They call me a serial killer? Greatest serial killer of all time is the cops.
I want you to know that nothing offends me more than cranks wasting police time.
Both criminals and cops shared a need: control. Control over actions, control over consequences, control over other people. But, mostly, they craved control over themselves.
Vigilante days are done in this town. The police are in charge.
This isn’t some civil rights milestone. Police in this country will keep arresting us, keep beating us, keep killing us. You haven’t changed anything for black people here. Unless, of course, you’re a famous, rich one in Brentwood.
This is my problem with police officers. All you care about is evidence. Evidence, evidence, evidence. Until that evidence no longer fits the narrative you need to be true, at which point the evidence becomes an illusion, a mistake.
The police only see what they choose to look for. The Machine sees almost everything.
The one thing a decent police officer and certainly a decent detective cannot be is selfish.
I lack the arrogance to ignore details. I’m not the police.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised I have to tell you this. But it’s probably a bad idea that you willingly talk to the police, being a criminal and all.
Half of good police work is the ability to sit on one’s ass when it’s called for.
Time after time, the police shoot first, and offer sloppy apologies afterwards.
