The Last Undercover

by Bob Hamer

  As Todd described it, “It just kept going downhill from there.” Todd and Charlie returned to the hotel where the couple’s retreat was being hosted, but the retreat’s policy barred children, and the security guard denied them entrance to the complex.

  Despite all Todd had been through that evening, he renegotiated with Charlie. “So I’ve negotiated with this kid, I’ll pay him sixty-five dollars if we can make one last ditch effort to hook up somewhere, somehow. So, basically, long story short, over here in front of some bushes on the highway I talked him into letting me touch him through his shorts for like three seconds, once . . . and that’s the end of it. I didn’t die.”

  Paul seemed shocked by Todd’s admissions. I believed Paul when he said, “The youngest [I ever had sex with] is seventeen. . . . I’ve never done anything really young like this.” Paul turned to David. “How about you? Tell some stories.”

  Before David could begin, Todd added, “I have [had sex], one other time, very, very briefly with a thirteen-year-old. And then again when he was fifteen, but extremely rushed . . . no long-duration stuff like this trip. I’m fantasizing about this coming four days.”

  Next up for true confessions was David.

  43

  PREDATORS TELL ALL

  David Mayer proceeded to educate all of us on his sexual travels, burying himself with his words. “Been to Thailand four times, and Mexico numerous times, more than I can count. . . . Acapulco was hit and miss . . . until I hooked up with Frank [the cook at the bed and breakfast], then it became much more consistent in ‘Rockapulco.’ There’s a gay beach that’s infamous for having boys. [Unless the local police department has just conducted a sweep] the boys will be there. And even if they have done a sweep, then the boys will be back, but you just never know in what period of time that they’ll come back.”

  Todd, our ingénue, was confused by David’s continual referral to Acapulco as “Rockapulco”: “I’m curious, why do you keep calling it ‘Rockapulco’?”

  David looked at him in disbelief. “The Flintstones. They went down to Rockapulco.” Todd had never watched The Flintstones but admitted to being a big fan of SpongeBob.

  When Todd asked me about my experiences, I said I had never traveled outside the United States but had experiences with four boys, eleven being the youngest—but only fondling. David said, “So, you never consummated the marriage?” I hesitated, and David smiled, saying, “Oh, a little blush there . . . a little color in the cheeks.” What he interpreted as a maidenly blush on my part was actually the rise in my blood pressure as I suppressed the urge to end the investigation right there by throwing him out the window. Another twenty-four hours, I kept telling myself. Just keep it together another twenty-four hours.

  Todd wouldn’t let it go, though; he kept inquiring about my relationships. I said that all were developed over a period of time through long-term friendships with the boys. I figured sticking to the time-honored NAMBLA mantra of “building loving relationships” would be safe.

  David took just the opposite tack, and seemed proud of it. His relationships, he said, were purely sexual: “Mine were always sexual . . . a very transient relationship . . . it’s purely sex.”

  David did cite one boy whom he saw on multiple occasions over several years. Frank, the cook at the B and B, also had sex with the boy, so as a favor to both Frank and the boy, David once brought a PlayStation, “because Frank liked him and I liked him, so we kind of both were tag-teaming.”

  Then David talked more about his trips to Thailand: “The bars that I was in, where the boys were, there was literally, like, a show. They just kind of paraded by. . . . The youngest I saw was five. The average was, probably, ten . . . to thirteen.”

  David described most of the customers in the boy bars as Germans and Americans. He denied having sex with the five-year-old because the child “didn’t do anything for me, but I can’t be . . . a hypocrite and say, you know, ‘Don’t do that.’ But as I told Todd, the five-year-old, literally you needed a stick. . . . I mean, there were, like, twenty people trying to get to him, but [the boy] didn’t do anything for me.”

  David said, “There were rooms, either upstairs or somewhere relatively close, and a hell of a lot safer than Jamaica, mon. . . . I never felt threatened in Thailand.”

