I am not a criminal. Not in the traditional sense of the word anyway. I don't think I am anyway. There are plenty of people that would argue that though. Some may defend me. Some may see that there are much much worse people out there than me. People doing sadistic or violent crimes that far exceed the parameters of my petty infractions in comparison. Or that I am actually more "sick" than "criminal" so it was easier to tolerate... in the beginning. And, in comparison I probably have been able to relate to some heinous atrocities on some level or another that doesn't put me far off from some of those sadistic or violent crimes, criminals, whatever. But in the end I don't consider myself a criminal. Not in the traditional sense. I'm not right? Am I?
No, I can't be. But that doesn't mean I'm not guilty of breaking certain laws, engaging in reckless behavior, or exhibiting a complete lack of judgment or irrational behavior. In my defense I can say with 90% surety that 95% of the time these occurrences happened I was either directly or indirectly under the influence of something. But nothing could compare to what I witnessed and experienced in Long Beach.
To see one in a movie is intriguing. To hear about it from a seemingly hyper-paranoid friend is comical. To walk right onto the doorstep of a duplex under 24/7 surveillance, from both inside and out, is completely nerve racking and nearly impossible to believe. Especially when that same hyper-paranoid friend wasn't as hyper-paranoid as his comical escapades where far more serious episodes and very, very real. It is still a mystery to me as to what agency, or agencies, were involved. I can say though, with 100% certainty that this operation was well above local and even state entities. There was too much time invested. There was too much manpower invested. There was too much money invested. There was too much high tech surveillance tactics that were employed to be coming from the L.B.P.D. (and I say that with no derogatory inflection). Also, considering last I heard how the same occurrences continued happening, although less frequently, after he moved somewhere across the country. In my Criminal Minds and C.S.I. whatever city knowledge of federal procedure and law, that seems to exceed the jurisdiction of any local law enforcement agency in whatever city, U.S.A. Which federal agency is still a mystery to me, THANKFULLY, but a few three letter designation agencies come to mind, eerily. Anyway, moving on. If the who wasn't unnerving enough, the what I saw in that week was even more troubling. And that was only a week, according to him, was happening for the past year (which made everything even more scary for me as I projected that one year was a perfect time to wrap up an investigation and it just so happens it is on the one week of the year I had virtually no other reasonable option. FUCK ME). Also, with the intensity and aggression increasing from both sides to a level that might as well put them on first name basis as they both continued to taunt and antagonize each other like an annoying and harmless sibling rivalry. This was no joke though and this was bad. Real bad. FUCK ME. Fuck, fuck, fuck, me.
The premise of undercover was such a fallacy it was laughable. Well, it would have been laughable if this were a movie. This was not a movie though. This was real. Very real. It's not uncommon knowledge in any methamphetamine informational brochure or video how after so many days of not sleeping that "tweakers" commonly begin to have visual and auditory hallucinations. Reality becomes disengaged and an enhanced sense of paranoia becomes overtly and alarmingly consuming. With that point conceded, and strictly hypothetically speaking of course, even though he did often exhibit certain trademark "tweaker" behaviors, his overall mental state and clarity I would never question. Nor can I deny what I witnessed while I was visiting. And hypothetically speaking of course, if I was in an altered state at any time during my visitation any usage of any unconventional substances in which I may or may not have partaken in was strictly on a limited or recreational basis and happened without the knowledge or consent of any person or persons I may have been in the company of. There, that should negate any self or third party incriminations. How he got caught up in a situation of that caliber is beyond me. We came to the assumption, after many hours of in depth analysis and speculations, it was either a case of: mistaken identity, false accusation from a person(s) of questionable character or motives, or guilt by association. How