Cop's Perspective

‘Howlin’ Ray, a defense attorney and court jester.  More than likely responsible for the Missouri prison building boom.

No wonder, I can’t recall him ever winning a case.  All the cops kept “Howlin’ Ray’s business cards at their disposal.  Upon arresting a suspect the cops always slid one of ‘Howlin’ Rays business cards in the bad guys pocket.  He did a brisk business defending a number of the area’s most notorious criminals.

He came by the moniker ‘Howlin’ Ray because he would howl at the cop on the stand…OOOHHHH, you went to my clients house,  OOOOHHHH, then you took my client into custody, OOOHHH what led you to come in contact with my client?

He’d howl like a banshee.  Many times I observed jury’s cringe at his high pitched antics.  Not a very good way to put the defendant in a good light.  But then he often didn’t have much to work with but persuaded his client to take the case to a jury.  “Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of this jam…no jury would believe you robbed that little old lady.  You were just trying to get money to feed your drug habit.  Everything will be fine…Bullshit!!

One fine day Murph and I developed information that a well known burglar/drug dealer would be in possession of about eight ounces of heroin.  The dope secreted in a brown paper bag containing, in addition to the dope, a bottle of Remy-Martin.

We conducted a surveillance of the area and, sure enough, be-boping down the street comes joey-bag-of doughnuts with a brown paper bag.

Based on the information from a reliable informant we, along with some TAC cops conducted a stop and discovered nine ounces of heroin.

The mope-ass protested that he didn’t know anything about the dope…but claimed ownership of the Remy-Martin.  What a goof.

Fast forward about four months.

In the courtroom of Judge Jack Wanglin, ‘Howlin Ray had the cops on the stand, howling, as usual, at the officer giving testimony.  He questioned me about the snitch and some other non-sensical bullshit, howling all the while.

Then came the lunch break.  We left the courthouse and headed for the eat-rite dinner.

After a tasty meal of meatloaf on melmac we all returned to the courtroom of Judge Wanglin.

Since I testified I had the opportunity to sit in the peanut gallery.

It was Murph’s turn to testify.

‘Howlin Ray, seated at the defense counsels table made a big deal about the cops going to lunch together.  Laughing and joking at his client’s expense.

He asked Murph,  OOOhhhh, so you all went to lunch together.

Yes sir.

OOOhhh, and you were all talking and laughing.

Yes sir.

OOOHHHH, and you were talking about this case.

Yes sir.

OOOhhhh, so you were all conspiring against my client.

No sir.

Murph, being no dummy could see what was coming.

OOOhhh, would you care to tell the court what you all were laughing about.

I’d rather not sir.  Setting the hook just a little bit further .

OOOhhhh, you must tell the court what was so funny, and what you were talking about.

I’d rather not sir.

Judge Wanglin, leaned toward the witness box and said “Answer the question detective.”

Yes Judge.

OOOHHHH, now answer the question detective.

“Well, okay…I asked Detective Dye if you asked any intelligent questions and he told me no.

That’s all folks

To read about Ken’s latest novel, go to his website.

It’s hot.  It’s hot like only St. Louis is hot in mid July.  Shoes actually melted and stuck to the sidewalk.  Humidity, let me tell ya about the humidity.  A person can walk out of their house, apartment, condo or lean to right after taking a shower.  Within a few seconds, you feel like a limp dishrag.

St. Louis, MO, one of the hottest, inhospitable places on earth when it comes to the discomfort level.  This includes Panama and Viet Nam.

Murph and I are in the Drug Enforcement Task Force that covers the metro area.  Cops from departments around the city and county send detectives to work big cases.  Even the Highway patrol…except they always want to write the bad guys a speeding ticket!!

DEA, ATF and the FBI all have representatives assigned.  Of course the I wanted the OK to use our stats when they compiled cases worked, thus giving an inflated number to the end of quarter, 6 month and annual stats.

That’s OK most of us just wanted to work dope cases.

We have a snitch, DeVon, plugged into the black dope scene.  He provided us with valuable information resulting in a number of search warrants yielding extremely large quantizes of heroin, powder cocaine and the drug that grabs brain and body and turns the user into a stark raving maniac…crack cocaine.

Great social thinkers feel that the penalties for crack cocaine, possession of 5 or more grams is unfair.  It is unfair because the penalties for 5 grams of crack cocaine are the same as for 30 grams of powder cocaine.

Great debates about this stupid issue just wear me down.  The answer is simple.

DON’T FUCK WITH IT.

Devon, as with any good snitch, is difficult to locate whilst trying to find out about a group that popped up on the radar.  He is always available upon being arrested on a gun, dope or shoplifting pinch.

He came back in pocket after his latest brush with the TAC boys who caught him with a couple heroin “buttons.”

DeVon possessed info on a big heroin crib in the fine suburb of Pine Lawn.  A shitty little town overrun with drugs and crime.

Murph and I headed out the door to cove a team making an undercover buy of crack and a couple sawed-off shotguns.  The ATF boys salivated over that one.

Ms. Rohan, our unit secretary and all around good egg, said, “Ken, you might want to take this call…it’s Devon.”

I asked Murph to handle the call.  DeVon related a story about a big heroin stash, just hit town.  The bad guys in the process of breaking it down into ounces, half’s, quarters and eight balls.  This occurring, of course, after the product had been stepped on at least three times.  The additive being a Mexican laxative called Bombieta.  The Bombieta meant to counteract the constipating effect of the opium poppy and its derivatives.

