DEAD MAN WALKING.NET

Prelude:

As I sit here in my darkened apartment at around 2:00AM, my eyes are tired and strained, and my fingers are beginning to struggle to find the correct keys under the dim light of the computer screen. It has been the longest and most terrifying few months of my life, and tonight I have added the finishing touches to a project which I know is going to be my only real chance of ending this nightmare.

I’ve sat here many an hour, usually when I can’t sleep and peer out of my grimy, streaky apartment window onto the New York City streets and I find it difficult to come to terms with what is happening in my life right now. It’s almost like the same streets which birthed and nurtured me have turned into a dark and mysterious monster set on reclaiming me before my time - or at least, before I’m ready.

Divorced for around 5 years, my ex-wife and my two children now live across the country, and I have lived alone in New York City ever since. After the break up, I felt so alone that when I eventually got used to it, I thought the whole experience had rendered me impervious to feelings of loneliness forevermore. Little did I know of the even greater depths of isolation and loneliness which were destined to greet me 5 years on. I have never felt so alone and so scared in my entire life as I do now, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.

On my first ‘unofficial’ day on the run (I am not in the federal Witness Protection Program, I am on my own therefore nothing is really ‘official’), for a brief moment when I woke, before my brain engaged and my eyes adjusted to the then-unfamiliar apartment, I’d forgotten what had happened to me, where I was, and who I was running from. I can honestly say, that was the only moment of true peace of mind I have had in the past couple of months since I ‘disappeared’. Of course, this lasted only seconds before the searing pain of my shattered arm returned, accompanied by an almost overwhelming fear and panic: ‘OH GOD, WHAT THE HELL AM I GONNA DO?’

It’s amazing how you can come to miss the smallest, simplest of things in life so much. Things you’ve taken for granted and never truly been grateful for until they are eroded or taken completely. What I miss most is the freedom to walk down the street without looking over my shoulder and without the constant accompanying fear and knowledge that somewhere - perhaps just around each corner - there are people out there with orders to bring my life to a violent and abrupt end. Even the freedom, or birthright, to be able to hold out my hand to another human being and say: ‘Hi, my name is…’ without having to give a false name and feel insincere because I’ve lied to them about who I really am. I find it quite hard to explain this feeling, but I think a persons name has so much to do with who they are, that upon trying to become another person - even in name - it’s almost like losing a part of who you are… and I hate it.

For the past few months, I have been forced to use pseudonyms to protect my real identity, and the people who ‘know’ me in the flesh, know me by a different name to the one I am giving you, for obvious reasons. Although, unlike you, they know absolutely nothing of who I really am, my problems with the Mafia and my ‘real-life’, so when it comes down to it, you know me more than any person who sees me in the flesh, who chats to me in the apartment building, on the street, at the store, and so on.

I chose the name Frank because it was my late grandfathers name. My grandfather, like me, was a New Yorker through and through. Born here, lived here, died here. Part of the reason I chose to adopt my grandfathers name for my blog was because, in a strange kind of way, I find it familiar and comforting and it helps me to feel like I haven’t completely lost who I am, if that makes some kind of sense?

My grandfather was a fighter, right up until the very end, and I hope I can make him as proud of me as I am of him.

The Background:

The events which were to lead me here began back in late 2003 around Christmastime. I had just tended my resignation from my job as a web designer and programmer at a well-known IT company; a job which I had worked for around six years. The new year was coming, and I was going to be embarking on a new business venture. It was only around a year prior to this that I had divorced from my wife, and she had taken our two children with her across the country where she has family. I figured I too needed a fresh start, and first on the agenda was to change my career and begin to work in something with which I had always held a keen interest – cars.

I decided I was going to use some savings I had, as well as a bank loan, to start up a luxury car rental company, which was something I had lazily dreamed of doing for a few years but never had the motivation to break out of my comfortable, albeit unsatisfying career to pursue, until now. At long last, after all these years, here I was, about to finally make it all happen, and I have to say, I was feeling pretty damn pleased with myself!

I procured several luxury sedans and several high-end sports cars and set up shop. Most of my clients, as you’d imagine, were business people, playboy types with money out to impress women or other business people. Some of my clients were just regular people who worked regular jobs, but had a passion for cars and enjoyed the feeling it gave them to rent a nice car beyond their purchasing means for a couple of days, or a week or whatever.

