s sedan as it goes beyond a brick building. Exploiting a section of empty parking spaces I cut in front of a bunch of stopped cars to get Spot back in view. Gotcha QT.

I’m at a red light, the first in line. The detective is sitting one block and three vehicles ahead, held up at his own red light. Force of habit: I check my mirrors.

And there in the Ford behind me is Spot.

Are you kidding me?! I spin around in my seat to take a better look. Ya, that’s him. I twist back around, slap my palm over my eyes and chuckle. I return my hand to the steering wheel and stare out my windshield at the identical car I’ve mistakenly been chasing for… who knows how long? I am such a dumb twit.

There's only one JADE Task Force man I can follow from the front and Spot is not him. How do I fix this screw up?

Intending to loop around the block and come up behind Spot, I turn right but fast find out it’s impossible to get at him that way from this street. I hastily retrace my route to return to the original road. He had to have made it through the light by now; all I have to do is go right and I’ll still wind up behind him. But too much time has passed. Spot, and the clone car for that matter, has vanished.

Porn Star. Round Two.

I watch Porn Star implement a U-turn from the curb and fly off in the same direction I followed him previously. This time I’m geared up for him. Already waiting at the edge of the lot, I barely give him time to get by me before I pull out. He, like before, crosses the first two intersections like a just-fired bullet. I, unlike before, do the same to keep up with him.

As we approach the third intersection -- where I lost him last time -- periodic yellow flashes above his bumper denote he intends to go right. Ah, so he does use blinkers. I hardly complete the thought in my brain before he’s practically tipping his Honda up on two wheels making the turn. I watch in astonishment as an Intrepid he’s cut off almost plows into his backside. I see the other driver shaking his head in disbelief as he recovers from the near crash.

It really does crack me up me how crazy Porn Star drives. Plus there’s every indication he seems oblivious to his recklessness and that intrigues me.

The business with the Intrepid screws up my progress. I’m on the same road Porn Star turned on to but don’t see him anywhere. I persevere with the idea that, pleeeease, by pure luck I’ll find him.

Eventually with the addition of an extra lane and roughly a good mile of visibility, I detect a small, definitely blue, automobile in the distance. That’s gotta be him. I speed up.

I change lanes to get by a motorcycle. Just as I start to accelerate, an SUV slingshots out from a left side road and enters my lane. Due to it and the Suzuki, I’m hedged in. Not only is this slowing me down but, reminiscent of the prior incident involving the van, the SUV is blocking my view of Porn Star. Dang it. I can’t lose sight of him. I decide to move back behind the bike. If nothing else I’ll be able to see around him. Right before I reposition myself, thankfully, the behemoth in front of me clears out of my path. The thing is, now there’s no more Porn Star!

Just like that, he’s gone.

I make it up to the junction of I-64 and peer in both east and west directions. Jeez… I can’t just blindly pick a direction of Interstate to go traipsing down. Frustrated, I bang my hands on the steering wheel. I make a U-turn at the next light and, remembering I never did get a map, prepare to wind up lost again.

The Size The Limit

I despise the blurry face look.

So...

I crop. I distort. I resize. The latest batch I rescale to near microscopical proportions.

So...

Click the image of 1/4 of SeeSee's vehicle to seesee a snapshot I reduced by 3/4 and maybe you'll get 1 good picture of how large these photographs are originally.

Before, During, and After

Yes, ma’am. Will you please tell the readers where you were on the afternoon of Friday, September 5, 2008?

Oh -- I was just kinda here and there.

Derivatives From The JADE Project

For many years a section of the entry level exam of the Austin, Texas, police department (APD) required test takers to identify the make and model of vehicles based on the shape of the vehicles’ tail sections. Women test takers claimed that this was discriminatory, because the recognition and knowledge of automobiles more often were associated with males than females. However, many men also were not very astute with respect to vehicles body types. Eventually, APD removed this section from the exam. -- Police Organization and Management: Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow

With few exceptions, a year ago I wouldn’t have been able to tell you what kind of car I was looking at even if I was standing two feet behind it. I don’t believe it had anything to do with what sex I am; I simply never thought of it because I had no reasons to. My interest in the JADE Task Force changed that and these days I can identify a substantial number of vehicles upon view -- near or far -- and also, by the details (light contours, spoilers, et cetera) of some, many times isolate the range of years each was made.

I knew I was improving at this when I started nailing IDs in a snap at night in the pitch blackness. I think that’s so cool!

I’ve still got a lot to learn though. Like, whoever heard of a Chevy Uplander? I linked one to JADE, and I had to get close to it more than once before determining that’s really what it is. I don’t know how popular they are but I have yet to see another one of its kind. Another vehicle, used by a non-JADE member of one of the SWAT teams, remains a mystery to me. I keep its appearance in my mind at all times and, whether I see his again or one just like it, I swear I will figure out what it is. After all, I have to have something other than a color to go with the tag number. Speaking of which…

A conspicuous side effect of my newfound vehicle awareness is my eyes are constantly gravitating to license plates. I guess what started as an intentional procedure for select automobiles has developed into a subconscious tendency applying to all of them. So I can’t help but ask: does this happen to law enforcers too?

Did You Know?

Whatever
you're
doing
at
midnight
on
New Year's Eve
is
what
you'll
be
doing
the
rest
of
the
year.

I HeArTE JADE

Fish and Eggplant: Oughta Be a Recipe

If it’s not apparent by now, Task Force Officer Longhead and I know each other personally and have a bit of history. I should probably elucidate but I won’t because I can’t grasp where to begin and the ending, to me, is at best a confusing mess and at worst is… something that’s not fit to print. But to give an inkling of how we’ve essentially always interacted with each other, you know those fighting fish?

All right, Longhead and I get along like them: fine on the shelf in our individual cups, just don’t dump us together in the same glass.

That being stated, I was perpetually bewared Longhead would spy me before I’d accomplished what I wanted to with JADE -- thus spoiling my project -- and I went through a lot of trouble to avoid crossing paths with him. Nevertheless, we had several unbelievably near misses. I’d walk across a road and he’d drive transversely over the very spot seconds later. I’d coincidentally pull out in front of him at the Charlottesville Police Department as he was coming and I was going, then it’d be the reverse on another day. I’d be taking the stairs down, he’d be riding the elevator up. Those sorts of things. But it wasn’t until a couple of really, really, close calls that it fully sunk in I had no need to fret. The guy is about as observant as an eggplant.

I’d parked down at the Drug Enforcement office, under the inference Longhead had clocked out for the day, and was about to hop out of my auto -- one he was familiar with -- when I spotted his Taurus coming in the lot. Like an explosion, it hit me that there was no place near the doors for him to put his car and that I was in the row that’d be his first choice if there was no place near the doors for him to put his car. Yes, indeed, he was headed straight for me. Closer, closer, closer, he advanced. I became the spitting image of an ice sculpture. Transfixed, I watched him pull in. All that lay betwixt us was a 9 x 18 foot empty space.

He got out, reached for miscellaneous articles, went around to the other side, tossed something in, then shut the door and clomped away. Despite facing my direction a multitude of times -- including when he looked back as he armed his alarm -- he was oblivious to my presence. I didn’t know what to make of it. Could it be all that worry all that inconvenience all that time, all unnecessary?! Hilarious. Yet pathetic.

Alas! It was too great a temptation, I couldn’t help myself: rather than rushing out of there as soon as the coast was clear, I stayed, right smack where I was, to find out if the same thing would happen when he came back. I even readied a camera and rolled down the window. Before Longhead returned, a car slightly larger than my own parked in the open spot. I don’t believe it made any difference, aside from its appearance in a few of the photographs I took.

At any rate, I don’t recollect if the above was the deciding incident or if it was another similar one but somewhere along the line I stopped bending over backwards trying to forefend possible run-ins with Longhead and started treating him like any other JADEr -- which is what I should’ve been doing all along.

An Ironical Chronicle

Porn Star. Round One.

Though I plan on following each of the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force Officers, the target of my first attempt at tailing is, I admit, chosen quite impetuously.

My rear end is nearly devoid of all feeling from sitting idly in my car and I’m bored with the activities of my surroundings. All the familiar non-JADE people that, on one day or another, had seemed so fascinating to study are now as interesting to me as dust bunnies under a bed that are occasionally disturbed by the movement of feet.

I stretch my legs out as far as I can and compare the amount of room in the front seat of my car to a needle’s eye. I can’t prove it but I theorize the hole in the pin has significantly more space. I tilt my head down and use my hand to massage away the tightness that’s developing in my neck. A flicker of movement makes me snap back straight.

There he is: Porn Star. He’s come down the steps from the building and is lumbering with an air of determination across the parking area towards his vehicle. As he pulls the door handle up, he stills for a moment. His head turns in my direction. His sunglasses hide his eyes but I don’t need to see them. Hey, he’s looking right at me. It’s a sign! I’m going to follow him.

Full of excitement to be learning something new, I turn the key in the ignition and listen as my car’s engine revs to life. I barely slide the gearshift into “D” before Porn Star’s funky-colored Honda whips out of its parking space and zips off. Whoa! I have to floor it to catch up to him.

There’s a stop sign at the top of the lot. Apparently Porn Star thinks the lone word in giant white print is merely a suggestion -- one which he ignores. He shoots across the intersection.

I too can tell there’s no oncoming traffic but decide not to be as risky as him. I mean, if he happens to get pulled over for driving like a miscreant, the officer’s just going to send him on his merry way; if I get pulled over, the only place I’ll be going, not merrily, is to court to pay off the fines. Besides, I can see Porn Star heading up the incline and I expect to catch up to him.

Making it to the opposite side of the road, I grab one of my cameras and try to snap off a couple of pictures of his car as he, with nary a brake light aglow, blows through that intersection also. Gee what a surprise.

It’s registering that this is going to be harder than I thought. I mutter a mild swear, abandon the camera to the passenger seat, and stomp down on the gas pedal. I reach the octagonal sign in four seconds flat and quickly glance both ways. The street is deserted so across go I. Despite my effort Porn Star is still already way more than halfway up the next hill.

Third intersection: heavy traffic has forced him to halt. I ease down on the brakes and come to rest right behind him. While automobiles flow by sea-like in front of us, I wonder half in jest if Porn Star is wearing his seat belt. Like most of the vehicles used by members of the Task Force, the tint on his windows is far too dark to see through. I barely glance to my left and of course he uses that exact instant to turn right. Nice blinker. I roll my eyes.

I have to wait for a tan Lincoln and some sort of company’s van to pass before I can pull out. I turn; now I can’t see around the van. I sidle as far over to the left as I possibly can without initiating a head-on collision and stare all the way down the road in front of me. My macho man is nowhere to be seen. Great; I haven’t even been following the guy a whoppin’ three minutes and I’ve already lost him. I facetiously debate whether Porn Star is the best driver ev-er or the worst.

