HIGH-RISK HOUSE CALLS

Calgary Cops Doing Their Homework To Ensure Criminals Obey
Curfew

From Spruce Cliff to Douglasdale and from Applewood to McKenzie Lake,
they are there.

No part of the city is immune to the company of gang
members.

But few people know just how close to home the criminals are, says
Organized Crime Operations Centre Det. Gord Eiriksson.

"It's easy for them to blend in -- people really don't have a clue,"
Eiriksson says, adding many live with mom and dad in the 'burbs.

"We see them drive up every day in the same car and go into their
garage, but do any of us know what our neighbours do for a living or
how many children they have?"

Always in the mind of any police officer is the reality gang violence
can play out anywhere in the city.

"You see kids playing at a neighbour's house, toys in the yard, and we
know drive-by shootings happen," the cop says. "What happens if they
break into the wrong house to kill someone?

"There are so many bad things that can happen. That's what I think
of."

To try and stop violence from flaring and innocent people being hurt,
the entire force is diligent about monitoring gang members, making
house calls every day to ensure they are, at the very least, abiding
by court conditions as they live amongst Calgarians.

The Sun recently joined Eiriksson and uniformed officers doing curfew
checks.

Of nine gang members on the list, all but two were home as they should
be.

Here are some of the stories.

It's a Saturday night and he's at home when the expected, but not
necessarily welcome, visitor arrives.

When the door opens, Eiriksson is confronted with the skunky smell of
a freshly-smoked joint floating out and slamming into his face.

"There's no dope in my house," the diminutive gang member insists,
although an inspection of his pupils betrays his words.

"Oh, guess what," Eiriksson says referring to several sheets itemizing
his conditions.

"You'll submit to random searches."

Inside the Applewood bungalow, a uniformed officer pats down the gang
member while Eiriksson and a fellow cop search for drugs.

They look in a fridge decorated with homemade Valentine's Day cards
and family snapshots, in a little girl's bedroom where a pet rabbit
rustles about in its cage and by flashlight in a basement boasting a
big-screen TV but apparently no working lights.

The criminal, who says he "just got out," sits on the back of a white
leather sofa, hands in his pockets, clearly rolling his eyes, but not
overtly.

"You guys here for a curfew check or what?" he asks, just a bit of
impatience apparent.

"Yeah, and when I smell marijuana I'm going to come in because your
conditions allow me to," Eiriksson says.

Eiriksson later says he could have charged the 21-year-old with
possession if he found a bag of dope but a quick search uncovered no
evidence.

Still, every check yields success, whether it's catching a gangster in
a breach of parole or literally bringing home the reality they are
being watched.

"It just puts them on edge and lets them know they're not impervious
to scrutiny," Eiriksson says.

"The next time he'll be thinking 'What if cops come?' -- the beauty of
this is, we'll show up at any time."

He thanks the kid for his co-operation and then, given his strict
curfew, rhetorically asks, "You going to be staying in all night?"

His criminal record shows no respect for the law, but when cops do a
curfew check during a family gathering, he is the epitome of politeness.

Obviously the man with total disdain for the rules of the land holds
his family in high esteem.

If there's a picture of innocence, he might be a contender.

But this soft-spoken young man with flawless skin is not so sweet as
he might seem.

His gang crimes earned him a 20-month sentence and 10-year firearms
ban. The first 15 months come with a 24-hour curfew and cops pay him
visits often, night and day.

"If he's not home, the question is, where is he?" Eiriksson
says.

This night, under a full moon, neighbourhood dogs bark while a white
rabbit hops across a nearby lawn as a team of cops walks up to the
home.

The gang member's sister comes to the door, seemingly aware of why
police are there, but clearly trying to be discreet.

Inside, guests sit around a dining-room table as a skinny, 5-ft.-7 kid
comes out to pay his dues.

He has spiky hair, white capri-style pants, a fitted black T-shirt
pulled over his fit-looking physique and bare feet.

"I always try to treat people with respect," Eiriksson says of his
approach.

"You'll get a lot further with them if you don't rely on the uniform
and badge to come across as an authority figure.

"But me being respectful doesn't mean I trust them."

Albeit at times a disingenuous dance between cops and crooks, the
mutual civility appears to work.

He and the punk talk about how things are and Eiriksson gives him his
phone number, telling him to call if he has any concerns, sees
suspicious cars or simply wants to talk.

"Sorry, I just ate," the kid says, putting his hands in his pockets
instead of shaking the officers' hands.

Const. Brian Denison sees right through the feigned
manners.

"We're cops," he explains.

"Shaking hands is a sign of respect."

He's also not buying the sweet, compliant routine.

"He has his whole family here," he says, alluding to the good
behaviour.

"He's totally different when it's just him at the door."

It's no secret cops nab all sorts of criminals again and again, taking
them to court only to have them back out on the streets where they
often re-offend -- the so-called catch-and-release system.

Despite criminal track records and repeated bad behaviour, gang
members often walk free pending their cases going to court.

Ultimately, they may spend more time behind bars for breaching
conditions than they will if sentenced for more serious crimes.