I got caught up in this whole situation was because I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time because I again had virtually no place else to go and no one else who was willing or able to help me. My ex-girlfriend was forced back to her husband, which is where she wanted to be anyway because I really fucked that up, although she did care enough to come and find me that day. My father wanted little to nothing to do with me, deservedly so. And my wife kicked me out again. We were already separated but she was allowing me to stay at her apartment while I waited for an opening at a sober living house from a county mental health agency I was seeking treatment with. I drank, again, and she kicked me out, again, with my two small duffel bags and backpack which with the exception of another small box I could not carry was the extent of all I had left at my physical disposal. So she kicked me out for drinking, again, and then I got drunk. Stupid drunk. Filthy drunk. It's the only way I know how to drink. I was wandering around downtown Santa Ana for hours carrying an awkward 40-50 pounds of luggage as I called over and over again him and her (her not being my wife) trying to explain where I was, but I couldn't give an accurate or coherent location to be rescued from. All the while I continued to constantly move and change directions with no destination or recognition of where I was inside of a city in which I've lived in for 6 years. I was lost. Not lost because I didn't know where I was, but lost because I didn't know anything because of how much alcohol I had consumed. They both drove around for hours, each in their own vehicles, until he gave up and she was just about to until she caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye where in a final shred of luck and hope she turned around and found me. She found me down a side street, bags strewn all around me, a group of gang members closing in to investigate if I was easy prey or an orchestrated trap, and me either passed out or so far from reality I would have been better or passed out, or dead. I have nearly no recollection of any of the events that transpired that night from the time I left Sonia's till the time we pulled into his driveway. I don't doubt the hours they spent searching for me. Later, my phone log would confirm repeated calls to both of their numbers, mostly in an alternating pattern, lasting anywhere from a few seconds to several minutes in duration. I don't doubt where she eventually found me, not quite miles away but not even close to the neighborhood in which I embarked on my incompetent mission. I do think though, that after hours of useless directions and incoherent communications she remembered she had my password to "find my iPhone" and that was how she was able to pinpoint my location. After all, I did give her my password for a reason, and it was for my safety. Because with me, you never know what is going to happen. If it wasn't my iPhone that led her to me and was in fact an accident that she stumbled upon me in the nick of time, than that just reiterates the strength of the bond and understanding we once shared. Regardless, I am grateful she found me that night before I once again lost everything, was arrested, or attempted something worse. As embarrassed and ashamed as I was that she saw me in that condition, again, she rescued me from myself that night and brought me to the only seemingly safe shelter available or that would tolerate me in the condition I was in. One day maybe she will say something to me again. I recently had to change my password on my iPhone because of the format guidelines Apple imposed when I accidently updated my software. I didn't want to. Just in case she ever thought about me again. If YOU read this, my pass WORD is still the same. Capitalize the first letter and change the first "e" to a three and you will find me. Please find me. Please say anything. One day. Shit, what was I talking about? Oh, OK, and that is how I ended up in Long Beach.
At first, I just chalked certain occurrences up as coincidence. Then, when his predictions started becoming reality I started paying attention. As he was pointing out subtle details that would not even get a second glance from the untrained or unknowing eye my suspicions were alarmingly rising. Then, I started focusing in on my surroundings and as I became a person of interest (for no reason other than my current location) I came to the realization that I was falling into their trap. A trap that all started with the device that got me there in the first place. My freaking iPhone.
