PRAISE FOR BUSTING BAD GUYS

Mark Langan has written a book that gives rare insight into his career of busting Omahas worst gang members and drug dealers. Marvelously detailed, this book reads like fiction yet every bit of it is true. Eric Buske Former Omaha Police Chief, now Police Chief in Bryan, Texas A real-world look at the emotional roller coaster of taking on the streets as one of Omahas finest. Mark captures the true essence of his remarkable career in a manner that once you start reading you just cant put it down. Donald W. Kleine Douglas County (Nebraska) Attorney Throughout a highly distinguished police career, Mark Langan doggedly pursued violent drug dealers and others whom society had very good reason to fear. In this book, he has done a magnificent job capturing all the tense, gritty street drama he dealt with daily as a police officer. This is his real life, no-holdsbarred police story that will keep you on the edge of your seat from the first page to the last. Hon. Gerald E. Moran District Judge, Retired Police officers will find this book interesting and truthful. They will wish they had the inspiration to be able to document their career in such a real and visual fashion. Everyone else will get insight into the real thing. You know it is a good read when feel you are part of the story. This is like reading a real life diary that is a good portrayal of what policing is about. The generation before Langan was struggling to adapt to new professional and legal standards and to rules and regulations

designed to conform to Supreme Court decisions that were significantly changing how officers worked. Langan earned a reputation for doing things the better way and he would spend a career developing and teaching the process. The detail in this book is not surprising. Successful officers know that a case does not end with the arrest. The work is just beginning, because a successful prosecution, where justice is the ultimate goal, requires an unimpeachable foundation. No one will be disappointed when they read this thought-provoking book. Lee Polikov Sarpy County (Nebraska) Attorney The code word is BINGO. Thats what we officers on Langans crew said when we had the dope in hand while working undercover. Score your own BINGO with Langans book. Take a deep breath and prepare yourself as my former boss takes your hand and walks you through that dark, dirty underworld of drugs and prostitution. Fasten your seatbelt because this book takes off with seconds of utter hell seen through the eyes of a cop in a deadly police shootout. Brian Bogdanoff Award-winning Homicide Detective and Award-winning True Crime Author of Three Bodies Burning: The Anatomy of an Investigation into Murder, Money and Mexican Marijuana Great stories, with the added benefit of being 100 percent true. Stories of the kind that cops only tell each other, because without ruining her day, how can you honestly answer that question coming in the door and your wife asks, How was your day, honey? Mark Langan takes an unparalleled look into the days, and dark nights, of the hardest working cop I have ever known. You cant make this stuff up! Mark Sundermeier Omaha Police Deputy Chief (Retired) Former member of Mark Langans C Shift Narcotics Unit crew

Hard-hitting, fact-based look into the underbelly of society: the criminal streets. Firsthand accounts of encounters between police and the criminals they try to protect society from. Having practiced criminal defense for twenty-four years in the same city as the author, these true tales bring home the reality of all persons involved in the criminal justice system. Action packed with details that only a person involved in the day-to-day drama on the mean streets can bring to life on the pages of this book. A real look into the hard job police officers in the city of Omaha, and across the country, routinely face. In spite of our different roles in the judicial system, I always respected Sgt. Langan and the work he performed. A rare and intriguing view from one of Omahas finest. Glenn Shapiro, J.D. Partner, Schaefer Shapiro LLP I have known Mark since his earliest days in law enforcement. Its hard to imagine, but his stories really capture the essence of what we now know has kept our city safe. The richly detailed experiences in this book will keep you glued to the pages [so ultimately you], at the end you truly understand the debt of gratitude we owe the men and women in blue. Robert J. Carlisle President MCL Construction

 2014 Mark T. Langan No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Any similarities to other intellectual works are either coincidental or have been properly cited when the source is known. Trademarks of products, services, and organizations mentioned herein belong to their respective owners and are not affiliated with the publisher, MTL838 LLC. The author and publisher shall have neither liability nor responsibility to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused, or alleged to have been caused, directly or indirectly by the information in this book. Names of confidential informants and some suspects have been changed. Information from articles in The Omaha World-Herald and Law Enforcement News is reprinted with permission. Crime scene photos reprinted with permission from the Omaha Police Department. Warning: This book contains graphic descriptions of crimes and adult language. Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9913110-1-9 ePub ISBN: 978-0-9913110-3-3 Kindle ISBN: 978-0-9913110-2-6 LCCN: 2013957215

Publishing information to come MTL838 LLC www.BustingBadGuys.com

Printied in the United States of America. 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To my wife, Annette. A shining example of love, support, and

understanding to a husband whose life dreams presented many challenges along the way.

