TRANSITION
Out of the blue the other day someone asked me, "Where do you think you're going?" It was one of those rhetorical questions that gets thrown down from time to time. We had been talking about the general terms of life, the ins and outs of it, if you will. Noting that things are pretty dicey these days with an uncertain government, world chaos, wars and a mixture of other assorted challenges to staying sane.
The question was one I couldn't really answer. Not then and not now. But it ended up being a conversation breaker because the second time it was asked without a clear cut answer I got a bit aggravated (I was talking to a step brother). He can get a bit pushy at times and I didn't feel inclined to be pushed in that direction.
Long after the call had terminated, I found I was still thinking about that question. Where did I think I was going? Invariably this kind of mind mushing can lead to other questions like "where have I been and what have I done?"
I've been a lot of different places and I've done a lot of different things. Some unremarkable, yet others having left a lasting impression on who and what I am.
For example.
I spent four years in the US Marine Corps pushing a pencil. Well, that might be a bit of an understatement, but I was what was generally referred to in Marine Corps vernacular as a "pogue". More colorfully, a Hollywood Marine. One all flash and no bang. Marines are commonly associated with the "grunt" mentality. Cannon fodder with no particular skills other than pointing a weapon down range towards some other grunts' probable demise.
I spent my entire active duty service stationed in San Diego, CA on a recruit training base doing background investigations as a liaison with Naval Security Group. One of their many responsibilities was investigating the backgrounds of those recruits coming out of boot camp who qualified either through training scores or education for a chance at officer candidates school.
My time in the service wasn't an overly dangerous one to be sure, but it did set me up with a set of personal skills that I would use for the rest of my life. On top of our jobs and the continual training that required, we were trained as basic grunts. Lots and lots of physical stuff every day.
Though I learned a lot about a variety of different things, I realized that I was best at investigations. Of whatever sort. Digging in and finding out what happened, or where did it go, had become a passion. Whatever "it" might be.
Like riding a bike, or driving a car...one learns certain motor skills that enable them to operate just about anything with a steering system and pedals. A little orientation with the new piece of equipment is all you need, then away you go.
The thought process of investigating is much the same way. In the Corps, investigating people, I looked at reports, I talked to people, I looked at photos etc. After a while the picture of a persons life begins to appear. Officially, I didn't analyze that information, nor did I make any determination as to a persons worth or not with reference to the program, others elsewhere did, I just compiled it. You can't, however, do this day in and day out without developing a bit of "muscle memory". I developed a "habit" of studying. I study people, I study literature, I study pictures, I study behavior, I study things.
Lots of service people get out and have a hard transition into civilian life. Most military taught skills don't translate well, mine did. Leadership training is essential anywhere, anytime. The forensic skills I learned would stand me in good stead on a number of life's endeavors that I engaged in over the years.
When my term of active enlistment was up, the Marine Corps did it's best to convince me to stay. A common question posted by those counseling me to stay was "Where do you think you're going?" It was tough to field that question in those days. Because of an aversion to all things politic, what I wanted to say was, "anywhere but here!" What I actually said was, "I reckon I'll find out when I get there."
Lick the thumb and turn the page...
The question was one I couldn't really answer. Not then and not now. But it ended up being a conversation breaker because the second time it was asked without a clear cut answer I got a bit aggravated (I was talking to a step brother). He can get a bit pushy at times and I didn't feel inclined to be pushed in that direction.
Long after the call had terminated, I found I was still thinking about that question. Where did I think I was going? Invariably this kind of mind mushing can lead to other questions like "where have I been and what have I done?"
I've been a lot of different places and I've done a lot of different things. Some unremarkable, yet others having left a lasting impression on who and what I am.
For example.
I spent four years in the US Marine Corps pushing a pencil. Well, that might be a bit of an understatement, but I was what was generally referred to in Marine Corps vernacular as a "pogue". More colorfully, a Hollywood Marine. One all flash and no bang. Marines are commonly associated with the "grunt" mentality. Cannon fodder with no particular skills other than pointing a weapon down range towards some other grunts' probable demise.
I spent my entire active duty service stationed in San Diego, CA on a recruit training base doing background investigations as a liaison with Naval Security Group. One of their many responsibilities was investigating the backgrounds of those recruits coming out of boot camp who qualified either through training scores or education for a chance at officer candidates school.
My time in the service wasn't an overly dangerous one to be sure, but it did set me up with a set of personal skills that I would use for the rest of my life. On top of our jobs and the continual training that required, we were trained as basic grunts. Lots and lots of physical stuff every day.
Though I learned a lot about a variety of different things, I realized that I was best at investigations. Of whatever sort. Digging in and finding out what happened, or where did it go, had become a passion. Whatever "it" might be.
Like riding a bike, or driving a car...one learns certain motor skills that enable them to operate just about anything with a steering system and pedals. A little orientation with the new piece of equipment is all you need, then away you go.
The thought process of investigating is much the same way. In the Corps, investigating people, I looked at reports, I talked to people, I looked at photos etc. After a while the picture of a persons life begins to appear. Officially, I didn't analyze that information, nor did I make any determination as to a persons worth or not with reference to the program, others elsewhere did, I just compiled it. You can't, however, do this day in and day out without developing a bit of "muscle memory". I developed a "habit" of studying. I study people, I study literature, I study pictures, I study behavior, I study things.
Lots of service people get out and have a hard transition into civilian life. Most military taught skills don't translate well, mine did. Leadership training is essential anywhere, anytime. The forensic skills I learned would stand me in good stead on a number of life's endeavors that I engaged in over the years.
