The gripping part comes when the Rocha, a dog handler, describes in extensive detail just what his superiors did to torment him:

Once, the abuse was an all-day event; a training scenario turned into an excuse to humiliate me. Normally we ran the dogs through practice situations — an earthquake, a bomb or a fight — that we might encounter in our work. That day, in a classroom at an American school in Bahrain, with posters of the Founding Fathers lining the walls, the scenario happened to be me. I was the decoy, and I had to do just what Chief Petty Officer Michael Toussaint ordered.

In one corner of the classroom was a long sofa, turned away from the door. When you walked into the room, it appeared that one man was sitting on it, alone. But I was there too — the chief had decided that I would be down on my hands and knees, simulating oral sex. A kennel support staff member and I were supposed to pretend that we were in our bedroom and that the dogs were catching us having sex. Over and over, with each of the 32 dogs, I was forced to enact this scenario.

Unreal. As if you needed any more evidence that don't ask, don't tell is a fiasco. And though Rocha's misery may be the most common way in which the policy's scourge manifested itself, there are others as well, as Rocha points out. He recounts how commanders who received allegations of man-on-woman sexual abuse used don't ask, don't tell to get their men out of trouble. It went this way: "'You weren't sexually assaulted by a male in my unit. I hear you're a lesbian.' After all, homosexuals have no rights in our military. You can't sexually assault someone who doesn't exist."

Humane, huh?

On other fronts, if you're going to read the Food Issue of this weekend's New York Time Magazine, try the piece on British chef and good-food evangelist Jamie Oliver, but skip about 1,000 words in, and get to the good part about his trying to bring healthier eating habits to Huntington, W. Va. Pretty good stuff. There's an eatery in town that makes a 15-pound burger.

What else? Oh yes, the retrocast, which called for glorious temperatures and just about perfect early-autumn weather here in the mid-Atlantic.

Where do you go for the latest on taxi-scandal news? Well, you're already there. Check out Loose Lips columnist Mike DeBonis's latest on the story behind the story. He's got an interview with East Coast taxi mogul Solomon Bekele, and it says quite a lot about where D.C. fits in with national cab trends. As of this writing, there are three comments on this post. Rockin'!

Apparently the Washington Times has decided that seven years marks the appropriate anniversary to do a monster look-back at the sniper shootings in the area. This undertaking runs through seven page clicks on the Times Web site, which is about seven too many for my interest in rehashing the most hashed episode in the history of Washington-region crime. Plus there's the typo that allegedly—at least according to the comments—first appeared at the top of the story: "7 Lears Later"

LL was not able to speak to Bekele prior to his Tuesday deadline, but he has since gotten in touch.

In the course of interviewing various figures in the taxi industry, Bekele's name came up repeatedly—not, mind you, as anyone who is directly involved in the ongoing scandal, but as someone who cuts a wide swath in the taxicab world.

Bekele these days is the proprietor of Crown Captive Insurance Co., one of a small handful companies operating in the city that specialize in taxi insurance, which is quite different from the six-month policy you might buy from GEICO or State Farm. Taxi policies are rarely more than two weeks in duration, and are usually sold to drivers through the taxi companies most affiliate with.

But Bekele's reputation outgrows merely owning an insurance company—time and again, figures in the cab industry, speaking anonymously, mentioned his name with a mixture of awe and suspicion. Much of that can be traced to his history in Atlanta, where Bekele controlled a large share of the taxi market through companies he owned. (The Atlanta Journal-Constitution called him "Atlanta's taxi king" in 2001.) Still, Bekele says there's no basis for any suspicions.

Asked about his involvement in stumping for a Atlanta-like medallion system, he says: "None whatsoever. I'm in the insurance business."

Bekele, a Potomac resident, explains that some people had approached him to inquire about how medallion systems work in cities like Boston, New York, and Atlanta—that's it; no contact with elected officials or policymakers on the matter. "I have from time to time, when requested by interested cab drivers or companies, expressed my experience in the matter of medallions," he would write in an e-mail to LL, referring to his advice as "considered opinion." (That's not necessarily at odds with what LL reported—that Bekele is a "strong backer" of such a system, which was based on conversations with several anonymous sources, who recall Bekele advocating for a shift.)

So what accounts for all the mentions of his name? "You call this jealousy," he says. "These are people from the same hometown....These kind rumors are politically motivated." To wit, connected to his advocacy for human rights and open elections in Ethiopia, not his involvement in the taxi industry.

And regarding his connection to Yitbarek Syume, indicted as a ringleader in the alleged bribery scheme, Bekele says there's barely any. Syume bought his insurance, he says, and he went to Syume's garage on 5th Street NE "maybe three to four times a year" to get his cars fixed. "He knows the cars," he says.

Bekele called LL again this afternoon, saying his mention in the column was unfair. "It's almost a riot out there," he declared, saying that the column had only served to stoke suspicions. "You're flaring up a lot of emotions here!"