cops

Trunk took a chocolate bar out an inside pocket, ripped the paper and spat it, stuck the end of the bar in his mouth, bit off a huge chunk. He chewed, cheeks bulging, then took out a small silver hip flask, tipped it and drank long. "Hell's that?"Trunk chewed fast, said, "Toblerone, vodka chaser.""Jesus," said Christ.

Dez cringed as her boss slammed his door closed. But before she could walk away, he snatched it open again. __nd I better not see your ass until after the New Year!_ He slammed it again.Dez glared at Bukowski as she headed back to her desk. __ didn__ even do anything.___ou did ask her if she killed Petrov. I think your exact words were, __ou whacked him, didn__ you? You sadistic bitch.

The 'thin blue line' is nothing more than the no snitching policy found in any other criminal gang.

Good cops make their bosses look good, and Hector was a one-man beauty school.

The suits love their numbers, Malone thinks. This new management breed of cops are like the sabermetrics baseball people. They believe the numbers say it all, and when the numbers don't say what they want them to, they massage them like Koreans on Eighth Avenue until they get a happy ending.

The cops will break down your door to save you. God will break down your constitution. Brokenness is not the opposite of wholeness. It's how He gets in.

And then the other guy will look really sheepish, and mumble that, okay, maybe he tried to make a run for it, and maybe he took a drunken swing at the arresting officer, and maybe he made a couple of off-color remarks about law-enforcement professionals, and maybe he__ been hiding from the cops ever since an incident a few years back involving a bleeding hooker, nine pounds of cocaine, and a soiled image of Tipper Gore.

What did you do before?_ __ used to run a lot.___ross country? Track?___rom the cops, actually.

During voir dire, the interviews for jury selection, each person is asked under oath about their experience with the criminal justice system, as defendant or victim, but usually not even the most elementary effort is made to corroborate those claims. One ADA [Associate District Attorney] told me about inheriting a murder case, after the first jury deadlocked. He checked the raps for the jurors and found that four had criminal records. None of those jurors were prosecuted. Nor was it policy to prosecute defense witnesses who were demonstrably lying--by providing false alibis, for example--because, as another ADA told me, if they win the case, they don't bother, and if they lose, "it looks like sour grapes." A cop told me about a brawl at court one day, when he saw court officers tackle a man who tried to escape from the Grand Jury. An undercover was testifying about a buy when the juror recognized him as someone he had sold to. Another cop told me about locking up a woman for buying crack, who begged for a Desk Appearance Ticket, because she had to get back to court, for jury duty--she was the forewoman on a Narcotics case, of course. The worst part about these stories is that when I told them to various ADAs, none were at all surprised; most of those I'd worked with I respected, but the institutionalized expectations were abysmal. They were too used to losing and it showed in how they played the game.

When I had to work Shea Stadium for a Mets-Braves game _ Atlanta pitcher John Rocker had recently given an interview in which he denounced New Yorkers of all Colors and preferences _ I was assigned to a parking lot, where numerous drivers asked me for directions to various highways. When my first answer _ __ have no idea_ _ seemed to invite denunciation and debate, I revised it to __ake the first left._ For all I know, those people are still lost in Queens.

I__ sure the __ wouldn__ fuck a murder conspirator_ argument wins over many an internal affairs review board. Bring him in. It__l be in your favor.

His voice was languidly dense, as if he was a little slow on the uptake, but Strike knew that tone came from the man's feeling of complete control.

The voices of actual communities are alive in a way no theory could every be even if, for now, it takes the form of tiny acts of resistance. Who doesn't cheat on taxes, avoid cops, or skip class? These acts themselves may not be revolutionary, but they begin to unravel the control from above. Anarchist approaches must be relevant to everyday experiences and flexible enough to address struggles in different situations and contexts. If we can achieve this, then we may thrive in the world after the dinosaurs. We might even be fortunate enough to be in one of the communities that have a hand in toppling them.

Dear Police:You can't protect me and be scared of me.

When I was twelve, my parents had two talks with me.One was the usual birds and bees. Well, I didn't really get the usual version. My mom, Lisa, is a registered nurse, and she told me what went where, and what didn't need to go here, there, or any damn where till I'm grown. Back then, I doubted anything was going anywhere anyway. While all the other girls sprouted breasts between sixth and seventh grade, my chest was as flat as my back.The other talk was about what to do if a cop stopped me.Momma fussed and told Daddy I was too young for that. He argued that I wasn't too young to get arrested or shot."Starr-Starr, you do whatever they tell you to do," he said. "Keep your hands visible. Don't make any sudden moves. Only speak when they speak to you."I knew it must've been serious. Daddy has the biggest mouth of anybody I know, and if he said to be quiet, I needed to be quiet.I hope somebody had the talk with Khalil.

My main problem with cops is that they do what they're told. They say 'Sorry mate, I'm just doing my job' all the fucking time.

What most people see is a badge, behind and beyond the badge is what they need to know...the person.

Cops, I've learned, are like vampires; they can't come in unless you invite them.