When my term of active enlistment was up, the Marine Corps did it's best to convince me to stay. A common question posted by those counseling me to stay was "Where do you think you're going?" It was tough to field that question in those days. Because of an aversion to all things politic, what I wanted to say was, "anywhere but here!" What I actually said was, "I reckon I'll find out when I get there."
Lick the thumb and turn the page...
OCCUPIED TERRITORY
I put my hand to a multitude of occupations over the years but seemed to have a natural aptitude for woodworking. Crafting things from wood came easy and figuring out why they failed, for whatever reason, became a passion.
I usually started with a given company where most do...at the bottom. Invariably though, it didn't take long before I was again working with the movers and shakers. Adapt, improvise and overcome was a Marine Corps motto that worked just as well in the "world".
As I stated a moment ago, one of my greatest obstacles then, and now, was that I have a low tolerance for the politics that invariable infests organizations. Whether they are small companies or large corporations, they all seem to involve politics. Some good, some bad....most intolerable to me. This is most likely manifested from a character flaw on my part (the intolerance), but there you have it. About the time that my aptitude got in the way of someones plans and "politics" came into play, I figured that I had worn out my welcome. I recall seldom ever actually quitting a job....they always just seem to dissolve from under me.
So twenty years later and having crisscrossed the nation a dozen times.... 9-11 has come and gone and the country is looking back up that hill and saying "What the hell was that!?"
I found myself standing on my front porch in Charlotte, NC, where I'd been living for ten years, talking with my wife about "where I think I'm going." I've lost most of the contracts that I had on the back burner because people were then, and still are, scared to spend "squirrel" money. They're hiding it in mattresses again, like they did back in the depression of the thirties.
I'm trying to figure out where to go from there. What do I do to make a living? I've been out of projects for almost six months struggling to hold onto the business I've been building and beginning to realize I've nothing to hold on to. I ask my wife...."what do you think I should do?" She says..."what do you want to do?" I said, "Investigate." She says, "do it!"
So I went back to school. I started working on a criminal investigations degree with the intent of obtaining a private investigators license. I signed up for a basic law enforcement training class and took some classes in criminal justice at a local community college. Nine months later I was certified to be a police officer in the state of North Carolina. I had what I had wanted for a long time. But at 44 I just couldn't see myself as a rookie cop making 20 grand a year, right back in the politics of a command structure. No way. Not as cynical and rough edged as I had come to be. While the certification assisted in obtaining the PI license, I still required a couple of years education before I could apply.
A shorter route to getting employed quickly lead to obtaining a license through the state department of insurance to write bail bonds. At the outset it never really interested me much to be involved in getting people out of jail who needed to be there...but the prospect of locating and apprehending those who failed to fulfill their civic duty and report to court did. And that's what I do.
Oh, I piddle around from time to time when things are slow by falling back on woodworking skills. I spent a couple of months recently tending bar. I've had more than a few security gigs throughout the years and done some executive protection details. But by and far the thrill of locating someone who doesn't want to be found is the most fulfilling occupation I have ever engaged. I have no bosses. There is no rank structure...(other than me and my partner Cash.....and he just sits around and looks tough...oh, and eats!).
I usually started with a given company where most do...at the bottom. Invariably though, it didn't take long before I was again working with the movers and shakers. Adapt, improvise and overcome was a Marine Corps motto that worked just as well in the "world".
As I stated a moment ago, one of my greatest obstacles then, and now, was that I have a low tolerance for the politics that invariable infests organizations. Whether they are small companies or large corporations, they all seem to involve politics. Some good, some bad....most intolerable to me. This is most likely manifested from a character flaw on my part (the intolerance), but there you have it. About the time that my aptitude got in the way of someones plans and "politics" came into play, I figured that I had worn out my welcome. I recall seldom ever actually quitting a job....they always just seem to dissolve from under me.
So twenty years later and having crisscrossed the nation a dozen times.... 9-11 has come and gone and the country is looking back up that hill and saying "What the hell was that!?"
I found myself standing on my front porch in Charlotte, NC, where I'd been living for ten years, talking with my wife about "where I think I'm going." I've lost most of the contracts that I had on the back burner because people were then, and still are, scared to spend "squirrel" money. They're hiding it in mattresses again, like they did back in the depression of the thirties.
I'm trying to figure out where to go from there. What do I do to make a living? I've been out of projects for almost six months struggling to hold onto the business I've been building and beginning to realize I've nothing to hold on to. I ask my wife...."what do you think I should do?" She says..."what do you want to do?" I said, "Investigate." She says, "do it!"
So I went back to school. I started working on a criminal investigations degree with the intent of obtaining a private investigators license. I signed up for a basic law enforcement training class and took some classes in criminal justice at a local community college. Nine months later I was certified to be a police officer in the state of North Carolina. I had what I had wanted for a long time. But at 44 I just couldn't see myself as a rookie cop making 20 grand a year, right back in the politics of a command structure. No way. Not as cynical and rough edged as I had come to be. While the certification assisted in obtaining the PI license, I still required a couple of years education before I could apply.
A shorter route to getting employed quickly lead to obtaining a license through the state department of insurance to write bail bonds. At the outset it never really interested me much to be involved in getting people out of jail who needed to be there...but the prospect of locating and apprehending those who failed to fulfill their civic duty and report to court did. And that's what I do.
Oh, I piddle around from time to time when things are slow by falling back on woodworking skills. I spent a couple of months recently tending bar. I've had more than a few security gigs throughout the years and done some executive protection details. But by and far the thrill of locating someone who doesn't want to be found is the most fulfilling occupation I have ever engaged. I have no bosses. There is no rank structure...(other than me and my partner Cash.....and he just sits around and looks tough...oh, and eats!).
