The Rotten Rottie

It started off like any other day. I had another Private Investigator with me on this day. He was armed. I was not.

And I'd like to clarify I did not ask him to come armed, that was just what he did by nature whenever he accompanied me to some of the rougher neighborhoods I often frequent.

It wasn't until the day was done he showed me to his new gun, a Glock 40 Semi Automatic.
I was very glad he chose not to use it. In my opinion, that's what the police are for.

That said, I asked him to accompany me for two reasons. I was going to a bad place, one of those apartment complexes that a white girl like me is noticed the minute I exit my vehicle. Normally this is not a problem because I am there to help someone in those apartments...so word has already been circulating that an investigator.... "My Investigator"... is coming. So the gang bangers and busy bodies just leave me be.

On this day, however, I was hired to photograph a dog, a Rottweiler, living in the apartment manager's unit. The Rottweiler bit one of the tenants of the apartment. And what added insult to injury was the fact that the bitten tenant was one the apartment manager's friends.

My assignment was to get a picture of the dog still tied up outside the apartment manager's door, despite the bite. I thought it absurd the manager would have a vicious dog to begin with, let alone leave it tied up outside after it attacked one person.

I photographed the victim and the bite just before going to see the dog.
The dog bit the attorney's client on the arm.
"He had me in the death grip" I recall her telling me.
I asked what every investigator asks countless times.
"And then what happened?"
"He sniffed me," she said, "realized he knew me...that I was a friend.... and let me go"

I photographed the white wrap on her arm and then the shredded flesh underneath it as the victim's mother unwrapped the wound so she could treat it and I could see it.. As I took my pictures I could not help thinking of all the dogs my clients have in their homes... how they run to greet me...and how one of them could smell one of my dogs on me... and get me in a death grip.
My unfamiliar scent, would tighten... not release... that death grip.

So after I photographed the injury, my job was to photograph the dog. I couldn't get too close but did climb to the top of the small metal fence to snap pictures of the dog who paced like a wild hungry lion.

Meantime the P.I. behind me, in the driver's seat of my vehicle who kept watch, said, "someone's watching you." I kept clicking away.

The dog noticed me and then turned my way, started barking viciously, my camera closed in on him pulling at his chain as I got close ups of his killer jaws.

"There are more guys heading your way. You got enough pictures, get out of there!"

I ignored him and kept snapping the dog until I heard my partner's command, "Now! Leave!"

I turned, ran, and lept into the passenger seat as my partner and savior of the day peeled away from the curb.

"That was close" I said, the adrenalin rush raw and fresh.

"Still close," my partner said as he looked in the rear view mirror. "They're following us."

We were being chased by a car full of gang-bangers. This was not good.
Though, given the choice of getting a ticket by the police... or being shot by gang bangers we chose option A.

We ran several red lights and took some quick turns until we found our way to I5 and headed north, weaving in and out of traffic, then exited quickly enough to lose them.

I delivered the pictures of the victim's wounds and the close-ups of the vicious dog's grizzly whites to the attorney two days later.

As I shared our adventure with the attorney, I couldn't tell whether he wasn't listening... or he just didn't care. All the attorney wanted was his shots, he got them and was already onto the next case.

We pushed the limits that day for someone who really didn't care that we did.
There was a lesson in that for me.
Some attorneys see their investigators as teammates, others as tool-heads.
I prefer to work for the former.