Saturday, October 30, 2004

Danny O'Death

I spent the summer I turned 16 at my older brothers house. His wife had a Danny O'Day ventriloquist dummy. I was stuck in a small town with nothing to do, so I started working on the art of ventriloquism. By the end of the summer I inherited Danny.

School rolled around and Danny's wooden ass was parked on a chair by my bed. He sat there night after night staring at the wall, never complaining. I pretty much forgot about him, but not for long.

One night I woke up just knowing something was wrong. I rolled over and to my horror Danny was no longer staring at the wall, he was looking straight at me. I froze. Those cold wooden eyeballs were looking right dead in my eyes. I swear he winked at me. I couldn't move or make a sound. Finally I called out my brothers name. Nothing. I called him again. Still nothing. I slowly reached down to the floor, grabbed a shoe and threw it at him. Bullseye. He sat up in bed screaming.

G: "What the fuck do you want?"
Trashman: "Turn on the lights."
G: "Huh?"
Trashman: "Just for the love of God, turn on the lights."

I knew my brother didn't have to fear the forces of darkness. He walked hand in hand with evil most of the time. Believe it or not I'm the good twin. He stormed out of bed, walked over and smacked the light switch. Salvation, the lights were on. I jumped out of bed, grabbed Danny by the throat, opened the closet door and threw him on the shelf. I closed the closet door, dusted my hands together, killed the lights and went back to dreaming about whatever starlet was the pick of the week.

The next morning I rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. All the happenings of the previous night were already distant memories. After relieving myself I went back into my bedroom to get ready for school. As I opened the closet door I saw movement out of the top of my eyes, I looked up quickly to see what was going on. In a split second I knew what insanity tasted like. It has a coppery taste like blood when you bite your tongue. Only it's cold, bitter cold.

There was Danny coming at me arms stretched out, maniacal grin on his face. I knew he was coming to drag me into the bowels of hell. Somewhere in the distance I could hear a bitch scream. It was a high pitched panty waisted sissy school girl scream. The kind a 12 year old girl would make if you dumped a bucket of worms on her. If you could spell the scream, it would look like "EEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH" only longer.

My brother ran down the hall into the bedroom.
G: "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
I realized I was the one screaming. I looked down at the floor. There lay Danny grinning up at me, as innocent as you please. He couldn't fool me. I knew he was demon spawn. I looked back up at my brother.
Trashman: "This fucking dummy fell on my foot."
G: "You need to do something about that dummy. Between last night and this morning, I'm starting to wonder about you."
Trashman: "He fell on my foot."
G: "Pussy."
Trashman: "It hurt."

G turned and walked back down the hall. I looked down at Danny, flipped him the bird and kicked him under my bed.

The next few nights getting into bed became an Olympic event. I would turn the lights off and jump across the room, hoping to make the safety of my blankets before Danny could snake that stuffed arm out and drag me kicking and screaming (like a 12 year old girl) into the netherworld. A few days after Danny attempted to steal my soul, I was sitting at school when a friend of mine came up and sat with me.

Dago: "Yo, Dude?"
Trashman: "Yo."
Dago: "You still got that dummy?"
Trashman: "Uh, yeah. Why?"
Dago: "Can I borrow it? I want to scare my little brother."
Trashman: "SURE!!!"

That afternoon he came over to my house to pick up Danny. I pointed under the bed.

Dago: "He's scary looking. I'm not sure I could keep him under my bed. HaHaHa."
Trashman: "I ain't scared of nothing."
Dago: "Thanks man. When do you want him back?"
Trashman: "Uh. Never. Keep him."
Dago: "Really? Cool. I can scare a lot of my cousins with this thing."

I thought, Dago my friend you don't know the half of it. Dago headed for the door and he looked at Danny and said "Come on Danny. We're gonna have some fun." With that he carried Danny out my front door like you would a small child. As he walked away Danny was looking over Dago's shoulder at me. I swear he winked.

Thursday, October 28, 2004

Whip It Good

I haven't been able to get on blogger for 24 hours. I don't know if I was the only one affected but it seems so, since everyone else kept posting. Now I have to catch up on my reading. The first thing I read was written by Jay and the next was written by Jack. These were two serious stories about both of their past's and the huffers they knew. Both, Jay and Jack have an amazing ability when it comes to story telling. They both make you care about the people involved in their stories and for me at least they make me remember the people in my past. I, unlike the two of them refuse to do anything seriously. My apologies to Jay and Jack for stealing your topic. It came back in a flood of memories and I knew, I better write it before I forget it. So keeping with the topic at hand here is my story.

The year was 1987 and I lived on the south side of Austin with my girlfriend Karen. Next door to us there were a couple of girls that worked with her. We all lived on the third floor of an apartment building, it was summer time and the parties never stopped. Usually the doors were just left open and people wandered back and forth from apartment to apartment looking for booze or drugs. The girls next door we'll call Vette (curvy, fast , and sweet) and Dizzy (cute, dumb as a stump).

At the time I was selling pharmaceutical liquid opium. Dip the joint in, let it dry and it made for a wild ride. Basically, smoking a low grade heroin and weed mix. One night we were out of weed, so we were trying anything. That's when Vette's boyfriend Jim came up with the ideal of doing whip-its. For those that don't know you can keep the Readi Whip can upright and inhale the gas in the can, you hold your breath as long as you can, toast some brain cells, and giggle like a schoolgirl. Well Jim had the industrial Readi Whip canister with refills for the O2. So the party was on.

The canister went around the room a few times, everybody taking turns doing brain damage. I think Jim was on his fourth or fifth go around when he turned blue and fell out of his chair. Well being the rocket surgeons we were, we all busted out laughing. After about 10 minutes it wasn't funny anymore. Panic began to set in.

