HELLOOOOO TO ALL MY FRIENDS OUT THERE ON THE INFORMATION SUPERHIGHWAY!!!!
Are you all ready for your old pal Johnny's weekly tale of intrigue, in his continuing struggle with the long arm of law?

You know, I try to be all upbeat with these intros but I gotta be honest with you folks, this one's a real tearjerker. Strap in, cause it's a long one too. I've been sitting on it for a while, but recently I just keep thinking about it more and more so, I figure I'll just get it out. Won't be easy, it still breaks my heart to this day.

Anyway, this isn't too much of an oldie, only a year or so back. And it took me back to my old stomping ground - that's right - the great state of Kansas! And Kaaansaaas it was, I tell you. Real sheepfucker country. Town of maybe 14,000. (You know me, too lazy to check) But at this point in time, it was the center of attention because as some from the area might remember, it was recently the site of America's new favorite pass time: A School Shooting

Media everywhere of course, the whole nine yards. And I'll be honest a case related to a big circus like that isn't really my cup of tea. The only reason I took this up was the absolute wad the client offered me. Oh yeah, this client.

Profile: Female / Ethnicity: Mexican / Age: Middle / Accent: Thick

Now you might be wondering how a wetback lady like this - let's call her 'Mamacita' - came across a chunk of change significant enough to raise my eyebrow. I mean it wasn't from cleaning that's for sure. Well get this, she was really only half! Apparently her dad was an old cracker from the east coast, kicked the bucket a few years before and left her with some spending money. Makes what happened even sadder.
"Ok Johnny, a mexican lady in Kansas, and a school shooting. Fascinating. Tell me about the case already!" Oh well, long as you're being nice about it! So yes, it happened at the local high school. Pretty average story, some ugly virgins pumping lead into their bullies cause they were too busy playing call of duty to get any pussy. Honestly a dime a dozen these days. Mamacita's daughter is counted as one of the casualties, but according to her, its total BS. Tells me she wants me to find the kid, cause the Popo won't help her. No surprise there! But still, it was a little odd. I've done my fair share of runaways, and yeah the cops usually couldn't give a rats ass, but to cover it up by saying she's dead? Funeral and everything? Far fetched in my humble opinion.

But money talks, and baby I listen! So a standard skiptracer with a side of police corruption? Yes sir! Booked my room at the Best Western right away!

The thing about skiptracing is that its all about the canvas. 9 times out of 10 SOMEBODY knows where they went, its a matter of asking the right questions. Do I say this every time? Of course, but if this old windbag can't have a little fun I might as wel shut this whole site down right now! Canvasing is made much easier in a town with so little people. So little people means so little high schoolers, and so even littler high schoolers I have to deal with. Problem is all these teens were under strict surveillance by every two bit "reporter" this sorry state could muster. How can I deal with this, I think to myself before BAM it hits me, a moment of inspiration. The news will be MY in! I got cameras, I got a nice suit. I fit right in! Pretending to be a reporter to get interviews, what a novel notion I say to myself.

It doesn't work. The kids sniff me out in a second, but lucky for me it isn't their opinion that matters. If I ply em with generous offers (5 bucks) the reporter game is enough to get my foot in the door without rousing to much suspicion from the larger community. Mamacita was very clear about the kind of discretion she wanted. And oh, what tales were spun my friends! I mean if I believe everything the brats said this thing would give Columbine a run for its money! Columbine would be crying out for its mommy. Honestly, moving walls, multiple shooters, tunnels opening, weirdos in robes and masks; if you ask these kids what happened it wasn't a shooting it was a David Lynch movie. Trauma does weird things to those squishy little heads I tell ya! But there was one account that made these ears perk up, folks. See one little girl was in an ambulance, next to someone who'd been shot. But the gurney was pulled out of the ambulance before it drove off. By whom? Not by police. By guys with a "weird looking triangle" on their badges.

Oh yes ladies and germs.... they're back again!

Our old pals the Bermuda Boys have crossed my path again. Those guys do NOT know when to quit! If you recall, our last run in with them didn't lead to much for me, but I knew that their being here meant Mamacita might not be crazy after all! I mean whatever the kids were talking about was definitely woo, but something did have to be going on for the MiB to show up. As I write this, they still haven't found any trace of the two shooters, so if I were to hazard a guess I'd say that's what they were there to look into. This was good news, but it meant we would have to be a little more aggressive to get what we needed.

One thing those X-Files motherfuckers seem to do consistently is absolutely bungle it with local law. Every time I've gotten close to these guys its been enabled by some podunk sheriff's department having something they shouldn't or not being briefed on something they should know, etc. This time was no different. I knew if something was off with the casualties, it would be documented somewhere in the station. That meant I had to get INTO the station somehow, but hey, you know me by now don't ya?

Now, to save myself the aggrivation (Mamacita was quite a nag) I deftly omitted to her how I actually, you know, got into the place. And for my own safety, I'll do the same here. I hate to leave out the slapstick but just know I once again got exemplary use out of the old Halloween costume! And boy did I hit a jackpot. Let me tell you, there's no place a dick likes more than the records room of a police station. FOr 2 reasons: 1. it has all the information you want, and you don't even have to pay for it & 2. the pigs never go in there, unless they absolutely have to. Ah, solitude! I was able to rummage around in there to my heart's content for about an hour before I found anything useful. It was pretty small, but it was something that could go a looong way: a discrepancy.



