Drug Dealers - Part 4 - "Life Turns On a Dime"

The problem with being a full time Private Investigator is having little time to do anything but.

Between traveling to and from injured people's residences, attorney's offices, courthouses and the occasional jail or prison; conducting a meeting or researching; photographing injuries to people, vehicles and things; diagramming scenes; then writing up the case notes (which have to be delivered to an attorney within 24-48 hours), there is little time to blog.

Yet the writing calls me like a siren from the sea on the final crossing of the ferry, taking me home.

So on tonight's crossing, I sorted through the endless drug related cases, the doped depths I have plumbed over the years, for Part 4.

Which story will people find most interesting? Which one most helpful?
There is a method to this blogging madness, just as there is a purpose to my investigation.
To assist. To weave a net. To toss a line. Or life preserver. To... at the very least... extend a hand.

I haven't figured out how this story will accomplish that. Though I have concluded it is a story worth telling because it involves a simple little marijuana deal that turned on a dime. A dime bag.

That's about $10. worth of pot my client's son was getting from his buddy, we'll call "Freddie." My client's son, let's call him "JB", knew Freddie since they were kids. JB and Freddie went to the same high school. They were both Seniors, decent kids... though Freddie was rougher around the edges.

On Thursday night, JB called Freddie, asked for a dime bag.
On Friday, Freddie brought the dime bag to JB at school.

JB invited Freddie to party with him that night, so they went into the woods, smoked a little weed after school.

Then they got the munchies, so JB invited Freddie to his house because there were lots of leftovers in Dad's fridge.

JB lived with his Dad and Uncle -- Dad's brother -- ever since JB's mom exited the planet.
Her end began with a single bottle of Oxycodone for a work injury. It was like she'd found God in pill form.
She shopped doctors, forged prescriptions and ultimately.... higher than a kite... figured she'd add vodka and her old Nissan to the mix. Fortunately, she was the only human killed that night. She and the telephone pole met their ends at the same time.

So it was just 17 year old JB, his Dad and his Uncle at home when Freddie, also 17, joined them for dinner. It was great night I was told. Lots of food, lots of laughs.

No drink though. Dad would not allow the stuff in his house. He was sober 3 years since JB's mom's death. The Uncle had been in AA 5 years. It was a "zero tolerance" household and JB knew it.

Since Seattle winter nights get dark early and tend to be cold and wet... and Dad did not drink... he decided to drive Freddie home that night instead of Freddie taking the bus.

So it was about 10:00 pm. Freddie's house was a twenty minute drive from JB's .

Dad got into the front seat, "cold stone sober", he told me, of his "Vintage Cadillac Seville."
Dad's brother, JB's uncle, sat next to him in the front passenger seat.

JB sat directly behind Dad, on the driver side, in the back seat.
Freddie sat on the right passenger side of the vehicle, behind JB's Uncle.

Dad described how mellow the mood was in the car. He said they were playing old blue's music. He told me if I went to his Caddy in the wreck yard, and took the tape out of the player and listened to what was playing at the time, I'd know how the mood was. "Smooth," Dad said, "it was all so smooth."

What Dad and Uncle in the front seat didn't know was this:
while they were listening to the music, Freddie lifted up the leg of his left loose fitting jean pants, and showed JB the gun tucked into the white sock with the Nike logo, that fit into the white basketball shoe with the Nike logo in it.

JB was not happy with that, he shook his head and whispered, "not cool man, put it away now."

Freddie didn't hear or didn't care.
Instead, he pulled the gun out of his sock.

Freddie's intent at this point can only be speculation.
According to the police report, Freddie said he just wanted to show his friend his new gun.

And whether JP knew about the gun earlier is also speculative.
According to the same report, JP said he did not know Freddie had the gun until he got in the car and he told Freddie to put it away.

I didn't find JB's story about seeing the gun for the first time in the car credible, because Freddie and JB were together a long time that day. It seemed more likely Freddie showed JB the gun earlier in the woods when they got high. Regardless, it's all moot at this point.

All that matters now, is what happened next.

For whatever reason, Freddie pulled the gun out of his sock on 1st ave south, which runs through a commercial district of gas stations and fast food places in an industrial area of South Seattle. When the tip of the gun barrel left his sock, Freddie touched the trigger of the gun-- and it went off.

The bullet exited the gun barrel, entered the back of dad's head and flew out the front.

You may recall Dad was driving the car, so the bullet to his head was definitely not a good thing for Dad, or the three occupants of the car, which was going at an estimated 35 mph at the time.

The hit caused Dad's head to drop down to the steering wheel.
Dad's forehead rested on the horn in the middle of steering wheel.

The car began to drive itself while its human passengers processed what happened -- and was happening. Because no one took control of the wheel, the car drove itself into the southwest side of a gas station... through the wall.... shattering a window... and stopping shy of the cashier by inches.

The video was stunning. In the part of town they were passing through robberies were common. Cameras were everywhere. I got to watch the whole thing happen post shooting.

Even more stunning, however, was the fact that I was talking to the man who had just been shot through the head... who crashed into a building.... and lived me about it from his bedside in Intensive Care.

The bullet passed through his head and caused damage to the part of his brain that affected the movement of the left side of his body. His speech was slow and slurred.
Fortunately though, mentally he was still all there... bright, optimistic, grateful to be alive.

"I'll have to learn to walk all over again " he said to me. His son JB sat with us in the hospital room.

I was there to investigate the accident. The police were doing the criminal investigation part with Freddie. He was a minor, with a gun, in lock-down in Juvie.

I was doing my civil investigation thing. Dad had already accumulated hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical bills. The Vintage Cadillac was totaled.
Dad's Cadillac was fully insured. Perhaps, the attorney told me, there was enough insurance to help. Though the insurance company would likely put up a fight, calling it a criminal act and not an accident and therefore, not covered.

Dad told me his version of the accident.
Then JB told me his.
What was left out was that dime bag. The catalyst.
Yes, the weed didn't shoot Dad.
Yet, I wondered, were it not for that dime bag, the two boys might not have connected at that peculiar and specific point in time and space where catastrophes happen.

I figured, what the hell.
Someone had to bring it up.

I asked Dad, "Did the police tell you they arrested Freddie for the shooting.... and possession?"
"Possession of what?" Dad asked.
"They found five dime bags of pot in Freddie's right sock. He brought one to JB that day."

Dad looked from me to his son, who kept his gazed fixed on the floor.
"Son, is that true?" Dad asked.
"Yes Dad" JB answered as he looked at Dad and then at me.
JB didn't appear angry at me, or attempt to make excuses to his father. Rather he appeared relieved, more calm than he had been since the whole thing happened.

For many people the truth is truly liberating.
I think it was that way for JB.

It seemed to me the perfect time to exit.
I wrote up my case and my conclusion.
It was up to the attorneys to decide whether to take it on and do battle with Dad's insurance company.
Freddie's family was as poor as you can get.
No auto insurance there.
No assets.

Just two dimes to rub together.