Unfamiliar with the area, I get lost in a tangle of side roads trying to return to where I started. It takes me nearly twenty five minutes to maneuver my way back to my original spot. I make a mental note to invest in a map of the city streets.

I find the whole episode comical and respond to it the only way one can: with laughter.

JADE: Located In An Elite Upscale Neighborhood

Sometimes when you're looking for tornadoes, you might also happen to see a flood -- and get pictures of the aftermath.

Want to know what it was about? Read this, this, and this.

Learn As You Longo

Ohmigosh! Guess what?! I had a meeting with the Charlottesville Chief of Police, Timothy J. Longo, Sr. Mmhmm… I did. whOOt! Wanna guess what’s even better?! He initiated it. HooYah!

Okay; enough pretentious drama.

I did get together with Mr. Longo per his request. The way he went about asking was at the least odd and at the most humorous -- and that’s all I’m going to say about that.

It’s in my interest to talk with anyone even remotely connected to the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force so when I heard the top CoP wanted to speak to me face-to-face about it and its members, naturally, I was all for it.

I reckon the Police Chief is obligated to look after his boys, especially once his boys have failed to look after themselves. I can almost hear the vociferous voices of the JADE officers: She’s pickin’ on us! Do. Something. The thing is, the way I see it, if Mr. Longo -- busy man that he is -- is saying he’d like to sit down and have a word with me, what he’s basically saying is there’s nothing, really, he can do. Hey I was already aware of that fact but it was nice to know he now was too.

I didn’t meet him at his office. Normally I wouldn’t have been opposed to a trip to the Police Department -- the amount of valuable things one can learn at such a place is infinite -- but, considering the circumstances, I thought that by being seen there I’d be greatly impeding potential future activities of mine. As an alternative I’d agreed to show up at a café near the station.

I arrived bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the area a few hours prior to the scheduled meeting. Obviously I checked out the JADE office. There’s one single itty tiny bitty teeny thing I’ve been trying to do at that place for I don’t know how long. What should’ve been a nothing chore has become an impossible task -- it’s comically tormenting. That morning was, as I gathered in seconds, no exception; I’d have to postpone it yet again.

In the lot I noted the vehicles of a couple of JADErs who mostly work late-afternoon-to-night hours. Being that it was nice and early AM, I speculated court proceedings or unique condition type warrants had brought them in sooner than usual. Guessing was satisfying enough; I wasn’t inclined to find out the real reasons right then.

I’d run some errands, bought a newspaper, and arrived at C’Ville Coffee about an hour ahead of the set time. I sat at a large table in a corner, with a fake-looking palm tree at my back, where the maximum amount of entrances/exits were not just visible but accessible. The only door I couldn’t see or get to easily from my position was the main one but I could view the one everybody had to pass through to go from the front room to the section I was in, therefore I was content with my selection.

I sipped a hot chocolate, worked a crossword puzzle, and kept my mind spinning with both previous and newly forming predictions vis-à-vis how the about to occur powwow would go. I wasn’t expecting to be slapped with a pair of handcuffs or anything, although, due to former events that involved a sneaky JADE detective and subpoenas, I one hundred per cent. counted on being handed some kind of nasty paperwork.

I anticipated Mr. Longo would be precisely punctual. Wow, he didn’t just show up early, he was there nearly twenty minutes sooner than he had to be. I tossed around many possibilities for why and settled on it being a matter of him, without nefarious motives, wanting to control where we sat, something he couldn’t do unless he got there before me. I had a feeling we wouldn’t have wound up in any other chairs, albeit, if given first choice, he’d probably be occupying the seat I’d taken.

I figured he would be pleasant and he was, throughout the entire discussion. I mulled over the likelihood that he’d been smart enough to figure out beforehand niceness is by and large the method I’m most malleable with. He did after all have an agenda.

Shortly after introductions and a solid handshake, Mr. Longo plunged into the purpose of our get-together by giving me a laconic speech; it was less than three minutes long. In a nutshell, he said that I was a nuisance to the Task Force and I should back off. I felt unaffected by his monologue. He pulled out an envelope and told me he’d put what he’d spoken in writing. See? I knew there’d be paperwork! Not as nasty as I’d expected it to be, but not nice either.

I briefly scrutinized the outside of the packet he’d dropped down on the table, then opened it and fished out the sheets; there were two. The second one had “Page 2-” typed on it -- fortunate, because had it not been for that I might’ve caused a scene by holding a page in each hand and repeatedly shrieking in angst “which one do I start with?!” until I passed out.

Once I’d discerned it wasn’t a writ or similar, I didn’t bother reading it word for word (until later). In the presence of Mr. Longo I simply scanned it. Right off the bat the editor in me caught its heavy repetition -- what it contained could’ve been trimmed to fit on a single page, two paragraphs at most, but perhaps everyone who laid eyes on it before me incorrectly thought redundancy equals emphasis.

I also realized immediately that what was in print didn’t quite match what the man sitting in front of me was articulating. The letter was very harsh in comparison. Listening to the Chief, you’d think I’d scarcely risen to the level of being a pain in the neck or pest to be swatted away. Judging by the document, you’d think people were on pins and needles, some of them traumatically anticipating a slug to the heart was coming at any second because of my “behavior.”

I fluttered the stationary in the air and said to Mr. Longo “you know this is going up on the website, don’t you?” and he, with his unwavering smile, replied “it is what it is.” I refolded the papers and returned them to their holder.

Business was over -- he’d said his piece and I’d… not walked out on him -- before, I believe, the clock had even struck the time we’d planned to convene. The Chief stated he’d fulfilled his duty then announced his expensive beverage was nowhere near empty and invited himself to stay and finish it. Not sure what possessed him to do so but he remained for a significant period and chatted with me.

I’d already noticed rather quickly his amiable demeanor didn’t seem to fluctuate. Not an iota. I found his ostensible lack of emotional variation curious, even slightly disconcerting at times, and ruminated the cause of his conduct. Was it learned diplomacy -- a product of his position? Genetic? I wondered if there was anything I could say to crack it or shake him.

Over the course of our conversation, Mr. Longo inadvertently provided further conflicting tidbits in regards to what extent my actions had truly impacted them. I continued to, as if they were fictitious flowers, mentally pluck the parapraxes as they sprung up and stick them in an imaginary basket, to be arranged afterwards. Maybe someday I’ll be able to show the bouquet it made, here, on iHeArTEjade.

In sixty one minutes -- the total amount of time we were together -- I learned a great deal from, and about, Mr. Longo. But since this account of our meeting is already far lengthier than I intended, I’ll avoid adding to it the whole slew of the neo-noesis I believe I gained from the encounter. To finalize this piece, a meager three comments:

I have an idea of what to expect if I don’t comply with his appeal. I’ve had a psychic vision of how they’ll go about it and how I’ll thwart them. Kidding. Seriously, I don’t think I could prevent them from doing what they likely would do but I could definitely stop them from being successful with it.

I was forced to sacrifice my SWAT-stalking fun but I discovered, as excellent as he is at maintaining his steady poise, the Chief can be visibly fazed. He’s also genuinely likeable.

All it takes to completely disrupt an entire badass Task Force is one skinny little White girl. I wouldn’t let that get out if I were them. Oops! Too late.

The Letter -- With Commentary

The Letter.

So they’re plainly paving the way for forthcoming actions they might take against me. Nifty. I guess I should thank them for the tip off: Thanks!

Listen, these law enforcement officers didn’t have a clue I was even around until some hairdresser or whatever she is, an employee who works in the same building as Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement, pointed me out to a pair of Task Force guys after she saw me openly taking pictures.

For weeks after that incident, nary a soul contacted me about so-called interference or alarm despite the fact that my “behaviors” were ongoing throughout.

Since the only thing that changed was their sudden discovery of iHeArTEjade, I’m of the opinion that what it all boils down to is that they’re embarrassed. What’s posted on the site isn’t anti-cop by any means but, let’s face it, it’s not flattering for a small group of them. What the heck, it doesn’t flatter me either and these are my versions which are supposed to make me look good!

As for the “fear for their safety and that of their families” hyperbole, if they didn’t want their families in danger they could’ve gotten jobs in a yo-yo factory. I once asked Longhead why he became a policeman; his exact response was “I got out of the military and didn’t want to sit behind a desk.” I believe it’s the only honest thing the jerk ever told me. No matter what his reason, he deliberately chose an occupation that by its very nature is dangerous. If his wife and children are at risk by his decision, that’s on him. The same goes for every one of the JADE TFOs who, regardless of their respective reasons, purposely picked the identical hazardous career.

I’m not buying their claim of fright in relation to my actions anyway. What do they think, some disgruntled armed crackhead will recognize them by their doggies? Oh please. I’ve used pseudonyms for people, and either cropped their faces out of pictures or posted back shots. I don’t have to do that; I choose to. Just like I choose to not put up license plates, addresses and phone numbers, images of CIs, tactical information… jeepers, it’s endless! And even if I did change my mind about that, I tend to think the only one who’d be endangered would be me.

Maybe it seems I’m being a bit… coldhearted. I’m not worried -- about coming across that way, or about what law enforcement may do. They can throw whatever ball they want at me; chances are I’ve got a glove or a bat ready for it. And if I don’t, well, that’s kinda part of what makes the game fun.

The Letter -- Without Commentary

Dear Ms. [Me]

Personnel of the Charlottesville Police Department and the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force brought to my attention your recent behavior directed towards them. The most troubling behaviors they identified consisted of following police officers while they are on duty, photographing them or their personal property, and publishing potentially identifying information about them on readily accessible public media.

The purpose of this correspondence is to notify you that your behavior is interfering with the ability of these officers to conduct necessary and appropriate law enforcement activities. I presume that you may be unaware of the degree to which following and photographing police investigators may constitute a material interference with their work. This is especially true with narcotics enforcement officers who must be able to meet with citizens, suspects, and others with complete confidence that they have not been followed and are not being watched. These officers must be able to assure confidential informants and operatives that their anonymity is being scrupulously maintained.

Furthermore, your behavior is placing officers in fear for their safety and that of their families. I presume that you may not have been aware previously that officers live on a daily basis with the concern that their families will be subjected to danger as a result of their work. Your behavior in following officers to their homes and posting photographs of their property on publicly accessible media places officers in fear for their safety and that of their families. Posting identifying information about officers and their property on publicly accessible media makes it easier for those who might do them harm to gain information that can be used to do just that.

I urge you to stop the activities in which you have been involved as they are interfering with the work of law enforcement officers in the City of Charlottesville. Continuation of your behavior may further disrupt their work and may obstruct ongoing law enforcement efforts that are being undertaken on behalf of our community.

Furthermore, I urge you to cease the behaviors you have exhibited that place officers in fear for their safety and that of their families.

I welcome the opportunity to discuss this matter with you in person. Please feel free to contact me at [555-555-5555]

Sincerely,
Timothy J. Longo, Sr.
Chief of Police

The Commentary.