Sonia hates my iPhone. It has been the instigator of so many arguments (deservedly). I love my iPhone (most of the time). I play games, surf the internet, send and receive emails, listen to music, watch porn. And I watched a lot of porn that week. A lot. The first two nights I was there the euphoric sensation was so fresh and so new that it was tangible and palpable on so many levels. And I rewarded that sensation with porn. Amongst other marathon forms of self-gratification by methods of self-destruction. I thought nothing of it until my iPhone, which I know its behaviors and intricacies like a father knows his first born son, started behaving differently. At first the changes were subtle where most iPhone users would have let pass unfazed or without detection. But I know my iPhone. And when I mentioned to him that something was wrong with my phone, he smirked and told me to do a Google search of "how to know if your phone is tapped". Of the 5 or 6 most common reasons listed on the multiple and seemingly credible websites I looked at, it was blatantly obvious that my iPhone was compromised. Rapid and excessive battery loss, increased time for powering on and off, clicking sounds when calls are connected, screen blinking or flashing before changing screens, lags in between loading pages, unprompted (by me anyway) commands occurring randomly, and if that wasn't enough than this had me utterly speechless (except for the vulgarity and curses as my frustrations and fears increased). He reminded me of the internal speaker that can pick up audio reception. No wonder he kept his iPod playing 24-7. For background noise. So as I did another Google search to find out how to disconnect the internal speaker, after searching my iPhone settings rigorously for 10 minutes, I could not open ANY page that gave the instructions. I mean, I found numerous sites that looked like they the information I was looking for. But every time I clicked on any of the links... nothing. It would start like everything was normal, and as it finished loading my screen would flash and either turn all white or return me back to the previous and undiscriminating page lacking the pertinent information I was searching for. So I went to plan B. If Google wouldn't give me the answer than YouTube would. A YouTube search came back with numerous videos on "how to disable internal speaker on iPhone 4s". From that point when I was able to see what I wanted to deal from the preview thumbnail which involves actually cracking my pride and joy and have to cut the wire leading to the speaker out I was nearly ready to actually go through with it. as painful as it was to open my baby up I was almost willing to make the sacrifice this I can honestly compare in hindsight to say pushing my first born in the water to teach him how to swim painful as it would be at first it sure as hell beats not knowing how to save yourself if you were drowning is this an exaggeration maybe probably slightly but definitely has shadows of truth there. Is there symbolisms that hint that at comparisons within that simile, absolutely? The problem was I could not open any of the instructional videos; 90 I tried all of them all five pages worth or at least as many until I realized whoever was in the other end of my strenuous mission was adamant about keeping such vital information from my inquiring mind I was even so open-minded as to try another video that didn't involve tampering with my blank amendment right to freedom of information let's try Music I've got 150s video saved in my YouTube library. Yep, no problem there random music searches let me two more playable videos let's try RC cars because a long forgotten childhood hobby which my dad was the inspiration for was revitalize during that week. RC motorcycles, RC drifting, RC big scale, RC mini productions of recreations of famous scenes from the likes of Dukes of Hazard, Fast and Furious, and more. All playable with only the telltale screen flash from my personal Benedict freaking Arnold. Let me watch hours upon hours of anything I wanted to watch, which I got sidetracked for and did for a few of the following hours. But left the exception for the one freaking thing I needed to see. And I was at the point of acceptance and understanding that I was fucked and the damage was already done. Whoever they were, they were watching me. Recording me. Building a case against me. Laughing at me. Then I had another wicked revelation. This was the second night I was here. The first night was spent replaying the events of that night, remembering anything I could about as much of the night in question, reminiscing about some good and bad times we shared, both individual and together, and relapsing. Which actually begin before I got there. By myself and without his consent or knowledge of course, on what I sometimes refer to as Kelly Crack a.k.a. crystal meth the revelation was about what I watched the night before, porn, SHIT. It wasn't the point that made me nervous though. It was what I watched. Crystal definitely lowers your inhibitions and produces a sick and twisted elements to natural perversions. I definitely exposed them the night before. Shit, I'm sidetracked, I don't even know if this belongs in this chapter. I was just desperately hoping that