#IWSG - MARCH 2018 CHECK-IN - MUSINGS AND NO PROMPTS

Apropos of nothing and with no prompt, this month's check-in is basically, a half-baked melange of what I've been attempting to work on, in terms of fiction writing. As I think a lot of writers do, I try to incorporate real-life events around me into whatever I think will make my writing a bit more exciting.

It did, however, get a wee bit too exciting around here in October and November of 2017 when, along with the usual drug-runners, brain-dead meth-heads tearing around loose with guns and knives, we had a real serial killer pop up in our midst along my bus route. He approached and killed his victims in the one way I would never be able to defend myself against. From behind, and he'd put a bullet in the back of his victims' heads.

I'm not physically afraid of anyone or anything; I've fought off two muggers and chased two idiots out of my house who had the audacity to interrupt my sleep during a wind storm, when my stupid door blew open. A crime of opportunity became a humbling lesson indeed for two young men who didn't think that someone smaller than they were, could be so bat-shit crazy or ferocious. My only reaction to the invasion was one of pissed-offed-ness, as I have trouble sleeping.

But this scenario truly scared me. The TPD had grainy photos of some guy, who could or could not be the shooter, but who knew. That was when I started ordering food online and having it delivered for a short-time. I could think of no way to counter an assassin like that, short of developing eyes in the back of my head, and I'm not going to be around enough eons for that development. We did start pairing up and people were no longer walking alone; always a good thing around here, but I'm also used to my freedom and I hated this.

He quickly took three victims, beginning October 9th, and then, went to earth for about three weeks. Then, one night, in early November, an older man was crossing Nebraska Ave., about a mile north of me, and the shooter got him. The older man was meeting his Pastor to discuss the food kitchen they ran in that sector, and the police nearly caught the shooter, but he got away. The older man died and once again, another part of our community died.

This is what happens in any situation where a life is just wantonly taken. It's not only the man's family or his relatives and friends, but there were others in the kitchen who depended on him to deliver supplies, help prepare the food and serve the homeless. The damage is immeasurable and, while it can be replaced, it's never the same. The person is gone.

Two days following the fourth killing, the shooter, who was working at a McDonald's in Ybor City, handed a bag to his manager and said “Don't look in this bag”. Well, of course, she looked in the bag and saw a .9mm Glock handgun. She called TPD detectives and the shooter was taken into custody. Apparently, there had been some kidding between one of the detectives and the manager that the composite looked like this kid who worked for her who in fact, did turn out to be the killer.

Our Mayor, Bob Buckhorn has been hot about this from the start. He's a good Mayor and a good man. He's determined to see this man go to Starke, which is where our prisoners are put to death in Florida. Mayor Buckhorn was angry from the beginning, as the first victim was a young autistic boy, who had gotten on the wrong bus and was confused. I understand the Mayor's anger in this. Once again, the weak are preyed upon.

Here's what I don't get; this is such a mystery to me and there are so many questions. The shooter bought the gun in his own name, and waited the mandatory 3-day waiting period before picking up the .9mm Glock. Three days later, he committed his first murder. Shortly after that, he committed two more and then stopped. Apparently, the heat wasn't hot enough, so he shot the fourth victim, then two days later, gave the bag to his Mickey D's manager with the admonition “Don't look in this bag!” Who among us, wouldn't look in the bag? We're all curious. This whole murder scenario from gun purchase to arrest is like a connect-the-dots, and I take NOTHING away from the fine TPD. They work their tails off, put up with asses like me – I yelled at one of the officers for having his back to an open door, like I was his mother – and they work under a constrained budget. PLUS, they get out and they know us. I can't think of a finer force of men and women in this job and I'm so grateful for them, but just what was the killer after here?

