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Freedom Terminated with Malice
Di R.B. Gier
Azioni libro
Inizia a leggereLunghezza: 361 pagine6 ore
- Editore:
- Page Publishing, Inc.
- Pubblicato:
- Nov 21, 2019
- ISBN:
- 9781645846222
- Formato:
- Libro
Descrizione
This work is not fiction. Much of the story is taken from a diary I kept over a six-year period. There are several themes running throughout the story simultaneously, but the framework of the story is built around my life leading up to my arrest, followed my conviction of a white-collar crime and subsequent incarceration in a federal prison located in Colorado. The final chapter deals with my release on parole and my coming to terms with my family, integrating back into society, finding gainful employment, and most importantly, emotionally dealing with the reality of the damage I caused. One of the underlying themes addresses my emotional state and attitude leading up to my arrest, throughout my prison term, and into my first two years of parole. I have attempted to employ subtle and gradual changes in the voice and tone of the narrative as a way of engaging the reader with my state of mind in real time as I struggled to recover from narcissistic and grandiose issues. Intertwined, another theme speaks to walking a fine line between following prison rules of conduct while not violating the longstanding convict rules of behavior. Lastly, the reader will be introduced to individual convicts and their personalities and stories. The reader will get a feeling of what prison society is like and a realistic insight into the personalities and attitudes of people charged with guarding the inmates. Like most stories, there is drama, sadness, anger, humor, and violence. There is even an escape from the prison camp. The names used in this story are fictitious, but the people they are assigned to are real. The few exceptions are people who were famous before they became infamous. The target audience is the general public but more specifically those currently serving time in jail, doing prison time, their families, and those people on the verge of being sent to prison. The purpose of this work is to inform the public, encourage those locked up to do the right thing, and warn those considering a criminal career.
Informazioni sul libro
Freedom Terminated with Malice
Di R.B. Gier
Lunghezza: 361 pagine6 ore
Descrizione
This work is not fiction. Much of the story is taken from a diary I kept over a six-year period. There are several themes running throughout the story simultaneously, but the framework of the story is built around my life leading up to my arrest, followed my conviction of a white-collar crime and subsequent incarceration in a federal prison located in Colorado. The final chapter deals with my release on parole and my coming to terms with my family, integrating back into society, finding gainful employment, and most importantly, emotionally dealing with the reality of the damage I caused. One of the underlying themes addresses my emotional state and attitude leading up to my arrest, throughout my prison term, and into my first two years of parole. I have attempted to employ subtle and gradual changes in the voice and tone of the narrative as a way of engaging the reader with my state of mind in real time as I struggled to recover from narcissistic and grandiose issues. Intertwined, another theme speaks to walking a fine line between following prison rules of conduct while not violating the longstanding convict rules of behavior. Lastly, the reader will be introduced to individual convicts and their personalities and stories. The reader will get a feeling of what prison society is like and a realistic insight into the personalities and attitudes of people charged with guarding the inmates. Like most stories, there is drama, sadness, anger, humor, and violence. There is even an escape from the prison camp. The names used in this story are fictitious, but the people they are assigned to are real. The few exceptions are people who were famous before they became infamous. The target audience is the general public but more specifically those currently serving time in jail, doing prison time, their families, and those people on the verge of being sent to prison. The purpose of this work is to inform the public, encourage those locked up to do the right thing, and warn those considering a criminal career.
- Editore:
- Page Publishing, Inc.
- Pubblicato:
- Nov 21, 2019
- ISBN:
- 9781645846222
- Formato:
- Libro
Informazioni sull'autore
Correlati a Freedom Terminated with Malice
Anteprima del libro
Freedom Terminated with Malice - R.B. Gier
Freedom Terminated with Malice
R.B. Gier
Copyright © 2019 R.B. Gier
All rights reserved
First Edition
PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.
New York, NY
First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc. 2019
ISBN 978-1-64584-621-5 (Paperback)
ISBN 978-1-64584-622-2 (Digital)
Printed in the United States of America
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Introduction
Never in my mind did I consider taking up a criminal trade—until one dark day. I was a solid citizen, doing the right thing. I had a good wife that I loved very much, and I suppose I still do love her on some level. Together we raised our four children and sent them off to college. We were America’s model nuclear family. Both of us earned a university degree, and she found a job teaching at our local community college. I, on the other hand, fooled around with computers. I started selling desktop computers, attorneys being my primary customers. After a short time, I turned the venture into a full-time business, over my wife’s objections. She preferred that I find full-time employment.
