NYPD Cop Spends 15 Years Undercover Buying Guns And Drugs
Posted: Mon Jun 21, 2010 9:39 pm
Source: through http://www.everydaynodaysoff.com/2010/0 ... and-drugs/ to http://www.nydailynews.com/news/ny_crim ... _stre.html
Undercover NYPD cop 'Stevie Gunz' tells story of life taking guns off streets to protect New Yorkers
In the NYPD's never-ending war to get thousands of illegal guns off the streets, undercover cops are the front-line soldiers.
They pose as hardened criminals, risk their lives and produce amazing results: Last year, the NYPD recovered 5,135 guns in the five boroughs.
On day one of a three-day series on New York's struggle against illegal weapons, the Daily News offers a rare look inside the double life of an NYPD undercover cop who started his career buying drugs - but soon moved to firearms.
He was known on the street as "Stevie Gunz," the name he uses here. His real name is being withheld to protect his identity.
In 15 years as an NYPD undercover cop, "Stevie Gunz" spent Sundays kneeling in the presence of the Lord. The rest of the week found the preacher's son knee-deep among sinners.
The now-retired cop flaunted the colors of the Crips and the Bloods, buying dope and sawed-off shotguns while working the city's streets and housing projects in a bulletproof T-shirt.
Before turning in his shield two years back, the native New Yorker earned his nickname by helping take nearly 500 guns off the street, testifying at 55 trials - and never firing his gun once.
This is Stevie's story, in his own words.
"I started off in transit ... A friend of mine on the job asked me, 'You want to go into narcotics, working undercover?' That was 1996. I was interested, so I said yes.
"From there I was asked to get involved buying guns. That was in '97. Looking back, I think I might have lost a screw somewhere," he said, laughing. "But I hate drugs.
"I hate guns.
"I hate drug dealers.
"I hate gun dealers."
The slight, baby-faced Gunz proved a perfect fit as an undercover cop, although he's still at a loss to understand why.
"I don't think I could ever explain that," the ex-Marine said. "My father was a pastor. My mother was the wife of a pastor. I never smoked. I never drank.
"But I dress the part, I look the part. And I had the gift of gab. I think that comes from my father being a pastor. He could really talk. And I was good at it."
Gunz was soon slipping in and out of his bad-guy alter ego like a well-worn pair of slippers. He became so comfortable in his role that he felt bulletproof at times.
"At some point, I think fear left," he said. "It became like second nature to me.
"You want to know what's scary?" Gunz asked. "I got so used to it that I got to the point where I think I was forgetting who I was. I think I may have become complacent."
He quickly learned the difference between dope dealers and gun peddlers.
"Guys who are selling guns are more paranoid than guys who sell drugs," Gunz said. "I just tell them, 'Yo, I've got the money, I'm buying. You don't want to sell to me, I'll go to someone who does.'"
Although his boyish appearance raised suspicions with some of his targets, Gunz deflected most concerns with a quick mind and a glib tongue.
"I had a drug dealer saying, 'Yo, shortie, you don't look like you smoke crack. You an agent?'" Gunz recounted. "I'm like, 'Naw, man. My aunt's a schoolteacher. I live with her. It's for her, but she can't come in here and buy it. She'll lose her job.'
"He believed it."
Despite his cool and confidence, Gunz landed in a few dicey situations - including one in a Harlem apartment where his cover was nearly blown.
"As we're walking in, I see a guy I know from another case," he recalls. "I had bought drugs from him. But the case was still open, and I'm trying to remember what story I gave him.
"We go into the apartment. I'm sitting there. My partner's sitting there. And all of a sudden about 15 guys walk into the apartment. I wanted to pass out; that's how scared I was.
"They looked at [my partner] up and down because he was Italian. They're like, 'Who is this guy?' Rob pulls his gun out and puts it under his leg. I pulled my gun out and I had it behind me so if anything happens we would be able to shoot first.
"They're whispering, and they go in the back ... They come out with a sawed-off shotgun. They give it to us. We don't even check it. We just get it and leave.
"The whole thing was maybe 15 minutes. It felt like an eternity."
He rarely broke a sweat while on the job. The black cop said he did his best to blend in.
"I dressed the part," he said. "I looked like a typical gang member. A Blood. A Crip. I had the colors. I had the swagger ... If you have the money, it doesn't matter. Guys will sell to anyone."
Gunz's street routine was so real that even civilians were fooled into thinking the lawman was a menace.
"One time we were in the Amsterdam Houses dealing with Bloods who did murders," he said. "We were getting on the elevator, and there was a woman holding her baby's hand. She saw us and didn't want to get on.
"I'm dressed in the colors, and she looks at me. You should have seen the look of disgust on her face, and I'm saying to myself how badly I just want to tell her, 'Ma'am, in about two weeks you're not going to have to worry about these guys anymore.'"
Despite his best efforts, the street sometimes seeped into his real life.
"I've got a wife and kids and I always try to separate that from work," he recounted. "But sometimes I'd come home and say, 'Yo, what's going on? What's good, y'all?'
"And my wife would look at me and say, 'Go outside, get all that out of your system, then come back inside.'"
The job, he said, "was a role - but sometimes it didn't feel right. Wearing the colors, the guns, the cursing. You're lying. You're manipulating."
During his last two years on the force, Gunz trained new undercover cops, trying to teach the intangibles that turn a cop into a believable "crook."
"I would tell them, 'I could test you and I could train you all I want, but you have to have that swagger,'" he said. "You have to know how to get out of situations. It's almost like you can't teach that."
In the end, Gunz says, the motivation for putting his life on the line over and over was deceptively simple.
