Chapter 16 - Shock
Within a couple months? I was in my groove. My hobby was simple. Once a week? I was given the secret dough ball recipe. I spent my one day a week fishing, with my new best little friend. Sogger. We could just mammal-sniff it on each other. Dog pack instinct, maybe. We each had lost a significant other, and were lost now. But? We had each other.
I went through the trouble and admittedly minor expense? To really cater to my fishing companion. When it rained one time? As soon as it started coming down unexpectedly, I had the hand held disposable poncho out and ready. I looked down at the dog. Up and grunting, looking around at the sudden dark and wind and gathering possible storm.
I stashed him under my poncho, with less than a minute to spare. The poncho, saved me. It saved my fishing vest cum tackle box. Now Sogger. He figured out quickly, that his head was under the protection of my ball cap under the poncho hood. He poked his head out, happily dry. He watched me fish that way, until the storm was over.
I bought a second and third folding chair. As big and as strong as the one the old lady game me to use? But lighter. I figured, I would carry and give the other chair right to Sogger. Put my extra hoodie on it, in case he needed covers in the middle of the night.
I switched back quick, to the original chair. That I was given. It had the holy side tables on the armrests, and he coveted being right there. He looked at his own seat to himself? And over at my lap. He got on my lap every time.
I had a little buddy, and I indulged him.
I came up with another pay dirt gem, too. From persistence. Sogger wandered off when me and the old lady were conducting our weekly ritual gab session on the back porch. She idly mentioned? Oh, he'll just go down there, and go around some and do his business. I went to diligently look after little Sogger, naturally. Any excuse to set foot, really.
Sogger came slobbering and pig grunting out from the very narrow space between two existing structures. Too small for a human to navigate? A cat or dog used it like prime access made just for them. I had already been transfixed by it, however. A for rent sign, on a metal garage.
Another gem, from operation pay dirt.
My own cover? I wasn't from here. I was originally here, looking for one of the cheap and abandoned houses all over the place. I wanted one that would be water tight? Rest was optional. Cheap storage house. Using that enough times? I realized that for the cheap couple of grand it would cost, I should actually buy a cheap old storage house. I can always dump it later. But, if anyone with wherewithal to check up on me ever does? I'd look silly as hell if I claimed I owned a cheap storage house, and I mysteriously didn't.
Cost me two grand and some change. Had my own cheap storage house. I started staying there sometimes. For a hair over two grand? My cover was impeccable. I was who I said I was. I now called the number on the for rent sign. They said they could have a person there, in an hour.
I went back to gabbing with my old lady friend, and when my time came? I walked Sogger on a leash over, and waited near the garage. Some middle aged guy arrived in a pickup truck. Jeans and jogging shoes, T shirt.
"Hi. You the guy, that called about the garage?"
"Mm hmm."
"Thought maybe, you was just walking that dog, there. I know the dog."
"Aw. You know little Sogger? He's my fishing buddy. I'm friends with the old lady across the street? The dog's owner. I fish, her dead husband used to fish. Little Sogger here? He fished, with his daddy until he passed. Now? Sogger goes with me."
"How nice. So. You're friends with the old lady across the street. On account of her husband and fishing, and now the dog and all."
"About it, yeah."
"Hey, that's great. Now. The garage..."
The garage was a little bigger than a one car garage, it just fell short of a two car garage. Both by width and depth inside. It was old, when steel kits for things like garages were cheap and overbuilt. Almost two cars wide, almost two cars deep. You could, however, park about any single truck or car you felt like in it, and have comfortable room around it and in front of and behind it. For storage, tools shelves, workbenches... what have you.
Sturdy. Thick gauge steel. Probably couldn't even order something like this today, at any price. Beat up, surface rust... but solid and functional because the steel was originally so thick.
"Now. You're friends with the neighbor old lady. This one back corner? There's a tiny leak. You manage that, by hanging something there, to catch the drips, empty it or attach a little hose to keep it drained? You'll be dry as a bone in here. We can't fool with it, this is a business. If we get a 20 thousand dollar brand new vending machine wet? Its our ass. The house that came with it? Was falling in, we took it out and everything. The steel garage, though. On the corner, it stayed. But, I told you about that little leak."
"Not a big deal."
