Tour of Duty: Stories and Provocation (42 page)

My True Encounters With The Indianapolis Police Department

These events dates from 2001, right after our house was burglarized, right before September 11, just as Jim Baen was looking at
Freehold.

Part One

Whose Side Are They On, Anyway?

The burglary was a shock.

I was at Pennsic, Gail was home with our then three year old and six month old. Each morning, she dropped our daughter and son off with a friend, and picked her up after work. Several evenings, they offered her dinner as well.

The summary was that she was predictably gone for 10-12 hours each day, our neighbor had a record of legal problems that had once resulted in 17 cars, a SWAT van and forty officers, and the other three sides of our property were fenced and covered in growth. Someone kicked in the back door, stole most of our few possessions, and was still there as Gail arrived home, but slipped out fast, fortunately for their own safety.

She called the police, called our friends, and they were there in 30 minutes—the friends. The police showed up a good two hours later.

The place was trashed, and that becomes important later. All our tax records, files, bills, were scattered across the kitchen/dining room/office, and we never recovered some of them. Among them were all our current bills.

The police did dust for prints, and it was about that time I made my nightly call home (Before we had cell phones), and realized my life had been stolen. The guitar she gave me as a wedding present, my custom made guitar, the knife I'd carried for 15 years of military service to that point, the coins and currency I'd collected all over the world, and a crate of collectible knives I'd put aside to sell at a future point, new in box, for income, as well as my camera. They didn't take the books. They did take quite a few of my clothes. They got two unworkable firearms that I wished worked, because as antiques they might have exploded in the face of whomever tried to shoot them, and a very interesting original M1935 Browning 9mm.

I was not only shocked, I was impotent in rage and panic. I was 400 miles away and could do absolutely nothing. The place was so trashed we didn't even have a full tally of the loss for days. I went into the post-fight reaction I get, with shivering shakes (they hit me after the fight, not during), and someone forced three ounces of medicinal bourbon into me.

When I got home two weeks later, I was able to assess the loss, and determine the crooks had left via the open side of the yard, where our troublesome neighbors had just, conveniently, moved out with a moving van, leaving a bunch of junk, and taking our nicer stuff. I even found cigarette butts (we don't smoke, nor do our friends) in our grill, indicating a certain amount of stakeout. The butts matched the brand I found in the neighbor's yard. At some point, someone had brought the cordless phone up from the basement and called out, almost as if making a shopping list.

I called the phone company, and was told I couldn't get a list of my own (non toll) outgoing calls without a court order, which seems bizarre. So I furnished all the above information to the police, who did . . . nothing.

I asked about following up on the phone, as presumably someone had called out, the cordless handset being upstairs. The detective in charge snidely asked, "Whatever would possess them to do something that stupid?"

I'm not sure, Detective. Maybe because they're barely smarter than the police?

Nothing was done.

I eventually found one of my guitars in a pawn shop, though not the Schecter that was my wedding present, nor the Korg DW8000 synth my daughter had taken a liking to, nor any of the foreign currency, which should have been readily trackable—big denominations look impressive and encourage the ignorant to take them to stores and banks to look for exchanges, only to find that 100 in some nations is .60 in the US. I called a few local places, and I suspect if the cops had made a few calls, they'd have found more leads and been able to effect an arrest. Since pawning items requires ID and a thumbprint, they could have found some lead, obviously.

I've never left a house unattended since. I even have friends or associates stay at the house to watch it and the pets when traveling. I just won't do it.

So, with nothing to do but carry on, that's what we did.

But, those scattered papers came back to haunt us. A couple of weeks later, we got a late notice on something. And of course, our already tight finances were strained by the event, and they'd been tight to begin with. Add in a summer of traveling, which often led to chaotic income schedules and payment schedules, and we had a minor problem that became major.

It was a week after that when there was a knock at the door one morning. I answered it, and it was a service rep from the power company, who wanted to confirm if I had a receipt for payment, because if not, he was turning off our power.

Well, no, I didn't, and I wouldn't have been able to locate it if I had. So he headed around back with his tools.

I beat feet through the house, out the back, and politely said, "Sir, I will have a payment made in twenty minutes. Please don't turn off the power."

He shrugged and said, "I'll just come back with the police," and turned and left.

I called Gail at work, because I was watching the kids and working evenings at the store. I couldn't leave the kids. She departed in a hurry, checkbook in hand, and headed for the nearest bank that could take a payment for the power company.

The rep was back as I hung up the phone, in about three minutes, with two police cars.

Yes, they responded 40 times faster than they had to the burglary.

It was so bizarre I thought I was in a Monty Python movie. The cops spread out to keep my attention divided, as if there were some kind of threat, and "engaged me in conversation." Why was I stopping this man from doing his job?

I tried being clear and direct—we'd had a burglary, as they could check, the place had been trashed, and the bill and late notice buried in the mess, complicated by several weeks of running around the Midwest earning a living. I politely informed them that no threat was offered, this was a civil matter and they were not welcome on my property, unless they could show me a warrant. I voluntarily identified myself with ID.