To the families of police officers everywhere. Your encouragement

and reassurance after a tough day on the streets means more than you will ever know.

And to the members of the Omaha Police Department. You

taught me the meaning of honor, integrity, and sacrifice.

CONTENTS
Foreword . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 The Shootout 1 Get Us a Squad! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 2 One Adam-12, Responding . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33 Patrol Days 3 Kids, Kids, Kids . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47 4 Stay Out of the 100 Area . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51 5 Dynamite . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61 6 Chump Change . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63 7 The Fridge . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67 8 By the Balls . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71 9 Im Here, Sarge! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73 10 Light It Up . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77 11 See No Evil . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81 12 Choir Practice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83 13 All Choked Up . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85 14 A New Life . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87 15 You Have the Right to Remain Silent . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91 Burglary 16 Burglary Dick . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105 17 A Dangerous Touch . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117 Vice 18 The O.C. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 125 19 Club Delmar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127 20 Code Name C2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135 21 Working Girls . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141

22 Golden Showers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 149 23 Hot Mama . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 153 24 Ditto Heads . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157 25 Internet Madam . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161 10-7, Signal 8-0 26 Eating in Omahas Finest Restaurants . . . . . . . . . . . 169 Narcotics 27 Get on the Ground . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179 28 The Painter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 193 29 Caught Red-Handed . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 201 30 The Other Woman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 207 31 Rock and Roll Groupies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 211 32 Paper Snow-Seal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 215 33 Hit It! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 221 34 Helicopter Coming Down . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231 35 Snitches, Stoolies, and Rats . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 235 36 Bend Over and Cough . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 241 37 Knock and Talk . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249 38 Operation Hotel-Motel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 253 39 Sign Here . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 257 40 The Chronology of a Gun . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 259 41 I Swear to Tell the Truth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 269 The Grand Jury 42 Justified . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 279 Moving On 43 From Busting Meth Labs to Chasing Black Labs . . . 287 44 The Past Comes Full Circle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 299 45 Strange Lunch Fellows . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 305 Acknowledgments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 311 About the Author . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 315

FOREWORD

hen I became an FBI agent in 1988, I, like many other red-blooded Americans, wanted to chase bank robbers and kidnappers. To my dismay, when I arrived in Omaha I was assigned to the White Collar Crime Squad. After a successful two and a half years on this squad, I was re-assigned to the Drug/ Gang Squad. Again, not bank robberies. Federal, state, and local narcotics investigators from both counties in the Omaha metropolitan area worked in a clandestine location we affectionately called the hole. During this assignment my entire attitude about what I wanted to do with my career changed. It wasnt the work necessarily, it was the people. It was on this squad that I met Sergeant Mark Langan. I had heard of Mark. Everyone had. He was the Sergeant of the C shift narcotics crew for the Omaha Police Department. Agents on my squad had worked successfully with Mark for years. He was a hard charger, as were the officers who worked for him. For whatever the reason, I gravitated to this crew. I worked with the other Omaha Police Department crews (I hope successfully), but with Mark and his crew, something clicked. Normally I worked daytime hours, but whenever my pager went off after four oclock, I knew it was Mark, and off I went. My wife always says I have no recollection of her pregnancy with our second son because I was too busy running out of the house to work with Langans Crew.

BUSTING BAD GUYS

I hear this saying all the time, That guy is a police officers police officer, and Im here to tell you that Mark Langan is that police officers police officer. Few people are born to do what they do; fewer still can honestly say they spent a career doing a job they love. No one tells better stories than cops, and the pages of this book are filled with the stories of a police officer. The danger, the boredom, the fun, the brotherhood, and the excitement when a plan comes together. Mark Langan is more than a police officer, as you will see. He is a husband, a father, and a servant of the community. To me, Mark is a leader and one of the biggest influences on my career. With his help I learned that drug investigations were my forte, not bank robberies. He taught me that everyone, even the violent drug dealers and gangbangers we dealt with needed to be treated with respect. I remember one night having dinner with the crew at the Smoke Pit BBQ when Mark and I noticed the parents of a major crack dealer at a nearby table. They noticed us too. When the parents had finished their meal, the crack dealers mother came over to our table. I thought, Oh, man, she is just going to rip us, but I was wrong. She told us that she knew her son had done wrong and deserved to be in the penitentiary but thanked us for treating her son fairly. In the fall of 2004 I was working a case with Gary Kula, who figures prominently in the first chapter of this book, when I got a call from Mark. He needed to talk to me about something important. We met, and to my shock, Mark informed me that he was thinking about retiring from the force. He told me he had a chance to take a job supervising the animal control officers at the Nebraska Humane Society. I can vividly remember saying, So you wanna be the dog catcher? Wrong again. Mark brought the same energy and enthusiasm to that job he brought to the Omaha Police Department. He is much more than a dog catcher. He is VicePresident of Field Operations for the Nebraska Humane Society and has made an indelible change to the job of the animal control officer. Because of Marks efforts its now a felony, punishable by
2

