UNSUNG HERO

UNSUNG HEROES

We were just kids when we got married. I had just turned eighteen and Wendell was only a year older. He was just out of high school and although he was captain of the football team, he didn’t have the skills he needed to get a good job. After bouncing around from one lousy job to the other, he went down and talked to the navy recruiter.

That night he told me that he had made the decision to enlist. The navy offered great training and even a paid college tuition down the line. I was so proud of him but I guess we never thought thru what that decision would mean to our marriage and family life.

Originally we had planned to wait another year or so, but while he was still in basic training, the war broke out. It soon became clear that all the guys would be shipping out as soon as they finished their training.

Wendell somehow managed to get a weekend off after boot camp and before they were due to ship out, and we decided on the spot to get married. I guess it was a rather impulsive act, but I had just recently discovered that I was pregnant and I wanted our baby to have a real dad. Besides, we loved each other and I thought it was the right thing to do.

To be honest, I never thought he would have to ship off so soon. In retrospect I really hadn’t thought thru all the implications of being a navy wife. Anyway, I’ll never forget going down to the dock that day to see him off. It was overcast and gloomy, which kind of matched my mood for the day. The dock was draped in American flags and the music played as the men waited to board the ship. There were T.V. cameras and reporters covering the event because the men had been assigned to a brand new ship. This was their first mission together and the captain addressed the crowd from under a small white tent. He told us that he planned to take the ship into harms way, but that he wanted us to know that, both he, the men, and the ship were more than up to the task. It was a good send off and there were hundreds of family members, mothers, fathers, and children, and we all stood there in a light rain as our loved ones boarded the ship.

I don’t think it really hit me until the boat started pulling away that I was going to be alone. I wasn’t even sure when I would see him again. I can remember standing there as the ship sailed out of the harbor. Most of the crowd had already disbursed as the rain began coming down quite hard. I stood there in a daze wiping a mixture of rain and tears from my eyes, until the ship was just a small dot on the horizon. For some reason I wanted to hold onto that sight, because I felt that maybe he was still looking back at me. I guess a lot of the family members had been thru this experience before, but for me it was the first time and it was a heart wrenching experience.

That night the loneliness set in and it seemed almost unbearable. Gone were the music, the cameras, flags, and fanfare. This was to be the life of a women married to a U.S. servicemen that they don’t show in the recruiting commercials. Today I have joined this unwilling fraternity, the uncertain and lonely life shared by women for as long as their men have been going off to sea. Somehow it seemed even worse for me. Here I was a young women and pregnant for the first time. I laid there and held my hand on my stomach. I think I felt the baby move for the first time, but I wasn’t sure. I remember crying until I fell asleep. This was supposed to be a moment that we both shared.


Over the next few months, I tried to stay busy and make the best of things. My mother drove down form New York to spend a week with me, which really helped but there was no way to fill the hole in my life. Not a day went by when I didn’t feel the emptiness, the loneliness, and the despair. Its hard to explain how powerless you feel when you can’t just pick up a phone or drive across town to just talk to someone you love. I tried hanging out with some of the other Navy wives in the community and we all tried to console each other. We all banned together like an extended family to help comfort each other, but none of us can take the hurt away. None of us can take the place of the special person in our lives that is thousands of miles away. The women who have been thru it before seemed to have a little different outlook, but we all shared the same loneliness and emptiness. I think the career Navy women, tend to portray themselves as more stoic but I think in reality, they just are more experienced at hiding their true feelings.

Our baby was born on November 15th, but the happy moment was tempered by the fact that her daddy was fighting halfway around the world. I know he would have given anything to be with me on that day, but it’s just one more sacrifice our little family would have to make to help keep America strong. That night my mom sent Wendell an e-mail with a few digital photos of our little girl and I latter found out from his buddies that our big tough sailor held that picture close to his heart and cried like a baby.

I had been counting down the days and fully expected Wendell to complete his deployment and be home by December 7th, in plenty of time to enjoy Christmas with us, but that’s not how the Navy works. They needed his ships capabilities and firepower and they were ordered to extend their deployment. In any case Christmas and the New Year both went by and we both had to settle for e-mails and cards instead of time together.

Finally in mid January we got word that the ship was on its way back to port. The whole naval community was excited and we planned a tremendous celebration at the dock when she came back to port. The next evening I got an unexpected visit from my girlfriend Kathy and a few of the other wives. I figured they stopped by to discuss the details of the reunion party but the look on their faces told me otherwise.

After an awkward and painful moment of silence, during which I almost tried to read their minds Kathy told me that there was a training accident. I knew the hostilities were over, but didn’t know the crews still engaged in daily training even on the way back to port. They told me that Wendell was killed along with his best friend Buck.

I stood there for a moment in disbelief. I thought, It couldn’t be so. The ship had left the war zone with no causalities and was steaming home. Wendell had done his time, we had waited patiently, he promised he’d be home soon, everything was already planned to meet him at the dock. It just couldn’t be, and yet it was.

I collapsed to the ground, crying and almost in a fetal position as the other women tried to comfort me. I could hear the baby crying from the other room, but didn’t have the strength to get up. The girls stayed with me thru the night, but they all went home in the morning. I just sat there in the house for the rest of the day, in a state of shock. The Navy sent by a counselor to try and help me with my grief, but no one can take away the sting of death that you feel when you lose a loved one.

Less than a week latter, I made myself meet the ship at the dock. Its Navy tradition that new fathers who had a child born while they were at sea, get off the ship first. This time Wendell was the first one off, except he made the trip in a box. The commanding officer handed me a flag from off the ship along with some words about a grateful nation and then we made our way out of the port in a short procession. I could hear the sounds of joyous re-unions from the crowd outside, but there would be no joy for me, now or for many years to come. I had lost my first love and had only a flag and a picture of him to comfort me.

I only hope that our people, our country, and our leaders realize that the sacrifices our servicemen and women make to serve their country is deeply felt and echoed by their family and loved ones that are left behind. Especially those that share in the ultimate sacrifice of losing a loved one while in the service of his or her country.

In my mind these women who bravely support, quietly wait, and often suffer, yet somehow miraculously endure, are the true American Unsung Heroes.

Please feel free to contact me at: pooritalianboy@gmail.com

P.I.B.

GOOD GUYS FINISH LAST

GOOD GUYS FINISH LAST

To tell you the truth, I think I was in a state of shock. It almost seemed surreal as 2 police cars and an ambulance came screeching to a stop right in front of my house. For a moment it almost seemed as if everything was happening in slow motion.

I just stood there like a deer in the headlights. My eyes fixated on the flashing lights on top of the patrol cars, it was almost hypnotic. Fortunately I came out of it just in time to see that the lead two officers had drawn their guns and were screaming commands at me. I looked down and realized that I still had my gun in my right hand. My 1911 .45 caliber pistol was still hot and the slide was locked back, indicating that I had somehow emptied all 7 rounds. The whole thing seemed like a dream.

Still standing there wide eyed and astonished at the recent turn of events, I complied with their command and set my gun down on the hood of my car and then went to my knees. I started to explain what happened but my voice was drowned out by the siren and the officers repeated orders for me to lie down, face down with my hands to my sides.

The minute I complied with their wishes, the bigger guy grabbed me by the left wrist and pulled it behind my back, while snapping a handcuff on me. In one fluid motion he quickly grabbed my other wrist and expertly preformed a similar maneuver. With a quick glance up I could see his partner covering me with his pistol while the other officers were shaking their heads after taking the pulse of the guy that lay bleeding by the curb. Needless to say after eating a whole clip of 45’s there was no pulse to be found.

Things were looking pretty bad for me about now, but to put things in perspective, I really should start at the beginning. I really am a good guy, a law abiding citizen, in fact I can’t even remember getting a traffic ticket since I was a teenager.

