With the tragedies in Boston and West Texas, I felt the need to write something on the lighter side and step away from the turmoil overwhelming me. I’m sharing my smiling moment of the week to see if my humor is contagious.
Cop magazines inundate the Small Town Police Department every month. I usually have one or two sitting on my desk and I peruse them while waiting on the phone or eating lunch at my desk.
These journals include American Police Beat, Law Officer, LET (Law Enforcement Technology), and American Cop but there are many more. The majority of the magazines sit around the squad room taking up space, cause a mess, and get in our way. My fellow officers (the guys) ooh and awe over the latest police gear, ultra-cool Taser resistant gloves, the hot new police cruisers with all the bells and whistles that our small agency can’t afford, and every tactical gadget on the market.
Flipping through the pages of one of these magazines this week, I came across an advertisement for a new police flashlight. The pictures are the first thing that caught my attention. I started reading the ad and began laughing until tears slipped down my face.
If you’ve been pulled over at night, and had an officer point a flashlight in your eyes you’ll cringe at the pictures below. Looking for your driver’s license and registration, under these circumstances is almost impossible. But, for officers, these flashlights save our lives and many times during my stint at the police academy, I was on the receiving end of their use during practice scenarios. Hours later, when I went to bed, spots remained in my eyes. I know someone out there is screaming about the damage to eyesight but I can’t imagine pepper spray in the eyes is any less harmful and I suffered that too.
This brings me to the ad—“Lumen Face” the latest and greatest Streamlight rechargeable flashlight. I own two of their older models in two sizes and though I’ve tried other brands, Streamlight is my favorite. I finished laughing, read the remainder of the magazine, and then carried it back to the squad room. An hour later I found myself chuckling again, and retrieved the magazine to cut out the ad for my wall.
Some people may not have my twisted sense of humor and if so I hope you’re absolutely horrified (please). I absolutely must get this new light, the Lumen Face +500 lumens. When I arrest someone and get a Lumen Face booking photo, I will share it with you. Seriously their advertising states, “They’ll still be squinting after they’re booked.” Now I just need $150.00 to purchase it.
Jeff is new to our department and graduated from the academy about six months ago. He did well but had a bit of trouble with academics. He still managed to make it through with a 79 average. I will never hold my 96 over his head unless it’s to say, “That’s why I’m the detective.” I use this line on all the guys when they think they’re too smart for their britches.
Jeff received a call for a possible stolen vehicle at our small, but well stocked grocery store. I was in the office and the only supervisor on duty (no raise for this, no stripes, just more work) I could see his excitement and decided to let him handle it on his own.
Jeff ran out the door like he was heading to an active shooter. I smiled.
He radioed from the scene and put out an ATL (attempt to locate) on the missing car. His voice was excited but professional. The stolen vehicle was a gold, four-door, 2010 Buick Allure, possibly heading east. I decided to take a drive around the outskirts of town just in case. Unfortunately, I had no luck but it felt good to get away from my office and report writing.
Just as I put my signal on to re-enter the police department parking lot, I heard Jeff call over the radio that he was doing a “high risk” stop on the stolen vehicle. I pulled back into traffic, activated my lights, and sped to his location. My “fan” beside his vehicle was training perfect and I let him continue the lead.
With both of us positioned; driver’s doors open, sitting in the “V”, and guns drawn… we were ready. Jeff used his radio’s loudspeaker to give directions.
“Put your hands up where I can see them.”
Small, tentative hands went into the air. I started thinking we had a young juvenile car thief on our hands.
“Using your left hand only, open your car door and push it wide with your foot.”
The door opened and a slender leg with a high heeled foot pushed the door. The driver’s head turned around and Joleen from the sheriff’s office looked back at us. She wasn’t happy.
“Umm Officer Davis, I yelled, That’s Joleen.”
“I don’t know her last name but she works at the sheriff’s office.”
“Well she’s in a stolen car.”
“There might be another explanation.”
“The car’s stolen and she’s driving it.”
“Okay, it’s your call but don’t get trigger happy.” He was a rookie after all and I had to say something.
He continued his instructions, “Using your left hand, turn off the vehicle, and toss your keys out the door.”
I could hear the frustration in her voice, “My vehicle’s already off. What’s going on?” she yelled back.
Jeff didn’t miss a beat, “Take them out of the ignition, and toss them outside the vehicle.”
An angry hand threw the keys quite a distance away. Joleen had a pretty good arm.
