The Caper Went Down As Follows
by Bill Schweizer © 2006
A creature of habit is my darling girl. Apart from the single annoying habit of being frequently right, her others are quite endearing.
I could, for example, expect that exactly two minutes forty seconds after the sound of the running shower stopped, she would appear on the landing turbaned and saronged in matching pastel towels and brushing her teeth furiously.
Today she was right on schedule.
"Hey Foamy, give us a kiss. Last chance you'll have to kiss a fine looking hombre 'til sundown."
A laugh penetrated the froth. " How little you know, how little you know. I'll kiss you later. Whither goest thou?"
"Traffic Court."
"Oh no. Don't tell me you're fighting that speeding ticket up in Bakersfield?"
"Don't worry, that's next month. Today is that stop sign beef. You know the one on Heliotrope."
"Why not pay the two dollars?"
"Seventy-five not two, and would you willy-nilly send an innocent man to the gallows? Beside I'm home free."
She continued brushing, moving the toothbrush in skeptical swirls.
So I elaborated. "Look, everyone knows if the cop doesn't show, you skate, and, usually, odds are fifty-fifty he doesn't."
"Or she." She corrected. "O.K. What's your point? "
"Well, I've increased the odds way in my favor."
"How, pray tell? "
"I postponed the hearing twice to today."
"And today would be...? "
"The grand opening of the new Donut Factory just across from the Southwest Division station. Twelve hours of free donuts to any cop, fireman, licensed driver, or anyone wearing a wristwatch. So, no Court for my man today. "
"The correct term is firefighter, and suppose your clever plan misfires?"
"Not a chance, Babe. Here's my ace in the hole." I carefully slid an 8 x10 glossy from an envelope.
"Feast your gaze on this. A photograph taken moments after the issuance of the ill-conceived citation showing the sign in question to have been totally obscured by the untrimmed fronds of a City owned Tamarind tree. Ha! I'd say wish me luck, but in these matters you cannot trust to luck. Luck is a fickle mistress. Preparation is everything. Preparation, my dear girl."
She grimaced. "Just don't you come home with donuts on your breath."
"Not to worry, Luv," I called, bounding down the stairs on a mission of justice well delayed. "I'll keep myself sweet for that victory kiss you'll owe me."
I took the long way round to the County Court building wanting to avoid the traffic mishmash that was sure to ensue adjacent to the Donut Factory.
Things were looking good so far. No black and whites in the parking lot and no blue uniforms.
There were however quite a few uniforms of strange other colors and quirky accessories. I saw a bushy haired man with safari shorts, a Sam Brown belt and a brimmed hat pinned up at the side Aussie style. Another chap sported a pencil thin moustache, a beret, riding breeches, and Field Marshall's baton. He chatted with a female dressed in camouflage and pith helmet.
These I recognized as complaining witnesses from the animal control agencies of the various cities in the Court District, dogcatchers, and all boycotting the great donut giveaway.
The Courtroom was pandemonium. Interpreters and signers were confirming their assignments, and the three or four accused misdemeanants with lawyers had taken seats way up front comfortably away from the riff-raff with whom I had aligned myself. My madness was, of course, methodical. I wanted to wait and gauge the Judge to have that certain edge.
Seemed like good luck continued. We were assigned a temporary judge, the Honorable Ermentrude Eisenkrieg. I astutely surmised with geometric logic, she being hitherto a stranger to Traffic Court, would be unjaded therefore eminently likely, nay certain, to temper justice with mercy. Ah, sweet mercy. Even so, the somewhat German sound to her Christian name evoked a shiver of terror in my primeval unconscious not unlike glimpsing on the bedroom ceiling the silhouette of a spider.
Her work was definitely cut out for her, as clearly there were a number of cranks and crackpots in the courtroom foolishly exercising their right of self-representation.
The chap beside me had seated next to him, like a fraternity brother, a full size acrylic skeleton wearing a motorcycle helmet and trailing a tag saying property of USC Medical Center. A specimen or a student, hard to say. Another eccentric was setting up an elaborate electric train village complete with operating traffic signals. I could figure out what he intended to do, but the guy with the papier machee volcano had me baffled. Lots of people were fiddling with blowups, slide projectors, and articulated human figures. Laser pointers were spraying everywhere.
