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FAQs
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What’s the rudest customer service experience you have ever had?
So we had been with a certain national bank for about 12 years. We had issues with them off and on, but it wasn't enough to make us want to go through the hassle of finding a new one.Then 2016 happened.It was a chaotic but exciting time for my family. We sold our house and upgraded just a few miles away. Naturally, we were excited but had a long list of things to update. Included on that list was the bank information.We walked into the local bank branch to change our address about a week before we moved. No harm; no foul. It was easy enough.Most of our banking is done online, so it wouldn't be shocking not to receive statements to our new address. I started to realize though that some letters to new address were just addressed to my husband and not myself. Odd, but it's not alarming yet.My debit card expired in December of that year, and around late October I received an email indicating that a new debit card had been mailed to me. Sweet!Only it didn't come. We waited. And waited. And waited. We would call, only to be told that it could take a few weeks.No new debit card for me. Meanwhile, my husband had already received his.Going online, we realized that they had the old address for me still listed. Once again, we trudged down to the post office to get it changed.Side note: Why wasn't mail being forwarded? Good question. Our city postal service struggled with that regardless of our efforts. Different story.Anyway, the next week it was - again - going to be sent to me. And again, no new debit card. It was sent to my old one.This went back and forth for weeks. For some reason, they would not update my address. Usually they would just cancel the debit card that had been sent to the wrong address, but in mid-December they actually canceled my working card, too. Oops.Finally we signNowed an agreement with a supervisor that a new card would be overnighted to one of the few branches open on Christmas Eve. It should be in their mailbox by 11 AM, which would leave us time to still head out of town for the holiday.We made our way down to the branch. It wasn't really close to us, but I really needed a working debit card. We went into the branch, which was located within a grocery store.Two people were working.One other person was in line. One teller was on the phone.When we signNowed to the counter, we explained our situation. We were hopeful that this would solve our issues. Unfortunately, it went south. Fast.The first teller flat out told us to get to the back of the line (by now there were a few other people) because she was busy with other customers. We looked around - she was busy with US. We are customers with a healthy bank account, so...how were we not CUSTOMERS?We asked for clarification. All we wanted was her to check the mailbox for an overnighted envelope with my debit card in it. Mind you, I had no working card.She started yelling, saying she couldn't leave her customers and to - again - get to the back of the line. We calmly explained that we were customers, too. At some point she would have to assist us. We just needed her to check her mailbox. Please. Please. Please.I was almost crying at that point. This entire situation has been a mess despite doing everything we could on our end.That set her off. By now, we had both tellers screaming at us to get out of their bank....all because we wanted her to check the mailbox. For my debit card. Which their bank continuously failed to send to the correct address.I wish I were kidding. If I could get the video footage of it, I would.We immediately placed a call to the bank's call center to at least get it noted what was going on. The supervisor, though at first defensive of the tellers, quickly admitted that they both acted inappropriately. We were even given a credit of like $50 for our trouble. (Weee!)He overnighted ANOTHER new card to my parent's address, which thankfully came on Dec. 26.He also FINALLY updated my address in their system. He had no idea why no one else had been able to update it.Flash forward to March. It was payday, and I had tried to buy a Groupon for something like bowling for the family. My card was declined -- interesting. It also happened at the same time that other people were tweeting that they weren’t able to use their debit cards either. There must be a national outage, right?Wrong.My boss frantically contacted me to ask if everything was okay - my paycheck had not gone through.Naturally, we called to find out that the bank had terminated our relationship. They claim that they sent us a letter in January, but we never received anything like it (though I don't know if I should blame them or our postal service for that one).Why did they terminate our relationship, you ask?Easy: we were in violation of "misconduct" with the tellers who apparently reported us as being belligerent. We may have raised our voices slightly, but it was THEY who yelled at US. I’m not exaggerating here. I’ve never had two grown women yell at customers like those two tellers.No one wants to work on Christmas Eve, but come one now!There was no appeal. It was a done deal - they didn't really care about our side of the story.It turned out in the end because we love our new bank, but dang - it was one of the worst experiences we had ever gone through with bad customer service that went on to actually hurt us beyond the incident.Funny enough, the bank still sends me emails asking me to open a new checking account.
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As a startup founder of three years our legal housekeeping is a bit of mess, how can I best setup a system to organize and track
As a startup founder of three years myself, I can relate to how legal housekeeping can be messy. Once a year, I have our own lawyers go through and do an audit of all of our legal paperwork (which costs a couple thousand dollars to be extremely thorough, but it’s worth it). Luckily, there are now many ways to easily manage and track all of your legal, financial, and HR documents via third-party sites that specialize in these management proceedings. I wrote a blog post about this awhile back titled “5 Ways to Save Time Dealing With Documents” which highlights certain sites that can be very beneficial depending on what paperwork you’d like to track or manage. They are as follows:1. GroupDocsGroupDocs is a new, comprehensive online service for document creation and management. It has multiple features, including a viewer for reading documents in your browser, an electronic signature service, an online document converter, a document assembly service, a feature for comparing different versions of a document, and an annotation feature. An individual plan is $10 per month for limited storage and 500 documents, while a group plan for up to 9 people is $19 per user per month. Based on the number of features and pricing, GroupDoc is a good-value purchase for a small business. As you’ll see below, GroupDocs can be cheaper than a service that offers only one such feature.2. signNowWhen you’re closing a deal and need to get documents signed, the last thing you need is a slow turnaround due to fax machine problems or the postal service. The solution is to use an electronic signature service such as signNow, which is one of the most popular e-signature companies in the world. This service allows you to email your documents to the person