FOREWORD

jail time, to mistreat an animal. The officers work animal cruelty cases and even write search warrants. This is the story of a man who was born to be a police officer but became so much more. How many people can say they made a difference in their community, every day, from the age of eighteen to well into their fifties? I am proud to call Mark Langan my friend. Bill Nellis FBI Special Agent Omaha Field Office

INTRODUCTION

y high school counselor told me I was too sensitive to be a cop. I told myself he was wrong. However, these guys are counselors for a reason. They see things in the kids that we dont see ourselves. Or that we are too immature and bullheaded to admit. Being an Omaha Police Officer changed me drastically in twenty-six years on the job from 1978 to 2004. There are parts of my personality I dont like. In fact, Ive worked hard since retirement to change dark aspects of who I am. Change is tough. For years others have told me I can be moody, intimidating, or appear sullen at times. I never try to act this way on purpose and actually work hard at making people feel comfortable when interacting with me. At times I feel as though I have two personalities. I can be warm, outgoing, and the type of person who makes others feel comfortable to be around. Yet at times, when my past catches up to me, I can change and become that mysterious guy who causes others to wonder whats going through my head. They never saw the movies I saw played out on the streets of Omaha all those years in uniformed patrol, working Burglary, Vice, and finally many years undercover in Narcoticsthe worst of humanity: kids who were killed, abused, or forced to live a life of constant fear, kids living like prisoners in their own homes or never allowed outside to play because their drug-abusing parents

BUSTING BAD GUYS

never understood why kids needed to go to school or have a rich life, women who were beaten daily and grew to accept that, drug users whose arms were covered with track marks and never knew what day it was or struggled just for survival, hour to hour. One little girl, probably five or six, walked up to me after we had bashed her front door down with a battering ram and arrested her mom and dad for selling methamphetamine. She hugged my legs sobbing, Please dont let anybody hurt me. Ive finally figured out the real reason Im writing this memoir. Its time for my family to hear the whole story, not just the tamer parts of my career I thought they could handle. I saw things I couldnt share and experienced emotions I couldnt find the words to tell them about. My wife and two kids certainly knew what I did for a living. Their husband and dad was a cop who worked at night, often slept in late, and was gone for many family functions. They rarely knew what I saw, heard, and felt when I came home at night after a rough day on the streets of Omaha. I wanted to protect them from the atrocities I experienced, especially the heinous situations involving kids. Little do my own children know the number of times I checked on them before I went to bed in the wee hours of the night, making sure they were safe, comfortable, and warm. Hours earlier I had seen kids of the same age living in filth, cockroaches running throughout their bedrooms, being parented by pieces of crap who put more value on their next hit of crack than making sure their own kids were safe. I wish I would have shared my experiences more with my family, but I cannot go back in time to do so. Only after my retirement do I feel that my kids fully understood and appreciated what I did, and thats my fault. I should have been more open to them with my feelings about this damn job. Thats the reason for this book. I want my wife, kids, grandson, and future grandkids to know what the old guy did. Im not looking to sensationalize my career by any means. Rather, I owe it to them to tell the whole story, the good and the bad, to make up for all the hours lost with them during my police career.
6

INTRODUCTION

Turns out my counselor, Brother Richard Murphy at Roncalli Catholic High School, was a wise man. Maybe I am too sensitive. I had trouble sleeping for years. Insomnia is a cruel monster. After I retired from the Omaha Police Department, sleep became easier, as my mind raced less late at night. Once I started writing this book, the cruel monster returned. Lying sleepless in bed late at night has forced me to relive the sights and sounds of little kids shaking and crying, scared to death that really bad things are going to happen to them worse than theyd already been through. In way too many cases I personally saw these little angels forced to endure atrocities that most people cannot comprehend. Cops are not most people, which is why I still lie awake at night. Let me tell you what happened on the nights I patrolled your streets.

