Assholes Finish First (25 page)

Nils “Are we done? Can I fucking go now?”

MilitaryCop “Shut the fuck up and get back up against the RV!”

Tucker “Nils, shut up dude, you’ll get in trouble!”

Nils “I want to know what’s going on! I demand answers right now. I am a paralegal in the biggest IP law firm on the West Coast, I won’t stand for this bullshit!”

MilitaryCop “I’ll show you what you’re going to stand for.”

MiliaryCop shoulder-checked Nils up against the RV, cuffed him, and swept his leg, sending him right to his ass. The crowd went fucking ballistic, cheering and hooting.

“Fuck dat mothafucka up!!!”

“You got knocked da fuck out!!”

“Dem some drunk-ass mothafuckas!”

“Look, dat one cryin! HAHHAHA! He cryin’ yo!”

A black and Puerto Rican crowd. Witnessing a white cop beat the shit out of a white dude. IN HARLEM. I’m going to go out on a limb and say this is something they’d never seen before. A few seconds later, AngryBlackWoman comes up with the Haitian cop, screaming and pointing at Nils.

AngryBlackWoman “Dat’s him, dat da motherfucka who fucked up my car!!!”

The crowd laughed and egged her on as the captain walked AngryBlackWoman up and down the RV, looking at each of us.

AngryBlackWoman “Yeah, dat mothafucker was driving right der,” [
pointing at me
] “and dat mothafucker be throwing shit at my car!” [
pointing at Nils
]

Captain “All right, cuff those two and get them in the car and take them back to the station. Get everyone else back in the RV. Johnson, you drive it to the station. We’ll sort everything else out there.”

The crowd went crazy, chanting and mocking us, led by AngryBlackWoman.

AngryBlackWoman “Yeah, dat’s right, you goin’ to jail mothafucka! Dat’s what you get for fuckin’ up
my
car!”

No question, had I not been in the process of being arrested for DUI, reckless driving, and criminal endangerment, I would have thought this whole scene was as hilarious as they did. I even started to laugh for a second at the absurdity of it, when MilitaryCop saw me, came up right in my ear, and hissed angrily:

MilitaryCop “You must be fucking crazy. Do you realize how lucky you are? If it’d been 30 degrees warmer, you’d be fucking dead. These people would have set this RV on fire and ripped you apart in the streets, you idiot.”

FatCop walked me and Nils to his car, and put us in the backseat. I looked at the dashboard clock. It was 7:18pm.

Part 5: The Harlem Cops

The story breaks into two parts for a while. We were arrested in the 32nd Precinct, which is where they took the RV, everyone in it, and Nils. Since I was a DUI suspect, they had to take me to the 21st Precinct to blow, because that was the closest Breathalyzer station.

Instead of me telling you second-hand what happened to my friends when I wasn’t there, the story of the 32nd Precinct will be told by TheGinger, up until it reunites with my story.

Part 5A: The 32nd Precinct (as told by TheGinger)

After Tucker and Nils were taken to their “private cars,” the Hispanic captain and his partner told us to get back into the RV. The crowd was dispersing, and the cops’ mood had improved quite a bit once they realized that they were not going to have to deal with a full-scale riot.

They used the RV as an improvised paddy wagon, taking us back to the precinct to figure out what to do with us. Once there, they marched us into the precinct and every cop in the joint was staring at us like we walked on all fours and had horns in the middle of our foreheads. The desk sergeant just glared at us as they took us into the squad room and told us to sit in some hard plastic chairs back in the corner.

“ID from all of you,” a cop said. We handed him our IDs and he went through the whole “Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania… WHAT THE FUCK?”
routine again. We stuck to the vague and unbelievable story and the cops didn’t ask any more questions about it.

I vividly remember that even though we had booze everywhere, the cops thought we were in Harlem buying drugs and the captain told the sergeant to toss the RV. At one point he said flat out, “Tell me where the drugs are and this will be much easier.” We didn’t have any drugs at all, but they didn’t believe us. They tossed it, and then tossed it again, and found nothing. I remember them being very surprised by this.