The friction between us grew over my fledgling company. She, too, traveled to conventions and meetings in Seattle. She was required to travel as part of her job. In less than a year, our solid marriage was threatened by suspicions about what the other part was doing. I suspected she was, at the very least, considering a romantic relationship with one of her male coworkers. After the trips to Seattle began, she started growing more distant from me with each outing. She feared that I was doing something illegal, because I was taking money in from investors to expand my business.
I believe in each of us there resides the potential to put aside our morality, ethics, compassion, and general decency in favor of letting our most secret, self-serving desires rise to the surface. Our emotions override rational thought in order to realize those suppressed desires. The demon we let out behaves like an opiate. The more we act out those invidious desires and get away with it, the more we want to do it.
Finally, my wife asked for a separation. That was my darkest day. There was still love between us, but the trust between us was gone. I met with her the following day in a restaurant to discuss the terms of our impending separation. She was all business. There was no sign of emotion on her part. After our encounter, I got on my bike, drove off, and never looked back. I didn’t know it then, but I was heading for hell and I had a demon for a guide. I didn’t immediately realize it, but I’d let my suppressed desires out. My first stop was to a bar, and my second stop was a sex house. I was in for a life-changing experience.
This is a warning: what happened to me could happen to you. It’s my hope that by reading the true story told here, it will be of value to you and that you also enjoy the read. It has an entertainment element as well.
Chapter 1
Spiral Down
My tale begins five years prior to May 25, 2011. I was married to a woman I had met some twenty-three years earlier. She was just twenty years old. Those years had their ups and downs, as they do for most married people. She was a good wife, good lover, best friend, and fine mother. My life was tied to hers in every possible way. We went to movies, did sports, studied college books together, attended our children’s school functions together, and stayed up half of the night on Christmas Eve to rap presents and place them under the tree. They were good days.
Then, near the end of those twenty-three years, something happened with our relationship. I’m still not sure what, but it was not good. Both of us graduated from the university, and she was off teaching mathematics at our local junior college. I was attempting a computer startup company. She traveled some for the state to teachers’ conferences. We were drifting apart. She was becoming more and more covert about her work life and distant at home. I responded by withdrawing deeper into my own computer business and other projects. I didn’t want our relationship to fail, but I didn’t have a clue what to do that might save it, except earning money, and lots of it. Those new projects were the beginning of the end for our family as a unit.
I began bringing home large sums of cash, and I showed it off. The sudden appearance of those large sums spooked her. The cash came from investors, not drug deals, as she suspected. I had never done drugs other than alcohol. I was covert about the source of the funds. I’d learned there was another man in the middle of our relationship. I was pissed off. I didn’t tell her that I suspected that she was literally fucking around on me.
One day, my wife and daughter came home with new motorcycles. I found that unsettling, because the other man was into motorcycles. I’d wanted a bike very early on in our marriage, but she said no, because they’re dangerous. I’d asked her to attend church with me, but she had a problem with God. Now she was into bikes, and God. Months later, I acquired a new bike so I could spend time with her. She didn’t spend much more time with me after I bought the bike, anyway. But one day in midsummer, we did take a ride together. It included my daughter. I was a tagalong. When we returned home, I was sitting on the front porch, and she angrily confronted me about the money I was bringing home. Her demeanor pissed me off more than I already was. I responded, I’m running a whorehouse.
She went over the edge and told me I had to leave right then. So I mounted my bike and rode off into the sunset. I knew she was cheating on me, and I was hurt. At that point, I had done nothing illegal, or at least nothing I couldn’t recover from.
The next morning, my wife phoned me and asked me to meet her at our home. She wanted to talk about a separation, not a divorce. I agreed to meet her, but my thoughts were that a separation is just a way of prolonging the inevitable. The way I viewed it, she would still see the man she was cheating on me with, while dangling me on the line. That way, she would feel secure, because she would have a fallback if her new, developing relationship went foul. We went from our home to the mall and found a table to talk about who would be responsible for what while our supposed separation was in force. I listened quietly, while holding my emotions in check. I didn’t want to accept that our relationship had come to this. Twenty-three years down the damn drain. After we finished, I rode back to our once-happy home, bade her goodbye, and mounted my bike. I headed straight toward my newly discovered comfort girl at the spa. On the drive, I thought about the new 2007 Mustang GT convertible I had ordered and paid for. What was I going to do with it now?
