Dec 11, 2019
The next morning came without incident. The FBI’s efforts to follow us appeared to slow. We thought we were home free.
It was only after leaving for supper that we realized something was severely wrong.
As we pulled into the Carl’s Jr, we noticed the same thing that we had noticed the night before; the attendant was on the phone once again. Again, he was nervously shooting glances out the window at us.
And when he finally gave us food, it contained an extra box of fries - bringing the order to 3 items.
Upon pulling out of the drive-thru, and into the street, we were hit by the police. They - and 20 other vehicles - performed a full felony stop. Complete with guns, a vehicle search, and a hundred questions:
“Got the motherfucker! Where is the AK-47?”
“AK-47? What are you talking about about? I don’t even own an AK-47!”
Who told them that I had an AK-47? Clearly, they are operating on bad information. Or, perhaps, this is code. Maybe they are referencing my confidant, AK-47?
The questions continued, but we were confident: they have nothing on us.
That was, until they showed me just what they are capable of.
It had already been a long stop - pushing two hours - and they hadn’t found anything worth criminal charges. At one point, they entered the police car to use the computer. I sat in the back seat, watching. What I saw fascinated and terrified me.
The officer was flipping between two different profiles in the system. The first was clearly me; it had my proper street address, my full name, and a clean record. The second was a person with exactly the same name, several felony warrants - and my old house address.
They were showing me just how easy it is to frame somebody.
But they were warning me to stay calm, as well. As I sat in the back of the car, someone was repeatedly flipping the door locks in an erratic fashion. It sounded like morse code. Unfortunately, I don’t understand morse code.
While this was reassuring, it did not prevent the inevitable. They had screwed-up, and they now held an innocent captive. One who understood the gravity of what he had seen.
They needed to discredit him.
And they did.
In just a few hours, Malcolm would be placed into a mental hospital, where he would be immediately diagnosed with schizophrenia.
All apologies won’t make things right with you tonight
Oh, can’t you see as you’re dragging me, I’m your favorite toy
Oh, I’m so sorry but make up your mind, we’re out of time
Oh, mama, please, I’m on my knees, I’m your favorite boy
— from Coheed and Cambria - “Toys”