Jeff went by the book and eventually Jollen was walking slowly toward us.
I only waited until she was at the halfway point, “Hi Joleen, it’s Suzie, the vehicle you’re driving was reported stolen.”
“It’s my neighbor’s vehicle. Mine broke down and she said I could use it to go to the store for milk.”
“Who’s your neighbor?”
“Michelle Rankin.” I knew Michelle.
“Jeff, who does this vehicle come back to?”
My detective brain gears turned quickly. “What color is the vehicle you borrowed Joleen?”
“Jeff, was there another gold vehicle in the parking lot near where Mr. Barley’s vehicle was parked?”
“Yes, but it was a few spaces away.”
“Did it look like this one?”
“Joleen, are you armed?”
“Then put your arms down.”
She continued walking to us and I got out of my car. I saw Jeff’s gun following her. “Jeff, put your gun away.”
Joleen began shaking and I thought she was going to cry. “Did you leave the keys in the vehicle when you went inside Joleen?”
“You know you took the wrong car.”
“I just figured that out.” I smiled which caused her to finally break down in tears. Jeff wasn’t sure what to do.
We called Mr. Barley and his wife drove him to our location. He drove away in his car after Joleen removed her milk and apologized profusely. Mr. Barley laughed and gave her a hug. I let her ride in my passenger seat and took her back to Michelle’s vehicle which, thank god, was still in the parking lot.
Poor Jeff, this is his rookie mistake and he’ll never live it down. I know it sounds like I live in Mayberry R.F.D. and some days it feels like it. If you didn’t know, R.F.D. stands for Rural Free Delivery or in my wishful thinking, Rookie Free Departments.
The picture above is a 2010 Buick Allure (Mr. Barley’s vehicle) and the one here is a 2004 Chevy Malibu (Michelle’s vehicle) but please, I’m no longer a rookie and would have solved this case in minutes because I would have run the plate of the other gold vehicle. I stopped believing in coincidence after my first year on the job.
I bet Jeff does the same thing but then again, that’s why I’m the detective.
Christmas in a small town is truly priceless and this year my holiday came early. The best gifts come in small packages and sometimes justice and laughter have no package at all.
I’ve been working on this case for more than a year. I can’t go into detail but it’s one that haunts me at night.
The long court process takes its toll on victims and officers. So often everyone arrives in court and nothing happens but setting a date for the next hearing. Explaining to victims that the wheels of justice turn slowly is never easy when my own frustration is at its limit.
In this specific case, the defendant has repeatedly changed attorneys and slowed the already sluggish process down. His latest attorney is a hot shot lawyer from the city. He’s nice enough outside the courtroom but thinks his big city antics have a place in Small Town. He’s written countless motions including his latest to suppress his client’s confession.
Everyone involved in the case was re-interviewed and the legal process continued, again.
There are things I do repeatedly throughout an investigation that make little sense to some and obviously made no sense to Mr. Hot Shot Attorney.
I read Miranda from a card in my wallet. I read it word for word. I know all the words, memorized them in the academy, and can probably recite them backwards but I never deviate from my tried and true methods. On the witness stand things get tense. If asked by the defense attorney if I read Miranda, I always reply, “Yes, from the card I carry in my wallet.” If asked to recite Miranda, I pull out my card.
I always re-read Miranda even if other officers tell me they’ve read it to the suspect. I take no chances and prefer to read mine in a recorded room. If I do read Miranda unrecorded, I re-read once I get to the interview room. Mr. Steamy Bullet Attorney decided to attack my practices. Unfortunately, he doesn’t understand justice in rural America.
I have a love/hate relationship with the judge. When he rules my way, I love him and when he doesn’t, I go home and call him names out of earshot from everyone but my dogs. I know who has the power and I’m not about to do anything around curious ears that may get me in judicial hot water down the line.
Judge Hoskiss and I go back to my very first case as a Detective. He’s mostly a cranky old man who sports a long grey beard. He’s “small town hick judge” personified and sometimes I want to scream, “But that’s not the way it’s done.” Seriously, America would have a huge problem with his courtroom. He’s known to let criminals out of jail before they go to prison in order to get their lives in order. Hmmm, years of prison, nothing to lose, let me count the problems. Well, there are so many I’ll eventually write another blog post about them.
