Dick sputtered incoherently. This time I hung up on him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Unexpected Help
Life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating
-- O. Henry, Gift of the Magi
Obviously, preserving my life took top priority on the list of six items I had to accomplish. After careful consideration of the limited number of options available to me, I decided that deliberately allowing the Mafia to find me was my best choice. If they believed that they had found me on their own; and determined for themselves that I could not point the way to Dick because I had filed for divorce, then perhaps they would go about their business and leave me to go about mine. In the long run, it could be my best solution to this life-threatening predicament. Running and trying to hide from the Mafia would be an exercise in futility, especially with my limited resources and absolutely no help from the Justice Department. Their finding me today or tomorrow was a good possibility. Finding me when I moved my household belongings from the storage facility an almost certainty. Right now, I was flying in a foggy holding pattern, unable to land until the runway had been cleared.
I made the risky decision to set myself out there as bait.
I called my attorney and informed him of my intentions. "Tom, you have the right to know because if the Mafia comes after me, you may become involved. I'm offering you one last chance to bow out."
He remained steadfast. "Go for it, Jen."
The following morning I called Miller's Storage Company and informed Bud Miller of the separation and pending divorce. I gave him my post office box number in Bonita Beach, then asked how much we owed him.
"Eight hundred and fifty dollars," he reported, after checking the account.
I was taken by surprise. "Didn't Dick bring the account current a while back?"
"No," Miller responded. "My records indicate only one payment of $200 in May. I remember now, that's when Dick and another fellow came in to get something."
"I see. Well, Mr. Miller, I realize you need to be paid in full before releasing my storage unit. I'll send you a check for $500 today and the balance later. After you've received the check, would you be willing to release only my typewriter and filing cabinet so I can begin doing something about making a living?"
Miller thought for a moment. "I think I can do that for you, but I need to check something. Call me back in twenty minutes."
I checked back with him half an hour later. "I'm sorry. I can't release anything to you. When the goods were placed in storage, Dick signed the receipt, so he has to be the one to sign the release before anything can be removed from storage."
"But 99% of everything there is mine," I lamented.
"Makes no difference who it belongs to," Miller said. "I can't release a thing without the same signature on the receipt."
"Alright, Mr. Miller, I understand. I'll be in touch."
Ironically, as if the devil himself had a wiretap on my phone, Dick called ten minutes later. Explaining the storage situation, I hoped to find a thin thread of decency in his ball of deceit, especially since he hadn't paid the storage he claimed to have taken care of in June. My wishful thinking dissolved with his laughter.
"Tell you what I'll do," he snickered. "I'll release your furniture and sign the divorce papers after you turn over the restored 1964 Plymouth station wagon. I sure like that car with its wraparound back windows."
"Dick, that's unfair. The Plymouth isn't worth much, but whatever I can get for it will represent only a small fraction of what I've lost."
"Ain't going to happen, Sweetheart. You think about it and mail me the car title, then we'll talk turkey! Got the picture, Jen, Baby?" He paused. "Oh, one more thing, just to make sure you hear me loud and clear, if I don't get the title soon, I'll tell the Feds you've got cocaine. How does that grab ya?" He barked a bloodless laugh and waited for a response.
I felt stunned. He was referring to the cocaine he had buried the day after the FBI fired him. Recalling the events of that day, it became clear why Dick's threat made good sense to him.
Our last day at the Naples condo, he had placed the cocaine in a small glass mason jar with a metal lid. Just then, I went to the bathroom. Upon returning to the kitchen, the jar and a roll of gray masking tape were sitting on the table. As he rose to leave the room, he asked me to tape it for him. 'Be sure to use a lot of tape around the whole jar, including the lid. There's a paper bag for it when you're finished."
I realized then that, during my brief absence, my loving husband had either removed his fingerprints from the jar or held a towel around it when he poured the cocaine from a plastic bag into the container. That meant it was buried in a location known only to Dick with my fingerprints all over it.