Vette: "Jim. Quit playing."
Dizzy: "Is he OK?"
Some Guy 1: "Dude he's still blue."
Trashman: "Wake him the fuck up."
Some Guy 2 (laughing): "How do you wake up dead people?"
Trashman (screaming): "Karen come wake Jim the fuck up."
Vette: "Jim, don't die baby, I LLLOOOOOVVVVVEEEE YOU."

Karen was the only straight one in the bunch. She came over and felt around for a pulse. She threw water in his face. She slapped him around. Nothing worked.

Karen: "He's dead. He's fucking dead."
Trashman: "We're all going to prison."
Dizzy: "Are you sure he's dead?"
Some guy 1; "We've got to get rid of the body."
Some Guy 2: "HaHaHaHaHaHaHa"
Vette: "Are you kidding? I love him."
Trashman: "Grab his feet. Let's get him in his car and get him the fuck out of here."

Karen had to hold Vette down and keep her quiet while we carried Jim's carcass down stairs and put him in his car. Me, Some Guy 1, and Dizzy drove him way out by the lake and parked his car. We gave it a quick wipe down, slid Jim in behind the wheel, and satisfied that no one saw us we made a hasty retreat back to my apartment. We all took a vow of silence where Jim was concerned. For the next week Vette was kind of mopey but I took her to the Butthole Surfers concert and she perked right up. After the concert we went back to my apartment and the party was in full swing. Somehow everybody knew about Jim. There was 20 to 30 people there and they all fucking knew. I'm pretty sure Dizzy was running her mouth because she avoided me all night.

At around 2:00 am the people were winding down and just mostly sitting around high, drunk, and semi comatose. A few were telling their favorite Jim stories and making toast in the honor of Jim. I threatened to beat a few asses over beer being poured on my carpet. Just as I was getting ready to run everybody out, my door flew open. Vette and Dizzy started screaming like their guts were being ripped out. Karen's legs gave out and she collapsed. Some Guy 1 and Some Guy 2 started doing the backwards spider crawl across my floor. A few people bolted out onto my balcony. It was general pandemonium. I looked up at the front door, right into the eyes of Jim.

Jim: "That was wrong dude. Just fucking wrong. If you're going to dump a body make sure the fuckers dead."
Trashman (laughing): "You WERE dead Jim."
Jim: "Yeah. Well I didn't stay that way."

Saturday, October 23, 2004

Life On The Line...Conclusion

Here it is folks the end of this little tale. I would like to thank everyone who stopped by and read my story. It is a true story, the only things changed were the names (to protect my sweet ass). I'm not too sure about the statute of limitations on some things. There are lots of side stories that took place before, during, and after this one. I will touch on those at a later date. I have told this story one or two times but never in this detail, it was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I was amazed at the feelings and emotions the re-telling of this tale brought back to me. I have mixed emotions about ending this. In a way I hate to end it because of the attention you have all given me, yet at the same time I am glad it's over with. Hopefully it will take the paranoia and panic attacks with it.

Here's what happened to everyone.

WBG: Serving 5 years for repeatedly being busted for promoting prostitution.
Thug 1: Copped a plea for 5 years for involuntary manslaughter.
Thug 2: Copped the same plea, plus another 10 years for trying to kill his lawyer.
JB: ????
The Saint: Did 5 years probation for promoting prostitution (side story). Still gambling.
CP Boys: Waiting for WBG to get out of prison.
JJ: Training with Tim Witherspoon.
The Machine: ????
M1: Married with children. Feds raided his fathers house for insider trading.
M2: ????
Brad: Gave up family owned business to deal drugs.
Uncle Paulie: As far as I know he's still Da Man.
Kelli: Still crazy, always will be. That's all I know about her.
The Detectives: Does it really matter? They tried to get me, but they failed.
Trashman, Jen, and the boys: Got the fuck out of town at a later date due to more of my stupidity. Another story for another time.

This story covered a few months. I'm not real sure how long because I was cokeified most of the time. I really miss those days sometimes but mostly I'm OK with life the way it is. Yeah sure, I can't fly off to South Beach or Vegas anytime I want. Yet being on the straight and narrow does have it's advantages. For instance I no longer have to look over my shoulder all the time. I don't have to break out into a sweat every time I see a cop (I still do, but I don't have to). I love my wife and kids and it's great to be reunited (and it feels so good). LOL I learned a few things along the way, some important some not so important. I learned family is everything. I learned true friends like The Saint and JJ are rare treasures. I learned you never hit on 15 when the dealer is showing a 6. But I believe the biggest thing I learned is...

Pimping ain't easy... but it pays real well.

Thursday, October 21, 2004

Life On The Line Part 12

I was followed for two days by the guy in the taxi, then it was gone as sudden as it had appeared. Uncle Paulie must have taken care of my little problem. I purchased a black jack table, poker table, craps table and roulette wheel. The Saint and I were now in the gambling business. Well I was anyway, he just "worked" for me and rented me table space.

About two weeks into our little endeavor, things were going good. We were making pretty good money off The Rich Boys and anybody they happened to bring with them. I was dealing black jack to M1, M2, and Brad (he looked like Brad Pitt) one night when we heard the door open. I looked up and Thug 1 was coming around the corner. I think one of The Rich Boys shit himself because the odor in the room took a turn for the worse.

Thug 1 had his hands shoved in the pocket on his hoodie and the hood was over his head, hiding his face. He threw his head back and the hood fell. At about this time, the three brave souls I was dealing cards to, all shot back from the table. It was kind of like you see in one of those cheesy westerns. Thug 1 was looking dead at me and I was looking dead at him. I couldn't go anywhere I was sitting in a corner and my asshole had puckered so tight and so fast I was vacuum sealed to my chair. I dealt another hand of black jack onto the table.

