The Ugliest Cat In Florida (Part I)

A Detective Florida Man Weird Tale

Part I

I woke up and stumbled out of bed…once again…alone.

As per my usual morning routine, I set up Mr. Coffee with a nice strong dark brew.

While waiting for the elixir of life to flow, I looked out the kitchen window of the Florida Sugar Shack.

By the front door of my double wide was a package, sitting on the package was the ugliest cat in Florida.

This particular feral had been hanging around my mobile home for a while now. One day, while feeling a pang of empathy, I bought some cat food and put it out for him.

I began putting a small bowl out every morning as part of a new morning routine.

So, I guess you could say I have a cat now. He hung around most of the day, seeking shade under my carport, when he wasn’t eating or drinking.

A true Florida cat…a homeless layabout.

I didn’t name him, too afraid of getting attached to a feral cat that might just leave some day. My ex-wife said I have abandonment issues, then she abandoned me for a fedgov lawyer.

As I walked outside, a bowl of Meow Mix was placed under the carport, along with a fresh bowl of water. Ugly cat didn’t even thank me, just sniffed it and finding the odor acceptable, broke his morning fast.

The package was small and not even in a cardboard box. It was wrapped in heavy butcher paper and twine. An odd way to wrap a package. It had been wrapped in two layers, to keep out water and moisture, if I had to hazard a guess.

The package was brought inside and with my trusty Spyderco EDC knife, I cut its ropey bounds and unwrapped the butcher wrapper.

It was a book.

More of a tome really. The type that impressive publishing companies used to put out in the early 1900s, all leather and gold gilt writing. At least it was written in English.

The front cover simply stated: The Revelations of Elymas…translated by E.W. Worthington, Ph.D.

I opened the musty scented volume and read a random passage out loud:

“Although they need no water, they crave to drink…and although they do not eat, they hunger…and they hunger for the spirit of man, the most delicious delicacy for them. These spirits of the earth shall lurk, devour and watch man until HIS return.”

Now, that is quite a passage, Gus, I thought to myself.

Checking the packing paper for some type of note or address, I found nothing. This clearly wasn’t delivered by US Post or any of the private delivery services, I certainly didn’t order this from Amazon.

So someone dropped it off, someone who knew me or knew of me and knew where I lived. This last part wasn’t any mystery. My home address could be found on sunbiz.org, since my office is also my home address. I don’t advertise this fact but it is in the State of Florida online records.

What’s not in the State of Florida’s business records are the hidden cameras I had secreted all over the outside of the Florida Sugar Shack, should unfriendly trespassers stop on by and attempt a break-in.

The ex also claimed that I was paranoid. But hey, I’m still alive.

I pulled out my laptop and began reviewing the video feed from the time I went to bed until I woke up. It always amazes me how many nocturnal critters run around when the rest of us are asleep.

It was at 5:48 am when I found what I was looking for. A dark colored BMW Mini pulled up to the front door of the sugar shack, its headlights were shut off. A young woman in a dark hoodie and jeans jumped out of the driver’s seat. She looked around before placing the package on my front door and then quickly exited my property. It was hard to make out a lot of detail but she had very short blonde hair, so short, if it wasn’t for the rounded hips swaying in her jeans and the C cups pushing against her hoodie, I might have mistaken her for a teenage boy.

“Well, isn’t this interesting?” I said to the ugly cat but he was more interested in his mix.

It was hard to place her age but she looked to be in her early twenties, lean but with a bit of baby fat in her face.

After reviewing the footage of her driving in and out of frame, I managed to get a few close-ups. I couldn’t get the full registration on her plates but I could tell they were Florida plates and the first three letters: TEQ. It was enough to start my investigation.

Once again, Gus Flordamen takes a deep dive into the dark web! Don’t do this at home kids!

A few months ago, I had located an entrepreneurial hacker who specialized in hacking DMV records, very useful when trying to locate addresses of deadbeats when working alimony cases in the PI business, as well as skip tracing in general.

For a fee (in Bitcoin, of course), said hacker could access those records for you. Since I only had a partial plate and a make and model of my early morning trespasser, I knew this was going to cost me.

The guy seems to be online 24/7 because his response time is always quick. After a bit of haggling back and forth, he texted me what I needed. An address of one Destiny Clark, age: 23, who lived in Port Richey and was the registered owner of a dark gray 2020 BMW Mini.

Time to go have a chat with Destiny.

I didn’t want to look too official, so I threw on a pair of black cargo shorts, a t-shirt I used for running and my Grateful Dead flip flops. A red Tampa Bay Buccaneers ball cap rounded out the ensemble. As an afterthought, I slipped my Kimber .38 snub nose revolver into a front pocket, just in case. Before I left, I locked the book in my floor safe. A nice oriental rug hid the safe from prying eyes.

My Jeep Wrangler Islander Edition was already a hotbox when I got inside. The humidity in the air made breathing a chore and sweating a requirement. The humidity put the other drivers in no less of a better mood than me. The various trucks, white panel vans and bikers flew up and down Route 19, ready to road rage at any moment. I was slow and methodical though. I took a few side roads and needless stops at gas stations, engaging with my old counter-surveillance training.

When I was sure I wasn’t being followed, I pulled into downtown Port Richey. I located a side street which wound around a few different developments on the outskirts of downtown and found what I was looking for. At the end of a long cul de sac, sat a moderate, white, concrete bungalow. The type of house you often saw in pictures of Old Florida. A sort of beach house without an actual beach.

In the short driveway sat the BMW Mini from my camera recording.

I parked on the street. A few other vehicles were also parked on the street. I couldn’t tell if they belonged to the occupants of the bungalow or some of the neighbors further up the street. I was hoping my girl would be alone but I would just have to chance it. Fortune favors the bold.

I walked up the porch and prepared to knock on the front door. As I raised my fist, I heard pure pandemonium coming from inside.

“Oh, this isn’t going to be a simple Scooby Doo mystery, figures, since I’m not getting paid to solve it.” My revolver seemed very small and inadequate at that moment but my right fist closed around it anyway. I drew it out of my pocket and kept it partially hidden behind my right leg.

The door was unlocked and I gently opened the front with my left hand and glided inside like a dancer on opioids. Since it was a bungalow, I spilled out into the living room. On my left were two other rooms, one clearly a bathroom. On my right was a couch, a flat screen television. The house was decked out in wood paneling, an old house that had never been updated, except for the new hardwood floors.

In the last room, off to my right, beyond the living area, I could hear the concussive sound of violence. I decided I no longer needed to hide my Kimber. I sidled up to the wall on my left and peeked around the corner. It was a large kitchen and two large men were giving my female trespasser a rough time.

She was seated, or more properly, tied to a chair by extension cords. She had a ball gag in her mouth, cherry red, and secured my tight leather straps. She was covered in sweat and had been crying. Both men stood over her, leering, caressing her hair. At the same time, they were barking questions at her in thick guttural accented English.

I made my grand entrance on stage.

“Duke Energy, just here to check the meter…and save a damsel in distress.” I shouted out as I turned the corner and cocked the hammer of my revolver. In that moment of silence, the click sounded very loud and I got everyone’s attention.

Both men decided to play Quick Draw McGraw. Oops.