Biographical Non-Fiction posted March 21, 2009 Chapters:  ...56 57 -58- 59... 


Exceptional
This work has reached the exceptional level
Valerie makes a career change

A chapter in the book A Leaf on the Wind

Cops and Robbers

by S. Pumpkin


Valerie becomes a confidental informant.

Background
Sexually abused as a child Valerie grows into an adult with severe psychological problems. Failed marriage, depression, BPD, PSTD, alcholism and loss of her house forced Valrie to move back home. No

"Police forces collect information to be used in a public court to get people convicted. Security services gather information that does not necessarily lead to people being prosecuted and in many cases needs to remain confidential."

~Gijs de Vries

My hands healed quickly and by the end of the week, I no longer needed the bandages. Mom had a large yard, nearly an acre-and-a-half, far too much for her to handle herself. Helping Mom around the yard became a way to relax and put the past few months behind me.  Working outside in the fresh air helped me build up my strength and kept my mind off my difficult situation. I hadn’t thought about drugs once since leaving the hospital. 

I knew I had to figure out what to do but there no longer seemed any reason to hurry. Mom and I avoided topics that we knew were explosive and focused on the pleasantries of day-to-day life. A few days quickly turned into a week and before I knew it, a month had passed. 


Mom relied on her small pension from Boeing, her Social Security check, and the proceeds from renting three rooms in her house for $100 each.  I was enraged when I learned that she fed Jerry three meals a day and gave him money for cigarettes. I nearly had a temper tantrum when she told me that Julie was using her calling card to make long distant phone calls. When I checked the phone bill, I was shocked to see that Julie had an ongoing bill of $200 and was only paying Mom a paltry twenty dollars a month towards paying it off. I told Mom enough was enough, and set out to rectify the situation. 

The first thing I did was raise the rent from $80 a month to $250. I informed Jerry there would be no more free meals nor should he continue to expect Mom to pay for his cigarettes. Jerry and George agreed to the new conditions of their tenancy but Julie was not happy at all. 

“I cannot afford $250 a month for rent!” Julie ranted. “I have lived here for three years and the arrangement your mother and I have has worked out just fine.” 

I was furious. 

“You have taken advantage of my mother’s generosity for too long and it ends now.” I snapped back. “I canceled Mom's calling card.  You have three months to pay off what you owe her. And, you no longer have permission to use her phone. If you want to make calls you will have to install a phone in your room.” 

“Who the hell are you to come in here and tell me what to do?” Julie shouted. “I know all about you. You are the crazy one in the family.”

I laughed. 

“That is correct and you should know better than to piss off a crazy person,” I warned. 

Julie stomped off, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

Although she continued to complain about the new rules, Julie paid her rent on time, had a phone installed in her room, and eventually paid off the phone bill. 

Jerry, who was work shy and relied on his church to pay his rent, came to me with a sob story the following month. He said the church had refused to pay his rent. I evicted him and moved into his room. 

By the end of two months, I felt myself starting to slide into a comfortable life with mom. We continued to avoid controversial subjects and stuck to discussing what color dahlias to plant in the garden and which iris bulbs needed dividing and where to replant them. Mom was impressed with my abilities with a hammer and saw. I built several large flower boxes alongside the porch and repaired the broken window in the den. 

Mom had built her house in 1968, when dark paneling was very popular. I found being surrounded by constant darkness depressing, so I decided to paint the kitchen white, including the cabinets. 

The project took me nearly two months to complete, but the finished product was well worth the effort. Suddenly filled with the need to fix and repair everything around me, I tore up the old linoleum in the kitchen and den and replaced it with beautifully designed square tiles. I painted the den, all three bathrooms, and my bedroom. 

Within six months, I completely transformed what I called 'the mausoleum' into a lovely, warm, comfortable abode. Mom loved it.

Despite our attempts to avoid awkward subjects, Mom and I spent so much time together we often found ourselves in the middle of violent arguments about the past. Mom’s style of fighting was passive. She would simply shrug her shoulders and decide the conversation was over by walking out of the room. Enraged, I would follow her from room to room, screaming obscenities and occasionally throwing a cup or dish against the wall. I was still that little girl fighting the demons from my past; and I was still losing every battle. 

One day it dawned on me that I had spent an entire year with mom, whereas I had only intended to stay for a few days. My life had become so comfortable that Sarah had moved in with us and enrolled in the local high school. Sarah and Mom developed a close relationship. Mom had season tickets to the opera and Sarah became her constant companion. It warmed my heart to see the love they felt for each other grow with each passing day but I also felt an embarrassing sense of jealousy watching them laugh and joke with each other. They even hugged each other. This was not the mother I knew as a child. No matter how hard I tried, I could not remember a single time my mother had hugged or kissed me.
 
As a child, I remember Mom as the provider. She made sure her children had a roof over their heads, food on the table and clothes on their backs. But she never participated in any aspect of my life. Other than arguing with me, she guarded herself against any physical or emotional relationship with me. We were occupants of the same house but we had been, and still were, complete strangers. 

Before Sarah moved in with us, I felt helping mom around the yard and house was sufficient payment for staying there. However, despite Richard continuing to pay child-support for Sarah I knew I needed to get a job to be able to take care of her needs. 

