Infōlice

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Story 1 from Unreal

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The lead position officer catches his supervisor’s visual cue. Permission granted, he swings the battering ram back and then forcefully forward, splintering the dry wood of the doorjamb into pieces. Three men in dark bulletproof-vested uniforms rush through the new opening and rapidly clear each room, shouting, “Police!”

A young woman, slender in build and moderate in height with shoulder-length pin-straight dark hair, darts through the kitchen and slams open the back door to escape the onslaught. 

As her first racing foot lands on the wood of the back deck, her head snaps backwards. The third officer into the apartment and first to find the fleeing unsub grabs tightly at her hair with his nitrile-gloved hand. 

Her feet and body are still dashing forward as her skull stops dead. In a blink, she is leveled to horizontal, slamming supine onto the ground. Her lower back snaps over the threshold of the door, prompting a scream, hollowed with deflation from the lungs’ painful loss of air. She automatically rolls to her side, crunching her legs up to her chest. 

The arresting officer rotates around to behind the perp, forcibly raising the woman to her knees and yanking back at the left, then right arms to quickly zip-tie her hands. He releases and she crumples back to the floor, wailing.

“Collared!” he shouts to the others on his team.

“Let’s get her into the wagon and move on to the next one,” orders the supervising officer. He reaches across his chest to the radio clipped near his shoulder, depresses the button, and twists his head and lips to the microphone. “This is team seven. Collar three complete. Over.”

***

The DA straightens her collar and flattens her skirt. A dozen TV cameras nest upon their tripods, tended by their operators. Well-dressed men and women wait impatiently in several rows of folding chairs, clutching pens, notebooks, and recorders. The podium holds ready, crowded with microphones. A foot to the side stands a display board reading “Operation IDU.” 

The DA takes a deep, cleansing breath, stands tall, and then strides into the dancing light of flashbulbs and the snapping clamor of camera shutters. She nods to smartly uniformed Police Chief Gregory Harman as she passes by his position where he holds, standing tall and flanking the podium. She pauses a moment to permit the initial wave to subside.

“Good evening. I am District Attorney Catherine Straight. Tonight, we are pleased to report to the people of this county that our office, in close coordination with the police department,” she nods again toward the chief, “has saved lives. With the successful arrest throughout today of eighty-seven offenders, future lives—leaders, artists, teachers, journalists,” she smirks and winks at her audience, “will not be impeded any longer.”

She turns her attention to the display board at her side, waving her hand upwards toward it. “Operation IDU was a grand success. As you know, one hundred ninety-four days ago, Federal protections for contraception were legally eliminated and our great state’s life-saving law that for too long sat neutered by this protection—forgive the pun—became enforceable yet again. As such, life-preventing contraception was delegalized here.”

DA Straight continues in her confident manner, “Many of these contraceptives were simply removed from distribution. However, these eighty-seven women chose to commit ongoing criminal acts during this time.”

She grabs at the bottom of the page on the display board and prepares to lift in theatrical form. “Our problem, until recently, was identification. Thanks to the effort of my staff and to the right-minded judges of this beautiful county, twelve days ago, a sealed emergency order was granted to waive the HIPAA privacy provisions unlawfully hindering the identification of lawbreakers and the police department’s ability to execute the laws of this land. The order required gynecology offices to turn over records on those in our county who still have IUD contraceptive devices inside of them, stifling life and blockading new citizens.”

The DA finally lifts the page to reveal a bright logo, stating “If U IUD, we IDU.”

Gasps of amazement fill the room and the flashbulbs reawaken.

Raising a finger firmly in the air, DA Straight continues, “Let me be clear, if you harbor an illegal contraceptive device inside of your body—if you IUD—you are acting in a criminal manner, and we will find you—we will ID you!”

A buzz fills the room again and a dozen hands shoot to the ceiling, waving for attention and a chance for the first question.

DA Straight reaches her hands out front, palms down. “Please hold your questions. Please remain quiet. I promise to take your questions at the end.” The press calms to a murmur, each journalist leaning forward on the edge of their seat.

“Thank you,” she says, dropping her hands back to the podium. “The order further granted our office the power to compel the implanting gynecologists to promptly remove these life-halting devices.” Straight points her finger downward and emphatically slams it into the wood several times while saying, “Those procedures are going on right now, as we speak! On all eighty-seven of them.”

A heavy hum returns to the room as the journalists trade wide-eyed stares back and forth among themselves. 

“These prisoners come from all walks of life—rich and poor. Our justice system is blind to such differences and this office does not discriminate. These people have been committing the same crimes for one hundred ninety-four days straight. It is only just recently that we have been able to identify them.”

Allowing the press murmur to continue for effect, DA Straight presses forward with a louder tone. “We are also proud to announce a new, modern-day initiative that arises from the cooperation of our district attorney’s office with the police department.” She reaches down and lifts at the page, revealing another fancy logo. 

“The Infōlice,” she proudly reads aloud. “The combination of legal ingenuity, data harnessing, and unapologetic enforcement of our laws. This Infōlice initiative reaches far beyond today’s arrests and will open a new world of fairness. Just because a police officer is not stationed to witness a crime does not mean it did not occur.”

Standing tall and raising an arm high into the air with a fist squeezed tightly, the district attorney declares boldly, “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is there, yes! Yes, it still did fall and it did make a noise!” 

