Dumpster Fire No. 50

Cecelia watched Jimmy scoop something out of his jacket pocket and drop it through a hole in the floorboard of the speeding Ford ‘Blazer’. Simultaneously, he maneuvered the truck onto the interstate with his other hand. He eyed the rearview mirror and laughed heartily. P-tang! P-tang! P-tang! "What was that?" Cecelia asked. Jimmy’s mischievous eyes twinkled as he flashed her a broad smile. “That, my dear Cece, was the sound of steel balls hitting the NARC’s car that is following us…but won’t be for long!” Jimmy exploded in raucous laughter. His laugh was infectious and soon she was doubled over in laughter too. She swooned with euphoria at the excitement she felt around Jimmy. Unfortunately, she would soon realize with Jimmy, euphoria and excitement would become something dangerous. One more fire in a long series of 'dumpster fires' that Cecelia identified with her life...just ignited.

They began managing a small motel for a couple from the Philippines who were friends of Jimmy’s. Jimmy was responsible for all the maintenance needs of the property. Cecelia took charge of housekeeping and bookkeeping for the twelve-unit motel. The job included a spacious home and paid utilities. Cecelia felt fortunate. The stresses of a congested traffic commute to work, and monthly bills were alleviated.

Cecelia had spent most of her adult life thus far struggling. Her greatest challenge was simply, survival. She had endured more physical, emotional and mental abuse in the last fifteen years than most do in a lifetime. Cecelia was not a bad person. She was just an unfortunate soul with a ‘wash-tub-sized’ heart. But each traumatic event (dumpster fire) brought her one step closer to acquiescence and ‘letting it burn’.

Their employers, E.C. and Rosy, were a quiet, composed couple. Cecelia especially liked Rosy. E.C. was amenable, but intuitively, Cecelia felt something dark lurking beneath his reserved demeanor. She silently prayed she was wrong. The future mostly looked bright to Cecelia.

Almost immediately, things began to raise red flags for Cecelia. Cecelia’s daughter, Alice, returned home from school one day and discreetly pointed out men, in black ‘catsuits’, on the roof of the business across the street. She also told Cecelia that she was being followed to and from school daily! Cecelia closed the shades, and covertly trained binoculars at the roof across the street. She fell backwards, stunned at seeing binoculars focused on her! What was going on?! Cecelia frantically paced back and forth. She kept telling herself she was dreaming. She contemplated every imaginable and unimaginable scenario that might offer an explanation but found none. When Jimmy returned that evening, she had erected several strategic counter-surveillance areas of her own. The ‘men-in-black’ were no longer on the roof. Jimmy behaved like she was crazy.

Shortly after, the phone lines for the entire property went ‘on the fritz’. The phones seldom worked. If they did, the call was staticky and hardly audible. Cecelia requested a service appointment from the phone company. When the service technician arrived, Cecelia thought to herself, ‘this guy looks like a cop’. However, she discounted her initial impression of him and began detailing the problematic phones. She asked questions as he worked on the outlet in her office. He mutely stared at her with a blank expression for several minutes before attempting to answer. His delayed answers lacked the aptitude one expected of a twenty-year phone repair veteran. She became irritated with his inability to hold a conversation with her. He replaced the phone jack and excused himself to check the lines outside. Within minutes he returned. Somehow… he had installed the jack incorrectly!? Suddenly, everything became clear to Cecelia. He evidently, WAS NOT a phone service technician, but an undercover cop that was receiving audio instructions via an earpiece! She giggled out loud. “I cannot help but wonder what could possibly be so important here, that it was necessary to send you in, to install such a device? So, what might help this afternoon?” she inquired. “Maybe…a donut!” she joked. The scarlet color that flushed his cheeks was the only confirmation she needed. She gave him a wink and left the office so that he could reinstall the bug/phone jack correctly. She had nothing to hide.

Jimmy immediately set up cameras all over the property and a bank of computer screens in the house to monitor the cameras. He disappeared constantly and at odd hours, but never revealed where he had been, what he had been doing, nor why they were under surveillance.

E.C. started coming to pick up the weekly deposits with an attractive woman that Jimmy said was an ‘escort’. She was at least 20 years younger than E.C., and Cecelia immediately took a dislike to her. Cecelia liked and respected Rosy. Cecelia informed Jimmy that E.C.’s ‘escort’ was a cop. He ridiculed her. She pointed to the shape of a gun, outlined in the back of her pants when she bent over. Jimmy tried to hide his amazement but fear slowly crept over his face. “I do not understand why an ‘escort’ (if that is what she truly is), would need to carry protection in the company of her sugar-daddy,” Cecelia commented off-handedly in reference to E.C. During another visit, E.C. instructed Cecelia to give the deposit to the ‘escort’. Cecelia refused. “Cece, why are you always such a bitch and making trouble?" Jimmy smugly snapped. “Why don’t we call Rosy and see what she says about it?” she retorted. E.C.’s face turned red with anger. “You show such dis-r-spect to me!” he spouted in broken English. “Likewise,” countered Cecelia. “Until someone shows me the respect to tell me what the hell is going on around here, that’s how it’s going to be!”