Knick Knack Paddy Whack

Someone I spoke with expressed concern about the puppy pics. More specifically that I may have trespassed to take them. Nice try fellas. Yawn.

1. I haven’t done anything illegal.

Fo’ starters, there’s just no need to: every piece of information, each photograph, all surveillance, can be gathered, or snapped, or initiated, within the confines of the law.

Fo’ enders, there’s just no want to: what I’ve done has taken work, and brainpower, and it’s been challenging. That’s How I Roll.

2. I find it fascinating that people believe someone can waltz onto private properties and take pictures of the canine pets of policemen without the adorable little furballs -- that would be the dogs -- either noticing or caring. On so many different levels, intriguing.

MeetUPS With L.L. Me

I watch UPS exit the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement building. Sometime within the last thirty minutes he seems to have adopted a sidekick. I know for a fact that UPS had been alone when he got out of his car and went inside – I have the pictures to prove it.

I’ve seen UPS a few times; this is definitely the first time I’ve seen the guy he’s with. Where’d he come from?

I watch as they laugh and chat moving towards UPS’s car. Should I try to follow them? By the time they’re climbing in the vehicle, I’ve not only made up my mind the answer is “yes” but I’ve also come up with a ruse to find out who this new mystery man is. And although I’m almost positive of UPS’s identity, if my idea is successful I’ll have absolute verification. I give them no more than a few seconds head start before I go after them.

The traffic is thick at this time of day and I make sure my bumper is right on UPS’s. I weave with them down the road towards the University of Virginia and contemplate if having two people in a vehicle draws their attention away from everything else. If they’re focused on each other does it distract them from me?

As usual, there’s plenty of people and activity around UVA and the closer we get to the campus the more chaotic it becomes. I’m content that all the hullabaloo further distracts them from my blatant tailgating.

We have to stop several times to let pedestrians cross so I think nothing of it when UPS stops yet again in front of me. That is until I notice there’s no clear reason for him to be doing it now. Shoot! They’re parking. I watch as the Alero pulls off to the right hand side into a space and I frantically look for a place where I can pull over too. No such luck. They got the only visibly open spot.

I zip by and take a right on the first road I see -- miraculously close to where they were. Immediately on my right is a parking lot. It’s nearly empty and it takes me less than a second to decide I don’t care about permits or being towed or any of the other threats the college makes to an automobile-impaired visitor such as myself.

In a rush to catch UPS and his associate, I’m out of my car almost before the tires cease rolling. I aim my auto-lock gizmo over my shoulder as I take off running. I'm too far away to hear it click; I’m hoping the doors are in fact secured. I fly by signs stating the parking area I’m in is for bank customers. I come racing around the corner as fast as my legs will move me and am delighted to see the Alero. Yes, still there! It seems like mega-minutes have passed but it’s probably been less than two.

I slow to a saunter and, while keeping watch on their car, briefly scan inside all the stores on that particular block looking for the pair. I don’t see them. I head back to their mode of transportation and seat myself on a wall of bricks in front of it to wait for them. I look at the roof of the car and study the object that I intend to use as a ploy. I know exactly what it is: an antenna, same white color as the car. It’s round and kind of flat -- resembles a hockey puck.

I spot the duo meandering down the sidewalk in my direction. The one whom I don’t know is wearing a UVA jacket and I immediately begin strategizing to begin at the University’s police department to find out about him. I wait patiently for them to get all the way to their car before approaching them. They’re talking to each other over the roof and I interrupt.

“Hey, what is…” I’m pointing. “Oh, I’m sorry…” I say, as if embarrassed that I’d accidentally cut in on their conversation, “I don’t mean to bother you but what is that… thing? On your car.”

“It’s an 800 megahertz antenna” replies UPS. He says it in such an authoritative and proud manner it’s clear I’m supposed to be awed. I act like I am. I also act like I’m dumb.

“For…?” Wide eyed, I draw the single word out.

UPS says something technical about police communications.

“Oooh…” I let that word linger also. I look back and forth between the two of them. “Y’all are detectives?” I don’t wait for an answer before adding “I mean, I saw the light in the back of the car but…” I trail off like I'm struggling to put two and two together. They confirm they’re law enforcement.

“What’s your name?” I abruptly ask UPS, in a tone that suggests he's already told me but I've forgotten it. For a heartbeat it appears he’s not going to tell me, then he surrenders his given name. Ha! I knew it! Inwardly I grin. Outwardly I nod. I consider the advantages of having an ambiguous surname, since he didn’t specify whether the name he gave was his first or his last and it could definitely be either.

There’s a long pause and it occurs to me that throughout it I’ve been intently staring at UPS. “You look really familiar” I say as an excuse. “I think your picture’s been in the paper.” I know it has; it was the basis for my tentative ID of him. I tilt my head, like a different angle will alleviate my puzzlement.

UPS grins boyishly then claims maybe it’s the other guy. “He looks like me” UPS laughs. They don’t look anything alike. I smile, more in lieu of his good-naturedness than his jest.

While UPS is making jokes I move casually around the other guy absorbing as many details as I can. Now standing to his right side I peer into the man’s peepers. “Oh, what’s your name?” He looks back into my eyes for a moment, a teeny smidgen longer than I’m comfortable with. “Michael.” Probably not his last name, which he obviously isn’t going to provide me with. Again I nod. He doesn’t know it but, just from this little run-in, I figure I’ll know precisely who he is before noon tomorrow. In the meantime I'm gonna call him L.L. Me. Thank you, UPS.

Satisfied I have a good starting point, and not wanting to push my luck, I determine I can end the meeting and attempt to do so. I start to ease back away with another apology for bothering them -- ramble about being curious, let them be going, blah, blah. UPS at last makes the obligatory joke about the antenna being a hockey puck. I don’t share the thought that crosses my mind: Doubt you’re going to score with that one, pal. They both assure me I haven’t been a bother and we all wish each other a good night.

I go back to my seat on the bricks and look vacantly around at the college kids scurrying by like roaches. I wait ‘til I’m certain UPS and Michael are out of sight before jumping up and jogging back to my car. I pray it’s still there and doesn’t have a ticket on the windshield -- it is and doesn’t.

The following day, while out walking, I use the time, along with my handy cell phone, to learn who Michael is. It takes a mere three calls to find out. I deposit my phone in my pocket right as I pass by the Charlottesville Police Department. A vehicle pulls out of an area where I know law enforcement parks and, though the windows are heavily tinted, I’m close enough to see through the front one. It appears Michael is the driver. What a coincidence. The man waits for me to go across the sidewalk in front of him. Once past, I sneak a peak back at the fellow. He’s looking in my direction. Does he recognize me too? The possibility amuses me and I turn to hide my smirk. As he drives away I slide my cell phone back out to look at the clock. The time is noon on the dot.

$1 Wager

I’m not entirely sure if, early on, it was instinctual, but I tried to be extra careful when it came to studying two particular Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement men.

Eventually, based on their ages, their training (both the amount and type of), some of the gossip I’d gotten, and my own observation of them, I was under the impression they’d be more likely to resort to violence sooner and less likely to flinch at using unnecessary force than the other Task Force Officers.

Quite frankly I didn’t want to be ripped out of my car and smashed face-first into the pavement simply because these guys have an ounce more testosterone than their buddies -- seemed like that'd be, I don’t know, painful.

Hey I could've been totally wrong. Could've been the JADE guys I was less cautious with were actually the ones who would've strangled me with their bare hands. Of course nowadays they’d all probably like to do that.

Nevertheless, the duo got the same treatment as their counterparts; I just handled them differently. I think it paid off too. I bet you a buck neither one of them can correctly cite just two instances where we were close enough to share a brainwave. I’ll even give one of them a couple of hints:

dataduplication

A friend of mine, a journalist, once had law enforcement seize a notepad he’d been carrying. He was able to recover the object from the police station later but it was in some pretty sorry shape. It was mangled, had ripped pages, coffee splatters, and what appeared to be dried tobacco spit on it. Ruined, basically.

Not wanting to tell a parallel woe of my own in the future, I’ve made several copies of my notes on the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force, numerous backups of the pictures, audio and video recordings, and iHeArTEjade, and put everything in various remote spots.

I guess it’s possible it could in spite of my efforts be found and wiped out. But I’d still have all the information in my head, and I believe the only surefire way to destroy that would be by adding a bullet to it.

Chain of Thoughts

I realize that I appear to be giving away my secrets. Writing about locations I park at, car modifications, et cetera (sometimes tagged as TACTICS here on iHeArTEjade), doesn’t seem conducive to future activities. And I guess that’d be a valid point if I were publicizing ploys and schemes while simultaneously trying to utilize them.

Granted I’m going to have slip-ups but, for the most part, by time you’re reading about my maneuvers they’ve been shelved. Case in point: I no longer use the duct tape headlight trick. It’s not that I don’t think it works but things change and it doesn’t fit in with what I’m up to these days.

Sometimes I’m not up to anything. One night I pulled over on Elliott Ave to look for a pack of gum and while rummaging around in my purse I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, a car had come up beside me. I turned to find out what the deal was, saw it was Rasmussen’s Impala and, without missing a blink, went back to what I was doing. I don’t know what was going through his mind but I’ve got my car idling at a crazy angle on the side of the road, my highbeams are on, my foot’s on the brake pedal, surely he didn’t think I was playing hide and seek with him. When I ignored him he just drove away; what else could he do?

I think maybe the Task Force fellows are expecting me to do something outrageous or illegal. Such as when Spot and company came after me, I believe they were under the impression I was going to try to outrun them or something. Ridiculous! These guys probably can’t even outrun each other; I sure as hell ain’t going to do better than them in a situation like that. If I thought I could… nope, still wouldn’t.

As unbelievable as it sounds, I usually put a tremendous amount of thought into what I’m doing. At the moment I’m sitting on two outstanding pieces of information about specific JADErs because the material could’ve only come from one place. Until I figure out a way to increase the number of sources for it, I’ll have to keep my teeth tightly clamped down on my tongue.

Some girls can keep secrets.

The House of Mouse

Mouse has a last name that, up until coming across him, I’d never heard of. When I started researching to discover his home address, I found out much to my surprise there’s a ton of people who share his surname. The list of locations I excavated was extensive and I wasn’t inclined to go a million miles surveying a million houses in a million counties. What I needed was a whereabouts weed-whacker. I found one.

I noticed Mouse’s vehicle always has a layer of dust on it. I presumed that meant he frequently (and probably quickly) drives up and down a dirt road. Using Google Earth I plugged in all the addresses I’d accumulated and crossed off every place that didn’t look rural enough. I ended up with a mere three houses.

Upon further investigation, I learned that one of the houses was for sale. I called the listing agent and after some friendly chit-chat managed to find out that the owners were selling because “the house is too big now that the kids are gone” and the couple weren’t connected to Law Enforcement in any way.

