by Lou Reiter
Pepy was in good physical shape. He wasn’t real smart, but he kept his mouth shut and most of the guys in the academy thought he was okay. Before he knew it, Pepy graduated with a flock of newly minted trainees. His class lost about a quarter of the recruits, mostly because they were “sorry-assed pukes,” as the young Pedro often referred to them.
With certification in hand, Pepy went shopping for a job. He didn’t have much formal job experience. His only time clock had been punched at his dad’s landscaping business where he worked side by side with his brother. After arriving in the USA via the waters of the Rio Grande, Pedro’s parents studied hard, paid the right people, drowned in red tape, and eventually processed through naturalization benefiting from the Workers’ Visa program. Growing up, Pepy hadn’t been arrested once. He could have found himself behind bars a few times, but luck was with him. His vices were small—a little pot smoking, a lot of drinking, rounds of fist fighting, and liking the girls a little too much.
Pepy’s job hunt took him to Lode Star, a little Texas town nestled in the valley. It was a small community with just five cops on the force. Soon after showing up for his interview, the chief gave young Pedro a quick once over, glanced at his cert, and within three minutes gave him a badge and gun. Pepy was ordered to go to the uniform store the next town over and get suited in a cop’s uniform.
By the end of the week Pepy was on the street cocooned in a battered police car. No field training and no supervision were on the agenda. Pepy learned to follow his own directives.
He particularly liked to write tickets on the trucks coming across the border. Sometimes he got a little something from the driver to make his day and the ticket was ripped up on the spot. Nobody cared about following rules in Lode Star, or so Pepy thought.
Unfortunately the young cop let his dick rule his brain and started having sex with the mayor’s daughter. This was complicated by issuing a city councilman a traffic ticket, and then refusing to tear it up as the councilman demanded.
Pepy’s third strike? He arrested the mayor’s wife for drunk driving. He was out. Slowly the light dawned—Pedro Fuentes realized there was a whole lot of politics in policing. He was soon out looking for another job, without sterling recommendations.
Around the time Pepy was searching the want ads, two cops in the town of Buena Vista were convicted of stealing money from drug dealers, at least that’s who the hapless fools thought they were stealing from. The drug dealers were undercover cops working with the feds. The feds were hoping to catch the chief of police and mayor in the sting, but settled for busting the two sorry cops.
Pepy arrived on the town scene in the nick of time. Within a day he was back in a police car with a new shiny badge. Wiser this time, the young cop looked over his shoulder constantly and watched whom he stopped. He wanted to keep this job.
Three years passed quickly. Pepy liked his job and the residents of Buena Vista, but he noticed only those with family connections to the chief, mayor, or council members were promoted. Pepy had zero connections, other than a night or two of passion with the mayor’s wife when the city leader traveled out of town. Again Pedro’s future wasn’t bright. He started to look around for a third police department to join.
Sierra Vista was the largest city in the valley. A police force of 400 kept citizens safe, with an additional 80-plus civilian workers supplementing as support staff. Sierra Vista boasted over 200,000 residents, but another 100,000 bodies entered the city to work each day. Sierra Vista had a large federal office complex and was home to the county courthouse. Several pharmaceutical companies had relocated to the city, swelling its base. Affluent families lived in the area north of town snuggled in the low foothills. Just outside the city limits, a large lake was formed by a dam. The dam offered pleasurable summer recreation for residents and visitors. On the surface, Sierra Vista looked benign and a little like Disneyland.
Pepy didn’t know a soul in Sierra Vista, so took a chance cold calling at the city employment office. Hoping for the best, he hesitantly entered the city’s Human Resources Department. A pretty white girl with Dolly Parton curls circling her features welcomed young Pepy and assured him the city was always looking for qualified police officers. When she walked to the file cabinet for an employment application, Pepy’s eyes followed the curve of her ass, accented by promising dimples.
Pedro Fuentes smiled and sat down to complete the initial paperwork. He procrastinated long enough to welcome the lunch break.
“I think this should be enough for your agency to take a preliminary look at my qualifications and experience, Ms…” Pedro offered with a smile.
