…(or at least I think that’s what it was called), was a 90′s French film about some grizzled cops in a murder squad.
My abiding memory of it, two plain-clothes detectives (a man and a woman) getting out of a car and brusquely frisking a couple of suspects, was replayed in front of me yesterday in real life.
The street I live in (pictured above) has been in the news recently because of our ‘problem’ with the pushers who hang around selling grass.
One of the major newspapers ran a full-page article headlined ‘The fear in Jaegersborggade’ which made it sound like the Bronx circa 1972.
These are young blokes, who while a bit of a nuisance, are actually pretty harmless. They just mill about waiting for their customers, chatting the breeze and trying to keep warm.
There’s no actual pushing and it’s all quite genteel.
But the article really went to town. Apparently no-one would talk to the reporter, ‘even anonymously’, for fear of reprisals.
Having been a local news reporter for several years, I know that this translates as: ‘I knocked lightly on a few doors and no-one answered.’
I’m not trying to belittle the problem. It’s not nice having known drug dealers in the street but at the same time a bit of balance would have been nice.
Jaegersborggade is thriving at the moment.
Cool little shops and boutiques are opening all the time. Tourists and shoppers come strolling past regularly and presumably feel about as intimidated as George Michael does by a walk in the woods.
So now, obviously spurred by this sensationalist article, the police are down here every day like flies on shit.
Usually they come in squad cars and stroll around looking important for a while before ambling off.
I rarely see them make any arrests. The pushers are clever enough never to be caught with anything on them.
But yesterday the plain-clothes brigade ventured out.
It was fantastic to see. A bearded chap, about 6’3, chiselled jaw and all-round Scandinavian magnificence, accompanied by a blonde woman brandishing her badge, jumped out of their car and strode purposefully over to a group of young lads loitering with intent.
Like I said, it was a real case of deja vu for me. I was also reminded of the opening credits of NYPD Blue and, as I continued on my way to the pizza place, I couldn’t get the image of Andy Sipowicz cracking skulls out of my head.
Anyway… on my way back, I spotted the cops and suspects sat at a table like old friends. Meanwhile, a dog-handler was hard at work, his black Labrador gambolling around sniffing out lots of neatly wrapped packets of hash.
A job well done by the looks of things but it won’t change anything. The dealers are always back the next day, they’re part of the furniture now.
I think I’d even miss them if they were gone.