The precise physical spot of one house cannot be found with any map program; the best I could do was pin-point the city it’s supposed to be in and distinguish that back roads and farmland surrounded it. Very near that second residence, towards the north, was the third dwelling.

I suppose if Mouse is curious to know if I know where he lives, he can always go enter his address in MapQuest.

The Wheels In My Mind Go 'Round and 'Round

I am forever trying to figure things out…

In relation to the Task Force:

Why can I go completely unobserved by any of the JADE members 50 times but then it's like all of a sudden every one of the JADE guys will notice me 5 minutes before I even appear?

How can a Detective study my face under the glare of his flashlight on one night yet not recognize me when I walk by him twice the following night?

How can I follow a Sergeant for five miles one day without him seeing me but the next day he’s on to me in less than five blocks?

Something is different in every instance. What is it? Is it me or is it them? A combination of both?

The problem with these kind of questions is the answers are hard to get. And the problem with the answers when I think I get them is they lead to more of these kind of questions.

I will forever be trying to figure things out…

Remarkable

When you drive a remarkable vehicle, there’s a chance someone is bound to remark on it. When you park a remarkable vehicle, and walk ½ a mile away from it, there’s a chance someone is bound to take pictures of it.

Although, the distance between driver and vehicle is irrelevant when the someone taking the photographs is me; I’ll snap shots at any given time.

I think I’m the only one who counts SeeSee -- the operator of that cute blue Charger -- as a full-fledged member of the JADE Task Force. He doesn’t work at the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement office but he’s down there too often to not connect him to it. I imagine he’s got the Untouchables poster tacked up on the wall in the place where he does work since SeeSee’s true calling is as an Agent with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives.

SeeSee, I was told, is 39 (or maybe it was 40) years old. That’s around what I would guess his age to be. The exception to my estimation would be any time he’s got a Law Enforcement Officer as a passenger in the Dodge. Then I’d have to put his age at, oh, 17. You ought to see the way he drives when he’s got Longhead with him: like a punk kid who’s trying to impress his buddy. It’s remarkable.

Less Wisecracks, More Vicefacts

I confess my last two posts were essentially raspberries, complete with puckered lips for maximum spray of spit, blown across cyberspace. Getting back down to business I offer the following information for those interested.

As to be expected, members of Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement take turns being the “on call” officers for the Task Force. On a rotating basis, for a span of seven consecutive days starting on Tuesdays, one Sergeant and two Detectives are available for call out. Since there are only two Sergeants, obviously they swap out every week. The rest of the men, the Detectives, can go two or three weeks before their name comes up again in the rotation.

If I’m not mistaken, this week’s trio is Dasani, Rasmussen, and Pringle, then for the dates of December 16 - 22, it’s Mouse, Skoal, and Spot. But I haven’t checked yet to be sure.

A Reminder.

Hey, uhm... guys? Those who watch your back will stab you in it.

That



you're on is a



XOXOXO

So y'all found me, eh?

Kops Karry Keys On Karabiners

Pop Quiz: How many JADE TFOs possess this practical little contraption?

For after-dark occasions when I need a decent light source but not one that will attract attention, I have a 3 x ½ inch mini LED flashlight. It has a thin elastic band I attached to it thus allowing me to a) use it hands-free, b) not chance dropping/losing it, and c) tuck it away quickly should the need to do so arise. For nighttimes when I need bigger and better -- and don’t mind resembling a lighthouse on a shore at midnight -- I use a 2D Cell LED MAGLITE.

A pricier torch that can be found in the hands of JADE is the Pelican 7060 LED.

I had an opportunity to test one out once and personally didn’t care for it much. Whenever I tried to hold it the way I’d like to it felt off-balance, and the switch on the bottom is more sensitive than the feelings of a 13 year old girl -- too many unintentional activations. I will say it’s probably perfect for blazing someone’s mug, which, I suspect, is largely one of the reasons JADE uses it.

A Ghost From Christmas Past

At one point in my life I thought it’d be therapeutic to write a book about my nightmare in shining armor AKA my husband. Had it not been for the crimes he committed -- eventually convicted of -- I probably would’ve never found myself knowing a Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force Officer.

The case had absolutely nothing to do with drugs and I was originally given the impression that the detective who was assigned to it was acting in his official capacity as an Anti-Terrorist Officer. Actually I was initially misled to believe the man was an FBI agent. Anyway, the case had absolutely nothing to do with terrorism either, and, as a matter of fact, the investigator had never in his career worked the kind of case it was. I suppose I’m never going to understand why he was chosen and why our lives collided.

Getting back on track, I thought I’d put up a teeny portion of the unfinished manuscript here since it relates to a JADE member and coincides with the season. Twenty imperishably-branded-in-my-memory minutes of my life from Christmastime one year ago…

“Hello?”

“Merry Christmas” came a cheery masculine voice from the other end of the line.

There were a few seconds of quiet as I debated whether to make this a nice conversation or a nasty one. Let’s shoot for nice. “Same to you, Mr. O’Donnell.”

“Don’t tell me you’re Jewish” he said, chuckling before I could respond. He was obviously pleased with his little joke.

“Very funny” I answered. He can be so lame. I waited for him to tell me why he’d been trying to reach me lately.

“Have you looked at PACER?”

“Not recently, no.”

“Spoken to Veronica? Bill?”

“I speak to Veronica often.” I’d just talked to both people only a few days earlier. No telling whether Mr. O’Donnell knew that. I didn’t feel like asking to find out.

Finally he got to the point. “The trial has been changed to a guilty plea hearing.” I let the news sink in for a moment. Strange I found my thoughts focusing more on Mr. O’Donnell than on the outcome of my husband and his crimes.

“So, I guess this means we’re done?” I asked, fishing for where this would leave him and me.

“Yes, we’re done” he replied matter-of-factly.

I don’t think Mr. O’Donnell grasped the context under which I had posed my question. Suddenly faced with the inevitable, the quite permanent loss of him from my life, melancholy crept its way through me. I fought for simplistic words and crossed my fingers I’d be able to get them out without choking up. “I guess this is it.”

Because I was in a somber haze, I didn’t quite catch the next thing he said. Something about keeping in touch? Had I heard that? I was somewhat in disbelief that this man, who had witnessed every emotion except three come out of me, after every awful way I’d treated him, would continue to communicate with me if he didn’t have to. I tried to conceal my befuddlement under sarcasm. “But this is your big chance to be free of me. You’ll never have to speak to me again. I would think you’d be thrilled.”

Mr. O’Donnell laughed. “We can still talk. You might want to tell me things.”

It was my turn to laugh. He knew perfectly well I’d do no such thing and said as much. “I don’t think you would, but, you never know.” He then brought up the manuscript he knew I was working on. It reminded me that two days earlier he’d left a message on my voice mail that began with “How’s the book coming along?”

“Why would you be interested in that?” I asked him. He made some sort of flippant comment. I ignored it. “Seriously. Why would you be interested in what I’m writing?”

“I spent a year and a half of my life on this case!” he erupted. The outburst was strong, surprising. I was tempted to analyze it, but resisted. He was rarely in such a good mood, I didn’t want to spoil it.

I shifted the conversation away from the book by asking him some innocuous case-related questions I’d thought of over the course of the call. He answered most of them. He said we’d likely talk again before the hearing date. My mind drifted to pieces of different discussions I’d had with Mr. O’Donnell over the past fifteen months. The sound of his voice growing gruff in my ear pulled me back to our present one. “…and answer the phone when I call you. Stop screening my calls” he demanded.

“Why? Do you think you’re important?”

“I think I’m important. I don’t know what other people think. Don’t screen my calls” he repeated sternly.

“Oh like you don’t screen my calls” I retorted. True to form, we’d reverted to the kind of antagonistic banter we usually had with each other.

Our conversation was drawing to a close. I attempted to express some genuine gratitude. “Thank you for letting me know about the hearing. It was nice of you. To do that. I’m surprised.” I realized, regrettably, how that sounded. So did he.

“I’m not the demon you make me out to be” he said.

Oddly enough I’d recently seen The Golden Compass, a movie in which the character’s souls appeared as animals and were called demons. An amusing notion of Mr. O’Donnell being my demon flickered in my brain. I had a feeling the secret humor wouldn’t be funny to him.

“You’re a jerk! You don’t even deny that you’re a jerk…” I admonished sharply.

“No, I don’t deny it” he interjected to agree.

“But I do not make you out to be a demon” I finished.

The ensuing forty seconds of silence was the loudest I’d ever heard.

The call ultimately ended as politely as it had begun. We bid each other well for the approaching holiday and said good-bye. I snapped my cell phone shut, plugged it into its charger, and used my fingertips to brush away the lone teardrop from my cheek.

For Your Listening Entertainment

I've got a couple things in the works; boy, do I think they’re awesome too! But I have some stuff to iron out first and in the process of doing so I had an unplanned, completely unexpected, dealing with JADE.

I’d been in the area near the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement office for, believe it or not, reasons unrelated to the Task Force. Seemed a fine time to try to tie up one of those loose ends. To do that, I needed to check out the lot where the officers park. I drove down one of the roads that cross with 6th Street SE -- think it’s Blenheim maybe? Whatever the name, the street’s well-sloped and at that intersection one has a very good view of most of the standard places JADErs put their vehicles.

I was slightly more than halfway down its hill when I saw Skoal’s Altima coming out mid-right-turn across the street from me. On a whim, I turned left to get behind him. Funny thing though, like three seconds later he’d passed a couple of parked cars, sidled over to the right, and stopped. But he hadn’t quite pulled all the way over to the curb. It was not only an odd thing to do in general, it was also problematic for other traffic as the road is especially narrow at that spot.

Presumably doing what any driver under normal circumstances would’ve done, I slowed to a standstill about five, maybe ten, feet back from him to make sure I could safely navigate around him, then I zigzagged by him. The moment my back bumper was flush with his front one, his headlights went out. Curious, I thought, because they flicked back on in a jiffy once I was a few feet ahead of him. He pulled right out after me.

With him at the rear of me, he made the next two turns same as me. I tried not to read too much into it -- it was a way he could go home and it was about his going-home time. Funny thing though, his driver’s side front window never went beyond my passenger’s side back window. It was like he didn’t want to pass me. I don’t know if that was the case but, regardless, I forced him to go by me when, at the last possible second I could, I braked suddenly and swung into a left turn lane. He coasted by. I waited to see if he’d hop into another lane himself and come back. He didn’t. I watched until the lights of his sedan completely disappeared in the distance. It didn't occur to me until later all he'd had to do was call his buddies to give them a heads up.

The sun had finished setting and, now mid-evening time, the moon was faintly illuminating the city. It was too dark for me to do what I’d had in mind before I’d gotten side-tracked by Skoal but, just for the hell of it, I went back to the Drug Enforcement building.