It all started fairly innocently a few days ago, when I had taken my girlfriend out to dinner. We had an enjoyable and uneventful dinner and were standing in line at the club next door for a few drinks when all of my problems started. I was minding my own business while digging thru my wallet looking for a twenty dollar bill to pay the cover charge.

I hear a voice from behind us in line making a rude comment about my girlfriend. I turn around and look down the line in disgust to determine who made the comment, but everyone seems to be just talking among themselves.

A few minutes later we had worked our way forward in the line and could hear the loud music from inside. Suddenly, I feel a jolt from behind me as a rather large guy bumps me with his shoulder. I could tell by how hard he hit me and the fact that he didn’t turn to apologize that this was an intentional attack. Guys don’t need a body language expert to translate that statement.

Well, I’m as nice as the next guy, but it was evident that this was the same guy that made the rude comment and now he was physically harassing me. I thought about what had transpired for a second and contemplated letting it go unchallenged, but after all the guy was a jerk and I didn’t want to look like a weakling in front of my girl friend.

He hadn’t taken two steps past me as I in turn called him a few choice names of my own, and gave him the one finger salute. Well it was evident that this guy wasn’t one to let by gone’s be by gone’s and he immediately turned on his heels and shoved me backward with both hands. I could hear my girlfriend urge me to just walk away, but the fight was already on.

I had no formal fight training but everyone that knows me, knows I have a short fuse, and this son of gun had just lit it. Well, no sooner then I had I put my hands up in a defensive position, sasquatch throws a big haymaker right at my head. I partially blocked his punch but still managed to catch half of its force right above my ear.

At about that point my adrenaline kicked in and I answered with a 3 punch flurry, the viciousness of which seemed to surprise Mr. Tough Guy. At first he reeled back a few steps but then charged at me with his head down and tackled me to the pavement. By this time everyone in the line had formed a circle around us and a few of the bouncers from the club had managed to pull us apart. The head bouncer said he was going to call the police, so I took that as notice to get out of there and walk back to my car.

Just as we were about to get back into my car, a black S.U.V. pulled up and stopped right next to us. The tinted window rolled down and my assailant gave me a menacing look. I have to admit that I took a certain amount of joy in seeing a trickle of blood from the guy’s nose. He said something I couldn’t make out and then started laughing hysterically as he waived a black object at me. At first I thought it may have been a gun, but then it struck me that it was a wallet, my wallet. A quick but frantic pat on my back pocket confirmed that the bastard had indeed taken my wallet. Complete with cash, credit cards, and drivers license.

Well, as soon as I got home, and had a drink to calm my nerves, I decided to start contacting my credit card companies. I first checked my accounts on line and discovered that the jackass with my wallet was already out running up quite a bill on my credit cards. My girlfriend wisely urged me to call the police, but I didn’t want the hassle. I struggled to think about what else was in my wallet that was now in this guy’s possession. I was up half the night doing damage control before I finally fell asleep around 4 A.M. I was certain I would have to endure a case of identity theft, for the foreseeable future.

I slept in the next morning and woke up still feeling a little sore from last night’s workout. Coffee cup in hand I walked out into the driveway to get the morning paper, only to find my empty wallet, cut up and laying next to the newspaper. The only thing left in the wallet was a picture of my girlfriend and I, with my half of the picture cut out. In my mind, this guy was a sicko and was making this thing personal.

I could only assume that the mental midget I had the fight with, intentionally left my wallet there to send me the unmistakable message that he knew where I lived. I have to admit that it was an unsettling feeling knowing that some half baked criminal, that had a bone to pick with me, knew where my house was.

The next day and a half went without incident, but I was convinced that I hadn’t heard the last of this guy and had decided to carry my home protection gun, just in case. My girlfriend stopped by briefly on her way to work around 5pm to see how I was doing and drop off some dinner she had made for me.

After she left I decided to stay home and watch T.V. when I must have fell asleep on the couch around 11 o’clock. Around 2:30 in the morning I awoke to what sounded like someone trying to open my back door. (it’s funny how you can sleep with the television on but still hear a house sound that is out of the ordinary).

I was still groggy with sleep, but remembered that I hadn’t gone thru my usual routine of checking all the doors before dozing off for the night. My girlfriend doesn’t approve of guns so I had left mine in the nightstand next to my bed. I make a quick dash for the bedroom to retrieve it, and as I left my room I noticed a shadowy figure looking in the front window.

Outraged and with gun in hand, I threw open the front door only to see the same unmistakable black S.U.V. parked directly in front of my house. At this point I was both frightened and enraged. I must have surprised the intruder, as he then made a bee line for his car, shouting threats and obscenities the whole way. I raised my gun and leveled the front sight on his center mass, but then took my finger off the trigger and lowered it to the ground.

I couldn’t bring my self to shooting an unarmed guy running away (although the urge certainly crossed my mind). Just as the guy reached the front passenger door he turned and shouted that I had no guts. He reached inside his vehicle and spun back towards me. This time I was sure it wasn’t my wallet that he had in his hand and by instinct fired what I thought was one or two shots at him. I watched as his car window fractured, bullets ricocheted off his vehicle, and his body slowly slumped to the ground.

One of the neighbors must have called the cops, after hearing the commotion, because they were there in minutes. Now, I find myself being read my rights and then handcuffed and alone in the back seat of a police car. I have to admit I’m afraid. I don’t think I did anything wrong. There are a thousand thoughts rushing thru my mind as we pull away from my house. I’m an innocent victim, and I didn’t start this thing but now I’m facing possible jail time. I guess it goes to show you that some times, even the good guys finish last.

Please feel free to contact me at: pooritalianboy@gmail.com

P.I.B.

DETECTIVE

DETECTIVE

I’m overwhelmed with emotion right now. All of my friends and co-workers are here for my retirement party. It seems like my service in law enforcement has just flown by, especially the last 11 years as a detective. As luck would have it, I’m also receiving tonight, the highest commendation from the department, a letter of appreciation from the President of the Unites States, and most enjoyably, an apology from two senior guys. What a way to point an exclamation mark on a 30 year career.

Actually I had planned on retiring a few weeks ago when I got my 30 in, and would have, if weren’t for the Fairbanks case. I can remember it like it was yesterday. I was so horrified at the crime scene that I promised myself right then and there that I wouldn’t quit until we brought the perpetrator to justice.

It was around 10:30pm on a Wednesday evening and my shift was just about over. I was looking forward to a stiff drink and a few days off, when I got the call. I could tell by the frantic tone from the first responders that this wasn’t going to be a typical case.

I hit the lights on my unmarked car and made it halfway across town in about 5 minutes. As I rounded the corner I was greeted by the familiar sight of flashing lights and the street was already full of patrol cars and firefighters.

I parked half a block away because the boys in blue had already taped off the area as a crime scene, and they were ushering onlookers away from the house. As I approached the house I was greeted by my old friend Greg Bailey. Greg and I go way back, in fact we were even partners for a while in my patrol days. Greg is a seasoned veteran and has seen it all, that’s why I knew this was something big, by just looking at his face as he approached.

By this time the whole place was crawling with uniforms and reporters. I asked him what the hell was going on here and he held a finger up to his lips and motioned for me to meet him over by his patrol car. I can remember the hair standing up on the back of my neck as we walked towards the car. We are part of a small department and it was very unusual for an officer to feel the need to discuss a crime scene in private.

Greg told me to get to work quickly because he had already received a call from the FBI and they instructed him to preserve the crime scene as they had two agents on the way. He was further instructed to turn over his jurisdiction and command of the crime scene to the suits as soon as they arrived. This must not be your garden variety homicide case.

Our conversation was interrupted by a cell phone call and Greg briefly put one hand over the phone and mouthed the word “Captain” and then he waived me off, while he was evidently getting chewed out on the phone. Judging by the urgency in Greg’s voice, I immediately turned my attention to surveying the area. I briefly talked to a few of the neighbors and eye witnesses and jotted down a few notes. I’ve found that sometimes the most seemingly insignificant facts or statements can latter turn out to be items of key evidence.

