Kick Ass: Selected Columns of Carl Hiaasen

So now a few Miami cops are in jail, but a celebration is premature. Much more is yet to unravel. The full story of what happened last July 27 at the dock of the Mary C is bound to be chilling. No one there was a Boy Scout. Three of them wound up floaters, snagged on a gaff.

Unfortunately, the criminal charges go beyond this one midnight episode. They portray a violent network of cocaine thuggery, a mob in blue. The upcoming testimony will not likely calm the nerves next time you see a flashing light in the rearview mirror.

The trial process will be tedious, and feature some of Miami's top defense lawyers. We'll be hearing a lot about how the three dead guys in the river were nothing but low-life drug dealers, how the witnesses against the police are nothing but liars and scoundrels, how Messrs. Estrada, Garcia, Rodriguez and Co. are nothing but innocent scapegoats.

In dope cases such strategy is predictable, and sometimes effective. It can also be justified. In any event, you can bet that the Merry Weight-lifters will be the picture of restraint in the jury's presence.

Convicting a policeman of any crime is difficult, and there are precious few prosecutors who can't be eaten alive by defense attorneys of Roy Black's caliber. Don't be surprised if some of the cops are acquitted.

River cops tell unique tales of acquiring cash January 12, 1987

As the jury resumes deliberations today in the Miami River Cops case, it's a good time to review some of the most amazing testimony from the last few months.

I'm referring to the various accounts of how some of the seven defendants suddenly came up with so much cash. As U.S. prosecutors have pointed out, it's somewhat peculiar for a young fellow on a city patrolman's salary to all at once start buying new cars, houses, bedroom suites, Caribbean vacations, all kinds of goodies.

To explain the officers' timely good fortune, defense lawyers summoned friends and relatives to present an intriguing look at the family finances. Give credit to the jurors for not falling out of their chairs.

Great Moments in Money Management, Miami-style:

• Officer Armando "Scarface" Garcia testified he removed his family's jewelry from a safe-deposit box because going to the bank was too inconvenient. Instead, Garcia said, he put the jewelry inside a pouch along with $7,000 cash, and cleverly concealed it in a crawl space beneath his parents' home.

• The uncle of indicted patrolman Armando Estrada claimed that over 23 years he scrimped and saved $19,000 in cash, which he stashed in a box in his house. He testified that he used the nest egg to buy a 1985 Trans Am (without even test-driving it), and then decided to give the car to his nephew the policeman to use around town.

• Officer Garcia's girlfriend said she bought a spiffy Datsun 300 ZX with $ 13,000 cash from a metal box on her dresser. She testified that she earned part of the money as a seamstress, while $8,000 was a gift from her father, who kept it hidden in the family piano.

• The mother of accused officer Arturo De La Vega testified that her dying father had given her $25,000 cash, most of which she later gave to her son the policeman—who supposedly used the inheritance to buy furniture and stocks.

• Admitted drug dirtbag Armando Un Roque said that he sometimes stuffed $40,000 to $50,000 cash into his socks.Then, just to be extra safe, he would hide the socks inside a wall.

Whatever happened to banks? Or savings bonds? Or how about wall safes—with real locks and everything?

See, the U.S. government tends to get curious when it discovers that you've got sacks of loose cash stuffed under your waterbed.The government tends to wonder if the money is profit from some questionable enterprise of the type that goes down on a semi-hourly basis on the streets of South Florida.

True, stacks of cash are pleasant to count, fondle and gaze upon—but they can also bring heartache and remorse. The second worst thing that can happen is that some lucky burglar will discover your secret cubbyhole and make off with your entire life's fortune.

The first worst thing that can happen is that you'll be hauled into court and questioned relentlessly about where all the dough came from.

When that dreadful day comes, this is what you do:

1. Don't say a word about stashing the cash in shoe boxes. Shoe boxes are out. Same goes for cookie jars, suitcases, socks, sofas and pianos. Be creative. Tell the jury you hid the money in a tuba.

2. Be careful when identifying which beloved relative gave you all that cash. For example, don't get up on the witness stand and say you got $50,000 from your great-uncle Louie, who makes $3.75 an hour scraping chewing gum off the Metrorail stations.