when, because I was under the impression already that I was fucked and would at some point have to appear in court for my association and involvement with him that I was in enough legal trouble at that time and I hope that no searches, specialty websites, or actual videos were illegal and even though, I was pretty sure something, at some point that night was, and let me just add, I'm not a snitch, he's my best friend, he was not involved in anything especially to which the level that justify the surveillance he, and I know I was on there, and I would have and still will except any and all responsibility. I've done enough time. I know the game, I know that the Rolls, and I've never have, nor will I break, break them. Okay, so I watch some dirty porn. More on that later. Back to the investigation. Speaking of phones, my iPhone accesses everything for me. Thank accounts, emails, and calendars with important dates, school, and passwords for everything worth password he is in the hidden luck document on there. They had access to everything by this point. I knew, they knew I knew, and there were a few times I confirmed I knew when they were cellularly taunting me. I kid you not, they were fucking with me. I was unable to access school to complete assignments, and seeing how I was enrolled in a 100% online bachelors of Science program, you could see how successful completion was impossible with the sabotage. In unknown error occurred with my bank account which coincidentally and ironically happen during this week which left me $236 in my checking account and unable to access any money. Coded text messages to her (with pre-knowledge and established list in the privacy of her car until it later donned on me that the iPhone Mike probably picked up where secret vocabulary while all other texts to her and anyone more delivered without error. And if that wasn't proof enough there was the said phone call to my probation office while the phone was in my pocket and me and him will walk in through Michael's looking for yet another cosmetic and enhancement to improve his electronic dart board. Granted it was after his office hours put as my phone rarely leaves my hand when I'm under the influence which annoys him to epic proportions, I left my phone in my pocket for the better half of seven minutes according to the call timer then in itself was a remarkable and poor timed feat. As I systematically in a bit chilly pulled my phone out of my pocket which I know it was left on the home screen because of certain OCD traits I pulled it out to check if I missed any text or calls to see PO Castro's name in the call and progress. I can't believe they called. SHIT! In the last seven some minutes that I say anything that would make my next appointment with him, which was in a week, a violation. I know I was in violation for a couple of reasons but would he know now. Shit, as if I didn't have enough to worry about right now I had this shit ruminating in my mind for the next week. Well with all the other evidence they were mounting against me I use text messages, on more than one occasion, to fire back a few obscenities. Admissions, and once or twice desperate pleas to leave me alone. And that was all just from my iPhone. His phones were a collection of throwaways one for family use, one for friends. One of his phones was giving him so many problems he sent me to Target to get a replacement. By this point I knew every move we made we were being followed. Every time we left his apartment we knew they were entering his place to see if any incriminating evidence was left behind. Sometimes they were discreet. Other times they were so blatantly obvious it was laughable. So as I am at Target purchasing a basic, no-frills, no Internet, send text and receive text phone I pick out the one that well for the time suffice. As I paid at the register of the electronics department by cash, obviously, and ask the cute Mexican behind the counter to help me activate it. No problem she says. I just did it yesterday for another "guest" (which Target so nobly refers to its customers asked) and it took less than five minutes she says. All you have to do is call this number and give them this number she says at the counter I pull out my iPhone and dialed the number and begin the process. Halfway through, for no reason, I get disconnected. I call again, carefully and put all relevant details, and get some error for an authorization. I call the cute girl over and ask her for help. I have him texting me telling me to hurry up. I'm trying to flirt with this girl while she still gets this damn phone hooked up, and she now grab some first store phone him begins the automated activation process. It's not until she bypasses all automated prompts, connects with the phone company, identifies herself as the electronics manager of your local Target, reiterates that said guest is standing in front of her unhappy and ready to return said phone, no he does not want to upgrade to the higher prepaid plan, and yes okay here he is that the person on the other end was able to give me a valid and working telephone number. An hour. What under normal circumstances should have took 10 to 15 minutes as I was the only person shopping in electronics at the time, took an hour and was impossible to