I haven’t seen much in the news to comment upon. It’s not that nothing is going on. The problem is that there are no credible sources of information. How does one go about rendering an opinion when information is lacking, biased or downright false?

Since that is the case, I decided to subject readers to my current work in progress. It is a work of fiction. If anything in the following stories bears any resemblance to the truth, there are two possible explanations. (1) The reader is gullible and would probably be more comfortable reading the New York Slimes. Or (2) the reader was looking over my shoulder and holding the flashlight when a particular event recounted here, happened.

At any rate the saga of the UNIT continues.

The Silly Season

Things were slow at the UNIT. Gentry, Sophie and the SS twins were burning off comp time. EWayne and Demetrius were wrapping up the Big Baller investigation. This mostly entailed debriefing incarcerated co-conspirators. Roscoe and his partner were cruising the highway. Buck was doing whatever Buck did when he was away from the office. Charlie, Pete and Doug were kicked back in the office, going stir crazy.

Normally, Doug could rely on Smiling Sammy to drag a dope dealing bottom feeder into Doug’s clutches. Sammy was away taking the waters. During a traffic stop, Hays City cops found two lawn mowers, a weedwhacker and a backpack leaf blower, all bearing University property tags in the bed of his pickup. The officer felt that he had an open and shut case for theft and didn’t believe Sammy’s story. The judge was equally skeptical.

Sammy was outraged. He explained to Doug that the fact that the property tags were still in place proved that he didn’t steal the items and was merely returning them. Any thief worthy of the name would have immediately removed the incriminating bits. Sammy claimed that he was looking for Doug when the harness bulls stopped him. Sammy hoped to recruit Doug to serve as go-between to return the equipment and negotiate a reward. Pete and Doug knew Sammy. Sammy’s story was just convoluted enough to be true.

Unfortunately, Sammy had a couple of “tells” that undermined his story. When confronted by law enforcement Sammy would get nervous. It didn’t matter if the cops were accusing Sammy or offering him a million dollars. The result was the same.

Sammy had a stutter. It got worse when he was nervous. With the exception of Doug, cops made him nervous. As the tension increased so did the stutter. Sammy had a second tell. As he ducked and dodged and fibbed to the cops he smiled. The bigger the evasion the wider the grin. The grin earned him his street name, “Smilin Sammy.” Sammy soon found himself in County jail, where he could relax. Sammy may not have been articulate, but he knew how the system worked.

Sammy had a working relationship with a local defense attorney. Three days after his arrest his attorney was at the District Attorney’s office. Sammy would plead to a misdemeanor theft complaint and take sixty days in county, no probation and any fine paid back in installments. The plea would save wear and tear on everybody, and the DA could chalk up a win.

It didn’t hurt Sammy’s cause that Doug and Pete had already been to the District Attorney and whispered in her ear about Sammy’s role in causing the arrest of the former County Judge. Sammy got his deal.

Sammy was philosophical. He told Doug that he regarded it as a busman’s holiday. He could renew old acquaintances and make new friends. Hanging in the pod was always good for catching up on the latest gossip.

The next problem was that the spring semester ended. The summer session had not yet started. Many UNIT snitches and their prey left town to frolic in the sun and surf. Pete, Doug and Charlie reviewed intel reports forwarded from patrol.

On TV, the good citizen calls and simply says, “I think my neighbor is a dope dealer.” That statement causes TJ Hooker, Starsky and Hutch and Cagney along with Lacey to show up shoot the neighbor and his dog and take his dope.

This doesn’t happen in the real world. If the call comes in to dispatch an officer will sent to the area. The typical report that follows has two variations, “Gone on arrival, (GOA) or “Saw Nothing, Did Same, (SNDS). Occasionally, an officer will provide an address, a description of the house and vehicles.

Things don’t get any better if the caller calls UNIT. The typical conversation goes like this, “My neighbor is a dope dealer.”

“Oh yeah, how do you know?”

“I just do.”

“Okay, what’s your name?”

“I wanna remain anonymous.”

“Here’s the deal. You got a pencil? Copy this number, it is for DEA. Ask for Group Supervisor Tony Williams. Tell him all about it.”