Dick warmed to his advantage. "And, Jen, Baby, I'm gonna do one more thing if you don't do as I say. You remember that time back in Sarasota when you really pissed me off and I conned you into letting me take some nude Polaroid shots of you? Well, Sweetheart, I'll send your bare-ass pictures to your attorney in Fort Myers. And I'll sell duplicates to the sleaziest magazines on the newsstands."
"There's not much you wouldn't do, is there, Dick?"
He laughed without mirth. "You think you're such a lady! I'll show you whose got the upper hand. I want you to know what it's gonna be like if you hold out on me. Do what you have to do, Baby." Howling with laughter, he slammed down the phone.
My head started to pound. The satanic image of Dick in my mind made me want to cross myself for protection. This man that you married, I told myself, has stripped you of your children, your family and friends, your hometown, a chunk of your money, and your peace of mind. He's going to land another low blow with blackmail. And the icing on his hellish cake will be to strip away both your dignity and your freedom.
Chewing on my lip, I paced the small living room. The stench of him wafting from the easy chair he had always used assaulted my nostrils, only adding to my agitation. There it was: that overpowering rancid, sickening odor of him. I glanced at the chair and thought how strange, especially since he showered often, usually twice a day.
I flipped on the television. I needed to distract myself and think about something else to avoid tripping over the edge and drifting off into La-La Land. Frightened, I felt close to doing just that. Right at that moment, the 700 Club flashed on the screen. Pat Robinson, Danuta Soderman, and Ben Crenshaw were talking about how Jesus Christ will help you if you ask Him. Suddenly I found myself down on my knees asking God to forgive me for all the wrongs I had done and for all the sins I had committed. "Please, dear Jesus," I prayed, "come into my life and into my heart. Surround me with Your light." I asked Him to take over my life and I would follow his guidance and direction. I simply turned my problems over to Him. "I can't handle it anymore by myself, dear Lord. You can do so much better with my life than I can." I asked Him to show me the way, and I would try to do my part. I got up and lit the single candle I carried for emergencies. I asked my Lord Jesus to remove the odor of Dick Lee from the easy chair. To my amazement, in a few minutes, the acrid, sour smell seemed to evaporate.
I continued to pray, feeling unafraid for the first time in months. Like a small child, I changed into a nightgown, washed my face and hands, brushed my teeth and climbed into bed. With the new sense of peace surrounding me, I quickly fell asleep.
I don't know how long I slept before I jolted awake. A presence in the bedroom, unseen and frightening, made itself known. I was lying in the middle of the bed when, suddenly, to my right, I felt the mattress being pushed down, as though somebody, or something, laid down beside me. Outside the condo, the walkway lights showered the bedroom in a dim glow, illuminating the fact that the only human form in the room was my own. Although I understood few of the particulars surrounding astral projection, somehow I knew that Dick was lying next to me.
I began crying but no sound crossed my lips. Could this be a nightmare from which I would
soon awaken? Paralyzed, I couldn't move a muscle. Then, I felt his hand reaching for my left breast. Mentally, I screamed, "No! No! Stay away! Go away! I demand in the name of Jesus Christ that you leave this place!"
In an instant, 'it’ had vanished.
Control of body and voice restored, I got up, switched on a lamp, went into the kitchen and poured a glass of milk. Convinced that it hadn’t been a nightmare, I went back to bed, said a prayer of thanks, and quickly fell into a peaceful sleep.
Upon awakening the next morning, I felt that my Lord and Guardian Angel stood by me and would guide me through this ordeal. I found the following scripture in Ephesians 6:11 in the Holy Bible, and made it my meditation.
"Put on the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked."
The mystical experience had such a profound effect on me that I knew my life would take a new direction. My former hatred and disgust toward Dick melted into a quiet determination that seemed to have taken root overnight.
Now I truly felt shielded and able to fight fire with fire. I called Miller's Storage Company again and told Mr. Miller that Dick had agreed to release my furniture, and that he'd send you a letter in the next few days and arrange transfer of the last few items he has in storage at a later date."
"Okay," Miller said. "As long as I have some kind of release in writing."
