It’s December in Minneapolis and it’s cold. Not like December in South Carolina. Even so, it’s never too cold for Mench to sell drugs. That’s what he does for a living. He’s a dope dealer.

Mench’s beeper goes off while he’s having coffee at Denny’s. The caller haggles a bit over the price, then they decide to meet.

It’s four in the afternoon when Mench arrives. "You Elliott?" asks Mench.

"That’s me. You got the stuff?" Elliott says, stepping out of his car.

"Check it out. Best in the Twin Cities," says Elliott as he hands over a bag of crack cocaine rocks.

Elliott opens the baggie, looks at his purchase, then nods approvingly to Mench. "You know what this means, don’t you?"

"No, but I’ll bet you’re gonna tell me anyway," says Mench laughingly.

"It means, you’re busted," says Elliott. "I’m a cop and you just sold me narcotics," he says as he handcuffs Mench.

As drug dealers go, Mench isn’t too bright. Let me explain the setup for this "drug buy." Elliott does not misrepresent himself.

Elliott is, indeed, a cop. He’s a member of the police department’s uniformed patrol division. He makes a bet with his partner that he can make a drug buy while he is still in uniform. The partner doesn’t think he can do it, so they make a bet for lunch-a submarine sandwich and a Coke.

Obviously Elliott wins the bet, but it’s hard to believe that Mench is able to ignore all the warning signs:

This drug dealer takes a call from a stranger, then drives to a police precinct house and hands over the drugs to Elliott, who is wearing a police officer’s uniform while sitting behind the wheel of a marked police patrol car.

One last point: The incident takes place behind the precinct house in a fenced-off area marked: "Parking for law enforcement only." When Mench gets out of jail, he really should find a new line of work.