complete with my iPhone. Coincidence? No, highly freaking suspicious if you ask me. And considering it took less than 24 hours to figure out (which I may have accidentally prompted) that he had a new phone, tap into that, and continue moderate monitoring whatever it is they were looking for, it was a waste of $50, and hour of my time, and I didn't even get cute girl's number. Aside from the phone situation, it seems everything and anything we did it was a production. It didn't matter what time of day or night I would go into the alley to have a cigarette I would always have random strangers passing me, I need me on the way bye, talking to their companion in a way to route of a voice about math or the state in which he was moving to in a week (no b.s. At least half a dozen times this happened in seven days). Oh shit, and then his neighbor. I just gave the standard "what's up" with a head nod a few times, but I walk to Ralph's one night which was right across the street. He wanted bananas and oranges, yeah it was a strange request for 10 PM but whatever, and he wasn't there as I left but when I came back five minutes later the neighbor was outside smoking a cigarette by the street. I have my iPhone in one hand and the Ralph's back with oranges and bananas in the other. As I cross the street I see him smoking and texting. As I'm about 10 feet away from him my phone vibrates, I make the obligatory eye contact followed by a nod wish you were separate reciprocated as I approach. I looked down at my iPhone as I passed him and read a text from his number that says as he repeats out loud as I read "don't forget the oranges". Hi, as calmly and Cooley and collectively as I could muster look back over my shoulder and said "I didn't", as I walked up the steps, open the door, casually locked it (as always) behind me, and told him what just happened. He knew the house was wired, blood, and had hidden recording devices throughout. He knew most of his associates were somehow involved with this operation, whatever thoughts he had about his neighbor, I just confirmed. I wonder if it was him who, at about 2:30 AM walked up the steps that night as I was trying to get some much-needed sleep. As I laid on the couch the footsteps that came up the stairs that were located right on the other side of the very thin window were unmistakable. I didn't react. He told me not to. That's how they reel you win. Get you to panic. Make a mistake. I knew there was a camera in his TV from the bug detector he can order it online they knew I was right there. And what other sound could make footsteps walking up steps than actual footsteps walking up steps. And if that wasn't enough the shadow of a person was highlighted by the moonlight on the blinds. I casually turned my head and glanced over hoping it looked like I was sleeping and hoping it was dark enough in the room that they couldn't tell my eyes were open. I waited for a tap on the glass. I expected it and laid there in anticipation. What I was not ready for deep, monstrous, hyper exaggerated slow breathing and in hell that went on for the next 10-15 seconds. But seemed like an eternity. Part of me wanted to open the blinds. Part of me wanted to open the door. And part of me wanted to go get him from his room and ask him what to do. When I did was absolutely nothing. I laid there. I closed my eyes and finally caught up on some days overdue of sleep. I told him what happen when we woke up the next afternoon. He didn't know what I saw or heard one bit. To this day I still wonder if I would've seen a man in a werewolf mask and furry Clyde hands on the other side of the window. I could tell you more of what I saw in that week. The homeless guy in the 25-year-old blue and white van with brand-new window tents that was in the back alley where his garage was in a couple blocks away when we were walking back from the car rental place. The guy and girl walking in front of us holding hands, but not really because all she did was have her hand wrapped around the guy's pointer finger. The same girl walking with a different guy later that same day hold on the guys hand in the same way, the black Acura with the bumper sticker that was always seemed to be around no matter where we were. The truck not starting for no reason when he was at a place he shouldn't have been. The iPod cord in the truck being wedged under the console to wear only a long screwdriver was used to pry it out after upon leaving the truck prior the iPod was disconnected in the wire was left on obstructed as always. The nine on the dartboard that was super glued on the night before only to be found at the foot of the steps outside the next day after we return from the hobby shop. The hobby shop that either never had the part in stock or more commonly just gave him the wrong part he needed over and over again but what sold him plenty of paint for all his little projects this was way beyond stupidity, simple mistake, and bad business I swear. The piece of paper with my name on it found at the bottom of the steps from a paper I throwaway the day before and brought the trash to the community dumpster. The dog that was limping for no apparent reason when he came home one day and wasn't limping before he left. And then there was the invasion at her house.