“Baker, my name is Sharon Baker,” the sexy blond announced as she gave a cursory look at the paperwork.
“About time for lunch, Ms. Baker? I don’t know any good places to eat here in Sierra Vista. Would you kindly let me buy you lunch if you’d show me a good place?”
The next morning, Ms. Sharon Baker was perking coffee for her night lay and piling sweet rolls on a delicate flowered plate when Pepy shuffled into her kitchen, toweling off after his shower.
“I showed the initial paperwork to my boss and he had me run it over to the Police Department. I think they’ll be giving you a call soon, Pepy.”
Pepy smiled and lustily lunged into a sugary roll.
He was hired within two weeks and said a hasty goodbye to Buena Vista. Pepy really liked the police work Sierra Vista offered. The city was constantly hopping. This place had real crime, not the chicken shit stuff his prior two jobs loosely called policing.
Sierra Vista was a drug emporium. Drug and street gangs brought terror to the night. The city boasted shootings, knifings, and even murders. This was the place Pedro Fuentes was meant to be a cop. He loved the work, excitement, and money. Some money was legal, some was not. It was all a day’s pay for Officer Fuentes.
Within three years on uniformed patrol, Pepy was asked if he wanted to work the Street Narcotics Unit, SNU for short. If? Hell, he couldn’t wait! The unit consisted of ten officers and one sergeant. The mission was high impact, and officers were directed to hassle, arrest, and prosecute suspects, with or without cause. The unit worked its own hours. Some joked, “There is no crime until it’s overtime.”
Narcs usually worked in jeans and black t-shirts with SNU stenciled on the back, but sometimes they wore black fatigues to confuse the bad guys. They mounted new Dodge Chargers with Hemi engines as their powerful steeds.
Pedro Fuentes was in cop heaven.
Before long Pepy amassed a hefty roster of informants. Generally stool pigeons are snakes that would turn in their mothers for money or a taste of confiscated junk. Some snitches worked for cops to get out of an arrest. Some told the truth; others lied regularly. Cops didn’t trust most informants. If snitches turned on someone they knew, it would be easy to turn on a cop they didn’t like or respect. Pepy began to build a heavy arrest file based on information bought from snitches. The people at the DA’s office knew him well. They thought this young cop wrote the best, most complete search warrant affidavits on record.
When a police officer needs a search warrant, he must prepare a probable cause affidavit. The affidavit supplies the information the officer has in his possession to affect an arrest. The information must be strong enough to get a prosecutor’s attention and convincing enough for a judge to justify signing a warrant. Sometimes information comes from the officer’s personal knowledge, investigation, and observation. Other times information is based solely on material the officer is passed from an informant.
Informants come in many shapes and sizes. Concerned citizens can be informants. They see something going down and tell the police about it. Most of the time, however, an informant is someone who an officer knows and has worked with before as an information generating source. These moles are known as confidential reliable informants. Some are paid, some are playing the “Get Out of Jail Free” card, and others simply like the thrill. Most of the time, confidential informan
ts aren’t identified by name, only by number or code.
Pedro Fuentes developed a reputation as a hard charging narco cop. He could list miles of arrests. He was responsible for an unbelievable number of narcotic seizures, including stashes of money, cars, jewelry, and even houses. Pepy’s colleagues, department heads, and even the police chief considered him a rock star. He liked the glory and played it to the hilt.
Pepy’s one weakness grew as fast as his fame did—he liked women. Izzi was his flavor of the month. She began as one of his informants after street cops brought her in on a prostitution charge. Izzi ultimately delivered her coke supplier to beat the rap. It was a big arrest for Pepy, and he rewarded Izzi by sharing his home and hearth.
*****
One bright sunny morning, SNU leader Sgt. Cooke faced his assembled group of narcs and shared, “Pepy here has another search warrant for a drug dealer working Adams Street. He says we don’t need SWAT. Apparently there are no known weapons, history of violence, or house fortifications. I’ll let him brief you on the ops plan for take down.”
