The butt of all jokes

Queensland’s finest, our very own thin blue line, has had what might be described as a somewhat troubled history, although
Opinion
There are all sorts of places you can hide things.

Queensland’s finest, our very own thin blue line, has had what might be described as a somewhat troubled history, although in recent years they have been trying to make up for decades of sheer bastardry on an industrial scale. Nowadays, nothing will deter Her Majesty’s Queensland Constabulary from getting their man – or, less frequently, their woman.

Recently, they proved they could really get to the bottom of a problem when they arrested a Brisbane bikie, believed to be an “associate” of the Rebels outlaw motorcycle gang. I rather love that diplomatic use of the word “associate” by the coppers because it is not a word I suspect is bandied around outlaw bikie gang headquarters.

Can you imagine a bikie chief saying to a chum, “I’m jis gonna go down the pub and associate with Killer Carl an the boys.” It’s a bit like that other delightful euphemism “colourful racing identity”. Then again when Police give media conferences and say quite ridiculous things like, their suspect is “a male person of Caucasian appearance…” instead of “a white man…” it has always baffled me.

Anyhow, the lads from Tax Force Maxima swooped on the inner-Brisbane apartment of this “associate” and subjected it, and him, to a thorough search.
He was later charged with possession of two hand guns, a silencer, explosives and drugs. However, what made this crime-fighting event rather more noteworthy than others was the fact that one of the loaded hand guns was up his bum – I think the correct Police-speak phrase was “concealed in his buttocks”. Didn’t he have a cheek, or two actually?

I closely studied the snap in the newspaper of this gun and while I know nothing about guns, I’ve seen my share of westerns and I strongly suspect that it was one of those beautifully fashioned 19th century Dillinger single-shot handguns, often with a tasteful pearl handle, that ladies would conceal about their person to guard against unwanted advances.

Please note, I did say “about their person” and not actually “in their person”. It looked like the sort of handgun that Miss Kitty from ‘Gunsmoke’ would carry when Marshall Dillon wasn’t around. I can’t be sure because the newspaper snap showed it in a plastic bag and, given where it had been, it appeared smeared with what Our Finest would probably call, “faecal material”.

The snap of the suspect being interviewed in his apartment showed him sitting on his couch with his legs splayed open and a towel around his waist. Well, who can blame him? It’s not the sort of thing that would normally happen to a member of an outlaw motorcycle gang, or even an “associate” for that matter. There is a word for chaps who insert things up their clackers and it isn’t ‘bikie’.

I’m loathe to criticise this daring and creative attempt to avoid arrest, but it has been all done before and, predictably, in the USA. Only a couple of years ago in Denver, Colorado, local police went to check on possibly suspicious behaviour by somebody in a McDonald’s parking lot. They found him smoking meth and in possession of what coppers call “drug paraphernalia” and, once he was identified, there was the small matter of outstanding arrest warrants for other assorted alleged crimes.

Just why he wasn’t safely at home enjoying his relaxation but in a McDonald’s parking lot has never been explained. Perhaps he wanted fries with his meth. The suspect with the fine old southern name of Virgil was less than co-operative and had to be handcuffed and put into the back of a police squad car with a special cage fitted. Then it was off to Denver Police HQ to do the paperwork.

Virgil made it plain that if he wasn’t let off he would shoot the police and, having searched him thoroughly and handcuffed him, they airily dismissed this threat and the ravings of a demented drug addict.

Oh dear. Good ol’ Virgil had tucked a handgun into his buttocks – what Americans call “ass” before setting off from home. When they tried to get him out of the squad car cage, enterprising Virgil refused and, as his hands were cuffed behind his back, he extracted the gun and fired twice at the police before the gun jammed. The shocked wallopers fired back and their shots caused rather a lot of damage to his stomach.

This was all terribly embarrassing for the Denver Police because they also missed two large bags of meth in the same place. Unsurprisingly, they announced they would be reviewing their search procedures. Probably they had a good old probe.

Since then, police in the USA have arrested at least two men – one in New Jersey and the other in Illinois – for the same attempted concealment. The Illinois man had fired two shots into the air after some disagreement with a rival gang and admitted on being arrested, “I’m gonna be real with you, I have a gun in my ass.”

Every good detective story has the hero looking for the vital piece of evidence, the so-called smoking gun, to clinch the case. I bet Raymond Chandler never thought that this bit of whimsy could be literally true in some cases.

What’s the strangest place you’ve heard of someone hiding something? Did this give you a giggle?

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