"Next time you go out throw this away" he says to me as he hands me a plastic bag. OK, that seems easy enough I thought. Umhhhh, OK, "I'm goin to have a cigarette I'll put it in the dumpster." "NO," he says "don't throw it away anywhere around here." Ummhhhh, OK, "then I'll walk to Ralph's and throw it away." "NO," he says "DONT THROW THIS ANYWHERE AROUND HERE." OHHHHHH, I get it. Kinda. What I finally was able to piece together was there was something that he didn't want found in that bag. I did not know what was in it, nor did I care. It was too small a bag to put a body in so I didn't think I had much to worry about. So when she picked me up the next morning to take me to my probation appointment. I was carrying the plastic bag in my hand as I gave her a hug, threw the bag in the front seat, and had a cigarette outside the car before we left. I was so happy to see her and so happy to be of off surveillance (I thought so anyway) I let myself relax. I relaxed so much I forgot to throw the bag out. I had a plan to pull over at any bus stop between long beach and Santa Ana and throw the bag in the trash. A very public trash in a high traffic area. No problem. But I forgot the bag. I forgot the bag in the front seat of her car. No problem. I'll just have her throw it out. And as soon as I thought about that in full I realized two things immediately. The first was that I knew she would not be able not to look inside the bag so at least I would know what was of so much importance and secrecy. The second was that she would not pull over and throw it out but she would when she got home. No problem, at least the mission was accomplished. The bag was disposed of and not anywhere around his place. All to find out, that wasn't enough.
From what she told me later that day this is how I believe things went down. After she went home from dropping me off at probation, she brought the bag inside and opened it. Oh, remember probation right. The first thing my p.o. Says to me this day is "give me one reason I shouldn't arrest you right now," he says. SHIT! How much does he know I thought...? I played dumb and tried to assess the situation and then I got on the defensive and helpless role real quick. Turned out it was a case of mistaken communication or he knew everything and was sending me back to the lion's den to anger the beasts. To this day I am still not sure. Anyway, she asked me if I knew anything about what was in it. Apparently, there was more than a dozen destroyed and bleached syringes. No problems. He's a diabetic. After the obligatory explanations and excuses she noticed something strange when she got home. Which I belief 100% because her eye was almost as good as mine when it came to attention to detail. After she walked down the street to pick her up from school, which was literally in eyesight from her front lawn. I'm talking like 200 yards, she noticed the side gate was open. She said it could've been the gardeners but she thought it was closed she got home. Shit. The back door was open which she knows wasn't open before she left. SHIT. And worst of all the bathroom door in her room was open and the cats were out which she is positive she closed right before she left and Maya (her 12 lb. Min. Pin.) was so freaked out she was shaking and wouldn't leave her side all night. SHIT AND WHAT DO THOSE ASSHOLES HATE ABOUT DOGS!!!! FIRST HIS SHEPARD MIX AND NOW MAYA!!! POOR GIRL, WHAT DID THEY DO TO YOU MAMAS? As I calmed her down over the phone assuring her that everything was alright and that they probably were just checking to see who you were and that obviously you are of no concern to them. Which was true because her only problem was that she had befriended me. What I failed to tell her was that her house was now probably bugged and wired and she should exercise extreme caution. I figured this would not help the situation, so I let it go. I also let go object that brought them there in the first place. Well, the object besides me anyway. The plastic bag. Which I remembered the next day and asked her to put eyes on it. It took her only a second to fully understand. "Hold on," she says... "It's gone." I reply with my head and shoulders dropped toward the ground and my eyes closed, "I know. Let me call you back," as I hung up. I tried to assess the situation. Did they really track that bag from Santa Ana and her to Fullerton from Long Beach? Where they following us the whole time? Where they sitting outside of my probation office while I gave her a hug goodbye? Did they just run her license plates and wait for her to return home? Did they put a camera in her bedroom so they could see her and her husband fucking? Fuck! I can't believe she went back to him! At least she said they were destroyed so no DNA could be pulled from them? Will that be enough to stand up in trial? Shit! I never did tell him. I figured that would not help the situation, so I let it go. Truth is, it wouldn't have mattered what I would've done with the bag. They would have gotten it. I haven't heard from him in a while now. I hope he's doin OK. He really was a good friend. He was my only guy friend. He was my last guy friend...
