Intelligence Detective.

England 4. Romania 0.

2007-09-24T21:44:00.000+01:00

There were four of them. I reckon we missed the driver.

These boys were good at what they did. They had arrived on our shores some months before we met them from the beautiful and dangerous land called Romania. I wondered whether they had been to special classes at home, classess for ATM and cashpoint crime. They were particularly adept at this type of villainy. They had been smashing ATM's all over the country and countless numbers of the public had had their PIN's corrupted and their cards cloned or even stolen using the machinery they attached to the cashpoint fronts.

However, they underestimated several factors:

The nosiness of the residents of a middle English market town.
The diligence of the ASDA security bloke.
The diligence and nifty camera work of the Council-owned CCTV system.
The untrusting nature of middle-aged people.
The shit-hot response from the local coppers.
The MINT post arrest investigation and remand application.

So, in short, we have some disgruntled middle aged folk who all report the fact that they had £250 jots nicked from their accounts without their permission. Apparently, they all went to Naples, Italy on the same day. So the local cops go down the ASDA (where the ATM's are) and infect the security guard with their enthusiasm for justice. He is despatched to find some images. Next stop, the Council CCTV. They got the infection too and despatched themselves to find some images. They find some images of a gang of four baddies apparently all wanting to use the ATM machines at the same time and being really protective of their PIN numbers.

Or rather, sticking their clever machinery onto the front of the ATM machines to steal peoples cards, clone the cards and steal the PIN numbers. Are you with me so far?

Now two weeks later, the team make the mistake of coming back to middle England and seeing if they can get some more of the foolish Englishmans cash.

Mrs 'weekdayshoppingintownlady' immediately saw the men and thought "I knew those swarthy looking eastern-europeans were up to no good...I could tell by their uneasy manner...oh and the fact that they all went to the cashpoint about ten times each after anyone went there to get money out...I decided to call the law down to have a word with them..."

Cue phonecall from lady..."you may wish to send some Policemen down to the cashpoints at ASDA, there are some out-of-towners doing something naughty there..by the way, send only the biggest lads at the police station because these men look, well...rough quite frankly"

Cue shout to the cops and CCTV and ASDA security where immediate ID is made from the operators who by an amazing stroke of luck, were the same ones who found the images from the events of a fortnight before. So we had the same team in town.

The cops were majestic. Great CCTV footage of them strolling purposefully up to the men, then a starburst from the baddies, then a foot chase and some great and necessary use of force on arrest.

Little did the team of bad guys know that we had images of them putting the devices up inside their clothing and then hiding them in trees and bushes when they ran off. All items were recovered, including the car, which by another amazing stroke of luck had passed through the automatic number plate reader on our town approach road 12 minutes before the offences two weeks ago and ten minutes before the ones on this day.The CCTV work on this occasion was some of the best I had seen.

"General...the D.I.'s on the phone, he says you've got to interview some Romanian baddies whove been caning the cashpoint machines"
"I Don't fucking think so. I am about to go off duty and have a red-hot evening with Mrs General. It's all planned and everything. The guv can kiss my skinny white ass"
"Have you seen your ass lately Gen, it's not what you think it is.."
"Tell the guv I've gone home..."
"No you haven't I can see you there you skiving little shit" (says the guv as he walks in the room with his mobile held up to his ear)
"Erm, guv, erm please can I go home, I had a night of red-hot action planned.."
"I've spoken to your missus, she reckons ten minutes you mean..ha..ha..ha"
"Very funny guv. Really, I am going home."
"No.I need you to stay on and help with this thing. I've got some others coming over from the other districts"
"oh"

"ring ring...Alright Mrs Gen, somethings happened at work and I've got to stay on and help.."
"was that help or deal?"
"No just help. It's not on my district or my type of crime so I'll just be helping"
"Okay. Try not to be too late then.."
" Sweet. keep it warm for me baby.."
"Shut up and hurry up home 'yes boy'"

They smelled bad. I walked into the block area and the fetid odour caught my throat immediately. It smelled like old rotten spuds.

"Sarge, I am interviewing the Romanian baddies. Is it true that one day, someone brought some old potatoes and thrust them into your air-conditioner without telling you about a month and a half ago and that is the odour which is making me want to boff up all my dinner?"
"No gen, its' your prisoners feet and his B.O."
"Splendid. Do we still have the white suits and breathing apparatus in custody?"
"You still have your mask on from last time gen..."
"Very amusing sarge but seriously, can they not shower?"
"the showers are bosted."
"Is bosted a word sarge?"
"Yes.It represents what I will be doing to your balls if you don't hurry up and get rid of the smelly european cousins from my block, sharpish"
"message received and understood skipper...I'll have the first miscreant to my interrogation room please,custody assistant..."

The youngest of them all. The weak link. The one who would tell us all about the job when we put the pressure on. Then we go to the other interviews with an idea of what the score was. Interpreter is a wonderfully mannered fiftysomething, who was definately a looker when she was younger. She was emabarrassed by her countrymen for sure. Young boy looked vulnerable. He was fresh in the country and hadn't been heard to utter a single word in English at any time. His brief was there. A local paralegal woman who din't like me very much and the feeling was pretty much mutual. I knew that I was getting a no comment even before the tapes were switched on.

The tears rolling down the boys cheeks seemed real to me. I mentioned home and family and being bullied by the older one in the group and it was as though I had looked into his soul. I could see just from the CCTV that the oldest one was in charge of them and they feared him.

The second one was a bit older. Knew a bit more English and was cockier. Gave a no comment interview but I took the smirk off his face with the special warnings I gave him for the property we had seized from him. An inference can be drawn in court if the suspect fails or refuses to answer a question put to him in certain circumstances. This was one of them. He continued with a no comment. Shit legal advice I thought, you'll regret that in crown court.

The third was taken by my mate which left the older one. I took him out of his cell. I saw his black leather loafers outside his cell. He had on a black pair of trousers and a white shirt. He got up off his bed and pushed his long, greasy black hair back over his head. He had stone-cold dark brown eyes. The eyes of a murderer I thought. He grinned at me and held out a plastic cup. "Coffee?"
"Yes please mate, just one sugar in mine"
"No. You get me coffee"
"I'm a detective mate, not a trolley dolly. Get your own coffee you cheeky fucker"
"You are bad man"
"Yep. Thats what my ex-wife thinks. You look a bit like her actually"
"DC General, I do hope you aren't upsetting my client?"
"Not at all, I was remarking how fetching his loafers are. I want a pair like that to do my gardening in"

He talked and blamed all the others. Standard format for a ruthless organised criminal who would have the throats cut of the other three if they even dared mention his existence. He didn't reckon on the hours of images of people putting their PIN numbers into cahspoint machines which we found on memory sticks at his house and on him. He didn't like the special warnings one bit either. Because when he was asked about the incriminating stuff, he clammed up. "you are bad man. Special warnings. You are bad man"

"I'm going home where I will smile and drift into a peaceful sleep. You are the bad man my friend"

He held out his hand to shake mine. Now, I have always thought that the worst kind of man-insult you can do is refuse to shake a mans hand if he extends it. I contemplated it for a second, but I shook his hand. "bad man" said the killer as he gripped my hand just a little bit too long. "good luck in court mate. And wash them fucking feet will you, they stink."