At this point, I noticed that more and more cops were coming into the squad room. And they were calling other cops, and we of course overheard them:

Cop1 “Steve, you ain’t gonna believe this shit. We got seven WHITE BOYS down here. Yeah, in the Three-two. No, I’m not fuckin’ with you… and they’re in an RV… fuck you too, asshole… and check this out, they’ve got a full bar. With a fuckin’ keg in the shower. You gotta get your ass down here and see this shit.”

The cops were coming in and starting conversations with us:

Cop2 “So, whose RV is it?”

TheGinger “It’s rented. I rented it in Chicago.”

Cop2 “Really? How much was it?”

TheGinger “$600 for four days.”

Cop2 “Really? That’s pretty cheap. I’d like to do that. Rent an RV and take the family on vacation.”

TheGinger “Well, the RV is cheap, but the gas is a killer.”

About this time, an older cop walked in, found ten cops talking to us and milling around, and shouted, “You motherfuckers, get out of here and get back to work.” Then he motioned to us. “All right, all of you fuckers on your feet.”

I thought we were fucked. I thought they were fucking with us and this was the part where they arrested us and then took one of us back to the bathroom for the ol’ nightstick enema.

“We need to get a picture,” said the cop.

“For… evidence?” I asked.

“No,” he said with a smile. “We want this for our bulletin board. Nobody’s going to believe this shit.”

At this point, another cop walked in with a beat-up Polaroid camera and said, “I found this in the property room!”

So we all posed for the camera, gave it the thumbs-up and let them take a picture. When they were done, Soylent asked, “Hey, will you take another for us?”

“Sure,” said the cop. He took another picture and handed it to Soylent. Here it is:

The older cop inquired, “Where are you assholes staying?”

“New Jersey.”

“Well, you motherfuckers take that RV, get the fuck out of New York, go back to Jersey, and don’t come back. Keep your asses on the other side of the river.”

After having the NYPD literally throw us out of New York, we all piled into the RV, and Credit took the wheel and headed down 135th Street before someone realized that Sippy hadn’t pulled in the steps of the RV. It was one of his jobs, and despite our ordeal, nobody was willing to let him slide.

He jumped into action, flinging open the door of the RV while we were moving, smacking into several of the cop cars parked along 135th Street, along with several civilian cars, before he composed himself and got the door shut. Car alarms were blaring as we all shouted at Credit, “Go, just go!”

About 30 minutes later, we arrived at the Black Bear on Washington Street in Hoboken, where the open bar and meet-and-greet for Tucker was being held. We told the crowd that the guest of honor had, indeed, been arrested in Harlem. For DUI. In an RV.

Part 5B: The 21st Precinct

FatCop was the one who took me to the other precinct. What so many people don’t understand is that cops have a HUGE amount of discretion in terms of what cases they pursue and the ones they don’t. If you didn’t do anything that bad, and if the cop thinks you are a decent person and you treat him with respect, he’s going to give you every benefit of the doubt, if for no other reason than he doesn’t want to be bothered with all the paperwork.

After we dropped Nils off at the 32nd, it was just me and FatCop in the car, and I started talking to him, looking for common ground. I found out he loves fishing and hunting, and couldn’t wait to retire and move upstate to some land he owned. Awesome. I grew up in Kentucky, I can talk hunting and fishing with anyone. I never tried to sell him on my innocence, I didn’t even bring up the case at all, I was trying to sell him on me as a person. If I could do that, he’d argue my case for me.

At the new precinct, FatCop sat me in the holding area with the other DUI suspects and checked me in. I was sitting next to this DRUNK-ass black guy. He had to be like 60 years old, reeked of gin, and wore a dirty green zoot suit, with sunglasses on, inside, at night. The cops knew him by name; apparently this is his average Saturday night. He glanced at me, then did a double take, like a cartoon:

Drunk “HEY SARGE! DER A WHITE GUY BACK HERE IN CUFFS!! YOU DUN FUCKED UP!! HAHAHHAHAHAHA!”

DeskCop “Shut the fuck up, Jonesy.”

Drunk “You arrested?”

Tucker “Yep.”