Our forensics guy had not yet arrived so I decided to start the investigation on my own. Out of habit I carry my own little digital camera and began taking pictures of the entire area. I’ve learned that it’s a smart practice to capture things in pictures before a bunch of firemen and paramedics start trammeling thru the evidence. As I was putting on a pair of latex gloves I noticed a cell phone, partially covered in blood in the driveway. It might be evidence so I grabbed it. As I made my way to the garage I also picked up a half charred piece of paper with some directions on it.

I hadn’t taken a dozen photos and my cell phone rang. A quick look at the screen showed it to be a call from Captain Miller. I’d never admit to this but I was sure he was calling to tell me to stay outside the perimeter until the FBI guys established control. Well, I would never knowingly disobey an order or hesitate in taking an urgent call from a superior but after all, it was a very noisy crime scene and it would be easy to miss the sound of a cell call.

I put the phone back in my jacket pocket and went about the task of gathering evidence. I counted as least 6 dead bodies that had most likely met their end by a horrendous blast that easily took out the garage and east half of the house. There was debris and body parts strewn everywhere, I figured it would take days to sift thru all the evidence.

I noticed two black Suburban’s making their way past the make shift barricades and toward the house. Well it didn’t take much law enforcement skill to guess who had arrived at the scene. I could see the two agents in their neat suits talking with Greg in the distance and gesturing over toward the house and in my direction. A few seconds latter I heard Greg’s voice over the bull horn instructing all personnel from our agency to meet him over by his patrol car.

At first I pretended that I didn’t hear the announcement but there was no mistaking the exaggerated hand signals that were directed my way, and I figured I had better comply. As I was walking back towards the road, I felt a metallic object under my shoe. I bend down as if tying my shoe laces and quickly scooped up the object into a small plastic evidence bag I had in my jacket pocket.

As we gathered around the command center, the FBI guys introduced themselves and made it clear that they were now in charge and would have their own people here shortly to take over the forensic investigation. They advised us to leave this matter to the “professionals”. I can’t speak for Greg or anyone else but I was aggravated that these Fed’s could waltz into our community and our jurisdiction and just take over our jobs.

We were all asked if we had disturbed or gathered any evidence and I simply shook my head and walked slowly away. As I was leaving the agent in charge made it clear that they would most likely stop by the station the next day to interview our people to see if we could be of any assistance.

I was already beat from a 12 hour shift and headed right back to my house when I left Fairbanks Street. As I drove back across town, I had a hard time getting the mental picture of all that carnage out of my mind. Sure I had been a cop for a long time, but I never really got used to seeing all that type of useless violence.

I had a hard time getting to sleep that night. The images from earlier in the evening kept running thru my mind. My instincts told me that there was something, something that just didn’t add up. How did the Feds get involved and how could they be on site so quickly. Why were the field agents so insistent on getting our people out of the area so quickly? Where those 6 guys laying scattered on the lawn victims or was it a pure accident? Maybe the whole thing was just my tired cop mind, trying to rationalize the evening’s events. In any case I finally nodded of to sleep.

The next day I was off but I got called into work, because we were to be debriefed by the Field Agents. Each of us that were present the night before were called into the office one at a time. We were told that they had determined the deaths to be accidental from a gas leak explosion. It seemed rather odd to me that they were more interested in what we did or didn’t know then actually trying to gather data to sort out the incident. After telling them that I did a casual walk thru and had no clues or evidence to offer them, they quickly sent me on my way.

Over the course of the next few days I was increasingly sure that the boys from Washington had tried to put one over on our “less sophisticated” small town law enforcement officers. My gut told me this whole deal was being swept under the rug and there was a full scale cover up in progress.

Over the next few days I worked on the case behind the scenes, in my spare time, using my police credentials and resources to interview people and gather evidence. It turns out that our recently departed friends were part of a terrorist cell that also worked part time as apprentice bomb makers. The item I picked up on the lawn that night was a military style detonator and judging by the damage done from the blast, they had a great deal of explosives on hand.

When I tracked the numbers stored in the cell phone I picked up, it lead me to the apartment of a middle eastern women that lived downtown. The FBI had been tracking one of our late friends and a 7th member of the team, a women, who had led them to the house on Fairbanks. As luck would have it she was out doing whatever terrorist type women do on a Wednesday night and missed out on the fireworks. The FBI team picked her up before she got back to the house and brought her back to D.C. for questioning. They figured that was the extent of her involvement in the case. She didn’t tell them anything and they neglected to inform her as to the fate of her x-friends. When they released her a few hours latter, she evidentially figured her clan was still on schedule to show off the efforts of their bomb making house party.

From there it was a no brainer to put a surveillance team on her and after a day to make sure she wasn’t being followed she headed right to the international airport to meet the other half of the cell. I noticed her standing out side the door nervously checking her watch and looking anxiously for her team members. Fortunately for us, the two teams had never met and as a security precaution, our girlfriend was the only liaison between the two groups. She also had no idea as of yet, that the only way she was going to meet up with the Fairbanks six was in the morgue or on her day of reckoning.

From there it wasn’t too hard to spot the rest of her party when they pulled up in a white van. All four of them each only had one piece of luggage, a “golf club case”. They tried to act discreet but I noticed one of them winking at her.

I guess it pays to think ahead because, being a team player, I had an FBI swat team all dressed as baggage handlers that met them at the curb. I can still remember the look on their faces as our boys offered to take their luggage. The look on their faces clearly showed this wasn’t part of their plan. They now had to scramble to open the cases outside on the sidewalk instead of at their leisure inside. The boys in blue were on them in a heart beat. One of the guys had planned ahead and brought a pistol in his belt. From my vantage point I could see him draw the pistol and spin to face the Feds. I guess action is faster than reaction because I already had drawn my Kimber 1911 from its belt holster and cranked off a shot. There is a reason I carry the old style 1911 in .45 caliber, its one hell of a man stopper. That single shot spun him around and he hit the concrete with a thud. One dead Tango. In less then a minute it was all over as the team zipped up the other three perps and I slapped the cuffs on the lady in black.

It turns out that each golf case contained an automatic weapon, and they had planned to wreak havoc in the terminal followed by a rather big bang from their now deceased bomb making brothers.(may they rest in peace)The second team was going to scatter their hardware around in the confusion and cause a secondary incident when the shooting subsided.

Well, I guess everything turned out ok in the end, but if it weren’t for a few bomb makers that failed explosives 101, things could have turned out quite different.

Please feel free to contact me at: pooritalianboy@gmail.com

P.I.B.

THE ERASER

THE ERASER

“In times of war the truth is so precious that it must be attended by a
bodyguard of lies” Sir Winston Churchill

Note: The following is from a letter sent to my attention and that I plan to publish in the morning. John Casik, Editor: The Washington Explorer.