Badge Number 2676 then said they weren't in my property, they were on public land.

Yes, he really said that.

“Sir, the yard inside the fence to the sidewalk is my property.”

I asked again to see warrant or cause. I was again told they needed none, as the city owns the property. They repeated that they were to escort the man back to do his job. The officer stated he was just doing a job. Then he asked if I’d want their help if I had a problem in my store. I pointed out that they weren’t in his store, they were on my property. I mentioned that an IPD officer has been in my store, in uniform, to call me satanic.

(Aside: My merchandise was cutlery. Everyone needs knives and scissors, larger ones for hunting and tactical use. Proof of age was required to purchase, and I did refuse unruly elements. The swords I sold were largely decorative, except for stage use and reenactors, who don’t actually use them except as props. It was a legitimate business, in a major mall, and even if it was “Satanic,” last I checked we had freedom of religion.)

The argument degraded further. Officer warned me that if I crossed the line, I’d be subject to arrest. Assured him I was being polite, called everyone sir, made no threats, repeated that this was a civil matter and I did not wish police on my property. They made no move toward me or the back, which confirms that they in fact had no authority, and couldn’t actually do anything. The warning was likely a good idea for all, although unnecessary in this case. But I realized they wanted an altercation. They wanted to haul me off in cuffs, have a car show up to take my kids to foster care, utterly fuck the rest of my life, because I was an easier target than actual criminals. They were a pair of bullies, just waiting for an opening.

I made comments about how there was useful police work they could be doing, such as finding my stolen property. At this point, one officer said that “Given your attitude, I don’t care if they do find your stuff.” Lesson here: they’re hired goons, not concerned at all about law and order.

Badge number 2676 then tried to explain to me that the city DID own my property, under “stere desis,” that they could seize property for public use. I asked to see the document that showed my property had been seized. He had no answer of course. (FYI: Stare decisis has to do with the setting of precedent. This costumed clown thought to impress me with fake Latin.)

They insisted I had a signed contract with the power company about access. They insisted it was on my bill. It is not. I asked if such agreement existed, if I could see a copy. No one had one. I would have my employees carry such with them, but you already know my opinion of the morals, ethics and competence of IPL. I asked if I furnished them with a list of bad checks written at my store, if they’d collect on those checks for me as money rightly owed, or accompany me to retrieve the property by force, since they’d previously offered “Help” in my store. No answer.

I went back inside, telling them to do whatever they felt they had to do. Officer 2676 followed me closely, observed as I locked the garage door. Again, had I intended violence, he was dangerously close, his weapons secure on his belt, and in a bad tactical position. I’m not sure what the point of this was, except harassment. I had already identified myself to them, assured them I intended no violence, and been polite if loud.

At this point, my wife showed up to take checks to bank and cash to make payment. It should be obvious to all that our intent was to pay what was rightly owed, but orders are orders, and IPD takes IPL orders. They are mercenary thugs, hired on my tax dollars to oppress me in the name of corporate America. Not even whores, as whores are paid for their work.

The watch sergeant now arrived. Repeated the same thing about doing their jobs, why was I holding this against them? Why was I holding the actions of other officers against them? Stressed that she felt she was a good cop. It’s my experience that good people don’t need to stress their qualities, they are apparent. Assuaging guilt with words, perhaps?

I asked again why they weren’t actively pursuing the burglaries. She stated that she wasn’t the detective on the case. Now, some of the stuff is very distinctive, I have photos, and it’s easy to spot. But one detective is handling all these cases, part time for each one, meanwhile, three thugs can show up to not arrest me, not charge me, merely hassle me over a civil matter that’s none of their business. I guess we can see what IPD’s priorities are. And they were bought cheap, too.

As the technician went to disconnect our power, depriving our children (fortunately) of nothing more than TV for a couple of hours until he knew he would have to return, I insisted that the cops stay in front with me, not enter my yard, not intrude. This legal, reasonable (since, as the “threat” I was in front with them) was ignored. In fact, one of the officers put on that huge, smug grin and made a point of marching about my yard. It was obviously a petty attempt to demonstrate power.

All this could have been avoided with a pending disconnect warning (which is on the same form as the disconnect notice,) or, saving manpower, with a phone call or followup letter. Instead, IPL sends out a flunky with a van, backed up by armed thugs if necessary, removing those thugs from any real work they might do, and you and I pay the bill.

I wished them a good day as they left, and suggested loudly that perhaps IPD only tackled the tasks it had the competence for.

There has been no followup from them on my stolen property.

In fact, I found one of my guitars in a pawn shop, another on the street, (which led to the incident which follows next) and never saw a trace of anything else. The cops never followed up at the pawn shop (Indiana law requires ID and fingerprint to pawn goods). I’m sure they found a bunch of late utility bills to help collect though.

Part Two