True Detective Stories

As I walked into work Friday afternoon, I felt pretty good. There were no pending jobs on my desk, Diego the Idiot Detective was off for the rest of the tour, and my physical therapist thinks I may be able to avoid shoulder surgery.

Yep, I was feelin’ fine… and then they came into the building.

Two members of the BATF (Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives) waltzed in and said they had a job for us. My first instinct was to tell then to f**k off, considering how awful federal agents have been, well, forever. Instead, I suggested they contact our Major Crimes Unit, since federal cases are usually handled by, you know, federal agents.

Apparently, these two clowns observed two males purchasing firearms in an adjoining state, followed them through said state and halfway through Pennsylvania. They finally had the car stopped in my division – but of course they did – had our police officers arrest the males, and demanded WE write up their search warrants.

Yeah. No.

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