I should have figured I'd end up alone in my final days. The work I did for the last 40 years, almost guaranteed it. I can still remember the day I started, I was just a young kid with a lot to prove.
The agency had already been in existence for almost 20 years back when I was recruited, and to this day very few people in government know about it. I've always thought that the work we did was very important, but we could never take credit for it, it was just that nature of the business. We even set up an “Office of Public Diplomacy”, as a cover to our true work. (Google it)
The way my first boss explained it to me, was that to preserve national security there are some things that the American public just are better off not knowing. When those situations occurred, our department was called into action. Our job was to mislead, and provide alternate but believable editions of the truth.
To do our job efficiently we had to have unrestricted access to a lot of top secret information and a chain of command that would allow us to dictate directions to the top leaders in all of the other agencies. Everything we did was strictly on a need to know basis, and we certainly did not make any friends in the FBI, Justice Department, Department of defense, or a host of other government agencies.
I had to take an oath when I first started that I would take my knowledge of past events to the grave with me and that is what I had planned to do. Our department had such a high level of security clearance that we were exempt and immune from testifying, even before congress.
Most police and investigative agencies are very good at investigating and gathering data, clues, and information, our job was just the opposite. When we were called out, it was our job to hide, obscure, destroy, and even alter evidence. We are masters of “Black Propaganda” and misinformation. Our task and our training even included fabricating and widely disseminating counter intelligence as well as propagating conspiracy stores. We offered alternative realities, that were plausible and even verifiable by alternative clues and witnesses that we fabricated. We often reversed engineered our own forensic evidence and clues, left carefully for law enforcement and the FBI to “discover”.
Eventually we got so good at our job that we could create events for public consumption, which never even happened in the first place, both for Domestic and Foreign consumption. We have been involved in almost every type of scenario from assignations to UFO sightings and satellite shoot downs. As time went on, we were called on with increasing regularity to reverse engineer events so that they would be portrayed to the public exactly as the government wished. It became common place for key information and witnesses to disappear, only to have perceptions reversed that we could corroborate with our own witnesses, crime scene evidence, and clues.
Many of the "fixes" we did left an almost "hard to believe" aura around them, but our work was so detailed and our stories so well scripted that it left investigators, politician, world leaders, and the general public as a whole, no choice but to come to our pre-planned conclusions.
We contributed to the public’s perception of events overseas like Vietnam, Iraq, and El Salvador. I think the Kennedy case was some of our finest work. Key witnesses disappeared and had "untimely" accidents. Hard evidence was lost or misplaced, and even the Warren Commission was furnished with our own fabricated evidence.
In any case, I spent most of my life serving the government and I guess, at this age I’m just a burden. I’ve seen too much and I know too much, and in my line of work, that make me a liability. I’ve tried to contact other agents that have recently retired or otherwise left the agency to no avail. I have reason to believe that my life is in jeopardy. I have placed the above information in safe hands in the event of my untimely death, suggesting that my agency has succeeded in “erasing me”
Senior Agent (Retired)
Scott Livenback
Please feel free to contact me at: pooritalianboy@gmail.com
P.I.B.

SINS OF THE PAST

SINS OF THE PAST

They say you can’t run from your past, and I guess that’s true, but that didn’t stop me from trying for the last 20 years. I can’t tell you how many times I prayed that I could change that one day in my past, but it still haunts me. I’ve decided today, I’m turning myself in, I’ll take my medicine, I’m tired of running.

It’s not like I planned to be a criminal, in fact I had never even gotten a speeding ticket up to that point. In fact, it all started when I decided that I couldn’t take another day of this darn freezing Maine weather. Honestly, it was just like that, I decided to pack my stuff and head south for warmer weather. Looking back, it wasn’t the smartest thing I ever did. I quit my lousy part time job, packed everything I had into my Backpack and started my journey south.

The funny thing was that I did not know where I was going or what I would do when I got there. I knew I didn’t have enough money to get all the way to Florida, but figured I would take a bus as far south as I could and then just hitch hike the rest of the way. An hour latter I was buying a ticket at the Grey Hound bus station and was on my way.

I soon discovered that I didn’t like traveling on a bus very much, it was cramped and seemed to stop at every hole in the wall town along the way. However, I had been to Florida once with some friends and it was a happy experience. We went down to see a race and with 3 of us driving it was only a 24 hour trip by car. This time it seemed like the Grey Hound driver was determined to make it a 2 week crawl. In any case, the long trip gave me plenty of time to think and the more I thought about my decision the more I found myself second guessing it.

The longer I sat in that cramped up seat, the more anxious and angry I became. It seemed like all my hostility was raising to the surface. The only good thing about the trip was that we were heading south and with each state we passed, I could feel the temperature gradually getting warmer.

After what seemed like an eternity, I finally fell into a deep sleep, but even that was interrupted by the driver tapping me on the shoulder. This was the end of the line for me, Colleton South Carolina. I pulled the now well worn ticket from my pocket to verify that this was as far south as my meager purchase would take me. That was it, Colleton, fate has a funny way of dealing you an unexpected hand, but hell, Colleton, who would ever voluntarily choose a place like this.

I just stood there for a moment in the cool winter morning, and watched as the bus pulled back on the highway and soon disappeared in traffic. I pulled out my wallet and did a quick accounting of the money I had left. I’m not really sure why I even looked because I had just checked at the last stop, and sure enough I had the same $27.50 that I had last night. My instincts told me to hang onto every dollar till I got to Florida, but my stomach had other plans, so I walked across the street to the small restaurant for some breakfast.

As I walked across the dirt parking lot, I noticed the place wasn’t very busy. There were a few dusty pick up trucks and a tricked out motorcycle parked out front. I remember thinking to myself that this place was no Denny’s restaurant, but all I wanted was a few strong cups of coffee and a few scrambled eggs anyway.

When I walked in the door, I got some bad vibes form the few patrons that were already seated. I looked for a table facing the door so that I would not have to look any of them in the eye. The place had maybe 10 tables and most of them seemed to still have dirty dishes on them, so I decided to sit at the counter next to the guy with the leather jacket on. As I set down I glanced over to my right and was greeted with a cold stare down from this dude that looked like a Hell’s Angle. The waitress brought me over a huge cup of hot coffee, that looked more like a soup bowl with a handle and I ordered my breakfast. After a few uncomfortable minutes of silence while I was waiting for my food, I decided to break the ice and ask if that was his motorcycle out front.

I guess, I picked the one topic that we both had in common, because he immediately lightened the tone and we struck up a conversation. I told him that I worked part time at a motorcycle shop up north as a mechanic and complimented him on his ride. We probably talked shop for around 25 or 30 minutes before I asked for my check and headed for the door.

When I reached the parking lot, it dawned on me that I really didn’t know where I was heading or how to get there. I set my backpack down on one of the two rocking chairs out front and dug out my light jacket. I was just zipping up my backpack when my buddy from the counter walked out the door. He mentioned that he had a few motorcycles back at his place that needed to be repaired and asked if I wanted to take on the job. I have to admit I felt quite uneasy about the whole thing but for the first time in my life, I really wasn’t in any rush and didn’t have any better thing to do.

We decided that I could probably knock out the work in 4 or 5 days and that he would pay me $200 plus allow me to sleep out in his barn until the job was finished. I have to tell you I felt uneasy as hell about this whole arrangement but I sorely need the cash and decided to take the risk. We shook hands on the deal and soon I was riding on the back of his bike and on our way out to the job.

Just as promised I worked on the bikes and had them up and running and both in top shape in 3 days. I was told that I’d have my money and a ride back into town around 5 P.M. which would give me just enough time to catch the last bus of the day heading south.

Jim showed up just as promised around 4:45, but he was drunk and belligerent as hell. It seems that since I finished the job quicker than expected, he was only willing to pay me $100. Well, that didn’t set well with me and our discussion soon turned into a full scale argument. I stood my ground and refused to leave without the money I was promised and as tempers flared, I soon found my self standing at the business end of one big bowie knife.

At that point I decided to swallow my pride, take my loss and just move on, but it seems like I had lost my bargaining position. I threatened to call the police and turned to walk away when I felt the cold steel blade rip through my jacket. Instinctively I grabbed a tire iron off the work bench behind me a swung it widely in the direction of the blade. Well, I missed his arm, but found his head, and soon the wrench and my arm were covered with blood.

I tore off my jacket and buried it in the trash can and cleaned up as well as I could. In a panic I grabbed the thick leather wallet from my assailants back pocket. Of course he had one of those biker chains attaching the wallet to his belt, so I just grabbed the cash and a few credit cards and headed for the door. Heck, I was just a kid and now I was a felon on the run. And I ran, I ran like a criminal and did not look back.

