hood.
Heroic officers were honored by the Kansas City Police Department on Tuesday for recovering a lunatic's penis.
You know, that's really a job for a Hazmat team, if you think about it. From Sploid.
Category Archives: Crime
The Ovaltine Cafe: the Eavesdropping Part
Wednesday, September 25, 2002
Let me preface today's entry with the warning: never, ever, no matter how good the idea seems at the time, put your computer in your bedroom. I saw the sunrise this morning before I got to sleep, and checked email before getting out of bed today.
And now back to our regularly scheduled writing…
Good service, good food, great sleazy and desperate atmosphere, and absolutely outstanding eavesdropping. Yup, that's the Ovaltine. What more could you ask for except that they'd put a few more fries on the plate? And I would ask that, as if it would do me any good.
Once I was sitting there in a booth, not my accustomed booth, as that one was occupied; I may say it was beyond its safe capacity and was in fact dangerously overloaded, like a freight elevator with a pod of orcas in it. Yes, that's the metaphor, for sure.
They were all mightly fine looking fellows, and healthy, too, not a skinny or craggy junkie among them, so I immediately assumed they were mid-level dealers. Turns out I was wrong.
Twelve eyes gave me a very critical look when I came in, and an even more critical one when I sat down directly across the aisle, but I don't take crap from any dealers, however buff. Besides, they were, to a man, wearing cheap plaid shirts and jeans. I mean really; who takes attitude from a lumberjack, at least if he doesn't have the saw right handy? So there they were, in my booth, the six of them, all fit, all in their twenties or early thirties, all with nice short haircuts, the kind your mother likes to see on your boyfriend, white as Wonderbread, and all in plaidrags; it was like a uniform or something. Or something…
And they were all leaning in, listening very intently as one of them whispered into a cellphone:
"He's right outside. Is he smoking up? Well, walk by him and smell it…
Can you get him to sell you some?
Well then go inside! I don't know, make something up!"
A stakeout. Cool.
At this point one of the undercovers squirmed around in his seat and started filming with a camcorder, focusing on the Savoy Hotel across the street. Must be a pretty good lens to film anything useful through a dirty window and across six lanes, but what do I know? I was keeping my head down and pretending to be mesmerized by my fries, a difficult assignment indeed, given that my serving only contained about twelve fries to begin with. Even stretching it out, I was eventually going to run out of reasons to stay in the booth. It was kind of challenging: every time the cops did something interesting, like whip out a cellphone or a GPS or a camcorder, they'd swivel their heads in unison, like some six-headed monster, and stare at me a long moment. I would look at my fries, dum-de-dum, dum-de-dum, just look at them fries! Sure are fried up real good. Then they would go ahead and do whatever it was they were going to do, resigning themselves either to my apparent stupidity or to the limitations of peripheral vision. But I have very good peripheral vision.
After about six of these cellphone confabs, GPS trackings, surreptitious filmings, and after they saw me order a bonus round of fries so I could hang around longer, they gave up and just let it all hang out, popping right out of the booth to stand in the aisle for a better camera angle, or walking to the back room for better reception. One went to the men's room, but I think he was just going for the regular reason. Don't know what he saw there, but he came back scared. Another guy was going to go and he stopped him.
"Believe me, you want to hold it. You really want to hold it."
About ten minutes later they got a call on the cell (yes, it had a cute ring, I think it was Beethoven's Ninth, though O Canada would have been an appropriate choice, or maybe something from the musical ride…wait, don't they use Beethoven on the musical ride…so there you go) and their leader, Grey Plaid Shirt Boy, actually used the words, "Let's roll!" and they did.
If I'd had my bill I'd have rolled right on out with them, but I had to hang behind and pay. Damn!
notice for raincoaster fanbase
such as it is. Here's a roundup of good advice, should some unfortunate friend of yours (and here we are naming no names) be detained by the criminal investigators of your general locale. How to help a friend who gets arrested. No reason I mention it here…
How to Help a Friend Who Gets Arrested in the Middle of the Night
It is 2 AM and someone you love has just been arrested. You know you need legal help. You do not want your loved one to make a confession or be in a line-up or even get fingerprinted if it can be avoided. It is tough to know what to do or who to trust. Moreover, you do not know who will even answer the phone at that time of day. Here is what you need to know if this happens in the United States of America.