whose signature you need. Next, the recipient undergoes a simply e-signing process, and then signNow alerts you when the process is completed. Finally, signNow electronically stores the documents, which are accessible at any time. As a result, you can easily track the progress of the signature process and create an audit trail of your documents. The “Professional” plan is recommended for sole proprietors and freelancers, and costs $180 per year ($15 per month) for up to 50 requested signatures per month. The “Workgroup” plan is geared towards teams and businesses, and it costs $240 per user per year ($20 per month per user), for unlimited requested signatures.3. signNowsignNow is another e-signature service. Similar to signNow, signNow allows you to upload a PDF file, MS Word file or web application document. Next, you can edit the document, such as by adding initials boxes or tabs, and then email them out for signatures. Once recipients e-sign the document, signNow notifies you and archives the document. signNow offers low rates for these services: a 1-person annual plan with unlimited document sending costs $11 per month. An annual plan for 10 senders with unlimited document sending costs only $39 per month.4. ExariExari is a document assembly and contract management service that assists in automating high-volume business documents, such as sales agreements or NDAs. First, the document assembly service allows authors to create automated document templates. No technical knowledge is required; most authors are business analysts and lawyers. Authors have a variety of options for customizing documents, such as fill-in-the-blank fields, optional clauses, and dynamic updating of topic headings. They also can add questions that the end user must answer. Once you send out the document, the user answers the questionnaire, and Exari uses that data to customize the document. Next, the contract management feature allows you to store and track both the templates and the signed documents. Pricing is based on the size and scope of your planned implementation, so visit their website for more information.5. FillanyPDFIt’s a hassle having to print out PDF forms in order to complete them. Fortunately, FillanyPDF is a service that allows you to edit, fill out and send any PDFs, while entirely online. This “Fill & Sign” plan costs $5 per month, or $50 per year. If you subscribe to the “Professional” plan, you can also create fillable PDFs using your own documents. With this service, any PDF, JPG or GIF file becomes fillable when you upload it to the site. You can modify a form using white-out, redaction and drawing tools. Then, you can email a link to your users, who can fill out and e-sign your form on the website. FillanyPDF also allows you to track who filled out your forms, and no downloads are necessary to access these services. The “Professional” plan costs $49 per month, or $490 per year.Switching firms can be a hassle. As a former startup attorney, I have a bit of advice about finding the right attorney for your business: it’s best to focus on the specific attorney you’ll be working with. He or she should have a solid understanding of the ins and outs of your business industry, a deep knowledge of the legal issues your startup may face, and previous work experience with startups to ensure a quality and efficient work product. This is absolutely key when matching our startup clients at UpCounsel to attorneys on our platform who can perform their legal work and hash out their legal projects in a timely manner. We also allow clients to store any and all of their legal documents directly on UpCounsel so they don’t have to go searching in alternative places for the correct paperwork. It’s proven to be a free and lightweight way to store legal documents that our clients love. Here's what it looks like:As I’ve mentioned, it’s more important to find the right attorney as opposed to the right law firm. And seeing as you’re a startup, our own startup clients typically save an average of 50-60% on their legal work, since the attorneys don't include overhead fees (a.k.a. the fees included for doing business with the firm itself) in their invoices.Hope this gives you a deeper look into what other sites and services are out there. If you have any questions or would like more information on how best to handle your legal housekeeping/ attorney matters, feel free to signNow out to me directly. As a former startup attorney at Latham & Watkins, I’d be happy to give you some guidance.
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What culture shocks can a South Indian face in North India?
I am a South Indian doctor in Delhi…and sometimes I get these weird questions that surprise me.I was once inserting a cannula into a patient’s vein and at that moment of pain the patient asked me.. ‘you are not from Delhi are you?’ I told her I am from Chennai.. she asked me ‘are you married? What does sahib do?’ I was a little taken aback and asked her why she thought I was married.. ‘coz you are wearing a bindi’ she replied…I smiled at her.. thought she was ignorant and told her I am single…. A few days later one of my consultants asked me ‘you are from the south right..wearing a bindi must be compulsory there’. My reply ‘no mam it isn't compulsory.. we wear it if we like to.’…. And when someone asked me ‘what is the significance of wearing a bindi?’ all I could reply was ‘I am not exactly sure but one thing I can tell you is it doesn't mean I am married :P’ while everyone from a toddler to a octagenerian wears a bindi in the south and not wearing it makes us feel a little weird, the fact that it labels you as being married in the north is something that makes me go ‘enna kodumai sir idu’.When I came to Delhi I was wearing a chain, earrings and finger rings of gold.. one thing that I was advised ‘remove your jewellery else someone will snatch it and remove it for you’ I am not saying such crimes don't happen in the south.. but spotting women who actually wear gold chains is a rarity.. in comparison to the mota mota jewellery that we wear.How can you people live on rice??? When northies live on a staple diet of rotis and aaloo ki sabzi or paneer.. I like rice, you like rotis..so what?This probably doesn't apply to all north Indians but 4–5 people have also asked me this..They:so you are from chennai huh? You speak malayalam right.Me: no I am Tamil.. heard of ‘Tamil’Nadu??They: so it is different from kannad and Telugu also??Me: yes yes totallyThey: oh you are from Jayalalitha’s place?? Jallikattu?? Marina beach? Rajnikanth?Me: thank god yes you finally got it… marina beach is our pride and you can always find Jayalalitha there :PThe dressing and make up that people do here is pretty much diverse from the south.. not that I am judging or anything. That's just you, this is just me.. as long as you don't judge me for not being like you, it's fine… but how often do you see a woman with labour pains walk into the labour room in a government hospital with make up at 3.30AM in the south? Never… and it is a common sight here. And I thought it happened only in Hindi serials :PPS. The above mentioned facts are based on personal experiences and not any generalized comments on north Indians. One more thing that also shocks me is the amiability of the people in the north. They can talk to anyone at anytime without any hesitation and make them feel warm. Kudos to that! :)
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How do the police build a criminal case against you?