So, the suppression hearing lasted three hours. Mr. Burning Ammo Attorney attacked everything he could about my Miranda procedures. Why would I read Miranda more than once? I must not have read it the first time, and so on. He was quite dramatic and the courtroom floor was obviously his stage. I on the other hand had a cold, coughed continually, and blew my runny nose. I had to ask him to repeat some of his questions because my loud sniffles overshadowed his voice. Seriously I wasn’t at my best. He used it all to make me appear like a stupid inept detective. By the time he finished, I actually felt like one.
It was finally time for the judge to make his ruling and I expected the worst.
Judge Hoskiss…“When I got dressed this morning I put on my belt and then I put on my suspenders. I wasn’t stupid or an idiot which you’ve tried quite hard to portray this hard working officer as. I just felt the need to be extra secure in my pants. Sometimes a belt and suspenders are called for on the same day. I rule in favor of the State.”
The gavel came down with a resounding thud and court adjourned. The judge left the bench and slowly from the back of the courtroom quiet snickers began. It continued to build and between sniffles and sneezes my giggles turned into full out laughter.
To everyone who carries a gun and Taser, nightstick and mace, wears a belt and suspenders, or just checks their list twice;
Yes, I’m alive!
My day job has been unbelievably busy (huge case) and I’m so exhausted when I get home that I veg in front of the television. If I sit down with a book, I fall asleep within minutes. Please don’t even mention writing. It weighs on my mind especially when my next book is over half written. I miss everyone and wanted to let you know I’m safe and that I will be taking a longer break from my blog but plan to be back after the holidays.
During this unbelievably busy time at work, I had an awesome ray of sunshine. It started with this email.
Subject: Question, and I promise I’m not a psycho
I’m gonna start by saying, as I’ve told you before via e-mail, that you are a great role model/inspiration for those of us in our age bracket (or any age bracket, actually) who only think about the things we would like to try or want to do but are either too chicken or don’t believe we should even attempt to try for fear of being let down/failure. Add to that the fact that you have a kindness for children and animals, and the underdog, that many lack. I always look forward to reading your posts. I was looking around on the internet at a friend’s website, and she had a link to some items that I had previous looked at but didn’t purchase. Well, something made me think of you and what you do and represent….you fight for those who may not be able to fight for themselves, and I don’t know this, but I’m willing to bet you do it with a vengeance. So long story short, I bought something that I’d love to send to you. I respect your desire for privacy. Is there a place that you let people mail things to you? You don’t know me from Adam, and in your line of work, I’m sure an offer of a gift from a stranger might make you raise an eyebrow. I can assure you that it isn’t an illegal substance. ha! I have some kind of unnamed psychological issue with going to the post office – hate to wait in the dadgum lines – so I can’t promise I’ll actually get it in the mail in the next few days. But I can manage to get it in the mail next week. If you are not comfortable with this, I will certainly understand, and I’ll just keep it for myself. It won’t be as fitting, but hey, that’s ok!
Hope you have a great weekend,
Now, everyone knows I’m a detective and I guard my privacy, real name, and location with a vengeance. BUT, how do I resist Donna? I couldn’t and she had my address within minutes of reading this wonderful email. She sent me a follow-up message when she mailed my surprise and let me know it should be arriving the following Monday.
I worked through the weekend and was so tired my vision was beginning to blur. Don’t worry I wasn’t on the street, just packaging mountains of evidence needing to go to the crime lab. I finished up and realized I didn’t eat lunch so I decided to drive to Subway to grab a sandwich and coke hoping caffeine would help me survive the day.
As I pulled out of the parking lot, I remembered Donna’s gift might be waiting at the post office so I drove there first.
We don’t have home mail delivery in Small Town so the post office is a hub of constant activity. It’s hard to get in and out without stopping to speak with people but somehow I managed. It might possibly have been my tired, unkempt appearance. My looks have been the least of my concerns.
What is it about getting a package in the mail? Through my exhaustion I felt giddy and I hadn’t absorbed my caffeine fix yet. My post office box had a key to a larger box and my heart rate increased even more. The box from Donna was about five inches wide, seven inches long, and two inches deep.
I walked to my car holding it close to my chest. Once I was sitting behind the wheel I should tell you I opened it slowly and delayed the suspense but hell no, I tore into the box with a vengeance.
Inside was a small black jewel type box with the logo “Confidence Beads A World of Good” Inside was a card telling about my bead that was attached to a key ring. There was also a white glossy letter from the company. The following is the first line:
You have received this special gift because someone cares about you!
I was sitting in my car behind tinted windows with tears streaming down my face. I can’t even begin to explain how I felt.