Normally I would’ve noted every Task Force vehicle I recognized, from whose it was, to where it was located, right down to the direction it was situated. On this occasion though, having no agenda, I hadn’t done that. I’d noticed Pringle’s car given that it was in such a remarkably out of the ordinary space for him and Porn Star’s since it was, albeit far away, directly in my line of sight.

My just being present there wasn’t accomplishing a darn thing and I couldn’t drum up anything explicit to do that I thought would be productive. I opted to head on out. That’s when I saw Porn Star come out through the double doors and go to his car. I couldn’t drive by him; I’d have to wait to leave.

I guess I was in an inattentive frame of mind or I just didn’t particularly care or some blasé mood.

He tossed… this and that… into his Honda on the passenger side then went to the back and opened the trunk. There I think he did something with his police radio antenna. Either he took the magnetized object out and plunked it on the top of the trunk, signifying whatever he was up to he needed a line of communication open, or he yanked it off and put it back in the trunk, indicating he was finished with business. He moved to the sidewalk and fiddled with his cell phone -- text or talk, I’m not sure which. When he was done, he went back through the double doors into the building.

I was in a quandary. True, he wasn’t outside to observe me but after all his activity I thought it was a safe bet he’d be resurfacing shortly. How was I to know when? And because I hadn’t paid close attention, I had no sense of whether he was about to go arrest a dangerous felon or if he was headed home for steak and potatoes. Maybe you’re thinking “what difference did it make what he was up to?” Oh, it makes a big difference. Believe me. I’ve watched ‘em long enough to know. Anyway, I thought it best to wait until he departed before I tried to get out of there.

I don’t recall how much time passed before he returned. I mean hours didn’t go by or anything but it wasn’t mere seconds either. As soon as I spied him, by the time he’d made it to his car I’d already gotten my engine started and was shifting into reverse. I was ready to call it a night. Since I wasn’t in the mood to purposely follow him, I thought nothing of exiting the same way he had. If we wound up traveling along the same route, it was going to be a coincidence. Besides, I believe I’ve previously mentioned he’s like Speedy Gonzalez on wheels so no matter where he’d went it wasn’t like I thought I’d catch up to him.

In the course of leaving I caught sight of Pringle’s Altima in motion. Jeez I must have mega-been in La-La-Land because I’d totally not seen him come outside. For inexplicable reasons he’d pulled into the upper lot and was making loops around it real slow. Bizarre, but I wasn’t going to worry about it. I snaked around a speed bump, got to the stop sign, made a right, and had Spot’s Impala on my tail. I’d missed Spot coming out of the building too?! For realiously?! I hadn’t even noticed his car down there. I lightly smacked my forehead with my palm.

I arrived at the 5th Street SW traffic signal, got in the left lane, and waited for the light to change. Immediately behind me was Spot, after him presumably was a second JADE vehicle and possibly a third one. There’s really no way to put into words how I knew they intended to pursue me, but I had no doubt that’s what was going to happen. All I could think about was how I might play with the situation. Oops, yeah, no, I take that back; I was also thinking I think Spot is Hot. As. Hell. Seriously the man is yummy.

Given the green light I’d made my turn, as did they. I leisurely scootched up behind some truck in the left lane then stepped on the gas pedal and snapped into the right lane. Spot jerked the Impala over also and suddenly blasted me with his high beams. Nice.

I slowed down. I sped up. I weaved in and out this way. I squeezed out and in that way. Spot et al followed suit. Yeehaw! We went two and a half miles down the road doing that goofy stuff. I could only imagine what their goal was but surely they had in mind something better than what they were doing. Maybe?

They weren’t going to chase me around indefinitely. I got to scheming. I hadn’t done anything wrong and my car was peachy on the legal front. How would they react if I… stopped? I seriously doubted they’d expect me to do that. I mentally flipped a coin: heads, I’d drive straight up to the front door of the soon handy Albemarle County Police Department; tails, I’d halt at a arbitrary place on an upcoming back road. In my opinion, both were equally perilous should these fellows decide to do somethin’ rotten. Tails won.

The road fast narrowed and everything darkened. The high beams of the Impala which had been tolerable up until then became deadly blinding. Spot evidently had no intention of lowering them and after I took two curves wildly sight-impaired, I determined it was either pull over or wreck. I saw an opportune place: a very short turning lane. I glided into it and stopped mid-way down. Spot came to rest behind me.

I grabbed a nifty little device, powered it on, pushed “REC” and slid it under my bra strap. About ten seconds later Spot activated his emergency lights, at which point I rolled my window down.

I’m providing the recording here, unedited, in its entirety. It’s a tad under four minutes long but our exchange is less than that. By the way, Spot is still Hot. As. Hell. And I definitely want to thank him for shouting, ‘cause the audio? Came out sweet!

There’s a couple of places you can hear me hold my breath or squeak to avoid laughing. For example I do that in response to him calling me ma’am at the get-go, as it was way before it was possible for him to have ascertained what sex I am. Technically, at no time up until he said the words “of Charlottesville” had he been in any position to view anything other than my headrest and seat. Then after the inadvertent oral indication that he already knew who was behind the wheel, to launch into an act that it was an indiscriminate stop of a random unknown person? Pfft.

I’m disappointed he used the pretense of “speeding” -- as I think my tone reflects when I repeat the word -- but I’m not going to rake him over the coals for that since I suppose it’s easier for him to keep with familiar standard cop BS than come up with something that’s clever or, God forbid, true.

One other thing I don’t quite get is why he asked me where I was going to rather than where I was coming from. Both seem logical to me but if I’d been him I would’ve asked the latter on the grounds it might be more advantageous. Think about it: If a cop knows where you were, it’s harder for you to lie about it without getting tangled up in it. If a cop doesn’t know where you’re going, you could name any place, then if you didn’t go where you said, well, you changed your mind. Right?

That’s sort of what I did. Hey, prior to Porn Star’s emergence and Spot’s shot at deterrence I’d planned on going home. I changed my mind.

I’d thought by the end of Spot and my interaction, he’d gotten a bit brusque for his britches. Apparently he missed the memo that I’ve got more tenacity -- perhaps audacity -- than just about anyone else on the planet. I went back to their parking lot.

Truck’s car was the only one I found there that belonged to anyone on the Task Force. A uniformed officer in a marked car came through on patrol. He spotlighted the entire area and lit up all the plates of all the automobiles present. I smiled and waved at him. Gee, I guess he didn’t find who he was s'posed to be looking for. He parked and went in the building I reckon to chat with Truck. I left after a few minutes, satisfied that I’d matched Spot for arrogance.

All That And A Roll Of Duct Tape!

This is the driver's side window of the JADE Van:

It's since been repaired. Rumor has it the leftover roll is still inside.

The Funhouse Mirror Effect?

I don't know why this picture turned out this weird way, but because I think it's kind of nifty I thought I'd share it.

That Silver Impala in the left lane is Spot's and the reason for the shot.

Spittin' Bullets

It’s a given that Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement guys carry backup firearms but I’ve yet to start researching what they are. Whenever I do get around to finding out, I think the best method would be for me to conduct a salacious strip search of each of the officers. That way, I’d not only learn what their weapons are but where they conceal them also. In the meantime I’m going to assume their secondary pistols are nothing less than 9mm, ‘cause anything smaller, ya know, what would be the point?

Moving on to something I don’t have to guess about: each man’s primary side arm. Up until I compiled a list of their weapons, it looked to me like one group of ten men with four types of firearms. I thought this was unusual since Law Enforcement, as I understand it, is pretty fussy about consistency. Now that I realize it’s one group of ten men from four departments which respectively issue one type of firearm, it makes a bit more sense.

From the Charlottesville Police Department are Longhead, Spot, Dasani, Truck, and Herb, armed with a 45 HK.

From the Albemarle County Police Department are Porn Star, Mouse, and Skoal, armed with a 40 HK.

From the University of Virginia Police Department is Pringle, armed with a 40 Glock.

From the Virginia State Police Department is Rasmussen, armed with a 357 SIG Sauer.

They of course carry bigger guns

and smaller guns

which I’ll be itemizing on iHeArTEjade at a later date. Maybe by then I’ll know what kind of backups they’re packin’ too.

A Mathematical Word Problem

Dasani drives a Monte Carlo. He has to travel 2.6 miles to get from his work to his house. The speed limit for 0.6 of those miles is 25mph. 0.8 of them are in a 35mph zone, and 1.2 of them are through an area with a posted limit of 45mph. On his preferred route he’ll encounter a total of 4 stop signs and 1 traffic signal. How does he manage to go the entire distance in 2 minutes and 36 seconds?

Ruff... Ruff...

Do Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement
Task Force Officers
become "Dog People"

or

Do "Dog People" become
Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement
Task Force Officers?

Oh, sure, fine.

Maybe I should've waited for this article to get the numbers.

[...] JADE was established in 1995 and is made up of 10 officers from the Charlottesville, Albemarle, University of Virginia and Virginia State Police departments. JADE primarily covers Central Virginia. [...]

Yet Another Use For Duct Tape

I’m still amazed by how fast Porn Star caught on to my shadowing him that one night.

What I cruise around in is nearly non-descript. There are a gamillion automobiles identical to it out on the road -- same make, model, even the color is common. The only thing that might cause it to stand out from its counterparts is the deer whistles (shut up, they work) I’ve got on the hood, but those are removable. At the same time, while my headlights certainly aren’t anything special they are unique to the type of car I drive.

What if the Task Force men are on the lookout for my *Mustang? Assuming that they’re somewhat adept at vehicle identification, the distinctive glow from my front end might interfere with, and possibly put an end to, my night tracking.

As I watched the daylight surrender to nightfall on the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement building, I got to seriously thinking.

Could I somehow alter the way my lights appeared in the dark? If so, would such a masquerade be worthwhile? Time for a little experiment. Obviously the addition of light wasn’t practical; I wasn’t sure if that could even be done, period. But perhaps there was a way to cover up some of the illumination. I rifled through a toolbox of sorts I keep in my car and came across the roll of duct tape I carry around. Hmm…

Duct tape is the all-time best product on the planet; there is pretty much nothing you can’t do with it.

I got out of my car, ripped off a big strip of the silver-colored adhesive and stuck it on one of the front lights. Duct tape, just so you know, when placed over something luminous is utterly transparent. I tried doubling it up. Still no good. Darn it!

Not to be defeated I got back in my car and dug around some more, this time coming up with coin wrappers from the glove compartment. Hmm… I affixed one to a piece of duct tape, got back out and slapped it in front of the light. Adequate concealment indeed. Perfect!

Combining the two items I crafted several strips into a pattern and strategically arranged them over my lights. Incredibly ugly but Voila! Total transformation. One of the men may be able to detect a car is following him but there’s no way in hell he’d identify it as a Mustang.

I figured the best person to try this out on would be a detective who’d spied me recently. When he departed, I tagged along behind him careful to do everything as I normally would’ve. Not a single snag. I might as well have been in Wonder Woman’s invisible jet for all the difficulty I had following him from point A to point B.