The application for their remand in custody was like William "the general" Shakespeare had penned it, it was that good. Surprisingly for once, the local magistrates believed me and sent them down the steps where they remain and will do so for the next couple of years.

I got home at half ten the following morning. A full 26.5 hours after I had called my wife. Legendary.

By the way, next time you get money out of the cashpoint, take a second or two to look over your shoulder for sus looking Romanian types and also, try and pull off the bit where your card goes in to the slot. If this device thing comes off in your hand, run away really quickly taking the thingy with you and try not to get shot or knifed by some organised criminals. (if you do, try and get a photo of them on your phone during the assault to help me with my enquiries.) Either bring the article to the police or throw it into a nearby lake and go to bed with a huge grin on your face, patting yourself on the back for a job well done.

Some coppers I wouldn't pay in washers.

2007-06-17T22:28:00.000+01:00

After 9 days on and an impossibly long weekend at work, I opened up my Monday Morning emails to find one from a supposed colleague, telling me I had two late crime reports in my "electronic" crime in-tray and that I should not let my crime reports go over their due date. It is only by GOD's good grace that the human was not within striking distance of me. I could lose my job over jobsworth shiny-arsed fuckwits like this one. I know I should just delete them and say fuck it, but they piss me right off. Armchair coppers.

General is alive and well.

2007-05-14T23:10:00.000+01:00

Greetings blog fans. Sorry, I have been away a bit.

Some twat told me to watch 24 and I've been glued to the DVD player for 3 months. I've been using my normal blog time to watch Jack BAUER. Thankfully I'm back.

General is on holiday.

2007-01-30T00:44:00.000Z

Me and Mrs General are on holiday.

I am blogging from a far off land.

Amazing eh?

Don't worry, I am keeping up the British front, drinking beers in the sun and generally relaxing on your behalf.

Proper prior planning prevents piss poor performance.

2007-01-14T22:42:00.000Z

"Hey General, you have a nice Christmas and new year?"
"Yeah I did, I got married."
"Are you mad? Didn't you get so shafted when you got divorced last time, the only thing you walked away with was a garden spade and the mountain bike your parents brought you for your 18th?"
"Correctamundo.Well, I did get to keep my J reg clio as well."
"Christ, didn't you do well."
"No really,this time it's for real, it's for forever man."
"good on you Gen...Bet mrs. Gens really happy?"
"Yes...until I just phoned her. 12 hours ago I was honeymooning in 5 star luxury, I just got my phonecall in to say I'm gonna be home about 2 am, there's two crack smokin' house burglars waiting for me to deal with down the block and only me on duty on the crew. Ho-hum. Such is life."

"Any plans for the new year Gen?"
"Well yes...erm..well I had my annual appraisal with DS wise bloke just before Christmas and he said I should be going for promotion, so, I spoke with my woman and me mom and dad over Christmas and they said I should go for it so I think I might."
"I thought you had to have the request in before Christmas to take the exam in March?"
"Fuck"

"Hey Gen, happy new year. Did I just hear you say that you wanted to do the Sergeants exam this year?" Juice boy, my trusted partner in crime entered the room.
"And a happy new year to you my very good friend. It is true, the Gen does want to put his jeans back in the drawer and put on those horrid itchy trousers once more."
"How you gonna do that when the closing date for the exam request was in early December?
"Juice boy, I have only been with you for just under thirty seconds of the new year and I already want to go and throw myself off a railway bridge. Why the fuck didn't you tell me?"
"I know that I am the best partner you ever had, but being able to read your mind is not one of my strongest attributes. How the fuck did I know you wanted to go for the sergeants promotion exam?"
"Are you sure?"
"Seeing as though I put in for it, yes, I am sure."
"I tell you something now juice boy, if you ever try to order me about if you get to be a sergeant, I will pan your head in in the back yard, then tear out your still-beating heart and throw it on your chest, smiling, whilst taking a video of you on my phone, then publishing it on the interweb."
"thanks for the vote of confidence...mate"
"I'm only joking, I'll just tell you to fuck off instead"

"Hey Gen, you could try a last-ditch attempt and email or phone the woman who sends the applications away to Centrex, her names Sally, she works in HQ"
"Juice boy, provide me with Sally's number and watch and learn my friend. This plea bargaining is going to be better than a coked up barrister paying off his student loan."

"I'll try the email option first. If I get a knock back, then I will try the charm offensive and then the downright begging. As a last resort, I might cry like a girl...or you juice boy."
"...following my annual appraisal...planning ahead for the forthcoming year...capitalising on feedback from my managers...didn't realise the urgent timescales...wondering whether you might accept a late application...professional plans for 2007 may be ruined...special circumstances...find it in your heart to allow the application in...would be most endebted to you...kind regards..."
"COMPUTER SAYS NO" came the reply in about a nanosecond, from a woman with a lot of power to wield.

"Give me that ladies number juice boy, please?"
"She knocked you back straight away? That's it gen, you're fucked."
"There is not a fat lady singing in here juice boy. Watch and listen "...ring ring...Hello?...(oh. she sounds scary. be polite gen.) Hello...its DC General here from fuckwit town CID, how are you? I trust you had a good new year?"
"Yes I did thankyou. How can I help you"
"I sent you an email about two minutes ago and I..."
"You cannot send in a late application. This is Centrex, not division."
"Madam, they now send rocket ships to photograph Mars, ears are grown on the back of mice and they can tell certain surnames from DNA. I'm sure that in some circumstances, they can make an exception to a rule. Have you even tried asking them?"
"Look DC General, I have turned down at least twenty other calls of exactly the same nature as yours and that was over four weeks ago. I cannot let you make a late application, I'm sorry."
"I will have to send my 8 year old back to her chimney sweeps job and sell my possessions then...no...don't worry about me madam...I can wait another year as a slave"
"I don't think it's really that bad DC General. Read force orders next time"
"I don't get the time madam, I am too busy keeping the division afloat and making sure my heart doesn't explode. But thanks for your time."
"Sorry DC general, but your lack of planning does not constitute my emergency"
"Happy new year." Click. bzzzzzzzzz.
"Fuckin jobsworth"

"That's it then gen. Slogging your guts out in the divisional CID office for another year then. Happy days"
"Yeah juice boy. Happy days. Make me a cuppa tea and then get the car warmed up, we've got two in for burglary and I'm in the mood for some interrogation."
"I'm afraid you're on your own gen, I've got four bailers in today and DS wise bloke says I've got to deal with them and get the file in. Sorry."
"Just the tea then? mate? best pal?"
"No tea bags gen"
"great."

