Timesuck with Dan Cummins - 460 - Real Life Supervillain Mike DeBardeleben

Episode Date: June 23, 2025

Ever heard the name Mike DeBardeleben? I hadn't either until very recently. This guy was something else. A prolific counterfeiter the Secret Service spent many years chasing. Also someone who kidnapped bank exec's wives and successfully held them for ransom. He also kidnapped and sexually assaulted numerous young women. And pulled off armed robberies. And randomly murdered some realtors. If it hurt people, Mike was into it. Merch and more: www.badmagicproductions.com Timesuck Discord! https://discord.gg/tqzH89vWant to join the Cult of the Curious PrivateFacebook Group? Go directly to Facebook and search for "Cult of the Curious" to locate whatever happens to be our most current page :)For all merch-related questions/problems: [e-mail] (copy and paste)Please rate and subscribe on Apple Podcasts and elsewhere and follow the suck on social media!! @timesuckpodcast on IG and http://www.facebook.com/timesuckpodcastWanna become a Space Lizard? Click here: https://www.patreon.com/timesuckpodcast.Sign up through Patreon, and for $5 a month, you get access to the entire Secret Suck catalog (295 episodes) PLUS the entire catalog of Timesuck, AD FREE. You'll also get 20% off of all regular Timesuck merch PLUS access to exclusive Space Lizard merch.

When you think of what kind of career a rapist or a murderer might have, what comes to mind? Do you think of a home security system installer like Dennis Rader, the BTK killer? Or maybe a small business owner like John Wayne Gacy? Or do you think about a chocolate factory worker like Jeffrey Dahmer? Forget he did that, I did. Do you think of random normal jobs like these? Or do you think of the scores of jobless drifters? We've covered here most recently Sam Little people allergic to gainful employment

What you might not think of is a counterfeiter You don't think a counterfeiters much at all do we in our digital age when we focus on financial crimes I feel like we tend to think of scammers Nigerian princes and random people texting and or calling you to let you know that your Amazon account was charged $800 for a new iMac. But don't worry, they can sort out this fraudulent charge and refund you if you just give them your banking information. And yet, counterfeiters are definitely still around. They've been around for as long as there has been some kind of money to try and copy.

Before the introduction of paper money counterfeiters such as the English couple Thomas and Ann Rogers got caught shaving the edges off of silver coins to decrease their weight and then repurposed those stolen silver shavings for their own monetary gain. Thomas was hanged drawn and quartered. I guess all of that for this crime and was burned alive. Some of the first legal tender having just shown up in North America, Mary Buttersworth would be one of the first counterfeiters to allegedly exploit money's new paper form, using starch cloth and a hot iron to transfer the pattern of a note onto paper,

and then painstakingly inking in the design with a quill. In 1723, authorities brought her to trial for this crime, and despite testimony against her from her own brother she was acquitted due to a lack of evidence and she retired on her ill-gotten gains. But if she would have been found guilty she would have had her ears cropped and been whipped. Punishment for most crimes used to be a tad more severe a few centuries ago than it is now. When we think about our modern currency, those mint green bills with the complicated seals and overlapping designs on them,

a few of us would probably ever begin to try and undertake the painstaking process of printing, engraving, otherwise manipulating the material to achieve something close enough to that crisp brand new 20 look to not be noticed by most cashiers. But Mike de Bar de Laban,leben was definitely not your average person. Thank God.

The man who'd once been deeply vain before a series of illnesses wrecked his supposedly good looks would decide early on that he was going to make a lot of money, but not work for it. Armed with a sophisticated printing press and various plates and inks, he would begin an infamous career as a counterfeiter, becoming known as the mall passer. By the Secret Service, for the tens of thousands of dollars of funny money they had determined that he had passed across the country primarily in American shopping centers. Unfortunate for women living in the 70s and 80s, Mike was also an especially cruel, anally

fixated sexual sadist. A hardcore, porn hardcore porn obsessed deviant who used every trick at his disposal, including impersonating police officers to kidnap, sexually torture, and sometimes murder women. He'd also on occasion combine his pension for kidnapping and financial fraud with a series of bank scams where he held the loved ones of bank personnel,

or sometimes even the personnel themselves for ransom. He got away with an exceptionally wide, seemingly unrelated series of crimes for a very long time. He was a true overachiever in some of the worst possible ways. The strange story of the reprehensible, multifaceted, and wimpy-ass, micro-peened worm of a man, Mike DeBard-Aleban on today's true crime probably serial killin Definitely disturbingly deviant. Maybe even as much as I hate to say it criminal mastermind edition of time suck. This is Michael McDonald and you're listening to time suck So Well, happy monday and welcome or welcome back to the cult of the curious i'm dan cummins the master sucker