Along with Pepy, three SNU regulars formed an unofficial posse. J.T. was known to the group as “Clap,” for obvious reasons. Clap picked the wrong addict to roll in the hay. Bull was appropriately named for his size.
Then there was Spence. Spencer Wilfred Roosevelt the Third, to be exact. It was a lot of name for a black from a small ranching community in the panhandle of Texas.
“Let me read you portions of the affidavit I wrote to get the search warrant. It’ll clue you in on the ops planned,” Pepy started.
“Your affiant bases this information on his experience and training in police narcotics enforcement and his personal knowledge of drug trafficking based upon personal surveillance and information from a known reliable informant.
The informant, number 16, provided affiant with information received from various narcotic users, known to him. They indicated they were purchasing cocaine from an older black woman living at 740 Adams Street, Sierra Vista, Texas.
Your affiant used the reverse directory and found the house located at 740 Adams Street was listed to an Emma Mae Jones.
Your affiant spent numerous hours conducting surveillance on the target house. He observed a steady stream of persons arriving at the location, spending brief times with a heavy set older black woman sitting on the porch of said residence. These persons were of varying ages and ethnicities.
One frequent person meeting with the older black woman was Reginald Johnson. This person is known to your affiant as the leader of the White Fence street gang and a key person trafficking drugs in Sierra Vista. He has numerous arrests for drug possession, trafficking, and conspiracy to traffic in controlled substances. Your affiant observed this person pass money to the older black woman.
Another frequent person meeting with the older black woman at 740 Adams Street was a delivery truck driver. Your affiant observed this driver pass small packages to the older black woman.”
“This should give you an idea of who the target is and what she is doing,” Pepy said confidently.
Bull piped up, “You got a record on the old broad?”
“Ran the name on the registry. No hits.”
“How come you didn’t put that in the probable cause affidavit?” Bull asked.
“No sense complicating it. I pretty much know what the DA wants. Give him what he wants, no more.”
“You try a controlled buy?” Spence asked.
A controlled buy is a tactic commonly used by narcotic enforcement officers. A person who won’t be identified by the target as an informer or cop is brought into the operation. Money is bundled and photographed with serial numbers recorded and given to the “actor.” The established buyer is searched to verify narcotics haven’t been planted. The buy is set-up and put into motion. A cop watches the buyer, making sure the right location is entered and the correct suspect identified. Once this is determined, the “hand to hand” transaction takes place.
After the deal is stuck between seller and buyer, the buyer meets with the narcs running the operation and delivers the stash. A controlled buy sometimes is followed immediately with the dealer’s arrest. Other times the buy is used to build a continuing case against a dealer.
“You know, I didn’t,” Pepy admitted. “I wasn’t sure whether she had a regular customer base or not. Didn’t want to chance it.”
“It’s not a ‘No knock,’ is it?” Sgt. Cooke asked.
A “No knock” warrant is issued when narcotic officers can support their lives would be in danger if they gave the targeted suspect notice that they were there to serve a warrant. It is used when dealing with individuals known to be dangerous or armed.
“Nope, Sarge. Don’t expect any violence, but you never know. That’s why I didn’t request SWAT and why I figured we could do the bust ourselves. I figured doing it at break of dawn is safest. I’ve never seen anyone on the premises that early. Can get her alone.”
The four officers arrived at the 700 block of Adams Street a little after six in the morning. The street was quiet, even the dogs weren’t barking. They parked near the intersection of 7th and Adams and walked quietly down the street toward 740. Each was wearing a set of black fatigues with POLICE blocked in large grey letters on the back. A smaller POLICE logo below the badge was replicated on the left breast. Bull and Clap mounted the porch with Pepy, positioning themselves on each side of the front door. Spence ran to the back of the house to cover the rear windows and entrance.
Pepy took the lead and knocked on the door vigorously.“Police! Search warrant! Open up!” He knew the Supreme Court had recently ruled cops had to wait twenty seconds to allow the occupant to answer the door. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty… no one answered the summons.