Four months later, the largest gathering of law enforcement officers Cecelia had ever seen converged on the property. They broke a battering ram, trying to access Jimmy’s workshop. They demanded the master keys for every door on the property and began a thorough search. They were looking for something but would not disclose what it was. They were interrogated about a relative of E.C.’s and the location of another commercial property. They warned the pair not to attempt contacting the owners or they would both be arrested.

Rosy contacted Cecelia two days later. She gave explicit instructions, “E.C.’s ‘hooker’ was not allowed on the property!” E.C. showed up seven days later. He told Jimmy he was leaving the states on vacation and gave instructions to carry on with business as usual. He left a bank bag of money with Jimmy to give to Cecelia, and he was gone. Five hours later, the undercover ‘escort’ appeared at the office door. “May I come in?” she politely requested. “NO. You may NOT!” declared Cecelia. “E.C. was supposed to have left a bank bag here for me to pick up,” she informed Cecelia. “Really? Well, he didn’t. Furthermore, Rosy said she does not want you on the property. So, I suggest you leave!” Cecelia instructed her with vehemence. The color drained from the ‘escort’s’ face and nervousness replaced her calm demeanor, but she did not move. “I think I will just call Rosy about this,” Cecelia stated. Rosy was furious when Cecelia recounted her present situation. Cecelia hung up the phone and did not attempt concealing the smirk on her face. “Rosy said E.C. left nothing for you and he left on a flight from the U.S. four hours ago.” Dismay settled on the ‘escort’s’ face. She quickly pulled a “walkie-talkie” from inside her jacket. Cecelia heard her yelling into her radio, “He’s played us. Check all flights to the Philippines!” as she sprinted to her vehicle.

Upon request, Cecelia appeared in the offices at the Federal Building. It was difficult to read the deposition documents. She was amazed to learn that they had been in the middle of a two-year international investigation involving 56 defendants with indictments in Germany, the Philippines, the Bahamas, New York, California, and Colorado. The initial investigation began after the overdose death of a sixteen-year-old girl caused by ‘Ecstasy’ (‘Ex’). Investigators traced the final distribution dealers to E.C. and several of his minions. She was indignant that E.C. used the motel to launder his drug money, and Jimmy was considered to be E.C.’s ‘enforcer’, taking care of debt collections and related complications. She thought it humorous that the agents were never able to follow Jimmy, citing broken windshields, damaged radiators, etc. The steel balls! She was appalled to learn that the agents could not charge Jimmy for an auto theft and subsequent car fire, but they were certain he was responsible. She was nauseated when she understood that if she had allowed the ‘escort’ into the office and given her the bank bag, she would have been indicted too. As it stood, neither Rosy nor Cecelia were being charged with any crime, yet. She was horrified to ascertain that the purpose of the search of the property was to locate a missing undercover cop! They had summoned her to verify she had not unwittingly observed or overheard anything pertaining to the missing officer. She had not.

Days later, Cecelia went down to the basement to retrieve the boxes necessary for her to pack. Since the government had seized the property and frozen the owner’s assets, she was now unemployed and imminently homeless. The basement only had a dirt floor. Cecelia located the stack of boxes at the back of the basement. She had to traverse the space cautiously because it was barely 5’ high. She collected as many of the flattened boxes as possible and started back towards the stairs. About twenty feet from the stairs, Cecelia tripped over a hard object protruding from the ground. The boxes slid down under her legs and she simultaneously face-planted in the dirt. Immediately, she was sledding face first through the muck, spitting and choking earth as she went. She wanted to scream! She crawled back in the direction of the object. Whatever it was, it was heavy enough to cause her to lose her balance and fall. She found, what she suspected was an old trunk, that must have been buried decades prior. It was so deeply buried that she could not dig it out completely with only her hands, but she removed enough soil to open the lid. Inside, she found clothing and passports for people unknown to her. She noticed a tear in the lining of the trunk about 6” wide and something was hidden inside! She pushed and prodded until she retrieved a small black notebook. It was much too dark to investigate further, so she tucked it into her back pocket and slowly made her way back to the stairs.

Carefully examining the notebook, Cecelia traced ‘Commissioner of Banks’, embossed in gold lettering on the front of the notebook, with her fingers. She slid the black elastic band to the side to open it, intrigued with her discovery. There were ledger entries of dated deposits from 1907-1930, totaling +$20,000.00. On the last page of the book was a hand-written note. Cecelia read the inscription. In disbelief, she read it again. Alice strolled into the kitchen. Cecelia turned to look at her daughter, vivid blue eyes and white smile peeking out from her dirt-covered face. Cecelia whooped with glee just as Alice shrieked at the sight of her mother’s face. “Finally, God has seen fit to reward us for all of our struggles!” “By covering your face with dirt?” Alice queried. “I think you have misinterpreted the scriptures about throwing ashes on your face, Mom!” she giggled. “What? Oh! My face,” Cecelia laughed. “NO! This notebook’s inscription says that ‘the bearer will receive $20,000 dollars to change their future when presented at any branch of ‘Bank of America’, and it was signed by a ‘P. J.’ in 1948! 'P.J.' may have been ‘Commissioner of Banks’ at one time, but today...he is my fireman!” Cecelia cheered happily.