General gets married.

2007-01-14T22:38:00.000Z

I know. You'd think I should know better.

There were hearts breaking all over the world I tell you.

Sorry I've been quiet.

Oh and happy new year everyone.

General comes back from the dead...

2006-12-06T21:43:00.000Z

About a month ago, the general woke up one Monday morning and said Fuck it. I'm not going to work today. This is not good. This means my head is full up. It was about the time that I just heard that we were to lose 8 detectives off my crew, leaving 4 detectives (including me) to soak up the work of about 18 detectives who were already strapped.

It was also around the time that an anonymous stress survey was doing the rounds. I had taken the time to fill it out and was a little concerned to find that I had also filled up 4 x A4 sides of further information for the stress survey folk to read. This is not good. This is bad.

I consoled myself that I had been telling the management (and you lot) that we needed more humans to help with the workload for some time. And so began my self-certified sick leave. This allowed me a week to get my shit together and have a rest before my body broke and my head actually came apart like a Terrys chocolate orange. I knew something was up when I didn't wake up on the Tuesday until 1430hrs. I had won the Golden blanket award.

I made a cup of tea, munched round my crib for half an hour, had a bath and had a little devil on my shoulder saying "shall we go on the piss and then phone our missus about midnight and ask her to pick us up from the battle cruiser". Luckily, I had to eat which kept lucifer at bay on my shoulder. So I made an egg sandwich, sat on the sofa and watched DVD's until midnight when I decided to go to bed. This continued for a week.

By the end of the week, my body actually allowed itself to be poorly so I had a really heavy cold and virus type shit going on so I went to the quack and he wrote me a note. Cool. Another week off. Beelzebub was now on my shoulder saying "you can't have 2 weeks off work, who will deal with the 67 crimes you have in your basket, the 5 long term enquiries, the overnight prisoners, the 'general you will be shot if you don't adhere to this policy etc etc.'"

Fuck off devil.

I did have some calls off DS wise bloke and Juice Boy who said " fuckin thanks for leaving me " which obviously made me feel much brighter. In any case, there did seem like some genuine concern that I was okay and I wasn't going to go mad or need 6 months to prevent burnout which it was quite obvious I was very near to.

So, Monday morning, armed with my sick note from the doc and feeling ready for action, I turned to.

267 Emails, I kid you not. Most of them telling me how shit I am at anything resembling procedure or red-tape policy. And some other boring ones from idiots who don't deserve to have an email account. And a couple of good ones saying hope you're okay and shit like that. I had one from DS wise bloke ordering me to come and see him that very afternoon for my annual appraisal. I had to take this seriously apparently because if you don't have your appraisal done before the end of this date, the Chief Super will tear your supervisor a new head in front of everyone at the next tasking meeting. I found this mildly strange seeing as though I hadn't had one for 6 years until a couple of years ago. Anyway, DS wise bloke is a stickler for this type of back patting shite so I had to go just to shut him up.

"Hello Gen my good friend..I trust you are feeling better and aren't going to wipe out the rest of our office with your bubonic plague?"
"Why thank you sarge, I'm feeling much better for not having to listen to you giving me shit jobs all day and then pestering me for the end of week returns..."
" Ha ha gen, now I know you are joking, you love it really..."
" Whatever."

"I have set aside 3 hours for this appraisal, I hope that is okay with you?"
" You'll need more time than that for me to drip and mank in"
" Gen, my trusted professional friend, this is not a time to mank and moan, this appraisal is a celebration of a fine years work by a gifted detective"
"Whatever. You making me a brew then?"
"With pleasure. I will even clean the botulism out of your cup. We were growing a kind of penicillin culture in the bottom of it for you. Look, it looks like the surface of the moon doesn't it."
"Sarge, you made me go off sick because you are fucking clinically insane and I'm scared of you you freak."
"You don't mean that gen, you love me and you know it"
" No. I love beer and women, jack and coke, sleep, food and nice trainers. Not you, you should be in one flew over the cuckoos nest."

"Shall we start? good. I have to grade you 1,2 or 3...3 is shite and you will only have a 3 if you have never even done the thing they are asking. You have some 3's for like taking vulnerable witness statements and stuff."
"Fuck that.I ain't havin no 3's. You can have have some 3's for not getting human help and not taking the crew out for enough beers sarge"
"ha ha. 2 is you are good at your job. I know you are good at your job so 1 is fucking excellent, much better than good and you will have some 1's."
" Yep. for being a top boy, style and wearing nice clobber. Flannel with the ladies as well, I get a 1 for that defo..."
" I'm being serious gen, I have given you some 1's but on others, the benchmark is 2. You have to negotiate and convince me that you are exceptional in some of the skill areas"
"Come the fuck on then skip, bring it on you badboy..."

"so, how many 1's have I got DS wise bloke? Shit loads thats how many."
" I must say, that I was expecting more of you, I'm putting you down for a 3 for negotiating and influencing..."
"Whatever."

"Gen I want you to read the final supervisors comments and understand them please..."
" I would like to place on record my sincere gratitude for the tremendous contribution you have made to the team since your arrival in January. You are a pleasure to supervise and If I could have another 3 or 4 detectives of your calibre, I would remain in the same role for the rest of my career. You have the ability to bring flair to your detective work and you infect others with your enthusiasm in all you do. However, I would add that it is a professional wish of mine to see you put that same effort and enthusiasm into promotion. You would make an excellent sergeant and I have no doubt that you could be a substantive sergeant within twelve to 18 months if you applied yourself to the matter. I have never, since I have been a sergeant, scored anyone as highly in their appraisal as I have you on this occasion. You should be proud of your achievements this year which has been arguably the toughest year of your professional career to date."
"Nice one sarge."
"You deserve it now get the fuck out of my office you lazy twat"
"And get me a brew. And why the fuck have you got 67 crimes in your basket. We need to talk."
"We just did for 5 hours sarge. I grew a beard listening to you droning on."

I'm back. I feel better. Thanks for all of your loving comments when I was chained to the desk. I have been quiet the last fortnight because I have been working late to clear the shit I never cleared when I was ill.

I'll have an email off you all for christmas if you don't mind?

General spends all day chained to a desk...

2006-11-01T22:11:00.000Z

Metaphorically speaking. I spent ten hours today writing up a conspiracy file, which is not best use of my finely honed, professional street detective skills and abilities. I have got to get out tomorrow, see which way the winds blowing and let them know I'm about.

General finds his emotional side...

