The gist of the incident is that Ofr. Covarrubias was suspected of having a sexual relationship with a 17-year-old female who, perhaps not so coincidentally, was also in the Santa Maria PD Explorer program.  Both Covarrubias and the girl were assigned to a DUI enforcement night.

A lieutenant with Santa Maria PD was told the Explorer would be called away during the DUI enforcement to make a “pretext call”.  For some reason, the commanding officer of the enforcement night told all the officers present that she would be called away for an investigation.  Covarrubias was present.

The long and short of it is that they attempted to bring Covarrubias into custody during the DUI night.  At some point, he drew his weapon, fired four shots (reportedly at nothing in particular) and then pointed his weapon at his friend, fellow officer, and recent best man forcing his friend to shoot him.

Investigations would later reveal that Covarrubias had texted that he’d rather die than go to jail.

Now, let me be clear, I know nothing more about this incident than what I’ve read on the above links. so my opinion is based on nothing more.  I have no direct knowledge of the investigation or any parties involved.

That being said, it seems like there are all kinds of questions that need to be asked.  I can’t help but wonder if the lieutenant mentioned in the column and the commanding officer were one and the same.  If that is the case, how could that lieutenant not know who was present at the DUI enforcement and who was the target of the pretext call being made.

It is unfortunate, but not all that uncommon, that in a larger agency, the left hand may not know what the right hand is doing.  I understand the occasional need for secrecy, especially considering the nature of both the crime in question and the suspect, but wouldn’t that fall on the heads of those leading that organization and/or division?  Who knows if that was the case here, but it certainly has me wondering.

Secondly, who made the call to do all this in conjunction with a DUI enforcement?  Those are dangerous enough as it is.  Adding multiple levels of investigation that have nothing to do with DUI enforcement only adds to the danger.

And what of the poor officer that shot and killed his friend?  That poor guy had nothing to do with any of this.  The way the columns read, it seems to me that Covarrubias put his friend in the worst possible place and forced him to shoot.  What a terrible burden for his friend to carry for the rest of his life…and I don’t think the man had a choice.  It seems clear to me (again based on what I’ve read) that Covarrubias was determined to commit suicide by cop.

And by the way, why wasn’t Covarrubias wearing a vest?  According to reports, he was shot in the chest and died from his wounds.

I’m sure this investigation is nowhere near over and lawsuits a-plenty will be filed.  The responsibility lies somewhere and I’m glad it isn’t up to me to wade through it.  Situations like this will divide a department, destroy families, and may result in years of drawn out litigation.

The forseeable future is bleak for Santa Maria PD.  There is sure to be plenty of finger-pointing, blaming, and scrutiny like they’ve never experienced before.  All I can do is pray for the officers in that jurisdiction to find their way clear to continue to fight the good fight and uphold the law as they swore to do.

I wish them good luck and God speed.

Image courtesy of Flickr and Navymailman

Absolute brilliance.  I bought the entire album based on “The Cave” and I was not disappointed.  Just about every track on this record speaks to me.

Who knew an upright bass, banjo, guitar, keyboard, and a kick drum could rock so damn hard?

I am a voracious reader.  I am also cheap frugal.  I saw an opportunity here.  I responded to Mr. Vachowski that I would indeed be interested in reviewing his novel.  He sent me a .pdf file of “Burnout” and I got to reading.

Before I delve into the novel itself, allow me to make a few things clear.

1. I don’t know Mr. Vachowski from a hole in the wall.  Based on the fact that he wrote a book, however, I will assume he is not, in fact, an actual hole in a wall.

2. It seems fair that I add that I was not compensated (other than receiving a copy of the book gratis) for what follows which means I can be just as honest as I want because I owe him nothing.

3. If you’ve been around the blog long enough, you know I’m not a grammatical wunderkind, so I’ll leave that to others and just talk about the story.

4. I’m not a professional reviewer or editor, but Lord knows I have an opinion and I know a thing or two about police work, so there’s that.

Here’s a brief synopsis of the book:

Goosey Larsen isn’t your average detective, and it’s doubtful that he’ll ever reach that level of performance.  His annual personnel review described him as someone who “lacks motivation” and “needs to improve his interpersonal skills.”  Goosey can usually be found coming in late or sneaking out early, but when dead bodies start turning up in downtown Charleston, Goosey is forced to do the one thing he hates most:  police work.

Mr. Vachowski is a former police officer, having spent seven years with the Charleston, South Carolina PD, and another two years as an International Police Advisor in Iraq.  That being said, it seems he may know a thing or two about police work as well.