Uh wanna be time traveler team meets that humanist and you are listening to time suck Uh hail nimrod hail lusophina praise be to good boy Bojangles and glory be to Triple M. Couple quick things, haven't done many announcements recently. Got a couple today before we are off and running. First, my last stand-up special, Trying to Get Better, is now also available on Amazon Prime. If you like to watch your specials there, watch it on TV. If you do watch it, please rate and review and if you have done that thank you very much. My long-lost brother Richard B. Cummins also thanks you if you know you know. Also this month we donated to Lost and Found Youth an Atlanta Georgia based nonprofit providing help to the LGBTQIA plus youth experiencing homelessness such a brutal thing for any kid to go through. Lost and Found Youth is providing space for people 18 to 25 experiencing homelessness. Such a brutal thing for any kid to go through. Lost and Found Youth is providing space

for people 18 to 25 experiencing homelessness. This organization is doing incredible work. Also thrilled to be sending them $11,530 this month and 1,280 will go to our scholarship fund. So thank you, Space Lizard. You're truly helping us make a difference. If you'd like to learn more or volunteer your time, you can visit LNFY.org.

Also, looks like next month, we're gonna get uh, we're gonna make it over one million dollars worth of total charitable giving. So hail Nimrod. That's fucking awesome. That's crazy. Lucifina's fucking pumped. And last thing, it feels like the world is increasingly on fire right now. So much going on, so much fear and heartache. And I think for a lot of us, you know, it's hard to find anything positive to look towards. So I just wanted to share what I think is something very positive.

Maybe that will come from all of this. There's been a lot of, or have been a lot of really good, peaceful and passionate protests going on. It's nice to see people exercising that American right. These are protests leading to a lot of important discussions I think. A lot of people examining their beliefs and I think that's very cool. Examination leading to action. Love to see that. Most of my life the defining trait of American political discourse has been widespread apathy. Me included. A feeling of fuck it, nothing ever changes, why bother? But now, just like back in the late 1960s, my favorite period of American history, if you've been paying attention, I'm a huge fan of the counterculture as you know, especially if you

listened to last week's episode, well now that apathy seems to be shifting into activism. And I think that's fucking awesome. I think I'm just starting to truly remember that politicians of all parties and movements, they do actually follow our lead. They are elected public servants, not masters, and they will do what they think will get them the most votes. So let them know what you want, you know, through votes, through protests, through posts,

through just conversations. If enough people shout this shit, they will listen. Me personally, this should not come as a surprise. And if it does, well, you haven't been paying attention. I want more equity, more decency, more inclusiveness, more love and grace for our immigrant brothers and sisters, more love and grace for our queer, trans brothers and sisters, less hateful, uncaring, divisive rhetoric

from our political leaders, much more economic support for the working class and those struggling who need a helping hand. And that's what I'll vote for. And that's what I've already voted for. And that's what I'll be protesting in my private life and have been, because I do believe in Team Meat Sack. What about you?

What do you want? What does Team Sack mean to you? Send it an email, right? Send it into Bojangles at timesuckpodcast.com for some future update. I'd love to hear from all sides, right? Not gonna turn Time Suck into some, you know, continually political show, but also feel compelled to address the massive element, elephant in the room from time to time. So let's uh, let's never stop talking to each other.

Let's never be afraid to talk to one another, never be afraid to try and understand one another, and also never be afraid to fight for what we think is right. You know, uh, hail Nimrod. That's all. That's all. Just wanted to throw that in there. I felt compelled morally. No one's been sending any emails by the way, asking for that. If you're like, why is he doing this now? Well, it's just been weighing on me. And now back to the realm of true crime for a very unique, very interesting, and of course absolutely fucking horrible piece of shit. for a very unique, very interesting, and of course, absolutely fucking horrible piece of shit. Mike was not your average criminal. He's known to have committed at least four murders.

Authorities would suspect him in the murders of many, many more women. Probably dozens based on all the disturbing nude photos and audio recordings authorities found amongst his belongings. That's just me saying that, not authorities. Over six women would survive attempts at kidnapping, sexual assault, potentially murder, and based on what authorities did find he would be sentenced to over 300 years in prison, close to 400. Despite the craziness and uniqueness of his case, not very well known though, and perhaps it's because it

was only incidental that authorities found out he was a serial killer or probable serial killer. He's referred to that often in sources. When he was committing his crimes, the only people really aggressively looking for him were the Secret Service. And they weren't after him for any sexually violent crimes. They were chasing down someone who had successfully been passing off counterfeit bills as real currency and lots of it for years. Someone they just could never seem to catch, to get close to. They only started pursuing his sexual crimes after they finally did locate and arrest him for his forgeries when they found a trove of very deeply disturbing material, including some audio tape recordings of sexual assaults in his possession.