Trashman: "Hit or stand?"
M1: "What?"
Trashman: "Hit or stand?"
M1 (voice shaking): "I can't see the cards from here."
Trashman: "Come back to the table."
M1: "No."
Thug 1: "You ain't scared?"
Trashman: "Nope."
Thug 1: "You don't think I won't shoot you?"
Trashman: "Nope."
Thug 1: "Why?"
Trashman: "Three reasons. One. You're out on bail for a murder you "didn't commit". So you can't very well shoot somebody else. Two. Your lawyer has gotten discovery by now, so you know my testimony clears you. Three. The Italians got to you, and you don't have what it takes to pull the trigger."

Now I know that was a stupid thing to say. You don't poke a sleeping grizzly with a stick and I thought I poked a little to hard when Thug 1 pulled his hands out of the pocket. I swear I heard M1 whimper. Thug 1 shook out a cigarette from a pack, lit it up, and looked at me.

Thug 1: "We're cool."

He turned and walked out. That was that, our business was finished.

Trashman: "Let's play some cards. I need to pay child support."
M1: "Are you fucking stupid?"
Trashman (looking at The Saint): "I'm tired of people asking me that."
M2: "I can't believe you said that."
Brad: "You're out of you're fucking mind."
The Saint: "Trashman knew he wasn't going to shoot."
Trashman: "I was cornered. My ass was stuck to the chair. My legs wouldn't work. And I ain't going out like a bitch."
M1: "You are fucking stupid."

Wednesday, October 20, 2004

Life On The Line Part 11

I left Kelli's feeling better about life in more ways than one. I guess we were on again. The next day I walked out to my truck I noticed a big black Lincoln parked a few spots down. The driver was obviously Italian. He was sitting in the car reading the paper. When I pulled out of the parking lot he followed me. This went on all day. If I went to the store, he would get out and follow me in. Everywhere I went, the same thing. He would park a couple of spots away and just walk about 30 feet behind me. I went by The Saint's shop and he stayed in his car watching the parking lot.

Trashman: "Hey. Saint come look out this window."
The Saint: "What am I looking at?"
Trashman: "You see that Lincoln?"
The Saint: "The one with the goomba?"
Trashman: "That's the one."
The Saint: "Who is he?"
Trashman: "Not sure. Vinny or Vic or something like that. I haven't asked. He's been following me all day."
The Saint: "Why? Is he a cop?"
Trashman: "No. I went to see Kelli."
The Saint: "Are you fucking stupid?"
Trashman: "I think he works for her Uncle Paulie."
The Saint: "Are you fucking stupid?"
Trashman: "What am I supposed to do? The paranoia is eating me up. We know The Thugs are going to try to catch me here."
The Saint: "Are you fucking stupid?"
Trashman: "Do you want this place shot up and turned into a crime scene?"
The Saint: "No. I guess you had to go see her. But she's going to be the death of you. If you don't wind up getting killed over this crap now you're going to owe Uncle Paulie."
Trashman: "Not even. This favor is for her, not me. I'm in the free and clear."
The Saint: "One of these days that free and clear shit is going to bite you in the ass."
Trashman (laughing): "Until it does, lets play some cards."
The Saint: "I'm not allowed to gamble."
Trashman: "Huh?"
The Saint: "It's part of the deal with The CP Boys. Since WBG called them a Mickey Mouse organization, they want his money, not mine and they're willing to wait for it. In the meantime I'm not allowed to gamble. If they catch me so much as playing quarters, then I owe WBG's debt."
Trashman: "I told you everything would work out."
The Saint: "Fuck you. I need the extra money."
Trashman: "So rent me a spot for a couple of tables."
The Saint (smiling): "They didn't say I couldn't do that. But that what about The Thugs?"
Trashman: "I'll bring JJ and there's also that guard dog in the Lincoln. I'll call Kelli and have Uncle Paulie speed things up."
The Saint: "When do you want to do this?"
Trashman: "Sometime in the next week. I need the money too. When I leave here I'll go buy some tables and have them delivered. If The CP Boys stop by, just show them the receipt in my name."

As I was walking out to my truck I turned and walked over to the Lincoln. I bent down and looked at the guy.
Trashman: "Dude. Don't make it so obvious."
The next day he was following me in a taxi.

Monday, October 18, 2004

Life On The Line Part 10

The next couple of weeks were fairly uneventful. I was out of business and I was relaxing as best as I could. I spent as much time visiting the kids as mine and Jen's arguing would allow. Visiting the kids became work in itself. Everytime I saw a car rolling through the complex at low speeds or high speeds for that matter, I would have to look over at The Machine to see if he recognized the people. He was good for that, he knew everyone in the neighborhood. JJ found out The Thugs had some idea of where I used to live, but for the most part they were watching the girls that used to work for me, and if that didn't pan out they were going to try to catch me at The Saint's shop.

One day I woke up to a knock on my motel room door. I went into a panic. When I looked out the peep hole it was just the maid. I had slept really late. I guess all the stress was getting to me. That's when I decided to call Kelli. We had a very on again - off again relationship. At the time we were off again. I met her shorly after Jen and I had split up. I was walking through a store in the mall, when she offered me a spray of some new cologne. When I declined the bitch sprayed me anyway. I turned to yell at her when I noticed she was a stunning Italian girl. She had a great figure, too much eye shadow, bright red lipstick, bleach blonde hair, and when I looked in her eyes I new she was fucking crazy. I decided then, I had to have her. The bitch was stone cold nuts, that's why we were off again. Right then she was the only one that could put a complete stop to this shit.

Trashman: "Kelli? You there, pick up the phone."
Kelli: "Hey baby. Where have you been?"
Trashman: "I'm in trouble. I need your help."
Kelli: "Come to my house. Whatever you need."

When I pulled up she was sitting on the porch. She ran out to my car and threw her arms around my neck.

Kelli: "What's wrong Daddy?"
Trashman: "We can play later. Right now I need you to listen to me."
Kelli: "OK. What do you need me to do?"