Bull stepped in front of the door after Pepy held open the screen door. One boot struck just above the doorknob and cracked the frame, sending it flying to the side. All three rushed through the door in unison, directing their attention to either side of the front room. Pepy yelled POLICE one more time. He took the area to the left which was most likely the kitchen. Bull and Clap crouched their way down the darkened hallway, stopping to search the cotton candy pink bathroom cluttered with pill bottles. They reached the closed door at the end of the dark and gloomy hallway
Emma Mae Jones heard voices, but couldn’t make out who was calling to her or what they were saying. The sudden cracking of the front door was loud enough to catch her serious attention. She reached for Mr. Johnson the same time the bedroom door exploded from Bull’s kick. All Emma Mae saw was a dark silhouette. She fired Mr. Johnson in the door’s direction.
Bull was inside and Clap followed right behind him. Bull saw the muzzle flash. He dropped to one knee and fired at the flash. Clap stayed in the hallway, but pushed his gun around the doorframe and fired blindly into the room.
Pepy raced to the bedroom. Flashlights spotlighted the large body in the bed. It was an overweight old black woman—Emma Mae, they assumed. Even though the three knew she was dead from the blood gushing from her face and upper body, Clap followed procedure and checked her neck pulse point and verified she was gone.
“Shit,” Pepy exclaimed, “we better find her stash! Shit! Shit!”
By this time Spence had reached the bedroom. The four ransacked the entire house in record time. It didn’t take long considering how small it was. Pepy was suddenly missing.
“Where the fuck did Pepy go?” Bull yelled in frustration.
Pepy suddenly appeared out of breath. A paper bag was clutched in his hand. He went to the lone dresser and took three plastic zip locks from the paper bag. Each contained mounds of white powder. Narc agent Pedro Fuentes placed one zip lock in the second dresser drawer and hid the other two, still in the brown bag, in the far corner of the bedroom closet.
“Pepy?” Bull asked looking surprised.
“There, now we found her stash!”
“What you mean? We don’t have to plant it. She shot at us. We were jus
tified shooting her. Don’t make it worse, Pepy. Don’t screw this up!”
“We need to plant the junk! My info wasn’t the best; I was guessing a lot of it! Nobody will know. It’s only us. Spence, put out the call!”
The call would be Officer involved shooting. The spinning earth halts on its axis when an officer broadcasts that ominous call. Immediately dispatch gets ambulance rolling, back-up officers arrive to contain the scene, and a supervisor begins to control and contain the situation.
True to form, detectives and back-up officers quickly arrived at 740 Adams Street. Sierra Vista had a designated “shooting team” and a fully equipped Crime Scene Unit. The DA’s office was notified and dispatched a rollout team to shadow the police investigation. All marveled at Emma Mae’s trusty Mr. Johnson. It was an old rusty Iver Johnson .22 breakfront model. No one had ever seen one before and they took turns admiring it.
Hours later the coroner removed Ms. Emma Mae Jones from the only home she had ever known.
Within two months the DA convened a grand jury. The Office of the District Attorney presents a case as it sees fit. If the DA wants the grand jury to rule a shooting was justified under state law sections, that’s what happens. The Sierra Vista district attorney never sought to have a city cop indicted for an on-duty fatal shooting. Off-duty was another matter, particularly when the cop was drunk or it involved a domestic situation. The SNU wasn’t indicted for the killing of Ms. Emma Mae Jones, as tragic as the situation appeared to the DA. As he said at his news conference, it was simply a tragic series of mounting coincidences.
*****
Taylor Sterling was escorted into the office of the Sierra Vista Chief of Police. He was surprised at the rather pretentious large and well-fitted room. The chief’s ego display took one entire wall—plaques, photos, certificates, and framed letters checker boarded the beige expanse. Police memorabilia cluttered every flat surface. Taylor looked around for a conference table, even a small one, but that piece of furniture apparently was overlooked. Instead, the chief’s mammoth wooden desk had six straight-backed chairs lined in a row in front of it. It looked like a stage with the lead performer sitting in the large overstuffed chair loftily positioned behind the desk.