Since I was a2a, how a case is built is dependent upon the type of crime (fraud, drug trafficking, money laundering, violence, etc.). Discovery of fraud generally involves a report of suspicious activity, a victim’s report, or review of records. Fraud investigations are primarily conducted through collection of pertinent financial records, identifying those involved and their documented activities. Fraud commonly involves a convoluted manipulation of circumstances that requires extensive knowledge of law and applicable regulations.Drug trafficking and associated money laundering generally involve informant information, with the informant commonly being someone arrested for an observed drug violation who turns on their confederates in order to limit their own punishment. That process could lead to an undercover operation and/or involve extensive surveillance of suspects, identification of drug and money stash locations, trash collection at identified locations, and collection of sufficient information to establish probable cause for a search warrant (http://www.quora.com/What-constitutes-probable-cause-for-a-police-officer-to-be-able-to-search-a-car-without-a-warrant/answer/Dan-Robb-2). The search warrant could lead to recovery of evidence, identification of suspects, and seizure of illegal substances or large quantities of currency for which there is no viable explanation.Investigations of crimes against persons are commonly initiated based on a report of what is claimed to be criminal behavior by a witness. The next common step involves interviews indicating where evidence may reside or where other witnesses may be located. Such information is evaluated and corroborated if possible; in that not even all eyewitness testimony is reliable (Robb, 2011). Crime scenes are identified and search is initiated, based either on immediate probable cause or through search warrants. Evidence is collected if possible, then processed for possible identification of suspects (e.g., DNA and/or fingerprints identifiable from data bases of prior offenders, or for comparison with future suspects), and indicators of events are theorized (e.g., accidental versus criminal actions).If no suspects are identifiable, or even if there are possible suspects, how the crime was committed may provide clues linking that crime to a past suspect or past crimes, even without physical evidence with regard to a suspect; or, if a serious crime, investigation may involve more extensive evaluation in a criminal profiling process:Modus Operandi and SignatureD. RobbCMRJ531In 1838, Sir Frederick Roe, a magistrate in London, argued for the employment of specialized police officers to detect crimes (as cited in Dilnot, 1927). The successes of the privately employed Bow Street Runners were cited as an example of the historical presence of recognizing modus operandi, and what could be interpreted as recognition of the value of criminal profiling.Sir Peter Laurie, a City magnate, was positive that the Metropolitan Police could not supersede the runners. ... "These men have been thief catchers all their lives, and know almost every thief in London, and of what he is capable. ... If you take them to a house, and show them that a robbery has been committed, they will tell you directly, by inspection, whether it has been done by an old or by an inexperienced thief." (as cited in Dilnot, 1927, p. 53)Holmes and Holmes (2002), in my opinion, do not adequately address the concepts of Modus Operandi (MO) and Signature. Therefore, further information is provided here. MO is not a new concept. Dilnot stated that "'Modus operandi' is obviously as old as detective work itself" (1927, p. 212). Dilnot did not comment of the exact origins of the position of detective, but he did say that detectives were employed by the Metropolitan Police, under the British Home Secretary, prior to 1845. The daguerreotype photographic process was patented in Europe in 1840, and,had come to America soon afterwards. ... None was more enthusiastic for this medium than Alan Pinkerton. Within a few years he had built up an impressive Rogues Gallery of mugshots and circulated copies of photographs to lawmen all over the country, together with detailed descriptions of physical features, dress, habits, mental characteristics, criminal specialties and mode of operation. (Mackay, 2007, p. 93)Pinkerton (1819-1884), a Scotch immigrant barrel maker and former Deputy Sheriff, headed the de facto national investigative agency (albeit private) in the U.S. during the pre- and post-Civil War era. The emergence of this private agency was apparently due the emergence of interstate commerce (i.e., railroads); the lack legal jurisdiction outside of the city, count, or state; an aversion to central governmental control; parochial thinking; and governmental financial considerations. In 1861, Pinkerton sent a letter to President Lincoln:I have in my Force from Sixteen to Eighteen persons on whose Courage, Skill and Devotion to their country I can rely. If they with myself at the head can be of service in the way of obtaining information of the movements of Traitors, or Safely conveying your letters or dispatches, on that class of Secret Service which is the most dangerous, I am at your command. (as cited in Mackay, 2007, p. 107)Fosdick (1915/1969), a former New York City Commissioner of Accounts, conducted one of the first cross-cultural studies of policing during 1913 and 1914. He was complimentary of the German system of criminal investigation, particularly with regard to the scholarly efforts of Dr. Hans Gross, an academic and criminal justice practitioner. Many European police agencies employed relatively sophisticated criminal classification and referencing systems, to the extent that in some countries, all foreigners were required to record their travels with the local police or face legal sanction. The use of dactyloscopy (fingerprinting) began for Scotland Yard in 1901, after use by English officials in India. And, classification of offenders according to method of operation (MO) by Scotland Yard was begun officially in 1896. However, at the request of London authorities in 1888, Dr. Thomas Bond was apparently cognizant of the concept based on his assessment of the crimes attributed to Jack the Ripper, based on his statement thatall five murders were no doubt committed by the same hand. … All the circumstances surrounding the murders lead me to form the opinion that the women must have been lying down when murdered. …In each case the mutilation was implicated by a person who had no scientific nor anatomical knowledge. …A man subject to periodical attacks of Homicidal and Erotic mania. The murderer in external appearance is quite likely to be a quiet inoffensive looking man, probably middle-aged and neatly and respectfully dressed. He would be solitary and eccentric in his habits, also he is most likely to be a man without regular occupation, but with a small income or pension. (as cited in Kocsis, 2006, p. 4)MO was at that time primarily used for burglary and theft crimes. Fosdick related:What is probably the most ambitious plan of crime classification by methods has been initiated in ... England. ... The so-called "M.O." or Modus Operandi system devised by Major L. W. Atcherley, Chief Constable of the West Riding of Yorkshire Constabulary.His system is more than an index for a single department. It is a cooperative arrangement by which habitual or traveling criminals can be traced from community to community by a comparison of their methods of work. (1915/1969, p. 344)Atcherley's system included 10 categories, and the tenth is somewhat consistent with the concept of signature:1—Classword; kind of property attacked, whether dwelling house, lodging house, hotel, etc.2—Entry; the actual point of entry, front window, back window, etc.3—Means; whether with implements or tools, such as a ladder, jimmy, etc.4—Object; kind of property taken.5—Time; not only time of day or night, but whether church time, market day, during meal hours, etc.6—Style; whether criminal to obtain entrance describes himself as mechanic, canvasser, agent, etc.7—Tale; any disclosure as to his alleged business or errand which the criminal may make.8—Pals; whether crime was committed with confederates, etc.9—Transport; whether bicycle or other vehicle was used in connection with crime.10—Trademark; whether criminal committed any unusual act in connection with crime, such as poisoning a dog, changing his clothes, leaving a note for the owner, etc. (Fosdick, 1915/1969, p. 346)MO and Signature are similar and may be easily confused, one for the other. MO involves those behaviors necessary for the successful commission of a crime; incorporating three elements: 1) success of the crime; 2) protection of identity; and, 3) successful escape (Gee & Belofastov, 2007).Signature is an aspect of a crime that fulfills an emotional need, which is not necessarily conscious. Signature could involve intentional crime scene configuration or taking of souvenirs, and generally remains consistent, due to the emotional element; or, may be as elemental as words used or the order in which acts are committed (Holmes & Holmes, 2002). Although, some variations of Signature can be expected, based on the recognition that each independent crime