HUNTING
Of course I actually do have a boss...anybody that's married will understand that. For the most part she isn't too happy about this passion of mine. She does however, see the release it gives me when I do what I do. I think for her it's more likely the lesser of two evils. She fears for my safety and clucks at my midlife romping...but she also realizes that this is what makes me happy and she really doesn't like me much when I'm unhappy. So she lets me go. Never without cutting me the "eye", but she lets me go.
She lets me go because she knows that while there is always an inherent amount of danger involved in this type of activity, it's mostly the "hunt" I engage in. I've cuffed a fair amount of skips in the last few years and not a few of them under circumstances of extreme intensity. A few of those times have been solo, which is not advisable, but sometimes there isn't an alternative short of letting them go. After you've spent a considerable amount of money locating someone, and stand to lose more, it's usually pretty unacceptable to let them go free because you're alone. Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do.
But those occasions are not the norm. Usually I have plenty of backup when backup is required. For the most part it's the hunt that matters. Like Earnest Hemingway once quoted..."There is no hunting....like the hunting of man."
I used to hunt deer and elk and other four footed creatures when I was younger. I had a problem killing something I couldn't, or wouldn't eat though. Trophy hunting was never an option. The last time I went deer hunting turned in a fiasco that netted a Pittsburgh, PA headline that stated..."69,000 deer and 8 hunters shot on opening day". I saw seven of them throughout the course of that day, shot with their heads removed....deer, not hunters. Though I might have preferred the reverse. Never went hunting again, animals anyway.
The unique perspective that comes from hunting a person who has shied from their responsibility is there is no question of guilt. They are not being pursued because of anything to do with any alleged crime they may or may not have committed. Our Constitution states that a person is innocent until proven guilty (though through my own experiences I have to heavily question the validity of that statement). These folks that run may very well be innocent of the crimes for which they have been charged. But if a person such as myself is involved in the investigation to locate them, it is because without a doubt they are guilty of missing their chance to prove that innocence in a court of law...whatever the reasons for missing it were.
There are occasions when I feel bad about having to return someone to court. The world is full of hard luck stories. And to be sure, more than once I've let someone go if they were able to come up with the money required to cover the bond that was posted. I qualify that by saying that none ever involved any heinous crimes, I promise. Though there is that thought that I played judge to a certain extent. Issues like child support payments missed, minor driving charges overlooked, etc. If it ever involved a matter of public or personal safety, there was no option other than going back.
So anyway, I'm not perfect and never said I was. I've already admitted to a soft side of my brain. The reality of it is that those occasions seldom befall me. Few people that run have the funds available to pay off the full value of a bond plus my expenses. They usually run because they don't have any money. So by rote it's a moot point.
Man, above all creatures when running, has the capacity to connive. Given that he has a marginal amount of sense, common or otherwise, he has the capacity to manipulate and possibly out think his pursuer. The challenge I find is out thinking them. Trying to locate someone who is working real hard (if not smart) at not being found is intense. They hide their tracks, double back or hunker down. Sometimes you find them under your very nose...other times five or six state lines (or more) away. But invariably, unless they are really smart (and they wouldn't be running if they were) they fall into familiar patterns and they get lazy or complacent or feeling too safe and they make a mistake. One mistake can get them caught. If it doesn't it can turn into a comedy of errors that usually does.
Of course I actually do have a boss...anybody that's married will understand that. For the most part she isn't too happy about this passion of mine. She does however, see the release it gives me when I do what I do. I think for her it's more likely the lesser of two evils. She fears for my safety and clucks at my midlife romping...but she also realizes that this is what makes me happy and she really doesn't like me much when I'm unhappy. So she lets me go. Never without cutting me the "eye", but she lets me go.
She lets me go because she knows that while there is always an inherent amount of danger involved in this type of activity, it's mostly the "hunt" I engage in. I've cuffed a fair amount of skips in the last few years and not a few of them under circumstances of extreme intensity. A few of those times have been solo, which is not advisable, but sometimes there isn't an alternative short of letting them go. After you've spent a considerable amount of money locating someone, and stand to lose more, it's usually pretty unacceptable to let them go free because you're alone. Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do.
But those occasions are not the norm. Usually I have plenty of backup when backup is required. For the most part it's the hunt that matters. Like Earnest Hemingway once quoted..."There is no hunting....like the hunting of man."
I used to hunt deer and elk and other four footed creatures when I was younger. I had a problem killing something I couldn't, or wouldn't eat though. Trophy hunting was never an option. The last time I went deer hunting turned in a fiasco that netted a Pittsburgh, PA headline that stated..."69,000 deer and 8 hunters shot on opening day". I saw seven of them throughout the course of that day, shot with their heads removed....deer, not hunters. Though I might have preferred the reverse. Never went hunting again, animals anyway.
The unique perspective that comes from hunting a person who has shied from their responsibility is there is no question of guilt. They are not being pursued because of anything to do with any alleged crime they may or may not have committed. Our Constitution states that a person is innocent until proven guilty (though through my own experiences I have to heavily question the validity of that statement). These folks that run may very well be innocent of the crimes for which they have been charged. But if a person such as myself is involved in the investigation to locate them, it is because without a doubt they are guilty of missing their chance to prove that innocence in a court of law...whatever the reasons for missing it were.
There are occasions when I feel bad about having to return someone to court. The world is full of hard luck stories. And to be sure, more than once I've let someone go if they were able to come up with the money required to cover the bond that was posted. I qualify that by saying that none ever involved any heinous crimes, I promise. Though there is that thought that I played judge to a certain extent. Issues like child support payments missed, minor driving charges overlooked, etc. If it ever involved a matter of public or personal safety, there was no option other than going back.