THE SHOOTOUT

GET US A SQUAD!

n Valentines Day 2002, Officer Gary Kula and I shot and killed thirty-seven-year-old Jose Chavez near the intersection of 28th and Madison in South Omahaa working-class neighborhood of mostly small one-story homes overshadowed by massive mature trees, with plenty of cars parked along narrow streets with wide sidewalks. In some ways Im surprised I hadnt been involved in a shooting earlier in my career with the Omaha Police Department. After all, this officer-involved shooting occurred during my twenty-fourth year on the job and fourteenth year in the Narcotics Unit. I cannot begin to count the number of armed drug dealers my crew had arrested up to this fateful night. We had chased armed suspects through dark yards, knocked down motel room doors, finding perps on beds next to semi-automatic rifles, and were fired upon by a sniper while serving a crack warrant in 1992. The odds were bound to catch up to us sooner or later that someoneeither a member of my crew or Iwould be involved in a shooting where either one of us, or the suspect, would be killed or seriously injured. Yet the chances of police officers using their firearms to kill someone are remote at best. There are close to a million cops in the United States, with an average of three hundred fatal shootings a year by police officers.

BUSTING BAD GUYS

Bad guys shoot cops too. Sadly, over the past ten years law enforcement officers have been killed in the line of duty every fifty-seven hours. One hundred and twenty died in 2012. So far, 19,981 names are engraved on the walls of the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial in Washington, D.C. I sure never wanted to be one of them, but standing in the street that night the thought crossed my mind. Ironically, in the past ten years most officer-involved shootings have occurred on a Thursday. What is the significance of Thursday for violence toward police officers? I have no clue, but February 14, 2002, was a Thursday. This particular day started out no differently than all the others, but it ended up to be a defining moment for Garys career and mine. We had shot a man who died on the street. Never before had we been the subjects of a criminal investigation, with our coworkers reading us Miranda warnings and refusing to talk to us outside of the investigation. And never before had a grand jury convened to determine if we should be indicted for murder. Was I a killer? I was trained to kill in the police academy. I wore a gun to work every day. I was prepared to shoot to kill. But I had never fired my gun outside the shooting range until the night of February 14, 2002. The weather was unseasonably warm, in the forties, with little or no snow on the ground. Being the romantic I claim to be, I planned to leave work early to treat my wife to a late Valentines Day dinner. After all, I was still working nights, and it was only fitting to take a few hours off on Valentines Day to be with the woman who supported me and my crazy schedule. Yet all bets were off when Officer Mark Lang (yes, our names are similar) came into my office around four that afternoon and told me he had just received information that sounded promising. An informant was telling Mark that a person was going to arrive in the parking lot of Kendall Tavern on Gilmore Avenue around 6:15 p.m. with a quarter pound of methamphetamine. Mark was known for having extremely reliable informants, so I put a lot of stock in this information. I thought we could
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GET US A SQUAD!

stake out the bar lot and take the car off when it pulls in. Id be home by 7:30 to take my wife, Annette, out for our Valentines Day dinner. I called Annette and told her the plans. True to form she wasnt upset, though Im sure she shook her head in disappointment as she hung up the phone. Last-minute phone calls disrupted our family plans many times over the years. It was certainly not uncommon for me to cancel family plans based on a phone call from an informant with important information on a drug deal going down. Tonight was no different. I called my crew together, telling them to report to a parking lot at 24th and O streets at 5:30 p.m. sharp. I was always a stickler for officers to be on time for these briefings, and my crew could be counted on to meet my schedules. Prior to the briefing I drove through the neighborhood around Kendall Tavern, taking note of the best spots to hide officers in vehicles so they would not be seen by the suspect coming into the area. The location of Kendall Tavern is unique in that its surrounded by both industrial businesses and residential houses. Its a working-class neighborhood, with most houses being one story with small front yards and parking mainly on the streets. Gilmore Avenue actually runs diagonally past Kendall Tavern, which made my job harder on positioning units in the area. Gilmore was a main thoroughfare leading southbound to the city of Bellevue, a suburb of Omaha. Kendall Tavern, a typical small, one-story neighborhood bar, is situated among businesses on one side and white frame houses on the other. The tavern was going to be difficult to watch with few vantage points that allowed us to get close without being detected. I actually found a vacant business east of Gilmore Avenue and Madison that, when on foot, allowed me a visual of the bars parking lot. This would be my surveillance location. I would have the eyeball, meaning I was the guy who would watch the bar lot and radio the others when the suspect arrived. The parking lot where the briefing was held was tucked behind the old historic South Omaha City Hall. We were out of
13

