Crime scene cleanup began with Cain and Able, or did it? In fact, if we trust our knowledge of the good book, no words from on high condemned murder as Cain raised the agrarian way above the easy-going sheperd's pastoral life. Then there's the idea of "sin." Where's Pontus Pilot's sin in sending the son of God to the crusifix? Pilot errored in the eyes of man, but where's the sin when the sinner knows not of sin?
Eddie knew that crime scene cleanup work meant long hours. He knew too that few other businesses offered real rewards.
Crime scene cleanup's customers were different than all others. Power washing, natural stone restoration, and carpet cleaning customers were "weird," he thought. Carpet cleaning totally sucked, in its own way. Yes, it paid physical fitness rewards. Tight stomach, strong arms. Like infantry soldiers, carpet cleaners had strong backs and great stamina. Eddie knew too, he had enough of carpet cleaning customers. They expected miracles. He was a "cleaning man," nothing more, nothing less. "Be humble," he told himself.
Crime scene cleanup customers appreciated Eddie. They liked his price. They liked his work. They trusted him. He enjoyed knowing they needed his service. They would pay. They began to heal when he completed blood cleanup work. For Eddie Evans, blood cleanup had its reward. It also had some ick to it. He did not mind. He liked the rewards. "Eddie, we could not have done it without you." "You are very special Eddie." "Thank you so much." "You've helped us more than you can know."
No one, ever, truely meant to praise Eddie's biohazard cleanup work. They praised him. At this moment in their lives, they chose to hire someone "like him." They knew deep down, they needed "special people" like Eddie Evans. They would and could do crime scene cleanup or suicide cleanup. But these special people would do it for them. They knew too that unattend death cleanup meant horrible odors. Decomposition cleanup meant horrible sights. These they did not want. They wanted someone like ol' Ed.
He knew humility too. Other crime scene cleanup companies offered sincere, hard working blood cleanup practitioners. One Los Angeles crime scene cleanup company in particular shined. These people would stay in business no matter how much crime scene cleanup fraud grew. By now Eddie knew age and weight were overtaking his stamina and will to clean.
His stamina he could increase. His weight he could lose. His will he would raise because civil servents hurt bereaved families. This and this alone kept him going. Web sites like Orange County Consumer Fraud came to reflect his will. Orange County Fraud amused him. "Be bold," Clem had said. Take it to them." Eddie did just that. He knew these government criminals had to be stopped. Allowing them to prosper meant the deaths of his Vietnam friends meant nothing. They thought that their country had a specialness to it. Now county employees were proving Tiajuana, Moscow, and Washington DC's oligarghies thrived, not democracy.
No, Eddie would not relent. "After all," he often thought. "What else can I do?".
Eddie knew he could not walk away from this fight. He could not let pukes with badges intimidate him. Fight he would, and on his own terms. Corporate media ignored him, "OK," he thought to himself. "Find another way."
To that end he created an Internet monument to grassroots democrach. Bottom-up politic for a crime scene clenaup politics. He would critique himself while critiquing crime scene cleanup. So little time remained. So much remained undone. Could it do it all?
dividends, but its customers were weird. Flling asleep at the wheel now threatened his livelyhood. Never had sleep overcome his power to remain awake for long trips.
The deer bumper's thundering "crack!" lured Eddie from his deep sleep. Then a deep rumble from the 2006 Ranger's front tires left no mistake in his worn out minid. A dream within a dream meant one thing: wake or die.
Twice this morning Eddie's mind chose sleep. "Lured to sleep" might mean more. By now his brain no longer supporting a motived crime scene cleaner's mind. His sixty-four years of waking left no doubt. A brain must sleep. A mind obliges. This time his mind's refusal to choose a rest stop cost the state a snow zzz. It nearly cost Eddie his life.
"That's it." Eddie shouted within himself. From now on I sleep. These thirty-six hour turn arounds belong to young cleaners, not me. Those days end and now.
This internal monologue had not left out the threat to the Ranger. A thousand pound load of mattress, bedding, carpet, and once bloody fabric added to the Ranger's left and right role. Like Columbus's Pinto, the Ranger swayed aft and starbord. Unlike the Pinto, a thousand dollars in equipment thrown on the highway would cost more than one thirty-six hour turnaround's profit. The highway patrol would have questions, too many questions for a tired old man.
It bounced to-and-fro over lumpy California sage-grass. Eddie's stady, strong pull of the wheel back toward the highway felt right. "Not too much, now," he thought. As his right front wheel made its way onto the life-saving highway waning x yz, relief overtook fear. His mind continued to wake as his old heart pumped blood to his aleert brain.
xxx left no mistake. Eddie's overloaded crime scene cleanup truck ploughed its way down the 99 Highway's embankment. From deep sleep to stark terror, the roads margin warning saved his life, for the moment.
Jim lay beneath his kitchen table for two weeks. Through the kitchen window a grape vine's latticework cast a soft grid-like shade upon his head. The missing left side of his forehead became partially camouflaged by the vine's shadow and the thick, dry, caked blood trailing from his exposed brain. Decomposition looked like about one week. Flies looked tiny, young. As a Los Angeles crime scene cleanup goes, I lucked out getting this job.