Hard to parse if you're not versed in gibberish, I know, but lucky you I'm here to translate! At the top is the original report on the scene from one of the cops, marking distinctly 3 dead and 4 injured. Specifically noting the injuries on Mamacita's girl, saying she's still alive. Holy Shit, right? But get this: underneath is the official big dick sheriff's report listing 4 dead and 3 injured on scene. Now, a hypothetical for you: if she was injured but alive when they found her, and then died later, why lie? Were they just incompetent? Probable, but I don't think so. See, the only reason you'd make up this specific lie would be to cover up one thing: hospital. She never saw the inside of a hospital. Pulled right out of the ambulance. Only way to make that seem reasonable is if she was already dead when you got there. Sloppy? Absolutely. I have no doubt in my mind that the Triangle Team just left with what they needed and told these bozos "just make some shit up". If I am to leave behind a legacy, teach one lesson to the youth of tomorrow, I would wish that it be this: cops are not good at making shit up.

It was a hard convo with Mamacita. She'd kind of been losing it already, crying all the time, wondering how she could have done different "I knew she was hurting" "What kind of mother am I?" you know the routine. The info that this Scalene Squad had probably done something to her daughter was not exactly, shall we say, psychologically stabilizing (check that vocab BITCH). It wasn't even just that either. I was dreading it but I knew the next step would have to be megaphoning. If you are a first time reader, know that when you are doing a skiptrace "getting the word out" should absolutely be your last resort, used only when you've got no other options. In this situation we had some pretty hot info but couldn't really use it. Our best bet was make a big enough stink, attract enough attention to use as leverage for something more tangible. Maybe exhume whatever it was they buried and get some real closure. Mamacita didn't like it of course, she valued her privacy, but I talked her into it. So it's on me.

In any case, the posters were her idea, and the website was mine. Looking back I really should have hired someone to help her with those designs cause looking at them you could tell she'd been listening to a liiitle too much AM radio. But hey, who isn't these days? While we waited for those shits to "go viral" I tried to do a little more digging but didn't come up with much. Thought maybe I could find some connection between the daughter and the shooters but the cops had locked down a lot of that info. Put a pin in that, it'll come back later. (Aren't I a master storyteller?) As for Mamacita, things got bad fast.

This is sort of where the story takes a turn. It started with the posters and the website. Now as a man with experience in the field I knew that this kind of thing could attract real assholes, but Mamacita hadn't really expected how cruel this shit could be. It started with mean comments but it only escalated from there. It really affected her mental state and yeah, it felt bad because I had gotten sorta protective of her. Oh yeah, I can hear the sniggering now but look, she was all alone out there. And sure she could be obnoxious, but at the very least her upbringing had given her an appreciation for the white man's music. I can't hate anyone with good taste. Aaaaanyway, I was pretty much focused on my own work so despite whatever I felt I wasn't around much to help her deal with the harassment. It got really bad whent the phone calls started coming in. And yknow I tried to tell her that teenagers could be real pricks and try to pull pranks, but then she had me listen to one of the voicemails. I still have a recording here.


Yeah, creepy as shit right? I mean I thought so too at the time, but I still didn't pay it as much mind. Let me say, at this point she was telling me all kinds of tales about being followed, weird people showing up to her work, telling me dreams she was having about kids with guns and bleeding eyes, all sorts of shit. I though she was just going crazy yknow, like getting paranoid. I didn't listen. Too busy being a cool ass detective "following leads". Again, if you're new, that's code for "using her money to get shitfaced".

Wasn't all doom and gloom, though. There were some interesting developments. I got more witness statements corroborating the presence of the Bermuda Boys, but it would seem they all cleared out by nightfall on the date. After a while police presence died down (good riddance) and I was even able to pull my old shuck-and-jive to snoop around the school once it reopened. Biggest news was that I did manage to find a connection between the psychos and Mamacita's girl. Craziest thing was that it was related to a previous case I'd worked. Entry #33, if you know you know. Spooky stuff. I omitted that as well, for obvious reasons. I mean Mamacita was a wreck but it did feel like things were looking up.

Then there was the break-in.

Yeah one morning I get up (beyond hungover) to a voicemail from the night before. Mamacita is totally frantic saying someone's in the house. God the nights you pick to drink. I ran pretty much every light getting over there but of course it was too late. No sign of her at the house. All her stuff is gone. How she managed to move out in two days I still couldn't tell you. She'd left me a note, says she left to be with "her dad's family in Florida". Nothing else. Christ, what do you even say to that?

Everything was accounted for, rest of my payment was enclosed with the note. Website went down a few days later. Posters ended up in the trash. I couldn't stick around, the money had dried up. I think someone bought the house. It was like she was never even there.

I guess I still haven't gone down to Florida, but I'm not stupid. I won't find anything there.

It's my fault, I know. I know. I could have done things differently sure, but it still perplexes me. Yeah, the Triangles are certainly the prime suspect, but it just doesn't feel right to me. Maybe it's something they'd do, they're all clandestine or whatever, but the scary phonecalls? The perfect cleanup? Every time I've interacted with the Bermudas they struck me as hunt-and-capture types. That's what they do. And they can be pretty good at it, but this? They don't usually... come back for seconds like this. Everything about it still feels wrong somehow. Could just be me trying to rationalize. I mean if I cared so much then why did just haul ass and forget it right? Course it doesn't help I've started having those dreams too. Guilty conscience maybe.

Alright, alright. Shitty ending. No closure. Hey, if you don't like it go read some blog about knitting or some shit. This one was a bit of a downer so I'll try to lighten it up next Tuesday. Maybe a drug bust or something. Just be sure to tune in!