The book opens a bit unexpectedly with what seems to be the paranoid ramblings of a once-great superhero and then abruptly shifts gears to the main character, Det. Larsen.  Initially, it felt a bit clunky, but after a second occurrence, I began to see the pieces falling into place and it wasn’t as off-putting as I had first feared.  We are first introduced to Det. Larsen coming off a bit of a bender and being rudely awoken by his department pager.  He’s off and running to a fresh crime scene and a less than fresh body.

The stereotype of the borderline alcoholic cop is well-documented to say the least.  The characters that populate the pages of “Burnout” are also well-entrenched in stereotype as well.

But, you know what?  Stereotypes exist for a reason.  I found myself able to put a face to each of the character’s names based on my real life experiences.  What I found fascinating/amazing/alarming was the fact that so many of the behavior’s and attitudes in the novel (which takes place in South Carolina) are as real as the day is long here on the Left Coast.

Burnout was a pretty quick read.  My only issue was downloading the .pdf to my Nook played hell with fonts.  The arbitrarily messed with the size and it made reading it a trifle more difficult than need be.  Of course, I don’t think that reflects on the book at all, but probably more on my Nook.

The plot line moved well and I found myself sympathizing with Det. Larsen and his approach to police work.  Not being a detective myself, I identified with his lack of interest in Investigations.  In one moment, I found myself wondering just why the hell Larsen chose to be a detective if his motivation was nearly non-existent and in the next pounding the pavement stride for stride with him as he begrudgingly did his best to solve his cases.  There was clearly a battle of wills within Larsen.  One the one hand, he doesn’t really want to be a cop, but on the other, he strives to give justice to the victims he stumbles across.

Overall, I enjoyed the book and I’d recommend it as a good poolside or beach read.  There was one thing I take issue with, however.  The portrayal of the Traffic Division and my fellow motor officers (although fictional) was only existent when talking a bit of smack.  Now, I must find out what Mr. Vachowski drives and keep an eye out for his car.

Yeah, it’s like that.

Burnout is available at all major digital book retailers, including Amazon and Barnes and Noble, as well as on the Solstice Publishing website at http://www.solsticepublishing.com.  You can follow James Vachowski on Twitter and on Facebook as well.

Like a dealer.

First taste is free.  You want more, you come ask and maybe we work something out.

What follows fell from my brain to my fingers one night in anticipation of grand designs and delusions of grandeur future success.  It is saved on my computer as simply “Prologue”.  I’ve quite a few ideas like this one packed away in the cluttered closet of my imagination and I’m nervous anxious to get them on paper and in someone else’s hands.

With that in mind, I sincerely hope you enjoy today’s Fiction Friday.  I give you “Prologue”.

***

I’m going to die. I’ve always wondered if, when a person’s time was near, they could somehow sense it. Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t seen a seven-foot tall man clad in oversized black robes with extraordinarily bony hands clutching a scythe. It isn’t as esoteric as all that.

I have that feeling though. Call it a sixth sense. Call it premonition. Call it what you will. Cops call it that hinky feeling. When you walk into a situation and something just feels “off”. I’ve had that feeling more times than I can remember. It comes when you walk into that domestic call. It comes when you walk up to that car. Cops can smell trouble a mile away. Forewarned is forearmed, they say. At least we have a sense of it before we stumble blindly into it.

This car stop is like that. I can see his jittery eyes in the rearview before I even get off my motor. It took him longer to stop his car than most. Just enough to get my hackles up. Something in my psyche tells me not to stop this car. It’s too late, though. My ego and my training over-rule the voice of warning in my head.

I reach across my body with my left hand and grab the right handlebar. I support my weight on my right foot and kick my left over the motorcycle seat and put it down on the ground. My body is angled toward the car I stopped for speeding. I’ve made this stop thousands of times. I don’t even think about the mechanics of it anymore. It’s so second nature that it’s nearly first.

“Two-Mary One, Eleven Ninety-five,” I relay my traffic stop to my radio dispatcher.

“Two-Mary One, go ahead,” she parrots back.

“Six Lincoln Charles Four Seven Two Eight. I’m at Mine and Teak.” I’ve lost count of the number of plates I’ve run and the locations of my traffic stops. I used to wait until dispatch came back to me with the registration info for the car, but when you make hundreds of traffic stops each month, you get impatient. Not to mention, dispatchers get busy. They handle a ton of units at any given time. Hell, sometimes they simply forget.