is subject to numerous influences (e.g., unexpected interruption, time constraints, physical limitations) (Douglas, Burgess, Burgess, & Ressler, 1992; Douglas & Olshaker, 1995; Turvey, 2001).Douglas et al. indicated that “signature does not always show up in every crime because of contingencies that might arise, such as interruptions or an unexpected victim response” (1992, p. 261). Turvey (2001) referred to this concept as the “X-factor,” unexpected events at the crime scene that may eliminate MO and Signature.MO is more affected by evolution and refinement, in response to environmental stimuli. For example, if one gets too close to being caught, one will probably improve their methods in the future. Or, as in the “DC Sniper” case, the press commented upon the fact that the shooter had targeted only adults, which was of course followed by the shooting of a young boy. And then, press statements highlighted the lack of demands by the DC Sniper, followed by demands from these spree killers for a large sum of money.Douglas and Olshaker (Douglas being a retired Federal Bureau of Investigation profiler) provided the following discussion of MO vs. Signature, and staging versus posing:The differences between MO and signature can be subtle. … (A) robber … made …captives undress, posed them in sexual positions, and took photographs…. That’s his signature. It was not necessary or helpful to the commission of a bank robbery.” Another robber forced disrobing “so the witnesses would be so preoccupied … that they … couldn’t make a positive ID. … This was MO. (1995, pp. 253-255)In a serial murder case, the defendant’s lawyer “was trying to show that it was unlikely these crimes were all committed by the same individual because so many details of the modus operandi varied. I made it clear that regardless of the MO, the common denominator in each of the murders was physical, sexual, and emotional torture. … So, though the methods of torture varied—the MO, if you will—the signature was the pleasure he received out of inflicting the pain” (Douglas & Olshaker, 1995, p. 255).Staging is an element of MO and involves placement or manipulation of a crime scene to mislead investigators, “such as when a rapist tries to make his intrusion look like a routine burglary” (Douglas & Olshaker, p. 256). Posing, (also) an element of signature, is infrequent and involves “treating the victim like a prop to leave a specific message. … These are crimes of anger, crimes of power(,) … it is the thrill of … beating the system” (p. 256).The Signature is sometimes referred to as a “calling card” or trademark of the offender, such as by Douglas et al. (1992). However, stating that the Signature is a calling card is inappropriate in my opinion. Such a label leads to the inference that it is an intentional act on the part of the perpetrator to mark the crime as his own; this may not be the case, since the perpetrator may not be conscious of the significance of the act and oblivious to how the evidence of his behavior will appear. Turvey (2001) also disagreed with such a label because crimes and the resulting crime scenes are inherently chaotic with numerous variables; therefore, a precise match of Signature and MO is unlikely. In addition, Turvey noted that interpretation of evidence may be faulty due to misinterpretation or destruction of evidence (intentional or accidental), leading to faulty conclusions.Signature and MO may be difficult to differentiate, and may even be indistinguishable in a crime scene. However, the concepts must be separated and the characteristics of each must be articulated.CR531 Criminal ProfilingD. L. RobbProfessor Comments Week 1Very few people would argue against the idea that the ways in which we present and maintain ourselves, our homes, and our workspaces reflect some very important aspects of our personalities. Certainly, from our studies in the humanities, archeology and anthropology, we know that even in the absence of a written history, the depictions of art, music, clothing, household artifacts, and architecture developed and left behind by a long-dead society can still clearly tell us a great deal about the beliefs, attitudes and lifestyles of its inhabitants. Similarly, it is the contention of practitioners of Criminal Profiling, that the actual commission of crimes may also reflect key personality and lifestyle characteristics of those who committed the crimes.The commission of a crime requires that the offender make a series of choices, decisions, responses, and reactions. The resulting dynamics of the crime, as revealed through crime scene investigation, will then necessarily reflect the intelligence, competence, composure, experience, needs, wants, fantasies, motivation, and many other key characteristics of the offender’s personality. This has probably been obvious to those charged with finding and apprehending offenders from the outset of such positions. …Profiling is rooted in the belief that an offender’s thinking directs the offender’s behavior. If the crime scene reveals to us the offender’s behavior, we should be able to examine the scene to make some assumptions about the offender’s thinking. “Elementary,” as Sherlock might say, probably not. Profiling is a complex function that requires investigative experience and insights gained from years of exposure to various crimes, individuals, and personality types.Criminal profiling is a criminological/sociological, psychological, biosociological, and forensic analysis process that attempts to make investigative sense of apparent crime scene dynamics, in order to gain an understanding of behavior, motivation characteristics of offenders, and personality. Profilers analyze the totality of the known crime circumstances, make inferences of offender behavior from that analysis, and create a profile of the offender based on inferences of the offender's behavior (what would appear to be inferences based on inferences).Profiling is, in fact, a form of retroclassification, or classification that works backward. Profilers recognize crime scene dynamics that are associated to criminal personality types who commit similar offences. Typically we classify a known entity into a discrete category, based on presenting characteristics that translate into criteria for assignment to that category. (Douglas, Burgess, Burgess, & Ressler, 2006, p. 97)In this course, you will be prompted to examine the research on criminal profiling. We will try to make sense of these acts of violence, which so often confront us in our contemporary life, and cull out of the acts, some comprehensible threads that will permit us to find similarities amongst offenders’ personalities and to formulate a rationale for the differences between them, as well. However, as we continue our inquiries into the field, we will discover that, as in almost all studies of human behavior, the discipline is filled with contradictory theories, opposing beliefs about the best way to study and construct criminal profiles, and many social, legal, and ethical issues that must be considered.References:Dilnot, G. (1927). The story of Scotland Yard. New York: Houghton Mifflin.Douglas, J. E., Burgess, A. W., Burgess, A. G., & Ressler, R. K. (Eds.). (2006). Crime classification manual: A standard system for investigating and classifying violent crimes (2nd ed.). San Francisco: Josey-Bass.ReferencesDilnot, G. (1927). The story of Scotland Yard. New York: Houghton Mifflin.Douglas, J. E., Burgess, A. W., Burgess, A. G., & Ressler, R. K. (1992). Crime classification manual: A standard system for investigating and classifying violent crimes. San Francisco: Josey-Bass.Douglas, J., & Olshaker, M. (1995). Mind hunter: Inside the FBI’s elite crime unit. New York: Pocket Books.Fosdick, R. B. (1969). European police systems. Montclair, NJ: Patterson Smith. (Original work published 1915)Gee, D., & Belofastov, A. (2007). Profiling sexual fantasy: Fantasy in sexual offending and the implications for criminal profiling. In R. N. Kocsis (ed.). Criminal profiling: International theory, research, and practice. Totowa, NJ: Humana Press.Holmes, R. M., & Holmes, S. T. (2002). Profiling violent crimes: An investigative tool (3rd ed.). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications.Kocsis, R. N. (2006). Criminal profiling: Principles and practice. Totowa, NJ: Humana Press.Mackay, J. (2007). Allan Pinkerton: The first private eye. Edison, NJ: Castle Books.Turvey, B. E. (2001). Criminal profiling: An introduction to behavioral evidence analysis (2nd ed.). San Diego, CA: Elsevier Academic Press.Once sufficient evidence is collected and corroborated to the extent thought necessary by investigators, the case is presented to prosecutors who assess the evidence with regard to the necessity for proving the allegation beyond a reasonable doubt in court. Additional investigation may be requested, prosecution may be declined, or accepted for prosecution.Reference:Robb, D. L. (2011, November). Eyewitness identification in photographic lineups: A case study. Presented at the Texas Association for Investigative Hypnosis Training Conference, November 2011. Retrieved from: https://www.academia.edu/2662993...
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What is the history of criminal justice as an academic discipline?