"You thinking about it? What were you looking to store."
"Well. I bought one of those cheap storage houses, nearby. I have no yard to park my car in, its on a hill. I have no garage. My taxes are so low on the storage? I thought a cheap garage for a car and a few other things would be okay. If it looked secure. But I see this thing, its all heavy steel. I'm allowed to lock it up?"
"Buddy. You pay the rent on the little one car garage? You can get drunk and bang whores in there with the door closed for all I care."
"I like it. Big question. How much."
"Maybe we should of tore it down when we had the machines in here, for the house. We thought we could use it? The leak, and its mission critical. If you knew what vending machines cost us, brand new? You would shit. Now? Cheaper to try to get a little rent every month out of it, than to pay to tear it down. So. You. Friends with the old lady neighbor. Local property owner. How's fifty bucks a month grab you. Nothing official, you understand. You make every, last, little... thing. Official? Christ. The little fees and everything, it all adds up. Cash? Fifty a month. Sturdy little garage shed pays for some of the taxes now, instead of costing us to tear it down. You don't make noise in there? Don't care what you put in there. Have fun. Storage? Is storage."
I had to more or less invent a few things I wanted handy, and right there. A few fishing poles and fishing junk made sense. A bag of dog food, too. I started parking my car here, sometimes.
It gave me the excuse to sit down here with Sogger. I wanted to try out this tiny portable grill, see how it worked on a fish. I sat there and tried it out. It was a great opportunity to just sit and drink in the place, visually. With no other access than rolling up the big main thick metal armored garage door, an industrially thick thing in itself? It was secure. You had to cut a lock to get in, I'd know when my key didn't work.
I worked a rivet out in a corner. There's a thin space right around the big roll up metal door, on either side just in and around the frame. When you roll up the door, you kind of walk in and look around. The last place you inspect? The couple inches strip of corner on either side of the big roll up door.
With a rivet out, the little hole was perfect for what's called a pinhole camera. Its what it sounds like. I set a hand held battery powered drill to low speed, and quietly drilled the rivet hole out to specifications of the tiny lens. The location? Was actually perfect.
You can get a small, cheap, high resolution board camera? Works really well in daylight. At night, you have two problems. Too much light at night? Makes glare. And trying to film in the pitch dark. I enlarged my hole, and went with what looks like a black tube of lipstick. Nick named appropriately enough? A lipstick camera. It ran simply forever, on a freshly charged 18650 lithium ion. It was good after dark, too. I ended up switching back from lipstick tube? To a different fairly inexpensive board camera.
It worked better at night, and had a reputation for it. I could swap out SD cards and lithium ion battery easily and quickly. The blob of a case? Was easily disguised and you really didn't notice it. I bought a small stack of really high capacity SD cards. I swapped them, and cut and pasted the date and time code named videos onto my tablet in a folder. I made other folders inside that main one, and sorted through them on whatever basis I felt like. I quickly ended up with way more video than I could ever view, but I did log it.
With no better option, I made seven folders. I decided exactly "when" the next day started for me, in my made up official world. I know officially, anything after the stroke of midnight, as little as the first second after midnight? Was technically the next day. I went with that initially, too. Problem was when a video started before midnight, and ended after midnight. I decided time it starts, determined location.
Now, with seven folders labeled for the days of the week? I could sort of manage the zillions of videos. Analyzing the file names, its simple. Its a number. The day and time form the file name. I could search for and highlight for a cut and paste into the right folder? All Monday videos, for instance. Seven carefully made cut and pastes like this, had my weekly filled up SD card, unfilled and logged by day.
This aspect, I left to brew. Along with the usual once a week fishing and Sogger trip. Now? The all but compulsory eat and gab session with the old lady, of course. Gabbing with the old lady, we mentioned a trip I had made to an Amish store a long ways off. Pestering me for any detail I could remember? I had bought apple butter, some home baked artisan loaves, and they had fresh pies coming out of a fire oven. The price was right, I bought blueberry and cranberry.
She had a blueberry pie she had bought somewhere the next time we had our weekly get together. She all but shoveled several pieces into me. Even little Sogger? Snorted and tossed slobber around in a grunting and twisting frenzy of bulged and excited eyes. His daddy might be gone, but his surviving mommy? Well, here was the proof he was truly loved.