I still have that hinky feeling as I’m walking up to the driver’s side window. I rock the first level of retention on my holster forward. My thumb is on the second level release and I apply just a touch of downward pressure in guarded anticipation of having to draw my gun. That may sound paranoid…and I don’t disagree, but I do it subconsciously as the voice in my head grows steadily from a whisper to a scream.

I’m just about to the driver’s side window when two things happen.

First, dispatch comes over the air with, “Two-Mary One, copy Ten Thirty-six.” Ten code for confidential information. This code is commonly used when there is either a warrant associated with the car or the car is stolen. As I reach with my left hand to grab my lapel mic to acknowledge dispatch, I stop walking. I’m caught in no-man’s land between my bike and the car I’ve stopped.

Then, the second thing happens. The driver throws his door open and time slows down. The driver, a white kid in his early 20′s, puts both feet on the ground outside the car. He’s wearing a Golden State Warriors ball cap cocked sideways on his greasy, brown hair. I can see the gold sticker listing the size of his hat still on the bill of the cap. Seems his head is a solid 7 3/8”. His left hand grabs the armrest of the driver’s door to help him pull his 200 pound frame out of the driver’s seat. He wears no ring on his left hand, but I can see a silver watch. I can see his face. He’s got the stubble of a man who wishes he could grow facial hair, but will forever fall short. His mouth is turned sideways into a sneer.

He crouches forward to use his legs to push his body up and out of his car. He begins to turn counter-clockwise toward me. I see his right hand. He’s holding a pistol similar to mine. I see the muzzle turn to get its bearing on me as I pull my own pistol.

Shots ring out.

I’m going to die.

***

As always, constructive criticism, unbridled praise, and/or editorial commentary (The Keynyn Premise) are welcome.

Image courtesy of Flickr and SoulRider.222

My apologies.  I’ve already committed to writing what follows, though, so we may as well muddle through together.

I just can’t seem to win when it comes to the lane change.  It’s feast or famine.  Either some idiot just bolts in front of me with no signal or some idiot flips on the signal and just comes over.

But, MC, why would they do that while you’re on your badass motor?  To be fair, I’m talking about my personal car on the drive home.  If someone was fool enough to do something like that whilst I’m working, they’d get a rag for their trouble.  Make no mistake, it’s happened many times while I’ve been working.  Remember why I love being in Trafffic?

Exactly.

On the way home today, however, I was tooling along minding my own and listening to my Dave Ramsey podcast happy as a lark since the weekend had arrived.  Traffic on the freeway was moderate and moving along at a nice 50 mph or so.  I had a good 110′ between me and the car in front of me.  (Who can tell me why?  Come on, fellow traffic nerds, I know you’re out there…).

At any rate, I was in the #3 lane.  A car next to me driving at about the same speed and offset around 15′ or so ahead of me signaled a right lane change (into my lane).  The driver didn’t wait to make sure it was clear.  I’m not even sure the driver bothered to look.  The signal came on and the car just came right on over.

I reached over to flip the overheads on then realized a Honda accord doesn’t come standard with a light bar, shamefully enough.  I started to get bent and of course yelled words of encouragement in the offending driver’s general direction and had a familiar feeling of warm fuzzies spread throughout my being when I realized I could just take this opportunity to educate my readers on proper turn signal usage (or flame the idiot anonymously over the interwebs…you know, whichever one is more effective).

Enjoy the following section from the California Vehicle Code (read to you in a droning DMV voice…which you will have to make up yourself as this is a blog and there is no voice component):

22107.  No person shall turn a vehicle from a direct course or move right or left upon a roadway until such movement can be made with reasonable safety and then only after the giving of an appropriate signal in the manner provided in this chapter in the event any other vehicle may be affected by the movement.

The important bits are “…until such movement can be made with reasonable safety and then only after the giving of an appropriate signal” and “…in the event any other vehicle may be affected by the movement.”

Layman’s terms: You can’t just flip your signal on and make your move.  It’s not an Olly-Olly-Oxen-Free move.  Just because your signal is on doesn’t mean you have the right to change lanes.  You actually have to check your surroundings to make sure no one else is already freaking there!

Had there been a collision, the driver that signaled and changed lanes would have been found at fault and the primary collision factor would have been the section listed above.  Unfortunately, there isn’t a section covering driving with one’s head firmly planted in one’s rectal cavity.  But, oh if there were….

So, please, from one responsible driver to another.  Do us both a favor and look before you leap.

What are some of your traffic pet peeves?