BUSTING BAD GUYS

sight of the traffic on busy 24th Street and drew little attention to our activities in the lot. We were over a mile away from Kendall Tavern so even if someone saw us in this parking lot, there was no way they would connect us to that particular neighborhood even though we were wearing bullet-proof vests saying Omaha Police on the front and back, and a marked black-and-white cruiser was with us. The temperatures were cooling off as the sun went down, and since the briefing was outdoors, we had our jackets and sweatshirts on. It was just cold enough to see our breaths as we talked about how we were going to take this guy down. Present in the parking lot were Officers Mark Lang, Brian Heath, Gary Kula, Pam Heidzig, and Mark Desler of the Narcotics Unit. Uniformed Officer Kenny Rowe arrived in the cruiser to help us out. We huddled around the trunk of my car, while I gave specific instructions to each officer about his and her roles in this important and dangerous operation. I placed great emphasis on the briefings before any narcotics operation. It was incumbent on me as the supervisor to paint a picture of the information we had and determine how we were going to respond to that information and exactly what all the officers roles were. I carried a small dry erase board in my trunk, complete with a black marker and eraser. I drew the area of Kendall Tavern on Gilmore Avenue, charting exactly where each officer was going to be assigned. I told the officers gathered that Mark Lang had developed information that a suspect named One-Eyed Jack was due to arrive in the parking lot of Kendall Tavern at 6:15 p.m. with a quarter pound of methamphetamine in his possession. He was described as being a Mexican male in his thirties, with a very noticeable lazy eye. A quarter pound of methamphetamine was an amount possessed by a dealer, not a user. If broken down into smaller amounts such as ounces and half-ounces, a dealer could make thousands of dollars from the initial investment on that quarter pound of meth.
14

GET US A SQUAD!

We also had information that One-Eyed Jack would be driving a white 1989 Oldsmobile Cutlass, and that the suspect lived at a house near 28th and Madisona half mile from the probable rendezvous point at the tavern. Officer Lang had driven by the house prior to the briefing and located a vehicle matching that description. Most importantly, we had information that One-Eyed Jack liked handguns, meaning we needed to use extreme caution when taking his vehicle off. Our goal was to stop the bad guy car and safely arrest the driver. At least, that was the plan. Information like this was common on most drug operations we did. We assumed the suspect would be armed, as many were. In the backs of our minds was the idea of suspects shooting it out with us, to keep from going to jail. We never relaxed until the handcuffs were on. I assigned the following officers to strategic locations and duties: I was responsible for overall command and the surveillance of Kendall Tavern. It would be my job to call in the troops to arrest One-Eyed Jack when he arrived in the white Cutlass. Officer Lang was assigned to an undercover car in the area of Kendall Tavern, cruising in the area looking for the suspect vehicle. Officer Desler did the same in another undercover car, also on the lookout for One-Eyed Jack to arrive. Officers Kula and Heidzig were in separate undercover vehicles keeping the suspects house under surveillance. They were to let me know when the white Cutlass moved. Officer Heath joined the uniformed officer, Rowe, in the black and white, and they were told to park just east of Gilmore Avenue on Madison Street. They were tucked away in a parking lot, out of sight of the traffic on Gilmore. This cruiser would be the primary take-off vehicle when One-Eyed Jack arrived at Kendall Tavern. It was important for a marked vehicle to be the first to approach the suspect since there would be no doubt in the suspects mind who was coming after him. If an undercover car rushed up on One-Eyed Jack, he could claim later he thought
15

