“Unfortunately, the distinction between the government and the pharmaceutical industry is a very hazy one. As we have pointed out several times in the past, the vaccine industry cannot survive in a free market, but needs the government to prop them up. In the 1980’s there were so many lawsuits against pharmaceutical companies for vaccine damages, that the vaccine industry blackmailed Congress by threatening to get out of the vaccine business unless they passed legislation protecting them from lawsuits. Congress obliged, and legislation was passed preventing the public from suing pharmaceutical companies for damages due to vaccines, and this law was upheld by the Supreme Court in 2011. The pharmaceutical industry now has a free pass to put as many vaccines into the market place as they want to, regardless of efficacy or dangerous side effects, since there is no accountability left in the judicial system.
“Today, the pharmaceutical industry is practically a branch of the government. The government awards grants from your tax dollars to research new vaccines, the FDA approves them, and then government organizations like the CDC and UNICEF purchase the vaccines with your tax dollars. The CDC even holds patents and earns royalties on vaccines, and many of the top scientists work for both the government and the pharmaceutical companies. Julie Gerberding, for example, was the head of the CDC from 2002 to 2009, and then took over as head of the pharmaceutical company Merck’s vaccine division overseeing billions of dollars in sales. The government definitely has a vested interest in protecting the vaccine market. So, it should surprise no one that there are coordinated efforts to infiltrate and discredit those who publish the truth about vaccines, which may lead to fewer people wanting to purchase or receive them.”
He went to a file cabinet and pulled out a file. “Consider the following comments appearing on a blog post from a pro-Pharma site discussing how to target sites and Facebook Pages who publish the alternative view of vaccines. Advice is given on how to infiltrate and flood discussions about vaccines by pretending to be victims of diseases because they failed to get vaccinated. Here are some comments that appeared in a blog post that was trying to convince readers that outbreaks of diseases were due to anti-vaccinationists.”
Use emotional warfare on anti-vax blogs. Tell emotional stories full of tears and sobbing and unbearable grief and terror, about people in your own family or people you read about, who were sick with or died of terrible diseases. Don’t hold back details about bodily fluids and suchlike: the more gross the better. This stuff has a way of infiltrating the minds of readers and subtly influencing their decisions, in a manner similar to advertising.
“Sometimes government agents invent a crazy story and attribute it to a movement. This discredits the movement. Those primed to believe conspiracy theories get sucked in. Then all the true conspiracies are grouped in with the bogus one.
“So, to answer your question, yes, there are trolls out there doing the government’s dirty work.”
“Unbelievable!” I said. “Is there any way to track these trolls?”
“It depends,” Nick replied. “Some of the very sophisticated ones use multiple routers to disguise their exact location. They may route their posts through three different countries. Most, though, don’t give a damn if you know who they are.”
“Can we look at some of them online?”
“Sure, where do you want to start?”
“When I was looking at the YouTube video, Flat Earth – The Biggest Lie of All, I noticed there were a lot of negative comments.”
Nick pulled up the video. “Over a half million views. That’s pretty good. Five thousand people like what they saw, seventeen hundred didn’t.
“Here are some of the negative reviews.”
“This one’s from Jordan. ‘FLAT EARTH THEORISTS = THE RESULT OF INBREEDING.’
“Here’s one from Brad. ‘This is what happens when people aren't keeping an eye on their mentally handicapped children.’
“These are typical bully bashers. This next one put more thought into it. ‘The hilarious thing about flat-earthers is that they naturally assume everyone else is at the same level of understanding (AKA stupid) as they are, so when they challenge the conventional heliocentric model by applying the highly flawed logic, confirmation bias, and scientific illiteracy, they seem to have in unlimited supply, they really don't realize that nobody else is impressed except other flat tards who are equally lacking in intellect. They're like the guy sitting at the chessboard going, "Ahahhh see? I've got you on the run now!!" Not realizing the game ended 30 seconds ago and he lost! Flat tards are coming to a knife fight armed with plastic spoons! They're simply not equipped to be doing what they assume they can do, and it used to be hilarious, but now it's getting really cringeworthy and boring.’”
It was the next one that caught my eye. It was from Wolfman. “Anybody who believes this garbage is bat-shit stupid! Idiots! Idiots! Idiots!”
“Is there any way you can trace this guy?”
“If I can get his IP address, I can track the location from where the post was sent. This is the Internet. It could be anywhere, Florida, Montana, or Pakistan.”
“Could you give it a try?”
“Sure,” Nick replied. “Give me a few minutes. Why this particular one?”
“On the night our cars were vandalized, IDIOT was spray painted on our car doors in big red letters.”
“Whoa!” Nick said a few minutes later, obviously surprised. “Pay dirt! Wolfman is right here in Kansas City!”
I got the address, thanked my friends, and headed to my car. As soon as I was inside, I called Kevin.
“How would you like to go wolf hunting”
“Excuse me!”
“I’m coming to pick you up. I’ll explain when I get there. Bring your gun!”
Once Kevin was in the car, I told him about my visit with Nick and Arnie.
“So, you think this Wolfman was the guy who hit the cars at the flat earth meeting?”
