Strange Days

I've got a story to tell you.  Actually, two stories, which may be interconnected, a fact even this writer is unsure about.

So, lets start with today.

I woke up this morning around 9:00 AM.  This is abnormal for me, but probably due to the fact that I opened the restaurant on Friday, got up at 7:00 AM on Sunday to get ready for the party, and opened the restaurant again on Monday.  I'm not too worried, by Thursday I'll be sleeping in all over again.  Anyway, I was up, which was good because the past few days the blogosphere really got away from me.  I started reading, and was about halfway through when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Yeah. Bill?" said a husky voiced man.

"No, you've got a wrong number, man," I said.

"Is this the residence of someone, last name Biles?" he said, saying it 'Bills.'

"Yes, it is."

"How do you pronounce that?" he asked, and I told him how.

"Ok, let me explain," he said, "I'm a private detective, and I'm tracking down a fugitive.  I've gotten some information from law enforcement that the person I'm looking for has called you 5 or 6 times."

My stomach starts churning, and I'm completely baffled. 

"Who is it you are looking for?" I asked him.

"Her name is Shandy," he said.  "She's a crack whore who I've been tracking down, and her number has called your number several times."

I am speechless.  A private investigator is calling me, and he's saying that I'm connected to someone who I have never heard of.  "I don't know anyone by that name," I told him.

He explained that he needed to come by and show me a picture of her, and we talked for a few minutes.  I gave me the numbers that he is tracking, and, after our conversation, I looked through my Caller ID to see if the number came up.  It did call me once, back on December 29th.

_____________________

Ok, let me stop here, leaving the story with me sufficiently freaked out and tell you another story.  It occurs to me that I mentioned once, in a post back around this time, that I'd tell this story, and I never did.

This goes back around late November, Early December (I can't really recall when)...

I went to work that night (I'm pretty sure it was a Friday night) and then I went home.  No, wait, I went out and had some drinks after work, and then went home.  I watched part of a movie, had a couple more drinks, and then went outside to watch Mayer.  Normally, Mayer and I take a lap around my apartment complex.  So, there I was, a little buzzed,  listening to my iPod, and walking Mayer.  It's about midnight or so, and we are walking around the last part of the loop, heading back to the apartment when I see a female form walking up to me.

I wasn't wearing my glasses, so I couldn't see what the deal was, but she was walking right up to me.  This happens, from time to time, as Mayer is the cutest dog ever and, thusly, women want to pet him.  Even at midnight.  It is a nice perk of pet-ownership.  As she comes closer, and I can focus a bit better, I can tell a few details.  She is maybe 20, she is wearing pink pajama pants, a baby tee, and houseshoes.  As she comes up to me, I notice that she is on her cell phone and crying.

"Oh my god, can you help me? I don't know where I am," she said.  After I asked her what was wrong, she explained that she was a stripper, and an old high school friend had asked her if she wanted to hang out. She had gone over to his house, and then he tried to rape her, and now she didn't know where she was.  I asked if he lived in this complex, and she said yes, so I told her to follow me, so we could at least get inside and away from him. 

We got inside, I gave her a glass of water, and she calmed down a little bit.  There was a bit more to the story, as it turned out.  She had seen him at the club, after not seeing him since high school.  They had exchanged numbers, and then he called and asked if she wanted to hang out and watch a movie at his place.  She told him she needed to work, and he offered to give her some moeny if she needed it.  She agreed, and he came and picked her up. 

Long story short, she got to his apartment, and he didn't have a television, furniture, or anything.  Just a matress in the front room.  She felt weird, and, he told her that he didn't have any furniture because he wasn't going to be staying there long.  She asked where he was going, and he said he was leaving the country.  After a bit, aparantly, she got so uncomfortable that she asked him to take her home, at which point he tried to proposition her.  He didn't try to rape her, according to her, just hook up.  Finally, she insisted that he take her home, and he said fine, pushed her out the door, and then he shut and locked the door behind her. 

Now, my impression of this girl was that she was a bit of a ghetto white girl.  So, she started pounding on the door and telling him "Get the fuck out here...." and "I'm gonna kill you, motherfucker."  At some point she called her sister, who was on the phone when this happened.  When she delivered the threat of death, the sister said "Michelle, you have to get out of there... He's killed someone before..." at which point she took off running, which is when she crossed my path.

After telling me this, I asked her if she needed to call her sister to get directions to where she was so she could pick her up.  Her sister didn't have a car, she said, and so she said she'd call a friend.  I asked where she lived, and it wasn't far from me, so I offered to give her a ride.

I did, she gave me a little hug, and asked for my cell phone number.  She gave me a kiss on the neck and then went inside.  It was quite an experience for lil ole me.  She called once, to tell me that she wasn't dancing at the club she was first at, but had moved clubs.  It was at that point that I realized I wasn't some nice guy she wanted to talk to, but a potential next mark, so I never called her back.

_______________________

Back to today.  Of course, when the P.I. described a little blond girl with a crack habit, Michelle the stripper  was the only person that came to mind.  I told him about that incident (in a much more truncated fashion than I just did here), and he agreed that might have been her.  The only problem was, she didn't have this number.

I was still leary of this man, not knowing who it might be or if it might be a scam of some kind.  I told him I was uneasy about him swinging by, and he said he just likes to eliminate people from having to write about them in his report.   He said he could come with a police officer if I'd like, or we could meet at the police station.  I told him I'd rather meet him at a police station, and then we set up a time for tomorrow morning.  He said if he catches her before, then he won't need to meet me.

I stopped by the police station today, to see if this sounded legit, and the man at the desk said he thought it did, because these bounty hunters will do just about anything "within the law" to catch the people they are going after.  I called the P.I. later on and told him that I could meet him today if he wanted.  He said it might not be necessary because he thought they were about to catch her.

There is part of me that is relieved about this, and yet another part of me is kind of hoping I'll find out what happened, and how this all got connected to me.  Because I have no connection to the seedy crack-selling underbelly of this city, I know I have nothing to hide, but it has certainly made for an anxious day.

Details tomorrow, if I get any.

Comments

[Mortaine]

OK, some advice from a friend of mine who has to talk to cops as part of her job (she's a nurse): always meet them (and in this case, the PI/bounty hunter counts as "them") at the police station. NEVER your home. Why? Because any interviews, they conduct become part of the police report, including the location of the interview. So, you talk in your home? You get your home address as part of the police report, there for anyone to see. If it ever goes to court, the police report gets entered as evidence. Legitimate law enforcement is always willing to talk to you at the station-- after all, they have the home court advantage, there.

[Dylan]

Thanks for that, Mortaine... I was mostly insistant on going to the police station because I didn't know who it was, and I can't be certain he is who he says...

Needless to say I'm a little bit freaked out... but I'm in a police station, I've never committed a crime, and I have no outstanding tickets or warrants... so I should be good... right?

[richard]

The only other angle I can think of is...

The "PI" calls you up, arranges to meet you at the police station, and while you are on your way down there, he's at your place with a big truck full of your electronics and furniture.

Next thing, you're a guy with only a mattress in the middle of the floor.