Well, I used that money to get myself to Florida and never looked back. In retrospect I should have called the sheriff and claimed self defense, but at the time all I could think of was running. So, now, for the last 20 years I have been moving, hiding, and switching jobs, always on the run. I’ve lived and re-lived the night of the incident through countless dreams and night mares, I remember it like it was yesterday. I’ve found that a man can’t be at peace with a thing like this, can’t settle down, make friends, or even have a family, when he is carrying a burden like this. I’ve been close to being caught several times by a detective from South Carolina; he has made solving this case a personal challenge for himself.

I’ve often thought that it’s strange how fate can intervene in a man’s life and change that one defining moment that will forever alter the course of your future. Sometimes that moment will lead you to success and riches and sometimes to failure and despair. So, today, I’ve decided to again leave myself to fate, to turn myself in and let the legal system be my judge, because I’ve learned that you just can’t run from your sins of the past.

Please feel free to contact me at; pooritalianboy@gmail.com

P.I.B.

NEWSWORTHY PART 2

NEWSWORTHY PART 2

I honestly didn’t have a lot of information, but I now had more than the rest of the press had, and that would make my boss happy. The congressmen told me that he was innocent of all allegations and that he felt certain the truth would come out at the trial. I pushed for more information and he cited national security interests as the reason he could not answer. He did make a point of saying that he would not allow his, or anyone else’s best interest, to supersede the best interest of our country.

The very next morning, I bought a dozen copies of our paper, my very first article appeared on page 3. I was very complimentary to LaBell and related the information he gave me in a positive way. I tried to call his office, to get a follow up on the article, but they did not return my call.

Several weeks went by and the case wore on. The press, for the most part, had moved on to more current and pressing issues, as they are prone to do. The new headlines included: an affair by a Governor, the continued decline in the economy, and the steady march to war between the U.S. and Iran. The Iranians were posturing for war, and would not back down. The Pentagon was careful to make its case to the American people that the Iranians were ready to use weapons of mass destruction against Israel. U.S. troops were being rushed to the region and war seemed inevitable.

Not to re-live past successes, but my mind kept going back to the events leading up to my big interview. It was like someone threw a light switch. The congressmen was enjoying unprecedented popularity and good press. He had been regularly doing all the top Sunday morning news shows, and was being scouted by several presidential hopefuls as a V.P. pick again at the next election. Most notably, he had just that week returned from an important trip to the middle east.

My journalists instincts were still being developed, but something inside of me, decided to follow a hunch. That afternoon I left a message at the congressmen’s Washington office that I had information regarding his recent trip and that I planned to publish that info. I would give him 24 hours to meet with me again to discuss his side of the story.

Within hours the same black limo was waiting for me down by the front doors of our offices. This time the Congressmen was alone and seemed much less composed, in fact, he was sweating profusely. He told me about his trip to the middle east, where he met with Irainian leaders. They made it clear that they would back down on there demands and move their troops off the border, but they did not want to look weak in the eyes of their neighbors and the world.

He told me that upon returning to the United States he met privately with the president and relayed their message. The president told him that he had already authorized an attack and was not about to change his plans. Besides the presidents poll ratings had been going down and he felt the people wanted him to stand tall. The congressmen told me that he spent over an hour trying to dissuade the president, to no avail. In fact, he was told that if he mentioned anything about his trip, the president would accuse him of breaching national security and turn the justice department pitbulls loose on him.

The country was heading to war and thousands on both sided would die. It was a war that could be easily avoided. The congressmen was torn between his duty to the president and what he knew was the right thing to do. We talked for about 45 minutes before the limo abruptly stopped again and left me off on the other side of the city. I was concerned about the congressmen’s state of mind, but I had my story.

The next morning’s edition proudly displayed my first cover story. “President Marches U.S. to Avoidable War”. Of course, the story caused an avalanche of press and investigations. In the following days, the U.S. posture on the war reversed itself, and the country returned from the brink of war. The pressure and embarrassment caused the president to resign and sadly, my friend the congressmen shot himself, shortly thereafter.

That one article, now a faded memory on my wall, started my career as a newsmen, averted a war, unseated a president, and lead to the untimely death of a very good man.

P.I.B

A HEART BEAT AWAY

A HEART BEAT AWAY

I didn’t actually realize it at that moment, but my whole life was about to change. It was a typical Friday night and I had ducked out of work a half hour early to get a start on the evenings festivities. I feel like I earned the early out, after all, I am the top producing salesmen in the company, and a real work-aholic. My plan was to run back to the apartment, catch a shower and a few beers and then meet some friends for dinner.

When I got to the house I noticed I had a few messages on the recorder. The first two were from work and I had to call some customers back right away. That little exercise took almost half an hour. So, much for getting out a few minutes early. I was about to listen to the next 2 messages but rather than be late for dinner I decided they could wait until the morning.

Well, dinner and a few drinks ended up being dinner and quite a few drinks. I ended up leaving my car at the restaurant and got a taxi ride home. By the time I woke up on Saturday it was almost noon, and I had one hell of a hangover. To make matters worse, I had to ask a neighbor to drive me back over to get the Vet.

I got back to the house late Saturday after noon and noticed the message machine still blinking. I had forgotten about the two un-played messages from the other night. Both messages were from my friend Tony. He called to remind me that he was leaving on his cruise and asked if I would bring in his mail and newspapers. He sounded excited as hell and I was glad that he was taking some time off. In fact I had suggested he take the cruise as a way to relax and reminded him not to bring his laptop or cell phone. The guy is a type “a” over achiever and a true work-aholic, just like me. I have known Tony for over ten years and considered him one of my closest friends. He is as close to family, as I have left, especially since I haven’t talked to my parents or sister in over 7 years. I’d do anything for that guy.

The second message was also from Tony. This one had a much more somber tone. It seems a good friend of his had evidently been rushed to the hospital and he feared it was a minor stroke. Tony had briefly considered canceling his trip but asked me to follow up on his friend in the hospital instead. Tony left me the guys name and room number and told me he would call me from the port when he got to Mexico.

I figured this would be an uncomfortable visit, being that I had never met Jason, but as I mentioned there was no way I would turn down doing a favor for Tony. I’m really not a procrastinator, but I farted around for a few hours, and by that time I was pretty certain that visiting hours would be over anyway, so I made myself a promise to go see him first thing in the morning.


Anyway, Sunday morning I stopped at a grocery store and bought a get well card and a few flowers and headed on over to Memorial hospital. The parking lot was full but I found a spot after driving around a few times and headed for the main entrance. The minute I walked in the front door I remembered why I hate hospitals. I get a weird feeling in these places and felt like turning around and heading back to the car. Instead I pushed on thru and made my way to the elevators. I pulled the note from my pocket to refresh my memory. Yes, Jason King, room 415. The label on the elevator showed Floor 4 as I.C.U. , maybe this guy was in worse shape than Tony was aware of.

When I got off the elevator on floor #4 there was no one at the big octagon shaped nurses station, so I headed thru the double doors looking for room 415. Ok, 412,413,414…this is the one. The door was partially open so I walked in. It was a private room with only one bed and the drapes were pulled closed.

I worked my way around the I.V. pole and over the bed table to the side of the room closest to the windows. “Jason…Mr King, I’m Luis a fiend of Tony’s”. There was no answer, it was evident that Jason was sound asleep. It was also evident that this guy was older than I had anticipated and he didn’t look good at all. By this time, I was feeling pretty damn uncomfortable and was asking myself what the hell I doing here in the first place. I thought about just leaving the flowers and the card on the table and hitting the road, but I felt obligated to stay for at least a few minutes.

I sat down on a well worn wood and leather chair by the window and just kind of stared at the heart monitor going thru its paces. I could hear Jason breathing heavily while breathing in oxygen thru the tubes in his nose. Now, I’m not a doctor but I could tell this guy was not doing well. In a quite tone, almost a whisper, I told him not to worry, and that he would be O.K. Almost immediately it seemed as if his breathing became easier and less labored. For some reason, I felt like maybe my presence there had consoled him in some small way.

