B.B.U.S.A. (Buying Back the United States of America) (19 page)

Doug closed the curtains and then responded, “Sure. What did you have in mind, a little Russian Roulette?”

Leo gave him his best ‘Did you crawl out of cheese’ look. “This isn’t a game, these are bad guys I am going to tell you about and I’d just feel better if we had some protection nearby in case we get unexpected company.”

Ervin continued to watch the house. He clearly saw Doug closing the drapes in all the rooms. So much for night vision now, he thought.

He was distracted by the sound of a closing door. He looked up the street and saw the pretty girl with the short-cropped hair come swinging down her walk. She was wearing a very short skirt. Her long, greenish legs carried her to a small Honda Accord parked in her drive. As she sat in the driver’s seat, her dress slid up her hip. “Hot damn, I’ll bet that bitch doesn’t have anything on under that skirt,” Ervin said out loud.

He realized she had changed clothes, undoubtedly right there in her bedroom. She had probably just turned off the light and changed in the dark. He could have watched the whole thing. That dang Leo! Now he owed him another one. Ervin’s groin ached with unreleased passion. He truly hated Leo.

He occupied his mind with more delightful ways to kill him, while munching on Chex Mix. He liked the gritty crunch between his teeth. The thought came to him: “I’ll shoot his balls off, that’s what I’ll do, and watch him bleed to death while lamenting the loss of his manhood.”

“Wait a minute, are you telling me that you may have brought these bad guys with you to my place?” Doug was aghast.

“I have no idea. I am sure that I was not followed, but these are professionals with high connections. Just play along with me, okay?”

“All right, what’s your choice? Want a revolver, semi-auto pistol, shotgun, deer rifle, or semi-auto paint gun?” Doug still felt that Leo was highly exaggerating whatever he was going to tell him, but out of habit he complied with his requests.

“Since our opponents will have more than just paint guns at this tournament, I’d feel safer with a .38 or .357 pistol. Heck, even bring me a pump shotgun, loaded preferably, with an extra box of shells.”

Doug walked over to his friend and put his hand on his forehead. “You sure you’re okay? You don’t have a fever or anything, do you? Did you take a fall and land on your head?”

Leo laughed and slapped his hand away, then cleared his throat and stared into his eyes with one of those much practiced teacher stares. “I have never been more serious in all my life!”

Leo followed his friend down the hallway to the master bedroom walk-in closet. There they began examining the small arsenal. He picked out a new-looking snub-nose .38 that held only five bullets. It was small and easy to conceal and he had two quick reloads for it. He loaded the small pistol and placed the reloads in his jacket pocket with a box of ammunition.

Leo holstered the weapon and attached it to his belt at the small of his back so it was concealed under his coat. He examined the two pump shotguns and chose the smaller, lighter, twenty-gauge pump shotgun. Doug watched him in surprise. Leo loaded the shotgun with seven shells and kept the remaining box. “How much did you pay for these two guns?”

He thought for a while and responded, “About three hundred on the .38 and close to four hundred on the shotgun.”

“Good. Consider them both sold for eight hundred together.” Leo retrieved his wallet from his inside breast pocket, opened it and handed his open-mouthed friend sixteen, fifty-dollar bills.

“Who said they were for sale?”

“I did. Now there’s no time to argue with me about over paying you for them. They were available when I most needed them, hence, your hundred in profit. Now, you select your own weapons and write me out a bill of sale so that I can write you out a receipt.”

Doug shook his head in wonder at Leo’s audacity. “You’re incredible. How are you fixed for spit?”

“Ah, that reminds me. My apple cider is getting cold, so hurry it up.”

Doug grabbed his shiny Beretta 9mm and stuck a loaded clip in it. He stuck the other two loaded clips in his pants pocket, eyed the box of shells, then finally picked it up and looked at his friend. “You’ve gone crazy, right?”

Leo turned and headed back down the hallway towards the sunken living room. “Just like ‘One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest.’”

“I knew it.”

After refilling their cups of hot apple cider, the two men sat down in the living room in front of the gas fireplace to begin their long conversation. The flames were gently lapping at the edges of the fake logs, creating a relaxed ambiance. Leo wished that his visit was not so complicated this time. He still felt that his life and the lives of his family truly depended on finding out the information that lay buried on the flash drive.

Doug looked over at Leo. “Well?”

“Okay, buddy. Despite what you may think, I’m not crazy yet. Do you remember a man by the name of Tim Bance?”

“No, should I?”

“I’m not sure, but it seems like you met him at our last Christmas party. I thought that you two hit it off and were conversing about hunting.”

“Oh yes, Tim the avid hunter. How is he doing?”

“He’s not. He’s been murdered!”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’ll back up and explain. Several years ago, Tim became involved with an incredible agency that he later introduced to Sarah and me. At first it seemed too good to be true, but it was supposed to be legit. Actually, Sarah and I have become rather rich thanks to this organization. Over the last few years we went into a partnership with Tim on eight different investments, seven of which have already been re-sold for a pretty hefty profit.”

“Don’t tell me you got involved with the mob or mafia, or laundering drug money?”

“I don’t think so. The agency is supposed to be sponsored by our government.”

“No way!”

“I’ll tell you the premise of the agency and what I was told that got us involved, okay?”

Doug nodded and placed a fat sofa cushion behind his back, and then kicked off his shoes and swung his long legs up on the couch. He knew he was in for a long evening.

“Tim introduced us to a man named Bob. He was very business-like. He was always serious, wore suits, and seemed to have an answer for everything. At first Sarah was skeptical, but he answered our questions appropriately and made us feel special. He told us that a secret government agency existed that would match funds with a select group of private investors that were secretly buying back properties owned by foreign investors.