I had continued seeing Dr. L. while living with Mom. When I told him I wanted to get a job, he advised against the idea, saying the stress of working would cause a relapse. I disagreed and ignored his advice. 

When I told Mom I was going to go back to work as an escort, she responded with a simple, unemotional, "Okay." Her lack of emotion amazed me. I wondered what I would have to tell her to get a reaction. She was incapable of being anything but an observer when it came to my life. 

I did not go back to work for Jack and Sue. Instead, I contacted a different agency and was hired over the phone and within a few hours, I was sent on a call to the Sheraton Hotel in Seattle.

When I entered the room, I had no idea that the man sitting on the bed was a detective from the Seattle Vice squad. Within five minutes, I was under arrest. I also did not know that Detective Mike H. and I were destined to become close friends. 

* * * 

King County Jail is definitely not a place I would recommend to anyone to spend any time in. Even a few hours leaves a lasting impression of the despair each inmate encounters. The incredible rudeness of the jailers only adds to the frustration and anxiety you are already experiencing. Surrounded by prostitutes, shoplifters, arsonists and other assorted criminals left me feeling desperately out of place. Jail was for bad people, not me. Fortunately being a first-time offender, I was released within three hours, given a ticket, and summons to appear in court in seven days. 

Mom’s reaction to my arrest was as expected, non-existent. I was tired and went straight to bed. However, I had barely closed my eyes when Mom came into the room and told me a Detective H. was on the phone and wanted to speak to me. 

He wanted to meet me; he had a proposition to make. I laughed at his choice of words and agreed to meet him later that afternoon at a nearby restaurant. 

Detective H.,  was a young enthusiastic police officer who had been working in the Vice squad for several years. After several cups of coffee and twenty minutes of general chitchat, he finally told me what he wanted. 

“You are not the typical type of person I arrest for prostitution,” Mike started. “In fact, you come across as an attractive, well educated girl next door.” 

I smiled and said, “At one time or another, we have all been the girl next door.” 

Mike grinned and said, “Touché”. 

He then got serious. 

“When we spoke last night you mentioned you once worked for a couple named Jack and Sue,” he said watching my reaction closely.

I nodded. “Yes, I worked for them for six months.” 

Mike leaned forward and said, “We are very interested in taking them down and I was wondering if you would be interested in helping us.” 

Jack and Sue were clearly not people I held in high esteem. 

“Jack and Sue are very cautious and getting evidence on them won’t be easy,” I pointed out. 

Mike agreed. 

“I know you parted on a negative note but do you think they would hire you again if you asked?” He asked. 

I hadn’t anticipated that. 

“Are you asking me to work as a prostitute?” I asked, dumbfounded.  “You cannot be serious!” 

Mike grinned. “We have several confidential informants, CI’s, working for us now but no one of your caliber,” he said.

I smiled and said, “Thanks for the compliment but why do I get the distinct feeling there is a lot more to this than you are telling me?” 

“We need hard evidence,” Mike elaborated. “Not just a disgruntled employee pointing a vengeful finger at them. We need names of clients, license numbers, and any information directly linking them to illegal activities.” 

I shook my head. 

“We were not on the best of terms when we parted. I doubt they would hire me back.” 

Mike shrugged his shoulders and said, “You can ask, the worst they can say is ‘no’”. 

I was fascinated by the prospect of working with the police. Despite working as an escort, I sincerely believed it was a despicable profession and that every service should be shut down. Without hesitating I said, “Sure, I’ll give it a shot. I’ll call them tonight.” 

Mike gave me his work number and pager number. 

“Call me any time, day or night if you need anything.”

As we walked out of the restaurant Mike paused and said, “Oh, by the way, the charges against you have been dropped. To be honest, you didn’t really incriminate yourself enough to make a valid case. The judge probably would have tossed the case out anyway.” 

I shook my head and said, “You little shit. You arrested me just to get me to work for you, didn’t you?” 

Mike grinned and said, “Welcome to the world of cops and robbers.”

* * * 

To my surprise, Sue was actually pleased to hear from me. 

“Jack and I always felt guilty about what happened to you,” she said sweetly. 

I pretended to accept her pathetic attempt at an apology. Once I convinced her I hadn’t used drugs for more than a year, she agreed to hire me back. She promised not to knowingly send me on any calls with clients who used drugs. I started that night. 

I paged Mike and gave him the good news. I immediately began keeping a daily log of everything including every phone call and conversation I had with Jack or Sue. I kept a three-by-five card on everyone I came in contact with. I kept records of every escort I met, their license number, and the names of every client I saw. Once a week I typed up my log and gave a copy to Mike. 

As an official CI, I was assigned a code name. I was known as CI 911. I told Mike I preferred 007, but for obvious reasons that number was never used.


Recognized

Earned A Seal Of Quality


This is a major turning point in my life. The subject of the folowing four or five chapters became the basis of a made for television movie that was bumped becaue of the Tanya Harding and Nancy Carrigan incident. A well known mystery writer, Gregg Olsen, wanted to write a book about this but, in the end, he told me I should write the book itself. I find it amusing that this portion of my book is delegated to a few chapters instead of the book Mr. Olsen invisioned. Of course, he did not know the whole story at the time. My regular reviews will understand that this section does not explain who I am and without the backaground of my life, would have rang shallow.
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