True Story©... Greetings, Old Friend!

 

    I knew this day would come...
I have used the Moe Phillips name quite loosely and without thought of consequences because, frankly, I was clearly sure that there were none. For the most part, that has proven mostly true, save for a couple of little embarrassing happenings here and there.

    But this? This could almost be skewed as karma paying my dumb ass a visit...
As ever, I'm chilling in the house, scrolling YouTube on the clock between tasks at the ol full-time. In the corner of my eye, I see the screen light up on the Moe Phillips burner phone. It's the Gmail icon.
Defying my better senses, I picked it up and read it...
    

"Moe,

What I come to you today with is kind of embarrassing... I own, or I should say I used to own a diner in town. One day last year, I was approached by someone named Maurice who arranged to buy out all of our food for the day if we agreed to feed the community without charging.

The day was a huge hit. We sold out the day and some of the next days' food too, but it was worth it for the absolute publicity of it.

... until at the end of that same night, we were robbed for every dime he had arranged for us to be given, plus a little more for the day.

This is on me, but I couldn't go to the police or any insurance because my books were so ugly that I didn't want any additional attention on them. I can't help but think this 'Maurice' character set me up and now I've lost my business as a result. I would like your help in avenging this."

    Ho-lee-shit...
I knew I would eventually have to pay the piper, but to have someone seek out the M-O-Equalizer to make right some shit that the M-O-Equalizer actually did in the correction of THAT individual's transgression is next-level irony ain't it?

    How do I even begin to respond to this? Do I even respond to it? Do I just ignore it and block him? I mean, in the grandest scheme of things, it was his own assholery that put him into the crosshairs of this "Maurice" character in the first place, even if he doesn't know that. If I do decide to take this one on, I need to do so in a manner that puts it definitely in my rear view and without revealing to him that "Moe" has always been short for "Maurice" to keep him from putting the pieces together.

Think, Phillip... Think.

    Can't lean on Detective Buttsex, we've had interactions in the last month and I don't want that guy to think for a moment that we're friends or anything like that.
I can't play Icarus with this one and, again, let on how much about his situation I actually do know. With that said, let's call the phone number from the email signature and see exactly how much he does know...

Him: "Hello?"

Me: "This is Moe, you emailed me about help finding--..."

Him: "... that mother-fucking Maurice, yes!"

Me: "First thing's first, what do we know about this cat?"

Him: "He called me from a Google voice number with no definitive owner that I could find with a Virginia area code."

Me: "mhmm..."

Him: "He presented me with an offer I couldn't wisely refuse. It basically saw to it that I made my cash that day, but the community engagement of feeding everyone free-to-them was worth the extra business of the day in the long run."

Me: "But did you ever, like, MEET him? What does he look like?"

Him: "No. He sent an employee, or what he called an employee to drop off the cash that morning about an hour after we opened."

Me: "And was that 'employee' who came and tuned you up that night?"

Him: "No--... well, I don't think so. It was dark and I THINK the guys that night were bigger. It happened so fast!"

Me: "Why didn't you go to the cops?"

Him: "I'll keep it real with you. My business was teetering on the edge of financial ruin and straight up tax fraud. Inviting legal attention or my insurance company and any subrogation would leave me out my money AND in a legal Quagmire."

Me: "Giggity."

Him: "What?"

Me: "... Quagmire... Y'know what? Never mind. So no cops, no insurance for this. You went it alone and found--..."

Him: "... not shit, this guy is good."

Do you know how hard it was not to thank him for saying that?

Me: "So lemme get that phone number and anything else you got, I'll try to dive a lil deeper and see what I can find."

Him: "Sure thing!"

    I ended the call and waited for him to send me some shit I already knew. Naturally, I created that number behind a series of fake names and forwarded also-fake numbers with the purpose of keeping PHILLIP anonymous, and obscuring Maurice from Moe at the same time.

... I also needed a reminder of what number I used. It was almost a year since I did this shit!

    Now armed with intimate first hand knowledge of what he does know, I can devise a better plan of action to keep my own ass out the grease.

    My plan of action would wind up being threefold.
We'll start with the first phone call back to our contact, made after waiting a comfortable four days.

Him: "Hello?"

Me: "A little birdie says you're looking for me?"

I was calling as Maurice, of course.