After a number of perfunctory and condescending speeches by the deputies, which were translated simultaneously in three other languages, one of which sounded a bit like Old Gaelic, the Judge emerged and the business of the tribunal commenced.
The represented people went forward first, transacted their business quietly and swiftly, and exited stage right, all smiling discreetly.
Then the cattle call commenced. Only the cattle were mostly dogs.
There certainly were a great many dog violations, dog off leash, dog at large, no license, barking dogs, no shots, and, of course, lots of mutts taking a chunk out of an innocent citizen's derriere or defiling a public sidewalk. One defendant was pleading an alibi holding up a picture of himself, a beagle, and a newspaper, all with the Leaning Tower of Pisa in the background, while another, striving for sympathy had a picture of a cocker spaniel in a hospital bed in traction with bandaged head, IV line, and dark glasses. Neither convinced Judge Eisenkrieg or touched her heart, although the Italian alibi seemed righteous to me, having been to Pisa myself in '89.
Interspersed among the cases of egregious breaches of municipal animal regulations were traffic matters and, consistent with my theory, no officers showed with only a few exceptions including those against my friend the helmet guy and, of course, the railroad gate affair. But these cases involved State Police, not local, which gave me high confidence.
The skeleton demonstration didn't quite go as planned. The defendant had brought along a mean wooden mallet, which he used to pound the helmet, as the skeleton lay supine on the counsel table, I guessed to disprove the efficacy of wearing one. Ironically, he actually made safety converts of a couple of hardcore bikers in the rear of the cavernous room. The railway village guy precipitated, in miniature, a huge multivehicle collision with a contained but hot electrical fire, which is exactly what the State Highway Patrolman predicted. I didn't get to see what was the purpose of the volcano since Krakatoa Boy was forcibly removed from the courtroom after getting in a scuffle with one of the dog wardens.
When my case was called there were no uniforms in sight. Bingo.
The Judge's inquiry for Officer Mike Brennan preceded an eternity of silence that carried me on waves of tranquility towards a just and deserved acquittal.
That is, until the silence was broken by a voice spoken in the accent of a pipsqueak. "Present in Court Your Honor. Brennan here."
An elfin man in a synthetic fiber leisure suit of a type and color that was approximately 26 years obsolete climbed out of the jury box and came to the front table. He was definitely much shorter than I remembered, but after all, we had met for just minutes, ten months ago. Ever alert, I sensed some Napoleon-complex activity on the horizon.
"Are you Officer Michael Brennan?"
"Affirmative."
"Officer you're in mufti today."
Wow. That was an understatement.
"Yes Your Honor. Normally, we do not get paid for Court unless dressed in blues, but I'm on undercover assignment so I'm considered in uniform."
This begged the question of undercover where, Studio 54?
"Thanks for explaining. You'll be testifying?"
"Correct. I took the liberty of having the Deputy downstairs swear me in when I arrived. Shall I start?"
"Please do."
"May I review the court file briefly?"
"Well that's kind of unusual, but you're entitled to refresh your memory. Go ahead." He looked in the folder, which held only the ticket, then resumed.
"Here's my package. Two years JC at SMC with an AA. Two tours USMC. Police Academy LBC graduating numero 3. Two years Traffic, two years patrol and three years special projects. Special Drug Task Force, Urban Impact Strike Force, and Regional Security Commission. I think that's it."
The Judge turned to me. "Are you satisfied with the officer's credentials?"
"I think he forgot Habitat For Humanity."
"Perhaps we can temporarily dispense with the sarcasm. Please proceed officer."
He clasped his hands behind his back and stood up ramrod straight achieving an increase in height of about a millimeter and then spoke. " The caper went down as follows."
Caper. What's with this idiot? Sounds like I'm coming through a skylight at the Casino in Monte Carlo.
