A Life Wasted

Caught

I went to Washington D.C., but I have no memory of how I got there after crashing the sail boat on the east coast of Florida. I must have stolen a car because there was no way I would attempt to hitchhike through Savannah so soon after the escape. Wish I could remember. My memory is like that at times. I can remember significant events most of the time, but I often forget other things. I'm beginning to believe that memory loss is God's gift to the old. I wish I could remember all the time spent with my family and forget everything else.

What I do recall is why I went to Washington. During my brief stint in the Virginia prison system I'd met Bradley B. (last name withheld to protect my guilty friend). Bradley came to our wedding in Ohio. Had circumstances not required I ask my step-father to be my best man, Bradley would have had that honor. Bradley wasn't a bad guy, but he wasn't always a good guy either. Like myself, Bradley wasn't a guy who would ever hurt anyone, but he wasn't adverse to removing funds from those who could afford the loss. Bradley was a con man. He was tall and handsome. He had a way of talking that convinced you he was Ivy League and cultured. He was easy to trust. His long-time girlfriend, Ann (last name withheld to protect the innocent) was a federal government lawyer who lived at Watergate. Ann was a white lawyer and Bradley a black criminal. They were a perfect pair except for their many difference.

The reason I went to Bradley was that I needed a driver's licenses and passport. Bradley was the only one I knew who could arrange such things and the only one I trusted enough to go to. Bradley definitely had the right contacts to make this happen. So we met in D.C. and spent the day together. Ann was home that week so we couldn't go there. She happened to work for a particular government agency involved with criminal fugitives, so Bradley thought it best Ann didn't know I was in town. I agreed. We both trusted Ann, but didn't want to put her in such a position. So we drove around D.C. in Bradley's car all morning with him making regular stops for phone calls. (Pre cell phone days.) Though Bradley had the right government contact to get me the perfect identity, that contact was a woman who was upset with my friend at the moment. I could understand this as I was beginning to get upset with him myself. Eventually she agreed to meet him for lunch. For this he had to dump me. Bradley explained that Washington, D.C. had the most law enforcement per square mile of any city in the world, so he was concerned about me running around the city on foot without ID. He suggested I ride the subway for a few hours while he meet with his contact.

For two hours I toured the D.C. underground via train. When I got bored I would pop out and play tourist or grab a sandwich, then go back underground. After three hours of this I called Bradley at home and caught him there. His primary contact was giving him grief so he was looking on the street for another. He told me to hang tight then call back that evening. Then he would meet me and take me somewhere safe. I didn't care for this idea. I didn't like his going to a street contact he didn't know for my ID and I didn't like the idea of his taking care of me by finding me a safe place to stay. I trusted Bradley, but to my core I am the definition of the Lone Wolf. I don't run in a pack. When I run, I run alone. As a precaution, after talking to Bradley I went back into the subway and decided to get off the train at the fourth stop. It was a purely random thing. I had no idea where the fourth stop would be.

It was the Pentagon. I knew this before leaving the train, I knew this might not be the best place for me, but having already made up my mind to be random I exited there. Besides, I'd never seen the Pentagon so thought it would be interesting. I rode the longest escalator I've ever seen to the surface and saw the Pentagon for the first time. I didn't think they did tours, and wouldn't have done one if the did, but I did walk with a crowd toward the entrance. As I walked by the Pentagon's large parking lot I was drawn to a line of parked motorcycles. One of them was a nice Honda 750 all decked out with Windjammer wind screen and hard sided saddlebags. It also had a for sale sign. While I stood there admiring the Honda someone walked up behind me and said, "How would you like to own that bike." Smart mouth that I am I answered, "I was just thinking about that," and I was. I'd been thinking about stealing it.