I ran the whole story by her. The whole time she was looking at me with those crazy green eyes. It was hard to keep my mind on the matters at hand. After I finished the story we stood up and went in the house. She sat me at the kitchen table and picked up the phone. She called her Uncle Paulie (for lack of a better name). This part was relayed to me by her.

Kelli: "Uncle Paulie, I need you to do something."
UP: "What do you need?"
Kelli: "My boy friend is in some trouble and I need you to make it go away."
UP: "Is that the same guy from Vegas?"
Kelli: "He didn't mean any disrespect."
UP: "I asked IS that the same guy from Vegas?"
Kelli: "Yes sir."
UP: "I like him. He's got balls."
Kelli: "So, you'll do this for me?"
UP: "What's the nature of his problem?"

Kelli ran the story by her Uncle. She told him everything, including the fact Jen and the boys might be in danger.

UP: "So, your boyfriend is married and you're the goomar?"
Kelli: "It's not like that. They're split up and they're not ever getting back together."
UP: "You sure? I don't want you getting hurt."
Kelli: "What's going to hurt me is if I lose him to those killers."
UP: "OK. I'll take care of it. I need their names and where I can find them."
Kelli: "Thug 1 and Thug 2. They run drugs in P-Town."
UP: "Ask you're boyfriend if he wants a job."
Kelli: "He can't work for you."
UP: "Why not?"
Kelli: "He gets himself in enough trouble."

Saturday, October 16, 2004

Life On The Line Part 9

I was in the front yard playing with my kids when JJ showed up. I normally didn't let anyone talk business to me when I was visiting my kids but JJ seemed real nervous.

JJ: "Did you hear?"
Trashman: "Hear what?"
JJ: "The Thugs got arrested last week."
Trashman: "So. They'll never get bail."
JJ: "They already paid it."
Trashman: "How the hell did that happen. There's no bail on a murder charge."
JJ: "Their bail was a million each. They paid it no problem."
Trashman: "OK. That's no fucking surprise."
JJ: "One other thing."
Trashman: "What?"
JJ: "JB told them you went to the cops."
Trashman: "Let me get my kids inside."

I went and got Jen to take the kids inside. It was time to go because we were due to start arguing again. I didn't want the kids to see or hear anymore than they had to. JJ and I got into his car and went for a little ride.

Trashman: "Did you hear anything else?"
JJ: "Yeah. The Thugs want you dead."
Trashman: "OK. Here's what we do. Find The Machine and tell him to hang around close to Jen and the boys, if he sees anyone new in the neighborhood he needs to get in touch with either me or you. Make sure he understands, nothing and I mean nothing happens to them. This is my problem not theirs."
JJ: "Not a problem. What do you want me to do?"
Trashman: "You need to be available to me 24/7. At the same time you need to find out how much they know about me. If it comes down to it, I can take Thug 1, but I need you to keep Thug 2 off of me. He's dangerous."
JJ: "I can take care of both of them."
Trashman: "I know, but Thug 2 is a handful. I would rather you didn't try them both at the same time."
JJ: "You know Dad, you never let me have any fun."
Trashman: "This ain't fun time JJ. These idiots want me dead and we have to make sure Jen and the boys are safe."
JJ: "I'm sorry. I'm just trying to be funny."
Trashman: "It's cool. I know what your doing. Go get The Machine, I'm going to get the super to let him use the apartment across from Jen, so he can keep an eye on her."
JJ: "Will the douche bag do that for you? All he ever does is give me a hard time."
Trashman: "Well you trashed your apartment, and you cause problems, and he gets his coke from me."
JJ (laughing): "Sometimes it pays to know people."

I had JJ drop me off at the super's office. I watched him drive off towards The Machine's house. JJ was as loyal a friend as I have ever had. He would do anything I needed him to and never expect anything in return. Thug 2 was dangerous but JJ was far more dangerous. Thug 2 did things for his benefit only. JJ did it out of love. His Dad had moved him into the apartment when he was 16 and only came back to pay the rent or drop of groceries. For the next two years I was the closest thing he had to a father. He was completely out of control and well on his way to jail. I turned him around (sort of) and got him to use his brains. He is a smart kid, he just never learned to stop and think before he acted. That's all different now. He was well trained in some kind of martial arts. I'm not sure which one, but it's one of those maim and destroy kinds. His teacher told me JJ was a natural born killer. He learned in two days what it took most people six months to learn. I wasn't worried about me.

We got The Machine set up in the apartment across from Jen. He had his instructions, and I didn't worry for one second that he wouldn't follow them. Like JJ he didn't have a father and I had kept my eye on him as he was growing up. When it came to me he suffered from severe hero worship. He knew what I did for a living and he wanted to be a part of it so bad he could taste it. I kept him out of it basically because he just didn't have what it took to make good decisions. If things got a little hairy he wouldn't think his way out, he would use his strength. He didn't have the brains and skill that JJ had. There was a reason we called him The Machine. He was Six feet Four inches and 325 pounds of raw, unstoppable power, that was incapable of thinking. Since I had The Machine watching Jen and the boys, I didn't have to worry about them either.

Friday, October 15, 2004

Life On The Line Part 8

The next day The Saint went downtown and talked to the cops. He managed to convince them he was never WBG's partner. They tried to convince him the meeting between WBG and The Thugs happened a week before Easter, but he stuck to his guns. So we both managed to come out of the mess unscathed. Everything quietened down for a few weeks, that is until JB showed up at my office.