  Not to be left out of the discussion, Paul also wanted to share. He joined Big Brothers and was matched up with a twelve-year-old boy. The boy’s mother was divorced but dating. She viewed Paul as a convenient babysitter and Paul certainly didn’t mind. Paul had a variety of toys that interested the boy, including his four-wheel-drive truck and a five-foot-long remote-control boat. Paul said he and the boy “went . . . all over the place. . . . The mother never suspected anything.”

  He and the boy went camping together and would sleep in the same bed. He denied ever doing anything illegal with the boy but admitted to holding and hugging him. Paul admitted it could have led somewhere had the relationship continued. He said it was “moving in that direction little by little.”

  That situation came tumbling down when Paul’s roommate reported him. The roommate was going to accompany Paul and the boy to Daytona Beach for Bike Week. When the boy came over to the apartment, Paul allowed the boy to sit on his lap while the roommate was getting ready. When the roommate came out of the bedroom and saw what was happening, he became suspicious of the relationship and later called the Department of Children and Families. The sheriff’s department conducted an investigation.

  During the inquiry, the boy told officials that Paul had spoken to him “about masturbation.” Big Brothers terminated Paul after only three months in the program, but according to Paul, there was no evidence of criminal conduct. Sometime later, while Paul was jogging in the park, he saw the boy again. He was with his mother. When the boy spotted Paul, he came running. The mother became concerned, pulled the boy away, and left the park. Paul interpreted the boy’s actions at the park as meaning he wanted to continue the relationship. “The kid’s not upset with me and I wasn’t doing anything wrong with him. He actually was . . . well, I would say he was eating it up.”

  David was getting hungry but I didn’t want to terminate the video-recorded conversation. David checked on the rooms and they still weren’t ready. Surprisingly, no one questioned why my room had been ready and theirs were not. David suggested we eat, but he refused to eat in the hotel. My suggestion of Seaport Village, an outdoor shopping area in downtown San Diego near the water, received a unanimous yes vote.

  Before we broke for lunch, Paul had another story he wanted to share. As we learned in Miami, Paul drove a Corvette. He told us he would drive to the park, then jog. One day, when he returned from his run, Paul met a twelve-year-old boy who had taken an interest in the car. They began talking. According to Paul, at one point in the conversation, the twelve-year-old invited Paul to join him in “monkey-bar fighting.”

  When David asked Paul to explain monkey-bar fighting, Paul described it: “You grab the monkey bars and you wrap your legs around each other. . . . You fight, wrap your legs around each other . . .”

  Todd smiled, saying he thought that wrapping your legs around a child sounded like fun.

  David asked, “Do you keep your clothes on?” Paul, who never seemed to catch on to David’s humor, stared back incredulously. “Yeah . . . it’s at the park.”

  David liked the idea of monkey-bar fighting and asked, “Does the B and B have monkey bars? Even if they don’t, we’ll make our own.”

  Paul went on with his story. The boy lived several blocks from the park and would show up every day on his bike. As Paul jogged around the park, the boy would follow.

  David interrupted again, commenting that Paul was being “stalked by a twelve-year-old.”

  Paul agreed. He and the boy spent a great deal of time together in Paul’s car, listening to music and talking. Paul learned that the boy’s father was an alcoholic who was “always drunk” and abusive. One evening Paul joined the family for dinne
r. “His mother is cooking food. She was a little leery, I could tell. The father didn’t give a damn.”

  Paul continued to meet with the boy almost every day at the park. He denied doing anything sexual with the boy, but said, “[The boy] knew what was going on. I mean, he knew . . . where things seemed to be leading.”

  Paul seemed surprised that his activities and constant presence at the park sparked law enforcement interest. Paul said, “Believe it or not, the police got called out there twice on me. They said, ‘We have complaints that you keep seeing this kid.’ Because I have this highly recognizable car. There’s neighbors all around, seeing this car everyday, me with this kid, [we’re] sitting in this car every day at this park. . . . They call the Sheriff’s office. . . . The deputy goes, ‘Well . . . Mr. Zipszer, I just have to investigate, we’ve got a complaint. . . . You’re seen talking with him and some other kids.’ Because other kids kept coming up to me, young boys.”