The course of study that became criminal justice grew out of criminology, a subset of sociology. Criminology is the study of the roots and causes of crime. Criminal justice takes in considerably more ground, but usually includes at least one criminology course. People often start the course thinking they want to understand how the criminal mind works, and they are usually more confused when they're done than before they started. In the 1950s and 1960s, there were a few "police science" departments and courses at U.S. colleges, mostly for people who were already cops and wanted college degrees to get a leg up on promotions. Some substituted for police academies, as many law enforcement agencies had no formal training program until the 1960s or 1970s. At most police departments, new hires were placed with a more experienced officer to "learn the ropes" until they were thought to be competent enough to patrol on their own. This training period ranged from a day or two to a year.The man who was the assistant chief at the agency where I worked was hired the year I was born (1953). When he retired, he wrote an article for the department newsletter that described what it was like to be hired then. You put in your application, and when an opening occurred, the chief of police went through the pile and pulled out what he thought were the most promising candidates. Having someone inside the department recommend you to him was huge. If you didn't have a local personal reference he trusted, you had little chance of being hired. The chief called you in, talked to you for a while, and if he liked what he saw, hired you on the spot. It was more or less expected you would already have a gun, but if you didn't there was a rusty .38 Special revolver that the department could loan you until you bought your own. They sent you down to the pistol range to make sure you could hit the wall without shooting off your foot, and told you to be back at 4:00 PM for the evening shift. If you didn't have the money for a uniform, you patrolled in your Sunday church suit, badge pinned onto your jacket, and often with your gun stuffed in your waistband. Given the number of local regulars who always wanted to try out the new guy for a little sport, just making it back to the station at the end of watch without any open wounds was a mark of passage. But, I digress. In the mid-1960s, following several years of civil unrest growing out of the civil rights movement and incidents like the Watts Riots, Congress got the idea that law enforcement needed to become more professional. Huge pots of money were created to fund the Law Enforcement Assistance Administration (LEAA) and the Law Enforcement Education Program (LEEP). The former funded equipment, training, buildings and other goodies; the latter paid for cops' college educations. Cops could go to college for free. Because nothing motivates institutions of higher learning more than money, campuses across the country created degree programs in justice administration, police science, police administration, and other euphemisms, most of which came to be known as criminal justice programs. Because there weren't a lot of academics with relevant degrees in these fields, many of the "professors" were working cops with either vocational teaching certificates (usually requiring only a high school diploma and work experience), or bachelor's and a few master's degrees. It wasn't entirely unknown to have Cop A sitting in a class taught by Cop B on Monday, and then for Cop B to be in Cop A's class on Wednesday. Some of these programs were properly rigorous, but others were old boy's clubs where papers were recycled, and the class sessions little more than War Story 101. The police administrators I worked under came up through this system, and they tended to be woefully uninformed and incompetent. This is, unfortunately, still the case. Criminal justice programs have become the Phys Ed of the new millennium. Up until the 1970s or so, physical education majors (most of whom were collegiate athletes) took classes in Theory of Basketball and Team Organization that had little substance, but allowed them to stay eligible to play their sport. Gradually these programs were infiltrated by more rigorous courses in anatomy and physiology, kinesiology, nutrition, and so on, and the muscleheads were forced out. Many of them flocked to criminal justice, which is considerably less demanding than other disciplines.If this sounds cynical, it comes from eight years of teaching criminal justice courses at colleges in five states. I tried to make my courses more rigorous, and was mostly castigated for doing so. The colleges where I worked were far more interested in having students matriculate and then re-enroll in courses for as long as possible, seeking out that elusive Full-Time Equivalent (FTE) student statistic. If the courses were too hard, they gravitated to another professor or another school where they didn't have to work so hard. There were a few students who truly wanted to learn and made the job worthwhile, but most of them were there because they didn't know what else to do, or it kept them eligible to play sports. The situation has been made worse by the proliferation of online courses and for-profit colleges. Online courses make it easy to cheat and recycle papers, and the people teaching them are usually part-timers, paid on a per student/course basis. They don't care enough to make the effort to root out the people who aren't really doing the work. The for-profits are often not regionally accredited, which means the credits and degrees they grant won't be recognized by legitimate colleges and many employers. They charge huge fees (paid for with student loans they help the student apply for), do a lot of hand-holding, promise students who have no prayer of ever working in this field that employers will be competing to hire them upon graduation, and ensure that everyone passes and all their students are above average.It's a discouraging situation, and while I deplore it, I'm also happy I'm not having to fight that battle anymore.
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What are the unforgettable experiences you had in your life?
Hi!I am a girl from India. My unforgettable experience happened at college hostel.After I finished high school, there was 2 months of holidays. I had to be alone in home as my parents gone to work. Those were my most boring holidays. I searched the web to try new things at home. I came across nudism. I decided to try it. So after my mom and dad gone to work, I closed all the doors and windows and removed my clothes. It was very odd at the first time and I did not like it. So I put on my panties and tried it. It was somewhat comfortable wearing panties. I started to love it. I continued to wear panties for one week. And I tried removing my panty. It was amazing. I forgot that I was nude and I enjoyed being a nudist. I even slept naked at the day time.After I joined college I was unable to be nude as there was a roommate. So I adopted to the hostel lifestyle.It was fourth year of my college. One night I woke up at about 1.00 a.m. for no reason and I can't sleep. After sometime I got thirsty and there is no water in the room. I took the water bottle and went down to the hostel mess to get water. In the halfway I found no one was awake. I suddenly got an idea and returned to my room. I asked myself why can't I try nudism?. I switched off the light as my friend is sleeping and removed my dresses. In fear of getting caught I put on my T-shirt and went down to the mess slowly. Though it was night some of the lights in balcony are still on. It was thrilling as I wear only a T-shirt. And I successfully returned to my room. I decided to do more of it the next night. So I set an alarm for 1.30 a.m. Next day, after I woke up I checked the balcony and removed my clothes in my room. I walked across the hostel naked for about one hour. I loved it. And I did this for several nights. It was a wonderful experience of my life. Those were my unforgettable nights.One night, after I finished walking I went to my room and without making noise I laid on my bed naked for sometime and without my knowledge I fell asleep. I did not even used bedsheets. Next morning I woke up to found that I was still nude and my friend is sitting in the bed watching me. For the first time, I was fully nude infront of a friend. I was shocked and I got up covering my private parts with my hands and picked the panty and bra from the chair and wore it turning away from my friend. It was the most awkward moment I ever had in my life. My friend did not spoke about that incident after that. Then I did not ever went for a nude walk at hostel.Thank you…Sorry for bad english…
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What does it feel like to be kidnapped as an adult?