2006-10-31T23:03:00.000Z

"Gen, you're gonna love this. You have an 11 year old to deal with down the block." says the uniform response skipper with a smile on his face.
"Youre having a giraffe aren't you? I don't deal with children. Isn't he below the age of criminal responsibility, DOLI INCAPAX or somethin?" I thought, baffling the sarge with some Latin might help...
"No you plum, 10 is the age of criminal responsibility.10 to 14 you have to test whether they know right from wrong Gen."
"Yes I know that sarge thankyou. So whats this little erbert done then?"
"Stole someones motorbike and has been ragging it around the estate since 6 this morning until he was found by the owner of it wheeling it into his grans garden"
"Fucking great" said I, just relishing the opportunity to open up the highly trained expensive box of whupass interrogation skills I am known to possess. Not.

"Sarge, I am dealing with the foetus we have in cell 4. Why is he banging his door? Does he have no respect?"
"No gen. He called one of the custody sarges a lanky wanker and one of the custody staff a fat ugly cow bitch"
"I'd like to introduce myself to him if I may sarge"
"Fill yer boots Gen, be my guest..."

Two and a half foot tall, blonde skinhead, overweight, adidas tracky on. The kid had one of those double set of lips like he had normal lips then this bigger sore set of lips on the top and bottom where he sucked them and they were red raw.

"Hey kid..why you bangin the door and pressin the buzzer? Whats up?"
"get me a drink."
"No manners?"
"I want a phonecall."
"Manners cost nothing"
"I'm fucking hungry"
"You should have been at home munching some Weetabix rather than stealing someones bike then"
"Fuck off..When am I going home?"
"After I've interviewed you. You have to sit in the truth chair to answer my questions"
"just get me a drink now"
"You have no manners young man"
"So?"
"What happened to your lips? You look like you are wearing your moms lipstick"
"My moms dead you idiot. Just because you look like Wayne Rooney..."

So I got him a drink, gave it him, he never said thanks.
I interviewed him, he denied the theft, but admitted the taking of it without consent. This kid was 11 and he absolutely knew what he was doing and that it was wrong. He smiled at me when he said "age is on my side isn't it officaaar?"
I didn't like this kid one bit. I wanted to hit him until he cried.

The emotion I used? PATIENCE.

Later that day, juice boy and I go to a burglars address in order to speak to him and make an arrangement for him to come in. It was Juice Boys shout, I was just backing him up.
He knocked the door and I saw a small boy come to the front window. The kid was about two. I looked into the window over his head and the place was in darkness, pitch black. The kid smiled at me. I mouthed the words "mommy or daddy?" as I raised my eyebrows and made my eyes wide and friendly.
After four or five minutes and more knocking, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. The front door opened and a rank looking smackhead stared at me with her black lifeless eyes. I could see the bed creases where she had been asleep or gouching. White spittle had collected around her mouth and her pupils were like pin pricks. She was high on heroin and I saw it immediately.
Juice Boy started with the chatter about the bloke we wanted to talk to. This conversation melted away as I saw the little two year old boy come round the doorway.
He had the bluest eyes of an angel. His hair was naturally curly but it was matted together in places and filthy dirty. Grime and dirt were visible on his face but streaked where he had cried tears and wiped them away. Lines of black grime were deposited in the creases in the skin on his little neck.

He had no clothes on other than a nappy. The nappy was filthy. It was fastened around his hips but it was so full of excrement and urine that it hung, swinging between his legs nearly touching the floor. The faeces were smeared around his inner thighs and as far up his little tummy as his tummy button. His feet looked like the feet of an old tramp. He hadn't been fed and I could see his ribs sticking out further than his tummy. He smiled at me so I smiled at him right back. We shared a little moment me and that kid.

Conversation over. Juice Boy was happy, message delivered. I gave the smackhead a stare just a little bit longer than normal as we walked away. She knew I didn't like something. She probably didn't know what the fuck it was though.

Back in the nick. Intel report and one phonecall. The kid removed that night under emergency protection powers. Not for the first time either, I found out later.

The emotion I used? HUMILITY.

Same day. Just after 2200hrs. Just taking my kit off, ready to book off, looking for my car keys. URGENT ASSISTANCE. I had heard the call come in about the man with the samurai sword. I heard the control room say send unarmed response officers to assess in the first instance. I heard the update about more persons turning up at the scene. Sounded like organised violence? I heard the first car time on. I heard the shout.

Me, kit on, stabbie on, fleece on. In the plain car but it shifts and I made some good ground. There in less than 2 minutes. Fuckin large crowd 60, 70, 80?, no...3 crowds...and onlookers...park up short...get eyes on...assess the threat...make some decisions...use force Gen you will be justified...my legs are shaking...the feeling is familiar...adrenaline is pumping...my body is working as it should...good. My mates and colleagues...are they okay...anyone hurt? Where's the sword? Breathe Gen...open your eyes and see.

Target acquisition time. I was at the flank of the first crowd. I locked eyes on a clever and experienced PC. Black country lad, no stranger to a bit of rough and tumble. He looked straight at me. Without speaking I nodded in the direction of the mouthy, cocky prick at the front of the first crowd. Big arm gestures, aggressive, angry motions, shouting, goading,inviting conflict and expecting trouble. Black country lad nodded back just the slightest nod of recognition, he knew what I was going to do. He stepped forward to get in their line of sight. I slowly approached the back of the crowd. He stepped forward to offer some violence to Black country lad but didn't bank on the General coming from the back and using a diversion tactic on him. Using my open hand, I slapped this youth straight round the right cheek from behind...so hard he never knew what hit him. Then smashed him forwards with my body and me and black country lad took him straight to ground pin, rear handcuff, double lock, straight into the van. Have that you little cocky shitheel. Crowd 3 didn't know what the fuck to do then but run off.

Right. Crowd 2. Black country lad and me were now wing men. We never said it to each other, but we just stayed together and backed each other up. We were now forged together because we had been in battle together. It is a strange feeling that. Customer number two. Gobby bloke, aged 40, offering violence to a woman after being told loads of times to shut the fuck up and calm down. Bang. Have that 40 year old bloke. Yes that was me punching you in the face, tripping you over and handcuffing you. Ably assisted by the cannister of CS incapacitant from the blonde WPC to my right. I even had time to look at her arse to see if it was any good in those horrid trousers they wear. It was actually. Number 2 for affray. Black country lad right by my side.

Right crowd 3. Watch the flanks of my mates as they are struggling on the floor with a group scrapping. The coppers are getting control. Watch their flanks. Baseball cap boy. Corner of my eye, to the right, running in. No weapons. Bang. Yes that was me smacking you in the face, bending you over a wall, finding the mandibular angle. Black country lad doing the same. Ground pin, rear cuff, double lock, car. number 3 for affray.