"Incidentally, Mr. Miller, I have no idea where Dick is, nor do I wish to know. His letter might come from Seattle or Bangkok."
"Okay. I'll be on the lookout for it."
Now, the mail forwarding service that I had established while in Killeen, Texas, using factitious names to send and receive mail, would come in handy.
On a yellow legal pad, I wrote a letter to the storage company in Dick's big-scrawled handwriting. It read: "You can let Jen have her junk as long as she pays for it. I won't get stuck with having to pay it. Tell her to leave my toolbox and the rest of my stuff. I'll pick them up real soon. Signed --W.P. (Dick) Lee." When Miller received the letter, it would be stamped from Buffalo, New York.
I waited a week, then called Mr. Miller again. He said, "I've received Dick's letter releasing the furniture, as long as you pay the entire bill.”
"No problem. I'll take care of it."
Then things started to fall into place. I rented a storage unit in Bonita Beach, then could only pray for another pair of hands to help. I could hire two men in Sarasota to load a U-haul, but I needed someone to drive the truck while I drove my car.
Later that day, as though the Lord had truly taken charge of my situation, the doorbell rang. To my surprise, there stood my son Gregg! After hugs and kisses, he told me something I would never forget. "Mom, something told me to come and see you. I got a strong message that you needed me. I'm on a ten-day furlough from the Navy. I just bought a Kawasaki motorcycle and decided to visit Dad in West Palm Beach. Two days after I arrived, Dad and I were sitting around talking, when, right out of the blue, it was like I got a thump on the head telling me I was supposed to come and see you. I called Suzie and she had your new address. So I said so long to Dad, jumped on my cycle and here I am. I don't know why, but I didn't even bother to call to make sure you'd be here. I hope you don't mind."
"Mind!" I said, joyfully hugging my son again, "You're not going to believe how much l need you."
After a potluck dinner and plenty of catch-up conversation, we turned in early. Tomorrow would be moving day.
Gregg drove the twenty-four-foot truck I rented in Bonita Beach, while I drove my car the seventy-five miles to Sarasota and Miller's warehouse. Once there, we quickly hired two men. Not being professional movers, however, the men couldn't squeeze the entire load onto the truck. A good twenty percent still remained on the loading dock.
"Mom, if we repack the truck, we can get it all on," Gregg suggested.
I was about to say, "Yes", when I felt a sudden sense of urgency to hasten our departure. "No, Honey, it's okay. We'll get the rest later. It's time for us to go."
Hurriedly, I paid the two helpers and turned to my son. "Let's go quickly." Wasting no time, Gregg pulled down the overhead door and snapped on a lock. I scurried to my car and we were out of there in jig time.
At the Bonita storage unit, two workers popped up out of nowhere to help Gregg unload the van.
It felt great to have most of my furniture and all of the boxes containing picture albums and treasured family keepsakes safely tucked away at last.
Gregg and I dropped off the rented truck and returned to the Bonita condo. With the day's work done, Gregg and I rejoiced that one of Dick's extortion schemes had been thwarted. Resting on the couch with our feet propped up, he said, "Mom, I'm due back in Groton, Connecticut next Monday, so I can spare just two more days to get the rest of your things. It's all light stuff, so we should be able to handle it ourselves. We need a day of rest. Day after tomorrow, let's rent a smaller truck and go back for the rest of it."
"Sounds good to me, Honey. You rest while I run to the grocery. What do you want for dinner?"
My son looked so handsome. The Navy seemed to agree with him and service on a nuclear submarine meant the meals were top drawer. "Tell you what Mom," Gregg smiled. "You're not going to believe it, but we get steak, chops and lobster all the time on board the USS James Monroe. What I'm dying for is some of your cherry soup that you used to make when we were kids."
"You got it."
After the grueling day and a late dinner, Gregg curled up on the couch and fell asleep. I gently slipped a pillow under his head, covered him with a blanket, kissed him on the cheek, turned off the light and went to bed.