Business was doing very well and due to this, around late 2005 I was able to expand the fleet of cars significantly. There was huge demand for the rental of high-end cars and it seemed the business would continue to grow and make a lot of money, but it wasn’t to last. Around January of 2006, a man who’s intentions went far beyond the simple rental of a car appeared, returning several times with other men and loitering around, at which point things began an ever quickening decline.

Things started to happen. Ever more frequently, cars rented out were coming back with problems, some of which weren’t immediately detectable (which on hindsight should have suggested sabotage by somebody who knew what they were doing), thus rendering them un-rentable, costing time, loss of customers and money for repairs. Extensive damage was done during the night to one of my most expensive sports cars when paint was thrown on it and it was dented by what looks to have been several blows with a sledge hammer. A week later I had to report another car stolen because it wasn’t returned on time and after I had tried to contact the guy who had taken the car on the cell number I was given, my call was answered by a woman in Pittsburgh who told me she didn’t know anything about hiring a car. I never did see the car again, nor did I ever again see the jerk-off who’d taken it.

These kinds of costly and reputation damaging events, as well as appearances from the evermore present mystery man continued for around a month until the man had just the opening he was looking for.

One morning in late February I was inspecting my cars, as I did every day, and on one car due to be taken out that day I found deep scratching running almost the entire length of the car down one side, and upon further inspection I saw that the rear tires of the car had been slashed. In anger I cursed aloud: “Goddamn motherf**kers!”.

“Everything alright there, pal?” I turned to answer the person talking to me, a man who looked to be in his mid-fifties, powerfully built with a thick head of salt and pepper hair. At this moment I realized it was the same man who I had seen time and again strolling around the cars. “Some sonovabitch is f**king me, and if I find out who, I’ll make them pay!”

The man, who hadn’t yet introduced himself, took a look at the car before saying: “Jesus. What kind of no good bastard would do this to a beautiful car like this? It’s gonna cost a helluva lot of G’s to get fixed up. Listen, I’m in security and have some good friends in the car repair business also, maybe I can help you in some way?”

He held out his hand and said: “Oh, by the way, my names [censored]”. “[Frank]”.

We went into my office and got to talking about the problems I’d been having. The man told me that he was really passionate about cars, and had been around a lot looking at them recently and thinking about renting a sports car for a while, but he still hadn’t decided which one. “I gotta make my choice carefully ‘cos my wife’ll swing for me if she knew I’d been spending all of our money on renting sports cars. I figure I can get away with telling her one car belongs to a friend and I’m borrowing it for a while, but more than one different car, forgetaboutit, she’d never believe me”, he laughed.

“What you need is good security, you see, and once you got it then these lowlifes won’t bother you no more. I have a security company which is hired by several successful companies in New York, one is a car company similar to yours one which was also having problems, and now don’t nobody bother them. Everybody needs security in this day, especially in New York.” By this point I was losing money like crazy and desperate to try and get my failing business back on track, but I knew if incidents like this continued, even for another couple of weeks to a month, then I’d eventually lose and have to close down. Looking back, I was so goddamned naïve and desperate for a quick resolution that I didn’t see what was happening right in front of my eyes, or maybe I did but I just didn’t want to admit it?

My once burgeoning business had been brought to it’s knees by random and regular incidents, and it needed ’security’. It also desperately needed money putting into it. During one of our meetings, the conversation turned to investment and the man told me he had money he was looking to invest into a business as a silent partner, and after a few more meetings across a couple of weeks, a deal was made between us whereby I would continue as the owner in name and handle the day-to-day running of the company, as I wanted, and my new business partner, who now owned a large share would handle security and maintenance/repairs of cars, at a auto-repair shop owned by his friend. This was good because he said our cars would be given priority on any repairs, so this was another major bonus for the business.

By inviting a partner into my business I thought it’d take a load off my mind, a problem shared, a problem halved, as they say, and a lot of money needed putting into it to bring things back up again, which I now had, so I figured I could now get things back on track. The thing most people don’t understand is, these guys don’t just come along and say: ‘Hi. We’re the Mafia, we’re taking over.’ These guys’ are smart and cunning. They work on people with an angle and seldom use intimidation or violence unless as a last resort. The Mafia is a philosophy these men live by; the Mafia works behind backs, behind closed doors, in the shadows, and only appears when it needs to. A man you’ve said ‘good morning’ to for 20 years and seemed to be the nicest and most harmless guy in the world might be a member of the Mafia. What I was dealing with at this time was the regular guys they present themselves as.

