Don’t Tweak and Post

I found a couple of pretty funny stories out of Florida this week but, man. Florida crime stories are getting to be like the slow kids on the playground. They’re just too easy to pick on.

Instead, I found a tweaker in Missouri to write about. And in all honestly, Missouri meth heads are just as fun as Florida meth heads.

Facebook Marketplace is great for all sorts of things: bikes, furniture, stolen car parts, meth…A guy in Reed Springs, MO posted a catalytic converter for sale on Facebook Marketplace. The caption read: still in the box, may or may not be listed in a police report somewhere, probably in great working order (Pretty sure the caption didn’t read like that). The accompanying picture was great too, especially the giant bag of meth sitting on a coffee table in the background.

You know how everyone always says, don’t post drunk (or in this case high as Scarface after face planting into a platter of coke), or don’t email angry? Our auto parts dealer, I mean meth dealer, Scott (I’m calling him Scott because he looks like Scott Ian from Anthrax. Yes, new music sucks, still relying on 90’s metal to get me through the gym). I’m betting Scott didn’t follow these simple rules before hitting post or else he would have seen his dope, and works, even a scale, photobombing from the top right. Could happen to anybody, but…ouch. That’s one of those posts that wake you up in the middle of the night shivering in a cold sweat asking yourself, I really shared that? In Scott’s defense though, judging by the amount of crank sitting on the coffee table, Scott probably hadn’t slept in a week. Trying to figure out why your teeth are vibrating most likely doesn’t leave much time for a healthy edit of your social media. And if he’s posting to Facebook Marketplace, what do you think his IG looks like? Or TikTok? Holy shit a tweaker TikTok channel. Yes, please.

Meth Scott
Anthrax Scott

According to the article, someone forwarded the image to 5-0 and they got a warrant for Scott’s sweet, sweet, meth dungeon. I hope they wouldn’t have just gone straight raid on him without at least having a little bit of fun first. If it was my case, I’m thinking I’d have the squad call five or six times about the converter and be no-shows for the meet-up. Or even better set up the sale while you got him under surveillance. Every time he gets to the meeting spot call him and change the location. Do that a half dozen times or so just to watch him lose his shit, then arrest him. It sounds mean-spirited but this guy poisons kids so… Sometimes you just gotta make the job work for you, ya know.


Happy Halloween Everybody. Don’t forget to check out the second in my Jackson Cole Series, Acquisitor. The perfect read for Halloween weekend.

Here Kitty Kitty

I think it’s important to start off by saying this didn’t happen in Florida. Wisconsin either has really cool cat toys or is in serious need of some gun safety training.

A 19-year-old named Jashanti (common spelling) in Kenosha, Wisconsin decided to use the laser sight fixed to the frame of a 9mm handgun as a cat toy. A 21-year-old man, we’ll call him Lucky, the guy who brought the weapon to the apartment, and was subsequently shot by Jashanti told police he thought he had removed the magazine before leaving it unsecured in Jashanti’s apartment. The report also mentioned that Lucky was violating terms of his bond while he was in possession of the gun if that tells you anything about what depth of the gene pool we’re in here.

So, we’ve got Jashanti, a woman so lacking in common sense or for that matter basic intelligence that she saw a gun with a laser sight and immediately thought of her cat. And Lucky, a 21-year-old criminal (alleged) who A-can’t clear his own illegally possessed weapon, and B- doesn’t recognize how bad an idea Jashanti is following through with until he takes a round through the leg.

My biggest question in reading this story is what’s the cat thinking this whole time? Do you think he fell for it and started chasing the light? Or did he just give Jashanti that look all cats have? That, I can’t wait till you die so I can eat you look. In my mind I see this cat, a dude named Mittens, sitting off to the side, bored. He’s licking a paw while this moron, I’m guessing the kind of girl you see roaming around Walmart at 1am wearing pajama pants (cat themed), fuzzy slippers, and a wife beater, dancing around the apartment, waving the gun around, to make the laser dance in front of him. Mittens narrows his eyes, insulted by the fact he depends on this woman for food. Then…


Mittens watches as Lucky, whose existence Mittens has refused to acknowledge until now is bleeding and rolling around on the floor. In fact, he is bleeding really close to Mitten’s climbing tower which is the only reason Mittens is vaguely interested in him. Because if the fool messes up his cat tower he dies. Mittens watches the man start to cry while gripping his leg. His worthless owner drops the gun to the floor and starts running in place while she screams so loud Mittens wishes he had big enough paws to pick up the gun and finish them both off.

Disgusted with every human in the room Mittens turns his back on them and strolls over to hide patiently behind the curtain next to the front door. Next time that thing opens I’m out, he tells himself. Rather take my chances out there than spend one more minute with these mouth breathers.

Mittens seems like a smart guy.

Don’t forget to lock the slide back kids.


Don’t forget to check out my new release Aqcuisitor, the second in my Jackson Cole Series.

Detective Miles Otis pointed, “That’s an arm…”

Detective Jackson Cole sighed, “Yeah.”

Otis studied the random severed limb for moment, “You ever miss the good old days, dope and drive bys…?”

You catch one strange case and suddenly they call you the Freak Police behind your back. If the case is even remotely weird Cole and Otis get the call. Now they find themselves in a vacant lot staring at a forearm.

Fingerprints give them a name. Hardnosed police work generates a suspect. She’s a witch, so was the guy who’s forearm sits in a cooler at the coroner’s office. The witch says a hellhound killed her friend. And its hunting the homeless of Charleston.

Witches, magic, and a…hellhound?

Any other two detectives would laugh at a story like that. But Cole and Otis have faced the supernatural before. It almost killed them.

There’s a reason they call them Freak Police.

But can they face the darkness again?

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