I put the car out of my mind for the moment. I wasn’t to pick it up for another four weeks. I spent a few hours with my spa girl. Afterward, I headed for a bar. There, I took my first drink of alcohol in twenty-four years. I ordered my old standby drink: scotch whiskey and soda water. That was my second mistake. My third mistake was the young and pretty spa girl.
Twenty-four years in my past, I had a serious issue with scotch and hanging in bars with my shipyard workmates. One day, my wife threatened me, saying she would take our children and return to Spokane if I didn’t stop drinking. As crazy as it sounds, that ended my drinking days for twenty-four years. Left with a choice between her and whiskey, I realized immediately whiskey was not a contestant. I chose my wife and children. But now she was mostly gone from my life. I felt alone, but that was not true. I had my children. One drink turned into many drinks and many wasted days and nights and lots of money spent. I was a drunk again within a month.
During that month, I continued to visit the spa girl. She was Irish—auburn hair, emerald-green eyes, five foot three at 110 pounds, and very pretty to look at. Of course, she had financial problems and child custody battles. But I was hooked on her. I had to rescue her from the spa and from her troubles. One afternoon, I asked her for a date away from the spa, and she accepted.
I dated her for several weeks, and I helped her with some of her immediate problems. In the meantime, I had taken a nice, furnished apartment on the far north end of Spokane. One morning, I made arrangement to meet her at my apartment after I had finished my morning workout at the gym. I had plans to take her out to breakfast. As it happened, she reached my apartment before me. She had a key and, therefore, went inside to wait with my dog. I was about two miles away when my phone rang. She was screaming and crying. My wife and two of my daughters had arrived at my apartment. My new girlfriend didn’t go over well with my soon-to-be ex-wife and two daughters. Even to this day, I’m not quiet sure why they were there except to spy on me or see what kind of cave I had found to live in. My new female friend was frightened by three women she didn’t know yelling at her and questioning her like she was a criminal. I told her to hang up, and I called my soon-to-be ex-wife and asked her to depart and leave Ann alone. We had some unkind words between us, but they left the apartment. When I drove up, I found Ann waiting, shaking with fear, inside the door. After I calmed her down, we went off to breakfast.
A month later, I picked up the new Mustang. I gave the car to Ann. I didn’t think that decision through rationally. It was around seven in the evening when I found Ann at her girlfriend’s home. She came out to see it. She danced around it two or three times and literally wet her pants.
Eventually, I found myself spending close to $90,000 on a child custody battle on her behalf. She was fighting two of her ex-lovers over a child she had with each of them. We won one case and lost the other. They were not nice guys, but through it all I learned she had a lot of faults of her own. Her eldest daughter explained how her mother had confined her and her younger siblings to their bedrooms while their mother entertained different men during the evenings. She was accused of being an opportunist. She had problems with maintaining fidelity to any man. But even with all her faults, I was foolishly in love with her. I operated on the belief that I could change her by giving her things and opportunity. But of course, I was wrong on so many levels. I was attempting to rescue her when in truth I needed rescue from myself.
Ann had a proclivity for seeking out black gangster types, even though she is a pretty Celtic woman. Only one of her children is white. The others, though sweet, were mixed white and black. Even as she was supposedly with me, she continued her connections with black drug peddlers. One night, I received a call from the Spokane Police Department. They had pulled the Mustang over out by the airport. The car was stopped for some minor infraction, but my name was on the registration. There were two occupants, one black male and one black female. Turned out the black male was a covert boyfriend of Ann’s and the female was his mother. Ann allowed him to use the Mustang to pick up his mother from the airport. The police asked me if I wanted them to seize the car. Foolishly, I told them no.
The next day, an attorney friend of mine and business partner went to Ann’s home and retrieved the Mustang. I took the car to my soon-to-be ex-wife and gave it to her. Originally, it was ordered for her and I didn’t want the car. My ex-wife reluctantly accepted the car. For whatever else negative I could say about her, an opportunist she was not. She gave me a tearful hug and took the car. I heard that her new boyfriend asked her if she was sure about the divorce after he saw her car.