Trashman: "Get the fuck out of here."
JB: "I need a job man."
Trashman: "Didn't I just tell you to get the fuck out of here."
JB: "Really dude I need a job."
Trashman: "If I have to throw you out I will, and I won't use the fucking door."
JB: "OK OK I'm going, but let me ask you a question first."
Trashman: "I ain't in the mood for your shit."
JB: "I just want to know if I'm going to be hit."
Trashman; "As long as you're out of here in five seconds I won't hit you."
JB: "No. I want to know if I'm going to be killed like PRK was."
Trashman: "What the fuck are you talking about? You know as well as I do that had nothing to do with WBG and you know I had nothing to do with it. Wait a minute are you wearing a wire?"
JB: "I'm going. I'm going."
Trashman: "You little rat fuck."
JB: "I'm sorry man."
Trashman: "Get the fuck out and just in case they can't hear me right now tell those fucking asshole detectives to fucking call me."
JB: "I...I...I don't know what you're talking about."
Trashman: "FUCK YOU. GET OUT."

JB ran out like his ass was on fire. The first thing I did was call The Saint and tell him what the cops just tried to pull and he needed to watch his step. The next day I received a call from Detective 1.

Detective 1: "JB was by here and said you threatened him."
Trashman: "Fuck you. You heard it all on the wire. I told him to leave my property, he was trespassing."
Detective 1: "Wire? What wire? I don't know what you're talking about."
Trashman: "Eat shit. You're still trying to connect me to the murder. You've got a hard on for me. In fact I think you're in love with me. Come on Detective 1 you know you wanna stick it in my ass."
Detective 1: "You know using that language over the phone is a crime."
Trashman: "Whatever. I will tell you this. From now on I only deal with Detective 2. I'm done dealing with you. I'm starting to think you're dirtier than I am."
Detective 1: "Let me tell you something you fuck. You're the criminal, not me. I call the shots, not you."
Trashman: "You know using that sort of language over the phone is a crime."
Detective 1: "Fuck you. You piece of..."
Trashman: "Goodbye detective."

I hung up the phone. Enough was enough. I closed down my little operation. There was no way I was going to jail for promoting prostitution after I had just dodged the bullet in the murder investigation. I figured I could live off the winnings I would get from playing cards with the rich boys that hung around The Saints shop. I had enough money I wouldn't have to worry for a while.

Everything smoothed out again for a few weeks. I was just starting to relax. Then JJ (my two legged pit bull) came to see me. He had one of those looks on his face. The kind that says I should be really worried.

Wednesday, October 13, 2004

Life On The Line Part 7

I laid the story out from the beginning. The whole time The Saint sat there staring at me like I grew another head. When I was done he laid his head on the desk, he stayed that way for awhile. He eventually looked up at me. I don't believe I've ever see anyone turn that pale. He knew as well as I did he could never survive in jail.

The Saint: "What do I do?"
Trashman: "Go in and offer testimony. They're trying to say you are WBG's partner."
The Saint: "I'm not his fucking partner. You were."
Trashman: "I know that, but they want to believe otherwise. I think you should go to them before they come looking for you."
The Saint: "How do I tell them I found out? You weren't supposed to tell anyone."
Trashman: "Tell them JB told you. I think they're mad at him for not telling the truth about the ass kicking anyway. This will piss them off at him even more."
The Saint: "What do I do about WBG?"
Trashman: "Distance yourself from him. If he owes you, collect and if you owe him, pay up. But whatever you do stay the fuck away from him."
The Saint: "I have another problem."
Trashman: "We can't afford another problem."
The Saint: "WBG is into the CP Boys for about 50 grand. He told them he wasn't paying them and that they were a Mickey Mouse operation."
Trashman: "Let me guess. You vouched for him?"
The Saint: "I'm going to have to tell them that he is being investigated so that they will stay away from him, and you now what that means."
Trashman: "You assume his debt."
The Saint: "What the fuck am I going to do? I don't have 50 grand."
Trashman: "We'll cross that bridge later, just be sure you tell them."
The Saint: "Ohhh. I am so fucked."
Trashman: "We'll get the money even if we have to go to Vegas to do it. Just buy some time."
The Saint: "I don't know how much I can buy."
Trashman: "The CP Boys know your good for it. They'll give us what we need. If I have to I'll bust WBG's legs for them, it would be worth the time after this crap. Plus I might be safer in jail after Thug 1 finds out I talked to the cops.
The Saint: "Oh shit, I forgot I owe him a grand."
Trashman: "Wwwhhhhyyyy?"
The Saint: "We were shooting craps."
Trashman: "Pay him and keep him away from here."
The Saint: "OK. OK. Uh how do I keep him away?"
Trashman: "Tell him you quit gambling or something. I don't know. Tell him you just got a big contract and you're going to be too busy to gamble. Just keep him away."
The Saint: "You know he's going to find out."
Trashman: "Yeah but we don't have to rush it. In the meantime I'll send JJ (my two legged pit-bull) by here and you can put him to work. He'll keep you safe."
The Saint: "I could use the help. Will he work for $9.00 an hour?"
Trashman: "Put him on the books and I'll make the rest up to him. He can still do collections at night."
The Saint: "Who do I talk to down at the cop shop?"
Trashman: "Ask for Detective 2. He seems like a straight shooter. Just answer the questions, don't offer any information."
The Saint: "Are we going to be OK?"
Trashman: "We'll be fine. I have a lot of thinking to do, so I'm going to go. Walk outside with me."

On the way to my truck I stopped and looked at the 15 story building again.

Trashman: "Who all has offices in that building?"
The Saint: "Most of it is the bank and a bunch of lawyers. I think up near the top they have some F.B.I. offices. Why?"
Trashman (smiling): "Wait until you see the pictures."

Life On The Line Part 6

Let the fight begin.