Him: "You bastard, what I'm looking for is my fuckin money!"

Me: "I mean... You can come take it out my ass if you want it that bad."

Him: "Why would you even do this?"

Me: "I needed the money, silly goose. You were an easy lick!"

Him: "So this is what you do? You set people up and ruin their lives?"

Me: "Not any more. Now I sell people dildos to throw on WNBA courts for social media clout."

Him: "You know what? Maybe I would like to take you up on that offer to take my $2500 out of your ass."

Me: "Look, bro... I got a big shipment of dildos shipping in this weekend, I ain't got time til at least like Monday. Here's what we'll do... Your cash was the seed money for this little endeavor. I will let you have the shipment and you can sell them to recoup your money plus some profit. I'll arrange the driver to meet you and you can take it from there. Then we never speak again."

Him: "I'll take what I can get, I guess."

Me: "I'mma text you a public meeting place. If you insist on dancing, that's what you get."

Him: "hmph..."

My second phone call came from my real phone number to someone you should all remember.

Him: "Wow, this is a voice that I haven't heard in a while."

Me: "WOODPENIS!!!"

Woodpenis: "Fuuuuuuuck... and already I don't miss it. Whatcha got?"

Me: "What if I threw you a layup for someone attempting to receive and sell off-the-books Chinese goods, EEOC violations, tax evasion and crossing state lines to commit some of those crimes while probably also armed?"

Him: "Sounds like some Moe Phillips shit..."

Me: "Who?"

Him: "You're nothing if not consistent.  You said the special words to make this a 'me' thing in my new capacity, so I'm listening."

Me: "First, you have to secure a truckload of 500 lime green dildos."

Him: "Is EVERYTHING a dick joke with you?"

Me: "Actually yes, but this is necessary. This guy thinks he is buying a truck of dildos to sell to be thrown on the court at WNBA games."

Him: "You're 46, right?"

Me: "As of last month, yes."

Him: "Please grow up soon."

Me: "So anyway... He will try to get these off-the-books rubber weewees, then sell them online for cash or cash-adjacent payment methods. You will find when you dig into him that he will have closed a restaurant that was flirting with financial ruin. In the rubble, you'll find some FUCKED up books."

Him: "How do you know this?"

Me: "Before the closure, you'll find some employee complaints about his behavior. I bet dollars to donuts you can speak to those employees at a competing diner up the street."

Him: "Sir, you just might be Satan."

Me: "Do what you will with this information. Just get them dildos and be ready in Virginia."

Him: "But--..."

I hung up...
I swiftly engaged the former diner owner all weekend about the liaison, maintaining as vague a commitment to showing as I could without knowing how Woodpenis' federal machine was operating outside of my view.
Saturday passes, nothing from Woodpenis.
Sunday... Nothing.

Monday afternoon, my phone rings...

Me: "... well good day, sir."

Woodpenis: "I don't know how you do it."

Me: "Whatever do you mean?"

Woodpenis: "It was all there... Everything. Tax evasion, the attempt to take possession of and ostensibly sell the dildos, sexual harassment and equal employment cases. I don't think I even really WANT to--..."

Me: "... then don't ask. I'll keep an eye on the news to see how this shit pans out."

Woodpenis: "..."

Me: "You're welcome."

He hung up.

    So here we find ourselves... Hasteful thinking and action got me INTO this shit. Smartly directed thinking got me out of it. I can't possibly know what the outcome will be this soon, but the publicly accessible charging documents show that they needed VERY little time to corroborate any of the stuff I said would be found in his books. This idiot closed the diner, but still owned the property and his dodgy-ass records were still in a file cabinet on site. Naturally, his former employees saw the inspectors on site and sang like birds.
By the time they got to the meeting point about the dildos, they didn't even NEED that. To involve that as a crime may have flirted with entrapment, so they just showed up in a box truck and jumped out on him and took him in without discussing that transaction.  I was confident in my insulation from any implications by the suspect's lack of credibility under his mountain of evidence and bullshit.  Any mention of anyone else would come off as a feeble attempt to save his own skin but nothing earnest in the face of what they KNOW they know.

They say the federal gub'mint has like a 93% conviction rate. I am pretty sure that I am actually done with this one for good now...

... and Woodpenis owes me more favors!