 |
|
|
| |
"I don't have to do anything I don't want to"
|
2560 Reads
|
|
|
|
| |
|
I parked my car on Temple street half a block from the front of the Rampart Police Department, pressing the record button on my new digital voice recorder, about the size of the smallest available cell phone on the market. I dropped it in my pocket, buttoned it shut and walked up the steps to the opaque doors. When the door pulled back, I saw a Latino family; a man, woman and a mix of young boys and girls sitting on the wooden bench waiting. For what, I didn’t know.
|
|
I signed in at 4:15pm, then perused the small disorderly office, scanning over complaint forms written in English, Korean, Spanish, Chinese, Japanese, and more to simply kill the time. I was nervous enough as it was already.
“Sir, do you need some help?” Officer Koren sat behind a flat screen monitor, his clean-shaven head and piercing blue eyes peering out from behind. I introduced myself as a resident of the neighborhood and a student of journalism, asking to see the log of crime reports for the past week or month. “Oh no” he shook his head slightly “that information’s not open to the public”. He gave me the address and phone number to the Crime Analysis Division, and suggested I call there on Monday.
I moved around from behind the monitor to get a clearer air between us, and noticed a spandex-like material covering his right arm. It ran out from the bottom of his short-sleeved navy blue shirt down to his wrist. From the very edge of it I could see a tattoo that had swirling black flames and part of a skull. I started to ask him another question when the phone in front of him rang. “Do you have to take that?” I asked. “I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do” he said calmly. “Clearly” I replied.
He passed me the contact information for the C.A.D. on a square two-inch piece of paper, saying that their office is a lot like this one, and that the Detective’s office is open to the public. As far as obtaining specific information on specific cases, he said that the only information I could obtain “would be what I would consider generic”.
I noticed another officer appear from the obscured view of the offices from behind the front desk. He too had the same spandex sleeve covering tattoos that poured out from beneath it. Is this a trend? I wondered. Who are these people? Why are they here? Civil servants? Well, I got the distinct impression that civility or servanthood had little to do with it. Within these walls the the most depraved, sinister kind of power bubbled like a murky tarpit. Of course, I will have to return.
|
|
|
|
|
| |
| Posted by: R_Palmere on Monday, September 05, 2005 - 04:37 AM
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