  Thank God for alert neighbors, I thought.

  David interrupted, smiling. “Young boys?”

  Paul said, “Yeah. . . . They were just flocking to me, for some reason. I don’t know, it must’ve been the car. I don’t know what it was. They like Corvettes or something.”

  To Paul’s credit, when Todd asked, “Did you have a hard time not acting upon all that wonderful stuff?” Paul responded, “I’m kind of weird this way, because I was just enjoying the company of him. . . . I didn’t want to progress it too quickly.”

  I never quite understood Paul. He denied ever having a sexual relationship with a boy as young as the boys he was describing, but his “grooming” technique and his words appeared to be describing a slow, methodical seduction through trust. Whether he knew it or not, he was following the same strategy espoused by many pedophiles—the grooming method employed by Sam Lindblad and others.

  Paul said, “But [the boy] knew what this was kind of all about. . . . I don’t know if he was certain in his own mind that I was gay, because I haven’t really approached him that way. But he knew there was something going on. So I don’t know if he was afraid to try to bring things up like that. And it ended before it got to that point. It was like a period of six weeks.”

  David brought the conversation back to the imminent trip with a question about the boys. “Who selects who, for whom?” When I said I thought the boys had already been matched, based upon the age of preference each had stated, it allowed me to review that element of the offense. I could make it clear for the evidentiary cameras that each of my traveling companions knew this was an opportunity to have sex with juveniles.

  David joked that his age preference was “twenty-seven.” I looked at Todd and he said, “Ten to twelve.” I then looked at David and said, “Ten to twelve?” David agreed: “Right.” And, as they both had previously requested, I added, “And anal sex, if they’ll do it.” Both Todd and David concurred and were pleased the boys were willing to provide anal sex.

  David was surprised when Todd requested boys that young. Todd explained, “I started out twelve to fourteen, then it was eleven to thirteen.”

  Paul answered the question: “Eleven to thirteen—eleven, twelve, thirteen.”

  When pressed as to what the others desired, I said “Sean” wanted twelve to fourteen, but that I was uncertain about the others’ tastes.

  We joked about David R. Busby, and I explained to Paul the entire story behind Greg Nusca’s alias, repeating our encounter at Johnny Rockets in Coconut Grove. We also used this opportunity to review for Paul how David had arrived at his monikers for the various members who attended the Miami conference. David mentioned how Steve Irvin, the special education teacher from Pittsburgh, who would arrive later that evening in Los Angeles, was “sooo funny, he just literally—we were out having breakfast. . . . Truly like the CIA, he slips me a note [about wanting to go on a trip]. . . . He’s cute.”

  I told Paul how we had trouble with his mother screening his calls, preventing Todd and David from getting through. David pointed out that I was the only one who was able to get past her. David told Paul if I had not gotten through, Paul “wouldn’t be sitting here.” In words I hoped he would soon have cause to regret, Paul said, “Yeah, I’m glad you guys are persistent. . . . I wonder how she knows, how she can have a sixth sense of that stuff?”

  David said, “Well, I probably should not have asked her if you were out on a date with a six-year-old boy. . . . You know, ‘Is he in that park with that six-year-old again? Exposing himself. When he’s done, can you have him call me?’ I have no idea if that upset her or not.”

  The subject turned to Sam Lindblad, and I became wary. I was in no condition to joust with Todd or David and knew that it was still possible for them to withdraw from the conspiracy. I needed to reassure everyone that Sam’s attendance on the boat would not be a problem. I told them he was not on probation or parole, nor was he under state-imposed monitoring of any kind. I also said that under New Mexico law, he was not required to report that he was leaving the state, especially for such a short period of time.

  Although David assured me he liked Sam, he repeated why he and James, “the future first lady,” voted against him as a steering committee member: “The future first lady and I were the only two that didn’t want him elevated, because we didn’t want the notoriety. We were both concerned that as a sex offender . . . that this was just not gonna look real good for us.”

