Drugged

When I was a brand new investigator, I was investigating a man we'll call Sam... who was part of a family of that was allegedly linked to organized crime.

Sam owned many businesses. Some legitimate, some not. Some of the women who worked for Sam approached a law firm about his sexual harassment of them. They wanted to hold him accountable for his actions. Two lost their jobs, two still worked for him. They all felt threatened by Sam.

I was hired by the attorney and sent southbound to discreetly investigate the case in the city Sam operated out of. My base of operations was a large hotel on the Washington side of the river that separates our state from Oregon.

I did a lot of research on Sam before I left town.
He was the subject of a Federal Investigation into organized crime. Active Department of Justice Investigations are not public record, so I could get no information re: the Federal Investigation, other than the alleged links to organized crime. Through databases, I linked him and his family to several businesses I could see the Feds considering questionable.

Sam was also running for political office in the area he lived.
That information was passed on to the same attorneys who hired me to investigate the sexual harassment allegations in the civil arena.
I was told that a group of "concerned citizens" had upped the investigation ante. They requested any information found in the harassment suit, particularly info of the illegal variety, be disclosed to them.... so they, in turn, might disclose relevant information to the media and a deserving public before the election.

So I headed south with a list of details I gathered about my subject running through my head.
He was a scumbag.
A kid who never grew up.
He was 35. Went from high school into family businesses.
Wore Armanis.
Drove a Ferrari. And a Hummer.
Wouldn't shake hands.
Only smoked Cuban cigars.
Did not like anyone to argue with him, especially women.
Also liked to play cruel practical jokes.

He put pepper powder on the rolls of toilet paper in the women's restroom at work.
He bugged offices.
He touched women's bottoms, leered at their tops and exposed himself to two different women.
And one day, when the whole office got the runs, everyone suspected he put x-lax in the water cooler.

He had a wife at home and a bunch of sugar babies on the side.
Definitely not the kind of guy you'd want your kid, sister or mother to marry.
Maybe that's why he was married 4 times.
Not including number 5, the current wife, who was 20 years younger than him.

My job was to dig up even more dirt on him without being seen by him. I studied him through my binoculars, shot him with my camera, followed his tracks through the front windshield of my vehicle through out the day.

I also had plenty of contacts in place in his town, people of the good-guy variety, willing to come forward and talk to me in a variety of places they felt safe.

People who behave badly leave enemies in their wake.
So I found those enemies and befriended them. They had information regarding the sexual harassment action... and other potentially illegal actions and associations.

I parked in the city center and went to city hall, the assessors office, municipal, superior court and district court. I hand pulled files... did all the old fashioned footwork private investigators do more often by computer.

It took three days, several legal pads and a lot of reassurance before witnesses would talk... then trust... then confide.
Finally, I felt I had enough evidence on him to close the case and hand my case file to attorneys.

So I decided on a mini-celebration, choosing to spend one last night in the hotel before heading home.
I left my notes in my room, stopped by the hotel lobby for a newspaper.
Then to the hotel restaurant for something to eat and a glass of wine to honor the completion of my investigation.

It was 4 pm. The restaurant wasn't open. I sat at the bar. The bartender was nice enough. I ordered my wine and got it. Ordered my crab and spinach salad and got it. I ate and read my newspaper, sipping and savoring the wine.

Somewhere in the middle of the eating and sipping and reading, an old man sat next to me.
"This seat taken?" he asked, sitting on my right.
He was old, I guessed late 70's. Well dressed. Nice enough.
"Not anymore" I said with a smile.

He ordered a gin and tonic, a double. I went back to my paper, he got his drink. Then he started talking and I figured I'd listen, so I did. He talked about the weather, the news, politics, the economy, the good old days, the H Bomb his life, his wife , his grand kids.

And this is where I made my mistake.
I had to pee.
That part wasn't the mistake.
What was, was my asking him to watch my wine and salad while I headed to the rest room for a minute.
My glass was still half full of Merlot. I was drinking slowly. My mistake was leaving it.
He said "Of course" and off I went. Then back I came.

I finished my salad, drank the rest of my wine.The bartender asked if I wanted another wine, I said no thank you and asked for my bill. I had cash in my pocket, I didn't want to use a credit card with my name on it in the bar.

As the bill arrived the old man stopped talking and asked me what I did for a living.
I decided what the heck, I'd tell him the truth.
I said I was a P.I. working an investigation.
He looked at me and said, "I know."

My internal alarm rang loud and clear. How would he know? I looked in his eyes, and suddenly the innocent old man morphed into a potential predator before my eyes. Just as suddenly, I started feeling sick. Dizzy. I wondered briefly if the man sitting next to me could be Sam's father.

I peeled off a big bill and told the bartender to keep the change. He looked at me with surprise and gave a loud thanks.
I turned to the old man and said, something about how nice it was to meet him and I was going to my room like right now.

The old man said I didn't look good. He said he'd walk me to my room.
I said not necessary, I'd be fine.
He insisted.
I wondered if my mind was playing games on me as we walked quietly. Maybe he really was a harmless old man helping me out and not some Mafia don who spiked my drink..
Either way I felt his hand on my elbow as we walked to my room.
We stood outside the door.
I pulled the key card from my pocket and slowly slid it through the door. The old man could hear the TV was on as I opened the door a crack.
I always left the TV on when I travel alone and leave a hotel/motel room. It sounds like some one's in there and keeps people away.
"Hey it's just me" I said as I opened the door.
The old man look quizzically at me.
"My partner, another investigator." I lied, "He wasn't hungry."

I pushed the door open with my right shoulder, squeezed through without opening it fully, then
closed it fast and hard. Dead bolted it. Chained it. Remember I moved a chair up against it. Then I passed out on the floor.

I didn't wake up until the next morning, about 9:00 am, coughed from vomit in my mouth.
The place was a puke-filled mess. I was sick from what I knew right then and there from some kind of drug.

It took me several hours before I could get myself together and get the place cleaned-up. I called the front desk, extended my checkout time another hour. I was registered under a different name.

As I showered and pondered the events of the evening I realized how dangerous this profession I had chosen could really be.

I didn't check out at the front desk. I slipped out the back door, got in my car, hit the freeway and called the attorney as I hightailed it back to Seattle. I drove directly to a doctor the attorney referred me to.

Blood was taken. They found rohypnol... roofies... in my blood. I'd indeed been drugged. And had I not closed that door, or convinced him someone was in that room, that old man might have entered my room. He would have had access to me and all the notes of my five day investigation.

I felt I had dodged a bullet.
A hollow point bullet, no less.
It was my own stupidity that left my drink unguarded.
It was my own newbie investigative ignorance that allowed me to believe the gestures of an old man could only be altruistic.

Ultimately, the information I uncovered was helpful. It was released to key sources in both the Justice Department and the media.
The sexual harassment civil suit was settled favorably out of court.
Sam was not elected to office.
As for the organized crime investigation, I never asked about it and do not care.
To me the case is closed.
Just as doors I use to leave open are also closed.

The X-Files credo was "Trust No One"
It's my credo to this day, on every investigation I do.