The exchange illustrates about ninety-five percent of the calls. Occasionally a non-mouth breather calls. “I think my neighbor is a dope dealer.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Starting at about five in the afternoon people start showing up at his house. People go in, stay about five minutes, then leave. Sometimes there are three or four people in the car, but only one goes inside. As long as the outside light is on people keep stopping. When the light is off, nobody stops.”

An exchange, such as this, would cause most narcs to at least pick up a pen. But it still isn’t good enough to get the narcs into the neighbor’s house.

Pete hit on a solution. He assigned the callers homework assignments. He asked them to note the day, time and description of the caller and the description of the car they were driving. If the caller completed the homework assignment, then Pete had the beginnings of something to work with. If the caller failed to follow up, that was one more complaint closed exceptionally.

What would eventually emerge was a pattern of behavior. Was one day busier than another? What was prime time? Who were the visitors? Did they have a history of drug arrests? Were any of them currently wanted? The amount of effort expended by the homeowner impacted the amount of time the guys at the UNIT might be willing to invest.

The next step was to establish surveillance. Pete and company would be trying to establish the caller’s veracity by noting the routine already reported. The arrival of a specific person or car could trigger the next step.

All of this is a long winded explanation of why Pete, Charlie and Doug had assumed vantage points overlooking the residence of Stanley Mann. The concerned neighbor had done her homework. Stanley was most active Monday thru Thursday. In a departure from the norm, most of the visitors arrived with bags and boxes and left five minutes later empty handed. As they drove away Pete, Doug and Charlie would take turns following them away.

They were working on a UNIT back channel. Pete keyed the mic, “Hey Mad Dog, how long we been doing this shit?”

Doug, aka Mad Dog replied, “Counting patrol, about ten years.”

“No, I meant today,” replied Pete.

“Oh, in that case, about two hours,” replied Doug.

Doug watched a Domino’s Pizza delivery guy drive by. The delivery guy pulled up to a house where Charlie had been parked. Charlie was following the latest visitor to Stanley’s house. The delivery person made his way to the front door. A guy answered the door. What followed was an animated discussion. The homeowner looked up and down the street. He finally produced a wallet and paid for the pizza. The delivery guy returned to his vehicle and left. As he did so, Charlie returned and parked in front of the pizza house.

Charlie hadn’t fully settled in before the front door opened and here came the homeowner armed with the pizza and a quart bottle of Pepsi. He walked right up to Charlie. He passed the pizza and drink to him. Doug saw the flutter of bills as Charlie handed the homeowner cash.

Charlie pipped up, “You guys want some pizza?”

“Charlie did you just order a pizza and a drink?” asked Doug.

“Nope,” replied Charlie. “I ordered the pizza, the guy that lives here threw the drink in for free.”

The activity continued for two more hours. Callers arrived bearing gifts and left empty handed. As dusk approached the porchlight went out and the traffic ceased. They eased on back to the office.

Pete opened the discussion, “What have we got?”

Doug reported, “Stanley has got a history that says he used to be a doper, but nothing recent.”

“That last car I followed ended up at the “Classy Lady,” said Charlie. Charlie named a topless bar that patrol cops referred to as the “Sleezy Slut.” The disparaging name didn’t keep the boys from patrol out of the place, when they were off. “Three chicks got out of the car. Two of em coulda been dancers.”

Pete checked the working file and picked up the phone. “Hey this is Investigator Townsend. I have a follow up question or two. What? No mam we took a look at the situation. Well, you are not supposed to see us. It’s secret stuff. Anyway, my question is when is trash pickup? Tomorrow, okay fine. We’ll be in touch. No really, we were out there. Don’t tell anybody. Did you see the kid on the bicycle pedaling around the neighborhood? You did? Have you considered the possibility that it really wasn’t a kid. Nope, he might have been a midget posing as a kid.”

“Chief is always alert to increasing diversity in hiring. Yes mam, Chief Thorpe is a very forward thinking police administrator. Don’t tell me, I’m sure Chief Thorpe would appreciate hearing from you. Certainly, you can use my name, in fact I insist that you do so.” Pete hung up.