“The premise of the organization was that since World War II, the Japanese, other Asian countries, European countries as well as wealthy Middle Eastern countries were slowly buying up the United States.

“The government realized this but felt that they could not control the private sector nor did the government have the funds to buy back these properties. A few cautious government officials got together and passed some bills that established a secret organization called the B.B.U.S.A. Somehow, tax-payers’ dollars were to be siphoned from different government agencies to a special fund that would match dollar to dollar the amount invested by the private groups of investors who were trying to buy back American properties.

“Since most sales were profit-motivated, it often took the investor to offer above the current market value in order to secure a sale. As a matter of fact, Bob said that the B.B.U.S.A. would match any amount up to one and a half times the current market value. This money provided by the organization was in the form of grants. The founders had argued that ultimately the government would get all their money back in tax dollars by having the profits remain in the United States instead of being fed back and spent in all the foreign countries who originally owned the properties. Furthermore, they had a stipulation that directed 10% of the sales price back to the B.B.U.S.A. should the new American owners sell the property at any time. That 10% supposedly paid the salaries of Bob and other government employees who helped run the B.B.U.S.A.”

“And Tim, Sarah, and you have been buying these places?”

“Yes, I told you-we made eight purchases and sold seven already. We made a lot of money, Doug. See, the organization matched our money. Even though the cost would be inflated to, say, 120% of appraised value, they matched our funds fifty-fifty. Our first property we bought was worth about eight hundred thousand, so we offered them nine hundred thousand.

“Did they accept?”

“Yes, but since the B.B.U.S.A. matched our funds, it only cost us four hundred fifty thousand. Well, our investment was half of that since Tim went in fifty-fifty with Sarah and me. It was a large apartment complex that was owned by a Korean investment firm. They were happy with the profit. We later installed air conditioners in every unit, painted the building on the outside, had a little landscaping done to it, raised all the rents, and I marketed and sold it myself for eight hundred eighty thousand within four months’ time. The thing that made it so great was that, as the realtor involved, I got paid commission on each transaction as well. I grossed about thirty thousand in commission on the first sale alone, and when I resold it, I again saved on commission as the listing agent.

“Anyway, the B.B.U.S.A. received their 10%, which was eighty-eight thousand, and minus our improvements, our original investment, the 3% commission to the selling agent, title costs, appraisal and various closing costs, the rest was profit. Now stay with me, Doug. Since the organization gave us a grant for half of the money and Tim partnered with us, our investment was really only one-fourth of the original sales price. Our total investment, after all costs including improvements and closing fees, was right around two hundred fifty thousand. We sold it for eight hundred eighty thousand, gave the agency their eighty-eight thousand back, which left approximately eight hundred thousand to split with Tim. We cleared about one hundred fifty thousand in the first transaction alone.”

“How much did you lose in taxes then?”

“That’s just it; we didn’t, because we simply transferred our gain into the next one by doing a 1031 tax exchange on a similar property. Therefore, we just kept on replicating the process, by buying bigger, and our equity kept on increasing. Heck, in current equity, on paper, right now we have a couple of million after just a few years’ involvement with the B.B.U.S.A.”

“You mean they are for real?”

“Well, yes.”

“Let me guess; now they want all of their matched money back?”

“No, nothing like that at all. They don’t want or need their money. According to Bob, the organization has virtually an endless supply of match money available.”

“I’m confused. You said you have become a millionaire over the last couple of years thanks to the B.B.U.S.A., and seem to be praising them, yet you just bought two of my firearms and said Tim has been murdered? What went wrong then?”

“That’s the thing; I’m not completely sure. Tim became paranoid, saying that they were following him around everywhere he went, and once mentioned that they were beginning to strong-arm foreign investors that did not want to sell. I thought he was nuts. Nothing like that was going on with our transactions. I personally made the offers and talked to the sellers, Tim though, had been involved with the agency longer than we had. Apparently, Tim had become involved with the agency back in California and had several transactions going on there at the same time as he was working with us in Idaho.”

“It all sounds pretty phenomenal to me. I still don’t see where the dark secret lies or why they would want you now?”

Leo stretched and untied his shoes. He used one foot to pry it off the other and then flinched as he attempted to repeat the movement on the left foot. “Dang. That’s still tender,” he said, then leaned over, carefully unlaced the shoe, and took it off. He pulled a foot stool over by his easy chair and crossed his ankles on it. Doug sailed a pillow at his face. He caught a blur of motion in his peripheral vision and reacted quickly enough to catch it before it hit his face.

“Not bad,” Doug complimented, “Good to see you still have your reflexes, now, quit playing with your toes and tell me, as Paul Harvey always says, ‘The Rest of The Story!’”

“Well, Tim started to tell me things like: the organization is not totally legit, and he’s checking these guys out, and they’re not playing by the rules, and he guessed he would have to be the one to blow the cover,
etc.
I didn’t take him all that seriously. You know how he was with all his great hunting stories. I thought it would all blow over, but then he told me that this organization goes all the way to the Senate and that perhaps it is the greatest cover-up ever, and that soon he would have enough evidence to blow the lid on the organizational founders.

I thought that he was going nuts, like a midlife crisis or something. Then he mailed me that flash drive. He told me on the phone the night before he died that he had just mailed the flash drive and that he would send me the password by separate mail the next day. He said something about the password being nearly unbreakable. He did mention that it would only make sense to me and Sarah, whatever that meant.”

“So, did he send the password?”

“No. He was murdered that night, and the detective that I talked to found no mail or letters at the property; nothing addressed to me anyway.”