Even after I took the car back, I did not abandon my quest to rescue Ann. I continued to feed and clothe her and pay her rent, though I didn’t live with her. In retrospect, I was nothing more to her than a sugar daddy. Sex between us was an occasional affair. Given the latter, I often visited the bars I liked best. I became a regular bar bum in two or three bars. I knew the bartenders like all regulars did. When I entered the bar, the bartender on duty would automatically set up my scotch and soda water. They would tell me who had been in and out through the day and if I missed someone I enjoyed visiting with. Even when the US Marshals came around six months before I was arrested, the bartenders and waitresses warned they had been there, asking about me.
I enjoyed sex with pretty girls. It’s not too difficult for an old guy flashing lots of cash. I regularly dated three of them. They provided what Ann didn’t. They were not just sexual partners; they were truly friends. Often on dates, they would pay our way. Two actually fell in love with me and actually proposed marriage to me. But as it happened, I was very close to being arrested. Knowing that, I turned both of them down.
I became close friends with the attorney and business partner who previously helped me recover the Mustang. Harley was well-respected in our community. But he, too, had his issues. He was a longtime married man and a good family man as well. He had a big heart. But he had one issue in particular that would rip his own marriage and family apart. He had a lady on the side, and she was also a heroin user. He paid her rent at a local motel in the Spokane Valley. Often she would join the both of us in a bar for lunch. He and I spent most days together. We were actually working, though a lot of people viewed us two guys wasting our time and money in bars. Some thought it was his money we were spending, but in reality, it was my money. Often his lady would need money and he would ask me to provide it. In truth, he had thousands of dollars invested in me. He did a lot of things for me and did all he could to keep me out of trouble.
One day, we were eating lunch at the very bar where his lady often joined us. But on this day, she wasn’t there. She was late, and my friend was wondering what was keeping her. Then his cell phone rang. The caller was the brother of his covert lady-friend. The caller said that his sister had died from a heroin injection. Her brother wanted to know if my friend had any knowledge where she got the stuff. Harley was not a drug dealer. He didn’t purchase it or sell it. But he did what a lot of old guys like us do: he funded her needs.
The news hit my friend hard. He couldn’t attend her funeral for obvious reasons. After a few days passed, we went to one of the better-class spas in the city. He enjoyed the experience. He told me that I was negligent in not introducing him to a spa much earlier. In my view, it was a harmless venture that helped him a little through his loss. The woman who died was about thirty-four years old. She had been with my friend for around five years.
In 2004, another associate came into my life from the past. I knew him from high school, some forty years earlier. He and one of his friends were referred to me by a mutual friend. I was running a computer company. It was a startup company, and our target customers were attorneys. We built new clone computers and provided servers, software, and networking. My high school friend had a computer with problems. I agreed to look at it. I determined that it would be a very costly repair. He opted to have us build him a new clone PC. He was happy with it, and he and his friend continued our mutual association. A year passed, and the two asked about investing into the high-risk technical inventions I was working on. They were not sophisticated investors, and I certainly was not acquainted with the legal ramifications of taking money from people for a dizzy invention scheme. It was an association made in La-La Town. It was bound to develop into a relationship of mistrust and conflict. But for the moment, it was all roses and dreams of sudden wealth.
August 2007, my daughter dropped out of the local state university in order to follow her boyfriend to Arizona, where he was to attend some motorcycle technical school and she to attend Arizona State University. Four months later, I received word from one of my other daughters that the one in Arizona was being beaten on by the bum she followed there. My wife and I were divorced. I was with Ann, or so I believed. I asked her what she thought about me going to Arizona to deal with the guy beating on my daughter. In retrospect, I think she answered in the affirmative for two reasons: She thought it was my right as a father to protect my daughter, no matter whom she was with. And I believe she wanted time with her covert lover at that time, too. I refused to consider the possibility she was still seeing him.
I rounded up Luke for the trip to Arizona. He was married at that time, but his relationship with her as a married couple was long in the past. So he had no problem in accompanying me on the long drive to Arizona. I owned a Ford Ranger pickup, and it was in nice shape. But we took a little Ford Aspire instead. I had taken the original thirteen-inch wheels off and replaced them with wide tires on fourteen-inch wheels. The car was far more stable at high speeds. It would run quietly at eighty miles per hour with no difficulty, and the gas mileage was outstanding.