Right. anyone else want some? Chaos to control in minutes. Check the troops anyone hurt? Wheres the sword? Move through the crowd, dispersing, they are scared of us now but it was the other way round a few minutes ago. It could have been much, much worse and nobody got hurt on our side apart from some CS tears. "Fuck me General, you can come out on our bus anytime you like mate"
"You lot can't come on CID, you can't fight."

Emotion used= AGGRESSION and WISDOM

Not a bad days work all in all. Went home, nipper was in bed, Mrs Gen was asleep, so I had a can of Fosters and reflected on my day, standing in my kitchen alone. "I wonder if I would get the same variety of emotions all in one day doing any other job? I wonder if I would be any good at any other job? What could I do? What if I lost my job, I wonder how I would pay my mortgage and look after my beloved family?" I thought, as I climbed the big wooden hill to bed.

A conviction is a badge of honour...

2006-10-17T21:20:00.000+01:00

"Young man, can I just say what a pleasure it is to hear an offender admit his crime and be responsible for his own actions...and you'd like to pay the victim £500 for the value of his car that you stole from the side of the road, put onto your scrap metal lorry and took to the scrap yard without asking?"
"erm yeah."
"My victim, "Mr HARDWORKING BLOKE" will be very pleased to hear this. Do you mind if I phone him and tell him?"
"Please do. I am sorry for the trouble I have caused and I fully admit this crime. I want to pay the money back to hardworking bloke for the value of the car I stole"

"Hello Hardworking bloke, General here...just ringing with some good news really...I locked up fat scrap metal thief bloke and guess what? he admitted the offence on interview and even better...he wants to pay you the money back, for the value of your car which he sold for scrap. I'm fucking ace aren't I?"

"Gen. I'm astounded. You are truly a fuckin top detective bloke. You managed to crack this young man with your interrogation skills and stealthy cop style?"
"well..erm..yes of course...well.. that and the kid just coughed it there and then because he has never been in trouble with the police before and he was a bit scared"
"amazing. And he wants to give me 500 nicker too?"
"yep. Shall I set up a meeting so that the kid can truly purge his soul and face you the victim? You could also put a face to the crime and be less worried?"
"Gen, thats a great idea. I thought I'd get nothing. You are a top boy."
"Erm, Mr Hardworking bloke, It ain't over till the fat lady is in the corner belting out some tunes and you have the queens in your grubby scratcher"
"General, what the fuck does that mean?"

"There's no way that kid is gonna pay the bloke General, you've been blagged pal" says juice boy as he confidently swigs from his Robinsons bottle.
"Juice boy, au contrere my son, this is a done deal. I have arranged for both lads to come in on Wednesday night, the deal is done, the lad gets cautioned, everyone is happy. No need for conditional caution, charges and that, we are all happy."
"You are trying to broker a deal between two parties, one of which only has one brain cell."
"Fok off Juice boy before I punch your chin off...you skinny juice drinkin fuc"
"no Gen. I didn't mean you, I meant scrap metal boy. He's thick...Oh and I just saw him drive away in a van which belongs to aggressive rough diamond scrap metal bloke."
"Oh no."

Aggressive rough diamond scrap metal bloke will now be referred to as ARD SMB because it takes too long to type. He is referred to as such due to the fact that he has a twinkly blue eyed gaze, which has a nasty streak to it. He goes from jovial banter to aggressive bastard very very quickly. He has a rough diamond image and gives it the chatter all the time. But he would steal your old nans false teeth if he had the chance and I fuckin loathe him. I have an idea that the feeling is mutual.

Fat scrap metal thief bloke is exactly as it says on the tin. But he has never been in trouble with us before and he is 18. I liked him.

Wednesday. 1830hrs. The nick.
Ring Ring..."General, its the kindly front office lady here, you have two gentlemen here asking for you...I should also tell you that ARD SMB is here too, grinning from ear to ear. He just asked me if I wanted to buy a Ford Escort off him for a monkey. General, whats a monkey?"
"Kindly front office lady, tell the gentlemen to take a seat. A monkey is a hairy primate which lives in the jungles of the rain forest and sometimes in south American countries. Can you tell the gent known as ARD SMB to fuck off home for me please?(I only thought that bit)"

Juice boy sat there, writing, with a smug look on his young skinny boat. "told yer"
I wondered if I threw my pen hard enough at him whether the ball point could actually pierce his skin. I thought better of it because he would have cried.

"Hello Gents. Thankyou for coming, please come this way..."
"DC Gen'ral I want my representative to come too, he is my boss called ARD SMB.He has the money too."
"O.K. Hello ARD SMB, long time no see..."
"I know. Thankfully."

"So lads, lets get this done. This is the victim, Mr HARD WORKING BLOKE. HWB meet SMTB, he wants to pay you the money for stealing your car."

"He aint paying the money until you rip up the caution. You seized his car which he has to pay for to get back from the police pound and you are givin 'im a criminal record. So fuck you, we aint paying £500 quid to no-one. We will pay £200, thats it. Oh and you gotta pay for 'is car to be released as well."
"Look ARD SMB I am not negotiating with you. You are not involved in this case and I can tell you that I will not be paying for your associates car to be released."
"Your man aint 'avin 'is money then"
"Please leave the Police station ARD SMB, your presence is not welcome here."
"Look SMTB. A caution is not a criminal conviction, despite what your idiot friend has told you."
"I'm not signing it"

"I'm really sorry Mr HARD WORKING BLOKE. It wasn't meant to be like this"
"It's ok Gen, I understand. Ring me when it's sorted."

"Hello, SMTB, this is the conditional cautioning PC here...before I start the meeting with the CPS, are you agreeing to pay the victim his £500?"
"No Fuck him. My mate ARD SMB, says don't pay nuffin' because you are giving me a criminal record and there's nuffin in it for me"
"CPS says if you don't then you will be charged"
"fuck them too. charge me then."

1800hrs. Day of charge.
"Young scrap metal thief bloke, you were such a nice lad when we first met, now you have turned into this seasoned ciminal kid with a bad attitude.I think it's because you are with ARD SMB. You were eligible for a caution but now, congratulations, you are walking out of the nick with a charge. You are acting like it is a certificate of achievement. And because you admitted it on interview, you will be convicted. Then you can wear your conviction like a badge of honour."

I'm afraid we may have lost this one. And I was annoyed about it.I was annoyed that the pull of the older criminal, worked better than the sense of an honest cop. I want to keep the bad ones to the bad side and the good ones to the good side, but I was annoyed that I had lost a good kid. The trouble now is that I believe in the balance of things, so I am looking for a score to settle, one to bring back to the good side so to speak. To even things up and restore the status quo.

Juice boy smiled. I shook his hand. I wrote up my pocket book, my mind thinking of the poor end to a good job.