Archer's role with the Los Angeles Sheriff-Coroner took only minutes in this affair. Like clockwork, he had Jim's clothes off, placed aside, and quickly place his gruesome subject in a body bag. Ray helped Archer move the lump body bag onto a gurney for transport to the coroner's office. For sure the investigator would call this one a "homicide." More important, this guy had homeowner's insurance, from the look of his digs. Three-car garage, sauna, swimming pool. "Yep, plenty of bucks here."
Ted had a 18 years investigating suicides. He had a cooky-cutter template -- boilerplate investigations. He'd investigated so many homicides in his tenure as a coroner's investigator he had a ready-made template for most types of death in Orange County, including deaths on boats.
He had this one summed up as he entered the kitchen for the first time. He knew too that his Orange County crime scene cleanup referral favorites had little interest in an apartment homicide. They knew best. They would would sky rocket. Yesterday's catch came up with, "No insurance and too small to bother with." "Let it go" he uttered then. Then he reconsidered. "Give it to Kirk for his college student," he thought. Then he thought again, "No," let it go. No sense be ambivalent. Someone else can do it.
Today he hit gold, yesterday lead. "It's all money" he thought again. "Kirk's going to love this one."
Two days later Klima arrived with his boss, Kirk. Kirk scored this job through Ted. Their trusting relationship hewn years ago paid big dividends for both. "Thank God for bloodborne pathogen legislation" they often shouted and laughed. A few bucks in Ted's direction and he remained the guy to call. Kirk had it both ways. A county sheriff's employee and crime scene cleanup company owner, his source of death cleanup referrals guaranteed business success.
It seemed that a friendly competition started up between coroner's employees and deck officers in the county jail. Deputies in the jail learned to broker bail bonds for inmates. Although "chump change" compared to the many thousands landed by coroner's employees, the competition seemed fun. Amounts really didn't matter. It's the referrals that gave them their spirited enthusiasm for the prospect's business.
Continued from Crime Scene Cleanup Book --
Criminality - A Loose Leaf from my Crime Scene Cleanup Book
Those against the war came from two identifiable camps. One religious, Quakers and Catholics, and two, college campuses. College campuses became violent as police and students first clashed on UC Berkeley’s campus. Other campuses followed. Before long their anti-war protests spilled over into the streets. When it occurred, crime scene cleanup remained a simple blood cleanup task for fire departments.
The draft’s influence on college students remained obvious during those years. Without the draft our US war against Vietnam would have taken a different course. Many young men entered college to gain a “draft deferment.” Once there and their numbers swelling, a common bond grew. “Hell no we won’t go” became their chant.
Meanwhile, the civil rights movement grew. Chiasmic leaders like Martin Luther King and Malcolm X caught media attention. came to public awareness. A proxy for the civil rights movement came in the form of one xxxxy/. The South’s racism became a recognized point of social change.
Soldiers talk about more than survival. Following the lead of a black fire team leader, “Little Robby,” exposed me to African American, working class ideas, the Chicago variety.
My mother’s “live-and-let-live” philosophy showed in my interactions with African Americans and ethnic soldiers in general. Of course we had little choice but to work together. Still, mom’s respect for African American’s and other none whites gave me a sense of ease. Interacting with different types of people came easily. We shared a lot as a result.
Robby lead and I followed. Robby dug half of our foxholes and I dug the other half. He inspected my grenade sumps for proper width and depth. More than once he had me redo sumps and parapets. Parapets gave us a mound of earth about 6 inches high, 2 feet wide. Good camouflage gave us a sense of security. With Robby’s leadership, we seldom came under scrutiny by our platoon sergeant.
In such foxholes Robby and I were to spend many hours talking about "the world" and what we read in Stars and Stripes. Robby assured me many times that “someone had a plan for us and we were fulfilling that plan,” no matter how many days became absurd.
Robby’s death left me without anyone to share my foxhole for a short while. A young, enthusiastic African American “cherry” from Florida arrived as a replacement for Robby. Robby had over five years in the Infantry. This kid, “Adam,” had no experience. We did manage to carry-on meaningful conversations for a short while. I shared what I could. Robby’s experience now echoed through my mind and voice. I became Adman’s mentor.
On his first day in first platoon Adman explained that he would be in country a short while. His mother had lost two sons in Vietnam, both special forces soldiers. Adman would receive duty in "the world" soon. Our relationship ended when I left for Rest-and-Relaxation (R and R) in Singapore. When I returned, I returned to an empty foxhole. Adman had died from an M-16 round to the back, a “friendly fire” victim. My sense of fairness, right-and-wrong raised a new level of universal wonder in young mind.
He promised his crime scene cleanup training officer one thing: write below Flesh-Kincade's eight-grade level. Keep it simple; keep it sweet, and, "Your mother will love you for it." A crime scene cleanup book must do the good work. "Help stop crime scene cleanup fraud against a grieving public," he pleaded.
Clem's lungs were giving out. Eddie knew he would not last longer. He did not expect to see Clem alive after this last training day.
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