Think the toy box killer there. They were shocked to discover that Mike's continual counterfeiting was the least troubling of his crimes. He'd exemplify all eight of the outdated DSM-3's criteria for sadistic personality disorder — the DSM being the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, a publication by the American Psychiatric Association, an internationally accepted manual on the diagnosis and treatment of mental disorders. And the DSM-4 called Debar Deleben an example of both sexual sadism and antisocial personality disorder. It was real, real sick fuck.

With a real tiny penis that may have actually helped motivate his sexual sadism, I think. Let's begin. Not much to discuss about today's episode structure-wise. While we could spend a lot of time talking about the history of counterfeiting, it might be better to save that for a different episode. Possibly a short-suck? I don't know. I do know that there's just too much information to discuss regarding Mike de Bardelaben to

also add that in here today. Not only did he run two concurrent criminal careers, but really more like four different criminal careers. Sexually motivated kidnappings, counterfeiting, financially motivated kidnappings, and random murders motivated by who the fuck knows, maybe hatred of his mom. He also found time to court, marry, and sexually and psychologically, three, three women at least possibly five. He had five wives. Like many sexually sadistic serial killers, Mike is thought to have been motivated primarily by hatred of women by many. Hate that began with him despising his own mother, Mary Louise aka Mary Lou,

a woman he called Moe, an unstable and promiscuous alcoholic who had several affairs during his childhood. But hate was not his only driving force. He might have also been angry about the little tiny dick he was born with. I'm not even totally joking here. Sounds pretty... uh, and I'm speculating. But maybe being anally raped himself, there's no proof of that, but you'll see why I say this. And perhaps many, many times during an early stint in prison also Turned him into who he became in addition to all that Mike also seemed to really enjoy and thrive on manipulation and deception part of what made him a good counterfeiter and a hard-to-catch serial

Rapist slash murder loved run on a scam whether that ended in the kidnap of a woman getting a pile of money in the form of a ransom Simply passing a fake $20 bill off is the real deal. I'll tell you what did not motivate him. Sweet Sweet Dinosaur Bones. I needed that. I don't even know what I said there. I tried to say Sweet Sweet Dinosaur Bones real fast. I tried to say sweet sweet dinosaur bones real fast. I feel like it came out dinosaur bones. But I needed that little jingle. It has gone from greatly annoying me every time I hear it to actually really soothing me. Strange. Anyway, Mike was a man with no conscience. So much arrogance.

He was also like a real-life super criminal or super villain from some comic book or movie. Prolific, meticulous, flying under the radar until finally he wasn't. And now time to lay out this crazy story chronologically in the timeline. Shrap on those boots soldier, we're marching down a time suck timeline. Suck timeline. Our antagonist of the week, James Mitchell Mike DeBardelabin Jr.

Was born March 19th 1940 in Little Rock, Arkansas. He was born a boy, uh, barely. Took doctors a couple of hours to find his penis. Had to bring in a powerful microscope, team a specialist to make sure he did in fact have a penis and that they were not just looking at a small mole or perhaps a little skin tag. Of course that's an exaggeration. I like making fun of his dick size because he's such a sexually obsessed piece of shit. And I'm pretty proud of a skin tag. Thinking about uh for you know For a little tiny dick. What was that? What is that? Skin tag down there? Oh god, that's your penis. Anyway, he was the second of three children, born to James Mitchell de Bardelaben, an army officer and civil engineer, and Mary Louise Edwards de

Bardelaben, who went by Mary Lou. James Mitchell de Bardelaben, senior, also known as Mike somehow, been born in 1906 in Georgetown, Texas, just north of Austin, raised in Brownsville, Texas, before he went to Texas A&M University at College Station in 1924. He got his degree in civil engineering in the standard four years and then in the standard two years later, he had a master's also in civil engineering. Smart dude, at least when it came to engineering. And quick side note, I'd never heard of the surname Dabarda Laban before. Struck me as an unusual name.

Does not fucking roll off the tongue, I don't think. That's kind of a clunky fucking name. And I wondered if there are any other notable Dabarda Labans out there. I found one with a connection that cracked me up. I wanted to share. Bailey T. Dabardaabin, born in 1908 in Anniston, Alabama, would drop out of Auburn University to head out to sea on the SSHF DeBarda-Labin, a ship named for his grandpa. Not sure if Bailey is related to Mike or not. Anyway, that ship sank 500 miles off the coast of New York while Bailey was on board, and the

entire crew ended up being picked up from lifeboats. And then instead of staying away from water for the rest of his life, Bailey doubled down on the sea, became a fucking tugboat captain, worked at a shipping company called Coil Lines to ship freight back and forth along a new intercoastal canal between New Orleans, Louisiana and Galveston, Texas. He'd worked for Coil Lines for 27 years, become president, then buy out the company, rename it to the DeBartolabin Marine Corporation, a corporation specializing in moving freight via tugboats. And I wonder were some of those tugboats, I don't know,

rusty? They had to be right. And so it appears we have a connection with a rusty tugboat in two of the last three episodes and I'm here for it. And I wonder if the sixth star of today's episode ever tried it as a sex move He was way way into sexual degradation And what's more degrading than pulling someone around in the water while they're harnessed human centipede style to your butthole while you're shitting hot chili Please don't ever let the rusty tugboat become your thing. You could get sick. You get someone else sick You could drown you could drown someone else. It's not cool. It's not right. It's not safe. It's dangerous. Done with that silly little detour now.