I drove most of the way, both ways. Luke enjoyed the ride and texted his new girlfriend in England as we rode along. It took us only two days down and two days back. We stayed overnight and a day. During that time, we visited my daughter and I had a covert meeting with the bum. I was delighted to see that she didn’t appear to be beaten up on. Arizona had nice weather, but the trip down across Montana was racked with snow, as well as across Southern Idaho. Even so, it was a quick trip down and back.
Luke traveled with me back and forth to Seattle to visit another daughter attending school at the University of Washington. In all cases, when I traveled either on business or to visit my daughters, he usually traveled with me. And I always paid all the costs, even when Luke received benefits from the trip as well. He was present at many of the business dealings I had arranged and sometimes received direct cash benefits from those deals.
Don was the first person in the small circle of associates I became involved with. I first met Don when our landlord introduced him to me. At that time, my wife and I were renting a small home on the lower west side of Spokane. We were both enrolled in school at the University at Cheney. Our landlord needed to unload the house. He was an older man, a good man. We had a difficult time finding a respectable loan company willing to put up the money. Enter Don. He was a strange little man. He sat next to my young wife and put his hand on her knee as he attempted to explain the fine points of a loan contract to her.
Don represented a mortgage company he held an interest in. In subsequent years, that company was the subject of an FBI investigation into accusations of fraud regarding FHA loan applications. All the employees and other shareholders in the business went to prison. But not Don. He managed to escape prosecution. I also learned after I was more deeply involved with him that he had a sex-phone-line business with two shady attorneys and that he was making payments to a family for a child he fathered with their underage daughter.
At the time my wife and I were buying the house, I knew nothing about Don. All I knew was that he made unwanted advances toward my wife on his first visit to our home. We called the mortgage company and asked them not to send him to our home again, and we didn’t want to see him when we came in to sign papers on the house. The loan officer who finished up our loan contract told us that a female staff member walked into Don’s office and found him masturbating. He no longer had an office with a door on it.
I should have shied away from Don then and never had anything to do with him. But he had a reputation as a great fund-raiser. And I had a great idea I thought might be worth doing. A few months after the house closed, I decided to place a call to Don.
In school, I had learned about technical writing. In fact, English was one of my minors. Writing was very much a part of my interests, and therefore, I enrolled in and completed a lot of writing classes. I was referred by one of my teachers to a special class geared toward technical writing at a professional level. I didn’t do the class before I graduated with a BA in history and US government, but I still had six good writing classes under my belt.
When I placed that first initial call to Don, my mind was on writing a book about how to build a clone PC from the ground up and how to install and set up an operating system. Why not? I was operating a computer company, and this little technical book could be placed in stores frequented by folks who loved to play with computers or wanted to learn about them. Don agreed to fund the project and set up the publishing and marketing of the book. The project was a minor success. With our minor success, an element of trust began to develop between us. Don began to show a certain amount of interest in my small computer business.
Months passed, and during this period of time, Don and his mortgage company came under fire from the FBI. Shortly after, the business was closed. Don opened a new business in the real estate field down the street from where the old one had resided. He asked me to build him computers for his new office. I sent over three rebuilt computers and printers and a fax unit. I noticed during the time I was around him that he received several phone calls throughout the day from women asking him for money. A few men did as well, one of whom was a drunk and constantly in trouble. Don gave him lots of money for some reason I never quite understood. And the women were mostly young, in their late teens or early twenties. He seemed to enjoy being the man with the money: the man to call to fix things. And I suspected his wife, or family, didn’t know about these relationships. I would receive phone calls almost weekly from his wife asking about the amount of money he invested with me. She wanted to see a return. Her concern was legitimate, but he really didn’t have all that much involved with me at that time. My error was not telling her that. I felt some obligation to protect his privacy. And that proved to be troublesome later on.
A year later, the second business failed and went bankrupt. Don’s partner was nowhere to be found. During this period, Don went to the hospital for heart problems. After his release from the hospital, I helped him clean up the office. The plan was for me to move my computer company into the space. During the cleanup process, I found piles of pictures of naked young girls in the drawer. They were not magazine pictures. They were photos taken in an office room filled with telephones. Don told me that an old attorney partner of his owned those pictures. But I knew in my heart and mind that Don had his hands in that business too.