I looked around at the people walking past and going about their day. I forgot about my newest heartbreaking case, lack of sleep, frustration, and anger. No one walking by me knew my secret as they went about their business.
Sitting inside my car, looking out at the world was a warrior who could take on the world.
Thank you Donna for reminding me that I’m living my dream. Your gift will forever be special and you will always have a place in my heart. You renewed my inspiration and focused me on what is most important. Love!
I wish everyone a wonderful holiday season and I’ll see you back in the New Year.
Before I begin this post, I want to take a quick moment to talk about gun safety. A friend of mine, a 35 year officer, shot himself while cleaning his gun several years ago. He survived but it taught me a valuable lesson. When I clean my gun and magazines, I place my bullets in another room. As officers we become too complacent with our weapons and that’s when accidents happen. Now on with my story.
I’m a football widow. It’s been that way for 33 years and you would think I’d get over it. I’m not simply talking all day Sunday, its Monday nights, and Thursday nights too. My husband coaches 7th grade football and he plays in two NFL fantasy leagues.
In our game room there is an entire wall dedicated to the Oakland Raiders. Don’t mention LA Raiders anywhere near my husband or you are likely to be tackled. That was a very dark time in his life.
When my children were young and playing competitive sports, my husband would tell them they had Raider blood. As you can see his enthusiasm runs deep.
I try to spend my widowhood wisely; I write, I read, and I complain. He ignores me because he’s too busy getting his exercise running back and forth between the television and his computer in the office; must check those points and must rearrange those players. My Ipad and laptop are off limits to him because he becomes violent and jumps around a lot depending on what’s happening in a game. I’m also happy when the cooler weather sets in and I can close the windows during games. Him screaming, “Go baby go,” cannot sound good to our neighbors.
I’ve always cleaned my gun once a month after range day. I put a vinyl tablecloth down at the kitchen table and then use a few sections of old newspaper to absorb spills and splashes.
A couple of years ago, once a week on Sundays, and only during football season, I began cleaning my gun every week down at the coffee table next to my husband and the seasonal love of his life.
While I lay down the newspaper, a jar of solvent, brushes, cotton swatches, and oil he doesn’t even look over. I slowly and methodically, with soft supple hands, dismantle Clint (Glock 35 .40 caliber) named after Dirty Harry, the love of my life during football season.
I adoringly run my brush through the barrel and then using the cotton swatches make sure I get in between the crack of each separate part. I’m incredibly tender. I use a few drops of lubricant and make sure I have a gentle gliding feel. My hands are steady as I stroke the long cylinder. In my fingers the coldness turns to warmth. I place one drop of lubricant on each rear slide rail and massage it forward to the front slide rails. This relaxes me though my menopausal hot flashes seem to come more often during these sessions.
After Clint’s insides have shattered; slowly, ever so slowly, I place his pieces back together. Each part is a perfect fit. When my husband jumps up from the couch and cries out, I’m placing each piece in its proper slot and match him with silent words of my own, “Come baby come.” I’m in my own little world.
My hand grasps the slide rail and release, I pull it back. Strongly gripping Clint, my arms extend and my eye lines up with the front sight. I take a deep breath and as the air slowly leaves my lungs, my finger makes slow steady pressure on the trigger.
“CLICK” I shoot Tom Brady in the ass. “Slide CLICK” I shoot Clay Mathews in the knee. “Slide CLICK” I shoot Charles Woodson in the arm.
My husband jumps up and runs into the other room ruining my fantasy. Our television is still in one piece, the players continue to pat each other on the butt getting all the fun, and I’m still a widow. But, for those thirty-minutes it’s the most stimulating feeling in the world.
Everyone should be familiar with fight or flight. This is the mode your body goes into when you are in danger. You experience tunnel vision and your brain zeros in on safety. You won’t even realize you have pumped up adrenaline until you suffer the dump which happens after you’re finally out of danger; shaking, crying, and laughing are a few of the after effects.
Police officers have these same responses but we train to fight. It’s very hard to kick in our flight reflex even when we should. “Go home each night to your family,” is our daily motto. This means there are situations we need to get the hell out of, quickly. I think police officers are wired to have more of the fight instinct even before training begins. Disabling our fighting nature is difficult and I’ve been yelled at by supervisors for staying in a situation longer than I should.