Featured Image Courtesy of Flickr and The Rocketeer

First off, let’s operate under the assumption that we do, in fact, hide.  My response?

So?

Now, that certainly isn’t the touchy-feely, mollycoddling response today’s society has come to expect, nay, demand from their friendly, neighborhood police officer.  In response, I offer a familiar retort:

So?

I feel a whole other rant coming on about how we handle most situations with kid gloves for fear of upsetting the tender sensibilities of society at large, but I’ll restrain myself and talk specifically about the “hiding” issue.

I’m sure I’ve offended some by my curt “So?”, so let the indulging begin.  I sit on my motor at every location I monitor.  It’s not a small motorcycle.  It’s black and white.  It’s says “Police” on multiple surfaces.  I am wearing a full police uniform with big ass boots to boot. (*Rimshot*)  I’ve got a helmet on that makes me look eerily like The Great Gazoo, minus the green face and antennae.  And the cape…egads, what I’d do for a cape.

The point is, I stick out.

As a matter of fact, I frequently hear, “I know you sit there!” after I’ve stopped someone.  To which I’ve always wanted to reply, “And yet you still decided to speed.”

The fact that it is well established where I sit to do speed enforcement and yet I consistently stop speeders there isn’t a reflection on me, folks.  It’s a reflection on how far up your own dark and smellies you bury your collective heads.

*We offer this break to further pander to you and insist that when I use the word “you”, I am not speaking directly about you, my dear reader, but all those others “you’s” out there.  Rest assured I would never want to upset you.  And by “you”, I mean you.  This time.  Promise.*

Recently, I’ve been tasked with monitoring some stop signs for chronic running.  By and large, the largest group of offenders happen to be cyclists.  Yes, yes, I know we’ve talked about them before (I amused the crap outta myself re-reading this nearly 3-year-old post.  Do yourself a favor and click on over).  My point in bringing them up this time around is the fact that I’m parked in a patrol car (extra duty) in uniform and about 50′ from the stop sign…and I’ve a clear view of about 500′ approaching the stop.  There is no landscaping blocking the view; their view of me or my view of them.  Hell, I stand outside my car and just wave them over to me.  I may as well be wearing a day-glo orange jumpsuit with flashing pasties (admit it, you’re picturing it) for crying out loud.  I’ve still written 25 tickets in about a three-hour period.

So, it would seem that it really doesn’t matter if I’m hiding or not.  There are those that are determined to break the law and put others (and themselves) at risk.

What’s that?  You’re not that person?  You drive the limit all the time, stop at every required stop, signal every lane change, stay off your cell phone, and buckle up?  Then what the hell are you blathering about?  Oh, it’s not fair?

Well, sir and/or ma’am, fair is a four-letter word that applies to the bus.  You’ve been misspelling it all these years.  It’s F-A-R-E.

I give you the greatest rock anthem of all time.  Iconic.  Timeless.  And I kill it at karaoke.

Glad you asked.

If you missed the last Crossover Show, you may have missed out on some big announcements.  I’m here to catch you up.  First of all, if you’re at all unfamiliar with what KTKC is all about, where were you last year?  In a nutshell, September is Prostate Cancer Awareness month.  My buddy, Happy Medic, and I set out to raise awareness by wearing kilts all September long (unless on duty).  Kelly Grayson (aka AmboDriver) decided awareness was not enough and rallied a small army of bloggers to raise funds.  And raise them they did…to the tune of $11,000.

This year, we are dedicated to once more raising awareness.  And that eleven grand?  A drop in the bucket.

This year our goal is to raise $50,000.

You read that right.  Three public servant bloggers want to raise $50K.  And I know we can do it.  We’ll need your help.

We are once again being assisted by the coding genius at Unkilted, one Alex Simpson.  He dropped by our meager (that is being kind) kilted website last year and sent us the kindest note to let us know it sucked.  On ice.  He offered to clean it up a bit.  That was a vast understatement to what he ended up doing.

This year, the KTKC site has once again been redesigned and we are ready to release it to the world.  We are looking for all the help we can get, folks.  Are you a vendor that wants to help us out?  We’d love to have you sponsor our efforts.

Are you a kilted fan and want to represent your state?  There’s a link for you to contact us for more information.  You’ll notice a map of the United States on the site.  Some of the states are already colored teal.  The teal states represent the states that have a #TeamKTKC representative.  We want that entire map to be teal.  We don’t care about red states and blue states.  Let’s make 2012 the year of the teal state!   Does your state already have a rep?  What state can’t use more than one?  We’ll put you in touch with one another (with your permission of course) so you can coordinate and organize a KTKC event (be it a mere tweet up, BBQ or a huge concert headlined by Bon Jovi).