I set there for another 15 minutes and as I was getting ready to leave the old guy opened his eyes and said..”Thank you, that was very kind, will you come back again ?” Maybe he caught me off guard or maybe my conscious just took over, but without even thinking, I said “yes, I would”. I noticed a tear running down his cheek. I left the room feeling like I had done the right thing for both my friend Tony and for this poor guy lying there in obvious pain. On the way out, I decided to stop by the nurses station so that I could get a report on his condition, so that when Tony called me in a day or so from Mexico, I could tell him how his buddy was doing.

I stood silently at the desk for a moment as a young nurse was finishing up with a phone call. I told her I was checking on a stroke patient, Mr. King, in room 415. Almost without looking up she told me that Mr. King did not make it and passed away yesterday. The gentleman in the room was Mr. Penski and he had just been brought up from the operating room with quadruple by pass, and was in critical condition. She told me that she was happy someone had visited the old guy and asked if she should add my name to the visitor list for Mr. Penski, because she was told he had no living relatives or local friends.

A torrent of thoughts rushed thru my mind. What happened to Tony’s friend Jason, what was I going to say to Tony when he called, and why the hell didn’t I get here yesterday like I was supposed to. Also, who was this poor guy, in the room now.

When I got home latter that day, I thought about the events that had transpired and reflected on just how delicate life can be. I guess when you think about it, each of us is only a heart beat away from our last moment in this life. This may sound corny but I decided right then and there to go visit the old man again the following day. Maybe it’s because he was so much like me or maybe it’s because no one should have to face the unknown alone. Either way, I knew it was the right thing to do.

The next day, I was good to my word and was back in the hospital right after work to see the old man. I sat in the old wooden chair just as I had the other day and that brought a pained smile to the patients face. He motioned to me to sit closer and in a very quiet voice told me his story. He had built a large business and made a lot of money in his life, however he ignored and alienated his friends and family in the process. He told me that he wished he had spent more time doing the important things in life and he regretted that. I was deeply touched when he told me that for all he had accomplished, he had too many things left un-said and left un-done.

We talked for a while more, and I could tell there was a lot more he wanted to tell me, but his labored breathing and fatigue seemed to steal his voice away. He rested for a brief moment and grabbed my hand. He asked If I would come back again, and I told him that I would. That seemed to put him at peace. A smile came over his face, as he closed his eyes, and he gently squeezed my hand. I set there for a minute with tears streaming down my face, for a man I barely knew, yet who had taught me so much. Somehow I knew he was gone, and yet I felt strangely honored to have shared his last moments with him.

We all have key moments in our lives, and that experience marked a turning point for me. I knew I had things left un-said and things left un-done in my own life, and I was now determined to address them right away. Because I realized, we are all just a heart beat away…..
P.I.B.

FLORIDA AND BUST

FLORIDA AND BUST

I found myself nearly dozing off to the melodic beat of the rain pattering on the roof of my old pick-up truck . The insulation and soundproofing had long since been a thing of the past. The windshield wipers were keeping time, but even set on high, they could barely keep up with the rain. Even though I strained my eyes I could only see about 50’ ahead of me. I even thought about pulling over for a minute but decided to push on thru.

I was hungry and tired but after counting the meager funds in my wallet I knew I had just enough money for fuel and a few burgers along the way. It’s a good thing my girlfriend packed me a few snacks and a thermos of hot coffee. I had planned on just catching a few quick cat naps at a rest stop or two and forgo the comfort of a hotel.

As usual, I hadn’t really thought this whole trip thru. As a matter of fact, a few days ago I had no idea that I would even make this trip. The whole thing started out 2 days ago when I got a late night call from an old college buddy. Although we were very close back at school, I hadn’t heard from Tommy in years, and was taken back by his call.

We were quite the pranksters back then and prided ourselves on being able to run a scam on just about anyone. It all started out very innocently with practical jokes and gags on fellow students and teachers. I remember one time we convinced one of the professors that someone had stolen his mid term exam and sold copies to all the students in his class. He ended up postponing the whole test while he put together a new one, thereby giving all of his “less than prepared students” a few extra precious days to study. In any case, over the next 18 months that we shared a room off campus, our pranks grew in both complexity and criminal intent. In fact, by the time we left school, some of our fellow students would refer to me as a confidence man or scam artist.

For a few years after graduation we hung around the old Alma Mata and perfected our trade. During that time we upped the ante from gags and small time scores to some serious jobs with real criminal intent. After a few runs ins with the law, Tommy got busted on a game we were running and did some serious time. He never mentioned me, or my part in the deal, so I walked without even a parking ticket. After a few months of working the business alone, I folded tent and decided to move back to be closer to my parents in Jersey.

I decided to try following the straight and narrow path. And to be honest I fell off the path a few times. In fact if I hadn’t met my girlfriend Rachael, I’d probably be in jail by now. After floundering around up here for a while, it was Rachael’s parents that allowed me to work with them in their family business. They also allowed me to move into a spare room they had above the garage.

The point of this whole thing is that, It seems Tommy had pissed in the wrong guys Wheaties down in Miami and now was in debt to a couple of arm breakers, with no way to pay. So, I guess when you get in trouble, you go back to what you know best, and what Tommy and I knew best was running scams. I didn’t want to lie to Rachael so I told her I was going to help out an old friend. She knew about my past with Tommy and was smart enough to know that the only reason he would call me after all this time was for no good.

Half of me knew that I should have hung up that phone as soon as I heard his name. My conscious told me I shouldn’t get back in the old business, but the rest of me was hungry for a score and to help my old buddy out. Rachael had tried her best to talk me out of going, but I figured I owed Tommy for the time he did, plus I could use the profit from this score to get a place of our own for Rachael and I.

Anyway, after 22 hours of hard driving I had reached a small town just north of Miami and met my old buddy at a local I Hop. I hardly recognized my old partner at first glace, because he had put on about 30 pounds and was sporting a beard.

It turns out Tommy was doing a weekly run where he dropped off stolen goods to some locals who would turn it into cash and then he would stop back latter in the week and pick up the cash to bring back to his boys. The powers to be, were compensating him very well for this service, but that was not enough for my boy. He figured no one would no or miss for that matter a few dollars here or there so he started to skim. The bosses ran several guys like Tommy, so that no one guy knew too much about their shit. Of course they would never let them meet.

Well true to his nature the greedy bastard couldn’t leave good enough alone, and the skimming turned into plowing. It wasn’t long before the big guys figured this out and now Tommy has 3 days to make them whole, or they make him very dead. There is no way we can come up with the cash, so we stayed up all night planning a way for him to get even, and then some.

Several hours and a bottle of Jack latter, we had come up with a plan. It was a risky plan, but if it worked, I could bail Tommy out of his problems and get the financial head start that Rachael and I need. It seems the guys who supply the stolen goods to Tommy have a big warehouse in the area, where they stockpile all this stuff along with a boat load of cash .

They are smart operators and have never showed Tommy where they store the mother load. Each week he meets them at a different place and they load him up with all top level goods. A nice mix of electronics, booze, jewelry, cars, and occasionally some diamonds and gems. They have a good relationship with Tommy. His contact doesn’t tell him where it all comes from, and he doesn’t ask. As long as he shows up with the minimum amount of cash they agreed on, he was good.

Our plan revolved around having them expose the location of their stash, however they were not about to hand us an invitation to visit with an enclosed map. We decided on a variation of the play we did on our old college professor. If we could make them feel like their secure information and hiding spot was no longer secure, then they would most likely try moving their stuff. And, when you take things out of hiding to move them, that’s when they are most vulnerable.

Tommy gave me the names and addresses of the people he was pawning off the property to and I paid each one of them a visit to make them feel uneasy. I hinted that I could supply the same merchandise at half the cost, and I stressed the very same merchandise.

