Page 328 - NIXBOOK

There were a number of houses and specific apartment units in town that I found myself in several times over the course of my
career, for different kinds of 911 calls. Always different renters there. It was kind of cool and weird and familiar to go back and
revisit those places that I had already been in like 3 times before, going back 20 years. It was kind of like visiting an old friend.

I went onto the nearby tribal reservation land, and found myself knocking on a front door. Looking for somebody. A woman
answered the door. She was not the person I was looking for, but was most likely the mother of the guy I wanted. She immediately
started yelling at me: “You have no jurisdiction here! Get off my property! You’re not a tribal cop, you’re a city cop! Get off my
property!” So I left. I was thinking she might at least be curious as to why exactly I was there? But nope, she wanted no part of
me. Needless to say, her son was a career criminal and her curiosity about his activities had long since evaporated.

I’ve seen enough things in my life that now when I hear about somebody killing themselves my first reaction is never “how sad,”
but: “I wonder what secrets he had?” And while everybody is crying about the tragedy of another life senselessly lost I’m
wondering if he was a child molester who decided to end it all before continuing victimizing people, or maybe he was on the
verge of getting caught, or maybe the guilt got to be too much? Or was he an embezzler? Or a something else?