Probation Officer #120: An afternoon with the police

I’d expected that Jock would call me into his office a couple of hours before the meeting, to discuss strategy and to warn me off doing the things that I intended to do. But he didn’t communicate with me until half an hour before the meeting. If he’d intended to get me nervous, that part had worked. But at three-thirty he’d turned up at my office door, thrown a set of keys at me and indicated with his head that we were going to the carpark.

The keys were for the only car the probation service owned that was less than two years old. Most of my colleagues smoked, and so did their cars.

It’s a job that involves a lot of waiting for other people to arrive, followed by intense work. Nurses, cops and actors tend to smoke, for much the same reason. The probation service’s cars smoke because all the public funding goes into building more jails. Anyway, Jock got in the passenger door. Usually the man who drives has some power deriving from that. Jock wanted me to see myself as the chauffeur.

I drove silently while Jock glared at me. He was trying to keep me ill at ease. I was, so I leaned my arm on the open window and projected utter nonchalance and relaxation.

I said, “We haven’t had time to discuss the meeting. So, you should maybe do the general stuff, about communication and cooperation between the police and us. Those issues. But I’ll talk about the specific cases, Lance Holder, Dwane, Ana and so on, myself. Since I, uh, haven’t had time to brief you. Yeah?”

Jock kept staring.

twofistHe was, as I’ve said before, a physically imposing figure. He had arms like hardwood logs. He’d let the workouts and the boxing go a little since he’d remarried, but he still looked unnatural, his body tapering sharply down to a boxer’s narrow waist. He looked like a cartoon hero, a sketch with every line emphasising strength.

He had a set of white puckers in the skin above his left eye, from when he’d faced down a prison escapee who’d armed himself with an axe. Jock had guessed wrong about the axe-man – he’d thought the guy would back down – but after taking an axe swing to the face, half concussed and nearly blinded with his own blood, he’d broken the guy’s arm, punched him unconscious, and sat on his chest, bleeding onto him, while he called the cops. It was the cops who called him an ambulance.

Probation Officer #66: The atheist Pat O’Brien

“All right. You come back with a report that recommends something instead of jail but doesn’t sound like wet liberal bullshit. And we’ll work out how to sell it to the judge. And the cops. Come and see me with what you’ve got at one o’clock, and we’ll go and talk to the cops around four. Ok?”

boxWhen Jock had finished punching his juvenile crims bloody, he’d trust them with $50, maybe more, to use to get back to their mothers, or aunts, or whoever was most likely to look after them. Jock couldn’t afford to lose the money he lent those kids – they knew that, because he’d become a bit of a legend – and being trusted scared the hell out of them. Most of them wanted to earn that trust, and most of them paid the money back.

In a movie he’d have been played by Pat O’Brien, except that Jock was an atheist. He was, as they say, a better man than I was, or am. We had nothing in common. We faced each other, each time we met, completely baffled.  

“Ok. Thank you.”

“Yeah. I should think so. How’s that Ana girl?”

“What? Ana?”

“Well of course Ana. Have you fucked her?” 

Probation officer #13: Don’t walk away

I told her how to attract cops and get herself arrested. For example, too many of the incidents on her charge sheet started with her seeing a cop and running away. Then I told her how not to attract cops. Ignore them. If you do need to leave, because maybe you’ve got pot in your pockets, stroll, don’t run. Walk casually away, and above all, don’t look back. Until you’re at least two blocks away. If they’re following you, you’ll find out soon enough. But if you look back they’re much more likely to follow.

And I told her the things that a cop was entitled to ask a citizen in this state, that she was required to answer. That included her name, address and occupation, and where she’d just come from and where she was going. Don’t let them draw you out by asking you a series of questions: give them everything they’re entitled to in answer to the first question. Be polite but don’t smile or be charming. Don’t swear or call them names. If they try to pump you for more, after you’ve given the information you’re required to give, tell them you’ve told them what you’re required to tell, and you’re now returning to your own business unless they intend to arrest you. Then walk away.

If they touch you or try to hold you, unless they arrest you, naming a specific crime, they’re breaking the law. Tell them if they want a longer conversation they can have it with your lawyer. Then tell them to keep their hands off you. I told her the name of a local lawyer, who was famous for destroying dodgy police evidence, and sometimes careers, in court. Cops didn’t hate him, because he was a friendly guy, but they feared him.

We went through that a couple of times, then a few times, until she had the words right, and the right tone of voice: the tone of an unfriendly adult, not a defiant child. 

I said, eventually, “That’s just right, Ana. Do that and they’ll stop talking to you. Unless you give them an opening, like shoplifting something.”

“Yes. I know. I’m sorry I did that.” She really did sound sorry.

“Sorry’s not going to be enough keep you out of jail, Ana. But we can talk about that tomorrow. For now, it’s no more shoplifting. No more getting cops to chase you. Stop acting silly, and keep out of trouble. Okay?”

walking“Name. Address. Occupation. I came from my friend’s place and now  I’m going home. Thank you for your time, officer. I am now leaving, to get back to going home. Then I walk away.”

I nodded. “That’ll do for today. You’re a quick learner.”

She touched my leg again. Dangerously close to the rere. Rere means cock in Samoan, I think I mentioned. You pronounce it “reh-reh”, but you say it quickly. I hope you find that useful, one day.

“I’ve nearly got it. But I think you should really watch me walk away. See if I’ve got it right.”

I said, “Ana.”

“You could coach me.”

She knew how close her hand was to my cock. So did my cock. I put my hand on the ignition, symbolically enough. “I better get you home.”