"I'm thinking some gangbanger won't have his hands on this gun," he said. "I'm thinking some lady won't get shot by this gun. I'm thinking some kid won't get shot by this gun.
"I'm thinking some grandmother won't get shot by this gun."
Undercover NYPD cop 'Stevie Gunz' tells story of life taking guns off streets to protect New Yorkers
In the NYPD's never-ending war to get thousands of illegal guns off the streets, undercover cops are the front-line soldiers.
They pose as hardened criminals, risk their lives and produce amazing results: Last year, the NYPD recovered 5,135 guns in the five boroughs.
On day one of a three-day series on New York's struggle against illegal weapons, the Daily News offers a rare look inside the double life of an NYPD undercover cop who started his career buying drugs - but soon moved to firearms.
He was known on the street as "Stevie Gunz," the name he uses here. His real name is being withheld to protect his identity.
In 15 years as an NYPD undercover cop, "Stevie Gunz" spent Sundays kneeling in the presence of the Lord. The rest of the week found the preacher's son knee-deep among sinners.
The now-retired cop flaunted the colors of the Crips and the Bloods, buying dope and sawed-off shotguns while working the city's streets and housing projects in a bulletproof T-shirt.
Before turning in his shield two years back, the native New Yorker earned his nickname by helping take nearly 500 guns off the street, testifying at 55 trials - and never firing his gun once.
This is Stevie's story, in his own words.
"I started off in transit ... A friend of mine on the job asked me, 'You want to go into narcotics, working undercover?' That was 1996. I was interested, so I said yes.
"From there I was asked to get involved buying guns. That was in '97. Looking back, I think I might have lost a screw somewhere," he said, laughing. "But I hate drugs.
"I hate guns.
"I hate drug dealers.
"I hate gun dealers."
The slight, baby-faced Gunz proved a perfect fit as an undercover cop, although he's still at a loss to understand why.
"I don't think I could ever explain that," the ex-Marine said. "My father was a pastor. My mother was the wife of a pastor. I never smoked. I never drank.
"But I dress the part, I look the part. And I had the gift of gab. I think that comes from my father being a pastor. He could really talk. And I was good at it."
Gunz was soon slipping in and out of his bad-guy alter ego like a well-worn pair of slippers. He became so comfortable in his role that he felt bulletproof at times.
"At some point, I think fear left," he said. "It became like second nature to me.
"You want to know what's scary?" Gunz asked. "I got so used to it that I got to the point where I think I was forgetting who I was. I think I may have become complacent."
He quickly learned the difference between dope dealers and gun peddlers.
"Guys who are selling guns are more paranoid than guys who sell drugs," Gunz said. "I just tell them, 'Yo, I've got the money, I'm buying. You don't want to sell to me, I'll go to someone who does.'"
Although his boyish appearance raised suspicions with some of his targets, Gunz deflected most concerns with a quick mind and a glib tongue.
"I had a drug dealer saying, 'Yo, shortie, you don't look like you smoke crack. You an agent?'" Gunz recounted. "I'm like, 'Naw, man. My aunt's a schoolteacher. I live with her. It's for her, but she can't come in here and buy it. She'll lose her job.'
"He believed it."
Despite his cool and confidence, Gunz landed in a few dicey situations - including one in a Harlem apartment where his cover was nearly blown.
"As we're walking in, I see a guy I know from another case," he recalls. "I had bought drugs from him. But the case was still open, and I'm trying to remember what story I gave him.
"We go into the apartment. I'm sitting there. My partner's sitting there. And all of a sudden about 15 guys walk into the apartment. I wanted to pass out; that's how scared I was.
"They looked at [my partner] up and down because he was Italian. They're like, 'Who is this guy?' Rob pulls his gun out and puts it under his leg. I pulled my gun out and I had it behind me so if anything happens we would be able to shoot first.
"They're whispering, and they go in the back ... They come out with a sawed-off shotgun. They give it to us. We don't even check it. We just get it and leave.
"The whole thing was maybe 15 minutes. It felt like an eternity."
He rarely broke a sweat while on the job. The black cop said he did his best to blend in.
"I dressed the part," he said. "I looked like a typical gang member. A Blood. A Crip. I had the colors. I had the swagger ... If you have the money, it doesn't matter. Guys will sell to anyone."
Gunz's street routine was so real that even civilians were fooled into thinking the lawman was a menace.
"One time we were in the Amsterdam Houses dealing with Bloods who did murders," he said. "We were getting on the elevator, and there was a woman holding her baby's hand. She saw us and didn't want to get on.
"I'm dressed in the colors, and she looks at me. You should have seen the look of disgust on her face, and I'm saying to myself how badly I just want to tell her, 'Ma'am, in about two weeks you're not going to have to worry about these guys anymore.'"
Despite his best efforts, the street sometimes seeped into his real life.
"I've got a wife and kids and I always try to separate that from work," he recounted. "But sometimes I'd come home and say, 'Yo, what's going on? What's good, y'all?'
"And my wife would look at me and say, 'Go outside, get all that out of your system, then come back inside.'"
The job, he said, "was a role - but sometimes it didn't feel right. Wearing the colors, the guns, the cursing. You're lying. You're manipulating."
During his last two years on the force, Gunz trained new undercover cops, trying to teach the intangibles that turn a cop into a believable "crook."
"I would tell them, 'I could test you and I could train you all I want, but you have to have that swagger,'" he said. "You have to know how to get out of situations. It's almost like you can't teach that."
In the end, Gunz says, the motivation for putting his life on the line over and over was deceptively simple.
"I'm thinking some gangbanger won't have his hands on this gun," he said. "I'm thinking some lady won't get shot by this gun. I'm thinking some kid won't get shot by this gun.
"I'm thinking some grandmother won't get shot by this gun."