"Don't worry Gen. He will come. He's on our list. Can I make you a cup of tea or shall we go and get a bag of chips?"

"Chips sound good kid. Lets go, it's your shout."

Real men say sorry.

2006-10-06T21:54:00.000+01:00

"General, the phone for you, I think it's the property lady"
"cheers juice boy"
"hiya property lady everything okay?"
"No. Not really no. You sent a package to the office which contained needles and they weren't packaged properly and did not have biohazard tape on them, you left £750 cash in the main store instead of the safe and you didn't put a tag on the property bag to say you wanted it left in the temporary store."
"I'm really sorry. The only excuse I can give is that I have been working some really long hours recently and on the night of this drug dealer job, the property was the last thing I had to deal with before I went home. It was my 10th day on duty and I had worked 15 hours..."
"Not my problem General. I suggest you come over and sort it out now otherwise my boss will be on to your boss"
"Ok, I'm coming now, sorry"

"General! General!You have four people returning back from bail today and you have not updated the custody sergeant to say what's happening with them. You've got to go and sort it out now. By the way, the custody inspector wants to see you, he's sent an email to your boss for non-compliance with the '48 hours before bail returns tell the custody sergeant'rule."
"Thanks for the warning custody assistant boy"
"I'd go and do it now General, oh and its Sergeant loud voice on duty today"
"Great"

For the purpose of this blog, Sergeant Loud Voice will be referred to as such, due to his ability to go from a friendly, affable kind of chap, to the scariest, baddest, angriest bloke in the world. He can shout so loud that he could make your eyes bleed and he could give you permanent tinitus. Luckily for me, he is a good colleague and he likes my copper style. Or so I thought.

"Hey Loud voice, I would like to offer my sincere apologies for not informing you of the status of my bailers who are returning today. I have breached the '48 hours before rule' and I'm sorry. Please would you allow me to explain?"

Time literally stood still as loud voice slowly turned to face me. I realised that as I had been talking to him, that he had a phone pressed to his left ear, out of my line of sight. The content of the call was obviously important. He screwed his eyes up and cocked his head to the left in order to hear better but I had ruined it already. I prepared myself to be berated. As quick as a flash, I could hear him say to his telephone caller..."Hold on a moment please.." as he cupped his hand over the receiver and turned to me. I saw a reddening of his skin on his neck, just over the white of his shirt collar.

"Will you fuck off out of my office now!...I'm on the fucking phone!"

Now, the hair on my head is only 2mm long and I swear that he made it move, purely with the volume of his voice.

As I walked towards the custody door leading to the police station corridor, worried looking police officers scurried to the door towards me, "General, is someone playing up down custody?"
"No lads, that was Sergeant loud voice bollocking me"
"Oh."

"General, the phone for you, think it's Mrs General"
"thanks juice boy"
"Hey sweetie, have you got any kind words for me because everyone hates me today?"
"No. You left the iron on this morning and you left a wet towel on the floor upstairs. You woke me up last night when you got home and I only asked you to do one thing this week which was post a letter and I found it in the back pocket of your jeans which I have washed. You need to get home at a reasonable time tonight, I mean it...and start acting like a responsible adult partner instead of a twat, you twat."
"sorry love. I did clean the windows last Sunday though."
"Correction, you cleaned the downstairs front window and left the rest because you went to the pub. Get it right general. Be home on time tonight, I mean it. We need to talk about some stuff. I haven't seen you for 11 days, I've forgotten what you look like"
"I'm the good looking bloke who pays the mortgage you moaning cow.."
"Yep. And I'm the good-looking cow who's going to run off with the milkman if you don't get your shit together."
"See you at 4"
"Is that AM or PM?"
"Very funny Mrs General. AM."
"Knob."
"oh."

"Hello baby general...how's my little girl today then?"
"Am I going to see you tonight daddy or are you going to be at work...again?"
"well, I hope I will be able to see you. You know that daddy is a policeman and that sometimes I can't get home when I want to because daddy has to catch the baddies, so that you and your friends can be safe. Firemen and nurses and doctors and ambulance men are the same. Your friend Bethany at school, her dad is a policeman, I bet her dad isn't there all the time?"
"I don't care about Bethanys dad, I love you and I miss you and I want to see you. Please don't arrest any baddies today daddy. Come home and I will draw you a picture. Maybe we can watch Narnia or play dollies?"
"Ok kiddo, daddy will try and be home tonight, I promise."
"will you be taking me to school in the morning daddy?"
"erm no chicken, daddy has got to be in early in the morning to lock up a baddy."
"Oh."

"Gen...all the troops are going for a piss-up in the city tonight, you coming? You said you were a week ago?"
"erm no...not tonight mate...I havent spent much time at home recently and I need to be the family man again"
"Fuck that you girl, come out. You work hard don't ya? Tell your missus you will see her at the weekend and come out on the lash with the boys. I won't tell the lads you are under the thumb, you Korma eating shandy-swiller"
"As attractive as the prospect of some beer drinking is, on this particular occasion, the general must say nay..."
"Thought you was supposed to be a player, a top tec', hard livin, hard drinkin an all that, you pussy"
"I will not buckle under the peer pressure my friend. You will have forgotten about my non-attendance after pint number two and I will be king of the world at my crib, with my good lady and my kid."
"Oh"

"Hey Mrs General, what would you do if I asked if I could go out drinking tonight with the boys?"
"Try it and find out."
"oh"

"Hey mom, how are you?"
"Oh you remembered you had a mom then? I'm surprised you remembered the phone number"
"Sorry mom. I've been really busy recently.I still love you though and I had a dream the other night that you came to my house and cleaned the windows, It was really vivid, then you cooked me some sunday dinner"
"you can bugger off if you think I'm cleaning your windows for you, I'm too old for that now. Sunday dinner, hmmm, now that would be easier. "
"It was just a dream mom. I didn't mean for you to do it for me"
"I know you. You have a persuasive gift. Have you spoken to your brothers recently?"
"no."
"Well you should. They've got things to tell you so ring them please?"
"Mom...is there something wrong with their own telephone dialling finger then?"
"just do it and stop back-answering"
"Sorry"
"You're as bad as your bloody father"
"Oh"

1555hrs. I kid you not.
"Gen...we just had an armed robbery come in on your patch. A jewellers just got done. Better ring Mrs General and tell her to feed your tea to the dog...or the milkman"
"You are fucking kidding me?"
"nope. The D.I. is on the phone, he wants you to go to the scene and start the fast-track stuff."
"oh no."

"Listen Mrs Gen, I'm really sorry, we have just had an armed blag. I will try and get finished by 8, I'll tell the gaffer it's my 11th day on and he should be fine, I'm sorry babe"
"click..bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz"
"oh"

Anyone got a spare room? It's cold in this dog house :(

Love your boss.