Although I doubt the investigator would’ve intentionally led anyone to where he went, there was a chance his failure to perceive me was unrelated to my trickery. He could’ve been distracted from rockin’ out to the Rolling Stones on the radio for all I knew.

For further testing (and amusement) I chose another Enforcement officer, whom I knew was also mindful of my mode of transportation, to follow. I tailed him for a significant distance with no indication of being observed.

Actually when he and I had gotten several miles into the middle of Nowheresville, I pulled over momentarily on the shoulder and ripped the makeshift cloaking off the lights. I reckoned that this move would cause him to believe the car that, if he’d noticed, had been at his rear all this time had turned off. Also I thought that if he now happened to identify the car behind him as a Mustang, it probably wouldn’t occur to him it was mine showing up all of a sudden this far out.

I watched him, too, arrive at his destination -- a place I doubt he, like his associate, would’ve willingly led anyone.

None of it proved my modifications had been beneficial but I felt that it justified additional effort and study.

At home later on I took some precise measurements of my Mustang’s lights and cut shapes out of paper for stencils. Sticking with the duct tape -- mainly for its flexibility -- and going with black spray paint rather than nickel wrappers to prevent the light from showing through, I produced a better version of the covers. They’re way prettier too! They can be attached to my car with electrical tape.

To date I’ve not been spotted once since I started using the things. I find it interesting but I’m still not convinced there’s any correlation; I believe the only way to truly know their effectiveness would be to speak with the JADE guys about it.

Uh-huh, you’re right; that’s probably never gonna happen.

*not my actual vehicle

Directory Assistance; What Listing, Please?

Federal Bureau of Investigation
675 Peter Jefferson Parkway, Suite 430
Charlottesville, VA 22911-8698

JANE COLLINS: 434-972-6141

LUKE HUNT: 434-972-6140

JIM LAMB: 434-972-6143

JOHN PITTMAN: 434-972-6146

BEN PRUITT: 434-972-6147

DENISE ROLLINS: 434-972-6144

TOM WILSON: 434-972-6148

A Short Shadow Story

I lost my tail virginity to JADE detective Porn Star. My that does sound racy, doesn’t it! Nevertheless, Porn Star was the first man on the Task Force I ever followed. I suppose eventually I’ll put up the story about it but, for the time being, let’s just say it was very much like a first sexual experience: over in minutes. Anyway, I’ve come… a long way since then and I’m fast-forwarding you to my latest installment with him.

I have some other business in the area to take care of but in between meetings I meander through the parking lot where the Drug Enforcement office is located. A bunch of their cars are present. For the sake of clearing up a certain little unanswered question I have, I intend to follow a specific man whose vehicle I spot. Due to the time of day, I expect he won’t be leaving for a while. Unfortunately I forget that he came in earlier than usual and when I return later to catch him on his way out, it makes sense that he’s already gone. As a matter of fact, it appears that all the JADE members are gone; all but one.

Usually a conspicuous absence of these guys so soon in the evening is an indication they’ll be carrying out a late night or pre-dawn raid. I think about what day it is and considering it’s one on which they often conduct this type of activity, I foretell there’s about to be some unhappy recipients of a search warrant.

Though the intended Task Force officer is not here, Porn Star is. Why not follow him instead? The way I figure it, I can always use the practice. And who better to practice with than Porn Star? As if he doesn’t totally rock already, as added bonus, he’s just recently gone through his mandatory driver training. This’ll be a good opportunity for me to check out what, if anything, he’s learned.

I examine the location of his automobile and contemplate the best position for my car to be in to pursue him. I can’t just sit here in the middle of the street thinking about it so I pull into what I hope is a good place.

Over the next couple of minutes my brain races reevaluating my parking choice. I find a few flaws in my selection – the worst being that if I pull out as soon as Porn Star moves and he loops back around, I’ll have no discreet way to do the same, and if I wait to move ‘til it’s apparent he isn’t going to reverse directions, I won’t have time to see which way he turns at the intersection. I should mention he’s quite the zippy driver.

I spy another potential space and, after carefully debating its suitability, move my car to it. I settle in to wait him out. I don’t have to wait long. Darkness has taken over but I see the shape of him striding to his Honda. In the blink of an eye, he’s entered his car and its brakes glow blinding red as he prepares to leave. I let him get going – he doesn’t make the U-turn I was concerned about – and without turning my lights on I roll after him.

I don’t want him to see me right off the bat so, with full view of him at the intersection, I slide my car into a parallel spot near a news van and pause until I see which direction he heads. He makes a right. I move forward, wait for a car to pass, and turn right also.

Once out on the main road I flip my headlights on. I pull behind Porn Star where he’s stopped in the left turn lane. Given the green arrow, Porn Star, I, and a whole line of just-got-off-work commuters, glide under the signal.

The speed limit is 45. Normally, by now on this road, Porn Star would be a 70mph blue blur. It looks like a couple of law-abiding citizens are slowing him up. Truth be told, I’m about as thrilled with these dragging drivers as he probably is -- he, because his lead foot is being impeded; me, because I’m being deprived of an immediate demonstration of the outcome of his ordered driver training.

Really I’m kind of surprised he hasn’t taken to weaving in and out of the traffic to break free of it. For a split-second I humor myself with the idea of showing him how to. Finally we get a significant amount of leeway. Porn Star still doesn’t take advantage of it. I find this exceedingly perplexing.

Because of their recent behavior, I have a feeling, but I’m not positive, that, because of my recent behavior, the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force is in hypersensitive ultra-alert ever-vigilant mode regarding me. Jeez… does that even make sense?

The point is, I’ve been tailing Porn Star for barely a few miles and he’s already exhibiting the tell-tale signs that he knows he’s being shadowed. My guess would be that, cognizant of what kind of vehicle I drive, he’s identified me by my car’s headlights. If this is indeed the case, no big deal. I can make it work. This tail isn’t pertinent, it’s for fun.

I unnecessarily and deliberately ride his bumper all the way to the I-64 exchange. The only reason I stop there is because we have to stop there. At a red light. When we get moving again I graciously let him have some distance. A spare inch.

The Albemarle County Police Department is coming up. Porn Star puts his left blinker on, signifying he’s going to be turning on a street prior to the station. Though it’s the route a lot of policemen use to access the building, my instincts say this is a ploy. Porn Star has no need to go to there -- other than to lose me or trap me or something me-related. Then again, that line of thinking seems rather insolent. There is the possibility that he has a legitimate purpose. Blah, blah, blah. Whatever his reasons are, I drop him. He turns and I go straight.

When he leaves the ACPD a mere few minutes later I pick him right back up. Well, technically, I give him four extra seconds head start. I’m positive I’ll catch up to him on the narrow countryish road we’re about to find ourselves on. I absolutely love twisty-turny winding two-lane back roads.

I think my reappearance surprises him. There’s a set of cars ahead of us but they’re moving nicely along. I stick to Porn Star like flypaper. We lose one car to a driveway. I keep right on up with the JADE man. The other car vanishes down a side street. Now it’s just him and me. Porn Star takes off and I mean he floors it.

Porn Star has a lot in his favor. For one, he’s plainly intimate with the route. For another, he has a small car that’s perfect for curve-hugging and tight-turn-taking. And Law Enforcement driver training; there is that, too.

I am unfamiliar with the route. My car is mid-size. I have not an ounce of formal driver training. I do have determination. Better yet, I’m operating on the belief that one can safely take most any turn on these types of roads at 55mph.

If memory serves, this street, until the next major intersection, is around six miles long. I estimate we’re slightly less than halfway down it. This leaves a hell of a lot of crooks and bends for us to maneuver. Woohoo!

Porn Star and I several times top speeds of over 60. Only once do I lose sight of him, due to a consecutive pair of nasty curves I don’t take well. I rapidly recover from them and gain on him shortly thereafter. No denying the evidence he’s had professional training, whether or not it’s related to the recent mandatory thing I have no idea. The way I’m handling this road might look amateurish -- to him, and in comparison -- but I’m proud of myself.

We’re nearly to the intersection with the stop sign. I wonder what he plans to do at it. Judging by the blinker he’s just put on, he’ll be going left. I allow him to proceed that way without me. I go straight across.

I imagine he’s had enough surprises this evening; I won’t give him any more. I morph methods, going from brazen to covert. I can’t tell you how I did it -- I have to have some secrets -- but, without him knowing, within the ensuing five minutes I pick him up one final time and watch him arrive at the destination he tried so hard to not lead me to.

Notice:

Apparently the avatar of an unidentified female with an assault rifle in her hands could cause this site to be construed as threatening rather than entertaining and informative, or so I'm told.

I've replaced it.

Next I suppose I'll have to put up a disclaimer.

A Tale Of A Tail

Unbeknownst to them, I’ve followed the men of the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force all over the place. After loads of trial and error, I’ve gotten rather good at tailing them. Together we’ve covered just about every inch of Charlottesville; we’ve traveled around Albemarle county; and we’ve crossed into numerous other counties. With rare exceptions, I’ve gone largely undetected. Until lately, that is.

I know these guys think they’re slick, and maybe they think I’m not, but my stealth mode is so, like, yesterday’s news. They’re seeing me because I’m not trying to hide. I’ve got ulterior motives for doing this but I see no point in going into them just yet. Instead I’m going to share one of a ton of adventures I’ve had with the JADE officers. Whereas events like this one plausibly encourage them to underestimate me, they also serve as a reminder that I shouldn’t overestimate me.

I’m on my way to get a cup of coffee. I recognize Rasmussen’s Impala as it passes by me going in the opposite direction I am. Aha! Change of plans. I decide to follow him. I slow down to barely moving and give him time to get to the end of the street before I swing a U-turn in the middle of the road.

An unusually high amount of cross traffic has held him, and a long line of other automobiles, up at the intersection. I join the crowd, stopping behind a newer model silver Monte Carlo, and wait to go left as Rasmussen did. I watch him turn right at the next junction and do the same. With minimal cars between us, we work our way out of the downtown region.

Approaching the 250 bypass we have two lanes to choose from. Rasmussen hugs the double yellow line in the center of the road, giving me the impression he intends to make a left. He pulls into the right lane. The way the road is designed, his occupation of that lane doesn’t necessarily mean he can’t go left from it. Ugh. This light is taking For-Ev-Er.

I continue to assess his placement: If he was going anywhere that would require him to make a right from our location, there are much better and faster ways he could have gone. If I, with my lousy sense of direction, know that, surely he, someone familiar with the area, does also. My feeling that he’s going the way I first thought doesn’t change. But, in case I’m mistaken, I come to rest in the same lane as him. The Chevrolet I noticed earlier is, as before, separating us. When the light goes green, we go left.

For a while we travel straight at a steady pace. On the one hand, I don’t especially care if Rasmussen spies me; on the other hand, I’m not inclined to tip him off prematurely. I figure as long as the Monte Carlo is handy I’ll put it to good use as a sort of barrier.