So anyway, I'm not perfect and never said I was. I've already admitted to a soft side of my brain. The reality of it is that those occasions seldom befall me. Few people that run have the funds available to pay off the full value of a bond plus my expenses. They usually run because they don't have any money. So by rote it's a moot point.
Man, above all creatures when running, has the capacity to connive. Given that he has a marginal amount of sense, common or otherwise, he has the capacity to manipulate and possibly out think his pursuer. The challenge I find is out thinking them. Trying to locate someone who is working real hard (if not smart) at not being found is intense. They hide their tracks, double back or hunker down. Sometimes you find them under your very nose...other times five or six state lines (or more) away. But invariably, unless they are really smart (and they wouldn't be running if they were) they fall into familiar patterns and they get lazy or complacent or feeling too safe and they make a mistake. One mistake can get them caught. If it doesn't it can turn into a comedy of errors that usually does.
PURSUIT
On one occasion, I pursued a couple (man and wife) who were bonded out on some aggravated driving charges. Mostly aggravated because it was a chronic set of circumstance. He with multiple DWI's. She, because when he had lost his license, they put the car in her name she kept letting him drive it. They both got popped and had twin $10,000 bonds on them. Time came for court and they knew that they, he at least because of the repetitious nature of the circumstances, were likely going to spend some serious jail time.
They had a son and a daughter. But though still a minor, the son was estranged from the family unit and was staying with grandparents. The runners took the daughter with them and left the state.
Often times when people run, they feel that if they get far enough away they are safe. "Surely no one is going to follow us all the way to New York!!!" To be sure, sometimes that does factor into whether or not it is practical to pursue. If it's a small bond and it would cost you X number of dollars in expenses to apprehend and that figure is more than the bond...you cut your loses and pay it. Like pulling teeth, but you pay it.
In this case with 20 grand to lose, it was well worth the attempt to locate. My initial problem was that I didn't have a clue as to where they went.
This is where good investigative skills come in. Sometimes after a long enough period has transpired, you can simply google in the name and if they have gotten a new address, or had any type of municipal, civil or criminal contact, their name will pop up. But if they have been flying under the radar it can be a bit difficult.
In this particular case I made contact with the grand parents and found out they weren't too pleased that the parents had fled out of state towing an eleven year old girl with them. Though it would have been legal for them to under normal circumstances, they felt that the parents on the lam lead to an unsafe environment for the child. And I would have had to agree. The grandparents were cooperative in that they knew that it was likely that the couple had fled to New York, and while they could guess that it was probably the rural, upstate part....they didn't have a town or an address. They just knew that the mother had once lived up there years prior and probably had some existing contacts.
The downfall of our dynamically ditching duo came in the form of government checks. Both were freeloading on the system and had disability checks that were auto drafted into a local bank account. On one occasion, when speaking with the twelve year old son, I learned that the bank account information was still being addressed to their previous address locally. The new residents had been gracious enough to hang onto those articles (and others) of mail and the boy had them in his possession. It appeared that the duo were using their banking account debit cards for purchases in the upstate New York area. It was a pretty wide circle they were functioning in so a fixed address was still a long way away. The list of purchases included the usual...groceries, liquor, clothing, convenience store stuff and the like.
There were several of them and as I said before, scattered over a pretty large area. More than would have been reasonable under normal circumstances. It appeared as if they were purposefully making their purchases in as many different places as possible. I knew they were in the area, I just couldn't pin point it close enough to make it worth a trip up there. You miss a person by a few feet in this business and you've missed them by miles.
They had a son and a daughter. But though still a minor, the son was estranged from the family unit and was staying with grandparents. The runners took the daughter with them and left the state.
Often times when people run, they feel that if they get far enough away they are safe. "Surely no one is going to follow us all the way to New York!!!" To be sure, sometimes that does factor into whether or not it is practical to pursue. If it's a small bond and it would cost you X number of dollars in expenses to apprehend and that figure is more than the bond...you cut your loses and pay it. Like pulling teeth, but you pay it.
In this case with 20 grand to lose, it was well worth the attempt to locate. My initial problem was that I didn't have a clue as to where they went.
This is where good investigative skills come in. Sometimes after a long enough period has transpired, you can simply google in the name and if they have gotten a new address, or had any type of municipal, civil or criminal contact, their name will pop up. But if they have been flying under the radar it can be a bit difficult.
In this particular case I made contact with the grand parents and found out they weren't too pleased that the parents had fled out of state towing an eleven year old girl with them. Though it would have been legal for them to under normal circumstances, they felt that the parents on the lam lead to an unsafe environment for the child. And I would have had to agree. The grandparents were cooperative in that they knew that it was likely that the couple had fled to New York, and while they could guess that it was probably the rural, upstate part....they didn't have a town or an address. They just knew that the mother had once lived up there years prior and probably had some existing contacts.
The downfall of our dynamically ditching duo came in the form of government checks. Both were freeloading on the system and had disability checks that were auto drafted into a local bank account. On one occasion, when speaking with the twelve year old son, I learned that the bank account information was still being addressed to their previous address locally. The new residents had been gracious enough to hang onto those articles (and others) of mail and the boy had them in his possession. It appeared that the duo were using their banking account debit cards for purchases in the upstate New York area. It was a pretty wide circle they were functioning in so a fixed address was still a long way away. The list of purchases included the usual...groceries, liquor, clothing, convenience store stuff and the like.
There were several of them and as I said before, scattered over a pretty large area. More than would have been reasonable under normal circumstances. It appeared as if they were purposefully making their purchases in as many different places as possible. I knew they were in the area, I just couldn't pin point it close enough to make it worth a trip up there. You miss a person by a few feet in this business and you've missed them by miles.