  A true sense of satisfaction ran through me and I had to conceal a smile when David said, “You know, obviously, I mean on a serious note, there should be some sort of . . . background check on us . . . make sure that we’re not, you know, the FBI or police or something.”

  Growling stomachs prevailed over more discussion of NAMBLA politics, interfering law enforcement, or trysts with underage boys. David led the parade to the door as I unplugged the heating pad that so conveniently kept them on camera. Their luggage remained in my room and we headed to lunch.

  The rain subsided long enough for us to get to my car, but “America’s Finest City” was experiencing one of its wettest winters in history, and I feared that each raindrop was hollering to my travelers, “Cancel the boat trip.” I knew the forecast called for continued showers well into the week but maintained an optimistic façade, claiming the weathermen had difficulty predicting the weather more than a day in advance because of ever-changing offshore conditions.

  I excused myself when we reached our table in the restaurant, and when I returned from the restroom, Todd and David told me the three of them decided to exchange boys each night and asked if I wanted to participate. They reasoned that it would enhance the experience if, over the four-night stay, they had four different boys, offering a variety not available from spending the entire trip with the assigned boy. I agreed to participate in the exchange and complimented them on their ingenuity. One more nail for the coffin.

  During lunch, Paul excused himself several times to go to the restroom and complained of not feeling well. He blamed the long trip and the nutritional supplements he had taken without sufficient food in his stomach. At the time, we thought little of his complaints, and David suggested it was probably an accumulation of stress and excitement over the upcoming experience.

  We finished lunch and I suggested a short trip by car through the downtown area prior to returning to the hotel so I could resume my warm compress treatment on my arm. The damage from the IV was real; the massive bruising on my arm and nearly rock-solid veins at the injection sites had an authenticity that could not have been recreated by a Hollywood makeup artist. My need for resuming the compresses was authentic, but convenient as well.

  We drove past the convention center and Petco Park, the home of the San Diego Padres. As we drove through the historic Gas Lamp District, Paul interrupted our conversation, saying he had to go to the restroom immediately. I pulled in front of the Marriott, and he raced in. The three of us remained in the car. Todd and David commiserated over Paul’s health. In my mind, I was questioning the l
egal consequences should he be too sick to board the boat in the morning.

  Paul eventually returned to the car, and we headed back to the hotel, where he could rest and I could resume my compresses. As the rain continued to fall, I wondered if all of my traveling companions might not back out of the trip. Would a combination of inclement weather and upset bowels undermine the case I had so carefully built over the last several years?

  44

  SPRINGING THE TRAP

  At last, Paul’s and Todd’s rooms were ready. Paul rushed to his with a look that said he would be hugging the porcelain throne for most of the afternoon. David and Todd joined me in my room as our videotaped conversation continued.

  David returned to his discussion about his travels to Thailand. He went into more detail about the boy bars, where, he said, the boys “were just strolling . . . like a runway type of thing. ‘I’ll take one of those, I’ll have one of those. . . .’”

  In response to a question from Todd, David said, “Variety is the spice of life,” and indicated that he had had more than one boy simultaneously “a couple of times.”

  In an exchange that sickened me, David complained of the ever-present cigarette smoke he encountered overseas. David said, “I really despise cigarettes. I hate the smell of them. . . . Even the kids were smoking at ten or eleven. . . . Well, it was a turnoff and . . . I’m sitting there . . . lecturing him about smoking at ten or eleven, but I’m [having sex with] him also.”

  When I said, “Well, but smoking will kill you,” Todd replied, “The other one just gives you hemorrhoids.”

  “A little surgery, you’ll be fine,” David responded.

  Todd said, “Just rectal incontinent later on, but —”

  “Don’t worry about it,” David interrupted, “you’re young.”

  Todd: “You’ll shit in your pants when you’re twenty-two, but that’s all right.”

  David: “We’ve got diapers. There’s people we put into adult diapers. . . . We’ll ship some over from the States. Yeah, it’s really not that big a deal.”