Trooper Manuel H. Fields – End of Watch August 27, 1994

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I was loaned out to the Michigan State Police to work undercover narcotics for three years. For most of that time Manny worked out of the same office but on a different Team. I was on the Crack Attack Team (CAT) and Manny was part of a team involved in long term investigations. His team went after the big fish and mine snagged the corner dealers.

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We often worked together if either team needed surveillance or raid entry help. We had been through many operations together, Manny and I. There was this one time when my team had made a controlled purchase of an ounce of cocaine and needed some help with the Search Warrant raid. The location was a long row of tenement housing on a large root farm. Some Hispanic non-English speaking Perps sold the dope to one of our paid informants.

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COP INFO: A Controlled Purchase works like this. You meet with and strip search the Informant. Next you supply the informant with prerecorded cash funds. Then you drive the Informant to the target location and watch as he enters. You have to maintain surveillance continually while the informant is “Up and In” the target location. When the Informant returns he hands you the dope. You then drive the Informant from the area and strip search him again. Through this process you can write an affidavit for a Search Warrant and testify before a Judge that money went in the target location and dope came out. This will get you a Search Warrant to enter the Target location. Glamorous ain’t it. Lesson over, back to the past.

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Manny’s self chosen undercover name was CB or Chocolate Bunny. I bump CB on the side channel of the Police radio to see if his team was available to help out on the raid. They were so we schedule a meet up not far from the farm. I do the pre-raid briefing and make the entry assignments and place CB right in line with me. We all loaded up, armed to the teeth, as Manny climbs into the Chevrolet Astro van with me. There are six of us and we all wear black raid entry gear. Shamu has the ram, Pepper is on shotgun and riding shotgun, Flash has the entry shield. We are shoulder to shoulder as the tension settles in and the jokes begin. The driver says, “One mile out.” I suddenly realize that the suspects might not understand our raid entry orders and ask, “Any of you fuckers speak Spanish?” Manny says “I got this.”

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I asked him if he was sure because I’d never heard him speak any Spanish in the years I’d known him. Manny nodded his head, “Rat, I got this.” So we roll up and bail out into the darkness. Shamu destroys the door with the ram and steps aside. The team enters and I see about half a dozen subjects in the first room. Manny yells out, “No Fumar Gracias Por Favor Triple Sec La Pinata.”

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Well like I said I don’t speak Spanish but I was pretty sure that wasn’t “Get down before we shoot your ass.” I look over at Manny and he is laughing his head off. I look at the Perps and repeat, “No Fumar Gracias Por Favor Triple Sec La Pinata.”

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They seem confused.

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Skip forward in time to…

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The Last Goodbye

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Manny was rotating back to road patrol and his years of undercover assignment was coming to an end. He would leave behind the deals and doors and Trojan Horse operations and would return to a life of uniformed patrol, traffic accidents and taking any complaint the radio dished out. He was in the office cleaning out his desk when I last saw him. Lucky for me I took the time to have a long conversation with CB. We laughed and remembered some of the best. There were several Remember when moments between us. We spoke openly and with Truth. Manny told me what it meant to him to be a Michigan State Trooper. I told him I already knew that.

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My team was on the way out the door and I had to go. If I would have only known that was the last time I would see Manny. I hugged him goodbye and told him I loved him.

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Manny got killed not long after that night. He made a traffic stop on I-94 and was dealing with that when some 70 year old woman crossed the fog line and struck him. He died instantly next to his patrol car and she drove home. She would later claim that she thought she had struck a deer. Bitch shouldn’t have been driving.

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The funeral and aftermath

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I don’t go to Cop funerals unless I have to. I have been to three, all brothers. Manny’s funeral was an intense journey for me. All of the team members were in attendance at his grave side as the bagpiper played Amazing Grace. Tears streamed down my face as I stood at rigid attention. On a nearby hill a single figure stepped forward and played Taps. I can remember it all. Ancient rituals and the path to Valhalla fill my mind.

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On the way home most of my team stopped into a roadside bar and grill which was filled with trucker types. It was one of those worn red paint joints with a huge wooden bar fumed with the aroma of beer. It was a good place for greasy burgers and cold beer.

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An ugly darkness had overtaken us. Our emotions were raw and our nerves exposed. As I look back I think it was because we had all been through so much with CB and for him to get killed in such an unfair way, we had nobody to hate, he was only 34 years old for fuck’s sake. We drank too much, we were rude and loud and we spoiled for a fight with anyone. Within hours we were all kicked out of the bar.

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Cops can be assholes like that.

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