Steps
- Find out where they are being held and by what police agency. Whether you get the call from a police officer or your loved one, make sure that this is the first thing you ask. If you can, tell your friend or family member that you are finding him a lawyer and not to answer any police questions until the lawyer arrives. Your friend MUST invoke his rights himself. If you tell the detective not to talk to your friend (or loved one) without an attorney, he'll laugh at you. Only the arrested subject can invoke his rights.
- Ask what the charges are and what time the arrest was made. Do not let your loved one tell you what happened. The call is not privileged and it can, and probably will be, recorded by police for later use against your loved one. They should just tell you the actual charge. If they cannot tell you without explanation, tell them that it doesn't matter, and continue to step three below. If the arrested is an adult, the police are not required to tell a friend or family member anything.
- Tell your loved one not to make any statement or take any test and tell them you are getting a lawyer and not to do or say anything until they hear from that lawyer. (In some states, you have a very limited time or no right at all to contact a lawyer regarding alcohol testing. If you don't know, ask the officer.)Only the arrested subject can invoke his rights, you can not do it for them.
- Select a criminal defense attorney. See the related wikiHow's below for steps to take in finding one. Keep calling lawyers until you find one that either answers their phone or has an answering service that can reach them anytime, day or night.
- Tell the lawyer that your friend is arrested and give as much information as you can. Ask that they immediately call the stationhouse and stop your friend from being questioned. Many lawyers will do this for free, but expect to pay at least $150-350 for that call.
- Gather as much money as you can to both pay the lawyer in court and to post bail. It is more important to get a good lawyer into the case early than to immediately get your friend out of jail.
Tips
- Always keep about $500-$1000 available without having to go to the bank. Most minor crimes and traffic violations can be bailed out from the stationhouse through the use of a desk appearance ticket or a desk sergent's bail.
- Do not feel obligated to stay with the lawyer who helps you the first night. Selecting a lawyer for a case long-term should be done with the accused person's participation. Tell the lawyer you found that you are using him for the purpose of securing your loved ones rights only for the night in question. Do not sign a long term retainer.
- Any legal fee for standing in at arraignment should either be a flat fee or should be hourly. Again, most criminal defense attorneys will charge between $150-$350 per hour. It will cost more in many big cities or urban areas. For example, many well known NY lawyers charge upwards of $600 per hour.
- You do not have to use the lawyer that helps you get your loved one for arraignment. A free lawyer is often available. However, it is better to have your own lawyer at arraignment if you can.
- If you run into trouble finding out where your friend is being held and by what police agency, get ahold of a bail bondsman (see link below, how to make bail) as they are experienced at this, and can sometimes locate your friend faster than you using the same resources.
Warnings
- Police do not have to "give you your rights," and their failure to do so does not invalidate an arrest. They only have to give you your rights if they (a) arrest you and (b) ask you questions about the crime. Hence, tell your friend who is under arrest to plead the fifth.
- An oral statement is just as bad as a written statement. It is always best to say nothing.
- Do not worry if you cannot find an attorney to represent your friend in court without being retained. Some courts will not let a non-retained lawyer stand in at arraignment. The court must provide an attorney at an arraignment if one is requested, or give the accused time to retain someone before he is arraigned.
- There are times when the best thing you can do for your friend or loved one is to let them deal with the consequences of their actions on their own. Spending a night in jail can be a real wakeup call for someone who is in need of a wakeup call.
Related wikiHows
useless facts: perfect for looking as if you’re actually working!
Via Fark. A collection of 371 useless facts and, surprisingly, the ones I've bothered to verify (ie the ones I know off the top of my head) are actually correct!
- Al Capone's business card said he was a used furniture dealer.
- The characters Bert and Ernie on Sesame Street were named after Bert the cop and Ernie the taxi driver in Frank Capra's "Its A Wonderful Life."
- It's impossible to sneeze with your eyes open. (DON'T try this at home!) [actually raincoaster can keep her right eye open. It's a long story]
- The giant squid has the largest eyes in the world.
- In England, the Speaker of the House is not allowed to speak.
- The microwave was invented after a researcher walked by a radar tube and a chocolate bar melted in his pocket.