By midnight the restaurant and bar were packed, but my contact was still nowhere to be found. As that was no uncommon in the business and the dealer knew where I could be found, I simply finished my last drink, paid my tab and headed back to the Hotel Santa Monica, which was only a short walk away, much closer than the backup pousada.A block away from the bustling restaurant the streets were dark and deserted, as is common in smaller towns of Brazil where public lighting is often sparse. But halfway back to the hotel I found myself suddenly lit up by the headlights and a spotlight of an approaching vehicle. When the car, bearing military police insignias, pulled to the curb opposite me I was not particularly surprised and found myself patting my waist to make certain I had not left the hotel unprepared. Inside the vehicle two uniformed officers waved me over and politely asked for identification. Being drunk I steadied myself on the passenger side window sill as I fished around in my wallet. Suddenly the man nearest me grabbed my steadying hand and his partner quickly leaned over and snapped a handcuff around my left wrist. Then, before I could beg or barter my way free, I found myself staring down the barrel of a large caliber revolver."Keep you fucking mouth shut, Gringo," one of the men snarled, "or I blow you fuckin’ head off." At once I knew these were not Brazilians. Their accents was all wrong, and the pejorative “gringo” was far more common in less friendly, Spanish speaking countries of South America. In fact I was still reflecting on the nationality of the two men when the driver suddenly appeared beside me and started to wrestle me onto the floor of the back seat. Finally a dirty blanket was thrown over me and one of the two cops rasped a sharp order, “You move or make a sound and you die.”After a short drive, the car suddenly swerved sharply to the right and pulled off the road out into an open field. As we continued, bumping along, I could hear the rush of vegetation scraping against the outside panels of the door near my head. Perhaps a hundred yards in we stopped and I was immediately dragged out of the car and thrown down onto the ground in the headlight while the two men began stripping me of everything of value. Strangely, they missed the large sum of cash I had hidden under my thin shirt."Where the fuckin money?" one of the cops demanded."In my wallet," I groaned, hoping they were not simply opportunists who lucked onto a good mark. If they were, it was obvious that this was not going end well for me. But, fortunately, the men were professionals and were not satisfied with the few hundred dollars they found in my wallet and pockets, so I offered them the larger sum of cash I had stuffed into the money belt around my waist."Don’ be jerkin me round, puto!" one of the men warned, screaming directly into my face."Where the big bucks, man?" the other growled."We know you got a fifty thousand dollar some place!" clarified, settling for me that this encounter was not random. These two thugs were in possession of detailed information for which there could only be one explanation. Others might have suspected that I had drug money on me, but only Machado and the Major know the original amount I had been carrying. Yes, there were others who might know my purpose in Brazil, but none I did not trust, and even if it was one of them they could and would have taken it much earlier, easier and safer elsewhere in Brazil. And under no circumstance would they have involved these two bumbling idiots.Actually not having the bulk of the buy money with me probably saved my life. Certainly it left me with options I would not otherwise have had to play. Immediately I informed the two men that the cash they sought was in a safe deposit box at a local bank and could not be accessed until the following morning. “But not at all without my presence and personal signature,” I warned, buying myself a few more hours of life, I hoped.Chapter 27 – The Pantanal Metaphor – 1993 (5,914)Several Hours after I was kidnapped in Corumbá, Brazil, the car transporting me cross country bounced back onto a paved road near Puerto Quijarro in Bolivia. We drove for awhile then suddenly left the road with a sharp jolt and began to climb a steep, graveled incline. Minutes later we came to a crunching halt on the windy top of a hill, within ear shot of a heavily traveled road or highway somewhere below.At once I was hustled out of the car with the blanket that had served as my blindfold, and potential shroud, slid over my head and slowly settled around my shoulders. Before me stood a strange looking two storied, fortress-like structure with a windowless first floor. For some reason it reminded me of “Babylon,” my Mandeville, Jamaica billet, but on a minor scale. To one side of the wooden building and at some distance was the moonlit panorama of Puerto Suárez. The other side of the hill dropped away precipitously into the noisy creaking darkness of the Pantanal, one the world’s greatest of swamps, where almost anything can be made to disappear.From ground level, starting at one corner, a narrow stairway rose to a broad balcony, front and center outside the second floor entrance, where a single, narrow door led inside. On entering the solidly built wooden structure all the lights were ablaze and the loud blare of several televisions sets from different rooms where each was tuned to the same Spanish language station. It was a common scene, on either side of the border, because of inexpensive and virtually unlimited electric power made available by the great hydroelectric generators at Foz Iguasu (waterfalls at Iguasu on the Brazilian border with Paraguay) far to the south.The sudden brightness of the room startled me and hurt my eyes. I closed them for a few seconds to allow them time to adjust. The next thing I knew I tripped over a rolled up rug in the middle of the floor. As my vision cleared I observed a trap door being opened in front of me, revealing a straight drop into an unknown depth of darkness, hopefully no greater than ground level, about 10 or fifteen feet if I guessed correctly about the dimensions of the house from the outside. Immediately I became alarmed and terrified. For all I knew there might be a well, alligators or worse below and I might even be shot before being consigned to the abyss.Mercifully, there was no sharp report, just a shove much like the one I received while aboard a Curtiss Commando a few hundred feet above the San Blas crossroad, in Cuba. The next thing I knew I was waking up with a terrible headache in total darkness on a dirt floor. The drop had been exactly ten feet, knocking the wind out of me and rendered me unconscious. I don't know how long I lay there, but when I woke it was to a foul smell that permeated the single large space that comprised my new prison.As the sun came up the next morning light began to filter through cracks and knot holes in the raw boarding that framed the basement walls. More rested now, and with my head finally clear of the fog of my fall and excessive drinking the evening before. In time my eyes adjusted to the dim light and I jump-roped my cuffs from back to front then began to investigate my surroundings and options. In the shadows at one corner of a cavernous room, I could see the outline of two bundles, covered over by stained sheets. Standing unsteadily, I stumbled over to the putrid objects and removed their coverings, discovering, to my horror, the corpses of two young men. Reflexively I tried to move away, but tripped and fell when my feet got tangled in one of their shrouds.Quickly getting to my knees between the two bodies I discovered that both had been bound and gagged before being shot, once each, in the back of the head center mass in the medulla oblongata. The weapon used was of small caliber, probably a .22 or .25 hollow point fired at close range. All this I ascertained from the entrance wounds, the absence of exit wounds, and the fact that there was massive blood and matter loss from the ears nose and mouths of both victims that left the eye of one blown out of its socket without visible damage to the orb. Death had apparently been instantaneous and there didn’t seem to have been any other sign of abuse. Surprisingly this gave me some sense of comfort. I did not have, in fact had never had a fear of death, but I do have a common and sensible concern about the possibility of torture. I have always had a low tolerance for pain and have always