The shooter was a recent graduate of UVA, in Sports Administration and he was not working in his field. He had been working at UMA at their call center and did so for two months, when he was fired for absenteeism. He then applied for and worked at McDonald's. He had grown up in Tampa, and recently re-located back to this area, after graduating from UVA, but claimed not to “know it very well”, yet as a killer, he appeared to know it very well. He also lived with his parents. For him to commit these types of crimes in Florida seems so reckless (it does anywhere), but, he HAD to know that this is a Death State and the death penalty will be sought. I cannot see him getting out of this by “temporary insanity”.

So, is this an elaborate new way to commit suicide by Fiat? By justice? I really don't understand. What about his parents? Maybe I cannot relate and as a parent, if I KNEW my kid was running around killing people willy-nilly, and saw someone who looked and walked an awful lot like him, wouldn't I be curious? Would I not say something? Or would I, as lots of parents would, instinctively want to protect my child? So, I cannot put too much blame on them. They seem truly, truly shocked and hurt by this. Their son did not even look like himself, at the time of his arrest, so maybe there is a physical reason; a brain tumor, as in the case of Charles Whitman in the Tower of Texas A and M University, in 1964.

I was looking for a way to work this into my “Nebraska Creepers” series, but it is way too soon. People are too raw and skittish. If I do, it will have to be through some miraculous prose-y legerdemain that I do not yet possess to pull it off. But, that's what's been going on in my world. I have deliberately left names and place names out of this post; it's lurid enough, without dredging up more pain for the victims' families. My health is continuing to improve and I have another rent-a-kitty. This one's a mooch. She comes in the house, sits on my furniture, eats my chicken and leaves. All in all, pretty funny cat! Anyway, I hope you all have a productive #IWSG!

#ROW 80 1st QTR – POST 25 – CRIME AND PUNISHMENT

Okay, enough high art, and fiddles, which in my eyes and after my treatment usually becomes low comedy. By the way, in the world of strings, we do call them fiddles, or axes. Unbelievable, but there it is. Although treated with the reverence they deserve, they are our kith and kin. Enough.

I got my crime report for 33605 this morning via email. I’ve been receiving it for several months. I signed up for it and when I received it and had a hilarious time with it, I decided to let them keep sending it to me. This is not the 33605 I know. I know for damned sure it’s not my wee ma’s 33605, nor is it a Wallace 33605. I’ll let you all look at this ferocious crime wave. I am sure Dostoevsky would have written something like “Crime and Scones” had he lived here:

Some laddies made off with Mrs. McGuires' pig, near Pentreath Ln. BOLO

So, I went and hunted up my own 33605. I don’t really need it. We have the Nebraska grapevine and it is pretty right on. We often know who got picked up on a parole violation before the igmo gets put back in the system. Sometimes, I’m not sure if I’m in “Guys and Dolls” or in “Clockers.”

We’ve got a batch of folks (I can’t bring myself to say posse, we might be a crew, loosely inferred) who were all in the homeless shelter together and some of us are still there and some of us are out here, but close by. There are about 5 houses that shelter near one another in this area. Our neighborhood association President, knows everyone. These shelters have a mix of everyone, homeless who are part of homeless recovery, felons who are on parole, sex offenders, B and E specialists, a murderer or two, mental cases. There are habitual offenders who steal everything that isn’t nailed down. I was there because I was homeless and a “victim” in a domestic dispute. I say “victim,” in quotes, because the guy I was with, looked a hell of a lot worse than I did.

Anyway, here’s the deal. Whatever happened is in the past. You’d be amazed at how far that gets you in the good will department. Some people do get violated. There’s one guy who’s been running around and I suspect he had something to do with the death of a friend of mine over the summer. I hated him on sight, because he is so very cold and a sociopath, and when I was still kind of frail, I fell between the washer and the dryer and hurt myself, badly. A drug users and one of the sexual offenders were beside themselves. They couldn’t pick me up fast enough. One was running around, getting manager to help me. They were still connected enough to people to respond. The sociopath just stood there and looked. That kind of guy.

I have to say something about sex offenders, or s.o. as they’re called. 90% of these guys are what they call “Romeo and Juliet” people. 18 year old guys with a 15 year old girl. Daddy finds out and bam! They’re in jail. There are some truly creepy ones and when I was there, they were singled out. Everyone knew and you can tell. They’re just fucked up in the head. The others? I lived there for 11 months and never a problem. That is just my opinion, but they are all stigmatized and labeled and their lives ruined and it sucks. I hold my hand out to every one of them. Their gratitude is overwhelming. They work hard to regain some kind of legitimacy in society. As I said our Neighborhood Association Prez knows they’re here. She said no NIMBY here.

This is just part of 33605. Red ellipse shows Nebraska Ave. Of course, some of the crimes include crap like the famous calling TPD because 6'4" tall Mr. C wouldn't do his dishes, so 4'11" D swore at him. Mr. C called cops 'cause she swore. TPD took one look at the 2 of them, told Mr. C to do his dishes and D to stop swearing. Me? I'd have arrested 'em both, just for yuks.

Anyway, we all keep each other informed about what’s going on. The socio-psychopath has no peace, because we’re all on the phones to each other telling one another where he is. He’s scheduled to go back to court for a Grand Theft charge anyway. Hopefully, the judge will stick him in the pen, where he belongs. He’s the Brainiac who ran from the TPD, after he’d made a deal of some sort with the FBI. Dumbass; I heard this WHOOP! And feet running south on Nebraska and Einstein went to Prisneyland for a while.

We are a little community; one of ours died recently. I was on the phone with Jason who still lives in the shelter. He was on the phone with Dana who was at the bedside of Jeff who was dying. Mike was beside Jason. We were all there when Jeff died. It was strange, but oddly fitting. We’ve all been through this hell of being in the system, somehow and landing in the shelter. Dana came to the shelter when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She and Jeff struck up a relationship; he was there because he was homeless and an alcoholic. They cared for one another. Dana and I talked about it later, crying on the phone together. We’re family and like any family, we squabble and we’re rather more dysfunctional than other families.

I had another little epiphany recently. One of the guys, Rick, who still lives at the shelter, works at one of the convenience stores in the area. He can be a pain in the ass, but, who isn’t? I’m horrible. He was the one who cleaned my knee, elbow and head when I fell. JC had had to go to school that day and wasn’t around at the shelter. Anyway, I said something in my stupid callous way; it hurt Rick’s feelings. This big, rough and tough guy. He proceeded to haunt JC for about 3 weeks and kept asking him if he’d done anything. I had noticed that Rick had been sullen and I hadn’t spoken to him. I just assumed he was going through one of his moods. I thought for a moment, after JC mentioned this for the 3^rd or 4^th time. He never did anything like that; this was just not like Rick. Big bear of a guy; I’ve seen him throw some punches. He’s the enforcer at the shelter.

Oh my God. Rick actually looks up to me. He does respect me and cares what I think about him. I would never have expected that because this is such a rough environment. You just let it fly. I can’t ever do that to people I’ve bonded with so closely. It’s like war. We’re foxhole mates. I told JC, “I have to make this right.” I went to the store and apologized and got him some YooHoos, his favorite drink. I told him, “Don’t you ever think I don’t care. We’ve been through some shit. You’re my friend. We can talk. If I say something. Tell me, okay? Are we okay, now?” Big grin. Aw shucks smile. All was right on Nebraska, or as right as it gets.

ROW 80 POST 28 – ILLICIT ACTIVITY ON NEBRASKA AVENUE 33602 & 33605

BOLO - Not This Guy

I’m pretty sure this is NOT the future my mother envisioned for me, when I was 15. I think she wanted me to marry some rich doctor or lawyer. At one point she wanted me to be an anchor woman?! Or a model, or other idiotic things. Always things I thought were boring or stupid, or damn nigh impossible. Nothing I would have enjoyed, certainly. My dad was pretty laid back about what I wanted to do; he knew me and knew I wasn’t going for all that folderol.

I started thinking about that last night, when I heard about Ray. I heard about Ray when I called Alex (my hardware counterpart in the ‘hood) to see if he was coming over for Thanksgiving, but Alex is going to Ocala and giving us his turkey. We’re cooking chicken and a ham for the ALF (Assisted Living Facility) people because they don’t seem to get fed very well and that’s what JC wants, so we’re by God doing it. I’m happy about it, too.

Well, during the course of that conversation, Alex mentioned that “Ray-Ray” as he’s called, is the psychopath, who stole the neon Buccaneers’ helmet sign from his neighbor that was caught on video one night. The warrant had actually been expunged from the Hillsborough Country Sheriff’s website, because, according to the Nebraska grapevine, Ray was some kind of low-level informant for the FBI, which pissed me off all to hell.

He’d already skipped on the Wade thing, true or not, gotten away with the domestic violence charge, pleaded down to Misdemeanor 1, but the Grand Theft Charge of more than 300.00, and less than 5k had gone *poof* and nothing. What had been an open warrant for his arrest was no longer even posted on the HCS website after the Feds came looking for him around Neb Ave. What the hell?

Yesterday, I don’t know what shit he pulled and damned if I didn’t regret having moved off Nebraska for say, oh, all of 5 seconds, since I no longer live directly on said avenue. I heard a sharp WHOOP! And then the usual bunch of Nebraska mayhem. This must have been early afternoon, since I typically sleep until noon-ish.

So, Alex tells me with great glee about Ray and to check it out. Anybody who’s honest has been plagued by Ray and his bullshit lies and stunts. Sure enough, it’s all there on the HCS webby-web. I’m not sure what he did that the Feds felt they had to rescind whatever little penny-ante protection they had given him, but all bets are off. Or maybe he just pushed it one too many times with the TPD. He really is an arrogant asshole with no brain cells to back it up.

The funniest thing in all of this? I called his ex-girlfriend, a very good friend of mine who’s possibly one of the funniest people on the face of the earth. Let’s call her H. H has had the second of her exes, living on her couch for a couple of weeks. When it rains, it pours. I had to tell H that we were having Thanksgiving at our place, blah, blah, blah, and couldn't come to hers, so I had a good reason to call, or let's just put lipstick on this bulldog, snoop.

I proceed to tell her about her first ex, Ray. She then proceeds to tell me about Tommy, the 2nd ex, sort of, the other weasel who lived with us all at FSJ, who used to piss me off and then run off. He had a laugh like the old “Penguin” character on the original “Batman” series. He was this little ferret of a man. 

H thought he was pretty okay, but he lied like a cheap Persian rug and nothing that came out of his mouth was the truth. JC was onto him immediately, and pretty much ran interference for me. Anyway, I didn’t think much about him, until H brought up the fact that he had called her a few weeks ago and was staying with her. I was alarmed right away. H had a hard time with Ray and didn’t need another user in her life. She spent quite a while getting back on her feet after her divorce. I needn’t have worried.

On November 8, 2012, H sent Tommy away and told him her apartment complex had a 2-week stay clause and he would have to go. Smart woman. She and I laughed about this. On November 9, 2012, Tommy allegedly tried to rob a bank, with a gun. You can read about it here. I told her all we had to do was get a couple of my exes locked up. Some of them have been in the Orient Road Jail, I know. Today, Alex came by and told JC and I that Bill somebody on our block got arrested for God-knows-what. “It does happen in threes, right?” Alex asked?

So, no one can say that I haven't had an interesting time. Bank robbers, psychopaths, dopers in the 'hood and all. I have enough material here for about 50 books. When I was talking to H last night, JC just shook his head. We'd look at each other and just bust out laughing. Sometimes, that's all you can do. Quandarious, indeed.