America's Dumbest Criminals Read Online Free Page B

have been a hundred. In fact, it was so hot that I saw two dogs fighting over a tree.”
    He smiled.
    â€œAs we arrived at the man’s house and began to go up on the front porch, a dog starts barking. About this time a man comes from around the back of the house to see what the dog is barking at. It was us.”
    â€œRobert Norton?” the officers asked the man.
    â€œYeah, I’m Robert Norton. What can I do for you guys?”
    â€œMr. Norton, we have a warrant for your arrest for receiving and cashing a stolen check.”
    â€œNah . . . you’ve got the wrong man.” he said, shaking his head. “I never cashed a stolen check in my life. What makes you guys think I did something like that?”
    â€œWell sir,” Officer McDonald said, holding up the canceled check from the bank. “You forged the name the check was in on the front. But on the back, when you endorsed it, you signed your real name. And you provided the teller with your driver’s license, complete with your current address.”
    â€œYou weren’t thinking too clearly at that moment, were you?” Watson asked.
    â€œLet me see that check,” the man said. He looked it over pretty good, front and back. Then he shook his head in disbelief and frustration.
    â€œI’d never done anything like this before,” he told the two detectives. “I guess when she asked me for my I.D. I just went into check-cashing mode. I can’t believe I did that . . . pretty dumb, huh?”
    â€œPretty dumb,” the officers echoed in unison. “Let’s go.”

18
    Go Directly to Jail
    I t was a late Thursday afternoon in a Florida panhandle locale when two young off-duty detectives in plain clothes were approached by a local drug dealer as they sat and talked over a cup of coffee. Not only were they off the clock; they were also out of their jurisdiction, just on the other side of the county line.
    â€œS’up dudes?” the dealer bantered.
    â€œNot much, man. What’s up with you?”
    â€œAin’t no thang. Y’all looking for a little somethin’ for tonight?”
    â€œMight be,” the detectives answered. “Depends on what we find.”
    â€œWell, look no further—the Candy Man’s here,” he announced with pride of title on his face. “How’s two hundred dollars sound for an eight ball?” (An eight ball is 3.5 grams of cocaine.)
    â€œThat sounds real good if it’s the right thing.”
    â€œOh, it’s the right thing all right. That’s why they call me the Candy Man, ’cause my deals are so sweet!”
    â€œSounds good,” one of the officers repeated. “In fact, we’d probably want to do a couple of eight balls right now, only at the moment we don’t have that much cash with us. But if we could take a little ride over to our office, I could get some money out of the safe.”
    â€œNot a problem,” the Candy Man offered. “I need to go and see my boy to pick up some more anyway. Y’all can ride with me.” So the two officers got into the Candy Man’s car and rode with him to secure the drugs. After the pickup, the officers started giving Candy Man directions to their office.
    After a half-dozen lefts and rights, the three arrived in front of their “office.”
    â€œWell, here we are, Candy Man.” The officers smiled.
    â€œThis ain’t no office building, man. This is the police station.”
    â€œThat’s right,” they assured him. “We’re cops.”
    â€œAw, man . . . you guys are the law?”
    â€œâ€™Fraid so,” the officers answered. “And you’re under arrest for sale of a controlled substance.”
    â€œDamn.” The Candy Man just hung his head and sighed. “And I was beginning to like you guys.”
    It’s like your mother always told you. It doesn’t pay to talk to strangers.

20
    He Can