Charlie and Doug burst into the laughter they had suppressed during the conversation.

“I just want to be a fly on the wall when Chief fields that call,” snickered Doug.

“Midgets, how do you come up with that shit?” asked Charlie.

Pete smiled modestly, “It’s a gift.”

“Don’t tell me, we’re going trash hauling tomorrow morning,” said Doug.

“Yup, bright and early. Let’s take it to the house, see you at six in the AM,” said Pete.

Charlie wasn’t exactly sure what the morning activity entailed. He suspected that they were going to rummage in Stanley Mann’s trash. He was half right. The object of the exercise was to go through Stanley’s trash. What he got wrong is that this wasn’t a curbside exercise.

Charlie, Pete and Doug met up at the office. Pete and Doug both drove pickup trucks. Charlie had inherited Sophie’s Mustang. Sophie was now tooling around in a late model Mercedes Benz that she seized.

Pete revealed the plan. Charlie found out that a trash run had three parts. First grab the target trash, second run like hell and third peruse the contents at a leisurely pace. Not a problem. Pete and Doug both had pickup trucks.

Charlie pulled up outside Stanley Mann’s house. The trash cans were at the curb. Doug jumped out and grabbed the first trashcan and then followed with the second. In less than thirty seconds two full trash cans were empty. The contents now resided in the trunk of Charlie’s Mustang.

The way Pete explained it, they couldn’t use either pickup truck. The contents of the trash cans might blow away as they drove off. They needed an enclosed space, which meant Charlie’s Mustang.

They returned to the office and pulled in back to the dumpster. Now the investigation could begin. The majority of the haul was stinking garbage. However, there were gems to be had.

Most prominent were thousands of matchbooks. The matches were there and unused. Missing were the strikers. A close second in number were empty blister packs of cold remedies containing ephedrine and pseudoephedrine. Less numerous were bottles of crystal iodine. The final piece to the puzzle, as far as Pete was concerned, was the stack of cheap sandwich bags with the corners removed.

The activities that Pete and company observed, along with the contents of the trash could now fit into a context. Stanley was operating a clandestine ‘speed lab.’ Most precursor chemicals for manufacturing methamphetamine are available at any big box store. The problem was obtaining those items in sufficient quantity. Stanley had an army of willing helpers that went out Monday through Thursday and purchased or stole the cold tablets and other chemicals. They delivered those items to Stanley, and he consolidated the contents, discarding the packaging in the process.

The question remained. Where was the “cook” or clandestine lab. Old time cooks defaulted to rural locations because the manufacturing process generated a distinctive odor. Secondly, speed labs had a nasty habit of blowing up. New style processes didn’t stink, but old habits are hard to break.

The sandwich bags demonstrated to the narcs that Stanley was packaging the results of his cook for sale at his house. A popular method of packaging was to place a quantity of the substance, usually cocaine or speed in the corner of a sandwich bag and then heat seal it shut. A hot knife will do the trick. A sandwich bag with holes in it is of no use to anybody, except the narcs. Count the bags, multiply by two and the narcs have an idea of the volume of sales.

“Good deal, Stanley is in the dope business,” Pete and Doug started to walk away.

“Hey, what about all this shit, what about my car?” complained Charlie.

“You can ditch all that stuff. We got pictures,” said Doug.

“But my car…”

“Sucks to be you. Think about the valuable lesson you learned today,” said Pete.

“All I learned was that we could have thrown all this shit into your pickup and covered it with a tarp,” Charlie complained.

“Exactly,” said Pete. “Good intentions are no substitution for proper problem identification and prior planning.”

Buck met Pete and Doug as they entered the office. “Ya’ll probably should have heeded your own advice. You know that little shit will get payback.”

“Yup, anticipation is half the fun,” said Pete.

“What have you got?” asked Buck.

“We got a guy doing shake and bake cooks at an undetermined location. He has an army of titty dancers providing component chemicals. There is so much traffic around his house even the neighbors noticed.

“How big?” asked Buck.

“Pain in the ass size. He might cook off a couple of ounces, and then double the yield with cut. After he gives a taste to the titty dancers, he’d have the same income as a 7-11 clerk,” said Doug.