2006-09-30T19:22:00.000+01:00

"Boss...when are we going to get some troops back?"
"you're not"
"No boss, I don't mean get loads of new people, I mean when are we going to get our troops back from incident rooms and back from being off sick because you've burned them out with your performance culture?"
"Don't you have anything constructive to say general?"
"erm...well,that thing I just said was constructive, you just don't have the right answer. Those of us who are left are supposed to be getting the same performance figures as last year but we've got half the troops. So surely it's right that you half the targets?"
"Over my dead body"
"no boss, probably over mine."

General grumpy learns to smile again...

2006-09-14T22:40:00.000+01:00

Now I know that none of you know me, but I am usually a happy-go-lucky kind of kid. I can roll with the punches with the best of them and I class change as a friend of mine, but just lately, I feel a bit grumpy.

Well, not just a bit grumpy, a lot grumpy.

Usually when I'm grumpy, I soul-search and attribute my grumpiness to the following categories:

1. I'm tired.
2. I'm hungry.
3. I haven't had much sex lately.
4. People are treating me like a chimp at work.
5. All of the above.

1-3 are only short-term problems which usually require only a small amount of effort to address. 5 turns me into the Incredible Hulk.

4 is the snag. 4 makes me grumpy.

I woke up in my sleep the other night at about half two, sweating, having had a dream that my boss cut the tongue out of my head in a meeting in front of everyone who just stood there looking at me going "ooh, that must've hurt..." Claret was gushing out of my dish and nobody helped me. It was a sign.

I came to work and opened up my computer to find that I had inherited even more crimes to investigate than I had the day before when I specifically said that I could not physically cope with any more work. I have so many enquiries on the go at the moment, I am running out of brain space to take on the next one. I am on the crew that delivers performance, day in, day out, so I am heavily relied upon by those above to provide the results that they can then claim as their own and bathe in the glory thereof. But I understand my position. I work hard. I play hard.

I decided to close my computer back down and say " fuck it.I'm not going to phone any victims today, they can bite me. And I'm not investigating one more thing until some fucker starts listening to me.."

I turned to my good mate and partner, who, for the sake of this blog shall forever be known as Juice boy on account of his penchant for always drinking juice.

" Fuck this juice boy, I'm vexed. We can't sustain this pressure any longer, we've got to go and talk to our skipper"
"want me to book you in to Flint House General?"
" Thanks a lot Juice boy. I'll remember to kick you in the plums next time your'e down"
" Least I've got some plums and not marlies..."
" I mean it Juice boy, this is shit. We need help. Human help too, not computers, new chairs or some new forms to complete"
" there are no more humans to help us, they are all off whith stress General.."
" Right, thats it juice boy, I'm going to smash your head off the desk if you don't make me a brew..."
" You should try juice, it's good for you."

The next thing I knew, we have a prisoner to deal with. I walked down the block and met this kid who had just been pulled from his bed and brought in. It is 0812hrs.
" Hello kid. I'm General. I'll be spending the morning with you. You want a hot drink?"
"no. I need to smoke some draw."
" It's ten past eight in the morning.How many sugars you want in your tea?"
" five."
" are you serious? You will have no teeth left, no way am I being held responsible for your dental decay"
" OK. Four and a half then."
" Juice boy...can you make this kid a drink, I'm off to find a sword to throw myself on"
" you should try juice mate...much better for you than tea..."

My DS is a top man and that is fact. He is a good friend to me which is usually the way with DC's and their DS. I would take a bullet for him, that is how much I admire him. So being the good friend and line manager that he is, I let him have it with both barrels later that day.

My DS shall be known for the purpose of this post as "wise bloke" on account of his wisdom of course.

" wise bloke, I am unhappy. I have been telling you for some time now that we have too much work. I told you that I could not take on any more crime and that my brain is poorly. I asked for some help. I wanted some acknowledgement that the cavalry were coming after some well earned R and R. You said it was on the way. You have let me down. I am getting more and more emails from the bosses about performance and the end of year target. But you are setting us up to fail. They are leading from behind. not from the front. They say we are crap instead of showing us the way. And now you take one of the lads off our crew and put them onto the other team? The maths doesn't add up. You need to CONTRIBUTE to the team to get success, NOT REMOVE!"
" General...You are a great detective and a real asset to our division"

" stop blowing smoke up my ass, it won't work"
" You are doing a fantastic job under really difficult conditions. You must take some credit for that...
" look wise bloke, fuck the stuff about how well I am doing, what is being done about the 'difficult conditions'? It is this that needs addressing, not saying well done General you are trying really hard but it is still shit."
" My friend General. It concerns me that one of the Wayne Rooneys of my team has just stood and knocked on the managers door and said 'boss I ain't happy at United"
" Fuckin get some human beings in to help us then wise bloke. And not some thick fuckers either. Someone with a fuckin brain in their skull would help. Sorry for shouting but at the end of the year when our crew hasn't reached the target then it will be " general, why didn't YOU get the target?""
" I do understand General but we won't be getting any more humans. You are it. Fuck them. Let the wheel fall off. Maybe they will set some achievable targets next year without putting half the division off sick with stress"
" They can stick their job up their arse. If they can find any other person who can do the job better than us then they can have my job and I will fuck off somewhere else, I don't give a fuck."
" Now that would be a real loss. I don't want you to do that. I don't want you to do anything other than what you are already doing, very very well. I will bugle the cavalry personally and have them releive you in your trench, my comrade."
" you're a knob you are sarge."
" Now get out of my office before I start to cry. And get me a cup of tea before I tell the team what a moaning twat you are."

I came home that day after another 13-hour shift and did what I normally do when I am grumpy. I shouted at my girlfriend. Then apologised for being a complete tool. Then went to bed.

I woke up the next day feeling brighter. I had had the opportunity to speak with another wise man before I went to bed. For the sake of this blog he shall forever be known as dad, on account of his sperm which made me.

Dad said, " son. you have created a problem within yourself which you needn't have. Do not concentrate on the unseen problem which is over the horizon, the 'end of the year target'. Concentrate on the problem of today and deal with that. That is what I expect of you and that is what all the law-abiding people expect of you. You cannot make a silk purse out of a pigs ear. Do not overburden yourself with the inefficiencies and ineptitude of others. Be your own man, make a difference to the good and give shit to the toe-rags and you will not go wrong, I promise you son."

"thanks dad. I love you you know?"
" I love you too son. Keep your chin up and stay safe."
" I will dad."

Strangely enough, I find that writing this stuff on this blog helps me to keep these things in perspective. I've not been grumpy since and I even sang a few tunes today.

You kiss your mother with that mouth?

