Part II: The Set Up

Orlando, Florida Colonial Avenue & Orange Blossom Trail at a dinky little motel just off the Trail. I was homeless at the time and in between jobs. My closest friend was a gorgeous 5'7" blonde female by the name of Vanessa from Iowa. Vanessa's boyfriend was my best mate Michael whom was currently incarcerated. Vanessa was a exotic dancer at a near by club. I was an unemployed club-kid looking for stability and a way out of my vicarious situation.

I had to seek public and private assistance from Human Services food stamps and for housing assistance from a nonprofit group called The Centaur Center; which assist people like me with my medical needs and get into housing and a permanent and stable situation. The Centaur Center offers motel room vouchers for up to two weeks, food bank and rental/utility funds for housing. At the time I had no other choice but to seek their assistance. 

Vanessa lived with Michael's parents and I lived where ever I could find available and cheap. Vanessa and I were there for each other as we both were struggling with our unstable situations. We were road dawgs together, she had a wicked Z-car, and it was a classic ride. So nice! Upon my request The Centaur Center gave me a motel room voucher for one week. Vanessa was not allowed to stay with me but, she was my road dawg and we spent every waking moment together for what seemed like and eternity but, was only a few months; we grew very close... I miss her terrible to this day, and hope that she is well, still I have not seen her in decades.

While I had stayed about two nights at this motel room on the third day I had not heard from Vanessa in all day long. So I called her in-laws house and found that she had been trying to contact me all day long. However, she was told by the front desk personal that I was not in. Even though the motel room phone did not ring in all day, and I happened to be there. But, for a few minutes it took to run across the street to grab some Burger King, it probably took less than fifteen minutes to go and return.

I went up the front desk to confront the desk keeper and ask why he/she would lie about my presents. I ran into a very snotty, stuck up queer who obviously did not appreciate that I had a room voucher. His animosity and rudeness was clear and present. He stated that he was not my secretary and that I should get a cell phone. He even referred to me as 'you people' think you can get everything for free. I was dumb founded and told him to fuck himself gently with a chainsaw.

It was not long until  Vanessa had showed up and we headed out to KFC (Kentucky Fried Chicken) which happened to be next door to BK (Burger King). When we returned of course we ate, started a movie, and lay stuffed to our gills on different beds. We were so chill and relaxed, talked about maybe going out later for drinks. It was was later January so the night come early and it was dark outside. It had been a couple of hours since my confrontation with that front desk faggot. I am gay so calling him that justifies just what type of human being he was; an asshole!It is not my fault he was hopeless looking and I was drop dead gorgeous!

We jumped out of our skins when we heard a 'cop knock' at the door. We thought we were getting robbed. Why you ask? The seedy night life of crack hoes and crack dealers were right outside on the Trail (Orange Blossom Trail & Colonial). That is why we did not go outside the room much or hand at the pool. Shady, seedy and insane! We wanted no part of it!

We heard the infamous line shouting, "This Is The Police!! Open The Door!!" I sprang into action and opened the door. Vanessa sat up on her bed and was looking crazily surprised as I was. What the fuck was all this about? To our surprise had to be six cop cars and twelve officers with guns out pointed at us. We shyte ourselves (practically)! What in the world did we do? I had been motel room bound for almost three days. The only time I went some where was to get food, hit the road with Vanessa or have a little chat with the desk clerk.

I was accused of threatening the life of the desk clerk. Um? No, I did tell him to go fuck himself. The Officers searched the room and separated Vanessa and I. When they had finished they brought us in one by one to ask us who this crack on the table belonged to? One we were Club-Kids and we did not do cocaine in any form; crack, snort, shoot or smoke. What I found very curious was that the only table in the room was full of fast food condiments, left overs, rapping, and beverage cups prior to the knock.