BUSTING BAD GUYS

he was being jacked, street slang for a robbery. With a marked Omaha Police cruiser being the first to approach One-Eyed Jack, he could not claim ignorance. Also, we had developed information that One-Eyed Jack spoke broken English, and Spanish was his primary language. Officer Heath was a fluent Spanish speaker, which is another reason he was chosen for this assignment in the black and white. I instructed Brian to give loud verbal commands in both English and Spanish over the cruisers public address system to OneEyed Jack. To add to our arsenal, I had Able One, the police helicopter, assigned to this operation for one important reason. If One-Eyed Jack decided to run from the black-and-white police cruiser, the helicopter could drop down over the white Cutlass and take over the pursuit. I avoided police pursuits at all costs, especially during narcotics operations. They were just too dangerous. It wasnt worth getting an innocent citizen killed or an officer injured over a quarter pound of methamphetamine. Officer Greg Stanzel was the pilot, and Officer Doug Klein the spotter in Able One. At exactly 6:05 p.m. we were all set up at our assigned locations, working off a tactical channel that was assigned only for narcotics operations. Able One was circling a wide pattern, staying away from the area of Kendall Tavern. Even though it was February, and most car windows were up, we didnt want to tip off One-Eyed Jack by the sound of a police helicopter hovering over Kendall Tavern. Able One could respond to the bar in less than thirty seconds once One-Eyed Jack pulled into the parking lot. My plan was to deploy the marked cruiser and the chopper at the same time as soon as One-Eyed Jack arrived at the bar. I was on foot in the darkness, in the back of a vacant business on Madison Street. I stood next to a four-foot chainlink fence that bordered the backyard of a house just west of my surveillance position. This was the only spot I could find that gave me an unobstructed view of the bars parking lot. If One-Eyed Jack pulled in, I would definitely see him from where I was, about a half block to the east of the bar.
16

GET US A SQUAD!

