DOWNTOWN L.A. DRUG SALES SO OPEN, EVEN THE COPS MIGHT SEE THEM

I wanted to do my part, so late Friday afternoon in downtown Los
Angeles, I went shopping for drugs.

To hear the brass of the LAPD squawk lately, they can't crack down on
skid row crime because a federal court decision protecting tent
encampments has kept drug transactions hidden and users out of sight.

Balderdash.

Yeah, there are lots of tents on skid row. Hundreds of them, and
there's no question that the folks inside are not all singing
campfire songs. There's prostitution and rampant drug activity behind
those canvas zippers.

But drug sales and drug use outside the tents are so blatant it's
stunning. People light crack pipes and inject heroin without even
looking over their shoulders. It's one big block party after another.

I see it every time I'm anywhere east of Spring Street between
roughly 3rd and 8th streets.

The cops must need help if they can't see what's going on out there,
sometimes within a couple of blocks of the Central Station. Maybe I
could help direct them.

At 4:30 p.m., I headed south on Spring Street.

By 5:15, I had been solicited three times.

I was also eyeballed several times by guys who didn't look as if they
were just admiring the downtown architecture. I'm guessing some of
them thought I was an undercover cop.

My first connection was at 7th and Spring, where a guy lingering on
one corner crossed the street to check me out. He wasn't sure what to
make of me, so he walked to 7th and Main and spoke to another guy who
now walked toward me wearing a white towel over his shoulder.

Lots of white towels on shoulders out there, as if waiters are coming
by to explain the menu.

"What you need?" the young guy asked. He was about 20.

"I'm OK," I said, and I kept walking.

How did I know to go to that corner, you ask?

Because almost every time I travel Spring or Main I see dealers
working. There aren't any tents there, but there's plenty of action,
and sometimes I see runners heading between there and the heart of
skid row to the east.

I didn't even go to skid row on my shopping spree, because that would
have been too easy. I've seen dealers brazenly counting money, and on
Friday morning I saw a guy drive along San Julian Street, casually
get out of his car, buy some crack, smoke it, get back in the car and
drive away -- and this was a block and a half from the police station.

When I hit Main I turned north and was halfway between 6th and 5th
when a guy about 30 years old asked if I wanted anything for my pipe.
I wasn't carrying a pipe and he wasn't talking about Prince Albert in a can.

There's such a blatant drug operation on this street, next to a
parking garage, that they might as well put up signs. Yeah, I know
police have to see a transaction in order to make an arrest, but
let's beef up the undercover corps and get things cleaned up.

The LAPD claims it doesn't have the manpower, and that's a better
argument than their tent lament, but still not an acceptable reason
for inaction. If police quit making excuses, and the politicians get
off the dime and start bringing in the supportive housing, rehab and
mental health services that are so desperately needed, then
law-abiding residents and merchants can be rid of this nightmare.

While I was telling my man that I didn't really want any drugs, he
looked over my shoulder and yelled, "Long john."

No, he wasn't selling underwear. A cop car was approaching, he was
the lookout and I guess "long john" was the signal.

Officers Holbrook and Fischer really blew my undercover operation.
Dealers scattered as the team pulled up and got out of their car.
Officer Fischer asked a couple of women herding three small children
what they were doing there, which I thought was a pretty good question.

Everyone is "smoking rock" around here, Fischer said, and it didn't
make the best playground, but the women showed no inclination to move on.

The officers told me they work Main between 3rd and 8th. Holbrook
said it can be frustrating to break up one operation and have dealers
just move over to the next block.

I suggested having a cop on a bike ride in circles around every
block. That would knock this thing down big-time, I said, but the
officers told me they didn't have the resources and then said they
weren't authorized to conduct interviews.

Hey, I'm not authorized to work narcotics, but the LAPD obviously needs help.

I worked my way back to 8th, then cut over to Spring again and came
upon an aggressive dealer between 5th and 6th. This guy was somewhere
between his late teens and early 20s, and he was actually waving me over.

I asked if he had any crack.

He shook his head no.

"What do you have?" I asked.

"Heroin," he said.

Heroin?

Geez, I might have had a five o'clock shadow and maybe I looked a
little haggard at the end of a long workweek, but did I look like a
heroin addict?

"How much?" I asked.

"Fifty dollars," he said.

Pretty steep. I decided to go home and crack a beer instead.

Memo to Police Chief Bill Bratton: I'm available if you need me.