Sogger snorted and slobbered into his own giant piece of blueberry pie. He looked up at us, grunting like a little pig, wagging his tail stump merrily? Blueberries and blue goo coming down and around his entire mouth. He's licking his lips and diving back in, furry little ass quivering with anticipation of this lovely treat.
Hell. Me too. I have better table manners than Sogger? But given that I have a thumb to work with and all and I technically know better? Not by much. I'm like a little kid, if you gift me treats like blueberry pie out of nowhere like this. Old ladies offer you bowls of milk or scoops of vanilla ice cream. I was in adult little kid heaven, I got both milk and ice cream on my blueberry pie slice in my cereal bowl.
How this in any way or fashion, supposedly goes with breaded and deep fried carp for the main dish? I'm not claiming knowledge of that. I have no idea, what the shit I next take might be like, and it scares me to hazard a guess. Three giant slices of blueberry, each bigger then the last. Three cereal bowls of milk and three scoops of vanilla ice cream.
All? Dessert on top of I'm now guessing might probably be two or three cereal bowls of breaded deep fried carp, dipped in ketchup and all but rolled in salt as I pop them into my mouth.
My next movement? Should prove interesting. The couple mugs of coffee the old lady feeds me, will no doubt help out as well in the final gastronomical explosion that's inevitable.
Now I thought the old lady's gesture of the blueberry pie? Was, just... amazing. I wanted to reward her back. Fighting with the advantage of a smart phone takes away from the achievement I suppose, but I located what me and her had gabbed about. Cranberry pie. Had I liked it? Yes, hadn't been what I thought it would be, but loved it. Better than cherry, I remembered that.
I located a cranberry pie on my smart phone, and planned on picking it up for me and Sogger's mommy. My gesture back.
So, I had finished up a whole night of fishing. The now well lengthened gab session. All that blueberry pie and ice cream on top of all that battered carp and coffee. I managed a couple hours of sleep, as I had fished all night the evening prior in lieu of sleep.
My scanner went off. I had my main home scanner shut off, it not being one of the appointed every ten days rule. My hand held scrub scanner? I had these channels programmed in. Only one went off. Usually? Base and a channel went off. And then, there were other base to teams on channels. A single call, and on that channel? Odd.
A couple hours of sleep had partially filled my batteries enough I could manage to get up, and get moving around. Not frisky, and quite the opposite. But, moving around. I was sipping a warmed up day old coffee out of the microwave, looking at the scanner. When that single odd channel went off? I got a direction on it, and made a note.
The thing about this channel was, at the heart of it. All the other channels? Got regular use. Home base, had more than one, though they only used the main one. They once popped up on an adjacent frequency, which in their world would be next channel over. Right back to regular frequency. Home channel.
The teams channels, likewise told their own stories most nights they went out hunting. Different teams took turns speaking to home base. Different teams shared channels, as they were spread around.
This channel? I had heard my team on, once. Hell, I even added this channel, and was lucky to have picked it up. Roaming at the edge of my little band I had programmed in. Now, here it was again. Middle of the night. I now had a solid direction on my tablet map.
I now like things out of the ordinary, to document. Right? This, is activity. In the middle of the night, after any bar or club is long officially closed. Not on one of the every ten days rule appointed nights, either. And, of all things? On that hastily added and almost never used, other channel.
So, once woke up? I can easily get a direction on the strange activity? Yeah. I got another coffee, and dressed and grabbed a few things and went off. If I can get a few more transmissions, moving around armed with my hand held scanner and my tablet? I can pinpoint the mobile location. They have to eventually stop somewhere, for something.
The hell with it. I'm dressed in whatever is handy around me, grabbed a few things and tried not to forget anything leaving in a rush, and... out the door I went. I fortified myself with a stop at an all night convenience store and gas station in one. A four pack of my favorite energy drink. A two for one deal on my favorite two liter of soft drink, if it came to that in terms of time in the field on this experiment. I splurged on a take out box. A half dozen filled donuts, and several quite enviable looking danishes and strudels and the like.