Now I have Monte Carlo on the brain. I like Monte Carlos. Dasani drives one of them. Like the one in front of me his is silver too but, unlike it, his has ultra-dark tinted windows. Right now his is parked down at the JADE building in his preferred spot for it.

Somehow or another we wind up on route 29 heading north. With a choice of several lanes to pick from I ease out of the one Rasmussen is in to an adjacent one.

Most of the day has been crummy-yucky-rainy. I’ve had to keep adjusting my lights in accordance with the weather. Presently it’s dry but overcast; I flip my lights to an appropriate setting. I can’t believe that Monte Carlo is still here. What’s the deal -- they're not, like, together are they?

In an uncommon stroke of luck, Rasmussen and I simultaneously get caught at or make it through several, seemingly evenly spaced, traffic signals. We’re leaving the built-up area and consequently the number of lanes drops. I squeeze my vehicle into a row approximately six cars back from Rasmussen’s. Okay, why is that Monte Carlo still here?

For a spell the traffic signals are at greater intervals. It doesn’t last long. We’re soon back to busier surroundings and the road widens again. As if connected by an invisible hitch Rasmussen and the Monte Carlo smoothly flow in unity from this lane to that one. The display clinches it for me. Oh. My. God. They are together! I burst out laughing.

It occurs to me that whoever’s in the Monte Carlo probably thinks it’s him I’ve been following. Yet more hilarious it undoubtedly has to appear that I’m operating well below the skill level of a retard.

I watch Rasmussen move to the farthest left lane. The Monte Carlo tries to do the same but traffic hinders him. The driver puts his turn signal on and tries again. He and a Toyota are almost side by side and the person evidently isn’t going to be getting out of the way any time soon. The light which Rasmussen has successfully made it through isn’t in our favor. The blinker on the Monte Carlo goes out, ostensibly in harmony with the driver’s realization he’s going to be forced to stop.

Up ahead I see Rasmussen’s car get caught in a turn lane at a red light of his own. All right, who the hell is that in the Monte Carlo? Idling behind it, I peer at the side mirror of the Chevrolet looking for a face. Nothing. I’m at the wrong angle to see his reflection in his rearview mirror. I push my feet to the floor to raise myself up. My butt is off the seat, the top of my head is smooshed up against the ceiling, and I’m shifting around hoping to catch sight of him. All that’s visible is the brim of a dark baseball cap. I sigh and drop my body back down into place.

The light changes and the Monte Carlo shoots off, obviously to get in front of the Toyota that wouldn’t let him in just a minute ago. This time he succeeds. Since I expect he’s going to be joining Rasmussen at the upcoming signal, I don’t put quite as much effort into switching over as he did.

There are two left turn lanes. Rasmussen and the Monte Carlo are in the right one. I get in the left one which already has two vehicles in it. At this instant all I want to do is find out who’s driving the Monte Carlo. I’m guessing it’s Dasani but I’d like to know for sure. From where I am I can’t see anything more than half of the back of the guy’s head and the edge of his jaw line. I wish he’d turn his face but I’m well aware he won’t do any such thing. I know he knows precisely where I am. I note a Bluetooth or something attached to his left ear. I can hear him talking and assume he’s communicating with Rasmussen.

I redirect my eyes to the leading car. Rasmussen has a passenger. I think it’s Herb. Yes, the same Herb who just the other day had my car pointed out to him. Lovely. This gets better and better. Not only do they know I'm following them, they know I am following them. Great. Great, great, great. I start laughing again; it’s so unbelievably ridiculous.

Ah, well, thanks to a previous situation with another set of JADE members, I not only know what their next trick will be, I predict it’ll be happening within thirty seconds of our turning. I’m committed to completing the turn but I have an idea for afterwards.

The light gives us a go and we all advance. In a beautiful display of near synchronicity, Rasmussen suddenly veers into a parking lot on the right via its first entrance, the Monte Carlo passes by him but swoops around into the same place using a second entrance, and I make a rapid U-turn to leave the whole array in the background. Hey I may be dumb, but I ain’t… as dumb as they are.

One final gaze over my shoulder reveals them situated driver’s-side to driver’s-side in the lot, presumably calculating how to proceed.

As for me, there’s a lot to be learned from a fourteen mile long egregious error. And while I’m not going to shut down the show, so to speak, I can pretty much guarantee I won’t be repeating this particular performance.

The Cast of Characters

Q: How do I write freely about my experiences with JADE without violating my current self-imposed "No Outing" guideline?
A: I put up this post.

When I first got interested in JADE, the only thing I knew about it was the names of three men connected to it. I took a wild guess that they weren’t the entire Task Force and figured I would need to somehow keep track of the distinct personalities as I uncovered them.

My plan was to label them “Suspect,” followed by consecutive numbers as needed, but then I reconsidered because, really, they weren’t exactly suspects. I thought of them more like… rats -- the kind that would be studied in a laboratory -- but that’s what you call the people that talk to them. Guinea pigs? Along the same lines, a research animal, plus it included a pre-established familiar noun for police. Funny but quickly scratched for being diminutive.

Then I opted for “Subject” number whatever. This worked at the onset, however it didn’t take long to discover that keeping up with so many enumerations wasn’t easy. I put a little more thought into it and came up with sobriquets based on something simple that I predicted would be memorable to me.

I expected the use of pseudonyms would also prevent anyone from deciphering exactly how much I knew, should it ever come to that. While this totally made sense in the early stages, because of the sheer amount of information I’d wind up documenting, it became clear I wouldn’t be able to hide as much as I’d assumed I could behind the fictitious monikers. I mean, how likely would it be that I managed to obtain the home address and telephone number of someone without knowing his real name? Even after realizing this, and despite correctly identifying all of them, I’d continue to use the names I’d ascribed to them. Not everyone mentioned below is a member of the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force, nevertheless all of the following names will probably come up again at some point in my writings:

Longhead.

I suppose because of his remarkably elongated face, this is, for real, what the druggies who know him call him so it’s what I went with. Honestly, it’s far nicer than any Faux name I would’ve given him. In print, I often abbreviate Longhead to LH.

Spot.

The second I saw him, I pegged him as a cop. I kid you not, the thought that immediately popped in my mind was Good grief; do all these guys have that spot? Despite being a fair distance away from him, I could clearly see a circular area of baldness near the top of the back of his head. Several other JADE men have this identical marking, including LH.

Skoal.

Between the worn round outline in his back right pocket and the bottle full of gooey brown liquid -- definitely not the advertised Diet Coke -- in his hand, I dubbed him the only brand of smokeless tobacco I knew. Oddly enough, in the future I would find the men carried containers of Kayak, Grizzly, and Timber Wolf, but never any Skoal.

Porn Star.

That guy’s either a cop or a wanna-be 80s porn star! When I first saw him I swear he looked exactly the way adult film actors used to look. So much so I couldn’t help but imagine his ass, the section of flesh glowing white in stark contrast to the rest of his suntanned body. Twisted thought, perhaps, but by no means an unpleasant one.

Pringle.

Simple explanation: offhand he looked like someone I know with that last name. ‘Course, naturally, after seeing more of him I made up my mind that he only looks like my acquaintance from afar. Up close he reminds me of the teddy bear you hug whenever you’re down and sad.

Dasani.

Maybe it’s ingrained from his SWAT training, but this dude goes nearly nowhere without being accompanied by a bottle or two of water. His brand of choice might not be Dasani, but I wasn’t about to refer to him as Deer Park.

Mouse.

This fellow is the only one who started with one name but ended up with another. The original was also of an omnivore (one he’d no doubt prefer to be called) but, well, indecisiveness and a certain picture of him compelled me to change it to what it is. Truth be told, I don’t care for this selection much either. He does strike me as incredibly creature-like; I just can’t pinpoint which one. I should’ve just called him Animal.

Truck.

I dunno… you are what you’re next to? A glimpse in my driver’s side mirror produced the grill of a truck and the upper body of an attractive man clad in a blue and black vest branded POLICE. Had he been half an inch closer to the vehicle, there’s a good possibility he’d be known as Toyota.

Rasmussen.

A long time ago I saw a picture of professional cyclist Michael Rasmussen. In it he was kind of hunched over and you could see all his bones and ribs sticking out and it was frankly repulsive. So this JADE member was kind of bent over reaching into an automobile and I guess because of some items – body armor, gun, whatever -- under his shirt jutting out everywhere it gave the same sick skeletal impression. (To be clear, it was not a reflection of reality as, unlike the real Rasmussen, this one has a decent build.) The choice of nickname was emphatically better when I later saw a collection of bikes belonging to him and heard he’s an avid cycler too.

Herb.

I’m going to start drawing a new comic strip. It’ll be all about a cartoon character named Herbal. Technically Herbal will be a gerbil, but he’ll be a cool glasses-sportin’ briefcase-carryin’ anti-Marijuana one. Ah, c’mon, it can’t be any worse than Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

SeeSee.

SeeSee = CC = Carbon Copy. Inside and out this guy is nothing more than a clone of Longhead. And if you’ve listened to him, as I have, gushing on and on about LH, you’d probably find, as I did, it bordered on vomit-inducing. If I were his wife, I’d worry about what’s inspiring those wet dreams he’s been having.

UPS.

Uniformly head-to-toe brown should only be worn by employees of the United Parcel Service.

L.L. Me.

Believe it or not, this guy told me his real name before I’d come up with a nickname for him. I fully credit UPS for the nom de guerre on account of it being him who said “he looks like me” knowing the two of them do not look alike.

TieWho.

This kid spent a lot of time with Spot so I thought I know he ties in somehow but who is he?

Spare Spot.

A case of mistaken identity.

(The Exclusively JADE Cast of Characters Here)

To be continued...

So HOW Close Can You Get To One Of These Guys Without Him Knowing?

Close enough to smell his Shenandoah Joe's. Mmm...

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 JADE of Years Past

During this endeavor, my research led me to several men who had previously been active with the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force. Since what I really wanted to know was who JADE's current officers are, once I discovered a man was a former member I promptly ended my investigation of him and closed his file.

These records include, but are not limited to:

Mike Marshall, a sergeant with the University of Virginia Police Department, who, I was told, had moved on to the Virginia Military Institute Police Department roughly two years prior to my inquiries about him. (It appears that Mr. Marshall not only moved on but up; while seeking links for this post, I just now found this.)

Captain Bryant Bibb spoke of his many years with JADE matter-of-factly, but with both a touch of fondness and melancholy. I've heard Sheriff Chip Harding is excellent to talk to about the Task Force however if anyone wants a thoroughly idyllic conversation, Captain Bibb is definitely the guy to call.

I don't recommend calling Robert Frazier until after you've read this article.