Journalists scribble feverishly.

“As one example, our office has obtained a judicial order requiring the Shine Corporation, an internet service provider headquartered inside of our borders, to deliver us any records of unlawful behavior. With this data source and others, we are now equipped to issue speeding tickets with cell phone tracking data, prosecute employment infractions with mobile funds transfers, and capture burglars with online market sales of stolen goods. These are just small examples—we do not wish to give away all of our tools.”

Hands raise and wave yet again from the gallery. “Alright. Now we will take some questions.”

DA Straight confidently handles dozens of questions, nimbly deflecting the difficult ones, before finally thanking those in the room for their time and striding off, outwardly proud of her accomplishments and performance.

***

The Infōlice initiative finds great success over the following weeks and months, rounding up perpetrators of a wide range of crimes. 

The work is so successful that DA Straight finds herself overwhelmed with case preparation and prosecutorial work. 

As she works late yet again in her well-appointed home office, her teenage son pops in for permission to meet some friends. Barely responding with a half-wave, she squints her eyes to bring into focus a ream of spreadsheet data filling the oversized computer monitor. Printed documents cover much of the desktop, save for the keyboard and mouse. As she reaches for tomorrow’s docket, her forearm knocks over a wine glass, which drenches her pasta dinner before tumbling to the ground.

“Shit!” she screams in frustration and grabs for a nearby dishtowel from the prior night’s dinner. Catherine dabs the small splashes staining her documents, then quickly turns her attention to the spreading puddle on the floor.

Sopping up the mess, Catherine jumps when she hears a loud pounding on the front door. It’s happening, she thinks. A steady stream of death threats has followed since the Infōlice announcement. Scrambling to preserve her safety, Straight hastily grabs her cell and pauses to steady her finger long enough to press the chief’s name on her favorites contact screen. Seeing the call initiate, she races out of the office and turns right to flee through the back door. 

***

In the command center at the precinct, Chief Harman anxiously stands watch over the night’s operations. He is positioned, arms tensely crossed, behind three officers seated at a long desk operating the coordination computers and intermittently responding to quick radio barks from the field teams. The wall ahead is tiled with a bank of mid-sized flat-screen TVs. Most of the monitors stream live bodycam video from the officers out making the evening shift’s arrests. Each monitor is titled with a field team number. The remaining two screens display live maps, dotted with officer locations.

The chief is intensely focused on team four’s progress in the center square when his phone vibrates, a distraction that breaks his held breath. He grabs for the phone and finds Catherine Straight’s name shining. He flashes the phone’s screen to Deputy Myers at his side and raises his eyebrows. They connect eyes before he declines the call.

***

Running through the back door, Catherine’s feet and body continue dashing forward as her skull stops dead. In a blink, she is leveled to horizontal, slamming supine onto the ground. Her lower back snaps over the threshold of the door, prompting a scream, hollowed with deflation from the lungs’ painful loss of air. She automatically rolls to her side, crunching her legs up to her chest. 

The arresting officer rotates around to behind her, forcibly raising her onto her knees and yanking back at the left, then right arms to quickly zip-tie her hands. He releases and she falls bent over back to the floor, wailing.

“Collared!” he shouts to the others on his team.

“Let’s get her into the wagon and move on to the next one,” orders the team lead. He reaches across his chest to the radio clipped near his shoulder, depresses the button, and twists his head and lips to the microphone. “This is team four. Collar one complete. Over.”

“Command here. Team four, collar one copy. Over,” the middle officer at the long desk responds to the field call. 

Chief Harman clears a deep breath and turns his full attention to Myers. “Glad that went smoothly.”

Wide-eyed, his deputy responds, “Agreed,” and blows out a lungful of air. “With the arrest executed, can you fill me in now?”

Smiling in relief and turning square to face Myers, the chief explains, “We picked up this kid late last night for doing fifty in a forty. Officer Kneely smelled booze, so he made the kid blow. He was below the legal limit, but non-zero and underage. So, we got his phone’s tracking data and were surprised to find he was at Straight’s house earlier that night. We got her credit card data and found a purchase at Stop ’n’ Save earlier on. We got the receipts from the store. She had bought four cases of Coors Light.” He leans in and winks. “She doesn’t seem a Coors Light kinda girl.”

Myers chuckles in agreement.

Harmon continues, “Anyway, we sent a car to her house this morning and found a few cases’ worth of empties in the recycling. We checked with the court and the clerk said Straight was there bright and early and raring to go—clearly not hungover from downing two cases’ worth of beer. So, we tracked any cell pings that triangulated to her property last night. Lo and behold, eighteen hits aside from that speeding kid and Straight. Not surprisingly, one hit was her son and as for the rest—pretty much the whole varsity soccer team.” 

“That’s a lot of work for one day. So, serving a minor?” asks Myers.

“Nineteen felony counts of serving a minor. That should cost her a few years and disbarment.” The chief smiles.

“Who’s prosecuting?” asks the deputy.

“The State DA,” Chief answers and turns back toward the screens while Myers laughs at Straight’s misfortune. Leaning sideways toward his deputy, chief offers a snip of advice. “Don’t laugh too hard. At this rate, it won’t be long until we’re all collared for something.”

*****     Web-based Easter Eggs accompany the reader through every story in this exploration. For the Infōlice Easter Egg, click below.