A Fishy Transaction
Back in the day, we did things that might be considered “inappropriate” by today’s standards. And no, I’m not talking about abusing anyone’s civil liberties or engaging in activities that might have gotten us prosecuted or fired; I’m talking about fun stuff - like putting together our own little undercover operations without the bothersome obligation of “getting approval from a supervisor” or “following established policies and procedures”.
Pffft. Now that I think about it, maybe some of that stuff could’ve gotten us fired, but at the time, we were comfortable throwing caution to the wind and operating under the premise that it is better to ask for forgiveness than permission.
Not long after arriving at my first duty station in Raymondville in 1991, I got a report of a local man who was selling trout and redfish around town to support his fishing habit. The sale of trout and redfish was then, and is now, prohibited, and Game Warden Henry Balderamas and I were keen on catching him.
As luck would have it, I got a call from an informant that our suspected illegal fish peddler was headed home with his catch from a day on the bay. It was my day off, but game wardens are never really off, so I sprang into action. I knew where he lived.
Realizing that I wasn’t about to catch the guy by parking down the street from his house and watching him from my patrol vehicle, I decided to don plain clothes and use my personal vehicle for the stakeout.
I called Henry to help me out. I then grabbed a radio and drove over to a church that was near the guy’s house to see what I could see. Lucky for me, the guy didn’t notice the weird dude sitting all alone in a truck in the church parking lot when he pulled in his driveway. It was also fortuitous that he got right to work cleaning his catch where I could watch everything he did in my rearview mirror. After he fileted several redfish, he placed the filets in bags and the bags in an ice chest. He then got in his truck and drove off. I followed.
I didn’t have to follow him long. He drove to the local state bank and got in one of the drive-through lanes. I got in the next lane over. When it was his turn with the teller, he placed a bag of filets in a tube and hit the send button.
Shhhhoop! – off it went. Shortly afterwards, the teller shot the tube back to him with an envelope. Interesting. As he drove off, I called Henry on the radio and told him to pick me up at my house. Back at the house, I put on a uniform and grabbed a ticket book. When Henry got there, I jumped in with him and we drove back to the bank.
Once at the bank, we knocked on the back door to the mobile-banking building, and despite the puzzled looks we could see on the tellers’ faces through the little bulletproof window in the door, were let in. Immediately, something smelled fishy. There was a minifridge to the right of the door where we walked in, and therein were the fish filets. Faced with overwhelming evidence, the teller fessed up. We didn’t give her a ticket, but we took the fish and bid her adieu.
Just down the street, I saw our suspect’s truck parked at a local barbershop. The look on his face when he saw two game wardens walk in the door was priceless. We asked him to step outside, where we issued him a couple of tickets. He promised to never bank that way again. The end.
.png)