“Yeah, but a 7-11 clerk doesn’t have the same social status as a speed cook,” Buck pointed out.

“We’re guessing he will be heading out to the cook site this afternoon. We’re gonna follow him,” said Pete.

“I’ll round up EWayne and Demetrious. Do you want Roscoe for a roadkill?” asked Buck.

“No,” said Pete, “if Stanley follows speed cook union rules, nobody will be in or out until the cook is done.”

Doug did further research and discovered that during the previous two years the Highway patrol cited Stanley in Solms County. Buck made a couple of phone calls and determined that one stop occurred on a Friday. The second happened on a Sunday. Both, according to the Justice of the Peace, were on the same stretch of road.

Pete decided to break up the surveillance. Doug would station himself to watch Stanley leave. Pete, EWayne and Demetrius would assume positions along the route to reach the road in Solms County. Charlie and Buck would hang out in Solms County.

At three in the afternoon, Stanley finally stirred. Stanley backed his minivan out of the garage. He returned to the garage and began carrying boxes out to the van. A short time later a car pulled up and a woman exited the passenger side. She was carrying a backpack. The car drove off. Stanley finished loading the van and closed the door. Each of them climbed in and they were off. Doug reported his observations. He didn’t follow.

Crooks are alert to the possibility that they could be under surveillance. The logical starting point would be from a known place, like their residence. Their theory goes that if they get away from that known place clean then the rest of the trip was a breeze. Paranoia kicks in, as they near their destination. Stanley never snapped to the fact that Demetrius, EWayne, and Pete were with him for most of his journey. He never noticed Charlie and Buck as he pulled up to the gate of what had been his grandfather’s homestead.

The surveillance team joined up at a ranch just down the road. Nobody was surprised that Buck and the rancher, Bill Jones were longtime friends. Within twenty minutes Pete, Buck and Jones were bumping across the pasture for a tour of the fence line common to the ranch and Stanley’s place. The tour also included a history of the place. The old man died fifteen years ago. The son, Stanley’s father, lived in Houston. The family used to use it on weekends and during deer season. Now the only person that visited was Stanley. According to the rancher, he was not neighborly.

The ride along the fence line revealed a typical central Texas ranch. A Sears mail order house flanked by out buildings and a cistern. What attracted Pete’s attention was the dump that was about five hundred feet from the house. It was a widespread practice on farms and ranches that vehicles, equipment and junk no longer of use were abandoned at a central location. The survey completed, they returned to the ranch house.

If Stanley held true to form, there would be no coming and going from the clandestine lab until he the “cook” was over. If the traffic tickets were any indication that wouldn’t be until Sunday. Pete detailed Charlie to get eyes on Stanley’s ranch house. EWayne, Doug and Demetrius would be ready to follow anybody who left the ranch away.

Absent any activity at Mann’s ranch, Pete’s next move would take place after dark. Once night fell, it would be time for another trash run. With this run they wouldn’t need Charlie’s car.

The uninformed maintain that the police can’t search without a warrant, Fourth Amendment they cry. Yeah, no. The Fourth Amendment bans “unreasonable” searches. The Supreme Court dictated a variety of circumstances where a police search, without warrant is reasonable. The UNIT found itself in its current situation by following a circumstance anticipated by the Supreme Court.

Stanley put his trash out at the curb for collection. In doing so, he abandoned the contents and no longer had a reasonable expectation of privacy. Scavenging animals could scatter the contents of the trash can, thus exposing trash to anybody passing. Trash pickers could rummage around looking for anything of value. Finally, the municipal trash pick-up would carry the contents away. So, if the cops wanted to help themselves…

Once darkness fell Pete accompanied by Doug made their way to the dump behind the Mann house. Pete was interested in seeing if the midden would shed light on Stanley’s speed cooking activities. In an urban setting cops would be hard pressed to creep a person’s property (the curtilage) without permission or a warrant. In a rural setting the rules are different. Pete could visit the “back forty” but not the area around the ranch house or barns. In Supreme Court parlance the concept is called “open fields.” There is a simple test in a ranch situation for what is and isn’t curtilage. If one doesn’t have to worry about stepping in cow shit, that area is the curtilage.

Within minutes Pete and Doug knew they had found the site of the clandestine lab. The refuse both in quality and quantity qualified the ranch dump as an EPA defined hazardous waste site. They made their way back to the neighboring ranch.

In previous years raiding a speed lab entailed arresting the crooks seizing the dope, dumping out all the chemicals and destroying the equipment. Those days were past. A speed lab, the equipment and the chemicals are hazardous waste. Not only did the cops have to worry about exploding labs, but they also have to take steps to mitigate the waste hazard. This meant specialized training and equipment and contractors to haul the waste away.

Household products available at any big box store, set down in the context of a speed lab suddenly became hazardous waste. A couple of hundred bucks in component chemicals would cost thousands to clean up.

The UNIT didn’t have the expertise to deal with a clandestine lab. Pete also wanted to avoid the expense. DEA possessed both the expertise and the budget. But DEA didn’t like to work weekends unless it was their idea.

Buck now possessed all the information that Pete had. He waited to see if Pete arrived at the same solution as he. “You grew it, you chew it,” Buck pointed out. “What’s your plan?”

“We take Stanley and DEA can have the lab,” said Pete. When Stanley rolls out of there on Sunday, he is going to have the finished product with him. We let him get down the road and road kill him. We take his dope, secure the ranch and let DEA take down the lab. The hardest part will be waiting until he leaves.”

“It’s nice to see that you live by the advice you gave Charlie,” said Buck. Bill has got a deer camp. We can hunker down there. Send EWayne into town to do pick up groceries. I’ll get Roscoe’s partner to head this way. You call Tony at DEA and give him a heads up.”

The rest of the weekend followed the script followed in deer camps all over Texas. There were guns, guys around a campfire, steaks on the grill and raunchy humor. The only difference being that on Sunday Bambi was safe. For Stanley, Sunday was really going to suck.

Sunday rolled around and the team was ready. Stanley rolled away from the ranch shortly after noon. Pete allowed him to get away from the ranch. Picassio took him down on the wrong side, (for Stanley) of the Bass/Solms county line. Stanley was all sweetness and light, up until he saw Roscoe. Roscoe told everybody there what Stanley already knew, there was dope in the van.

As Pete predicted, Stanley’s efforts produced two ounces of methamphetamine. Stanley made the mistake of trying to blame his female companion. The mistake wasn’t trying to shift the blame but doing it where she could hear him do it.

Shirley Bowen was a headliner at the Sleezy Slut, dancing under the name of “Sis Boom-bah.” She quickly figured out that batting her eyes and shaking her store bought boobs at Charlie weren’t working. She overheard Stanley trying to dump the dope on her. She identified Stanley as the cook and the ranch as the site of the lab. She proved the saying that a woman scorned, held true.

Stanley and Shirley soon found themselves booked into the Solms County jail. The judge would set bail on Monday. Since they were both outsiders the chances that they would be able to meet the bail was slim.

Buck got a deputy detailed to the Mann ranch. Pete filled Tony in on the arrest. Tony agreed to provide the clandestine raid team and clean up if Pete wrote the warrant.

The subsequent warrants at Stanley’s home and ranch only confirmed what they already knew. Stanley didn’t have anything to add. Shirley had the want to but not the ability to provide coherent information. Some people are born to be titty dancers.

Dope

Chief Thorpe hung up the telephone. He didn’t like having conversations with the mayor. As far as he was concerned the reason Hays City had a City Manager was to keep the mayor at bay. The mayor heaped all sorts of praise on the Chief for something he hadn’t done, in fact couldn’t conceive of doing. That fucking Townsend!

Thorpe violated one of iron clad rules for police administrators. He abandoned home field advantage and set out for the UNIT. His reception should have been an indication of things to come. Thorpe was stymied by the simplex lock. He couldn’t walk right in. He had to ask for permission. He was in plain clothes. Picassio and Roscoe answered the door. They had no idea who Thorpe was. When Thorpe tried to bull his way in, Picassio stopped him. Roscoe barred his teeth and growled. Thorpe got humble, quickly.