It didn’t take long before the big boys got wind of what was going on. They didn’t know if I was a cop or just an overzealous competitor. In any case, these criminal types are a pretty nervous bunch and within days they were making plans to move their merchandise, and put a temporary hold on bringing in new contraband. Just like a bunch of roaches when you turn the lights on they panicked and ran. They had no one to turn to, so in their confusion they called Tommy and told him to meet them at a new location and to bring a big truck.

We got there around 11pm and Tommy’s contact basically handed us a key to the place, a garage door opener, and an address to bring the stuff to. I don’t think it was because the liked or trusted Tommy so much as not wanting to be around in case this was a police set up.

As soon as the black Mercedes slipped off into the night, I mashed the button on the garage door opener and waited as the door went slowly up. I wish I had a picture of our faces because you would have thought it was Christmas morning. The place was piled high and wide with an assortment of goodies.

Well, we spent the rest of the night and until first light, cramming every single item we could into that rental truck. We tucked in the ramp and pulled down the door and snapped the biggest freak’in pad lock I’ve ever seen on the lock. (can’t trust anybody, these days).

I was already thinking about how I was going to spend my share and Tommy couldn’t wait to cross the Mexican border where he could live out his life as a wealthy man. We got in the truck and high five’d each other. It was a good night’s work.

We barely got the truck in gear, when we noticed the flashing lights. Six police cars had surrounded our truck and the officers jumped from their vehicles with guns drawn. The officers quickly pulled us out of the truck and soon had us in handcuffs and sitting on the sidewalk. The sergeant walked up and patted Tommy on the back saying “Thanks Tommy, we have been looking to bust this robbery ring for over a year now, but these guys were very careful not to make any mistakes. But you, my friend, on the other hand; have been very easy to find. We have been following your movements for months, and now we can roll up all your business associates in one fell swoop.

I just sat there with a look of disgust on my face….but if I’ve heard it once I’ve heard it a thousand times: “Crime Don’t Pay”

P.I.B.

LATE ONE NIGHT

LATE ONE NIGHT

The sound of my footsteps echoed thru the near empty garage. There is something about a cold dark night that makes these high rise parking garages seem even more menacing. I normally park on the 4th floor right by the elevators but some knucklehead had decided to take my assigned spot. Wouldn’t you know I’d end up on the far side of the parking lot on floor 5, on the one night I’ve got to carry a box full of paperwork home to work on.

As I exited the elevator on level 5, I could see the taillights of another late worker heading down the exit ramp along with the shrieking of tires you seem to only hear in parking garages. It must have rained earlier because I found myself dodging oil soaked puddles on the way to my car. I normally would have finished work several hours ago but I was up against a deadline on the Thompson case. We’ve got court on Monday, and since this is a high profile case, I’ve got to be ready. I’m gonn’a nail that sucker.

Shit, I should have called security this morning when that inconsiderate bastard took my parking spot. Now, I’m having to hump all this paperwork halfway across the city just to get to my damn car. I work 15 years to become the top dog in the prosecutor’s office and now I’m parking on the back 9, or in this case the back 5.

To make matter worse there are contractors working on the sprinkler pipes up here, and there is water, dirt, and flashing barricades all over the place. Half the ceiling lights are down, and the place has that Eire yellow florescent glow, accompanied by the faint hum of the remaining lights, vibrating in the wet night air. There are work tools and equipment all over the place. Believe me, after this week, I’ll be glad to be off for a few days. T.G.I.F.

Finally, I approach my car. I hit the remote unlock button on my key chain and my Beamer’s lights go on. I just bough this thing last week and intentionally parked far from the other cars. Wouldn’t you know it, there are only a few cars left on the floor and some son of a bitch is parked right up against my car. A whole empty parking lot, and I’ve got a shitty red van parked right next to me on my drivers side. I set the box down briefly while I open the trunk and throw in my coat, but I decide to bring my homework up front. I quickly pat my pocket to make sure I have my keys before closing the trunk and head for the driver’s door.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice some movement it the van next to me, and an instant latter the side door slides open and two goons jump out. I reach for the panic button on my keys and set off the car alarm, but these guys don’t even blink. The next thing I know, I take a wicked shot in the ribs, and find myself gasping for air. One guys got me by the hair and the other had both arms wrapped around my waist, as they are trying to pull me into the van. I put both arms out and catch myself just before they can get me through the door, but then I feel a blunt strike across the back of my head. My hand quickly moves to the spot of the trauma and I feel hot sticky blood, just as I feel myself losing consciousness.

I don’t know how long I was out, but when I woke up, I found my hands and feet tightly bound with a pair of those nylon ties. I had lost one shoe in the battle and my hair was all matted together from laying in a pool of my own blood. I tried to yell out but they had a piece of duct tape securely over my mouth, I was panicking because I could hardly breath. For a brief instant, I thought about home and my kids and how I wished I had left work earlier when my wife called and told me she had dinner waiting. It seems like I have missed too many dinners, ball games, and school events over the years, and my wife was showing the strain.

I laid there on the floor of the van and tried to get my bearings and remain calm. I noticed that even though I was blind folded, I could barely see thru a small gap they had left just above my right eyebrow. By moving my head around I could make out the images of the two thugs sitting up front in the van, talking and laughing, as we passed under some well lit road signs. From my vantage point on the floor, I also noticed that I could get a quick glance out the front windshield and was able to pick up on a few road signs as we went under them as well. I knew we were on the interstate headed north

I can tell you, I was a little disappointed in myself. Despite my training I allowed these guys to push me into this van. I have to admit that I was not prepared for the suddenness and viciousness of their attack. I broke the two first rules of self defense. I should have been more aware when I noticed the van parked that close to me, and I should never have allowed them to wrestle me into the door. I knew one thing for sure, I had no intention of finding out what’s next on their agenda.

I was still fading in and out of consciousness but was able to overhear the two guys talking up front. I could tell these guys were professionals, because they were cold as ice, and acting like it was just another day at the office. I quickly came to the realization that when we arrived at the destination they were taking me to, it wasn’t going to be pretty. If I was going to make it out of this little joy ride alive it was going to have to be on my terms, not theirs.

Even though I had lost a good deal of blood, I had the presence of mind to try and escape. Fortunately I always carry a small Benchmade folder in my pocket and with a little effort I was able to retrieve it and snap open the blade with one hand using the thumb stud. Just about then, goon #2 looked back to see what I was up to and I pretended to be still knocked out. I still had not cut all the way thru the plastic ties around my wrist, when he decided to come on back and pay me a visit while checking on my restraints.

I figured this might be my only shot at getting away, so when he reached for my wrists, I let him have it both barrels. My wrists were already locked together so I figured a double hammer fist would be in order, and served one up right to his temple. I swear that blow would have knocked out 98% of the world’s population, yet it only seemed to daze old Godzilla. If you don’t at first succeed, try again. So, In the ensuing struggle, I grabbed two good handfuls of his hair and gave him a little fresh air, via the van’s side window. Where are my manners? Damn, I knew I forgot something, like opening the window first. Well, since he was already half way on his way out, I grabbed the door handle and showed him the door. Now, that’s gonn’a leave some road rash. I was pretty sure that the thud I heard right after that was his body being caught by the rear wheel.

At this point goon #1 is craning his head back to see what has happened to his criminal in law brother, and the van is swaying from one side of the road to the other. I thought for a second about using the knife to cut the rest of the way thru the plastic ties, but as the saying goes…there is no time like the present, and opportunity was knocking.

I had the answer, with one quick leap, or should I say hop, I placed myself right behind the driver’s captain chair. It was one of those high back, swivel deals with the arms that fold down. Just as I reach for the guy’s hair, I get a big fat elbow, right in the kisser, for my efforts. Ok, no more mister nice guy, I’m getting tossed around like a rag doll and I need to latch on to something.