DA: "Are you sure the meeting didn't take place a week earlier?"
Trashman: "I'm positive."
Detective 1: "It needs to happen a week earlier."
Trashman: "What do you mean it needs to happen? It already happened."
Detective 2: "What he means is are you really sure it, didn't happen a week earlier?"
The pressure to please was starting to mount.
Trashman: "I guess it could have happened sooner?"
DA: "Good, put it in his statement it happened a week before Easter."
Trashman: "WAIT. It happened two days before Easter. I'm not signing anything that says different."
DA: "We have very reliable witnesses that saw the thugs kill PRK. It must be because WBG hired them to do it."
Trashman: "I don't care if The Pope himself saw it. They didn't do it because WBG paid them to. I would love to tell you he did, but he didn't."
Detective 1: "Then why did they do it?"
Trashman: "Once again you're asking the wrong mother fucker. Maybe it was a dope deal. I used to get my coke from Thug 1."
DA: "You know, we're going to have to rethink our deal?"
Trashman: "You rethink anything you want. I have signed papers and your not going to get me to lie about the date."
Detective 1: "Our other witness says it happened a week before Easter."
Trashman: "JB is an idiot. He'll tell you anything you want to hear, especially if he thinks you're going to put him in jail."
Detective 1: "What makes you think it's JB?"
Trashman: "Well let's see. You're trying to build a case against The Thugs, WBG, and possibly The Saint. You gave up on the case against me because you thought my testimony would help. Oh yeah and the fact JB was the only other person around."
Detective 2: "You sure you don't want a job?"
Trashman: "Nah. I don't like cops. Listen guys, I'm sure The Thugs killed PRK. I'm sure it happened when you said it did. I'm also sure WBG didn't pay them to do it. I know for a fact The Saint had nothing to do with any of this. I'm sure when you finally arrest The Thugs and it all goes to trial their lawyer is going to point out the fact they couldn't have killed him because they didn't know he was dead. Why would they accept money to beat his ass if they knew he was dead. You see gentlemen Thug 1 is smart. Scary smart and he got paid $1000.00 dollars from WBG to fuck up a guy that was already dead. He built himself one hell of an alibi."

I pushed my chair back and stood up.
DA: "Where are you going?"
Trashman: "I'm done here."
DA: "We might have some more questions."
Trashman: "You know where to find me."
DA: "Don't talk to anybody about this investigation."
Trashman: "My lips are sealed."
Detective 1: " Hey one more thing...."
Trashman: "Yeah, I know don't leave town."

The first place I went was to The Saints shop. It was next door to the sausage factory. When I got out of my truck I looked across the highway at the 15 story building. I couldn't help but wonder what offices were in there. I walked into the shop and The Saint was sitting at his desk smiling at me. I sat down across from him not too happy.

The Saint: "Where the hell have you been? I haven't seen you in a week."
Trashman: "We've got trouble."

Tuesday, October 12, 2004

Life On The Line Part 5

I sat back and surveyed my work. I was satisfied that I could make these Neanderthals understand.

Trashman: "First things, second. I don't work for WBG. I did at one time but then I became his partner. The Saint was never his partner just a part time employee and friend of sorts."
DA: "Then why did he pay for everything on his credit cards?"
Trashman: "That's how he paid us when he lost money to us, usually at black jack. I'm still surprised you were able to get his credit card information. You must have been trying to build a Rico case against us."
Detective 1: "Like you would know anything about a Rico case."
Trashman: "I know you weren't able to build one, that's why you brought me in as a witness on a murder case."
Detective 2: "You want a job when we're through with this crap?"
Trashman (laughing): "Nope. I'm going back into the escort business."
DA: "Can we get back to the case?"
Trashman: "I wasn't muscle for them. I did run off some collectors but that's the extent of it. I wish I had it to do all over again. WBG would be in a wheelchair."
DA: "Why did you separate from him?"
Trashman: "He doesn't know how to treat the girls. They may be pros but they're not slaves. He tried to force them to work and when I stood up for them it wasn't pretty. So we went different directions."
DA: "Weren't you worried about repercussions?"
Trashman: "No, but he was. He went so far as to try and hire some kind of security."
DA: "Is that when he hired the thugs?"
Trashman: "They had already done some work for him. When we went our separate ways, they were in the business competing with him."
DA: "How many agencies are there?"
Trashman: "About 20 just in this area."
Detective 1: "We want to know who is running them."
Trashman: "Ask somebody else."
DA: "Tell us what you know about the thugs."
Trashman: "Thug 1 is smart. Scary smart. Thug 2 is his cousin. He's not so smart but he's dangerous, and I mean really fucking dangerous."
DA: "Do they accept a lot of contracts?"
Trashman: "I don't know if they ever accepted any contract. They didn't get a contract for PRK from WBG."
DA: "Then why did they kill him?"
Trashman: "You're asking the wrong mother fucker. They came to WBG and told him JB was trying to find someone to fuck him up and PRK accepted the contract."
Detective 2: "So WBG took out a contract in retaliation?"
Trashman: "WBG only paid the thugs to beat on PRK a little just like they did to JB."
DA: "Why don't you tell us what happened in the boxing club?"
Trashman: "This has nothing to do with WBG being married to JB's ex. Except maybe in the fact JB wanted her back. The thugs came to WBG and told him JB wanted him dead. WBG paid the thugs to rough up JB a little where we could watch. They did a pretty good number on him, in fact he pissed himself. After they were done WBG gave then another grand to find PRK and do the same thing to him."
DA: "Was The Saint there?"
Trashman: "No, he missed it all because he had to go get a haircut because he was going to his mothers for Easter."
Detective 1: "That gave him a whole week."
Trashman: "No, it gave him a whole day. This happened on Friday and Easter was on Sunday."
Detective 2: "You sure this didn't happen a week before Easter?"
Trashman: "Positive. Why?"
DA: "PRK was shot Saturday a week before Easter."

Finally the last piece of the puzzle. Now I knew what was going on. I was free and clear. I was going to walk out of there with a clear conscience. Just a little more to tell the clowns and I would be on my way. The only thing I would have to worry about was The Thugs.

Sunday, October 10, 2004

Life On The Line Part 4

8:00 am Monday morning and I'm sitting outside the DA's office waiting for him. He finally showed up with the two geniuses known as Detective 1 and Detective 2, in close tow. I was finally sober and as clear headed as I would ever be in my life.