I will admit I differ from my younger cop counterparts in one major area now. Cops love to give chase. They love runners; either on foot or in vehicles. Nothing gets an officer in the proper mood more than a good chase.
In my first two years of street duty I was guilty of the same response. Duty pants torn from hip to thigh, yep with everything hanging out, was only one of my many perils. Everyone now knows I wear black underwear beneath my uniform.
Can I outrun, tackle, and torment my escapee? I’ll be honest and say I’ve never outrun anyone on foot. I’ve had some pretty good car pursuits though. All have been short, and most end in the suspect ditching the car and running, I hate that. I was able to Tase a guy while he fought with my old partner Jim after a vehicle pursuit then foot chase. We were in mud and I received quite the electrical shock too. You will never see that video on cops.
When it comes to relying on my legs, I’m older now. My body requires additional coddling. The longer I’m an officer the more it takes to get my adrenaline pumping and I guess I’m wiser too.
A few months ago, my squad poked at me for not chasing a suspect on foot after he took a heavy inanimate object to his roommate’s head.
I was the first one to spot Coco (his street name) and I dispatched my location. Coco refused to get within Taser range but I was using my “Just come to the police department and talk to me” grandma voice when another officer came around the corner doing fifty miles an hour. Coco took off and the officer slammed on his brakes, jumped out, and started chasing.
I calmly got back in my car and began following. Coco is young, slender, and fast. My Crown Vic, is old, heavy, and reliable; kind of like me. Five blocks later I lost the first officer but kept Coco in my sights. He finally slowed and again I got out of my vehicle and started trying to coax him to do as I wanted.
Tearing around the corner, another officer charged our location. Coco got a little rest while we socialized and he took off again. Officer two flew from his vehicle and started running. I couldn’t help my sigh.
Here we go again and within another few blocks I have no backup and I’m following Coco as he slows and starts walking. I call in my location, knowing my fellow officers are heading back to their vehicles so they can find us.
“Really Coco, you want to keep running?”
“No, but they keep chasing me.”
“Then jump in the back of my car and I’ll take you in.”
“I need some water.”
“I’ll take you to Circle K and buy you one.”
“Are you being straight up?”
“Yep, but you better hurry because they’re getting close again.”
Coco jumped in my backseat. I have a cage so he’s separated from me and you can’t open the doors from the inside. I was pretty sure he didn’t have a weapon but I asked him anyway.
“Do you have any guns, knives, or bazookas on you?”
“No guns or knives but what’s a bazooka?”
I am getting so old, “It’s a type of bubblegum.”
“Oh, do you need some gum?”
“Yes, but I’ll pick it up when I buy your water.”
“Okay, thanks man, I mean ma’am.”
“No problem Coco, this isn’t my case but if you want me interviewing you I can.”
“No, I’ll talk to Sanders though.” Sanders is the first cop who chased him.
Gosh, there is no loyalty between cops and crooks these days.
I called in my Circle K location and the parking lot filled with red and blue flashing lights. I took Coco out of the back and searched him for weapons but I told him I would wait to put on handcuffs until after he drank his water. My fellow officers were pissed off but I told them they could buy their own water.
After handcuffing my in custody, I drove back along Coco’s escape route and located his shoe which he lost while running.
I took razzing from my squad for not chasing on foot. They seem to miss the fact that words did more good. I don’t mind. There are days I wish I started this career in my twenties and had the chance to run with the best of them.
Coco was out of jail the next morning and every time I see him he waves.
Sometimes I think police work is not a profession for older people, but then again; brains, laziness, and a good reliable police cruiser make up for it. Have I mentioned lately that I love my job?
My plan was to have a blog post out this weekend but life got in the way. My mother broke her knee, which is a long story and hers to tell, but I spent eight hours Friday in the emergency room. We had a delightful doctor who smiled, laughed, and was an incredibly cool guy. What a difference it makes when someone is so full of life and cheerfulness.
This is really only a quick note to send you to the interview I had with Aaron Heyntsen at Criminal Justice School Info. Aaron read the paperback of Bad Luck Cadet & Bad Luck Officer and asked great questions about some of the experiences I had at the academy and my first two years as an officer.
I answered one question with a not so politically correct answer and I worried it would be cut. Aaron explained the importance of keeping things real for potential students looking for a career in the law enforcement profession. I really appreciate his thinking but most of all his dedication to his career which he takes beyond the call of duty (in my opinion).