We finished cleaning the place up. Another opportunity fell into Don’s lap. Shortly after I moved my computers business in, Kaiser Aluminum was hit hard with a union strike. The company decided to employ scabs until the strike was either settled or broken. The rent offered for the space I occupied was such that Don couldn’t turn it down. He even smuggled scabs past the picket lines into the plant for his new friends. I benefited also because I supplied rebuilt PCs that could be thrown away and the hard disks smashed. Only people looking for quick work were admitted into the offices.
During all this, I was supporting Ann. Don wasn’t happy about her. He didn’t like her very much, except to tell another friend of mine that he would love to fuck her but that she was fucking things up for business. I will find a way to get rid of her after I fuck her,
he said. I dared not confront him when I heard the story. I was uncontrollably upset. A week or so later, I talked to him. I told him to stay away from her and I never wanted to hear a reference to her from him again. It wasn’t a friendly conversation. Don told a mutual friend of ours that I was a cruel son of a bitch. I can’t really say that the alcohol was making me a nice guy either. I didn’t realize that my social behavior was becoming crude. Others since have said I really changed from the levelheaded person I was before drinking into a gross character.
Money was coming at me fast. Don stopped using his own money because he was funding a gold recovery scheme with someone else. They had built a machine at a cost of $600,000 designed to hurtle gold mining slag at speeds of nearly five hundred miles per hour at a six-foot-thick steel-reinforced concrete wall. The object was to separate the gold remaining in the slag by the high impact against the wall. Of course, it wouldn’t work. The reason, as a geology professor from Eastern Washington State University explained to Don, one cannot break a molecular bond by smashing rocks against a wall at any speed.
Because Don was funding the gold project, he went outside of our agreement that he specifically provide money out of his own pocket. He began pitching people he knew to fund our mutual project. Another great mistake was made on my part by allowing him to do it. He contacted people all over the country. Not just in Spokane or Washington State. And he did it by mail, phone, and money wires.
Don’s own wife explained to me that he was not meeting his own monetary obligations on time. He had rental properties he was not collecting rent on as well. Even with the money he was bringing in from outside sources, it wasn’t enough. The cost of our projects and the money he took out of the money he was bringing was being used up fast. Don had many other places he covertly spent the money he skimmed from our funding. He spent little of it on his own bills and continued to tell his wife he was heavily funding our projects and that they would pay out soon. I was spending heavily to benefit Ann. Some of my expenses were alcohol for Harley and myself. About 20 percent of the funds was actually spent on research related to our projects. I believe that the amount of misappropriated money was dived equally between Don and me.
After the Kaiser business was finished, I moved my little company into that location again. We were selling computers to attorneys, but now we had a storefront from which we were selling PCs to the public as well. Business was not brisk, but we did a little business each day at that location: enough to cover the overhead. We also arranged to market our computers on the Spokane Community College campus. Again, not a huge success, but we did earn a slight profit above the overhead. We were there for six months, after which we were forced to move, because Don lost control of the property to the bank.
My drinking grew worse, and I left more and more of the day-to-day operation of my little computer business to my sons. I was spending as much time with Ann as she would tolerate. I wasn’t getting the companionship from Ann that I craved. When I was not with her, I would spend my days in the bars with my drinking buddy, Harley, or traveling back and forth to Seattle with Luke. In the evenings, I was on the town. Spokane has a great variety of fine restaurants and bars. I discovered most of them through my years of self-inflicted loneliness. I found a huge selection of pretty young and middle-aged women to hang out with. Old men and money attract women. Not women looking for companionship. I was in an endless cycle of repeating stupidity.
When I consider my relationship with Ann, I can’t find it in my heart to condemn her. True, she was an opportunist, but I was a foolish old drunk, too! No sensible woman finds an old drunk desirable. A quality relationship is not possible where excessive drug or alcohol is part of the equation. It was inevitable she would find someone young to meet her needs. Someone desirable in her eyes. I provided her with the things she needed for day-to-day living and luxuries like new cars and diamonds. I used the money from my friends to do it. I betrayed my friends. Who was more contemptible? Ann or me?
Ann and I had a weekly ritual where we would spend the afternoon at a local motel. I would get
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