“I think it’s worth checking out.”
“Do you think it’s possible the same guy iced Dr. Speers?”
“Who knows? Maybe.”
We pulled to the curb across the street from a modest bungalow. A heavy-set young guy was tinkering under the hood of an older model sedan.
“Lots of beef there,” I said. “You did bring your gun I hope.”
“It’s like American Express,” he replied, grinning. “I never leave home without it.”
“I don’t suppose you brought that fake badge you sometimes carry?”
“Do NFL referees make bad calls?” he replied, pulling the badge from his pocket.
More than once, I had seen him flash the badge, pretending to be a cop. It was my turn to give it a try.
I grabbed the badge and we headed across the street. The guy heard us coming and looked up warily.
“Who are you guys and what do you want?”
“I’ll ask the questions,” I said, holding up the badge. “Sergeant Vince Carter, Cyber Crimes. Are you Wolfman?”
“Maybe,” he replied. “Why?”
“Our task force has been investigating cyber bullying. You made a post on a flat earth site on the Internet.”
“So what?” he replied, defensively. “It’s a free country. I can post my opinion if I want to.”
“You can post it on the Internet, but not on people’s car doors.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
While I had been jawboning with the guy, Kevin had slipped around the side of the car.
“Oh, really,” Kevin said, opening the back door of the car.
“Hey, you can’t do that! Don’t you need a warrant --- or something?”
“Nope,” Kevin replied, pulling a can of red spray paint from the back seat “This was in plain sight. Sergeant Carter, those cars that were vandalized, weren’t they sprayed with red paint?”
“Indeed they were. I wonder if the paint in that can will be a match?”
Wolfman started to take off, but Kev
in got the draw on him.
“Not so fast there, Wolfman. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”
“Okay! Okay!” he said, raising his hands. “Don’t shoot!”
Knowing for sure that this was really the guy who had cost me five-hundred bucks, I was really pissed.
“I don’t get it! Why in the world would you smash windows and spray paint doors? What did those people ever do to you?”
“Well,” he said sheepishly, “nothing directly. They’re just so stupid! Only an idiot would believe that the earth is flat.”
“So you’ve said, both online and on a bunch of car doors.”
He hung his head. “I guess I got carried away.”
“Do you do that to everyone who disagrees with you? If you’re a Chief’s fan, do you smash the windows of Oakland Raider’s Fans?”
“Of course not!”
“Then why these guys?”
“Because of what they say about Neil Armstrong, Gus Grissom, and the other astronauts. They’re genuine American heroes, and those people are saying they’re liars! It’s just not right!”
“If I remember correctly, you said just a few minutes ago that it was a free country and you had the right to your opinion. How can it be free to you but not to them?”
“I --- I guess I didn’t think about that?”
“Okay,” Kevin said. “Now that we know about your vandalism, let’s talk about how you murdered Dr. Speers.”
I saw the look of horror in his eyes.
“Murder? I didn’t murder anybody. I swear!”
Kevin looked at me. “What do you think, Walt?”
“I think we should call the cops and let them sort it out.”
Wolfman was obviously confused. “Walt? I thought you were Sergeant Carter.” Then it dawned on him. “You guys aren’t really cops, are you? I thought something was fishy. You’re both so old.”
“No, creep, I’m not a cop. I’m one of the guys whose car you vandalized. You owe me five-hundred bucks! And guess what. I’m not a flat-earther. I was an innocent bystander, but that didn’t matter to you. Now you’re going to pay.”
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Detective Blaylock. “Derek, Walt here. We’ve got the guy who vandalized the cars at the flat earth meeting. I though you might want to have a chat with him.”
An hour later, Wolfman was in cuffs and headed downtown.
As we watched the cops drive off, Kevin said, “Sergeant Vince Carter from Gomer Pyle. You’re learning. Couldn’t have done it better myself.”
CHAPTER 13
Kevin and I were in my office reviewing our encounter with Wolfman, when the phone rang. It was Derek Blaylock.
“Walt, I just wanted you to know that Gordy Weiss, your Wolfman, copped to the vandalism, but he didn’t whack Dr. Speers. He has an alibi for the night of the attack. He and his girlfriend were at the VooDoo Lounge for some rock concert. I checked it out and it’s solid.”
“Swell. I don’t suppose there’s any possibility of him reimbursing me for the damage to my car. If the guy can afford tickets to the VooDoo Lounge ---.”
“Good luck with that. He got the tickets free from a buddy who works at Harrah’s. I doubt he has two nickels to rub together. Oh, yes, one more thing --- impersonating a cop?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“Since Wolfman wasn’t our killer, do you have any other leads?”
“Nothing yet, but if we get something, I’ll let you know.”
After I hung up from Blaylock, I said to Kevin, “Wolfman didn’t do Speers. He has an alibi.”
“I figured as much. I guess we’re back to square one.”
Karl Kramer was in the back pew of the church listening to the preacher drone on and on about loving one another, treating others as you’d like to be treated, and all the other liberal crap that comes with organized religion.
He was there because Pale Rider had another assignment for him.