Many, despite strict conditions, rack up charges from trafficking to
possessing guns, all while out on bail, accused of other crimes.

Cops-cum-gangsitters do their best to keep tabs on them while they're
at large.

Ensuring court-ordered conditions, such as curfews, are being followed
gets them in the door, so to speak.

From January until Oct. 31, cops did 589 checks or gang-directed
patrols and 169 charges were laid against 51 gang members and associates.

"Where they end up going to jail is on the breaches," Eiriksson says.
"It's not going to be on the three ounces of coke or the stolen car --
it's the utter disregard for the law. These people are out there
committing crimes every day."

While the scrutiny may improve public safety -- and save the life of a
gangster who may be safer in jail than out -- it isn't often
appreciated by those under the microscope, says organized crime Const.
Shauna Baldwin.

"They are constantly filing complaints, whining and complaining," she
says.

One high-profile member's father, in a family of thugs, thinks nothing
of calling her at 2 a.m. because officers were harassing his son.

"They call it harassment, but if he was home in bed, they don't have
to worry, we will be there in two minutes," she says.

"We don't have the manpower to check everyone but you've shown us you
deserve our attention by your actions and who you hang around with.

"I find it amusing when they call it harassment -- it's like people
who get radar tickets and don't want the ticket, then don't do the
crime."

A Volvo is parked in the driveway, Christmas lights flicker in a
window of a home across the street and a minivan filled with kids
pulls out of a nearby garage.

A woman pushes aside lace curtains in a front window and a loud and
angry gang member dropping F-bombs comes to meet the cops.

In harsh contrast, the officers remain calm and steady.

"What's the problem?" the longtime gangster asks before slamming the
door, one of several times, and getting on a phone.

"Oh, yeah, he's mad," says Eiriksson who doesn't take the hostility to
heart.

"It's his typical response, to pick up his phone and call his lawyer
- -- he doesn't have what you'd call the best social graces."

The door slams one last time and the cops leave.

Their job is done.

Later that night they'll visit his brother, too.

Gangsters' flagrant disregard for court conditions mirrors their
dismissive attitude to the dangers they impose on innocent people.

Calgary is a land of plenty when it comes to cocaine, the biggest
commodity fuelling gangsters' violent ways.

And they don't care where they ply their trade -- be it in parking
lots, at the Chinook Centre, in back alleys or in broad daylight, say
the cops, who recently found eight kg of coke in a knapsack in a
Superstore parking lot.

"The amount of drugs in this city is mind-boggling," Eiriksson says.
"It seems like Calgary is a hub for cocaine then it goes to Edmonton,
Winnipeg and out east."

When they get caught for criminal transgressions, some abide by
court-ordered conditions, while others concede they breach so they can
party, Eiriksson says.

One business owner/gangster living in a Springbank mansion and driving
a $200,000 BMW has breached so many times, cops check on the
24-year-old daily.

He's earned the attention and apparently expects it -- coming down to
greet cops seconds after they arrive.

"Hey, Tommy Lee," he says as Eiriksson and two officers walk into his
double garage.

They all shoot the breeze.

The gangster recognizes one of the cops as a former guard at Spy Hill,
leading to chit-chat about a cute brunette probation officer, until
Eiriksson asks when he will get a tour of the home.

"Any time," the gang member says.

"Now, I can't, I've got my naked girlfriend waiting."

Even if he can see past the facade of what others might mistake for a
good citizen, Eiriksson hasn't lost all hope some might leave the gang
life.

"They're almost like addicts who have to quit 10 to 15 times before
they do it," he says.

"And sometimes a health scare for them is to end up as a quadriplegic
or shot.

"These kids are rich with drugs and money, but it doesn't do much good
when you're in the ground at 25 years old."

For Eiriksson, a former funeral director, that's just sad and
stupid.

"I can't imagine anything worse than losing your child," the
40-year-old says.

"I've seen people commit suicide because a girlfriend broke up with
them or kids with SIDS, and this is right up there -- losing your
child over something like this is senseless.

"I'd rather get one kid out of a gang than put five in
jail."

Cops doing the checks work on the assumption every gangster has a gun
or access to one.

What may appear to be "a nice, polite, good-looking kid" isn't always
the case.

"My gut says he's like the rest of them," Eiriksson says after a check
on a man waiting out his curfew and watching Rocky in a ritzy
southwest highrise an unemployed guy shouldn't be able to afford.

"He's articulate, soft-spoken, professional, polite, but I wouldn't
turn my back on him."

The checks, however, are critical to stopping the gangsters from
running amok, sometimes getting them behind bars, even if briefly, and
making for a safer city.

"All we can do is keep arresting them and asking for more stringent
conditions," he says. "It's homicide prevention, maybe, in the short
term .. or maybe this is a chance we can talk to them and get through
to them."

Not all parents, acknowledge the reality their kid is a gang member --
including some who will lie to help them avoid a breach. But Eiriksson
doesn't buy it.

"For the parents to say they don't know is so asinine," he says. "He's
a 24-year-old kid driving a $200,000 Mercedes and living in a
penthouse and doesn't have a job ... hmmmm."