2006-09-09T22:28:00.000+01:00

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?"
"She's a fuckin bitch...yeah,you!" she shouts at her mother who she has just ordered to iron her a jacket before she will come to the police station to answer questions about the stolen car her DNA was found in and then the house she burgled.

In any other place other than this shit-hole, this girl would be mint. She is 17. Bad, I mean really bad attitude. She hates the world. I chuckle to myself thinking that she is acting like the archetypal teenager, like Kevin and Perry.

But that chuckle soon fades away when I realise that this girl is fuckin hateful. She bellows at her mother, who incidentally I was hoping would come and be the appropriate adult. She tells her mom to 'get the fuck out of my way' as she slams past her to the bathroom upstairs. I can see the mother physically shaking. I begin to feel sorry for the mom because it is clear that this girl picks on her mom and her mom looks demoralised and bullied. The 17-year-old rules the roost.

"you look lovely Jade..now can we go because we have now got to call social services for an adult for you because you upset your mom"
"do I look like I give a fuck? I'm putting some make-up on...no way I'm coming to the station looking this bad"
"yeah because you might bump into a good-looking crack head or nonce down the cell block..come on please?"
"yeah..in a minute!..you fuckin fucker.."

Long pieces of blond hair were coming away from between my fingers as I forced this mouthy piece of shit down her stairs. Her cheeks became bright red as the shock set in that yes, that friendly copper has just grabbed me, dragged me out of the bathroom, forced me down the stairs and bundled me out of my moms house in front of all the neighbours in the street, held me against the car and handcuffed me to the rear.

The line was drawn. I was polite, friendly and approachable but the foul mouth didn't know when to stop. That's the problem with teenagers, they never quite know when to shut the fuck up. This was part of her learning curve. Fuck with the old bill a bit, but don't step over the line. Lesson one.

Long blond hair, pretty face, lovely blue eyes. A great body and lovely white teeth. Perfect to some. But when this girl opened her mouth it was awful. We had lost this one, there was no going back. I wondered what she would be like if she was stranded on a desert island for a couple of years with some articulate, intelligent people? Would she return to civilisation pronouncing her words properly and forgetting to swear? Would she have grace and enjoy her femininity? Would she smile?

Or would she scowl,hiss and swear at me like she was doing when I looked at her in the rear view mirror on the way to the cell block at the nick.

"...anything you do say may be given in evidence. I'm going to tell you the caution in more simple terms now..."
"I'm not fucking thick, just get on with it you boring fucking boring fucker. Bore off..."
"please tell me why the stolen car that you say you have never been in or touched, but you did say that you walked past it in a road and then when you didn't see anyone in it you carried on...has your blood inside it on the front passenger seat and a beer can in the drivers door pocket with your DNA on it?..."
"I dunno. I never went in the car."
" hmmm. really...."
"...please tell me why later the same night, your blood was found at the point of entry of the scene of a burglary at..."
"I dunno. I told you I was with a mate who I don't want to tell you about cos' her mom will kill her if she finds out..."
"I cannot flower this up any other way Jade, other than to say you are a stupid idiot of a liar and I hope you go to prison"
"what the f.."
"officer, I must object to your personal comments with regard to my client!"
"you can object until you're blue in the face Mr Pencil-head, I'm right and you know it. I take it from your silence that you agree. good. I'm finishing this interview now."

Not exactly straight out of the "How to finish the interview" section of the 'Guide to advanced Interviewing' but hey, what the fuck, I'm a boundary-pusher.

Bang. Have some charges you foolish little bitch. And no. I won't give you a lift home. Get some respect first. Lesson two.

Lesson three comes later. Lesson three comes to me. Detective Constable General. Lesson three is when the magistrates give her a community punishment order of 40 hours. Lesson three is the sucker punch for me spending the time on this investigation and the anticipated not guilty file for this poxy fuckin outcome of a decision.

I'm not very happy. In fact, I'm so not happy I'm going out to get shitfaced.

you comin? My round...

The little kid knows, I think...

2006-08-31T00:06:00.000+01:00

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

But I worry for the future.

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

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

He never knew I was there...

2006-08-29T21:55:00.000+01:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The fish and chips were lovely.

Thats general, hitting his head against a brick wall.

2006-08-26T22:27:00.000+01:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I give up.

The dogs day came...

2006-08-05T21:54:00.000+01:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I walked away thinking...no, that's what will be happening to you when you get to Winson Green if you don't learn to zip it...

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

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

Thanks for the advice you lot. keep it coming.

Every dog has it's Day

2006-08-01T22:42:00.000+01:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I want to know what you would have done?

Chavspotting?

2006-07-31T18:24:00.000+01:00

These lot are what we deal with all day long.

Smokin' crack ain't cool man.

2006-07-24T23:57:00.000+01:00

I see so much intelligence coming in about class A drugs it makes me laugh at times. If you lot knew the amount of drugs that get out there on the streets every day it would make your toes curl up. Man, someone somewhere is making a lot of moola to spend I tell you.

The trouble is though, that there just aren't enough coppers around to target the dealers and users and the thing perpetuates.

The drug business has got so big and lucrative that it is in danger of eating itself like a big, hungry, crack smokin', fat thing.

The current "focus" is all about reducing and detecting burglary offences, vehicle crime and reducing violent crime and anti-social behaviour. Which is all well and good but the majority of those offences are committed by the smack rats and crack heads looking for the money to get a stone to burn off the foil or a hit of brown. It is colloquially called "ACQUISITIVE CRIME".

The police management and judiciary seem to favour the intervention and treatment/rehabilitation angle. They are no longer supportive of positive police action.
Me and my mates at work think this is shite quite frankly and for us enforcement is the rule of thumb. JAIL is the only option for these people who bring down the fabric of entire communities.

To get busted for cannabis dealing, it now seems you have to have at least a wheelbarrowful in your possession in order to even be recognised as involved in the business. For class A dealing to be proved, it seems you need to find a/ a massive quantity of drugs (preferably in the dealers hand) b/a long line of customers waiting for the dealer to deal and all of them willing to give you a witness statement telling you what they were there for. c/ huge piles of cash, bling, cars, swimming pools and villas in Spain. d/ten mobile phones going off with orders by text and picture. e/ a signed document with lists of names addresses and dates of birth of all your customers thereon and how much they owe you. Even then, the CPS might not charge.

I would tell you about a day in the life of a smack-head/crack head if you were interested? You should be, because there's one looking at your handbag right now, or clocking your fine car to jack or wandering round your street with his syringe in his top pocket waiting for you to go to work so he can empty your house of all the trinkets of your labor. Or the small gold watch you were given when your grandad died, which is the only thing you ever wanted, the one he had since he fought in the war for this great country. Or the old lady, who had her dead husbands wedding ring stolen after being married for 70 years or so.

Priceless things which are sold for a rock of crack, the effects of which normally last less than a minute.

Who's right?