A Basset Hound in the backyard of the house next to me was obviously not happy that I was standing next to his domain. The dog continued a low baying, as I frantically tried to get him to quiet down. After all, I was standing in the dark next to his backyard. I certainly didnt want neighbors to think I was a prowler, or a homeowner to come outside with a gun to investigate why this pooch was barking. I quickly made friends with the chunky Basset Hound by reaching over the fence and rubbing its ears. The dog must have realized I was one of the good guys because the barking quickly stopped, much to my relief. As I was keeping the dog quiet and anticipating the arrival of our suspected drug dealer, I heard Gary Kula say, over the radio, The white Cutlass has just left the house and is headed toward Kendall Tavern. I immediately transmitted over the tactical channel, 5 Nora 5 to all units, lets be alert for the car to arrive in the bar lot. The trap was set. We just needed the suspected drug dealer to drive his car into the bars parking lot, and wed take him down. Now where the hell was he? We didnt want to follow One-Eyed Jack too closely for fear of being detected. If he thought he was being followed, there is no way he would come to Kendall Tavern, meaning all our planning was for naught. For several minutes we didnt have sight of the Cutlass. Even the most experienced Narcotics Unit officers feel apprehensive and nervous at these times, not knowing what is happening next. Cops are control freaks by their very nature. They are used to having total control of situations, directing peoples lives no differently than directing traffic at an intersection. Cops dont like it when they dont know where a potentially armed suspect is during an operation. I was no different. My heart was beating a bit louder knowing I was in a dark field by myself with an armed suspect coming into the same area with a large amount of methamphetamine. For all I knew, One-Eyed Jack might pull into the vacant business where I was standing, deciding instead to walk to Kendall
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Tavern. Stranger things had happened on similar drug deals, and I was well aware of Murphys Law on any operation involving drug dealers. Able One thought they might have located the white Cutlass northbound on 27th Street approaching Q Street. This location was quite a deviation from the normal route from One-Eyed Jacks house to Kendall Tavern, so I told the copter to stay with the potential car. At 6:16 p.m. Officer Mark Desler of the Narcotics Unit was in the area of Kendall Tavern in an unmarked and saw a car that looked good to be the white Cutlass. Over the radio Desler told me, Theres a white Cutlass southbound on two-three approaching the bar, Mark, check that. Clear, I said back to Desler, adjusting my surveillance position so I could see southbound traffic on 23rd Street. As soon as Able One heard of a car approaching the bar lot, the spotter, Doug Klein, transmitted, Were not one hundred percent sure we have the right vehicle again since we were pretty far out. Can you advise us if Officer Desler has the right car? At this exact moment, as soon as Officer Klein began transmitting, I saw One-Eyed Jacks white Oldsmobile Cutlass pull into Kendall Tavern, after coming southbound on 23rd Street as Officer Desler had stated. I wanted to call the marked cruiser and helicopter in as soon as I could, but could not do so since Able One was still transmitting about whether or not they had the right car at 27th and Q streets. It was now 6:17 p.m. I was going crazy as seconds counted, and I couldnt get on the stupid radio. As soon as Able One stopped transmitting, I jumped on the air as quickly as I could with, Clear the air for me. The cars in the bar lot now. Come back to the bar now, Able One. Hes parked facing northbound. Come on up here, cruiser. Hes parked facing northbound and wont see you coming. Kenny Rowe and Brian Heath were in the marked cruiser, hidden a block away. Brian immediately asked, Clear, you want us to move in?
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Yes, now! I yelled in an authoritative tone, knowing we had wasted precious time on getting the occupant of the car secured. Timing was everything on these operations. If we screwed up and let One-Eyed Jack get out of the car, this meant we had lost control. He could run in the bar, discard the quarter pound of methamphetamine, and keep from going to jail. Or worse, he could run, pull a gun, and shoot a cop. It was vital we keep him contained in the car where we could use our training to safely get him out and handcuffed and, most importantly, to keep everyone safe. Theyre getting out of the car, I reported, with a sense of urgency in my voice. The passengers out of the car walking in the bar, dark clothes, try to get an eyeball on the guy walking into the bar if somebody can. I bet hes going to have the stuff. Seconds later I said, We need to get somebody in that bar to secure that party. Hell be a Mexican male wearing dark clothes. I saw the passenger entering Kendall Tavern, with the driver staying behind the wheel. Already the operation had become somewhat disjointed as we had one suspect in the car and one in the bar. Which one had the methamphetamine? No one knew, but it was vital we get both of these guys secured as soon as possible. Luckily, I had enough manpower in the area to handle both suspects. The marked cruisers job was to take off the guy in the car. The other units could handle the guy in the bar. If either decided to run, we had Able One up above to track the suspect wherever he decided to go. I saw the black-and-white police cruiser barrel into the parking lot from the east entrance off Gilmore Avenue. Unfortunately the white Cutlass was now backing up in the parking lot, meaning the cruiser could not approach the rear, box it in, and leave the car nowhere to go. The cruiser quickly pulled behind the Cutlass and activated its wide array of emergency lighting. Within seconds the suspect, sitting in the tranquility of his own car, was being lit up by flood lights and rotating red-and-blue strobes. Most suspects would simply freeze in a state of utter terror, allowing the officers an easy avenue for arrest.
