Trece
Posted by: Ed Chernoff
October 11, 2007

Ok, so maybe I was joking. The last blog entry was mostly fiction, and I apologize to anyone who got too terribly wrapped up in it. Matt wasn't holding. I didn't get pistol whipped. I just fell into my novelist persona and couldn't get myself out. So back to reality.

The deputies were following protocal. I knew it well. Most of my highway stop cases fit the same mold. They separate the passengers. Come up with some reason to have a conversation. See if the stories diverge in some way, and then ask permission to search. Somewhere along the way, they report extreme nervousness in the driver or "strange" movements from the passenger. Of course, none of that applied to Matt and I. The only thing strange about Matt was his complete detachment. I suppose they could have mistaken my curiosity for nervousness. In any case, there was nothing to discuss. I hadn't broken any traffic rules.

But Willacy County Sheriff Deputies were as well trained as Dallas debutantes. Even without a reason to converse, they knew their job was to maintain conversation. It was show time. The short one stared at my license like he was expecting an alien head to pop out. He mustered a perplexed look. "You know", he said, "your license address doesn't match your registriation address." He looked up at me like he expected an answer. I didn't give him one. He continued. "Your registration shows this car out of Atlanta". I had no response for this mystery. "Where you coming from?", he asked. Finally a question I could answer. "Why did you stop me?", I replied. He seemed taken aback by the change in script. He actually stammered. He said, "You changed lanes without signaling".

Maybe it was his change in tone that did it. Maybe it was all the stories my clients had told me about the cohersive stops that had resulted in searches and arrests. Maybe it was the injustice. I knew damn well I hadn't changed lanes. Whatever it was, I lit into the little guy. The initial diatribe went something like this: "You know that's bullshit! You were following me for two miles, and I wasn't about to change lanes. You can lie all you want out here, but up on the stand you had better be prepared to lie under oath. You know...so help you God? Maybe you will get by with it, but you and I will know its a lie. You really want to do that?" At that point, Deputy number two left his position at the back of the Navigator and slipped behind me, but I was on a roll. "I'm not one of those guys who is going to let this go! No, I'm not going to agree to a search! No, I don't give a Goddamn if you get a warrant! Or a dog! I hope you get a dog! I have a video camera in the car and I hope to God you get a dog, because I'm going to videotape every 'alert' your Fido makes!"

I stopped to get my breath. For some reason Deputy Number Two stepped in and he asked the second most interesting thing I had ever heard a cop say, "Who the hell are you?" I didn't know what to say at first. My adreneline was pumping. In fact, I WAS NERVOUS! I said, "I'm a lawyer, heading to Brownsville to try a drug case." The two Deputies turned to each other and the second one, face curiosly transformed, asked the the first most interesting thing I had ever had a cop ask.

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Part Dos, Dos
Posted by: Ed Chernoff
October 02, 2007

I was frankly amazed. I don't get stopped by cops. I'm a 44 year old white male, in an appropriate vehicle. And although I sympathize with my clients who are pulled over for no reason at all, I can't honestly say I relate. I have before driven 18 months past the renewal date on my registration tag. Longer than that for inspection. I've gotten lazy, knowing that enforcement policy doesn't include my demographic. I speed. I weave. I drive with one brake light out. Nothing. I can't get a date to that prom.

So to see that Willacy Sheriff vehicle pull out into traffic and stalk my Navigator fascinated me. He had no reason to follow me. The Navigator was new, so it was current on its papers. i wasn't speeding. Matt had made sure of that by lending me his state of the art satelite enabled Jenna Jameson endorsed cop detection device. It checked for laser, infrared, X Band, K Band, XXX band and Rubber Band radar. They weren't shooting me. No reason at all, but the cop car closed in and I hadn't any doubt he was going to stop me. I told Matt, who was as confused as I. "What for?", he asked, craning his neck backward. "I don't know", I replied, "but we are about to find out." It was then the lights went on.

It turned out to be two of them. They followed protocal. After I stopped, one approached my drivers side, just slightly to the back of my shoulder. The other waited at the back passenger side. The one near me asked for my license and insurance. So far, I was amused. With a smile, I asked if it was okay if I reached into my glove box. He agreed. I dipped between Matt's legs to dig for my insurance card. Strangely, Matt seemed tense. His face was unmoved, like a guard dog perked by a sound outside the front door. Later, I found out why. I couldn't find the card, and told the deputy. He asked me out of the car.

It would be incorrect to say I was concerned, but I began to feel a discontent at the operation. They were far too terse considering the occupants they found in the car. It didn't make any sense. I turned to ask the deputy why he had stopped me - really just to break the ice. As I turned he jumped and reached down to his belt, where his semi-automatic rested. Taken aback, I stepped away. I held my hands open to the officer, and said, "Whoa there, there's no problem here!" I said it in a pleading manner. This guy was clearly stressed, and God knows I didn't want to do anything to ramp up his apprehension. Unfortunately, it didn't do any good. I heard a shuffle, and turned to see the deputy at the rear of the Navigator running towards the passenger door. It was then I saw Matt bolt from the car and take off towards the field next to the highway. Alarmed, I took a step forward. That's all I remember.

I had always heard about how it felt to be knocked unconscous, but the descriptions don't really do it justice. I can't say I felt pain, until much later when I woke up in the hospital. I've got to give him credit, he was fast. I think it was a flashlight, but I didn't see it coming, and really it could have been anything. The romantic in me likes to think I was pistol whipped. All I know is the bright sunshine of the Texas Valley faded to black very, very fast and whatever importance I placed in protecting Matt was buried in the hot concrete of the southernmost part of US 59.

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