- Mr. Rogers is an ordained minister.
Well okay, Mr. Rogers is dead. But it's not like he was defrocked or anything. Or even decardiganed.
The Ovaltine
Saturday, September 21, 2002
If you've ever watched DaVinci's Inquest you've probably seen it: the grimy, black-tiled front with two big windows and a Baroque mass of neon up above, declaring the premises to be the Ovaltine Cafe, which it is and has been since this was a working-class neighborhood, back before Welfare.
Inside it hasn't changed since then. I don't even think it's been thoroughly scrubbed down since then. Took a friend there once, and she mentioned to the waitress that the last time she was there was in 1964. The waitress apologized for not recognizing her. Carinthia looked like the Queen, with silk scarf from Liberty of London, cashmere coat, and "nice" sweater and skirt combination. Pearls of course. It was like lunching with a costumed superhero; you are treated with a certain kind of awe in the neighborhood if you know, and wear, the real thing. I was wearing my sweats, if I recall, though I was not actually sweating, at least not after I realized that the stares didn't mean we were going to get mugged.
At the Ovaltine there are, natch, alot of those old-fashioned swivelling stools planted in front of the long counter, and all one side is booths,
big enough for four if they have all had sex with one another already, but otherwise only big enough for two. Each booth features a largeish chipped and decaying mirror and a little sign telling you that, yes, they have beer and wine, but you have to pay for it when you order. Must be quite a few stories behind that little policy. My friend Carinthia says they only serve it because the heap-big-mucky-muck cops used to come in the back door and eat lunch there, and they wanted a drink or two to wash it down with.
Above the mirrors are several of the kind of paintings that are the very last thing left at the very worst garage sales; dreadful florals painted by slave labour in foreign lands that have never seen daisies anyway, seascapes that make one queasy, it wouldn't surprise me if they had a couple of Walter Keane orphans with big eyes and clown costumes. Or black velvet, but unironic black velvet. And given the state of the walls I'd hate to imagine the state of the velvet.
The walls used to be that pastel green colour that all dentist's offices were, the colour that, above all others, was supposed to soothe people. And I'm sure it did, right up until it got associated with people who stick big needles and drills in your mouth and then lecture you about flossing. So it has all those layers of uncomfortable association, despite having been on the walls so long that the oil is seeping out of the paint itself, forming a faint orange coating in varying thicknesses, dribbling in super slo-mo down the walls that ripple with age. Carinthia tells me it was this way when the Beatles were still playing Hamburg dives.
I will not discuss the ceiling; the memory is just too painful.
The counters are clean, at least, and you never stick to the booths so they must get wiped down though I am in no hurry to wear short-shorts there any time before Ragnarok. They let people smoke there, at least people do, and I've never heard them tell people to butt out. If you ask, though, they tell you no. There is a No Smoking Section sign in the booth where I usually sit.
The salt and pepper really set the tone for the place. The sugar is innocent enough, in a big juice bottle with a hole hammered in the top. The salt is sometimes in a salt shaker, but more often it is in a tiny airline-sized liquor bottle, as is the pepper.
If God is in the details I wonder what this says about their gods.
Once, a largish Native fellow came in and gave a very complicated order, convoluted enough that the waitress would have to stand at the kitchen door and go over it with the cook. She got a look in her eye that said she'd been down this road before and had no intention of getting taken for this ride again; instead of putting in the order she just went to the back of the place and watched. Soon enough he got up from his booth and moved to a different one. Then he got up from there and went to a stool at the counter. Then he walked quickly out the front door.
The whole restaurant was riveted. The waitress walked over to each of the places he'd sat and looked them over with a puzzled expression. Suddenly, she burst out laughing. We all looked at her like a class whose teacher has suddenly flipped out.
"He stole all the salt and peppers!"
Of course. Value isn't constant on the street; the closer you get to Welfare Wednesday, the cheaper everything gets. Anything that can be turned into money becomes more valuable, especially if the value is fixed. If you return an airline-sized Seagram's bottle to a depot you get 5 cents, regardless of the date. If you sell it to a binner you'll get a different price depending on how close he is to his next cheque. The less he has, the less he gives you. Same with hookers: $10 on Tuesday, or even just a few beers. $50 on Wednesday.
raincoaster 