Pete attracted by the commotion came to the door. “Roscoe, don’t bite him, you might get sick. Picassio let him in. Chief Thorpe meet Roscoe and his partner Picassio.”

A shaken Thorpe edged his way past the pair. “He offered his hand to Picassio to show there was no hard feelings. “Picassio, that’s a strange name for a dog.”

“I’m Picassio,” said Picassio. “He’s Roscoe,” pointing at the dog. Roscoe buried his nose in Thorpe’s crotch by way of greeting.

“What’s up Chief?” asked Pete.

“Midgets,” replied Thorpe. “Our idiot mayor somehow got the idea that the PD has a cadre of midgets hired on as cops, something about diversity. He has visions of a major PR campaign, maybe get on ‘Sixty Minutes,’ certainly the six o’clock news.”

“That’s brilliant Chief! Midgets, bet they could be sneaky little bastards. Everybody looking out at eye level, never see them little dudes coming. Deadly too. They could clear out a bar room brawl. Walk into the fight and use the fighter’s balls like a speed bag,” said Pete. By this time Charlie and Doug had joined the pair.

“It seems that the mayor got a letter from a citizen. She heaped all sorts of praise on me for hiring midget undercover officers. You and the midgets also came in for praise for ridding the neighborhood of a dope dealer. Know anything about that?” asked Thorpe.

“Well, we did conduct a surveillance in a neighborhood that resulted in the arrest of a dope dealer,” said Pete. “A neighbor lady provided input towards that end. She inquired into the means and methods we used, and I told her that was secret. She pushed for a more specific answer. I guess she got confused by my explanation and got the impression that midget cops might have been involved.”

“What in the hell am I supposed to do with that?” exploded Thorpe.

“Tell the truth,” said Pete. “Truth comes in many shades.”

“What? That the mayor and his constituents are idiots?”

“You are being modest, Chief. Jump right in there with the mayor and citizenry,” responded Pete. “You are unable to confirm or deny the assertion. To do so would compromise undercover means and methods and expose valiant officers to harm,” Pete managed to say without cracking a smile.

Thorpe mumbled, “I could maybe make that work.”

Charlie and Doug were each chewing on their fists trying not to bust out laughing. Thorpe turned and caught them at it.

“Charlie, if you follow Pete’s example, I’ll pull you back and make you my administrative assistant and gofer,” threatened Chief.

“What’d I do?” whined Charlie.

“There’s no telling,” said Thorpe. “But if I catch you the extent of your police work will be to ask at lunchtime. You want fires with that, Chief?” The shot hit home. Thorpe had to resign himself to the fact that while Pete and Doug were lost causes, he could still strike terror in Charlie.

Charlie was feeling put upon. First, Doug and Pete had loaded his car up with stinking garbage. He paid fifty bucks to have his g-ride detailed. Now Pete skates on the midget scam. Charlie, an innocent bystander, gets the brunt of the Chief’s rath. Payback is a bitch.

Charlie recently began dating an agricultural science major at the university. She was coordinating efforts to gather manure from various barns and combine it with plant waste from university landscape efforts and combine the two into usable compost. The compost was available for both university use and sale to the public. He called her and made a lunch date.

Things were slow at the UNIT. Quitting time rolled around and Pete and Doug headed for home. Pete arrived home to find Annie standing by her car parked in the street. The reason she was in the street was obvious. There, blocking the driveway right at the curb was a steaming pile, of compost.

Annie grinned at him, “Is this what you narcs call good shit?”

Doug came home to find the same type of pile waiting for him. Being a country boy, he was able to fire up the tractor and soon move the pile. The next task was to load the tractor on the trailer. He knew that Pete didn’t have a tractor, but rightly suspected he had a pile of shit.

Buck greeted Pete and Doug as they came in the office. “How’s that anticipation thing working out for you?”

“Actually, pretty good,” said Pete. “After last night I figure we’re in good shape. The score is back to even.”

“I wouldn’t depend on that,” said Buck. “We got a new addition, should be showing up today. The University finally got around to replacing Tony. She should be showing up anytime.”

“Oh-oh,” said Doug. “Don’t tell me let me guess, Sharon James.”

“Yeah,” said Buck. “What do you know about her?”