been “embarrassed” when I suffered it badly.Eventually I was able to identify the two young men from the flurry of pocket litter scattered about them on the ground. Judging from the amount of blood on the contents of the two boy’s wallets, which had been rifled through for cash and credit cards, they had been searched shortly before being shot. My guess was that the two killers upstairs had become enraged at not finding whatever they were looking for, or not enough, and lost it, executing the two boys on the spot. I became somewhat sick at the thought of how frightened the two kids must have been in their last moments, defenseless and isolated in the face of an inescapable fate. Such thoughts had never entered or troubled my own mind and I found myself actually using all the available information to analyze the mind-set of my captors and I now realized the full extent of the danger I was in, but also that I had some chance of outwitting them. These were amateurs working for a much brighter and more sinister mind.Holding two student ID cards in a shaft of light I discovered that both boys were nineteen years old and sophomores at CCNY, living within walking distance of their campus and my own Manhattan home. Sadly, neither young man would graduate now or live out whatever bright dreams had brought them to such a gruesome end. “Oh, David," I said aloud, looking into the hopeful eyes of one of the boys staring blindly back at me from a recent photo, "did you really think a couple of kids from Brooklyn were a match for all of this?"“What was it they were looking for?” I wondered: “Tuition? Did they think that putting themselves in such danger would solve all of their problems?” In a sad sense it had, but not in the way either of them could possibly have imagined. Their books were closed now and others would be left behind to bear their burdens. At that I found myself weeping, surprisingly not so much for myself as for the two lost and incredibly stupid boys. My situation was far different. I was far better trained and utterly ruthless.When my captors came for me later that morning, they simply put down a wooden ladder and laughed as I clumsily struggled up its many rungs. After relocating my cuffs back behind my back and securing them with a waist chain, they force-fed me a surprisingly delightful fresh Pão de Queijo (Brazilian Cheese Bread) which they made me wash down with scalding black coffee that dribbled painfully down my chin and onto my bare chest.Afterward I was taken outside and placed in a newer, unmarked, vehicle than the one I had been picked up in the evening before. My cuffs were removed at this point and I was placed in the front passenger seat with the calmer, more avaricious of my two kidnapers sitting behind the wheel. The great threat sat at behind with a pistol on his lap, a long barreled Taurus .357 magnum revolver he occasionally used to tap me on the back of my head to punctuate some asinine point or comment or just to remind me that he was there.As we drove through the noisy streets of Puerto Suarez the driver again repeatedly missed gears and I began to suspect that the, which was not the one I was originally kidnapped in, was new, probably purchased with money taken from me the night before. To add to my stress and discomfort the man in the back seat began to cock and un-cock his revolver, an unsafe practice at any time, under any circumstance, but with life threatening possibilities on a poorly paved road while in the hands of a fool. At any moment I expected a shot I would never hear and hot lead ripping through my brain I would never feel. But it was the stupidity of the whole situation that bothered me most.The guy in back finally started demanding that I tell them where his “hundred thousand dollars” were.“What the hell makes you think I have that kind of money lying around,” I asked, “and if I did, why would I be walking around the street with it? Like everyone else, I live on plastic.”The driver laughed at that as he turned into a busy gas station in the central shopping district of the town; but instead of pulling up to a pump, he parked in a corner of the lot near a pay telephone. Tucking his pistol into his belt the guy in back got out of vehicle and walked over to the station office. A couple of minutes later he returned with three cold bottles of beer.As we sat drinking in the high heat of the early afternoon my captors intermittently pointed to the telephone booth and suggested that I get my ass out of the car and call someone and tell them to bring the money.“I have nowhere near that amount of money with me,” I continued to insist, “and if there was, there is no one to call to bring it here.”“Somehow I don’ think you trying’ to solve my fuckin’ problem,” the back seat guy said. “You need to call somebody right now an’ get it here.”“I don’t know what else to tell you,” I replied and dejectedly slumped down in my seat.“I’m getting’ pretty damn tire a messin’ with you, puto,” the back seat guy said.“You better come up with a solution pretty quick or we’re not going to have any further use for your company,” the driver said, ominously, but with a wan smile.“Look,” I said, “obviously I’d do anything I could to get out of this situation, but the only cash I have, that anyone has access to, is about $50,000 in a safe deposit box at the Hotel Santa Monica, in Corumbá and I must be there to sign for it, to get it out. If you won’t take me there, you might as well just shoot me right here and now and dump my body in a ditch somewhere.”Finally the man in the back seat finished his beer and got out of the car, to take a pee I thought, or to buy another round, but as I watched him he went to a pump and filled his empty bottle with gasoline. By the time he returned I had just finished my own drink and was leaning back in my seat so that my face was fully exposed to the warmth of the sun. I was tired from my restless night in captivity and a bone numbing exhaustion, released by the cold beer, began to settle in over me and cloud my mind. I was no longer in doubt that I would be safe until these two guys were able to get some substantial amount of money from me. I knew that if they had been on their own, I would already be dead but that they were on a long leash and until their master was satisfied they would not act alone.All at once a shadow fell across my face and I opened my eyes to find the man who had been sitting behind me was now standing beside the car. The next thing I knew he had hold of my right hand and was dousing my arm from wrist to elbow with gasoline. Then, without a word of warning, he flicked the sparking wheel of his lighter and set me ablaze.Though there was no immediate pain, my mouth dropped open from the shock and horror of my predicament. The experience was so surreal that my brain momentarily refused to acknowledge what was happening. Even as the warming acidity of the fuel began to bite into my flesh I could not seem to kick my body into action. I was wedged between two armed men, one leaning against the right, passenger door keeping it closed and the other seated to my left, making it impossible to pass. Signals between my endangered arm and my brain were being scrambled and I slipped into some sort of primordial neutral waiting for the pain to set in. For a full half a minute, neither fight nor flight seemed remotely possible.Moments later, when the smoke and odor of burning flesh began to assail my eyes and nostrils it finally occurred to me that I had to do something, anything at all to extinguish the flames and take command of the situation. Pulling my entire shirt over my head, I used it to smother the flames. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, damage had already been done. While the wicking effect of the shirt had protected my arm, I now discovered a ring of flambéed flesh encircling my right wrist. Obviously adrenaline had anesthetized my reptilian complex while my flesh was burned to the bone, but in destroying nerve tissue along the way I was left without pain. The end result was that while my wrist was dripping fluids and melted skin there was absolutely no sensation. My two captors looked on in wonder and amazement as I calmly stared first at one, then at the other with no more than a somewhat disapproving expression on my face.Now that my kidnappers had my full and undivided attention, and the immediacy of my situation finally settled in on me, I informed them that I had experienced an epiphany and would, of course, go along with their carefully laid plans in every detail. “But,” I informed them, half laughing, “in all the excitement I've forgotten my own home phone number."At that the driver signNowed into his torn denim jacket breast pocket and produced the number, written in my own hand on the back of one of my own business cards. That was revealing and a huge mistake, if I should survive, but I was careful not to react, because to do so might have cost me my life.The number was not to my house, which they could not possibly have had, but to the US Customs undercover number I had been using for the bifurcated gun case years earlier; a business card I had handed to Joa Machado at O’Henry's Steak House in Greenwich Village, the night I first met Raphael Molinari.US Customs Service (Office of Enforcement) Special Agent Robert “Bobby the Bear” Lowandowski knew exactly what to do when informed of the voice message I left on my case specific dedicated phone number answering machine. Even though my call from the gas station pay phone in Puerto Quijarro was being monitored by my two captors, I was able to impart a lot of information. These were not intelligent, educated or even experienced criminals, but opportunistic assholes working for once with a little bit of information. After the Customs answering machine greeting message ended, I spoke slowly and clearly. “I'm in a bit of a jam down south,” I said, “and need you to remove all of the cash from my bedroom safe and bring it to Brazil. In case you've forgotten, the combination is left/right 5-9-1-3-9-7. When you arrive in São Paulo with the money, check into the Maksoud Plaza Hotel under the name ‘Jonah Smith’ and wait for further instructions.”Simply because I was in Brazil when and where I was, I knew Bobby would conclude that Machado was involved. Because I was in trouble and needed a lot of cash in a hurry, I hoped he would assume I was either in jail or had been kidnapped and was being held for Ransom. In fact, the only safe in my house was in my office and required a key to open it. Wither he found the key or not he would manage to get it open. With the money was an address book with Major Danio’s and Colonel Ze’s contact numbers, which Bobby would call to give them the information. And the Major and the Colonel were the best bets to affect my rescue. I was hoping and assuming that Bobby would decipher the combination numbers and figure out that it was the country and city code for Puerto Quijarro, Bolivia. The phony check-in name at a specific hotel would give them a means to make contact with my kidnappers.In fact Bobby did end up contacting the Major Danio’s office in the old “Birdseye” facility at 2430 E. Street NW, in Washington, DC. The Major’s secretary, in turn, had a contact number for him in Brazil, at the Hotel Santa Monica, in Corumbá, and the Major called Bobby back from within the hour, suggestion that Bobby contact the DEA to inform them that “The delivery of Senhor Cabral will be late, with a new ETA of Monday afternoon, 24 May.” The Major then called Colonel Ze, to apprize him of my situation. The Colonel activated the standby ROTA team and at that point the ball started to roll.Twenty-four hours after receiving the call from Bobby, Major Danio had Colonel Ze arrange for a female ROTA Operative, named Flávia, who spoke fluent English, ensconced in a room on a secured floor at the Maksoud Plaza Hotel, in São Paulo, the hotel and floor where DEA agents were housed while in transit or to meet in private with informants. Flávia was registered under the Nom-de-guerre, Jonah Smith. A woman was used, because she would be less suspect and, in my captors’ minds, much easier to handle and to deal with; Latin mach bullshit that can sometimes prove to be a fatal lie; a fact immediately realized by the man who had sat behind me, when he eventually went to collect his dues. It was a good move on the part of the Colonel, because when combined with the scent of cash my captors began to make mistakes.Sitting in the same restaurant in Corumbá where my troubles began, an attractive thirty year old “pantera,” wearing a requested red bow in her hair as an identifier, ordered a drink. Within a minute she was joined by a swarthy looking young man who inquired of her name. “Mrs. Smith,” she replied. “And what is yours?”“Do you have the money,” the kidnapper asked, straight out.With that, the woman removed a pack of cigarettes from her purse, offered one to the man sitting across from her then handed him her lighter. This served as both a signal and a distraction. It also occupied his hands. Next thing he knew there was a man standing on each side of him grasping one of his hands in a painful thumb-to-wrist hold. Casually, the female operative rose to her feet, stumped her cigarette out in an ashtray, polished off her drink, and casually walked away. With her departure the arrogant smirk slipped from the bagman’s face as the two plain clothed ROTA MPs walked him to the front door, out into the street, and around to the back of the building where they were joined by several armed men, including Colonel Ze.From that point on time was life and everything was on the clock. Ruthlessness, speed, and pure luck on the part of my rescuers were the only things that could keep me alive. But before any action could be taken, information was needed and the Colonel dealt with that directly. “I want to know where you are holding him, how many people are there, and if there is a signal expected on your return?” he asked.There was no immediate reply, so the Colonel drew a small .380 caliber Beretta Model 70s automatic pistol and asked the kidnapper if he was right or left handed. With that the man holding the kidnappers left wrist and had seen him light Flávia’s cigarette, thrust the prisoner’s hand forward, palm up. Finally fear came into the captured man’s face.Once again the Colonel asked the man again, “Where is he? How many are guarding him? And are there any warning signals on your return?”“I don’t know?” the prisoner said, “somewhere here in Corumbá. I’m only here to pick up some money for a friend.”With that the Colonel shot the man through the center of his left hand, palm to back. “Where in Puerto Quijarro?” he asked, sliding the hot barrel of his pistol up the inside of the man’s arm, stopping at the soft inside of his left elbow.After that the Bolivian became compliant and started babbling so rapidly that one of the Colonel’s men had to inject him with morphine, from a medical kit they brought along for their own emergency needs, to alleviate his pain, but also to calm and slow the man down. But when the Colonel was satisfied that he had all pertinent information the man possessed, he shot the man, point blank in the forehead and left him lying where he fell. Then the ROTA team, sans Flávia, jumped into two black 4-door Chevy Blazers and disappeared into the night. Colonel Ze, who under normal circumstances would never even consider undertaking the provocative act of militarily crossing the border into Bolivia, refused to allow his men to go in alone and personally led the way.In Puerto Quijarro the Colonel’s six man ROTA team, joined by two of Roberto Suárez’s men, who were contracted to serve as guides, back them up, and supply transportation lead the way. If the now dead kidnapper was to be believed, the house where I was being held was now being guarded by three men, all armed with fully automatic weapons.Of the nine men who came for me, all were killers and they assaulted the house with murderous intent. The firing, once it started, went on madly and unabated, both inside and out, for more than five minutes. The second it started I dove to the floor, even though I was still being held in the basement. I knew that in all the firing a stray round might easily strike me, by accident or intent, so I curled up in a dark corner and placed my hands over my ears.When things went quiet again, I stood up and could hear people moving around on the floor above my head, but I did not know at that time what the outcome of the gun battle was, so I remained silent. Finally the trap door was opened, a ladder put down, and the Colonel descended into the basement to lead me out. Afterward, as I was being evacuated to the safety of the waiting cars, the building was searched for anything of value then set ablaze, the fire consuming the dead and dying alike, along with all evidence of what had transpired over the past few days.
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