Now, the table was completely cleared, not even crumbs were on the table, not even wet rings from soda cups on the table. And if you lived in the South especially Florida everything even coffee sweats and leaves a wet ring where is sat. Not this time... The table was clear of any debris, crumbs or wet rings. Just this little pile of Crack sitting dead center of the table with identifying chemical the police use to determine if in deed it was cocaine.

The irony is that one cannot smoke crack without a glass pipe, Brillo, or a lighter(s). You do not have to be a crackhead to know that. Yet there was absolutely NO other drugs, or drug paraphernalia found in the room. I quickly demanded the presents of a Supervisor or Sargent, and profusely  deny the possession and use of drugs. Vanessa said the same thing. The Officers tried to play us against one another by telling us that the other was blaming the possession or use on the other. Bullshyte!

I loudly declared that not only was it not ours, but that we could prove it! When the Supervisor showed up I asked him carefully listen to me, I stated the following, "You are free to take a urine, blood and even hair sample form both of us. That crack is NOT ours. It's not hers, and it damn sure isn't mine!" Upon this declaration the Supervisor had Vanessa put in one cop car, me an other and the door to the Motel room closed while the Supervisor had a chat with at least eight of the Officers present. When they all exited the room we were free to go... However, that meant I had to check out of the Motel.

At least we were not checking to the Concrete Block Hotel downtown. So, if you are one of those people that believe that we live under an honest Police State, you are just as blind and ignorant as I was in California. It is not your fault, it is the way that we have allowed Law-Enforcement to gain the upper hand. With the aid of State Prosecutors law-enforcement is given the Green Light to hunt down young African Americans and People of Color shoot ans kill them without remorse or consequences. Law-Enforcement with one night arrest a person for Domestic Violence and the following evening kick a handcuffed woman in the face! We have all seen the viral videos of cop violence and police brutality on the internet.

Some would argue that you cannot believe everything on the internet. With video, a still picture is worth a thousand words, it speaks for itself. One cannot logically deny the evidence of a video. My story about law-Enforcement will continue another chapter. We I convince you the reasons in which I have zero faith in our Justice System, and great trepidation against Law-Enforcement.  