Yes, I swear I’m working on the third Bad Luck book and a blog post for next week. This picture of me is one of a group I took two years ago at the advanced age of 49. I like this picture because it shows my laugh lines and simple joy for life. The problem is, I look in the mirror now and see how much I’ve aged in the past two years. I must get updated photos so no one meets me and thinks I’m hiding behind a very old picture. Unfortunately, my highly skilled expensive photographer broke her knee and is laid up for a few months. Such is life
I’m working on the next Bad Luck book but I thought I would take a short break and write a blog post. This goes along with my last post’s theme but it’s the antonym (I like to use complicated words when I’m in a writing mood).
I had quite a few reasons to smile this week and just the simple joy of the changing seasons is one of them. The temperature dropped suddenly and 90 turned into 60. The trees are just beginning to change color and the next month will be beautiful.
Okay, enough with the soppy crap
I spent the week finishing up an investigation on a serious felony case and I typed the report which meant listening to twelve hours of suspect interviews. It’s a long monotonous chore but I put my headphones on and persevered.
Usually when I have my ears covered I’m left alone because I tend to be quite grumpy if disturbed.
Even so, there were no officers available so I was called out of my cave and asked to take a walk-in report.
I ground my teeth and went into the lobby.
Me: I’m detective Ivy, how may I help you?
Ditz: My dog was stolen.
Me: Where was it last seen?
Ditz: He gets a dog treat every day from the ladies at the title company and then he goes to the Dollar Store and they give him a treat too.
Me: What makes you think your dog was stolen?
Ditz: He always comes when I call him and he didn’t come this morning.
Me: Please give me a description.
Ditz: He’s a black Lab and he cost $500.
Me: Was he wearing a collar?
Ditz: No, he doesn’t like collars.
Me: His name.
Ditz: Kitty Kitty (I didn’t bat an eye)
Me: Okay, I’ll notify animal control that your dog is missing and see if he’s been placed in the pound. We have a leash law and it will be $30.00 to get him out if he’s there.
Ditz: You didn’t even ask what color he was.
Me: You said he was a black Lab.
Ditz: There are other colors of Labs.
Me: Not black ones.
Ditz: There are golden and chocolate too.
Me: Yes, but we don’t call them black Labs.
Ditz: Is there a supervisor available?
Me: Yes and I’m it.
Ditz: Well, is there a complaint form I can fill out. I don’t like your attitude.
Me: Yes, let me get that for you.
I walked back to my office and buzzed the secretary on her phone. “Please take Ms. Ditz an officer complaint form. If she asks to speak with me again, be warned; she will not leave the station alive.
Later in the day all the guys were laughing about the black Lab complaint against me. It was funnier as time went on and I laughed with them.
I live about a mile from work and on my drive home I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw a black, let me make that perfectly clear BLACK, Labrador walking along the road. I pulled over and called, “Here Kitty Kitty.” He jumped right over my lap and we took a ride to the kennels. I gave him a few treats and then booked him in. The nice me would have driven him directly to his owner’s house but the stubborn spiteful me did not. Sometimes life is wonderful.
This next delightful story happened today (my day off) when I took a break from writing and checked my Twitter account.
Jason McDonnell is a cop friend from Ireland and we tend to have fun Twitter conversations. His wife joins in occasionally and keeps him in line but today she wasn’t around. Here’s our conversation…(#FF is Follow Friday and a big Twitter thing)
Suzie: @jmcd432 Only you would use the “C” word in a tweet with my name. Have I mentioned lately how much I love you?
Jason: @SuzieIvy sorry wasn’t thinking It’s an Irish thing Sooo sorry
Suzie: @jmcd432 Too funny, I’m still laughing please don’t be sorry!
Jason: @SuzieIvy yaaaaay Lol It’s one word us LEO’s over here use to describe a heinous person who perpetrates a crime
Suzie: @jmcd432 A drunk called me that word over and over the other day. I didn’t consider he might be Irish
Jason: @SuzieIvy drunk and using that word Quite possible
Isn’t my job wonderful? I learn something new every day. At the first opportunity I’m calling my next dirty rotten suspect a cunt.
I’ve been absent from the blogosphere during the past month or so and I apologize. Finally my new Fang book has published; relief, sigh, jump up and down. The next book in the Bad Luck series is coming soon (I’m working on it today). My biggest excuse for not writing posts has been work. A friend and retired Bobby from England, currently residing in the US, just sent me an email and I think he says it best.