I can get continuous signal strength readings on any transmissions I hear on this weird barely used channel now, and as signal strength goes up? I'm closer. After I slam the meter at ten, I can use the "clipping" noise to gauge further closeness. A crackling noise superimposed as an artifact of going off the scale in signal strength, as an example a close by signal, designed to be heard miles away.
The more crunching, the closer you were. That was more clipping. The last so far in, was accomplished by a very low tech method. Take the antenna off? And see where got your meter jumping up any in direction. Anything close to ten, with no antenna? Should be right around you or up your ass.
I located them. I narrowed them down to this one long, thin, dark street. I didn't know exactly what stall they were in, what driveway or what garage or anything else. I know for a fact that I rolled right past them, because the momentary rise to slamming ten with no antenna? Means up your ass close. It was possible to roll right past them, and not really notice them.
I went around the block very slowly once out of their view, and came up behind them, a ways back. Lights out, parked. I could see things? But not well. I was watching through my cheap little binoculars I always have around me handy. I saw what I took for... what. Pictures being taken? That's what it looked like. The fact that flashbulbs were digital and everlasting now, in no way obviated their light popping existence for photographs. The ever increasing high resolution and imaging features on even cheap introductory smart phones? Had taken root a long time ago.
Middle of the night, emergency... pictures. Okay. But cops are strange creatures. County drug task force, was a strange breed of high end cop job. If they had even weirder shit to do once in a while at all hours of the night than regular cops might get saddled with? I was down with that concept.
They never were in uniforms when they worked on an every ten day's night, so seeing them once again out of uniform wasn't very shocking either. They had approached on foot after leaving their vehicle, with gear bags of some kind. They came back a little later on, after the pictures had been taken.
They left.
I let them go. For one, any more transmissions? I could simply take a bearing. See what was close by on the line in that direction from my dot on the tablet map. Locating them was no big deal if they were even still active at anything. I hung around a little, and after I was doubly sure they weren't coming back, I eased up and parked near where they had gone.
I wrote down four different house numbers on a dot on the map memo. Guessing that it was one of these, to document where I had seen the weird picture taking party go down. I eventually waited around a while, having another energy drink, and some doughnut and danish snacks. Cheese danishes with icing, really get it for me.
I got bored and drove off, in time.
I checked the time. Another hour? I could get breakfast. Then, I could get more proper sleep. Longer, anyways. If I managed to stay awake long enough, I was close enough to the cranberry pie place, and could incorporate that into my morning thing before crashing out.
I felt like an idiot, crawling around barely doing the speed limit because I was up all night and tired? But the hell with it, I went slow and careful. I retrieved my cranberry pie and got it in my own fridge, which I felt was quite an accomplishment.
If nothing else? I had an interesting tale to exchange, with my mentor investigator next time I stopped in for my weekend visit.
You see, when you receive the shock of your life? It doesn't always register right then and there. It can later on down the line, fast or slow come upon you. What really went down. I remember being fairly young. I was well into my lift weights and fight for a workout phase. What my one buddy called "typical young guy, tough guy effect".
Well, me and him were out. We had been fishing. He had wanted to leave, and try somewhere else. I don't like hopping around, I'd rather wait it out. Well I'm driving this time, so we wait. I finally dragged a tiny catfish out, held it up. He asks joking, if I'm happy? So we can try another spot now. Sure, I said. Just then, a weird noise comes. A raccoon, off in the distance. Making a hell of a racket, and making a beeline straight for my car. And us.
He takes one look at the lay of the land? And hops in the passenger seat and winds the window up neatly. I followed suit, and into the driver's seat I went. Christ. We're being charged? By a raccoon. Making a funny racket. Foam flying out of his mouth as he makes his noise, but this little bastard is charging hell with a bucket of ice water.
Before I can get the key in the ignition and going? This thing, is going full scale demonic. I can hear it going nuts. Squabbling noises, and scratching at the underside of my car. I'm getting pissed! I'm bitching aloud to my buddy in the seat next to me about this. What the hell? I didn't lift weights and get into fighting, all just so I can be trapped in my car, taking shit from a goddamn raccoon! Why, I just replaced those brake rubber lowers less than two weeks ago! That's the general area he's in! I'm pissed!