When first contacted by Pale Rider, Karl figured it was a reference to the old Clint Eastwood movie. When he said as much, he was told that he should look up the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. There, he found that the rider of the Pale Horse was Death.
Pale Rider had paid him five-thousand dollars to kill the old man and make it look like a robbery. Karl didn’t understand why anyone would go to the trouble to whack some crazy old dude who thought the world was flat. Nobody listens to those kooks anyway. But he needed the five grand, plus he got to keep the money in the old guy’s wallet and a very expensive Rolex.
Evidently, the murder of their guest speaker didn’t deter the flat-earthers. They scheduled another meeting the following Tuesday. That’s what prompted Pale Rider’s latest call. For another five-thousand, Karl was to plant a bomb in the church basement where the flat-earthers were to meet.
The plan was simple. Karl would bring a casserole dish to the potluck after the Sunday service. When no one was looking, he would place the deadly dish in one of the kitchen cabinets next to the meeting room. Then, on Tuesday night, Pale Rider would call the number of the cell phone attached to the C-4, and BOOM!
Easy money, and who would miss a roomful of nut cases talking about a flat earth?
On Monday, I received a call from Arlo.
“Hi Walt, I just wanted you to know there will be another meeting this Tuesday evening in case you want to come.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“Arlo! Your guest speaker was murdered at your last meeting! Someone is sending you a message. Don’t you get it? You really shouldn’t have any more meetings until the cops find this guy.”
“And how long do you think that will take?” he replied. “A week, a month, a year, maybe never? We’re just supposed to shut down because someone out there doesn’t like what we believe? No, Oliver and I talked about it. We can’t let someone intimidate us. We’re not going to be bullied.”
“I respect your courage, but I think you’re wrong. If this person is willing to murder to shut you up, he’s not going to back down. More people in your group could wind up dead.”
“I hear you, and I appreciate your concern, but we’re moving ahead. I hope to see you Tuesday night.”
After he hung up, I called Kevin.
“I just received a call from Arlo. They’re having another meeting this Tuesday.”
“Jesus! Didn’t they get the message? Whoever’s behind this is playing for keeps.”
“That’s what I told him, but he said they’re not going to be bullied.”
“Bullied is one thing, but dead is quite another.”
“Let me ask you a question,” I said. “If you were this guy, you killed their guest speaker, and they’re still moving ahead, what would be your next move?”
He thought for a minute. “If this guy is a troll and not a terrorist, I don’t see him charging into the church, guns blazing. That never turns out well for the shooter. He either offs himself or the cops do it for him. This guy is doing it for the money, and you can’t spend it if you’re dead.”
More silence, then we both said it at the same time. “A bomb!”
I hung up from Kevin and called Pastor Bob.
“We need to talk.”
“Another theological conundrum?”
“No, this is serious.”
He must have heard something in the tone of my voice.
“Come on over.”
I found Pastor Bob in his office.
“Come in, Walt. You sounded distressed on the phone.”
“Do you know that the flat-earthers are meeting again tomorrow night?”
“Of course I do. This is my church after all.”
“Last week one of them was murdered on your sidewalk. Whoever did it is still out there. It’s not safe, but Arlo and Perkins just won’t listen to reason.”
“I hear what you’re saying, but we can’t let evil dictate our lives.”
&nb
sp; “That’s what Arlo said,” I replied, exasperated. “Look at it this way. A great white shark attacks a swimmer on the beach. The lifeguard posts a warning. ‘Shark! Don’t go in the water!’ A swimmer looks at the sign and says, ‘I’m not going to let some toothy devil ruin my swim.’ You know how that’s going to end.”
“What would you like me to do? Tell them they can’t have the church basement? If I know Arlo and Prentis, they would just find another venue.”
I sighed. “You’re probably right. Will you at least let me check out the basement?”
“I don’t see any harm in that.”
My next call was to Skip Farrell. He is a member of the K-9 Corps I worked with several times while I was on the force.
“Skip, Walt Williams here.”
“Walt, good to hear from you. What’s up?”
“I was wondering if you and Rex would do a special favor for an old ex-cop?”
Twenty minutes later, Skip and Rex were at the church.
I told him about the previous meeting, the murder, and our suspicion that a bomb might be the guy’s next play.
“If there’s a bomb in that church,” Skip replied, “Rex will find it.”
“The group meets in the basement. Let’s start there.”
Skip led the big German Shepherd down the steps, whispered some commands, and turned the dog loose.
He methodically sniffed every nook and corner of the meeting room, but found nothing. Then he moved to the kitchen. Moments later, I heard a bark. Rex was pawing at the door of a kitchen cabinet.
“I think we’ve got something,” Skip said, reining in the dog.
Gingerly, he opened the cabinet door. Inside, I could see plates and dishes of all kinds. Skip removed them one by one until he came to a covered casserole dish.
“Heavy,” he said, carefully removing the dish.
He lifted the lid. “Walt, call the bomb squad.”
I called both the bomb squad and Detective Blaylock.
Fifteen minutes later, the place was swarming with cops.
“What have we got?” Blaylock asked the man in the armored suit.
Lady Justice and the Quirky Arlo Quimby Page 8