The Judge was also puzzled. "What do you mean caper? " she asked
"The heist, the scam, the boost, the job. It's police jargon. Sorry, but I live and breathe police work twenty-four seven. It's the crime, Your Honor, the criminal enterprise. The caper means the crime."
Funny. I never thought of passing a stop sign as a crime exactly, more like a peccadillo.
He continued. "I was on loan from Urban Impact to Traffic. I was surveilling the drug labs on Heliotrope when..."
The Judge seemed surprised. "Officer, I thought Heliotrope was a historic preservation district with all those lovely Victorian row houses?"
"Well that may have been true at one time, but the beaker people, the cookers and the mad chemists, found that the dumbwaiters in those relics were convenient for transport and storage of red phosphorous and ideal for venting volatile solvents. Now, as I said, I was surveilling the tweakers when I noticed the Defendant proceeding erratically down Heliotrope."
"Erratically?"
"Yeah, crazy-like. He was driving alternately slow then fast then slow then fast, typical of a John Doe looking to score. To purchase illicit drugs Your Honor. So I followed."
"What happened next?"
"He continued the slow-fast routine until he got the corner of Heliotrope and Hyde. That's when he violated."
"He violated someone? "
Not good. Already the Judge was prepared to think the worst.
"No, a Vehicle Code violation. I observed the suspect perform a pretend stop at the intersection. There's a four-way at Heliotrope and Hyde. Anyway the Defendant performed a pretend stop, a feigned stop. In police terminology we call it a 'funny stop'."
"Officer, what is a 'funny stop'?"
"Good question. It is just what the words imply. The suspect pretends to stop to avoid criminal prosecution for blowing a four-way. First he applies the brake to activate the brake light suggesting he is stopping. Then he slows the vehicle until finally it becomes stationary and motionless. The subject keeps it motionless until he is sure he can get away without an accident or without being apprehended. A 'funny stop' and, more importantly, an obvious violation."
"Then what?"
"Well, after that it was just one for the history books. I pulled him over, scribed a citation, delivered the number 4 traffic safety lecture, and then released him into society to reoffend. That's all she wrote. It could have been a nifty caper, but unfortunately for him, wrong place, wrong time, wrong dick."
"Wrong dick?"
"Sorry Judge, police-speak again. It means..."
The Judge decided she didn't care to know. She looked at me. "Looks like a prima facie case to me sir. Do you have questions for the officer?"
"You bet I do," I thought; Prepare to be buzzed by a buzz saw. You are going down.
"Officer, you said you saw me driving slow and fast down Heliotrope?"
"Affirmative."
"Isn't that consistent with slowing for the speed bumps on Heliotrope? "
"What's your point?"
"Speed bumps. You slow down to cross and then speed up once you've crossed them. Right?"
"And that would mean what?"
"Nothing. I was stopping for speed bumps."
"What are you insinuating?"
"I'm simply asking a simple question."
"I think you're simply grabbing for straws."
"Let's try something different. Now Officer, this happened ten months ago. You probably haven't done much traffic since then right?"
"So wrong. I loan to Traffic three shifts per week, so I'm on my game all the time."
"Alright then, how many people have you stopped since the ticket?"
"Thirty a week, forty weeks, so twelve hundred."
Ha! You walked right into my trap you poor fish. "So Officer, if you stopped 1199 people since seeing me how is it you remember me so well?" I asked, pausing before adding a kicker "... or at all?" I suppressed a smirk.
"I'll never forget you. Never. You know why? It was the threat. I've never before had a John Doe threaten my life."
"I threatened your life?" Where did this come from?
"Well that's how I took your remark."
The Judge was concerned. "What threat did he make?"
"Well, he didn't come straight out and threaten, but he said 'If I were you I'd check my brake hoses every morning.' "
"I said that?" inflecting as a question.
"So you admit it then? " he ignoring the inflection.
"I had to go to counseling for several months, Judge, and I'm still shaky. Check him out. He's a scary guy."
I was about to get scarier. "Okay. I'm through with this witness, Judge, but I have some evidence of my own."