THREE "B's"
Whenever planning a long distance trip to do a pickup, I always applied the principle of three's. If I could put together three different indicators that a person was in a given area, incorporating factors of time, location and contacts, it gave me what I classify as a "greater than not chance of success".
In this case, I knew that they were in a given area...though large, they were somewhere within that circle of purchases. I knew that it was a current situation. The purchases we had proof of were within the last few days/weeks and they were constant.
A few other things I knew that had to be tied together....I knew that unless they had sold it, they had a late model Ford T'bird that was turquoise and had ground effects with North Carolina plates. I knew that they had several pit bull dogs, he raised them and had taken no less than eight of them when they fled. And I knew that the two siblings, the twelve year old boy and his eleven year old sister, were communicating via e-mails.
The boy was already cooperating, he had given us the financial information. I needed to find out if the girl would cooperate. I learned from the boy that she wasn't any too happy to be uprooted and hustled off to upstate NY in the middle of the winter. She missed her brother, home and family. So I talked the boy into sending some probing questions via their messaging. We quickly learned that the father was monitoring her traffic and would not let her give away any indication as to where they specifically lived. No towns, street names...no stores close by, nothing that would give us enough information to pinpoint their location......until they were discussing how she liked school one day and she was able to slip in a description of the mascot for her school.
I looked at all the information I had available. I had a circle of operation (for them) that was perhaps 80 miles in diameter. Spotted all through that circle were maybe thirty stores they frequented. Again, too many to get a valid fix. I knew the make and model of their car and I knew they had dogs. Lots of dogs. Lots of dogs equals lots of Spot fuel. And I knew that the mascot of the school the girl was attending was a wolf.
They had put a lot of energy into shopping at various places to throw a wide curve into their personal buying habits. But the dogs were another story. When I again focused on the card purchases I noted that by far the most frequent purchase to the same place was a feed store. Rural areas depend on agriculturally oriented outlets for animal feed. They specialize in animal husbandry...meaning feed, seed, equipment and other such items common to the farm life.
These folks might be buying their dog food from local super market chains, but I can attest to the expense of buying there. It made much more sense to believe that they were buying eight dogs (large dogs) worth of feed in bulk form...and from that feed store.
I figured I had my "three's" in place. I had the feed store almost dead center in the circle of overall purchases, I had the time because the kids last e-mail session had the girl stating they hadn't moved since arriving and I had a school within five minutes driving distance from the feed store. Which made it all school bus route handy. So I started planning.
Any time you are going to initiate an operation of this sort, another "three" must be considered. This is a concept I learned while serving in the Marines. "Beans, Bullets and Bad guys". I already had the bad guys. They were the ones I was going after.
"Beans" references the means by which the operation is fueled. Whether that is food, fuel, accommodations or any of the other necessities of travel, for one or a million, remains the same, namely funds. You gotta have money for food, fuel and lodging.
Another is "bullets". That represents the tactical support that you will need. First, I was going all the way to New York to pick up not just one, but two skips, and a husband and wife at that. Any law enforcement agent will tell you that domestic situations are the worst of the worst. Highly volatile in nature to begin with, you seldom can see the worst turn of events before it sweeps you away. So I needed an assistant. And more than my buddy Cash (the boxer) was going to be able to provide. Upstate NY is at a minimum of 14 hours driving time one way. One person can't drive all that way and still be in shape to haul two (maybe highly unwilling) fugitives back.
These weren't violent criminals I was pursuing...they were pretty much normal people who got themselves into a legal fix and mistakenly figured that running and hiding was the best course of action to take. They raised dogs for a living and had a couple of kids. That doesn't mean they couldn't, or wouldn't be dangerous, but all I figured I really needed was a warm body with a decent set of eyes and ears. I needed help driving and someone to watch my back. The rest, though a bit of a challenge, wasn't undoable by myself. I had a friend that was a truck driver who had gone out on a few local skips and he was available. He had a pretty level head on his shoulders, had good driving skills and was good company to boot.
I also needed someone on the home front who could field phone calls, forward information and generally watch our backs from a fixed position. I had that in the form of an associate who worked for the same insurance company.
So we were pretty much set. I had my bad guys and my bullets. Last to procure was my beans. Often times working skips like this you find that you are not the only agency that the runner has skipped on. In this case another agency had substantial money invested in these folks as well. I had collaborated with them on various pieces of information (they had put me in touch with the family initially) in the investigation. Their particular challenge was they didn't have the physical resources or capacity to travel.
I did. I've got a good car, I mentioned a decommissioned police car, set up with a laptop incorporating all the necessary GPS, internet and personell file capacity required. The car is also excellent for transporting fugitives safely.
They didn't have that, but they did have a substantial amount of liability if the fugitives weren't returned, actually with less time till the critical court deadline that did I. So they funded the trip.
I had my Beans, Bullets and Bad guys. So we saddled up and hit the road.
In this case, I knew that they were in a given area...though large, they were somewhere within that circle of purchases. I knew that it was a current situation. The purchases we had proof of were within the last few days/weeks and they were constant.
A few other things I knew that had to be tied together....I knew that unless they had sold it, they had a late model Ford T'bird that was turquoise and had ground effects with North Carolina plates. I knew that they had several pit bull dogs, he raised them and had taken no less than eight of them when they fled. And I knew that the two siblings, the twelve year old boy and his eleven year old sister, were communicating via e-mails.
The boy was already cooperating, he had given us the financial information. I needed to find out if the girl would cooperate. I learned from the boy that she wasn't any too happy to be uprooted and hustled off to upstate NY in the middle of the winter. She missed her brother, home and family. So I talked the boy into sending some probing questions via their messaging. We quickly learned that the father was monitoring her traffic and would not let her give away any indication as to where they specifically lived. No towns, street names...no stores close by, nothing that would give us enough information to pinpoint their location......until they were discussing how she liked school one day and she was able to slip in a description of the mascot for her school.