Are you outside the US?  We want your help, too!  KTKC is looking to be an international phenomenon and you can help us with that goal!  Contact us and we can get the ball rolling.

Last year, the Wife and I welcomed MClet #3 right before KTKC kicked off, so my focus was elsewhere.  This year, on the other hand, both HM and I have open calendars.  Interested in joining us for some kilted fun?  The KTKC website will have more info as September draws nearer.  We plan on a couple of events in San Francisco, so if you’re in the Bay Area in September, be sure to keep us in mind.

We will kick off KTKC at the Scottish Highland Games in Pleasanton, CA on Sept 1 and 2.  We will be camping on site and carousing around the games all weekend long.  At the end of September, we will be running the Tough Mudder on the weekend of the 29th in Patterson, CA.

Lastly, I would be remiss in not mentioning our two biggest sponsors: Magnum Boots and AltKilt.  Last year’s successes would have been vastly diminished without all the support from these two amazing organizations.  We are looking forward to working with them again this year.

We still have a couple secrets up our sleeves that we’re working on behind the scenes.  If we can get some details worked out, we may have some pretty awesome news in the coming months!

Keep an eye here at MCPD, over at HMHQ, and, more importantly, at the KTKC site for more information as September closes in.  It’s gonna be a record-breaking Kilted year and we’d love for you to join us at any (or all) of our planned events.

So, Kilt Up!

Such a tease.

At any rate, here is this week’s iteration of Fiction Friday.  As always, I love the feedback and constructive criticism (casts an eye toward the Great White North…you know who you are), so please keep it coming!  This week’s prompt from Writer’s Digest limits me to 500 words.  Enjoy!

The Tooth Fairy visits your house in the middle of the night, only she isn’t just taking your children’s teeth. What is she stealing from your house and how do you attempt to stop her?

I slipped into my son’s room to leave him his money from the “tooth fairy”. He lost his first tooth earlier that evening and was thrilled about his new gap-toothed look. Cries of “look how far I can spit, Dad!” echoed down the hall from the bathroom.

I smiled as I slipped the $20 bill under his pillow. First teeth deserved a little extra, right? I gently kissed his forehead and tiptoed out of the room. My wife was already asleep and I was anxious to follow in her footsteps. My head hit the pillow and I was asleep in minutes.

The pain that woke me up was so intense I thought I was having a heart attack. The only problem seemed to be that the pain wasn’t radiating down my left arm, it felt like I had been hit in the face with a sledgehammer. I’m sure I screamed, but my wife hadn’t budged. I reached over to wake her to help me when I heard a voice.

“Don’t bother, smart guy. I charmed her.”

I looked around yelling, “Who’s there?!?” At least that’s what I tried to say. What came out was more like, “Whoth there?!?” What was wrong with me? A dull, pink light emanated from the foot of my bed and began to pulse brighter and brighter until I saw something I never thought was actually real.

The Tooth Fairy. Big T, Big F. She was about a foot tall, wearing a frilly pink tutu and clutching a little fairy wand. “What the hell ith going on?”

The Tooth Fairy looked at me and said, “Twenty bucks? You give your kid twenty bucks and you think that’s kosher? I am so sick of you parents setting these ridiculous expectations for what a damn tooth is worth. You fools are bankrupting me. You think the economy only sucks for you? What do you think a tooth is worth these days on the open market? It sure as hell ain’t a twenty, pal.”

I just looked at her completely flummoxed. Was I getting a lecture from a fairy? How much scotch had I knocked back after dinner? Then I saw it. She held two teeth in a clear mesh bag. They looked a lot bigger than baby teeth.

“Here’s the deal, money bags. I’m done with the free passes. Go ahead and tell our your play date pals while your at it. The next time one of you chuckleheads puts more than two bits under their kids pillow, you’ll lose more than your two front teeth, you got me?”

I nodded, dumbfounded. My tongue explored the inside of my mouth only to discover what I feared. The two teeth in her bag were mine. “You little thit!” I screamed, lunging for her. She disappeared in a puff of pink smoke and the last thing I heard was her tiny voice echoing in my head.

“Don’t tessst me!”

Image courtesy of Flickr and Pass It!

Refresh your memory:

Can this technology be true(ish)?

Check out this infographic from Criminology.com:

Created by: Criminology

So, is this just futuristic Hollywood rubbish or can we predict future crimes with a decent level of accuracy?