You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy.™
Giving up tickets to an NHL Playoff game to voluntarily work a double shift.
Whoever would do that is crazy right?
Some question whether my elevator travels up to the Penthouse.
“Why?” A police officer asks.
Good question law man, here’s the back story.
The Nashville Predators are in a fierce 2nd round playoff with the the Phoenix Coyotes in the NHL playoffs.
Music City has suddenly become Smashville, where fans dress like lunatics and fling cat fish onto the ice for no apparent reason.
The honky tonks are packed downtown. You can swing a sledge hammer and bang a car painted with Phoenix colors. There is a jumbo tron set up on the street that has been closed for the festivities.
The atmosphere is electric and this is where I am suppose to go Friday night. I am excited.
The week only gets better when I negotiate an exclusive ride with Franklin Police to check on stores that sell to underage kids.
“We’re going out Thursday night,” the Sergeant tells me.
That’s great, I think to myself. Thursday Raid. Friday NHL.
I get my cake and get to eat it too!
Then Wednesday the phone call that shakes it up.
“The operation has been changed to Friday,” The Sergeant says.
“Huh?”
“I’m sorry. The operation is now Friday. I understand if you cannot make it. But we’ll have to offer it to someone else.”
My brain simmers like a tea pot whistling on the stove.
“OK,” I say stoically. “I’ll be there.”
“8 pm.”
Click.
And with that, my cake is thrown out the window on the face of a passing pedestrian.
Friday arrives. My briefing with the police is at 8pm.
The game starts at 6:30 pm.
I watch the news. It shows a series of live shots of crazy fans and celebratory insanity. Downtown is packed.
I start feeling like I should have gone downtown and blown off the underage drinking operation.
The game starts. Phoenix scores an early goal.
I shut off the TV and head to the police department.
I walk into the conference room. There are a dozen officers dressed in black. I recognize a couple of the guys. There is also a fresh faced crop of law men who give me the evil eye.
I quietly take my position at a table in the rear.
I learn that there has been a rash of minors drinking and driving in the city. To limit their access to alcohol, the city is doing a random check of convenience stores.
“That’s the C.I. (confidential informant),” the Sgt assigned to me says. He is pointing to a 20 year old man with a beard and scraggly hair. “You can’t show his face but he’ll be wearing a wire and you can listen to what he says.”
I nod silently.
This is not my first rodeo.
I’ve been on a hundred raids in my life. I’ve been on street pops where we jump out on drug suspects and the fight is on.
I was in a police car the night a shots fired call blares out of the scanner. We are racing through town, into the hood. We arrive within 2 minutes. It’s too late. an 18 year old kid has been shot in the head by a rival gang.
I remember standing there bathed in an eerie blanket of sorrow. The kid is lifeless on the asphalt, a trickle of blood pooling under his skull. The liquid seeping out of his brain looks like purple maple syrup under the yellow street lights.
Soon the street is filled with sirens and the wail of a momma, who falls to her knees, at the lifeless lump of a body that was once her baby.
Compared to that, an underage drinking operation is like a yawn, in a cotton candy factory.
But I am still excited. I always get excited. I like this part of the job.
I climb into the back of the SUV. I set up my tripod and camera, shooting out the front windshield.
The officer driving is a long time friend. I’ve been with him on many a raid. He is more accustomed to working hard core drug investigations. To him, a beer bust is Romper Room.
First stop; the Discount Liquor and Tobacco store in a seedy part of town.
I have a police radio and I listen as the CI states where he is and what he is about to do.
The young man goes into the store.
Ding Dong.
The electronic door is heard as the microphone crackles and pops.
You can hear the sound of a cash register and other patrons. You can hear the beer chest being opened and the young man moving to the counter.
Then you hear the clerk.
The register rings up the sale.
You can hear the clerk say “You better not put the bracelets on me. This better not be a set up.”
The officers in the front seat look at each other in shocked disbelief.
“He’s going to sell to the kid and he’s telling him he better not be with the police.”
I watch as the CI takes his sack and walks out.
We race around the corner and I hop out.
The 6 pack is on the hood and the receipt from the sale and the change from a 20 dollar bill is on display.
The officers are laughing about the clerk’s statement.
We go back to the store and I walk in with 3 officers with Police plastered across their backs.
“What’s up?,” the man says with a befuddled look on his face.
There are two people waiting in line.
“Finish your sales,” the officer says sternly, “then we’ll talk.”
I video tape the man at the register.
A woman has asked for cigarettes. They are in a case right in front of the clerk, but he cannot find them.
“they’re right there,” she says pointing.
He is mumbling. He is scattered. His brain is racing, thinking, why are 3 officers and a news camera in my store?
He rings up the sale. More people come in. The police tell them to go away.
“You sold to an underage minor,” the cops tell the man.
“I did?” the clerk says knowing he is in trouble.
The cops inform him of the charges and write up the citation.
I move to the counter.
I pepper him with questions. I am not sure he even knows who I am.
“You didn’t even check his i.d.,” I say.
“Yes I did,” He says.
“You told him you didn’t want to wear the bracelets and asked if this was a set up.”
“I didn’t say that,” he says his head spinning like a Tennessee tornado.
He is a deer in the headlights now. He has to be wondering how I know this.
“You didn’t?,” I say moving closer to him with the camera. “Really. You didn’t say that?”
He is shell shocked and remains quiet.
We leave the store and the officers laugh out loud.
They know our first bust is a good one and will surely make good TV.
We will ultimatly visit 11 convenience stores around the city. Only one more clerk will sell to our CI.
