[Author’s Note: Most of our readers know that I spent a considerable amount of time working undercover narcotics. While at a family gathering, I was reflecting on some of the more humorous moments during those years. After a few prompts from family and friends, I decided to regale the small group with some of the more hilarious, albeit G-rated, anecdotes. –D.G.]
Dopers are not the brightest of criminals. I mean, they’re not sophisticated like white collar crooks or Bernie Madoff-like con men. Such was the case when we sought and received a no-knock search warrant for a house occupied by a mid-level pot dealer in our town. We had ten days to execute the warrant and picked an early morning time when we had a few extra TAC guys available.
With the team assembled, we rendezvoused at the location, posted some security at the exits, and made our entrance. The resident was stoned and somewhat cooperative as we introduced ourselves and showed him our warrant. We told him if he wanted to keep things neat, he might just tell us where his stash is. If he didn’t, we’d have to toss the place with no promise as to how nice it might look when we’re through.
“You can search all you want, but you can’t go up in the attic” replied our doper.
“The warrant covers the entire house, Jack. We’ll go wherever we want. Now, you want to tell us where your stash is or not?”
While he was a mid-level dealer, he certainly had the resources and contacts to deal weight. “Okay, look in my closet, but you can’t go in the attic.”
That response promptly sent two dicks over to the idiot’s bedroom closet with my partner and me making tracks for the attic.
The seizure resulted in a pound of Thai-stick, a whole bunch of hashish and just under 50 pounds of high-grade Maui-wowie, all in the attic where we weren’t allowed to go. His closet netted us another 5 pounds of grass and some hashish, this genius’s “personal stash.”