I still have my knife in my hand in an ice pick style grip, with the plastic ties still holding tight. The van sways hard right than left, just as I throw both arms over this guys nogg’in and dig the entire 4” blade deep into his shoulder, right under his right ear. The last thing I hear is a deafening scream, probably magnified by the fact that my face was about an inch and a half from his pie hole. The guy lurches hard to the right and with it goes the steering wheel, and then the whole van.

Around two, 360’s latter the van comes to a rest on its side and I’m still lashed to the now very dead driver. The windows are all smashed out and there is glass everywhere. My research papers were scattered all over the van and for 100’ down the road. The dark van is now illuminated with the familiar flashing red lights of the local sheriff’s car. I could hear someone approaching as they crunched the broken glass. It was a sight for sore eyes when the deputy climbed into the van, with gun drawn. He recognized me immediately from the last time he testified in court, and cut me loose from my ex-traveling buddy. I told him about the events leading up to the accident and my suspicion that these guys were hired to keep me out of the courtroom.

As the paramedics were bandaging my head and arm, the deputy confirmed that these guys were hired guns, and part of the Thompson organization. Just as he was closing the door of the ambulance the deputy stuck his head in and said. “Councilor, I believe justice has been done. Consider this case closed.”

P.I.B.

SECRETS OF THE MIND PART 1

SECRETS OF THE MIND PART 1
SECRETS OF THE MIND
I felt strangely at home here, my mind was at ease and my skin was soaking up the warm California sun. The seagulls circled above before they soared down the steep cliffs and plunged into the sea.
If it weren’t for the fence and the barb wire, this would be the ideal spot for a resort. In fact, after 6 months, I’m beginning to feel very comfortable here. From my wheelchair in the garden, I can see a few miles down the coastline and well out into the Pacific.
The one hour I’m allowed out here seems to fly by, and now the orderly is here to take me for my session. He takes off my handcuffs and leaves them dangling from the arm of the wheelchair, while handing me my daily meds and a bottle of water.
Out of everything I have to endure here at Cliffside, I hate my session with the shrink the most, because he goes over the same thing every day. I hate sitting across the table from him in my wheelchair and handcuffs, while he makes one diagnoses after the other. He makes me repeat each time that we are all responsible for our actions, and must suffer the consequences. I’m not sure weather I need him, or he needs me. I believe he is treating me more like a research subject than a patient. I feel like he is using me to enhance his own knowledge of my experience, rather than trying to help me. He is constantly trying to get me to reenact my feelings and emotions leading up to my attack, it’s a painful place that I don’t want to go back to. I don’t really know why I hurt all those people, I don’t know what triggered my burst of strength and vitriol.
Yet, I always act like I’m getting a lot out of our sessions and try to appease the old timer. After all, if he thinks I’m not making progress, and with one word from him, I’ll find myself a few miles down the road at the real prison by the sea at San Quentin . How the hell will I ever be cured, when he makes me relive my violent episode over and over. I’ve told the story so many times, I should just write a book about it.
It wasn’t always this way, I often think back to my life before all this happened. The time before my motorcycle accident, before I was committed to this prison for the criminally insane. This is the part of my story that I have not shared with the doctors here at the hospital.
After years of studying martial arts, I became obsessed with the mental prowess exhibited by some of the great masters. These men had devoted their life to studying and understanding the physical aspects of their art, but some how they had eclipsed the purely physical boundaries of their art. They had learned how to tap into the mental or metaphysical facets of their abilities. I watched in admiration as these men withstood tremendous pain, and exerted great strength, thru the power of their minds.
It occurred to me that each of us possesses a vast and as yet virtually untapped set of capabilities, just waiting to be released. Occasionally certain individuals unknowingly access these superhuman abilities, but very few people can do so at will. Up until that point in my life, I was unable to focus my full attention on my discovery, but that too was about to change.
A year and a half ago today, I was running errands on my motorcycle. It had just rained and the road was a little more slick than usual. There were a hundred things on my to-do list, and I was mindlessly driving back to the gym to get my workout in. Suddenly, I was shocked out of my dazed state when a tractor trailer ran the red light, at the corner of Lincoln and Main. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as I grabbed for the front brake and watched in horror as the bikes rear wheel came off the ground and I found myself flying over the handlebars and right towards the truck.
When I woke up at the hospital they told me I had been in a coma for over a week, and that I was one lucky guy. A quick look down at my twisted body and bandages, seemed to contradict their assessment, but I was glad to be alive. I had suffered multiple broken bones as well as severe brain trauma. The following weeks in the hospital were very difficult for me, however for the first time in my life I was able to just lay there and think. I started off practicing

SECRETS OF THE MIND PART 2

SECRETS OF THE MIND PART 2

my martial art techniques in my mind, visualizing them in greater and greater detail. After a while the experience became as vivid as actually doing the moves in person. As my mind expanded, I was soon able to experiment with new techniques, much more difficult moves that I was unable to physically do, when I was well. As a matter of fact, I now felt that my abilities were endless.
As I delved deeper into my new found mental ability, I practiced unleashing more and more of my minds power. One morning I was awakened in my dark room, the curtains were slightly opened letting in a small shaft of light. I stared at the bright light for a moment and then closed my quickly re-closed my eyes. The brightness had left a perfect image of a window of light, that I could see clearly, even with my eyes still closed. I my mind I used my visualization to imagine myself running toward this light and jumping into the small bright window, surrounded by total darkness. Suddenly I found myself in a place of extreme brightness, I could sense images flying by me that I could not comprehend. I was frightened, but also overwhelmed with a new and higher state of consciousness.
Just as quickly as I had mentally jumped into the light, I turned and jumped back thru, this time, back to the darkness of my room. I lay there for a moment in a state of shock, with sweat pouring down my forehead and into my eyes, yet I felt somehow refreshed and invigorated.
Had I discovered the power to tap into my full mental ability, like the old karate masters ? Over the following weeks, I experimented and learned more about this uncanny ability. I also discovered that our minds have a dark side, and that each of us has a potential for tremendous good or tremendous evil. In fact each of us has some primal inclinations to be a predator.
The Asians might refer to this dichotomy as Yin and Yang. The offsetting energies or qualities, that make the opposing traits possible, such as good and evil, light and dark, compassion and hatred. Without one, there cannot be the other. Nothing is complete without the interaction of the two opposite energies. They are not completely black or white, just as things in life are not completely black or white.
When I got out of the hospital and returned to my busy daily life, I again found little time to explore the far reaches of my mind. Yet somehow, I was changed. I had opened Pandora’s box and what was once reveled to me could no longer be forgotten.
Gradually I began to see the dark side of myself and my actions. Every person harbors a dimension of themselves that we all posses yet try to repress. Emotions such as jealousy, anger, hatred, along with their accompanying physical manifestations, often simmer just below the surface. Our need to be a social animal helps us inhibit our impulses and our actions. However, there just below the surface rages our true animal instincts, survival, dominance, hunger, avoidance of pain.
Many of us can go thru life without ever triggering these base emotions, however under the right circumstances, any of us can step over the edge. No one can know with any degree of certainty, if or when, those long dormant impulses will show their ugly head.
Now I live in fear…fear that those horrible urges will return. They say, that once you have killed, it is easier to kill again, just like an animal that has tasted blood.
I’m alone again now, I feel strangely at peace. The doctor, in his own kind of way, has helped me. Our sessions are over for good. I won’t have to relate or relive my horrible actions ever again. I’ll be leaving this place now, this place that has become somewhat of a refuge for me. I will not have to ever again worry about hurting my friends, or my neighbors. I wished the doctor had understood what I was going thru. I wished he hadn’t forced me to vividly recall the events and the sense of rage that pushed me over the edge.. The orderlies are coming for me now. They are unlocking the handcuffs, from my wrists to free the doctor’s throat but it’s too late. The doctor had made a terrible mistake, and now he has suffered the consequences of his actions.
Maybe there are some places we should not explore like the “secrets of the mind”.
P.I.B.