Drunk “For what?”

Tucker “DUI.”

Drunk “DUI? Whatchu doin’ drivin’ ’round Harlem?”

Tucker “I got lost.”

Drunk “Ain’t dat da truth! Hahahahhahaha!”

FatCop came and sat down next to me.

FatCop “In New York, only state police can administer Breathalyzers, and the two closest are stuck at the scene of some accident. They won’t be here for a while, so we just have to wait.”

Tucker “OK, no problem. So, what’s the biggest deer you ever bagged?”

FatCop “Oh man, one time up in the Adirondacks…”

For two hours, we talked hunting, fishing, trapping, guns, everything. I just asked him questions about the things he seemed to want to talk
about, reinforced his opinions on those issues, avoided any conflict, and always acted interested in what said, without being overly obsequious about it. It was the perfect friendship seduction.

When the state police showed up two hours later, FatCop went into the hall to talk to them. There were four DUI suspects in the room, two of which got there after I did. But strangely, they tested those two first. Then they tested the old gin-drunk black guy, leaving me for last.

FatCop “Wow. He blew a .31. That’s the highest one they’ve had in a few years.”

A .31? Remembering the night I took a Breathalyzer a few years ago, I felt shamed. I only got to a .23 before I blacked out.

In the Breathalyzer room, the state police informed me that everything would be filmed and then they administered all the standard DUI tests—touching my finger to my nose, walking a straight line, etc. I aced them all.

Tucker “You think I can get a copy of the video? You know, for my fans.”

StateCop “No.”

Then came the moment of truth: I blew a 0.07! YES! I BEAT THE DUI!!

Considering it was about 10pm, and I’d stopped drinking about the time we started the chase, around 6pm, and had time to work myself into a serious sweat before the cops came… I was real, real lucky the state police had been delayed. Blowing at 8pm, I would have certainly blown over a .08, the limit in New York. I’d be horsefucked. But even though 0.07 is below the limit, I wasn’t out of the woods yet.

FatCop “Well, we can still charge you, given the circumstances. You say you weren’t the one driving?”

Tucker “No man, it was that other guy, the one who ran off, Rockwolf.”

FatCop “OK. Let’s head back to the 32nd, see what the captain says.”

We got back to the 32nd Precinct, FatCop brought me to the front desk, and sitting there was a sergeant who was the perfect stereotype of a New York City cop: late forties, red hair, grizzled voice, big meaty jowls, and huge forearms.

FatCop “He blew a 0.07.”

DeskCop “That’s the RV driver?”

FatCop “Yep.”

DeskCop “Well, here’s the fucking party! Son, let me tell you something: I’ve been on the force for 23 years, 21 of them in Harlem, and I ain’t never seen any shit like this before. Seven drunk white guys in an RV, with a full bar and a keg in the shower? In Harlem? I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it. That’s the craziest shit I ever even heard of.”

I’m going to put that on my tombstone. As they took me back to the holding cell, I was beaming like a kid who just hit a game-winning home run in Little League. Legitimately one of the proudest moments of my life.

There were two small holding cells. One with two black guys passed out, and one with Nils sitting on the bench, looking pissed. As soon as I got in there, Nils looked at me with the most pitiful, hangdog expression ever.

Nils “They said I threw a bottle at a car. Is that true?”

He was completely sincere. I thought to myself, damn, he is REALLY playing his part up. The cops can’t even hear us in here. Oh, well, I’ll go along.

Tucker “No, of course not.”

Nils “Then WHO threw the bottle?”

Tucker “Rockwolf. He did it,
remember
?”

Nils “No! I don’t remember anything, I was passed out, and they don’t believe me. They think I threw a bottle at some car.”

He grabbed the bars and started shaking them.

Nils “HEY! I TOLD YOU I DIDN’T THROW ANY FUCKING BOTTLES!”

He kept this up for at least ten minutes, hitting the bars, yelling and carrying on like a crazy person. He was really going overboard trying to sell his story. I sat there and agreed with him, trying to get him to calm down. Eventually a cop came back there, some plainclothes I hadn’t seen before. He went over the story with Nils: