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Murder in a Warehouse; Chapter Two: a One Night Stand

2011-10-05T12:10:17Z

Everyone struggles at some point in time to figure out who they are, where they belong. Not everyone wakes up in a pool of blood by a pile of bodies with those questions pressing on their mind. I needed to find a place to regroup, but I couldn’t exactly walk into any place looking like I did. A quick stop at a truck stop was in order so I made my way to the edge of town. I made my way into the bathroom first before going into the main shop and cleaned off as much of the blood as I could.

Clean clothes, a first aid kit, a brush and travel toiletries. I would need to make myself presentable; eventually I would have to step out in public for more than a few minutes, and a wardrobe of torn bloody clothes would draw the wrong kind of attention, and plenty of it. I got the girl a new outfit too, but in order to not arouse suspicion I got her men’s clothes in my size. I knew there was a chance someone would get suspicious anyway. I hoped to God I was a quick thinker.

The lady behind the counter eyed me for a moment. “You O.K.? do you need a doctor?”

“No, thank you,” I flashed what I could of a smile hoping to set her at ease, my own nerves were jumping around like caffeine addicted kangaroos “just had a little spill, looks worse than it is, messy, but not bad.”

I paid for everything in cash and left. About ten minutes later I was pulling into a parking lot outside of town. One of those no-tell motels that gives you the option of renting by the night or by the hour. I planned on opting for the night, more time to get cleaned up, go through the evidence and run around that wasteland between my ears gathering my thoughts. It had been about forty five minutes since we left the warehouse and she was still asleep. No ID which meant no name, but it also meant a lot more. Whether it was her, me or the guys I had laid waste to, someone didn’t want her to be identified.

Funny thing about amnesia, you forget almost everything, your body forgets nothing. Your lungs remember how to breathe. Your heart remembers how to beat. Your hands remember how to pull back the slide on a gun so you can be sure there’s one in the chamber. Your legs remember to walk quietly and keep you pressed against the wall making a smaller target when you enter a room. It’s strange the things that don’t leave you, even if you have no idea why you are checking every door, window and peephole in your room to determine every way you could exit quickly, quietly and unseen or anyone else could enter the same way.

I laid the girl down on the bed and disrobed her. A quick check revealed only a few bruises and minor cuts so I cleaned them up and bandaged them then dressed her in the new outfit id gotten her. Hopefully she would awaken soon and could provide some answers. Till then I needed to get myself together and be ready to move as soon as possible.

It didn’t take me long to get organized. My bloody clothes, the wallets, the gun and knife all went into the paper bag I’d gotten at the truck stop; everything in one place, easy to get to and go through. Next I took all the cash from the other wallets and put it into my own and laid out my new outfit. Then I tended to my own cuts and scrapes and got into the tub. I opted to sit and relax but used the shower feature so as to let the hot water wash over me while I went through the events of the day, at least the ones I could recall, and try to sort everything out.

What did I know? What could I be certain of? I woke up in a room with four dead men. Assuming that it had been just me against them, I may just know how to fight. In less than an hour I had made it out of town, cleaned up and to the best of my knowledge avoided any unwanted attention. And here I sat, in a motel room with an unconscious woman I had carried through all of this, who may hold answers I need, and I was perfectly aware of every way in which this motel room could be invaded or escaped, from the front door to the bathroom window to that dog sized area behind the bed where the wall was slightly weaker and could be kicked through. All of this without knowing so much as my own name. As I pondered the implications of all of this the room grew dim or I guess my vision did, then nothing.

Suddenly I awoke to a splash of cold water. I snapped up, it seemed the hot water had run out some time ago and as I slept I finally slipped down where the liquid ice hit me in the face. I wasn’t sure how long I had been out, but looking out the window the sun was coming up. I got up and dried off as quickly as I could, dressed in a hurry and went through the door. I cursed my carelessness and looked at the door which was closed but unlocked, the room key still on the end table where I had left it and the bed; the bed was empty. She was gone.

World War Z(a pre-review)

2011-10-05T12:10:34Z

I can’t properly call this a full review, as I have not yet finished reading the book; however, I wanted to get a review of some sort out there and I am so far enjoying this read. The title is “World War Z” written by Max Brooks. The premise is an oral history, a collection of short interviews, of the great zombie war.

When I first saw this book at my friend Nathan’s house I thought it was going to be one of two things; It would either be a novelized “dawn of the dead” or some sort of parody. I was expecting either horror survival, or comedy. What I found instead was a book that if it weren’t for the constant mention of the living dead would read like a real historical account of world events. To be truthful it does read like a real historical account of world events. That is to say, the style of writing and the voices of the individual characters (mind you, the book is written as a series of interviews, giving the testimony of many individuals) lend to it a realism that is only broken by the juxtaposition of walking corpses.

At this time I am approximately halfway through the book, and though it is not perfect by any means, thus far Mr. Brooks has managed to give each character a distinct voice of his own. Each account, even when describing the same events gives a different perspective, a different “feel” if you will. One could say that the zombie hordes are simply a backdrop, as the focus is not so much on the undead, but on the human drama that unfolds in the face of a perpetually impending catastrophe.

This, I believe is the greatest achievement of this work of literature; It has managed to take a genre of storytelling that often focuses on our fear of the inevitability of death and expanded it to examine how we as people react to each other in the face of impending doom. Mr. Brooks focuses less on the livings interactions with the dead, and instead delves into their thoughts and feelings and actions toward other people.

I am looking forward to finishing this novel and will be giving my final impressions once I do. As of right now, I recommend picking it up even if you aren’t a fan of zombies or horror. I believe that it would make an interesting read for history buffs or students of human nature from all walks of life.

Hitting The Wall

2011-10-05T12:10:27Z

Runners have a term called "hitting the wall". For those who don't know, though i'm certain that it's a fairly common term it's that point when the mind, more than the body does not want to go on anymore; the mind tricks the body into thinking it is fully exhausted and can not go on. I think that there are a lot of areas in life where we all hit the wall. Sometimes we bounce off of it and move on in another direction, sometimes we power through it and continue on course and sometimes we careen into it and everything comes crashing down around us.

For the last few weeks i have been trying to wake up early and run three miles before work. Iwant to get into better physical condition for my next trip to Korea, also I want to have abs instead of a belly. Anyway, my pattern for running is to run laps on a virtual track (it's a treadmill with a picture of a track that outlines your laps), so it's 4 laps to a mile and i am trying to do 3 miles, that's 12 laps. I have been running 3.5 mph for 1/2 lap 5 mph for 1/4 lap and 6.5 mph for 1/4 lap for each lap. This is up from 3-4.5-6 mph when i started. Every day, sometimes before the first mile is completed, I find myself wanting to stop. My legs begin to ache, my lungs sometimes burn and occasionally my head hurts. To be honest, the thing that keeps me going is a combination of determination and self loathing. No matter why though, I keep going as long as I can; unfortunately today, having forgotten my headphones I only got in two miles.

Life is no different. Every morning when I wake up, I hit the wall. Unlike physical exertion, this wall isn't made up of aches and pains but rather made up of the voices I hear when my mind starts to explore the schedule for the day. In the past I have rolled over and gone back to sleep, I have put off the inevitable for as long as possible, and on occasion I have gotten up to face the day and everything before me. Every morning I am faced with this challenge, to get up or give up. So far I have kept on moving.

In addition to becoming more physically fit I also want to become more spiritually, emotionally and mentally fit. This, unfortunately includes social aspects of my life. Right here and now I want to apologize to anyone that I have offended or discomforted in any way. I confess to being a very insecure person when it comes to people I care about and sometimes I make mistakes, more often than not when I do, they are pretty big ones. This isn't something that I am ignorant of or complacent about. I'm trying, so please don't give up on me. If I seem to be around a bit too much it's because you're someone I honestly want to get to know more and to be honest about it, there aren't many of those. Of course I'm not looking to be a project, I'm seeking to be a genuine friend. So what steps am I taking, as falteringly as I may be doing so?

physical excercise and dietary alteration, my attempt to restore a disciplined routine to my life
weekly prayer meetings with people from church
learning Korean; I'm a terrible student, but I'm making progress
daily study of the Bible and prayer, again at this point i'm inconsistant, but i'm working on it.
would like to start reading at least 1 book per month if not 2(1 fiction and 1 non-fiction.)
trying to regularly update and post to my personal site www.johnrob.com

Recently a xangan, BFB1131, published a post about attitude. At one point he had said people should feel free to be negative and not try to "fake it till you make it". While in a sense I could agree with that, there is no use in being fake, if I were simply honest about how I feel, which I am, and did nothing about it I would succeed only in alienating people who try to care about me. I hope thatmiss Victoria doesn't mind me calling her out as I feel that not only is she a good example of this, but I owe her a special apology. In every communication we have ever had she has always been nothing but kind and complimentary to me, and I in turn downplayed her kind, loving(I say loving in the sense of being uplifting and showing a genuine kindness) words. Instead I allowed my view of myself to be colored by the impressions of my past and did not respond as I should have to her friendship. So, miss Victoria, I sincerely and publicly apologize, because I have not in fact honored your friendship as I should and it is my fervent hope that I do not make the same mistake in the future.

Making the change from negativity to possitivity is a challenge of epic purportions. One or two people over the course of a few months over the internet simply do not outweigh years of input from family and authority figures. So, yes, some people may be "faking it" but they are simply faking, and not trying to make it; the truth of the matter is any true change is going to come with growing pains and stumbles. There are going to be wounds and failures and setbacks.

In the end, no one can do it alone. Just as my music provides me with inspiration, motivation and distraction from the discomfort while I am running, so real true friends offer all of these things when going through the trials of life. How is that for a poetic ending? My friends are like music to my ears.

Chocolate Tart

2011-10-05T12:10:10Z

Gourmet Ranch

Ingredients:

- 1 puff pastry (the frozen kind works well)
- 250 gr / 8.8Oz of dark chocolate
- 4 eggs
...- 200ml of cream
- 125gr / 4.4 Oz of sugar
- Vanilla (optional)

Method:

- Pre-cook the puff pastry in a round mold for 15 minutes at 180 C/ 350 F / Gas 4. Put some dry lentils / stones to stop it from puffing too much.
- Mix the eggs, cream and sugar all together (+vanilla)
- Take out the pastry from the oven and grate the chocolate on it (after removing the stones / lentils...)
- Pour the mixed eggs/cream/sugar on top of the chocolate
- Put back in the oven for 20 minutes at 200C/400F/Gas 6, but keep an eye on it to make sure that it doesn't burn.

Wait for it to cool down a bit, and enjoy!See More

men, love your wives

2011-03-28T10:03:44Z

Not too long ago, there was a tiny little ripple about women submitting to their husbands. And though it really didn’t amount to much, the general consensus was WTFWhatever. Now, I disagree with the consensus. I think that a woman should submit to her husband, unreservedly and wholeheartedly. Now, before anyone goes thinking I have gone completely off the reservation hear me out, because this is only a segway into what I actually want to talk about. I want to actually address how men should love their wives, and though the Bible does not put conditions on either command (sorry people, you aren’t excused from your responsibility just because someone else slacks on theirs.) the two concepts are deeply interwoven. Because the submission issue was brought up from a Judeo-Christian biblical perspective - and also because, though many religions societies and cultures have taught “submission” , it is the one I am most familiar with – I will use the same perspective.

The Bible states that marriage is a representation of the relationship between Christ and the Church (singular collective reference to all believers on earth). In this representation, the man represents Christ and the woman represents the Church. The point that was already brought up was that the Church is to submit to and obey Christ. Great, good we got that. Let’s now look at the other end of the shelf shall we?

We are told that men are to love their wives. And that sounds great to my American ears, I just find a woman that makes me happy, marry her and bing bang boom it’s set; so long as she stays thin and pretty and cooks and cleans for me, and obeys me and continues to make me happy I will love her: WRONG ANSWER. So then how are husbands supposed to love their wives? The answer is both easy and difficult (and supremely difficult at that); we are to love our wives as Christ loves the Church (giving Himself for her). Wow, easy answer, easy to give lip service to, yet in practice it becomes much more difficult.

Romans 5:8 says “God commends His love toward us in this, that while we were yet sinners Christ died for us.”

That says a lot right there about what a husband is supposed to be; more, I think, than most men and certainly most Americans can even dream about living up to. It’s a real struggle. Look at the picture this is painting; this bride (the people who would come to make up the church) is an offence to the groom (Jesus), and yet He DIES for her. And not only does He do so, but it is His singular focus, something He refers to many times as He walks and talks with His friends.

Now, it may be easy to say “well, He is Jesus, we all know the story and if He is God then that’s easy for Him to do.”, really? If we take the Bible as a reliable historical narrative, and for the sake of this conversation pertaining to this part of history we are, then far from being easy this was something that He dreaded doing. The Bible tells us that just before His death Jesus prayed in the garden in anguish to the point that He sweated blood, that he pleaded “if there is any way, remove this cup from me, none the less not my will, but yours be done.” That doesn’t sound to me like someone who is eagerly jumping into a situation.

So let’s look at the picture we have painted so far. This bride was offensive to the groom, yet because of His love for her He submitted Himself to a dreaded fate for her sake. We could leave it there and it would still be an image of marital love that seems unobtainable, but let’s go ahead and try to look a little more clearly at it.

Jesus was not dragged into this fate, and looking further we see He had an unshakable resolve. He was offered an easy way out. Satan said to Him, “I will give you the world if you only bow to me.” and Jesus rebuked him. When Peter tried to rebuke Jesus for saying that He would die Peter received a rebuke in return, and a strong one at that “get behind me Satan”. Wow, when one of His best friends, speaks out, presumably with motives for Christ’s own best interests Jesus rebukes him in one of the harshest ways possible. He will not be deterred from making this sacrifice for the one He loves.

So let us look again and compare; how many men today are willing to take the hard path? How many will say “no” to their friends when they come around telling him to take the easy way? When the wife is angry and fuming and quite frankly unpleasant to be around, how many men would rebuke their friends for trying to get them out of the house and instead stay by her side until the issue is resolved? I don’t know of many.

I want to go back in to look at one more thing, and that is how Jesus handled rejection. We are told that He stood on a hill overlooking Jerusalem and wept saying “I would have gathered you under my wings like a hen with her chicks.” He did not get angry and slander the lost ones (his words for those causing them to be lost is a completely different matter), and He did not mourn for Himself. His concern was the empty vain pursuits of those who would not come. He was sorrowed by the loss of the people and not His own loss. This man who made his own whip and drove out marketeers from the temple cried over the people who rejected Him because of the consequences it held for them. We may be tempted at first to think this sounds like the abusive ass that says “no one else will ever love you”, however He did not confront the people and declare to them their loss(at least not in that way), rather wept over them privately with genuine concern for their well being.

So here we are, looking once again at this picture, which still not being complete (I doubt I am able to even attempt such a task) is a wonder to behold. We see a groom, who while pursuing his bride seeks her best, even when rejected he does not throw it in her face, but mourns for the love she walks away from. He never takes the easy way, instead struggling and striving, even when the method was something he did not want to do, to reach the point where he can finally give his own life for her.

How does that look in our lives? Ha, that’s an entirely different post. I think though that there are few women, if any who would object to being loved this way. Ladies, what do you say?

taking the ball and going home.

2011-02-21T07:02:44Z

ah, those rascally dems are at it again they aren't in the majority; they don't have the power to get their way, so they just don't want to play.

http://www.aolnews.com/2011/02/19/battle-over-anti-union-bill-draws-protesters-from-both-sides-to/

i was going to pulse this but even though it's just a short blurp i needed more than the 150 characters to say what i wanted to say.

teachers should not be allowed to unionize. should teachers be treated fairly and given a good wage? maybe. "maybe?" yes; maybe, depending on their performance. the lazy shiftless asswipes that are sarcastic to their students and do more to inhibit their thirst for knowledge than to teach them should not be allowed to ride on the coat tails of those who inspire thought and excellence in the student body. having dealt with both(as i'm sure we all have), i can safely say that the former need to be cut out and tossed away into the fry-vats and utility closets where they should be working. they shouldn't be shaping the minds of our children into the same twisted messes that theirs are, they should be asking them if they want fries with that.

as for the latter, they should be able to be rewarded for their own personal merits and not held back by the less inclined. perhaps if we rid ourselves of the "collective" mentality we could get individuals in place who will inspire greatness in the future generation and those individual students will grow and act in such a way that each individual will contribute to a greater whole instead of merely trying to feed off of it.

the voices in our heads

2011-02-21T07:02:55Z

I have had a few ideas rolling around in my head lately to write about, and though they seem to blend well, I think it is important to have some sort of order to them so that the end result is a bit more coherent. First I decided to post about the voices in my head. No, I’m not talking about some invisible little man (or woman if we are being PC about it) sitting on my shoulder telling me to warm the house with gasoline and matches, nothing that irrational or insane. What I am talking about are the voices of experience and memory; those voices embedded into the mind

To further illustrate; I was listening to June Hunt as I drove to or from somewhere the other day (I listen to talk radio in the car, whatever happens to be on), and she was talking about pornography. The relevant premise is that when one is excited, and in the biological sense I think we can agree that such things are exciting¹, that the experience is embedded in the mind and that the images and sounds often come back, involuntarily, to memory. So it is with repetitious events, or as a teacher of mine once said “repetition is the key to memorization”.

Using that same principle, as we grow the things that people say to us, the way that they treat us, embeds itself into our minds forming these “voices” as I refer to them. We may never cognicise them but they are always there, shaping our thoughts and influencing our decisions. They aren’t always negative and they can either build someone up to be strong and confident or they can cripple them. They can also be surprisingly devastating. For a woman who is always told she is beautiful (physically) but never affirmed in any other way, what would normally be positive and complimentary can become something that drags her down. It can take years to record over them and frankly, it is often impossible merely due to the fact that one must first recognize what they are and then be willing to allow them to change; to let go of them.

This is something that I have been working on/struggling with for years now. When I read Dan’s post about being friends with depressed people, I didn’t comment but I did agree. Though I wouldn’t consider myself depressed, when I take an honest, objective look at my behavior and writings I really wouldn’t want to be my friend; there is a lot of negativity and what looks like whining here. I myself don’t have much patience for people who are always down and needing some kind of attention or handholding, and I know a couple of people who are like that. They tend to linger in social settings until they can get someone alone to spill their broken heart out to, so that you are trying to have a pleasant conversation and there is a dark cloud of gloom hovering nearby, and it’s not just every once in a while, but like clockwork and on schedule. You could set your clock by them. I really don’t want to be that guy.

That said, in order to purge negativity one must bring it to the surface and expose it so it can be dealt with; Talk about a catch 22. So I find myself at times writing posts that seem to me to be whiny, bitchy posts in order to work out my own thoughts, and at times to explain to others why I think and act the way I do. Apart from these explanations I can offer no other words for my social awkwardness or aloofness (which is just a product of said social awkwardness), than to say “I’m working on it”. But hey, at least I’m working on it.

Often times when I joke around I will make some quip about being ugly or stupid or use some other negative descriptor. To me it’s rather funny (bear with me this will apply). But occasionally others will find it offensive, and with one exception I usually end up mocking them for being offended². This stems from a few of those pesky little voices. I have posted in the past about being looked over, looked down on and in general un-liked by a great many people and how this influenced me (i.e. whiny posts).

These events are the things that when I was younger, embedded in my mind the voices that speak up in every situation; those often silent, but sometimes near audible phrases of self confidence or self doubt. For instance, often when I am in the process of meeting people, or trying to establish friendships or feel out a possible relationship, something that is as difficult for me as flying is for an acrophobic, I will often say to myself, “why do you bother? You’re stupid and ugly and no one will ever love you”. This particular “voice” comes from a great many experiences, and not merely things that people have said, but by their actions as well. It’s an impression that has been worked into my mind that surfaces in social situations.

**ASIDE** at church one day I was looking for my pastors wife and walked up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention. When she turned around, it was not her but a complete stranger. I almost had a freaking heart attack because now I had to interact with someone I had never met before. It’s not like you can say “oh, no I’m sorry, I was tapping that person next to you on the shoulder” and play it off. Looking back on it (even a few seconds after it happened) it was actually really funny. I had a good laugh. **END ASIDE**.

For this same reason I absolutely hate it when people talk about me. While it isn’t something that will arouse my anger and sometimes depending on who it is and what they say I find it amusing; it most often makes me feel awkward exposed and uncomfortable and it arouses every insecurity within me regardless of whether the conversation had a positive or negative bent. In the past this also led me to desire that upon my death, instead of a funeral my body would simply be dumped in the wilderness somewhere and forgotten (this idea still appeals to me).

Now, I am aware of these issues within myself and I am working on them. steps I have taken include going alone to a resturaunt³ that had live music every Saturday night, attending a KC xanga meet, and of course, intentionally investing into certain personal relationships. It’s a fine line I walk because negativity can be a setback, but too much positivity can as well. If all I ever hear from someone is nice things, then it becomes a question of whether they are genuine or if they are simply being condescending or “treating me with kid gloves”, which I find even more insulting than just telling me I’m a horrible person who should die painfully.

In conclusion; we all have these voices in our heads whether we recognize them or not, whether they build us up or tear us down. For me myself, they tend to tear me down, but I’m fighting back. I don’t need or want anyone’s pity or “help”, what I need are true, genuine friends and enemies⁴ that will simply be honest with me.

¹ Exciting in the biological sense; in that it stimulates certain chemicals that have an adrenal effect on the body. This does not by necessity indicate acceptance or condoning.

² The exception to this was Leolani. She genuinely loved me and even thousands of miles away through a chat room she made it clear how much my remarks about myself hurt her. She is still one of the largest influences in this effort.

³ I rarely go out in public alone. If I want to go to a movie or a restaurant I will invite a friend. Apart from that I will simply go hang out with friends at their houses, so to regularly go to one spot without accompaniment, surrounded by strangers was something out of my comfort zone.

⁴ No rational person wants to have enemies simply for the sake of having enemies; however, it is inevitable in life that we will have enemies and it is necessary for rational people to be able to accept this. What I am referring to here is not that I wish to have enemies, but that I wish for my enemies to be plain and not pose as my friends thus undermining my efforts.

Murder in a Warehouse; Chapter Five: The Nightmare is Real

2011-02-12T03:02:21Z

I decided not to park right next to the warehouse so I parked the van a few buildings down and began to walk. The closer I got to the building the more I noticed a rotten feeling in the pit of my gut, keeping company with the increasing nausea. With each step It became harder and harder to bear up under something I couldn’t help but see as a dark premonition despite not being a superstitious person, at least, not that I knew of. Even though the last nights storm had passed the skies seemed darker than they should be and a cold wind like the hand of death was at my back. The old woman’s kept echoing in my head, softly like rolling thunder in the distance. Images, like the pictures all over the samoans’ place flashed like lightning through my mind.

I finally reached the warehouse and reached for the door. For a moment I stood there frozen, afraid, as far as I knew for the first time in my life, to move forward, but I was also afraid to go back. Having decided I was more afraid of staying where I was now than the tempest that likely awaited me inside I pushed through. Nothing had changed; apparently no one had found this scene yet.

There had to be something I had missed before. In my defense I was disoriented and in a bit of a rush at the time. I took my time looking around the bodies first, making sure I hadn’t missed anything but all I found was that this impending sense of dread was compounding by the moment. It was becoming difficult to focus; my mind growing more clouded with this dark feeling.

Finally I spotted something next to a nearby wall, a video camera. At last, something that was likely to provide some solid answers. I took it into an adjacent room hoping that putting some distance between me and the bodies would put me ahead of this storm in my head. Unfortunately it didn’t. The battery was dead so I had to plug it in. I found the outlet easily enough behind a desk.

I turned the camera on and once it started up hit play. It was one of those hard drive numbers so there was nothing to rewind. I hit play and all those bodies in the other room came to life on the little screen. I could hear them joking around, being vulgar as the young lady pleaded and begged. One of them struck her, and they were talking about what they would do to her. The floodgates opened and the memories flooded over me in a torrent of pain and regret.

Suddenly all those images I had seen when I was looking for my memory came to life. Dozens of women being beaten and raped and many times killed; always documented to keep others in line. Their screams roared in my head like crashing waves, their pleas like hurricane winds, I barely noticed the pain in my throat from my own screams and labored breathing. The samoans liked to keep souvenirs. All those pictures back at their place; I had seen them all. I was the one responsible. Everything came back, a tsunami of memories all at once; my grandmother who had raised me, the gangs I ran with as a kid and the man that I had become. God help me; I had destroyed so many lives.

This was a kill-house for one of the largest human trafficking rings in the country. Out of every shipment, one unlucky girl would be chosen to suffer our wrath to set an example to the others of what we were capable of. It wasn’t just a kill-house; it was my kill-house. Those corpses in there were my men. As the video played in the background I began to remember that night. Everything was a swirling chaos around me; I was being drawn by a current of terror into a sea of evil memories.

I had received a call from my boss that one of my men had been skimming off the top and he wanted me to get to the bottom of it and set a different kind of example. I barely noticed the events of that night playing out in front of me as they ran again through my mind. It wasn’t just one of my men, it was all of them and they didn’t take kindly to being turned out. In the end, they were dead and I was here.

When I finally started to regain my senses I was covered with sweat. I wasn’t a cop and that filthy pig I’d spoken to on the street was a dirty animal on the take, he worked for my boss. I would have said he was worse than me if that was even possible. Something stirred in the background; more memories coming out of the shadows to haunt me? Now I remembered everything from my upbringing to my current downfall. God; how could I have done such things?

My grandmother had always said that there is always forgiveness in God, that there is no pit so deep that He can’t pull you out and clean you off. “How could that be true?” she couldn’t possibly have known just how far I would fall; just how deep a hole I would dig for myself. I wasn’t even a man anymore, I was a monster. “God forgive me, what have I become?”

“Where is she?” this voice was new. It wasn’t a memory, I hadn’t heard it before.

“Who’s there? Where is who?”

“Where is my wife, the woman in that video; where is she?” I tried to piece together what was going on in my mind.

“I don’t know; she’s gone.”

“What the hell did you do to her?!” he ran up to me, grabbing the collar of my shirt and shoving a gun in my face.

“She’s alive as far as I know. I took her away from here but she ran away, I don’t know where she went.”

“I’ll kill you! Where did you take her?” I went limp, dropping to my knees and turning my back to him, I couldn’t face him. I had spent my life hatefully destroying people. This man loved this woman so much he tracked her down into the den of the devil to save her.

“I won’t try to stop you. It doesn’t matter what you do to me, I deserve worse.” I felt the barrel of his gun press into the back of my head.

“Where?”

“God forgive me if you can” the storm had passed; my spirit felt as calm and clear as glass. I still couldn’t face him or even look up. “I’ll tell you, then do what you must.” I told him about the motel, where it was, that she was gone in the morning when I had awoken. As I spoke I could feel the tension in his body through the barrel of his gun. I heard the hammer being pulled back. “I’m sorry, truly sorry; there is no excuse for what I’ve done I hope you find her.” I closed my eyes, ready for the end that I deserved.

Murder in a Warehouse; Chapter Four: The Nightmare

2011-02-12T02:02:59Z

My house calls took less time than expected and were less fruitful than I had hoped. By the time I reached the last house I had just about given up on finding out anything useful. As I walked through this cesspool of drugs and porn, I was hit with a wave of nausea so hard it doubled me over. The images these sick bastards kept lying around the house were somehow familiar to me. I couldn’t turn around without seeing some sick picture and I couldn’t see those without a nagging voice in the back of my head. It wasn’t like the voices those perverts doing life for serial killings hear, it was older, maternal. It seemed to be chastising me for something.

I was almost to the door when I hit the floor and everything went black. I opened my eyes a moment later and I was just a kid. Some older lady was chasing of a group of hoodlums I guess I ran with. She kept saying

“This is a God fearing house and you will not associate with the likes of them.” She turned around and gave me a smack that made me think I must have fallen out of a second story window head first and hallucinated all this on the way down. From there everything became a blur, the same voice the same face, sometimes comforting, usually pretty angry; “do not steal”, “do not kill”, “God have mercy on my grandson”

When everything cleared up I was back in the Samoans’ place, leaning against the door. I opened it and ran out, gasping for breath. I hit daylight and was just getting my bearings when I noticed some movement just to my right. A heavy hand grabbed my arm and pulled me up.

“Hey boss, you ok?” I noticed a badge on his belt.

“Yeah, just a bit woozy is all.” Still trying to get my bearings, I straightened myself out.

“The chief’s been looking for you, said there’s a matter he needs cleared up.”

So was that it? Was I a cop? “Yeah, I’ll get in touch with him right away; I just had to look into some things.” I played along, something still didn’t sit right. “I got one more thing I gotta check out.”

“Make it quick, you know how he get’s.” he seemed to have bought it. Just to be safe I made my exit and got into the van. There was one more thing that I had to check out, and it should have been the first place I looked. I pulled out while he was still standing there on the sidewalk and headed back to the warehouse.

Murder in a Warehouse; Chapter Three: Touring the Town

2011-02-12T02:02:27Z

So there I was, and she wasn’t. I had to assume the worst, I had a few murders and apparently a kidnapping under my belt now and to make matters worse it seemed the authorities had shown up. The lights flashing through my window signaled the end of the line for me. Going over my options none of them seemed to be great, but I was going to opt for the one that gave me the greatest chance of getting answers, and keeping me alive.

I placed the bag on the bed and went to the door. It took me a moment to work up the courage to walk through it, expecting to be tackled by a mob of angry, cops on the other side. I braced myself and stepped outside, hands in the air; Nothing. I looked around, no formation if cops, no swat team, just a guy pulled over for speeding or some other traffic infraction. I nearly collapsed when the tension left my body. Back into the motel to grab my stuff and I was gone.

The morning was spent driving around town aimlessly. I was looking for something but I didn’t know exactly what. Every street, every corner drugstore had just enough of a ring of familiarity to set my mind on fire, pounding against a concrete wall that never quite gave. Around noon I decided to get something to eat and pulled in to a greasy spoon diner that looked like it the food may have been as much of a crime as whatever it was I had done.

I decided to go through the wallets and find out a bit about my victims over lunch. My hope was that if I knew who they were I would learn something about myself. Looking at their IDs one of them was an Italian, Jon Falzon, one was black, Eddy Jameson, and two of them, brothers or cousins by their resemblance and bearing the same last name were Asian or islander or something. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but I was certain that they were Samoans, and they were brothers. Quite the diverse group I had before me on the dinner table. One thing I could say about myself, I was an equal opportunity killer.

I sat there for a while lost in thought then out of nowhere I found myself squeezing someone’s wrist. I looked up to see the waitress, eyes wide with fear.

“Sorry, you surprised me there.”

“What are you, crazy? I’m just trying to clear your plate”

“Maybe I am, but I’m a good tipper”

I left fifty dollars for my ten dollar tab and cleared out with my things. I’d learned a little bit more but still had no idea what any of it meant. It dawned on me that my answers may be found back at the warehouse where this all started but I wasn’t quite ready to go back there so I decided to check out my victims a little more. It would take the rest of the day seeing as their addresses were split all over town. The Samoans lived together so that would make things a little easier. They also lived closest to the warehouse so I would visit their place last. I set out, early afternoon on my new task, hoping I would find no one home but not sure I would get so lucky given the day’s events so far.

Murder in a warehouse; Chapter One: Awakening to Death

2011-02-12T02:02:47Z

When I started to come around the first thing that I noticed wasn’t the physical pain, it wasn’t the mayhem around me. The first thing I noticed was the sorrow; a deep sorrow that reached into my chest and threatened to squeeze my heart till it stopped beating. The next sensation I had was the hot wet streaks running down my face and my heaving breath. Then the darkness began to slip away like a blanket being pulled back in the early morning. The next thing that I noticed was that it wasn’t just the tears that blurred my vision and that between the streams that ran down my face a lot of that hot wet substance was red, thick and sticky.

As my vision began to clear and I noticed something else I had missed in the shock of such overwhelming despair. The pain I felt wasn’t just emotional. Every move reminded me of what pain was. As I looked around a room, which looked like it had been torn apart by a dozen bombs, I saw five bodies lying around me. Four of them were men, as I stumbled around assessing the situation I studied their faces, faces that I knew, faces I had seen before, that were familiar almost as family, but faces that eluded my minds ability to recognize.

I heard the thud of metal on the floor before I saw it; the knife that had just dropped from my hand. And that’s when I realized that whatever had happened to these people was something that I had done. I went over to the fifth body. It was a female. She was young, in her late teens or early twenties, she was beautiful, her face seemed to glow despite the carnage around her, making it all the more horrific in contrast, and she was alive.

As my senses returned to me I heard sirens in the distance. Looking out the window I could tell that the building we were in wasn’t in the highest of traffic areas. I couldn’t be certain that the sirens were coming my way, but I couldn’t take that chance either. It was obvious to me that I had killed at least four people, and possibly attempted a fifth, and I had to know exactly what happened and why. I’m not a violent person, not a murderer am I?

I picked up the girl and carried her out to a van I had seen while getting my bearings, then went back in to get the knife so as not to leave a murder weapon behind. While I was in there I went ahead and took their wallets. On my way back out I noticed a gun lying on the floor near the door. May as well take it too, no sense in being unprepared for whatever I may run into, and I had a feeling I may have the need to be able to strike from a distance. Luckily for me the keys were in the ignition, I didn’t know how to hotwire a vehicle, or if I did I couldn’t remember, that was becoming a pattern, and a problematic one at that.

As I pulled out into the street my first thought was that the loud blasts and flashing lights were gunshots. I instinctively ducked under the dash for a split second before I realized it was the storm. The clouds covered the sky like a thick black smoke and lightning rolled and flowed around them like brilliant glowing water. But there was no water; no rain, just clouds and lightning and thunder that cracked one moment like a whip that was rending the sky and the next rumbled quietly but firmly in the distance like the warning growl of a wary lion guarding it’s lair.