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This guy was different. As soon as the police cruiser lit him up, the Cutlass accelerated westbound through the lot, then southbound on 23rd Street. Tires were squealing and dust was flying. The driver, One-Eyed Jack, decided to leave his buddy behind to fend for himself. The cruiser tore off after the car, with the sounds of roaring engines audible from my spot a block away. Within seconds I heard sirens wailing, meaning we now had a pursuit on our hands. This is not how I wanted things to turn out. One-Eyed Jack was not going to jail easy. Later we would find out that One-Eyed Jack was actually Jose Chavez who, unbeknownst to us, had told friends and his own kids that he was never going back to prison. Over the years many suspects had bragged the same bravado, claiming they would shoot it out with the cops rather than go back to an eightby-ten prison cell. As soon as the Cutlass driven by Chavez raced out of the lot, I told the other units what was happening, Able One, this cars going to take off on us, drop down to three and put it out! Able One, Clear, the copter acknowledged. In police jargon I was telling Able One to switch from our tactical radio channel to the Omaha Police channel for cruisers assigned to the Southeast Precinct. This was designated as channel 3 on the OPD radio system, and within seconds all cars in the Southeast Precinct were aware as to what had just occurred in the parking lot of Kendall Tavern and that we were now chasing the white Oldsmobile Cutlass. At 6:18 p.m. Officer Klein in Able One switched to channel 3. Able One, clear the air for us, we have a vehicle running from narcotics officers, hes at Railroad Avenue and Gilmore. Hes going to be going southbound on Gilmore. Its a white Cutlass two-door. The radio dispatcher immediately diverted all other radio traffic, making the channel exclusive for our situation trying to capture Jose Chavez in the white Cutlass. 1818 hours, airs cleared for emergency traffic only; airs cleared for emergency traffic only, the dispatcher announced.
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At the same time, Officer Mark Desler had the presence of mind to go inside Kendall Tavern and arrest the guy who had just entered after getting out of the Cutlass. His name was Martin Moreno, age thirty-seven. Desler held him while the rest of us were trying to catch the Cutlass. Moreno offered no resistance, which was great since no one else had thought of going into the bar to back Mark up with this guy. For the next five minutes Jose Chavez drove in a crisscross pattern between 27th to 30th, Monroe Street to W Street. We all knew he lived in the middle of this area, and it was obvious he was trying to work his way back home. I was always amazed at the people I chased over the years who would try to make it back to their house. This is the worst place they can actually go since the police know thats what theyre trying to do. It seems like many of these people, including Chavez, felt that making it to home base was a type of safety zone, which precluded them from being arrested. It was almost as if they thought they could look out the window, stick out their tongues at us, and say, You lose, sucker. Shortly after Chavez tore out of Kendall Tavern, I overheard the police helicopter say, Able One to the cruiser, you can back off. We have the vehicle under surveillance. Its still northbound approaching Y Street. My role as the supervisor was made much easier with Able One assigned to the operation. With the chopper in the air I didnt have to worry about high-speed pursuits through residential neighborhoods and the possibility of causing the deaths of innocent civilians who might be walking down the street or driving through intersections. Once Able One had sight of Chavezs vehicle, the marked cruiser backed off, letting spotter Doug Klein call out the cars location from his shotgun seat high above the neighborhood. It also allowed Chavez to slightly relax and slow down, since he wasnt looking at a black and white on his ass everywhere he went. Shortly after this I called Officer Gary Kula over the tactical channel and learned he was waiting at the intersection of 28th
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and Madison, which was just south of Chavezs house. Both Gary and I strongly suspected that Chavez was trying to snake his way through the neighborhood to make it back to his house. Within minutes Gary and I were at the intersection, monitoring the radio traffic on channel 3. Gary and I simply stood by our undercover cars, directly across the street from Chavezs house. We were ready for him if he tried to make it home. At 6:22 p.m. Doug Klein in Able One broadcast to all cars on the Southeast Precinct channel that Chavez was now running without lights. I hoped he wouldnt hit and kill someone. This was quickly escalating into a dangerous situation for the neighborhoods Chavez was driving through, and we needed to end it soon. Also, I highly doubted that any drugs that Chavez had when he first arrived at Kendall Tavern would still be in his possession. He had been driving up and down streets for the past four minutes, having plenty of chances to dump drugs out of the car. This was especially true once Able One took over the surveillance. It cant be assumed that the cruiser originally chasing this car, and the helicopter above, would see a package fly from the car. It was dark out, speeds were high, and things like that could easily be missed. I remember thinking what a nightmare it was going to be to have officers walk the route that Chavez drove during his escape attempt, trying to find a quarter pound of methamphetamine, which was the size of a baseball. At 6:23 p.m. Able One reported Chavez was driving westbound on Monroe approaching 29th Street. This was one block south of where Gary Kula and I were standing. We actually looked to the south and saw the white Cutlass pass westbound through the intersection, driving with no lights at a high rate of speed. Now we knew he was close to his house, and Gary and I suspected that we soon would be encountering Chavez. Would he ditch his car and try to run to the house? Would he pull into the driveway and try to run straight into the front
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door. We had no idea but obviously we were going to find out his plans soon enough. We readied ourselves to quickly take action, knowing plenty of backup was also in this neighborhood waiting for Chavez to ditch his car. Able One was now giving rapid updates. All hell was ready to break loose.

THERE HE IS!
At 6:24 p.m. Able One broadcast, Okay, vehicles slowing down like hes going to bail here, as Chavez continued westbound on Monroe toward 30th. Able One, vehicle came to a stop, drivers out on foot, hes northbound coming through a park. Gary and I were a block to the north and knew Chavez had to be running toward us. We were standing in a four-way intersection, with residential houses surrounding us. It was the middle of February and cold, meaning there were no people on foot anywhere around us. We were actually standing along the south side of Chavezs house. We looked to our west, knowing that Chavez was most likely running toward us in an attempt to get to his house. It was now 6:25 p.m., and darkness had set in. The streetlights provided a well-lit street for us to look down, with several cars parked on the north side of the street. I had recruited Gary Kula to be on my crew after I saw his potential when he was in uniform patrol. A former Marine (although Marines would say once a Marine, always a Marine), Gary just had that regimented military demeanor. He was in his early thirties. His drug-sniffing dog Max, a black Lab, was waiting for him in their unmarked car. There he is! Gary yelled. Within seconds of Able One telling us that our suspect was running northbound, Gary and I saw Chavez pop out onto Madison Street, running in a northerly direction from a field on
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