How to get rid of Winnebago prostitutes and Tupperware meth: Part 4.

"Boozy the Bear" (c) J.B. Sommerset

If you want to get caught up on the story so far you can read part 3 here: "Foils in the yard and meth out back" PART 3, or if you'd like to start at the beginning you can go here: "How I wound up on this mountain..." PART 1.

Back to the story at hand. Where was I, oh yes, American-flag Speedo guy.

It was that summer I discovered the depravity of people and how much they will lie to your face in order to keep a scam going. If some of these people worked as hard at an honest job, like they do at scamming people, they'd have some serious, and well earned cash. But some people just can't put their best foot forward no matter how many opportunities they are given. Their default setting, their prime disposition, just happens to be self sabotage. My wife called these dispositions "personality disorders", and she is qualified say to make such a claim.

American flag speedo guy sure couldn't resist a good fuck-up. He loved a good scam. And where there is one of these scam artists there are usually a whole lot. Scurry of scam artists if you will. The things they do to get a "come up" are impressive, and so are the risks associated with it. But like cockroaches, they find each other and breed. 

The guy shaking his banana hammock to the lot out back had an impressive "Tupperware" collection too. His thing wasn't just selling stolen goods, it was the whole works. Those little boxes were hidden all over that lot, and under all the junk he collected. What was in those containers you might ask? I will give you a hint, it is sometimes brown or red and can make your nose bleed.

Are we smelling what I am putting down? God, I hope not. 

That's right; crystal, ice, speed, crank, go-juice, biker brew, you know, Meth. Not just any kind of meth either, the kind that comes out rust red and needs to be scraped off the bottom of the container. That special kind of pharmaceutical made in a not so special way. The method is simple. All the ingredients are thrown into a box. Then the box is then shook up real hard, at least until the chemicals start to crystalize. Sometimes there is a fizz and you either get meth or you get an explosion followed by lots of fire.

They call it a shake n' bake meth. It's known by law enforcement here in the states as "the one pot method". Most often its put in Tupperware like containers, which are left hidden all over the place. The downside to this illegal and narcotic adventure is that it doesn't make much, and the upside, is that it's also really dangerous. American flag speedo guy, didn't start with meth, he worked up to it.

It started with a scam this guy had been running for a long time: selling stolen goods under the guise of being a "vet". His junked out Winnebago just sat there in the lot at first, gathering garbage and "vintage" items to be sold. Bloated, like a feeding and pregnant tick. Where he got all the shit he packed into that lot I do not know. What I do know is that over a few days, more and more people showed up with "donations" which he brought into the "love-camper" as he called it. 

Wait, love camper? What does that mean? I had a horrible feeling about the phrase "love camper". 

One morning I came out and looked over the fence to see how much new junk had been added to the perpetual yard sale and saw something new. He had added a new item to his product list. That item was "pussy". She was a youngish girl, I think, probably around 20 or so, although it was hard to tell. She wasn't a fully licensed "Vegas type" hooker, no, instead she was the kind of hooker you find in a trailer park somewhere on the outskirts of shady places in a "Kentucky backwoods haller", or on second avenue behind the porno shop next to the dead racoon and "homeless Herbert". 

I would sit on the back stoop and watch the show wondering when they would pack up and move on. The piles of junk grew and grew, and the people showing up seemed to only buy items from the Winnebago. It was pretty clear what was happening. Sometimes, American flag-speedo guy would step out of his sweaty sardine can and let a customer go in with "his girl". The camper would then shake back and forth for a couple of minutes and some dirty miscreant would step out zipping his fly up. I can't imagine what the inside of that camper smelled like, nor do I want to.

The lot next door was a double lot, around 14000 sq feet, in two weeks it was completely covered with junk. It was an eye sore and everyone had given up on getting him out of there. Most of the locals had called the cops a number of times and nothing had been done. American flag speedo guy said he had the owners permission to be there selling his "fine merch". Since no one could find the owner, no one asked if he actually had permission. Spoiler alert: he did not. 

So the show went on. Winnebago prostitutes and Tupperware meth, all day and night. Oh, and then there was and music. The loud shitty music through broken speakers. Songs I feel scarred to have heard at 2 am.

I wasn't going to get involved, I had learned from past experiences not to. So I stayed out, at least until his "customers" started messing with our dogs over the fence. 

I am a man who puts up with a lot to keep the peace, but like John Wick, no one messes with my dogs. I immediately called the police and filed a report, and also crime check and filed a report. I knew it wasn't going to get him out, but it was a start. Paper trails help, but are almost never enough. 

Next I moved the flood light out back to spotlight what they were doing all night. I followed up with the start of a very long investigation into who really owned the lot and how I could get ahold of them.

It took me weeks to get the information I needed, in the mean time, American flag speedo guy grew his business, and my dogs didn't get to go out unsupervised. I found some wads of meat in the yard a couple of times, there were pills inside them. So my dogs did not go out until I let them out. 

I started seeing the same people coming around. So I started double checking my doors at night. Making sure that the garage was buttoned up and that nothing was left in the yard. Still, I am pretty sure that American flag speedo guy got my 30 foot aluminum ladder, Dick. I had no proof that he stole it, but some one did. 

During that time, the police came around a few times for noise complaints, but nothing stuck. We all waited as the cat-piss-foot-funk smell got stronger. The ladies got more loose and mildly scabby. The loud music got shittier and shittier, and the neighborhood got more and more depressed.  

Then, one day, though shadier means than I'd like to admit, I found the owner of the lot. She was living in Canada, way up in British Columbia, her and her husband. They were from India and owned a lot of lots. all over the place. They held them as equity holdings and sold them when the time was right. 

She had no idea there was a guy living on her land rent free. I did get a phone number and I called her. She didn't mince words and a couple of days later the police were "evicting" American flag speedo guy and his Winnebago bitches, of which he had two more who lived in a tent at the end of the lot under the tree. The police didn't seem to think much about that, but as they removed him, they found his shake n' bake operation. I was very happy to see him loaded into a cop car. 

I think he is still in jail because he had a whole list of priors. It took a hazmat team and a number of dumpsters to clean the lot up. I think there are still broken light bulbs and needles in that lot, but I cannot confirm that because once I left, I didn't come back. 

More serious conversations were had with the wife and hard questions were asked. My wife and I made up our mind about where we wanted to be a couple of nights later. 

Up next: Serious conversations, room mates, and existential dread: Part 5.

Cheers!