Camp site media.

Hello?

What is, what do you want me to say?

Oh, it's just a community.

Camelian.

Oh.

On January 24th, 2009, a relatively short, stocky, clean-shaven blackmail named Vincent Richardson, walked into the

Grand Crossing Police Precinct on Chicago's South Side and reported for duty.

This was one of Chicago's most bustling stations, situated at the crossroads of three large and

fairly active neighborhoods. He told the frazzled duty officer he'd been detailed from another district

and was given both a police radio and a ticket book.

The duty officer also assigned Vincent a partner and a police cruiser,

and the two of them put in a busy five-hour shift

in which they wrote some tickets, ran a bunch of license plates, and aided

in the arrest of a man who'd violated a protection order. All in all, it was a great first day

at Grand Crossing for Vincent Richardson. At least until he got back to the station, and the

captain on duty took a good look at his uniform.

The hat, the shoes, the shirt, the pants, the belt and rig, it was all standard issue.

But upon closer inspection, Vincent had no gun or badge.

And there was newspaper stuffed under his Kevlar vest to fill it out.

Which makes some sense because

Vincent Richardson wasn't actually a cop. He wasn't even an adult. He was only 14 years old.

...