The last fellow I'm going to mention here who was with JADE is Harry E. Shaffer. As much as people like to think the World Wide Web has everything, there's a great deal that can't be found on it. I actually first came across Mr. Shaffer's name in connection with JADE during an exploration of old newspapers. When I did turn to the Internet for further information about him, I found nothing on it that tied him to the Task Force. I did, though, find that he had recently gotten himself arrested. Because I felt this was a unique case, I did some additional nosing around. According to my source, it turns out that Mr. Shaffer's 2007 "retirement" from the Charlottesville Police Department stemmed from allegations that he sexually molested a five year old. (It could be that Mr. Shaffer is the missing fourth detective the CPD claims they've assigned to JADE. Hmm... I may dig into that possibility and get back to you on it.)

The Long And The Short Of It

You may be curious about what inspired this project. What would cause someone, especially a female, to decide to uncover an undercover anti-drug anti-terrorism task force?

There are several contributing factors, none of which have anything to do with drugs or terrorism. In truth there’s a lengthy and complicated story behind this -- one I’d like to think will eventually make it out. But I am no Christine Collins. There is no reverend with a radio program to speak on my behalf, there is no high power attorney with a charitable heart to act on my behalf, and there is no former journalist to write on my behalf. There is only me.

And right now the only explanation I can give you is that I thought it would be challenging.

Yoohoo... Google!

In case you're wondering why I might type out Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement in its entirety, rather than just JADE and then, like a sentence or two later, instead of writing JADE, I'll fully retype Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement again, or why I might throw in a seemingly unrelated, perhaps irrelevant, reference to something (such as the downtown mall in Charlottesville or a bacon double cheeseburger that came from the Burger King located near the Albemarle County Police Department), it's because I'm trying to get (and/or keep) this site on the first page of Google's search results (under applicable search terms, of course).

You see, I'd like people in Charlottesville or Crozet or Albemarle County or anywhere the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force (JADE) operates, and/or people interested in the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement (JADE) and/or in drug task forces in general, and/or students and faculty at the University of Virginia, to find this site.

By the way, Special Agent Lamb, are you keeping an eye on the 'net like I advised?

Operation "Verification"

Aside from this site, information about JADE personnel can be found on the City of Charlottesville website.

As you can see, they break it down:

Currently the task force is manned by one lieutenant (commander), one sergeant and four detectives from the Charlottesville Police Department (CPD). The Albemarle County Police Department (APD) has one corporal and two detectives. The University of Virginia Police (UPD) has assigned one sergeant and two detectives. The Virginia State Police (VSP), the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) and the Federal Bureau of Investigations (FBI) each has a special agent assigned to the task force. The Bureau of Alcohol Tobacco and Firearms (ATF) has two agents assigned to work the Charlottesville area and are stationed within the JADE office, working closely with the JADE personnel and investigations divisions of the three police departments.

Then, I guess presuming you’re too stupid or lazy to figure it out yourself, they total it up: 17.

I found the preceding somewhat early on in my investigation and, using my own style of shorthand, scribbled it down on a notepad I carry with me. I didn’t give it much attention then -- I tucked the details away thinking they’d come in handy later -- but I did note that I was supposed to be looking for seventeen people. By the time “later” came, I had a problem: their list didn’t jibe with my facts.

For one, I definitely didn’t find seventeen people. For another, I had issues like too many sergeants, not enough detectives, and no corporals. Regarding the former, obviously it was possible I just hadn’t rooted out all their men but the latter? I knew I wasn’t wrong about their rankings and titles.

So I found myself in the position of needing to verify the very thing I intended to use as verification. (Yeah, yeah, I know, it would’ve been smarter to do that in the first place.)

I checked the Albemarle County website and while, unlike Charlottesville's, they don’t have a section specifically dedicated to Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement, I did find this organization chart.

Fortunately the University of Virginia site didn’t add to the confusion since it has zip, zilch, nada, about the composition of JADE. (Perhaps because of this critique-inducing drug bust?)

Several phone calls and two in-person visits to two police stations sorted most of it out.

At last armed with correct information, only one man remained a mystery to me. The particulars as I knew them were that he’s a sergeant from Charlottesville and a Task Force member. He became my Tetris game; periodically I’d move him around hoping to get him to fit. When one day out of the blue I accidentally learned he’s with the county and not the city as I’d believed, it all fell into place.

I think the City of Charlottesville should update to:

Currently the task force is manned by one lieutenant (commander), one sergeant and three detectives from the Charlottesville Police Department (CPD). The Albemarle County Police Department (APD) has one sergeant and two detectives. The University of Virginia Police (UPD) has assigned one detective. The Virginia State Police (VSP), and the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) each has a special agent assigned to the task force. The Federal Bureau of Investigations (FBI) has no one specific agent who works JADE cases. The Bureau of Alcohol Tobacco and Firearms (ATF) has one agent who works frequently with JADE but is not stationed within the JADE office.

Oh. The. Irony.

This is a replica of an actual document. Having witnessed the way this particular JADE guy drives, I found it humorous.


By Order of: Chief John F. Miller (signature on file)
T.R. Received: 8/26/08. Issued By: Ofc. C. Morris, 8/26/2008
-----------------------------------------------------------------
PURPOSE: The purpose of this Training Order is to advise personnel of scheduled training.
PROCEDURE: As is below.
______________________________________________________________________
CLASS/SCHOOL: Driver Training
LOCATION: Shenandoah Track
DATES/TIMES: Oct. 13, 2008 (0800-1700)
ATTENDEES: Glenn Fink, Ben Reeves, Jonathan McKay, Jonathon Hickory, Todd Lytton, Robert Byram, Eric Kudro, Candace Pack, Jason Taylor, Andrew Gluba, Caleb Marden, Trevor Ross
INSTRUCTORS: TBA
______________________________________________________________________

Aww... I Can't Believe I Missed It!

This would've been awesome to watch:

The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement task force arrested two Charlottesville residents on drug charges early Wednesday morning.

About 4:45 a.m., JADE, the Charlottesville police SWAT team and the Virginia State Police tactical team raided two apartments on Hardy Drive, according to Lt. Don Campbell of JADE.

Curtis Alvin Johnson Jr. and Laverne C. Calloway were arrested. Johnson faces a charge of possession of cocaine with intent to distribute, and remains in the Albemarle-Charlottes-ville Regional Jail without bond. Calloway was charged with possession of cocaine, and remains in jail with a $1,500 bond.

The raid turned up a quarter ounce each of crack cocaine and marijuana, as well as scales and $2,178 from one apartment, according to Campbell. Officers seized a small amount of cocaine and marijuana, scales and $1,593 from the other apartment.

Officers also found a .380-caliber pistol in a vehicle connected to the case.

More charges are pending, according to Campbell.

( 2008)

Of Tags and Badges

A few Task Force members have vanity tags on their personal vehicles. Not all of them have an as obvious meaning as, say, this guy's. I wanted to know the significance of the number on one of their license plates and considered the possibility that it may be badge-related. This prompted me to get the badge numbers of all of the JADE officers. Since I'm all about finding out as much as possible about these guys, I can't believe I didn't think of doing this sooner.

I'm aware that police departments have caller ID. I didn't want to cause alarm with the local ones by asking for a string of badges all coincidentally belonging to members of the JADE Task Force. I also didn't think it wise to have my phone number keep showing up by calling several times during one shift. I opted for a sort of rotation.

I called the Albemarle County Police Department and City of Charlottesville Police Department as many times as necessary so as not to raise any red flags. I had no trouble with either department. I only needed to call the University of Virginia and Virginia State Police once each. Neither department was cooperative.

The lady who answered at VSP reminded me of an annoying five year old. No matter what I said, her response was "Why?" Ultimately she gave me a number but claimed she didn't know if it was correct or if it even belonged to the officer I named.

The woman who answered at UVA was just a delightful ball of pleasantness.

"I'm looking for the badge number of one of your detectives." I gave his name. She repeated his name as a question. I said "Yes." She asked me if I minded holding while she looked it up. I said I wouldn't mind. She came back on the line and gave me a two-digit number. I repeated the two digits as a question. She said "Yes." I thanked her, she wished me a good day, I wished her the same, and we hung up.

26 minutes later my cell phone rang. I didn't recognize the number on my caller ID but immediately noticed it started with 531 -- a common beginning for area law enforcement. I let it go to voice mail; the caller didn't leave a message. I waited 13 minutes and called it back. I got sent to voice mail. The recording didn't afford me a name but it did give me a familiar pager number. It belongs to the UVA detective. Apparently because I dared to ask for a public record, the see you next tuesday I'd spoken with supplied him with my private phone number.

A few days later a source provided me with a police document that also conveniently had all their badge numbers listed (although, admittedly, had I not already gotten them I probably wouldn't have known off-hand that's what they were). From the memo I learned that the number I'd been given for Detective UVA was a digit short.

I think probably UVA's Police Department believes it was acting in the best interest of its officer. However because of their paranoia and subsequent confrontational aggressive response, I wound up with more desirable information than I'd asked for.

Oh and, by the way, the tag that started this whole episode? Turns out it's not a badge number after all.

Location, Location, Location.

Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force

965 2nd Street SE
Charlottesville, VA 22902
434-970-3376

Don't let map programs fool you with the dead end appearance. There are currently three ways -- Elliott Avenue, Monticello Avenue, or 6th Street SE -- to get in and get out.

Facing Elliott Avenue:

Facing Monticello Avenue:

Facing 6th Street SE:

Two views of (what I refer to as) the upper lot:

A view of the building and lot closest to Monticello Avenue:

JADE members go through the door located at the top of the steps next to this sign:

On the left is the only door in the hallway:

Attention:

Readers should not infer from Blog publication dates that what is posted about occurred on those particular days. In most cases, to protect myself or sources, actual dates won't be provided.

JADE TASK FORCE OPERATIONAL PLAN

Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force
Risk Assessment Matrix

Entry Type
1 Service requires no forced entry
2 Service may require forced entry
3 Service requires immediate forced entry
4 Service requires immediate entry at dual entry points
4 Service requires specialty breaching due to fortification
Other:
Sub Total

Weapon Information
1 Firearms believed to be present at location of service
2 Firearms believed to be present and readily available at location of service
3 Firearms believed to be carried by suspect at time of service
7 Firearms believed to be carried by multiple persons at location of service
7 Assault type firearms believed to be available to persons at location of service
Other:
Sub Total

Suspect Information
1 Suspect is a known drug addict/dealer
1 Suspect is known to be wanted for felony offense
2 Suspect has made recent statements regarding resisting arrest or violence against police
2 Suspect has recent history of violence against persons
3 Suspect has history of violence against Police
3 Suspect has three or more violent felony convictions
Other:
Sub Total

Misc Factors
1 Aggressive dog(s) at location of service
3 Lookouts believed to be in use at time of service
7 Booby traps believed to be in use at target location
Other:
Sub Total

MATRIX TOTAL

Coming Soon!

Special thanks to Detective Brian N. O'Donnell of the Charlottesville Police Department. Had it not been for his advice, this site likely wouldn't exist.