The Cactus Club Series, Part 1

Back when I was still riding with Santa’s Helper, our city was dry [no legal alcohol sales]. The joke was that we were the wettest dry city around. We had several dance clubs that sold mixers and they would be packed on the weekends. One in particular was in a little strip mall that was a great challenge. It sat on a triangular piece of property that was bordered by city streets. On the south side of the club was a retaining wall that was a good 25 feet tall. A gas station, not a convenience store, was above the wall. On the southwest side was a 10 foot chain length fence that surrounded one of the most run down low income single story apartments that we had in the city. The apartments were so old that they were heated only by pot bellied coal burning stoves. They only had bare bulb ceiling lights that you turned on by pulling a string. They still had ice boxes; you know the ones that you put a block of ice in to keep a few things cool. On the north side of the strip mall was a car repair garage. It was hard to get into the parking lot without being seen. We would drive up blacked out and swoop down upon the drunk and distracted. If no one was standing around, we would walk around checking in cars to see what we could flush out.

The bootleggers would get there just before dark, back into a dark spot in the back parking lot so that customers could buy something tasty to put in their chasers. The bouncers wouldn’t let the customers bring their drinks back into the club because we would close them down if we found any prohibited beverages inside. They allowed people to come and go freely after they paid their cover charge but they had to stay outside to drink whatever they bought from the bootleggers. The bootleggers were our real goal, trying to catch them selling out of their trunks. If we could catch them, we could make a bootlegging charge and get a warrant to search their houses.

Santa’s Helper and I worked the hell out of the club parking lots. We made 20 or 30 arrests per weekend, sometimes more. We would cruise in and catch people drinking alcohol by their cars and arrest them for IPPL [illegal possession of prohibited liquor]. The IPPL’s were just for the fun of the game, a game that both sides played. Back then, most people respected police officers. They might fight you to try to get away or run, but not attack you just to hurt you. Once you caught them, they were caught. They would go fairly peacefully to jail, pay their bond, and get a ride back to the club to complete their night.

It wasn’t SOP to handcuff anyone unless they put up a fight. We would take their drinks, usually in plastic cups, smell them, and place them under arrest if even a hint of alcohol could be detected. Trying to keep up with which cup of what belonged to which arrest was a real challenge. Many times we would arrest so many at one time that we would have to call other units to help us transport them to jail. We had standard bench seats in the back then, not the plastic form molded ones that we have now. We would cram as many people in the back as we could possibly fit before we actually transported them to jail. The drunkest or mouthiest of the bunch would get cuffs but not the rest. This was contrary to my academy training but Santa’s Helper was the boss and he was as old school as they come.

One night, we did a round up at this particular club at least four times. We had so much confiscated liquor from our arrests that the Sgt. was cussing that he was running out of room in the evidence locker. It wasn’t quite 10 PM, so we decided to make one last sweep of the parking lot. The Sgt. wanted us to stay and start writing all the arrest reports. Santa’s Helper was having so much fun; he talked the Sgt. into letting us make one final round-up.

We turned off all our lights about a quarter mile north of the club. As we rolled into the lot, a few people dropped their drinks in the lot and went back inside. We had been there so often that night, they expected us. No one was milling around in the lot. We started walking between the cars that were parked on the north side of the mall, shining our lights into the interiors hoping to catch some unsuspecting people drinking. I was checking one side and Santa's Helper was checking the cars closest to the building.

I heard him speak to someone so I walked over where he was shining his light in the back seat of a late 70’s model Cadillac 4D. This guy was humping this woman for all he was worth. As I walked up, I heard the following conversation:

SH: Get out of the car.

Guy: Please officer, please let me finish! [he never broke stride]

SH: Why should I, partner?

Guy: I’m almost there, don’t make me stop.

Girl: [very shrill voice] Who are you talking to? Get on with it already!

Guy: Police …just give me a couple more minutes!

SH: [shines his flashlight in the woman’s face]

Guy: If you let me finish, you can have her when I’m done! [still humping]

SH: Hell no buddy, you got a two-bagger in there!

Girl: {Scrambling to get out from under the guy, screaming] What the hell did he say? Get your scrawny ass off me you asshole. I can’t believe you just told him that you mother fucker! Go fuck yourself, you too motherfucker! [directed at SH]

She kept screaming at them both. I just stood back in the shadows laughing as she pulled her dress back down. She started wailing on the guy as she got out of the car, cussing him for all she was worth. Then, she started wailing on my partner who was laughing so hard that he was crying. That just made her madder! He easily held her away from him so her hits didn’t really make contact.

Then I hear the stupid guy in the car CRYING! He is blubbering that he was almost done, he just needed a couple of more minutes, why him. Drunks! We arrested both for public intoxication. On the way to jail he was crying and begging for her to help him finish and she was cussing him for all she was worth. It wasn’t very funny by the time we drove the 5 very long miles to the jail. It was just disgusting.