My Demonstrative Engagement with Law-Enforcement I

Once upon a time when I was a street kid living on the streets of the Great City of Angels; hanging about Santa Monica Boulevard at a quaint 24 hour outdoor restaurant called Okie Dogs on the corner of Fountain and Santa Monica Boulevard.
It was a rainy and messy night not too much traffic, the kids were still out trying desperately to hustle up a few measly bucks for their motels, drugs, and next meal. Mostly their next drug fix. At that time in life I was not much of a druggy, I smoked some herb once in a while, but mostly liked my Southern Comfort and Mountain Dew.
This night was like any other rainy night the street kids (mostly male on Santa Monica Boulevard) rolled in and out of Okie Dogs with its long orange picnic tables and benches, completely covered by ivy and other plants shading and concealing the outdoor patio and store front. Okie Dogs had on the east-end a hut like video game room slash shelter, over head was wavy tin ruff, and on the side was on open view of the sky. This place gave us shelter from the elements and this place was the only place the 'Kids' could hangout without being interrupted, disturbed and use the bathroom without incident. And it was a great place for a cheap wholesome meal for the price; two kids could share one Okie Dog, fries and drink(s).
The boys (young men) on Santa Monica Boulevard were mostly druggies, drug dealers, crystal-meth-heads, male prostitutes, and we were all hustlers of some kind or another. Most of us were homeless transients from as far away as Tallahassee, Florida or New York City. We were black, white, brown, rich, poor everything in-between. But most of all we were there for each other, we understood one another, because we knew the story of why each of us were there in the first place. Our stories, however, different were the same. We were gay for pay, gay, drag queens, queens, queers, bi, straight and gender benders. I fell some where in there between a Queen and Gender Bender or Pretty Boy! We all were friends, we could trust each other to point. We had our own clicks.
We were the Boys of Summer, the Boys of Santa Monica Boulevard and we could not be stopped, we had to survive and that is what we all had in common.
The years have past, the faces have changed but there will always be the Boys of Santa Monica Boulevard where dirty old men can find a Pretty Face to treat to dinner at the French Quarter, and where gay-porn stars made and discovered.
But, that night was different somehow. That night would be a scar on everyone of us for the rest of our lives. This night would haunt us for the rest of our lives no matter how far we left The Boulevard behind us. No matter what!
At about 11:30m p.m. two kids come running into the Okie Dogs they were gassed out, sweating, hyped up and shouting a story, a warning if you will about the raid at the Earl Flynn Estate (that's another story for another time).
Apparently, the cops had just rode up in white vans and patty wagons in full on militia garb. Guns out, high beam flash lights and shouting, "Do not move or you will be shot! Stay where you are! Hands up and lay down!" The kids were lined up and searched and arrested while the helicopters hovered above with there high beam lights.
The criminal charges for some kids were drug possession, for others trespassing and/or breaking and entering. No matter 30-40 kids were going to jail that rainy night.
At 1:00 a.m. the same evening the helicopter flew over turning the night into day with the brightest light I have ever seen! Then the the blue lights, white vans and paddy wagons surrounded The Dog! We were like cornered rats! No where to hide, with no where to go! Trapped! To make a long story short we (about) 60-80 boys and a few girls were rounded up at the Okie Dog and other hang outs. That means they hit Winchell's Donuts, also.
What we eventually all learned is that we all had the same charges: "Soliciting To The Act of Prostitution, and Loitering". This is where you say, "what the fuck!" Because that's what we all said. How, why, where, when, and no way! I was eating with my dude and my best friend. Some kids were playing video games, some others' were eating, hanging out, and chatting each other up. It was raining still and no one was out but the street kids. We were the ones that had no other place to go. Trapped! Arrested and charge with false charges!
Those of us who were not native to California were promised by the Judge and Prosecution that all charges would be dropped if we accepted the free Greyhound ticket home. I said yes, "I'll take it and I wasn't Prostituting your Honor." Yet that change has stuck with me ever since. It shows up in back ground checks, arrest records and general Google Searches. Talk about haunting! I was 18 years old, I was a kid, I had no idea that hanging on the boulevard would haunt me for rest of my life for a crime I did not commit. That the 100 kids arrested that rainy night did not commit. And I am sure the Great City of Los Angeles will deny everything I said by turning it around on me by stating, "who you gonna believe a convicted criminal or us?" Sickening, if you think about to take advantage of the ignorance and fear of a bunch of teenagers.
However, ignorant I was, or should I say, we were to the law; these charge(s) should have gone away like the Judge and Prosecution had promised ; lying to a bunch of homeless and vulnerable teenagers is pathetic and demonstrative.
Moreover, I picked up the ticket and sold it. They did not know that. I signed for it that they did know. I never had any further contact with LAPD or the LA Sheriffs' department either. I went on to a kept boy; I dined with Hollywood elites, partied with rock stars, and spent my Saturdays shopping everywhere, from Carmel to San Fran. The City of Angels had a way to roll out the red carpet for a sweet pretty boy with cheeks a tan. 
So, if you are one of those people that rely on the accuracy of Back Ground Checks you are an idiot. You will never know the basic facts, truths, and events to the real story. You would have never known until now that I have told you (some 30 years later). Truth is out! No matter how or where we got our money; we earned it, we paid for it with our souls, and sanity yet we remained dignified. But, that night was a guilt free night, the rain was washing away our improprieties, and indiscretions. Regardless of our actions any other night, that night was just kids hanging out trying to keep warm in very ugly storm. Our actions did not equal the heinous and warranted charges. 
I learned the hard way that those that one trust the most will deceive you and hurt you the most. That is saying a lot from a survivor of violent and sexual child abuse. That is when I decided to be a paralegal, to study the law in any form whatsoever. So that way I would not be so naive, and ignorant  to have to put up with this bullshit ever again. Ah! But, this is only part one of a four part series.