So, I get myself all worked up. I'm pissed, I look around. I find this good, thick, sturdy tree limb. I'm yelling, and now poking this pissed off demon raccoon in the face with this big thick stick. To get it from under my car, attacking it. Oh, I managed that all right. It now came straight at me. I timed it, and reared back. Like a big thick golf club from hell, I lined up this big exaggerated golf club swing? Made perfect neck and shoulders contact on this asshole raccoon charging me, and staggered it.
It tried it like three more times? But I was whooping this crazy raccoon proper when it came in on me. It finally had enough and it waddled off probably to die, I thought. What with all the abuse it had sustained, by not quitting attacking me like that. Still making the noise, shaking its head, throwing foaming slobber around.
I'm all proud of myself as I get back in. I mean, I win. I'm just beaming. I reasoned with the crazy raccoon. We drive off, to go to the next fishing spot idea. I'm talking about it, and I mentioned how it sticks in the back of my head. The foaming at the mouth. Like I should know what that means? But it slips my memory. Whatever. My buddy says out of nowhere? Shocked.
"Yeah. Foaming at the mouth. Rabid, maybe? You idiot. When a raccoon foaming at the mouth charges you? You get in the goddamn car!"
I felt sort of stupid at that moment.
Reminded me of the time me and a computer professor had loaded a big pallet of computer paper boxes into an elevator that basically went from ground floor of the university library? To not only the library floors, but the basement two floors itself, which was the mainframe computer installation. Why waste time, make one big trip. Our idea.
So, we close the doors and select basement two? We feel a chugging, and we drop and catch. Man, our heart is in our mouth, both of us. The doors won't open, the elevator won't work, and its just chugging and falling and catching its way slowly down. We rode it down, like that. To basement two.
We were both trying to figure out what had just happened, when I idly started counting boxes. What, he had asked me. Hold on. I counted the boxes. I had a rough plus or minus one count of them now. I asked what a box weighed. Oh, he knew that. They bought the good stuff, the 45 pound bond paper. Why, each box weighed... 45 pounds. I took out my trusty smart phone, evidently smarter than both the math and computer science senior staff professor, and his star pupil eager to help him do an errand. The number of boxes multiplied by 45 pounds? Was way way way over the number of pounds stamped in metal on the inside plate of the elevator.
We had "chugged" down, on overweight emergency brakes. We both felt like idiots, at that moment in time.
The rabid raccoon battle I had won? Similar idiot moment, afterwards. And that's how this idiot moment was. Days later, I was out for a weekend crash with my lawyer, my investigator, and me. A glass of wine. Food. TV shows and movies. Maybe a card game or two. I'm describing it while sipping my first glass of Merlot on the couch. Describing the flash photo middle of the night errand to my investigator. We're off to the side alone, my lady friend lawyer is busy in the kitchen. She enjoys cooking meals, and talking about and planning them. Talking about them after eating, what could have refined it. More cheese, perhaps.
"Honestly? Photographs, were not the first thing popped into my head, at the vivid description you just gave."
"What, then. Flashes of light. At the windows up there."
"Honestly? You sound like you were giving a perfect description. Of a hit. You sound like you were following a hit team, and they went and did their thing. Those flashes of light? If they weren't taking pictures, then... those? Would be, my guess, gunfire. It makes a really bright flash of light. From outside, doors and windows closed up? You really wouldn't hear it, down the street. Just tiny pops, from inside. But flashes of light, at the windows. That, you would see."
I was shocked.
"Really?"
Investigator chuckled.
"You do any kind of a news search on that address?"
"Uh, no."
He asked me for the address. I explained how I wrote them down once I got up there. Probably one of these. He typed them all in? And he started getting hits on something, on his internet browser. He eventually on one of the prospective addresses? Said that was the one, and waved me off of repeating the others, he had found what he was looking for.
"That wasn't a house you were in front of that night. That was a slaughterhouse."
"Really? Looked residential enough. I mean, anything could be zoned in a basement, or out the back of the property, I guess. I---"
"That's not the kind of slaughterhouse I mean! Look!"
He shoved his laptop at me.
News. A number of people were shot in what was characterized as a crack house by police. No real leads yet, other than your typical "probably drug related" phrases. Because of the bodies down, what was all around them, and where they were.
Same night, too.
When the dam finally breaks? It really rips open.