In the morning, I called Bud Miller to tell him we'd be back the next day. Miller sounded strange. "Ah...yesterday, Dick called not twenty minutes after you left. He swore up and down that he didn't send a letter, from Buffalo or anywhere else, releasing the furniture."
The strong urge to hurry yesterday, leaving the rest of my things, was truly another Godsend.
"I don't know what to say," I responded, "Everyone knows what a liar Dick is."
"Look!" the man blurted out. "Dick made all kinds of threats. We've been in business for twenty years and this has never happened before, so my wife and I called the Florida State Attorney's office. They advised us not to release anything else without a court order from either you or Dick."
"Sounds fair to me, Mr. Miller. I'll be in touch when I have it."
Disappointed that all my things were not safety tucked away, Gregg and I began to brainstorm. "Mom, it's probably better this way,” he said. "Now, Bud Miller can definitely vouch for the fact that you and Dick are in separate camps."
"Good thought," I replied.
I had made sure that my typewriter and filing cabinet had come with us. And the White metal detector now lay in the trunk of my car.
The next afternoon, Gregg and I drove to Naples and parked the car at the end of the cull-de-sac where Dick had buried the jar of cocaine. We nervously removed the metal detector from the trunk, walked about fifty yards into the scrub pine woods and took turns sweeping the area. We both fought the image of the FBI's Sonny catching mother and son in the act of retrieving the cocaine, slapping on handcuffs and hauling us both away. Trying to push aside our apprehensions, we swept the area. Whenever the metal detector beeped, Gregg dug a hole, unearthing dozens of beer cans, scrap metal and nails.
"I sure hope that little bit of metal in the bottle top is enough to give us a signal," Gregg said, digging still another hole. As daylight dwindled into dusk, Gregg tenaciously dug faster. Within half an hour, we could barely see, but still my son wouldn't give up. "Just a couple more holes, Mom," he said, putting his strong back into the work. Then suddenly he called out in a low voice, "Over here. I've found it!" He reached down and brought up the jar of cocaine. Brushing away the soil, he grinned and handed
me the Mason jar, both of us smiling from ear to ear.
Back at the condo, we celebrated our good fortune with another favorite meal, large helpings of spaghetti and meat balls, a couple of beers and a good measure of happy laughter.
The tasks my son had been sent to me for were now accomplished. His beautiful deep brown eyes sparkling, he told me it was time for him to go. We hugged and kissed so long for now, then he climbed onto his motorcycle. One more hug and the engine roared to life. With a whoosh, he was gone. How grateful I felt for his invaluable help. Like mothers around the world are prone to do, I dabbed at my tears of sadness to have him leaving my side yet again.
In the middle of the night, I headed for the isolated, white-steeped church I had attended in Bonita Beach. As I stepped out of the car, the wind picked up. Peeling the masking tape away from the jar of cocaine, I twisted the lid off and turned it upside down. Suddenly, a gust of wind whipped through the air and scattered the white powder.
Back at the apartment, I changed into my favorite leopard bathing suit and poured a Scotch 'n soda in a going glass. Packing the revolver and a towel in a beach bag, I strolled to the deserted pool, where I reclined in a lounge chair and breathed a sigh of relief. Moonlight glistened on the blue water as I swam for hours, then floating on my back, I gazed in awe at the twinkling stars above.
At the break of dawn the next morning, the phone rang. "Boy oh boy!" Dick sputtered, "What a cute little swindle you pulled on me to get your stuff."
"You bet," I replied. "It was terrible of me to refuse to be your extortion victim by paying for and reclaiming my own furniture."
"You're a bitch!" he snarled.
"You forgot super," I said.
Now that the battle lines had been clearly drawn, I didn't mention my son's unexpected appearance and help, or that the cocaine had been found. Let him think he still had that ace in the hole. Before slamming the phone down in my ear, he gave me a loud and vehement lecture on what he considered my sliding code of ethics. Then he sent another letter. "Even though I still love you, I know the marriage is finished and I wish you luck in love and life."
Tyranny of a Lover...Diary of the Wife of an Undercover informant Page 24