Monday, April 11, 2011
Last week, the night after our hat trick, Third Echelon rolled again on three files. Jester and Sensei were working one file, Ronin, King and I another two.
It was really more of an informational type of night, as we didn't expect to actually arrest anyone, just put some information together and turn up a little heat in the right places. So we rolled around and kicked in doors and just generally sowed hate and discontent, and started building up the files. One guy we were looking for was "Magic," a gangbanger from the Florencia 13 gang. We hit his mom's apartment twice that night (and in between headed over to his other known hangout and cleared a condemned drug house), and got mostly the same old lies we get from everyone: "Oh, I haven't seen him, we don't talk to him much, don't know where he stays, blah blah blah." But we nonetheless put together enough info on enough files to call it a night. We headed home. I watched an episode of Justified on Hulu and then went to bed.
Forty-five minutes later, who calls me but Magic's own mother, to tell me he's sleeping downstairs in her truck, and can I please come to her apartment first so she can open the truck and I won't need to break a window. So I jump out of bed into my gear, and start making calls as I head out. No-one answers.
So, on my way south the main thought running through my head was that Hispanic gangs in L.A. very frequently are family affairs. One hardcase that skipped to Mexico was running with Lennox 13, and his Aunt owned the main gang hangout, and his father and little brother were slinging dope too. So all the way down to South Central I was wondering "What if she's just luring me in for him?"
But the opportunity was too good to let go, and I knew if I kept my SA up I'd be fine. I wanted this guy, but if something didn't look right I'd leave him for later.
Got to the apartment building and there was no way I was going up to that apartment by myself. I grabbed the building security guard (armed) for cover-man, and started searching the garage. In the second row was a Sierra with our boy in the back. No mistaking him with those neck tattoos. I got him out, cuffed him, and took him in. As we were leaving, his mom came down crying and told him "Será mejor así." (It will be better this way.) Being the wonderfully compassionate person that I am (don't laugh, it's rude), I never told him who called me. I even told the guard to tell his mom that he didn't know.
The rest is typical IRC stuff I've told before.