“She could be one of Pete’s midget cops. I’m not sure she breaks five feet. About a hundred pounds dripping wet and every inch and pound just meaner than hell,” said Doug.

“She took a parking ticket and parlayed it into an aggravated assault on a peace officer and riot. On top of that she put the football team’s star running back on the disabled list with a career ending knee injury,” said Pete.

“To be fair to her, he started the fight,” pointed out Doug.

“She plays in the same league as Scott, but on the opposing team. Might be a good idea to have Scott around to disabuse her of any preconceived notions she might have.”

“He’s down at the airbase in Walnut Springs doing his truck thing,” said Buck.

Scott Broward was from Schumann County. He had carved a niche for himself working dope carrying tractor trailers. The cops flipped captured drug haulers. Their truck equipped with tracking devices and cameras and sent on their way to their ultimate destination. Scott was able to monitor their progress. He alerted cops in the destination cities to pick up an active surveillance as they drew near.

He was a respected member of the UNIT. He was also openly gay. His department assigned him to the UNIT based on his sexual orientation, rather than his abilities. Unlike more traditional law enforcement entities, the members of the UNIT didn’t care about his sleeping arrangements.

The successful members of the UNIT were interested in keeping the main thing, the main thing. Any agenda that interfered with that sentiment was not acceptable. They were risk takers who didn’t tolerate the risk adverse. Eight to five didn’t cut it, they were there until the job got done. Politically correct and social niceties were nothing more than a refuge for time servers and politicians. Work hard, play hard and the UNIT was the most fun one could have with their clothes on.

First Sergeant appeared. I got a chick at the back door says her name is Sharon James and she is supposed to be here. I dunno, could be a dodge to sell girl scout cookies.”

“Let her in, First. She is assigned here,” said Buck. He added under his breath, “whether she belongs here remains to be seen.”

James followed First in. Black tee shirt, black BDU pants, Doc Martin boots all under a haircut that the Marine in Charlie would be proud of dashed any thought that she could pose as a fem fatale. The hair cut offset by the purple highlights in what hair she displayed. Her eyebrow piecing and the six earrings in each ear made her edgy rather than Marine. She had a backpack slung on one shoulder. As Charlie later put it, “if you asked her for a nickels worth of tit, you were entitled to expect change.”

Buck made the introductions all around and then decided that he had to make a phone call.

Charlie stepped forward, “How bout we start with the ten-cent tour. I’ll show you around. Dump your backpack on that desk over there. It was Tony’s, now it is yours.”

The tour over, they returned to the squad room. Pete and Doug were waiting.

Pete began, “I don’t know what you have heard about the UNIT. Don’t know if being here was your idea or somebody else’s. We know some stuff about you. I suspect you’ve heard some stuff about us. We’re not interested in baggage. Don’t care if your dog likes you. All that matters is that you want to work and can do the job. So, all that being said, what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

“Fuck that nice girl stuff. I’m a cop. I won’t get your coffee and I don’t do windows. I haven’t got enough tit to shake in your face,” began Sharon. “I’m here because I blew out the knee of the star running back and with that, a NCAA playoff spot.”

“They thought about firing me. My attorney who is so butch she makes me look feminine convinced them that would be a bad idea. I never thought about working dope. Being a pistol toting babysitter was wearing thin, so this is cool,” said James. “I’ve got two years of patrol in a college environment. I don’t know shit about dope, snitches, or investigations that last more than twenty minutes.”

“Understand this, you are the new kid we are gonna fuck with you, but we’re not interested in screwing you. Do you understand the distinction?” asked Doug.

“I’m good with that,” said Sharon.

“All the rest we will teach you,” said Pete. “Follow our lead and you will be an expert witness in state and federal court. You will be able to pick up the phone and call an Assistant United States Attorney or any of our District Attorney’s by first name. At the end of the year, you will have participated in more felony arrests than your entire department. But keep in mind back at your department you are just another fuck up that couldn’t hack it, down on the farm.”

Charlie decided to jump in, “that may sound like sour grapes, but it isn’t meant to be. I’ve been a cop about as long as you. Have you ever been to Grand Cayman on a yacht? Ever seen a million dollars? I have. Ever been shot at and then returned the favor? Hell, all that was just in one month.”

