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There Aint No Justice 003
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*-* There Ain't No Justice *-*
*-* #03 *-*
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*-* Phoenix Modernz Inc. 908/830-7960 *-*
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-The Last Mile-
File one of this series concerned what happened when I was busted a few months
back.This time,I'd like to take you through the arrest process itself...
You ever see Wargames? Remember how the Feds were all there in their Chevy
Caprices,dark suits,dark sunglasses,just sweeping in out of the blue to wisk
our hero off to Cheyanne Mountain? Well,it don't quite happen that way in the
real world...
The story of my arrest really begins the night of my bust.The detective in
charge,(whom we shall refer to hereafter as Fred,for reasons of my own) told
me that he would be in touch with me the next evening to process me for my
arrest.The next day comes and goes,no word from Fred.The next WEEK goes by,
and still no word from Fred.Finally,since Fred had mentioned that I would be
basically turning myself in anyway,I decide to save him the trouble of calling
me and I just go right down to Police HQ to do just that.
Now mind you...I have no idea what I am being charged with,and my attempts to
talk to anyone at police HQ had resulted in alot of frustration.So I marched
off to the station without much in the way of an idea as to what I was
supposed to be doing.Now,in file 001 of this series,I mentioned that the
authorities have no idea what the differences are between things like hacking
and scanning.Well,their grasp of basic police concepts are rather lacking too,
because the desk seargeant had no idea to do with me when I showed up at the
door and loudly proclaimed that I was turning myself in.
"Turning yourself in for what?" I heard him say. "Why,for whatever it is that
caused you to confiscate all my computer equipment back in May!" said I.
The conversation went downhill from there.
Finally,it dawns on him to call upstairs and see if someone with more sense
might happen to know what I am talking about.Good old Fred appears and informs
me that he has nothing for me to sign as yet,and that he will call me when he
hears something.I confirm that Fred has my phone number and go on my way,smug
in my personal sense of civic virtue.
Silly of me,perhaps,but I always imagined dealings with the wrong end of the
legal system to involve statements like "Don't Leave Town" and "Freeze
Muthafucker,or I'll Shoot!". Well,my repeated attempts to get in touch with
Fred usually resulted in the following logic chains...
If I call on a Monday before 6:00PM,then Fred is not due to arrive untill
6:00PM.If I call after that time,he is always out.If I call after 6:00PM on
Tuesday,I am informed that he went home at 6:00PM. Fred seems never to be in.
God forbid something should be happening away from the local Donut Hut,I
guess.
Well,as things might have it,I wanted to go on vacation in July,and being the
good little felon I am,I wanted to let my buddy Fred know I was going to be
out of touch for awhile (like he'd notice).It was in the weeks preceeding this
vacation that I gradually began to realize that it wasn't Fred who had the
problem...it was the police dispatcher who was taking my messages.I have since
concluded that the average police dispatcher has the IQ of pond scum.Not only
do they have no idea when the officers they are nominally supposed to be in
control of arrive or depart,when the officers are on duty,the dispatchers have
only the vaguest of notions where they are.But we'll have more cheap shots at
the dispatchers later...
Anyway,I finally gave up on trying to talk to Fred,and began using my friend
the police captain (whom we shall call Barney) to get all my answers.Barney
is alot easier to talk to mostly because he & I knew each other before all this
started,and because he does alot of business where I work,so I actually see
him from time to time.Barney seemed unconcerned that I was planning on going
away...didn't even ask me where I was going. I credit Barney with keeping me
out of the deeper shit I could have had to deal with all these long months.
Cops may be scum,but Barney is OK.
Well,Barney and I kept in touch over the months,him usually not knowing
anything new,but the day finally came when he remembered that there were some
warrants lying around the station with my name on them.So he sends Fred & his
Junior Birdman along to tell me to meet them at the station after work so they
can process me (FINALLY!). The day passes uneventfully enough,and after work
I psyche myself up to go get arrested...
I go down to the station,and proudly present myself to the police dispatcher
and inform him I am there to see Detective Fred.He tells me that Fred is out
and asks me if he can take a message.I tell him that Fred told me that he would
be there at this time,and ask him if he is sure Fred is out.At this point the
dispatcher gets all hostlie and starts shouting that Fred is out,and won't be
back for awhile. So I leave.
The next morning,after I have huffed around the office about the stupid cops
who make appointments they don't keep,Barney walks in and starts asking ME
why I didn't show up the preceeding evening.I tell him my story about how his
dispatcher told me nobody was there,and he tells me that they were all upstairs
waiting for me to show. I tell him his dispatcher is an idiot. Suprizingly,he
agrees.We get into his car and drive on over to the station.
On the way over,I ask him what the charges are,and he tells me about the two
US Sprint related charges and something about a credit card.Then he starts
grilling me about the credit card charge before I even know what its about.
So I play dumb.How should I know what card they're talking about? There have
been so many...
Anyway,at long last,I am actually INSIDE the stationhouse,and in the process
of being arrested.I was raided in May,and now its November.Took them 5 months
to figure out that I dialed something like 25,000 800 numbers,that I did
something to a US Sprint computer (don't ask me,I'm still mystified about tha
one!) and that I had recieved stolen property, to wit 1 AT&T calling card.
I get to sit on a hard plastic chair and wait. And wait. And wait some more.
They take my fingerprints.They have me sign lots of paperwork.I find out that
I'm only worth $2000 bail,and that they're waiving that and releasing me on
my own recognizance.Maybe if I'd insisted on sitting in the county lockup,
I'd have a court date by now.
After they are done with me,I am personally escorted back to my place of
employment by a local patrolman who lets me ride up front,even...I'm obviously
a dangerous desperado,eh?
Its January, 1991. I was busted almost eight months ago,and I don't even know
what all the charges against me are because I can't get a public defender to
explain them to me until I have a court date.The EFF can't help me until I have
a lawyer,either.My next step will be contacting the editor of the Bergen County
Record,who has taken an interest in my case for its civil rights violations.
Maybe where justice has failed,the bright lights of publicity can win through.
Lets hope for a media circus,eh?
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