date from hell
or
how i learned to distrust the authority of the austin police department
it was almost exactly eleven years ago, in november of , that i began telling this story of terror, corruption, and harrassment. the majority of my friends have heard it at least once; but, just as i like telling it time and time again, no one ever gets tired of hearing it.
e.e. and i had met only a couple of weeks before, in
jester west. she lived on the 12th floor along with some friends of mine from
high school. in fact, e.e. had gone out with my friend, , a couple of times when i first met her. we went caving together the first weekend after we met and i went with her to visit her parents nearby. we kissed in the hammock, held hands in the car, and i knew that going back to jester meant pissing off a good friend.
the next weekend was our first official
date. we had dinner at a nice restaurant downtown and decided to drive down to the park to . being mid-november, and due to the arrival of a cold front earlier that day, the temperature outside hovered near 40 degrees. i don't recall seeing the patrol car behind me as we drove down lake austin blvd. as we pulled into the parking lot for the park, i noticed that we were the only people there. this was almost certainly due to the fact that it was very cold outside. shutting off my headlights, i noticed the car pull in about a hundred yards behind me. it made a slow arcing turn until its high beams shone through the back window of my '89
chevy beretta.
the park curfew is 10 p.m. it is now almost 8:30. "i guess the park's closed."
i start the car and begin to pull away. left turn onto lake austin blvd. 200 feet. red lights. blue lights. spot light. i pull to the shoulder immediately. "dammit, i didn't use my turn signal when i pulled out. i can't believe he's going to pull me over for this."
now i grew up in houston. i had never been pulled over, but i knew that in houston you
never step out of your vehicle. houston cops are very jumpy. they have every right to be i believe. so i sit. and i wait for him to approach weilding a ten pound
mag-lite and a shoulder mic attatchment for his radio.
"driver... step out of the vehicle," the voice booms from behind my head. i look at e.e., shrug, and open my door... too quickly.
"slowly!"
wtf?
"driver... face forward and walk backwards to the rear of the vehicle." i oblige. "place your hands on the trunk," commands the loudspeaker mounted on the roof of the caprice classic. ...done.
"who's in the car with you?"
"that's my d..."
"face the front of the car!"
sorry
"that's my date"
"tell her to step out of the vehicle." i'm sure that e.e. can hear the amplified voice of enforcement, but i tap on the back window anyway and motion for her to join me at the rear of the beretta. she is stepped through the same motions and we are united, hands face down, on the cold, midnite-blue surface of steel. caught unaware, neither of us wears our coat. we both begin to shiver.
i now recognize the familiar beam of light from a flashlight and hear the steps of department-issued three buckle boots on the hard gravel. our legs are spread and my pockets are emptied onto the trunk. no words are exchanged. e.e. stands, spread-eagle in a dress, hair made up, and with fear on her face. my license is removed from my wallet and the officer walks to the passenger door, still open, and proceeds to go through my glove box. he removes the beretta's bill of sale, received less than 2 months earlier via my father's checkbook.
me: "would you mind telling me what this is all about?" across the street, two more patrol cars arrive, lights in full bloom.
officer friendly: "this car was reported stolen in houston two days ago."
me: "that's not possible. my father bought this car three weeks ago. his name is on the receipt you have in your hand."
officer: "we have no way of verifying the person on this bill of sale is related to you in any way."
my name is mark voelker couvillion. my father is marion voelker couvillion. now, i'm no statistician, but the odds that i could steal a car from a gentleman with the exact same
middle and
last name as mine have got to be near impossible.
as i think of the rediculousness of the situation, my hands are removed from the hood involuntarily and placed in cold steel cuffs behind my back. the ratchet clicks the loop all the way down to the bone causing instant pain. e.e. is cuffed as well and we are allowed to step away from the vehicle and into the shallow ditch on the side of the road. e.e. is shaking violently from the chilly air as the now four officers continue their perusal through the back seat of my humble car.
you're thinking that i forgot to include the quotes from officer friendly spurting the
miranda.
i didn't.
he didn't.
i am stunned, frightened, and cold. after fifteen minutes of digging through every cavity of my car, the other reinforcements leave and officer friendly, having a moment of enlightenment, offers to put us in his idling cruiser. e.e. is allowed to sit in the front seat and her cuffs are removed. i am put into the back, cuffs intact. officer friendly joins us and lets us view the in-dash computer listing my license plate and vin as having been red-flagged. not only was it stolen, but it was stolen by violent people considered armed and dangerous. i view of the orange digital type by peering past the end of a double barrel shotgun affixed between the front seats of the cruiser.
"i have a feeling that this may have been some sort of error in the computer, so i'm going to call into the chief and we might just let you guys go." he lifts the mic off it's cb cradle and rattles off copspeak. ten-forty-three requesting five-fifteen on that seven-twenty-two.
some thirty-something liza near the end of a very long shift smacks out a response between chews of gum. "she's going to get the chief to call me back. he's in a meeting."
"so what happens now?" it's the first thing e.e. has said.
"well, we'll have to take you both down to central booking. they will do a strip search and you'll be put in a holding cell for the evening until we can call and verify ownership in the morning." i blush with fury as i see a wave of terror cross e.e.'s face. we sit. we wait. officer friendly explains how he followed us all the way down lake austin from mopac and how he ran the check on the license plate and how it came up stolen. he called it in and the chief told him to use caution. "but you kids seem really nice and harmless. i'd hate to see you have to spend the night in jail."
after several minutes, liza's voice rattles through the speaker. i catch little glimpses of what is said. they are leaving it up to officer friendly to make the decision. "well, i don't think you guys are guilty, so i'm gonna let you go." my possessions are returned to me and we drive off, in disbelief of the events that have just taken place.
a call to my father fifteen minutes later incites rage. i give him officer friendly's badge number and all the details of the evening.
the next morning, i get a call from my mother. she has spoken with the austin police department. i have never heard her so angry. the department denies any truth to the event even having occurred. officer friendly wasn't on the west side of austin that night. he never made a stop on a stolen vehicle. the incident didn't happen. "are you saying that my son is a lier?" "yes, ma'am, i am."
she also calls the houston police department. the license plate had not been reported stolen and the vin was clean.
we are unable to ever get information from either department or from the dealer from whom my father had purchased the vehicle. a few weeks later, the salesman who my father had dealt with leaves a message. "you'll never guess what this whole thing was about. give me a call back."
when my father returns the call, the receptionist informs him that said salesman is no longer with the company. we never found out.