“We’re running a skeleton crew right now because four people are burning off comp time. There is no overtime. We work about ten-eleven months a year,” said Doug.

“Either that, or we cram twelve months of work into ten,” quipped Charlie.

“The next step is to turn you over to First. He will get you keys, credit cards, a radio and a car assigned,” said Pete.

Inwardly James was reeling. In twenty minutes, these guys had violated all sorts of EEOC rules both real and imagined. The only thing they hadn’t done is come at her with the old, ‘don’t you worry little lady routine.’

James’ attitude was much like Broward’s. She wasn’t interested in waving the fag-flag. At the same time, she wasn’t going to allow herself to be a doormat. Give and take was fine. Assault was another story.

Nobody explained to her who or what First was. He cleared that point up during the in-processing. She didn’t know what surprised her more, that the UNIT intended to issue her credit cards and a driver’s license in an alias name or that she had a say in the matter. First took her out back to take a look at the cars on hand. If none of those met with her approval, he assured her he had one or two others stashed at the airfield, wherever that was. She decided upon a four year old Volvo. First assured her the Volvo used to belong to a little old lady marijuana grower.

Once back inside, Pete demanded that she get her gear. He took one look at her ballistic vest and rejected it out of hand. She inherited it when she joined the department. Pete pointed out that it was six years old and offered the lowest level of protection.

Pete stuck his head in Gentry’s office. Buck was napping on the couch. “We’re heading to Austin; she needs a vest and shit. You want anything?” Buck couldn’t think of anything. “Come on Sharon, we’re going shopping.”

James fell in step with Pete, and they were off.

“That’s it, we’re going to Austin, shopping?” asked Sharon. “No travel orders. No three bids. No, we have to hit accounting to get a check?”

“You’re assigned to the UNIT now,” said Pete. We get a call, you’re going. Your vest is shit. I can stick you in one that works, but it will be three sizes too big. To me, that is an officer safety issue. On top of that we have an account and a contract price for stuff such as vests. What are you carrying? Do you have a back-up piece?”

“No, I’ve just got the one, a Glock 17,” said Jones.

Pete made a phone call. The rest of the trip north consisted of small talk as two cops circled one another trying to separate the real from the bullshit.

Pete pulled up in front of a nondescript building. The door was locked and only unlocked after he displayed his police identification.

Pete found a clerk that he had dealt with in the past. A quick hey how are you and Pete got down to business. He ordered a Level III ballistic vest and tactical carrier.

“We got your fax. Anything else?” asked the clerk.

“Yeah, a Glock 26, and three mags. We’ll be looking at holsters,” replied Pete.

Forty minutes later they were back on the road. Sharon was the proud custodian of a Glock 26, a Level III ballistic vest and all of the accessories.

“Be sure and check in with First. He’ll want to add all that stuff to the inventory. It’s up to you to provide a gear bag,” said Pete.

Who are these guys? They spent more time and money looking out for her wellbeing, based on four hours acquaintance, than her department had in two years.

Once back at the office, Sharon spent her time updating First’s inventory. Doug took her by the hand and helped her build what he called an ET kit. Field test kits, gloves, packaging materials, Sharpie pens, evidence tags, blank tags, paperclips, tape and assorted forms to aid in booking suspects. She accumulated this stuff but had no place to put it. First stop tonight was to buy containers for all of her new found gear.

As the end of shift approached, she heard the click of claws on linoleum. Roscoe came up to her and introduced himself as only he could. He was followed by Picassio who settled for a handshake.

Charlie reappeared and offered to drive her g-ride home. The term confused her. He had to explain that g-ride was the UNIT term for a take home car. Sharon accepted his offer. Once home she thought about inviting Charlie in to have a beer but discarded the thought. She didn’t want him to read anything into such an offer. She settled for a “thanks a lot.”

Charlie would have been confused with that type of thinking. What he saw was that Sharon had two vehicles. Each had to get from point “A” to point “B.” Sharon couldn’t do it alone. She needed help. He could do that. It wasn’t about getting a leg up, or over. Nobody was keeping score.