Being in a big hurry, Murph told DeVon to drive past the local, obtain the numerics, color, size, shape and other distinguishing characteristics of the dope house.  Murph told DeVon we were in a big hurry…call us in a couple hours.

We both thought he must have gotten jammed up and needed to work off his case.  A thought process that is entirely correct.

We covered the team making the buy.  As is usually the case the only thing predictable about a dope, deal is that it’s unpredictable.  It’s supposed to go down at 3:15.  The seller only had one shotgun and the crack man hasn’t shown up yet.

After a number of calls between the dealers, the operation came to fruition.  The narc’s walked away with two ounces of brown heroin, three sawed off shotgun and a boatload of intelligence information.  This info would later prove invaluable in thwarting the ambush of two narc’s.

When Murph and I got back to the office, it’s 6:30, we hadn’t eaten, it’s hot out, and I had to take a monster leak.  I stopped off at the john, Murph went to his desk.  Before he could plant his ass in the raggley ass government chair, he picked up the phone.  That’s right DeVon.

Devon dutifully gave information about the house, where the dope could be found, the color, size and shape of the residence.  OK fine.

The last line on a search warrant is “Affiant prays that a warrant be issued for the structure known and numbered as 4356 La La street, front facing east rear facing west.”

Having this in mind Murph asked DeVon “Which way does the house set.”  As soon as the words were out of Murph’s mouth he realized what a stupid question to ask a street cat.

DeVon, in his feeble, drug addled mind said, “Ah, UMMM, er-ah, ya know I been thinkin’ ‘bout that man.  I believe that muthafucher sits sideways.”

DOPERS—THEY NEVER LET YOU DOWN!!!

To read about Ken’s latest novel, go to his website.

Courtney “Owl Baby” Newman a well-known creep, dope dealer and all around bad guy and his lovely girlfriend/baby mamma, Takiashia Brown dabbled in the sales and distribution of dope and guns.

As is customary in this situation both had lengthy arrest and conviction records. Not so customary, Takiashia, snitched for Murph and myself.

Takiashia came up with good information for us from time to time.  This activity, of course, conducted without the knowledge of “Owl Baby.”

Murph and I completed our undercover activities, now assigned to the street crew, that being former undercover cops that knew the criminal landscape and worked in the Street Corner Apprehension Team, referred to as SCAT.

Primarily targeting open-air drug markets and developing, following up on any major criminal activity.

One fine day Takiashia called our office looking for Murph and moi.  Ms. Rohan, the secretary tracked us down and told me Takiashia is looking for us with a most important crime bulletin.  Something about bloody tennis shoes, stashed clothes and a bunch of other gibberish that she couldn’t understand.

I contacted the source of all the drama and agreed to meet her near the abandoned carter carburetor factory.

By now, it was dark.  Like no moon or stars dark, like no streetlights dark.  Creepy dark.  Murph and I had our iron out and ready for quick access.  Is this a set-up?  Crazy thoughts run through your tired, oxygen-starved brain.

Tankiashia arrived on the scene and got in the back seat of our trusty red mercury cougar.

She couldn’t stop talking.  Words spilled out like a machine gun.  I picked up snippets like “Owl Baby”, bloody clothes, attic and I think he kilt that boy.”

After we settled her down with calming words like “What the fuck are you talkin’ ‘bout, girl?”  She composed herself somewhat and broke the set down to us.

The story revolved around a non-paying heroin distributor in the employ of our purveyor of fine dope products.  “Owl Baby.”

The late Billy “white boy Bill” McCurry, failed to make good on a fronted package of two ounces of heroin.  In the dope world, non-payment is, in essence, a death penalty.  That is a death penalty without benefit of court proceedings, endless appeals and pleadings of defense attorneys like “Howlin’” Ray Nixson with some fairy tale explanation why his client is not good for the charged offense.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Murph and I were able to get a reasonable, if somewhat disjointed, story about what the hell happened.

“Owl Baby” went in search of the dope thief ,”White boy Bill”, unfortunately for the victim, if that is the correct description, he found the chump getting down with a portion of the purloined heroin.

“Owl Baby” put an end to his antics via several bullet holes in the area of vital organs.  The evil doer then rummaged through the lad’s clothes looking for any money and the remnants of the fronted two ounces.  In the process rendering his clothes and tennis shoes bloody.

Murph and I being able to piece toghather that the clothes and shoes stashed in a closet.  The gun placed behind a radiator.

A quick check with the homicide boys indicated that, sure enough, “White Boy Bill” was a murder victim.

Our boss and the homicide boss agreed to let us work the case.  Proper procedure and all that shit.

Murph put out an arrest order.  I got a search and arrest warrants.  The hunt was on.  “Owl Baby” captured a short time later.

Grand jury indictments followed.

Then came the legal system, and depositions.

Tankieshia subpoenaed by the defendant’s attorney, “Howlin’ “Ray for an exploratory deposition.  “Howlin’ Ray trying to find out who snitched out his god-fearing client. She was accompanied to this party by an assistant prosecuting attorney.

After being sworn in“Howlin’ Ray asked if she was married to the defendant, Mr. Newman.

“Yeah we married, but we ain’t got no papers ‘yaunnderstan’”

“Then Mr. Newman is your significant other?”

“My what.”

“Never mind.”

“Tankishia, do you know Detectives Dye and Murphy?”

“Yeah…but I ain’t fuckin’ ‘em.”

THAT’S IT

To read about Ken’s latest novel, go to his website.