DA: "Come in."
I stood up and smiled at Detective 1 and followed the DA into his office. We all sat down and the DA laid all the pictures out again.
DA: "Here's what we know. We know The Saint and WBG are partners. We know you work for them as muscle. We know JB used to work for them until WBG paid the thugs to rough him up. We know WBG paid the thugs to kill PRK. You can tell us the rest."
Trashman: "You don't know much."
DA: "Why don't you fill us in?"
Trashman: "Why don't you produce some papers first?"
Detective 2 (laughing): "I told you he wasn't as stupid as he looks."
Trashman (laughing and pointing at Detective 1): "Don't you mean as stupid as he looks?"
Detective 1: "What's your issue with me?"
Trashman: "What's your issue with me?"
Detective 1: "I know a scumbag when I see one."
Trashman: "Well if it wasn't for scumbags like me, idiots like you couldn't solve a crime much less a crossword puzzle."
Detective 2 (laughing): "He's got you there. Let's sign these papers."

I read and re-read the papers, just to make sure they weren't trying anything sneaky. Not that I don't trust cops or anything like that. It's just that I don't trust cops (except for one) and he wasn't sitting there with me. We all had our turn signing the documents saying I wouldn't be prosecuted in turn for my testimony.

Trashman: "You kids ready for school?"
DA: "Just tell us what you know."
Trashman: "First, why did WBG pay the thugs to rough up JB?"
DA: "Because he was WBG's wife's ex husband."
Trashman: "Why did WBG pay the thugs to kill PRK?"
DA: "We don't know."
Trashman: "Why do you think The Saint and WBG are partners?"
DA: "The Saint pays all of WBG's bills on his credit card including all six of the airline tickets to Vegas. Yours included."
Trashman: "Why do you think I work as muscle for them?"
Detective 1: "Look at the size of you, and we know you scared off some collectors trying to get gambling debts from WBG."

I stopped and looked at the pictures on the table. I reached down and moved them around a little bit so it would be easier to explain to these "mental giants" just where they were wrong. Way wrong.

Life On The Line Part 3

The DA was staring at me and I was staring at Detective 1 who was staring at the DA. The only thing that was keeping me from breaking out in a sweat was the fact that I was completely dehydrated from the massive amounts of coke in my body. I had built up a pretty good tolerance for the white powder and I was working on the tail end of my second eight ball when the cops had grabbed me. After what seemed like an eternity the DA finally spoke.

DA: "Tell you what I'm going to do."
Trashman: "What's that?"
DA: "I'm going to let you walk out of here. But I want you back in here at 9:00 am Monday morning."
Detective 1: "Are you kidding?"
DA: "No. He'll be back. Won't you?"
Trashman: "I'll be here bright and early Monday morning."
Detective 1: "There's no way you're letting him walk out of here."
Detective 2: "I think he'll come back."
Detective 1: "He's going to run. I see it in his eyes."
DA: "What you see in his eyes is a lot of coke. What I see in his eyes is he's telling the truth."
Trashman (pointing at the DA): "I'm with this guy."
Detective 2: "You know if you don't come back, we'll come looking for you. We already found you once."
Trashman: "Just one question. Where did you take those pictures from?"
Detective 2 (laughing): "We can't tell you that."
Trashman: "OK. I'll see you Monday morning."
Detective 1: "If you're one minute late I'm going to arrest you."
Trashman: "I'll be here before you are."
DA: "Leave before I change my mind."

I stood up and smiled at Detective 1 and walked out of the office. As I walked down the hall to the elevator I had a slight spring in my step. I just got pulled downtown on a murder investigation and I was walking out. I walked like I was on top of the world. Ten feet tall, bullet proof and invisible.

When I got out to the street and made it back to my truck, it took everything I had to stop the shaking in my hands so I could unlock the door. I sat in my truck for a good half hour with my eyes closed, shaking like a leaf, and trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. Eventually I started the truck and drove back to the motel.

I got back to my room and dug out the eight ball plus that I had left. I continued my little coke party except now it wasn't much fun. My brain was going 200 mph and the paranoia was back. Except this wasn't ordinary paranoia. No this was the mack daddy of paranoia. This was the kind where you know everybody and I mean everyfuckinbody including God, Jesus, and Satan are all gunning for my ass kind of paranoia.

I started the second half of my coke party late Friday night. I ran out of blow by Saturday afternoon. I crashed until late Sunday evening. Then I went home. By this time I did plenty of thinking. I knew who the snitch was. I was going to the meeting with the cops, I was going to play nice with the good officers, find out what I could and put the rest of the puzzle together. Then I was going to call The Saint. He was the only one I could trust.

Friday, October 08, 2004

Life On The Line Part 2

I was smiling because I knew they didn't have shit on me. I was teflon, nothing could stick to me. I was smarter than them. I was coked up out of my fucking mind. If they were going to arrest me they would have already done it. Detective 2 had already let the cat out of the bag. They needed me. I didn't know what they were after but I wasn't going to make it easy.

The DA laid some pictures out one by one. These picture were all located in the parking lot of the sausage factory.
The first picture was JB (the kid the thugs had roughed up in front of me).
DA: "You know this guy?"
Trashman: "Nope."
The second picture was Wanna Be Gangster.
DA: "How about this guy?"
Trashman: "Nope."
The third and fourth pictures were Thug 1 and Thug 2.
DA: "Know either one of these guys?"
Trashman: "Nope."
The fifth picture was The Saint (one hell of a nice guy & a notorious gambler).
DA: "I know you know this guy."
Trashman: "Picture doesn't ring any bells."
The next picture was a mug shot. I really didn't know this guy. He was just some Puerto Rican kid.
DA: "You ever seen this guy?"
Trashman: "I can honestly say I never saw this guy."
The next picture was a group shot of me, WBG, Thug 1, Thug 2, and The Saint all standing together in the parking lot.
DA: "You sure you don't know any of these guys?"
Trashman: "I might know that one." I pointed at me in the group picture.