I looked at all the information I had available. I had a circle of operation (for them) that was perhaps 80 miles in diameter. Spotted all through that circle were maybe thirty stores they frequented. Again, too many to get a valid fix. I knew the make and model of their car and I knew they had dogs. Lots of dogs. Lots of dogs equals lots of Spot fuel. And I knew that the mascot of the school the girl was attending was a wolf.
They had put a lot of energy into shopping at various places to throw a wide curve into their personal buying habits. But the dogs were another story. When I again focused on the card purchases I noted that by far the most frequent purchase to the same place was a feed store. Rural areas depend on agriculturally oriented outlets for animal feed. They specialize in animal husbandry...meaning feed, seed, equipment and other such items common to the farm life.
These folks might be buying their dog food from local super market chains, but I can attest to the expense of buying there. It made much more sense to believe that they were buying eight dogs (large dogs) worth of feed in bulk form...and from that feed store.
I figured I had my "three's" in place. I had the feed store almost dead center in the circle of overall purchases, I had the time because the kids last e-mail session had the girl stating they hadn't moved since arriving and I had a school within five minutes driving distance from the feed store. Which made it all school bus route handy. So I started planning.
Any time you are going to initiate an operation of this sort, another "three" must be considered. This is a concept I learned while serving in the Marines. "Beans, Bullets and Bad guys". I already had the bad guys. They were the ones I was going after.
"Beans" references the means by which the operation is fueled. Whether that is food, fuel, accommodations or any of the other necessities of travel, for one or a million, remains the same, namely funds. You gotta have money for food, fuel and lodging.
Another is "bullets". That represents the tactical support that you will need. First, I was going all the way to New York to pick up not just one, but two skips, and a husband and wife at that. Any law enforcement agent will tell you that domestic situations are the worst of the worst. Highly volatile in nature to begin with, you seldom can see the worst turn of events before it sweeps you away. So I needed an assistant. And more than my buddy Cash (the boxer) was going to be able to provide. Upstate NY is at a minimum of 14 hours driving time one way. One person can't drive all that way and still be in shape to haul two (maybe highly unwilling) fugitives back.
These weren't violent criminals I was pursuing...they were pretty much normal people who got themselves into a legal fix and mistakenly figured that running and hiding was the best course of action to take. They raised dogs for a living and had a couple of kids. That doesn't mean they couldn't, or wouldn't be dangerous, but all I figured I really needed was a warm body with a decent set of eyes and ears. I needed help driving and someone to watch my back. The rest, though a bit of a challenge, wasn't undoable by myself. I had a friend that was a truck driver who had gone out on a few local skips and he was available. He had a pretty level head on his shoulders, had good driving skills and was good company to boot.
I also needed someone on the home front who could field phone calls, forward information and generally watch our backs from a fixed position. I had that in the form of an associate who worked for the same insurance company.
So we were pretty much set. I had my bad guys and my bullets. Last to procure was my beans. Often times working skips like this you find that you are not the only agency that the runner has skipped on. In this case another agency had substantial money invested in these folks as well. I had collaborated with them on various pieces of information (they had put me in touch with the family initially) in the investigation. Their particular challenge was they didn't have the physical resources or capacity to travel.
I did. I've got a good car, I mentioned a decommissioned police car, set up with a laptop incorporating all the necessary GPS, internet and personell file capacity required. The car is also excellent for transporting fugitives safely.
They didn't have that, but they did have a substantial amount of liability if the fugitives weren't returned, actually with less time till the critical court deadline that did I. So they funded the trip.
I had my Beans, Bullets and Bad guys. So we saddled up and hit the road.
UP NORTH
I had been to the general area a decade or so before while in my construction mode. I built (or supervised the building of) a Bob Evans restaurant just outside of Erie PA. During the six months or so it took to complete it, I had sojourned out into the rural area on several occasions. One of those jaunts lead me into the wine country of north western NY. Watertown area to be precise. But that had been summertime and this was the dead of winter. We only had wet conditions here but they had had some significant snow fall up there a week or so prior and were looking at the strong possiblity of more coming soon. I had a relative window of about four days to work in. That involved the weather as well as the "beans". We didn't have unlimited funds. I figured it would take a good day to drive up...maybe one to two to locate and apprehend and another to drive back. That was if all went as planned. The other agency had told me (reluctantly) that they could wire more funds if absolutely necessary but they'd rather not.
My first intended point of contact after checking in with local law enforcement was the feed store. I figured the frequency of the visits there as well as the "country" atmosphere might lend for a bit more personal information about our target than a grocery store. So I punched the address to the feed store into my gps unit and we made as much of a straight line of approach as possible. It also occurred to me that as most of the visits to it were made in the middle of the week, that a worst case scenario, if we couldn't find their home was we waited for them to come buy some dog food.
We left late in the afternoon, drove all night and kept to the schedule, arriving in the area some 15 hours later, early in the day. Traveling over the mountains of the Virginia's we encountered some snow, but not enough to slow us down much.
I had noted that the feed store was some six or so miles away from the town of Watertown so we proceded on into town. I located the local cop shop, in this case the town was small enough that the State Highway Patrol and the local police inhabited the same office space.