Nobody put a gun to my head and forced me to do what I did. It was my own decision, albeit one (and I didn’t know this at the time) which had been manipulated into their favour by themselves in the shadows, as I have explained, through a series of covert acts of sabotage designed to make me desperate enough to reach out for help from the nearest person who offered it - which, it just so happens, were the perpetrators themselves. I believe, my forming of a partnership was inconsequential with regards to the business failing. It was at first their sabotage which brought it to it’s knees, and their insatiable greed which finished it off. Either way, it was only a matter of time before the business failed, one way or another. What my forming of a partnership and acceptance of their dirty money into the business did do, was poison the business, and in essence, ensure any chance I ever had of walking away cleanly from the business, and them, was doomed.

Anyway, to go back a little before things reached their final catastrophic climax, things appeared to be on the up to begin with. True to his word, the acts of sabotage ceased as the business came under the watchful eye of a couple of ’security men’ who checked on the business a couple of times during the day and at night, and for a while it seemed the business was again on the up. This didn’t last long.

The Mafia are like a cancer. They are run by greed and can demolish a business like termites until there is nothing left. More often than not, the Mafia will walk away from any partnership they form with a legitimate partner with far more money than they have either invested, or are entitled to – often to the absolute detriment of the business, which they usually suck dry until it collapses. Slowly, but gradually, this is what happened. Money would be ‘borrowed’ and not paid back. My partner began renting out one of our most profitable sports cars to himself for free, and other wiseguys began borrowing cars without paying. Several cars were boosted right from our premises and taken to mob warehouses and stashed, reported as stolen, insurance money was claimed and the cars sold on to customers abroad. Most of the insurance money didn’t go back into the business, and things began slipping again. Whenever I enquired about these things I was told “Don’t worry about it, it’s been taken care of.” My silent partner became less and less silent, yet maintained a distance from the business, preferring to stay in the shadows, sending others to communicate what had now more or less become ‘orders’ to me. Many of the customers couldn’t get the cars they had booked because they had been taken out by other wiseguys without authorization, and the solid reputation the business had established in the beginning for reliability had been almost completely wiped out. The end was near.

After the stolen vehicles report the authorities and insurance company suspected it was the work of an organized auto theft ring. Ironically, there was an auto theft ring at work, but what the authorities and insurance company don’t know - and probably still don’t - is the auto theft ring involved were in fact the owners of the business.

The business gradually went more and more into the red, and towards the end many of the cars had completely vanished. Some were probably kept by the wiseguys, some taken to chop shops and some were probably sold as whole. Where? Only they know. What was once a thriving business had now been totally collapsed by them. By this point, after the hassle and hell it had all become, I was relieved when the business finally did go down the tubes and it could all be over with. But the worst, which was to eventually lead me to where I am today, was yet to come: I was told they wanted their initial investment capital back, and quickly.

One night in mid to late October at a meeting with my ‘ex-business partner’ and a few other very serious faces I was told in no uncertain terms that I was paying, one way or another:

Ex-Partner: “Well, Frank… we got quite a bad situation here, don’t we, me and you? I now owe a lot of money to a lot of people, and I can’t pay unless you do,” -
Me: “Wha, what? Me? Pay who? For what, I…” -
Ex-Partner: “Questions are been asked Frank, about you, and alotta guys’ aren’t so sure you’ve played it straight and because of this I’m beginning to look bad and I’m in no position to look bad, right? You’re the last link in the chain, Frankie, and if it comes to it, you know…”
Me: “I didn’t cheat nobody! I lost the most, what can I do? What can you do? That’s business…”
Ex-Partner: “What can you or I do? Well, mmm, we’ll see about that right here won’t we? You got a house and a car, don’t you? That’s godda be a lot of what you owe me you, f**kin’,… (sighs)… Look, when I entered into the business with you, we had a deal, a deal which you can’t just break no matter what, you understand?”
Me: “The agreement wasn’t broken, but”
Ex-Partner: “Don’t ‘but’ me you motherf**ker. Don’t make this any harder than it already is, Frank. You know the score. You know the deal still stands. Now, I don’t put my money in and not get my money out, never. You knew what you were getting into with this, you know this.”
Me: “I’m been shaken down here, this is blatant and I didn’t do nothing, it was out of my hands and you know it.”
Ex-Partner: “(laughs), you call it what you want to my friend. I’m getting paid one way or another. You see if I don’t. Look, I’m not been unreasonable here, so don’t you be. I’m willing to take payment in instalments ok?”
Me: “Oh Jesus, (sigh of resignation), [name], look I…, what do you want from me?”
Ex-Partner: “5 G’s a week, minimum, until it’s settled and it ain’t gonna be no vig. However, miss a payment or come up short you pay 3 points vig on whatever you don’t pay of the 5 grand, understand? Ain’t never been done like this before, Frank, I’m been a saint for you right here. If you don’t have the money, then your just gonna have to sell your house, car and anything you can for liquidity, Ok? That’ll take care of the payments for a while. How you get the rest is your concern. I won’t ask no more and I’m been a saint right here.”
Me: “The house is rented, it’s not mine to sell. All I have is the car, [name]. Please, look, this ain’t my fault, I’m ruined…”
Ex-Partner: “You’ll bounce back, providing you pay (laughs quietly). Look Frank, you know me well enough now, and I’m been serious here, this ain’t up for debate, you owe me, and because of the situation I’m in, me soon becomes us, and us means even if you was the son of God your still paying, you understand me? I’m giving you a way out here, as a friend, and as a friend I’m giving you four weeks before I’m expecting the first payment, as a favour to you. If you miss a payment or come up short, it’s 3 points vig on whatever of the 5 G’s you don’t pay, for old times sake. That’s final. But I’m telling you Frank, I swear to God, unless we get our money, and fast, you are a dead man walking.”

Four weeks went by and I couldn’t pay. In fact, at this point I didn’t even attempt to pay them. I didn’t feel like I should and I also didn’t feel like I really needed to, after all, I thought, what would they really do if I didn’t? Any questions I had about their seriousness in their threats were soon to be answered, and I was soon to realize just how grossly I’d underestimated their resolve.

Following the collapse of the business, I was trying to bury my head in the sand. I didn’t take my phone calls, and I ignored house calls. After a week or so I decided enough was enough and it was time to face the aftermath. One night in late November around 9:00PM, a little over a week after I was told the first payment was due by (technically missing two payments straight), I was in the process of clearing out my files from the office when I was visited by three hoodlums, two of which I recognized, a third which I’d never seen before. I was told they had come to collect payment. When I told them I didn’t have it, two of the men grabbed me by each arm and forced me to my knees. One of the men twisted my arm around my back and knelt across my calve muscles at the back of my knees so I was unable to get back to my feet. The second man pulled and held my other arm onto the desk, putting a solid binder underneath my wrist so my arm was elevated. The third man pulled out a thick, heavy iron bar and brought it down on my forearm with such force that the bone shattered in half. The pain was so intense and so sudden that it was almost as if I’d lost the ability to breath. For what seemed like eternity I stay knelt down on the floor with my face locked in hideous contortion and my vocal cords tensed to breaking point, trying to scream in sheer agony but I couldn’t. In my whole life I have never, ever experienced such excruciating pain and I pray to God almighty I never have to again.

After going to ER and having my arm operated on, I discharged myself from hospital at the earliest opportunity. On the 27th November 2006 - before payment was due once more - after seriously evaluating my options (which weren’t vast) I decided I had no other option other than to go on the run to buy myself some time to think. I packed as much of my essential possessions as quickly as I could and left, disappearing into the Urban Jungle of New York City, where I so far remain.

I found an apartment and laid low. For the first few weeks my head was in such a mess I could barely eat or sleep and it was really taking its toll on me. I was in a constant state of panic, not knowing what the hell I was going to do, and expecting my apartment door to burst open at any second to meet the man who was to end my life. I knew I had to get a grip and regain control so I could begin thinking very carefully about what my next move was going to be, or I was as good as a sitting duck.

Short of winning the lottery, I knew there was absolutely no quick way I could raise the kind of money they were expecting from me. I knew I was in an extremely serious situation with very limited options. I had to think, and think hard.

