26 YEARS ON THE SMOKY TRAIL

Lt. Robert Sullivan retires after decades of busting crack, pot and
meth dealers.

First day of work: Feb. 1, 1982.

In 1987, he was part of the biggest cocaine bust in county history,
and since then has repeated the feat no fewer than five times, for
crack, for pot, for ecstasy.

In 1989, after Sullivan and other detectives chased him for six
months, they arrested the king of the east Pasco crack trade, James
"Bush" Wimbush. They said he supplied 85 percent of the drug in the
area, to the tune of $30,000 a week.

26 years' worth of items he turned in: Two tape recorders. One 35mm
camera. Handcuffs. Two bulletproof vests. A biohazard kit.

Bobby Sullivan drove an old Monte Carlo south through the darkness on
U.S. 301, a crack dealer at his side. It was 1985, and the rookie vice
cop was close to a big score. He started to feel uneasy when the man
at his side lifted the armrest between them and slid across the bench
seat. Sullivan was wondering how close his gun was when he saw a
metallic flash and felt the man grab his hair. He wasn't being led to
a drug buy. He was being robbed.

Sullivan struggled as the man tried to jab at his neck with a box
cutter. A confidential informant who was riding in the backseat
grabbed a pipe and beat the man unconscious.

Sullivan handcuffed him, then found a pay phone to call for
help.

"This was back before we had these silly little things called backups
and cover teams," Sullivan said last week. "We just went out and
bought dope."

More about that scene from two decades ago has changed than Sullivan's
personal style - he wore his hair to his collar and a hoop earring as
part of his cover.

"We hung out in bars and drank and tried to score bags of pot," he
said of those early days.

"It's nothing like that today."

For one thing, no booze. Instead, detectives know how to just appear
to be drinking.

They learn everything they can about a target before making a move. If
Sullivan had done a thorough background check on the man in the Monte
Carlo, he'd have found a long history of armed robberies - and he'd
have never gotten in a car with him.

Today, the work is done with cell phones, hidden wires and backup
teams. No more pay phones or solo missions.

And the big score?

In 1985, it was a gram of crack, an amount equivalent in size to three
pencil erasers.

Said Sullivan: "Our guys now are buying slabs of crack that look like
pancakes."

A Growing Problem

Sullivan, 46, retired Friday after 26 years with the Sheriff's Office,
most of that time fighting drug dealers, strippers and gamblers.

He was part of the first Pasco arrest for methamphetamine. Now, toxic
meth labs turn up in neighborhoods from east to west.

He remembers the first bulletin from the Florida Department of Law
Enforcement depicting a picture of a crack rock.

In 1987, he was part of the biggest cocaine bust in county history,
and since then has repeated the feat no fewer than five times, for
crack, for pot, for ecstasy.

Always, the quantity and the dollar value grew bigger.

"It's just a societal problem that law enforcement is trying to deal
with," he said about illegal drugs. "As long as there's a demand,
there's going to be a supply."

In 1989, after Sullivan and other detectives chased him for six
months, they arrested the king of the east Pasco crack trade, James
"Bush" Wimbush. They said he supplied 85 percent of the drug in the
area, to the tune of $30,000 a week.

It was a major arrest but a short-lived victory. The crack supply,
Sullivan said, fell off for four days before rebounding.

"We mark our successes a couple days at a time," he
said.

What kept him going, Sullivan said, was the teaching
aspect.

Cops who go undercover have to unlearn the militaristic, jargon-heavy
ways of police training. Sullivan teaches them to say "license plate"
instead of "tag," and not always sit facing the exit of a room.

Streetwise dealers pick up on such subtleties as common habits of
cops.

Before the days of perforated coffee cup lids, Sullivan once blew a
deal in a McDonald's by meticulously peeling the plastic off his cup
to make an opening. The dealer got up and walked out.

Sullivan later learned why from an informant: "He said, 'That thing
you just did with your cup - cops do that.'"

Of course, Sullivan said, not all pushers are so astute.

"They'll sell to you in a uniform."

The Teaching Life

Sullivan plans to continue teaching. He is already an adjunct
professor at the University of North Florida and Pasco-Hernando
Community College, leading courses in undercover techniques, community
policing and narcotics.

"I really like to see it (retirement) as I'm just shifting gears a
little bit," said Sullivan, who lives in Brooksville with his wife,
Bonnie, and their two daughters, 5 and 13.

But before he could leave the cop's life behind last week, he had to
hand over all his stuff - 26 years' worth.

Two tape recorders. One 35mm camera. Handcuffs. Two bulletproof vests.
A biohazard kit.

A couple of things he got to keep, like his black deputy's hat and his
gun, a privilege for 25-year veterans.

Reluctantly, he handed over the dark green pants and lime green shirt
he was issued for his first day of work, Feb. 1, 1982.

"That was my goal - when I retired I wanted to be wearing the same
size pants I started in," he said.

And?

"Yep. Thirty-ones."