We possessed all the documentation required to substantiate our mission and I provided that information to the police. They didn't seem to have a problem with our mission, but were a bit "concerned" with the tools we might be in possession of to augment it. New York has a bit stiffer arms laws than does North Carolina and the statement presented by those law enforcement officers was "We know you don't have any illegal weapons in your possession and we'll leave it at that...you do what you gotta do to catch your folks, without involving us, and everybody will be fine...get them and leave as quickly and as quietly as possible". It appeared they were more eager to dispose of possible miscreants, and the cost of prosecuting them, than questioning us as to what we might or might not possess in terms of hardware.
I possess all the necessary permits and authorization to carry firearms that North Carolina requires. There is some state to state question of reciprocity that might have created some commotion had they pressed the point. All in all, we had their blessing to continue.
I plugged the feed store address into the gps unit and a few short minutes later we were there.
It was indeed a rural type setting located at the crossroads of two county highways. The people were polite and quite literally put us on top of our quarry. They remembered the Ford as well as the frequent copious amounts of dog food. It appeared that they had occasion to speak with our runners at lenght on at least one occasion about lodging...this right after they arrived. They didn't know exactly where they had found a home, but did know that it was relatively close by. They also knew of a local school with the mascot we mentioned....some seven miles up one of the highways from our current location. We thanked them and left.
I googled in the highschool once back in the car and found it's exact location in a little town called Wilson just up the road. With the intention of going there to ask what questions we could, I initiated a route. I was studying that route when the wisdom of bringing along that second set of eyes manifested itself.
My first intended point of contact after checking in with local law enforcement was the feed store. I figured the frequency of the visits there as well as the "country" atmosphere might lend for a bit more personal information about our target than a grocery store. So I punched the address to the feed store into my gps unit and we made as much of a straight line of approach as possible. It also occurred to me that as most of the visits to it were made in the middle of the week, that a worst case scenario, if we couldn't find their home was we waited for them to come buy some dog food.
We left late in the afternoon, drove all night and kept to the schedule, arriving in the area some 15 hours later, early in the day. Traveling over the mountains of the Virginia's we encountered some snow, but not enough to slow us down much.
I had noted that the feed store was some six or so miles away from the town of Watertown so we proceded on into town. I located the local cop shop, in this case the town was small enough that the State Highway Patrol and the local police inhabited the same office space.
We possessed all the documentation required to substantiate our mission and I provided that information to the police. They didn't seem to have a problem with our mission, but were a bit "concerned" with the tools we might be in possession of to augment it. New York has a bit stiffer arms laws than does North Carolina and the statement presented by those law enforcement officers was "We know you don't have any illegal weapons in your possession and we'll leave it at that...you do what you gotta do to catch your folks, without involving us, and everybody will be fine...get them and leave as quickly and as quietly as possible". It appeared they were more eager to dispose of possible miscreants, and the cost of prosecuting them, than questioning us as to what we might or might not possess in terms of hardware.
I possess all the necessary permits and authorization to carry firearms that North Carolina requires. There is some state to state question of reciprocity that might have created some commotion had they pressed the point. All in all, we had their blessing to continue.
I plugged the feed store address into the gps unit and a few short minutes later we were there.
It was indeed a rural type setting located at the crossroads of two county highways. The people were polite and quite literally put us on top of our quarry. They remembered the Ford as well as the frequent copious amounts of dog food. It appeared that they had occasion to speak with our runners at lenght on at least one occasion about lodging...this right after they arrived. They didn't know exactly where they had found a home, but did know that it was relatively close by. They also knew of a local school with the mascot we mentioned....some seven miles up one of the highways from our current location. We thanked them and left.
I googled in the highschool once back in the car and found it's exact location in a little town called Wilson just up the road. With the intention of going there to ask what questions we could, I initiated a route. I was studying that route when the wisdom of bringing along that second set of eyes manifested itself.
HELLO!
We hadn't gotten maybe two miles up the road, I was watching the road and the map and Neil was gazing out the window of the car. Quite suddenly he says, "there it is!" I said, "there what is?" He says, "the green T'bird, with ground effects." I said, "no way!" He said, "yes way, seriously, turn around!"
So we did, and there it was. It was parked in an awning overhang built onto the side of a barn. In the back yard appeared to be a large fenced kennel that had a gaggle of dogs in it.
We cruised on by, went a short distance down the road and turned back. On the third pass I went slow enough for Neil to hit the car with some binoculars and he noted it had North Carolina plates. Wonder of wonders.
I turned in the drive and pulled up to a side door of the house. There appeared to be two entrances visable from where we parked, the standard front and back door. The front door had a small landing porch and was just around the front corner of the house. I went to the back door, it appeared to be the more frequently used.
I knocked on the door and my runner answered it. He didn't recognize me initially, but did once he looked out in the drive and saw the police car with the "North Carolina Most Wanted" plate I had on the front advertising a website we use.
I said, "Where do you think you're going?" He replied, "I'm guessing back to North Carolina!" Good guess.
The problem was, the dogs had started to go crazy. I was standing just inside the back door brandishing a set of cuffs and Neil was still outside the front door, visible from an inside window. Mrs. Runner was yelling at her husband to speak up, the dogs to shut up and screaming "what do you want?!!" at us. With Neil still outside watching the front door, I instructed her to come into the kitchen where I had her husband. She chose instead to bolt, ran into another room and dialed 911. I'm guessing maybe she thought we were kidnappers.
Very soon we had local LEO, including the very same officers I had spoken to earlier on the scene. The trooper, casting a baleful eye in my direction said, "What did I tell you about getting in, out and gone that was so difficult to understand?" I told him all was just fine until Mrs. Runner decided to call the police....go figure that a crook would do that. So we had a bit of a quagmire.
Curiosity had led the officers to run some checks on the folks after we left their station house and they had discovered that these folks hadn't really been just raising dogs since their arrival in New York. It appeared that they might also be wanted for questioning involving some local drug activity. Mr. Trooper called the local district attorney's office to get some advisement on what they should proceed with.