At this point I knew something really bad had gone wrong. I wasn't sure what it was yet but the hair on my neck was standing up and I was starting to get really nervous. I knew one thing, I wasn't going to let them see me sweat. All I could do was ride this out and see what happened.

DA: "I'm going to give you a chance to come clean and tell me what you know."
Trashman: "Come clean about what? You know I know those guys, except for the guy in the mugshot. How about you tell me what you know."
DA: "I know the guy in the mugshot is dead. I'm also sure you knew it too."

UhOh alarm bells are ringing off the hook. I had to step carefully here or my ass was going to be in the ringer.
Trashman: "I can tell you this. I don't know anything about anybody being dead. I don't know that guy. What's his fucking name?"
DA: "Puerto Rican Kid."

Now I know I'm truly fucked. It was the name of the guy WBG paid the thugs to rough up. Sounds like they might have gotten carried away. Being in the room when the deal was struck might make me an accessory.

DA: "I'm going to give you two scenerios. Your going to tell me which one is right. Otherwise I'm going to put you in jail."
Trashman: "Go ahead."
DA: "You were there when PRK was killed. Or you knew about it in advance."
Trashman: "Wrong on both accounts."
DA: "Didn't you hear me say I was going to put you in jail?"
Trashman: "Go ahead and put me in jail. Because if either one of those choices were right I would be going to jail anyway."
DA: "You're telling me you didn't know anything about PRK being killed."
Trashman: "Not a fucking thing."
DA: "I don't want to prosecute you. I'm after WBG and Thugs 1 & 2."
Trashman: "I'm not a snitch."
DA: "You don't have to snitch. I just need you to confirm some things. You tell us what you know and we won't prosecute you."
Trashman: "All I have to do is confirm something someone else already told you?"
DA: "That's right."
Trashman: "Put it in writing."
Detective 1: "We should read him his rights first."
Trashman: "You read me my rights and I'm shutting the fuck up. No way you're going to protect yourselves with my rights. No prosecution means no prosecution."
Detective 1: "Your rights protect you not us."
Trashman: "Fuuuuuck You. Go ahead and read them, then get me a fucking lawyer."
Detective 1: "You don't seem to understand...."
Trashman: "YOU don't seem to understand. I know how that shit works. Anything I tell you before my rights are read to me and before I sign a Miranda statment can not be held against me. Anything after that, well my ass is yours no matter what deal I make with the DA. You'll just go to another level to prosecute. Now, you want my help or are you locking me up?"

Thursday, October 07, 2004

Life On The Line Part 1

This is a long story. I am going to break it down in parts. I am going to try to write a little each night until it's finished. I come off like a real asshole in this story. I guess because at this point in my life I WAS a real asshole. Some will like it, but most probably will not. I don't make apologies, It's just what happened.

In a previous life I was a pimp. I know that some people get upset over the whole pimp thing. Jen does, it was a bad time for us. We were separated and I have a habit of letting trouble find me. It would still be that way but I manage to avoid trouble by never leaving the house. I am now devoted entirely to Jen and the kids.

Back in this previous life I surrounded myself with a strange collection of characters. There was a small collection of rich boys, some gangsters, some wanna be gangsters, some gamblers, some thugs, and of course I had attracted the attention of the police. This story involves every one in this collection of mental defectives.

I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was in the back room of an old boxing club located up stairs from a sausage factory. The thugs had snatched a guy off the street and were busy beating on him while me and the wanna be gangster watched. At the end of this little episode the WBG had made a deal with the thugs for $1000.00 to snatch up another guy and tenderize him for a while. Unknowingly he made a deal to have a guy that was already dead, to be tuned up.

We didn't hear anything from the thugs for awhile. Eventually they came around and said everything was taken care of. That was that, and the ordeal was over. Or so we thought. A few months later I was dragged out of a motel room by the police and my nose was packed with coke. One of the detectives proceeded to interrogate me on the spot.

Detective 1: "You Trashman?"
Trashman: "This week I am."
Detective 1: "Oh, I see you're a funny man. So where's your shit?"
Trashman: "What shit?"
Detective 1: "Your coke. We know you're coked up."
Trashman: "I ain't got none."
Detective 1: "Lean your head back."
I comply.
Detective 1: "You got a rock the size of Gibraltar stuck in your nose."
Trashman: (laughing) "Exactly, I did it all and I ain't got none left."
At this point Detective 1 drew back his arm like he was going to punch me and Detective 2 grabbed him and said "Don't, we need this guy."
Detective 2: "Can you drive downtown."
Trashman: "Sure, you guys got me so the paranoia is gone."
Once we got downtown I was seated in the office of the DA.
Detective 2: " You want something to drink?"
Trashman: "Sure, how a bout a coke?"
Detective 1 "That figures."
I just smiled.

Friday, October 01, 2004

Bring It On

A man died and went to heaven. When he got there, St. Peter started giving him the tour.
The first thing St. Peter did was take the man to a wall full of clocks.
The man said "What are those?"
St. Peter: "Those are lying clocks. There is one for everybody. Every time you tell a lie some time ticks off."
St. Peter pointed at a clock. "See the one that is at noon? That one belongs to Mother Theresa. She has never told a lie so no time has ticked off."
St. Peter pointed at another clock. "See the one that is two minutes after 12:00? That one belongs to Abe Lincoln, he told two lies in his life so two minutes ticked off."
The man: "Does John Kerry have a clock?"
St. Peter: "Yes he does, but Jesus keeps it in his room."
The man: "Why does Jesus keep it in his room?"
St. Peter: "He's using it as a ceiling fan."