The van began to move again almost before I noticed I was pressing down on the accelerator and my passenger stirred in the back. I didn’t know who the men I was driving away from were or why I had killed them, or even how considering they outnumbered me four to one. I went over a checklist in my mind to make sure I had everything I needed.

I had the girl, she was unconscious, but alive and in relatively good shape. Hopefully she could fill in some gaps for me when she came to. I had the knife; I didn’t have much time to look around so I took the one piece of evidence I knew about. Hopefully if the police were there now they’d spend enough time looking for the murder weapon to let me slip away. I also had their wallets, which meant their IDs having four John Does to deal with would hinder their investigation as well. I had the gun; did I even know how to use a gun? In any case I felt safer with a more substantial weapon on my person. So I had the evidence, I had defense and I had the only living witness. It seemed I did have everything I needed, except for answers.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

2010-01-31T01:01:30Z

Working in the Collections field for the last six years I have learned a lot about dealing with people and money. One of those things is that when you are dealing with someone to whom money is owed(or a representative of that person.), a little respect can go a long way(i would say that this concept works in reverse as well; however, as my intent is not to train debt collectors, and the majority of my audience will undoubtedly not be in the collections field i will address the debtor). Something that any debtor, and most of us are endebted to one or more creditors, should realize is that most creditors are willing to help out with special programs if it enables you to pay them back. After all, they are in business to make money, not to amuse themselves with bankrupcy and default payment rates.

Whenever you speak to a creditor on the phone, you can be guarunteed that whoever you spoke to will tell everyone in the company about your bad behavior. no, they dont know everyone, and they may or may not share the story at the water-cooler. much worse that water-cooler gossip that will be forgotten within the hour, your attitude will be documented on your account for the next person who sees your account to read; and the next person, and the next, and the next. i can not tell you how many times i have spied documentation indicating that the person on the other end of the phone has a history of abusive, nasty behavior and my attitude changes immediately from one of wanting to find a common solution to that of wanting to make sure this person pays their bill and goes away.

I understand that there are many obstacles to paying proper respect to "the man" on the other end of the phone. I hope to address these and offer viable solutions to help make it easier to relate to the person you are talking to and hopefully open doors for a mutually beneficial cooperation between yourself and the person/company to whom you owe money.

      1. The phone is ringing off the hook: This is a difficult one to work around, especially if you have multiple creditors calling you. it can be stressfull to try to juggle who you are going to speak to, when you can pay, who you are talking to, etc. etc. etc. My advice for this is simple:
           A: If you aren't prepared to speak to the caller, hit the ignore button. That is to say, simply don't answer the phone.
   B: Answer the phone. By law, unless you give them permission, collectors may only contact you once per day. If you(as I do) use your cell phone for such contacts, take the time after the call to add the phone number to your contact book. This may seem odd(and if the ID comes up simply as "UNKNOWN" instead of a number can not be done), however it will allow you to quicky identify the source of the call in the future. This is particularly handy when you have multiple creditors as it helps you to keep straight who you are dealing with that day.

2. The previous representative was rude: I'm not going to lie, this happens. Some times it's just an ordinarily amiable person who is having a bad day, perhaps they just got off the phone with a particularly nasty "customer", or perhaps you just spoke to someone who is genuinely and consistantly discourtious. Whatever the case, remember; that does not mean that the next person you speak to warrants your wrath. Each person is different, and it is possible that even if the person you are talking to now is being rude, that your attitude can cause a change in theirs. I can not say that this will happen, only that it may.

3. The company is ripping me off: This may or may not be the case. whatever the case, the person you are talking to is not the one responsible for your misfortunes. The collector is in a very unique position. They are often the bottom of the totem-pole, so to speak of the company; however, while they may lack total power, they do have a certain amount of authority over your situation. You see, the person on the other end of the phone may not be able to call the credit bureaus and initiate a report, it is in their power to not help you. Often, special programs that are offered by creditors are given to collectors as tools to negotiate payments. These programs may or may not be something that are generaly available. While at some times, a company may push to offer settlements to everyone who can take one, that same company may at another time limit the number of settlements they are willing to offer. Since you dont have the inside information on how your particular creditor is handling special offers at any given time, it is in your best interest to be in the good graces of your point of contact, who may well need to plead your case to someone higher(generally a manager) in order to get you in to one of these programs. That's not to say you need to bend over and pucker up, but do bear in mind that if you are rude or offputting, they will not be as likely to act on your behalf, especially if it requires they justify such action to their superiors.

All in all the message I want to impress upon the reader with my first post here is that on the other end of the phone is a person; a human being with a family, friends, and bills just like yours. They are not, as some companies would(for their own profit) have you believe, the orcish spawn of some tolkienian slime pit. If you treat them with respect then you will get much better results, even if they are not ideal, and let's face it, if things were ideal you wouldn't be in debt in the first place.