What saved our fannies was one document in particular that we had brought with us. That being a release, signed at the time the bond was posted by the defendants, that they would voluntarily agree to extradition from another state should that circumstance arise.
The state of New York had a right to hold them, as well as make life difficult for us, if they so chose to do so. Ultimately the DA said, let 'em go, they'd take care of the daughter and the dogs. The trooper gave us two hours to exit New York and said, "Glad to have met ya, don't plan on seeing you again, if you get my drift." I agreed that was a good plan and we cut out for Dixie.
The rest, as they say is history. We made it back without incident albeit with several exlamations from our dipsy duo of, "how in the heck did you find us?" "Trade secrets!" was all I said.
So we did, and there it was. It was parked in an awning overhang built onto the side of a barn. In the back yard appeared to be a large fenced kennel that had a gaggle of dogs in it.
We cruised on by, went a short distance down the road and turned back. On the third pass I went slow enough for Neil to hit the car with some binoculars and he noted it had North Carolina plates. Wonder of wonders.
I turned in the drive and pulled up to a side door of the house. There appeared to be two entrances visable from where we parked, the standard front and back door. The front door had a small landing porch and was just around the front corner of the house. I went to the back door, it appeared to be the more frequently used.
I knocked on the door and my runner answered it. He didn't recognize me initially, but did once he looked out in the drive and saw the police car with the "North Carolina Most Wanted" plate I had on the front advertising a website we use.
I said, "Where do you think you're going?" He replied, "I'm guessing back to North Carolina!" Good guess.
The problem was, the dogs had started to go crazy. I was standing just inside the back door brandishing a set of cuffs and Neil was still outside the front door, visible from an inside window. Mrs. Runner was yelling at her husband to speak up, the dogs to shut up and screaming "what do you want?!!" at us. With Neil still outside watching the front door, I instructed her to come into the kitchen where I had her husband. She chose instead to bolt, ran into another room and dialed 911. I'm guessing maybe she thought we were kidnappers.
Very soon we had local LEO, including the very same officers I had spoken to earlier on the scene. The trooper, casting a baleful eye in my direction said, "What did I tell you about getting in, out and gone that was so difficult to understand?" I told him all was just fine until Mrs. Runner decided to call the police....go figure that a crook would do that. So we had a bit of a quagmire.
Curiosity had led the officers to run some checks on the folks after we left their station house and they had discovered that these folks hadn't really been just raising dogs since their arrival in New York. It appeared that they might also be wanted for questioning involving some local drug activity. Mr. Trooper called the local district attorney's office to get some advisement on what they should proceed with.
What saved our fannies was one document in particular that we had brought with us. That being a release, signed at the time the bond was posted by the defendants, that they would voluntarily agree to extradition from another state should that circumstance arise.
The state of New York had a right to hold them, as well as make life difficult for us, if they so chose to do so. Ultimately the DA said, let 'em go, they'd take care of the daughter and the dogs. The trooper gave us two hours to exit New York and said, "Glad to have met ya, don't plan on seeing you again, if you get my drift." I agreed that was a good plan and we cut out for Dixie.
The rest, as they say is history. We made it back without incident albeit with several exlamations from our dipsy duo of, "how in the heck did you find us?" "Trade secrets!" was all I said.
DESTINY
Now I've given you the recount of this little romp through the country side and it may well appear to be a bit of a rabbit trail merely expressed for the enjoyment of my telling it. But there is a moral to the story. One I learned a long time back and one that has been edified each and every time I've ever departed one place and located to another. Whether that "place" is a geographical place or a metaphorical place.
That moral is...
"No matter where you go, there you are."
Those folks left here and went there. They left behind everything they had except that which they could take with them. They took a car and some dogs, but those things are interchangable with anything else. What they took with them that matters were their habits. The essence of what makes them individuals. In their case, that was the downfall of their plan.
In my case, I sit here some 25 years away from the active duty service I left at the beginning of this tale. Lots of stuff is behind me and lots more before me.
I don't know where I'm going. In life or otherwise. But it is a sure bet that where ever that is, I and all of my lifes experiences, all of my memories, all of my idiosyncrosies, dreams, asparations, loves, likes and all, will be "there" with me. I am the sum total of what I've done and who I am because of it. That's what life is. The journey. Who we are and what we are when we get to where we are going is far more important that the destination.
For although God holds the final decision over the later...in His infinite mystery, He has granted us control over the former.
When somebody asks you, "Where do you think you're going?" Before you answer, look to your motives. Look to your character. Look to what is most important to you and the telling of those tales will determine what lies ahead...and what answer you give.
That moral is...
"No matter where you go, there you are."
Those folks left here and went there. They left behind everything they had except that which they could take with them. They took a car and some dogs, but those things are interchangable with anything else. What they took with them that matters were their habits. The essence of what makes them individuals. In their case, that was the downfall of their plan.
In my case, I sit here some 25 years away from the active duty service I left at the beginning of this tale. Lots of stuff is behind me and lots more before me.
I don't know where I'm going. In life or otherwise. But it is a sure bet that where ever that is, I and all of my lifes experiences, all of my memories, all of my idiosyncrosies, dreams, asparations, loves, likes and all, will be "there" with me. I am the sum total of what I've done and who I am because of it. That's what life is. The journey. Who we are and what we are when we get to where we are going is far more important that the destination.
For although God holds the final decision over the later...in His infinite mystery, He has granted us control over the former.
When somebody asks you, "Where do you think you're going?" Before you answer, look to your motives. Look to your character. Look to what is most important to you and the telling of those tales will determine what lies ahead...and what answer you give.
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