“Judging by what I’ve learned this last couple of months, doin’ police
work out here in the states is one dangerous occupation. There are
some whacked out nutters here, masquerading as the general populace,
holding down jobs and all.”
This pretty much describes what’s been happening on the streets lately. We are dealing with a huge methamphetamine problem. This leads to burglaries, violence, and just plain crazy actions on their part. Then we have the anti-government movement. There are a lot in our neck of the woods (Arizona in general). It doesn’t matter if the police agree or disagree with the current political agenda; they hate us for being part of the establishment.
We are also seeing a large coalition of white supremacists. I hate to lump them in with the anti-G but I think the two go hand in hand. I’m amazed at the number of homes I enter, for one reason or another, and see more and more symbols of hate. Click here if you are interested in knowing what to look for.
You know cops never like to admit they are scared but we talk about it amongst ourselves. We tell each other to watch our backs (cop talk – our 6), be alert, and make it home to our families. I feel bad that I’m one of the luckier ones because I only work two days of patrol a week and being a detective means I usually come in after the original volatile confrontation. Lucky me, but at the same time I’m afraid for the men at my department. They all have young children waiting at home for daddy. My husband bites his tongue many times (because he’s wonderful) but I know these wives live with daily fear and my heart goes out to them. I guess this is just part of being a cop’s wife or husband.
It’s quite difficult for me to tell everyone this but Mrs. Taylor from my post A Petrified Old Woman died on July 30th. Her declining heath finally forced her into a senior care facility. She was happy and chipper to the end. Her death has left an empty place in my heart even though I know she wouldn’t want it to. I’m smiling through my tears as I talk about her and her incredible spirit lives on.
I use this blog so I can smile and laugh frequently. I tend to stay away when I’m having trouble finding joy in my work life. The few posts I’ve written that deal with serious and sad issues have always generated words of comfort from my readers. I told myself this morning that if I didn’t break the cycle for my glum outlook I might never write another post, so this is it. Sorry!
I am thrilled to announce I’ve won another Top Cop Blog Award from VideoSurveillance.com I’m one of seven top blogs and the winning honors go to Cold Case Squad which is one of my personal favorite sites on the web. I am honored to be mentioned with the other great cop blogs though the paragraph and video below might make the powers that be change their mind in the future You can check out the top seven by clicking the link above.
On a completely tasteless, tactless, and inappropriate note, I looked up info to pass along about the symbols of hate and discovered if you put “white supremacist” in Google the top list of searches are all Dave Chappelle’s YouTube video of him masquerading as a black white supremist. I’ve included it below because I’m tasteless, tactless, and inappropriate, and this video made me laugh. Please do not watch if your sense of humor is on vacation or if you dislike strong language. Dave Chappelle I love you!
Cop blogs don’t pay so I was wondering if a criminal blog might. They probably already exist but who better, to teach the proper way to commit a crime than a cop. Also the Suzie Ivy Bloww Dryer© has not quite caught on.
To begin, I need a working blog title. Here are a few:
Robbing Banks the Right Way
How To Kill Your Husband in 10 Simple Steps
Smash and Grab the Big Stuff
Meth Addiction Made Easy
How To Go To Jail For 30 Days or Less
Cops and Rubbers (I’m the expert on this one)
Fifty Shades of Fraud
Keep This From Happening To You (this would be the blog logo)
I’ve checked and these titles are available on WordPress.
I believe education is the key. I was also thinking about the possibility of an advice column. Working title…
Crime Does Pay – Just Ask Suzie
Dear Suzie… (This would be kind of like Dear Abby meets Hannibal Lector)
I see newspapers syndicating me across the country. Just think how much their readership would increase. Contact: suzieivy at gmail dot com if you run a large media conglomerate.
Free Crime Tips of the Week:
Tape the drugs to your balls. Seriously we probably won’t find them
If you run, keep going. Most criminals return home. I stopped chasing these dummies a long time ago.
Never commit a crime on an empty stomach; cops don’t go after criminals until they’ve had a good meal
Use your siblings name and date of birth. The same gender is helpful but not required.
Never say you’ve only had two beers always say three.
You have the right to remain silent. Everyone knows this but crooks never shut up. SHUT UP!
Today is my 51st birthday. I share this exciting date with Amelia Earhart, my hero and Jennifer Lopez my look-a-like.
With the recent shooting in Colorado I needed laugher. I hope you were able to laugh with me. My thoughts and prayers go to all the first responders and their families and everyone affected by this senseless tragedy.