"What sort of evidence?"
"A photograph depicting the scene of the alleged violation. As you know, pictures don't lie. And, also, they are worth a thousand words. Judge, you will note the date and time, 15 minutes after the so-called citation. As you can see there are branches from a City owned Tamarind tree almost totally obscuring the sign thereby making a violation impossible."
The Officer wanted in. "Hey, let me see that Your Honor."
She let him see as requested.
"Just as I thought. These are clever but obvious forgeries."
"How can you tell?"
"I spend six days every summer at the National Forensic Photography Institute in Boulder Colorado. I also attended a four week interdisciplinary agency review in Mankato, Minnesota of Soviet disinformation photos acquired from 1950 to 1970."
"OK, you're qualified. What's the problem?"
"Judge these photos have been digitally altered. Look at the characteristic halo around the fronds. Classic paste over. They're called 'pasties' in police lingo."
I protested. "Judge, I can prove he's wrong. My digital camera is in the car. I can show you these are untouched originals."
"Sorry. No cameras are allowed in the Courthouse without a press permit, and no camera can be brought into a courtroom."
"Judge, he knew that all along. He has no camera. He's prevaricating."
I wondered where did he get that word as the Judge banged her gavel.
"I've heard enough. The evidence sustains the citation. You are fined $75. and penalties." She wasn't through. " Don't go anywhere. I wasn't aware you had threatened a peace officer. I could refer you to the DA here and now, but I'm going to give you a break. Twenty narcotics anonymous meetings and twenty anger management, and you are forbidden to travel on Heliotrope or to frequent any other known drug trafficking areas. Sir, you should have taken this matter seriously. You should have gotten a lawyer."
"But I am a lawyer." I whimpered.
The Judge frowned. "Then you should have gotten a good one."
Turning to the officer she softened. "Say, you're out of Southwest. Isn't there a new Donut Factory opening out there today?"
"Tomorrow, Judge. You're a day early on that one."
"Damn." I thought. "How could I have gotten the date wrong? I must be going senile."
The cop wasn't finished. "Judge, I don't want to be followed. I have legitimate fears. Can you keep him here for fifteen minutes after I leave?"
"Rest easy Officer, and thanks for your assistance."
The clock seemed to be frozen, but finally it ticked 3:15 and the Judge nodded to the clerk who nodded to the Deputy who nodded to me, and as I trudged out. I felt I hadn't progressed much since the fourth grade.
Outside, the disconsolate train engineer was putting his cars and scenery into dozens of individual boxes and stacking them on a handcart. He was a nut, but I desperately needed commiseration and he was a willing donor and the only game in town.
"Well, we threw snake eyes today, Amigo." he said. "That Pro Tem was tougher than Roy Bean. The only ones with any luck was that bunch of no shows. And, of course, Bandini. I saw him leave the Courtroom beaming."
"Who is Bandini?"
"You must have seen him in there, short guy dressed like an Aeroflot air hostess. He's notorious."
"For what?"
"He's a buff."
"A buff?"
"Police enthusiast. A wannabe. Only he goes one step beyond. He shows up at Court and impersonates no shows. When a missing cop is called, he answers, reads the ticket, then testifies. They say he has more convictions than the DA and brings in more money to the County than the beer tax. But he's too well known by most of the Judges. That's why having a Pro Tem today was bad for us but good luck for him."
Damn. Damn. Damn. How could I have been so stupid? I should have known the cops must have some kind of minimum height requirement. It was probably the polyester that gave him credibility.
"Hey Counselor. You look like you lost your last friend." It was Big Stan, the Deputy from Department 10 upstairs. " Cheer up old man. How 'bout some donuts and coffee? I'm buying. There's a new Donut Factory over by the station house we need to christen properly."
"Sorry to disappoint Stan, but it doesn't open 'til tomorrow."
"Wrong Counselor, very wrong. I've already been. So, you coming or no?"
I hurriedly checked my wrist for my watch and my pocket for breath mints.
"Alright. But you'll have to give me some alternate directions. I'm not allowed on Heliotrope."