Carl Hiaasen - Kick Ass - Selected Columns of Carl Hiaasen

Most Miamians don't mind paying for a groin pull suffered during a five-alarm fire or a SWAT raid, but a botched rebound is something else.

Police, fire and other departments promote sports for physical training, but the frequency of claims indicates no surplus of fine-tuned athletes. Volleyball proved too much for 96 workers, jogging hobbled 82 more, softball claimed another 32, while 31 were disabled in tennis matches.

Three employees managed to hurt themselves playing catch, while one poor soul suffered an injury at badminton. Perhaps an errant shuttlecock is deadlier than we think.

In all, 634 alleged sports mishaps drained $1.6 million from city coffers since 1979. For insurance purposes, workers are statistically much safer at their desks, trying not to fall out of their chairs while watching TV, munching Snickers bars and opening cans of Little Friskies.

Many city employees believe it's wrong to take advantage of workers' comp and won't file unless their injuries are serious and legitimate. But those who do file usually get paid, even if the claim is outlandish.

That's because Miami slashed its overworked risk management department so severely that it can no longer afford to contest most injury claims. Four adjusters are handling nearly 2,700 open cases.

Consequently the city seldom says no. In 1995, workers' comp cost taxpayers $9.3 million. It's like a broken ATM machine that just keeps spitting out cash, except now it's nearly empty.

Either Miami employs too many klutzes or too many fakers. In any case, the result is an excruciating fiscal hernia.

The city has fallen and it can't get up.

When the cop car's rockin', don't come knockin'.

That's the message from Metro commissioners, who voted to richly compensate a policeman who got caught having sex in a parking garage.

For his bare-bottomed indiscretion, Jesus "Romeo" Bencomo will now receive $180,000 and a pension of $50,000 a year. Talk about an afterglow.

The moment of rapture occurred on March 21, 1994, when a security guard at Miami Children's Hospital spotted a black Chevrolet shaking back and forth. The guard feared a rape was occurring and called for help.

An off-duty Metro detective pulled his gun and approached. Inside the car, a man and woman were carnally entwined. The detective recognized the man as Bencomo, a division chief for the department.

When disciplinary charges were filed, Bencomo offered a chaste version of the incident. He said he'd met a woman dressed in white and offered her a lift. He said they'd had an innocent chat in the front seat of his county Chevy, but no nookie.

The best part? He said he never got the woman's name.

A police review panel was not persuaded by Bencomo's yarn and sustained charges of using a county vehicle for personal business and conduct unbecoming a police officer—engaging "in open lewd and lascivious behavior."

Metro Police director Fred Taylor demoted Bencomo to major in December 1994.

After such a dumb screwup, most cops would've been thrilled to still have a job, especially one that paid $93,000 a year. Not our Romeo. He claimed he was the target of a political vendetta.

He sued the police department. He sued the detective who caught him in the act. He even went to a federal agency and charged he was the victim of anti-Hispanic discrimination.

Seriously, that's what the man said.

Could Bencomo prove that black cops and white cops are allowed to have sex in police cars, while Hispanic cops are forced to use their own personal vehicles? We'll never know, since the case isn't going to trial.

This week the Metro Commission decided to pay Bencomo off, in exchange for his dropping all claims. Taylor and a majority of commissioners said settling the case now was cheaper than litigating it for years.

While the move saves the county some legal fees, it also spares the police some unwanted embarrassment. Bencomo's lawyer had hinted that, after 28 years on the force, his client had lots of fascinating anecdotes about the antics of other officers, as well as prominent politicians.

It's unknown whether the allegations would have involved sex in squad cars, paddy wagons, helicopters or body armor.

In any event, a mud bath is being avoided at a public cost of $180,000. With such a windfall, Bencomo should be able to afford a motel room the next time lust overcomes him.

Ironically, the precedent set by the settlement ultimately could offset any short-term savings. The county might end up paying out a fortune if other cops in disciplinary trouble use the Bencomo case as a blueprint for counterattack:

Sue everyone in sight, threaten to smear the department and then demand an obscene settlement.

Given the Metro Commission's willingness to cave in, risk-management experts should consider a new policy:

If you see a parked police car rocking like crazy, assume the officer is testing the shock absorbers. Don't investigate—it's too expensive.

For Bencomo, his interlude in the county Chevy undoubtedly will be his most memorable ever. Not only did the earth move, so did the blood pressure of a million taxpayers.

Get ready for The Great Train Robbery, Florida-style.

The loot is $6.5 billion, and the robbery victims are you, me and every other taxpayer.

The Department of Transportation is pressing ahead with fanciful plans for a "bullet train" connecting Miami to Orlando and Tampa. It's not only the worst boondoggle to come out of Tallahassee in years, it promises to be the longest-running.

Building the bullet train will cost billions more than its backers predict, almost nobody will ride it, and it'll lose money forever.

Otherwise it's a terrific idea, especially for FOX, the consortium of companies that got the nod for the project. Forget the bullet, this train is pure political gravy.

Last week DOT Secretary Ben Watts made his pitch to state lawmakers, some of whom have taken generous campaign contributions from FOX interests.

Watts wants a mere $40 million for planning next year. Not building the bullet train—planning it.

This year's tab is "only" $9.5 million, three-quarters of which is paid by the state while the rest comes from FOX.

Expenses include $435,000 for lobbyists and a $2.3 million ridership survey. (We know all about ridership surveys, especially those commissioned by the same folks who are boosting the project.)

Here's the amazing part: The DOT now says the state should budget $6.5 billion over the next 40 years for the bullet train and the bonds required to support it.

The bond payments are to be guaranteed by future revenues from ridership, which is a complete joke. That's why the train can't get rolling unless the U.S. Congress agrees to repay the bond debt if ridership lags.

Meaning all U.S. taxpayers will get soaked, not just Floridians.

DOT insists a 200-mph train is a smart investment, and will eventually turn a profit.

Oh, absolutely. Just like Metrorail turns a profit. And Tri-Rail. And how about Amtrak?

Find a passenger rail system in this country that makes money on its own, without subsidies. Yet we're assured the bullet train will be a lucrative exception.

That's the word from DOT, which hasn't been right yet. It hasn't even been in the ballpark.

Initially Watts predicted the project could be propped up with $2.2 billion over 30 years. Now the price tag has tripled, without the first rail spike being driven.

How can such a half-assed plan pick up steam? Politics.

Designers, contractors and land brokers know the windfall comes when Tallahassee first opens the vault. Once construction begins, nobody will dare pull the plug no matter how bad it gets.