The Idea:

One of my possessions I took with me was a notebook computer which enables me access to the internet. As I have explained, I used to be a web designer and programmer, so I was well acquainted with moneymaking on the internet. I began researching ways of making vast amounts of money in a short space of time and encountered some terrific success stories which spurred me on to continue digging deeper as I felt I was on the right track.

Inevitably, I saw how many people had ‘blog’ type websites, and also realized how many people appeared to be making a lot of money through them in various ways, so I began looking into it, before abandoning the idea temporarily, then coming back to it, over and over several times.

As with reality TV, I have always found it quite amazing how people can be so interested in the mundane lives of others and how regular people’s blog’s became so popular when they were basically living the same life as the reader - which to me is a baffler, but nevertheless for reasons unknown, it’s a fact.

I have never really been interested in blog’s before, let alone running my own. Hell, I never even kept a private journal, so the thought of broadcasting my life, problems, innermost thoughts and feelings to complete strangers on the internet seemed crazy to me to begin with, but the more I circled around the idea, the more I kept coming back to it, and the more I came back to it the more I realized it maybe wasn’t so crazy after all. I must admit, I was a little mad at myself, and also a little humoured (in a frustrated way) that I was even considering such an absurd idea given my serious situation, but I eventually figured, what the hell… if regular people out there can make good money talking about their regular lives, then surely I can make crazy money talking about my crazy life.

It may be wishful thinking but I hope and pray it’s not, because this is all I got…

My Reasons:

Yes, you may think I’m taking a huge gamble with my life but I am certainly not going to go to the authorities, for many reasons you are about to learn.

My main reason for not wanting to testify and inevitably go into the federal Witness Protection Program is my family and all of the complications which would arise. They have a new life, a good life, and they don’t need or deserve to be dragged into this mess, especially not when I know I have a shot at straightening things out myself. I couldn’t live with that and I’d feel as though I’d failed them and just given up, and that is one thing which I am not going to do easily.

I also know I can’t run forever - while the heat is on me like this they will find me, sooner or later. I have, therefore, given myself a deadline of 90 days to come up with enough money to catch up with repayments and to continue to pay these people back, providing the vig by this time isn’t so far out of my reach.

I won’t be meeting up with them; stupid I ain’t. I’ll find some other way of doing it. But what I do hope is that once they start seeing money - and eventually have all of it - they will no longer have the motive or reason to continue searching for me and let me be. You see, it’s complicated and the situation they have put me in right now means they have opened themselves up to another serious issue. They want their money, but they are also panicking about what I know and what I might do out of fear because I have yet to pay them back.

I have no intentions of testifying and by paying them I will be proving this. They know I could have them busted for federal crimes and would prefer to see me out of the way, so by paying them their money back I am buying my way out of this trouble, therefore have no need to go to the authorities. While I am in major debt to them, their first thought is that my most likely move will be to go to the authorities for help rather than do what I am doing now, therefore in effect it is a race against time for them to find me and kill me fearing I’ll have them pinched for federal crimes, and a race against time for me to begin paying them to show them I’m not going to have them pinched.

My identity must be kept a strict secret for two reasons - firstly, to prevent the Mafia from finding me, and secondly so I don’t help the authorities build a racketeering case enabling them to subpoena me using this information as evidence. If they can’t prove who I am, they can’t prove that I wrote this and therefore they cannot make me corroborate this as factual evidence and force me to testify.

If I can get a break then one thing I would really like to do is move away from New York and be closer to my children to watch them grow up. This whole experience has made me realize just how much I miss them. New York will always be in my heart, but it ain’t going no place. It’ll always be here waiting for me whenever I choose to return and still be the same. A Mafiosi’s life is usually a short one, and I hope when I do return that those who could’ve remembered me are either dead, in jail, too legally troubled or too old and lacking in will or concern to exact retribution on me for this. I also hope that those who remain but are less likely to remember me because they were far less involved will have therefore long since forgotten me.

I’d like to thank you for taking the time to read my story, and I hope you will follow my life through my blog, the good times and the bad. While it may be a serious life for me, I appreciate it may be entertainment for you – and that’s ok, really. I genuinely hope you stick around and show support if you can…

Here’s hoping I can do this,

Frank