Just thought that was funny. Back to Mike Sr. with the onset of the Great Depression. He took a job with the Texas Bureau of Public Roads in Fort Worth where he met Mary Lou Edwards, a vivacious 5'4", 26-year-old firecracker of a legal secretary with dark blonde hair. They were instantly crazy about one another and they were also very different. Mary Lou was the tenth and last child in her family. She lost her mother when her mother died, giving birth to her. Hello, guilt. Then her father died when she was just 11 years old. Raised now by her stepmom. She never felt loved, instead felt like a burden. She did not grow up in a conventional home environment. The kind that Mike Sr. grew up in. The kind he

now wanted for their future kids, but they never should have had kids because she didn't really want them. She was far happier at work than she was at home. She did not like to do chores or cook. All the shit that Mike definitely wanted his wife to do. Wasn't into domestic duties. Despite these fundamental, important differences, they followed their hormones instead of their brains and they got married in 1934. And then their family would grow four years later with the birth of their first child, daughter Michael Linda, whom they would call Linda in 1938. Why does this family have to work in the fucking name Michael and everybody? Shortly after Linda's birth Mike Sr. would join the army and the family would move near the Little Rock Air Force base

in Arkansas where it seems like Mike did some training with the Air Force based on available sources details of his early military life are pretty murky. In the city of Little Rock Tuesday March 19th 1940, 1940 at 4.36 a.m. Mike Jr. arrived. Their third and last child, also named Mike, no he was named Ralph, born just under two years later. From the beginning the Debar DeLaban children had a tumultuous life. After the attack on Pearl Harbor when Mike Jr. was barely a toddler, the family moved to Washington D.C. where James became lieutenant. They would stay in D.C. where James became lieutenant. They would stay in D.C. for the duration of the war after which they would move to Austin, Texas to be around

James Mike Sr.'s family and then he was shipped out to the Pacific for nine months. 1949 the family once again moved first to Kentucky then to Frankfurt, Germany. Following year Mike Sr. promoted to lieutenant colonel and the family would live in The Hague in the Netherlands for a while. There Mike senior served for two years as a military adviser to the US Embassy then his career would finally wind to a close when he retired in 1953 taking a federal civil service post in Albany, New York when junior is now 13. All this moving around led to a fair amount of instability for young Mike and the family. Partially due to Mike Sr. being gone for work a lot, both of Mike's parents would have numerous extramarital affairs. At one point they thought about

divorce but decided to stay together for the kids as Mike Sr. believed a quote natural mother would love her children better than a stepmother would. But Mary Lou? Not a great mom, according to all three of her children, interviewed years later, and they probably should have gotten a divorce. Mary Lou now continued to have affairs once her husband was done traveling. She is described with numerous sources as having been a sexually promiscuous, unstable alcoholic. She can be both violent and neglectful, apparently preferring to spend most of her time at bars, drinking, and picking up men for one-night stands or casual flings. Apparently she had a real Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde kind of

personality when she was sober. She was a sounds like a pretty cool person to be around. And when she got drunk, she was like an entirely different human being and not a good one. And yet she and her husband would stay married. You know, because a natural mom is always better than a stepmom. Love black and white thinking like that. Mike's older sister Linda becomes a caretaker for her two younger brothers doing things like making them pancakes before breakfast or for breakfast before school. You know stealing money from their mom's purse to get some groceries. Dad apparently when he's not working is just completely checked the fuck out most of the time. His wife just ran all over him. Even

though Mike Jr. can we just call him Junior for wife just ran all over him. Even though Mike Jr. can we just call him Jr. for the most part? We can. Even though Jr. had a standard mommy, his sister who treated him well, a positive female influence in his life, he still grew to hate his actual mom and eventually all women. Didn't hate dudes though, even though his dad was pretty shitty too. On an emotional level Mike Sr. was very critical of his children. One source says punitive. Almost never praised them for any of their accomplishments. Never really showed them any paternal affection. On the physical level he frequently took things to a place that was you know pretty dark.

Though unfortunately, maybe not all that uncommon for a dad in the 1950s. When Junior was younger his father would punish him by forcing him to sit in corners for long periods of time. Not the worst. But he would also beat his ass with a switch, aka a small branch from a tree. Not the best, but again, sadly pretty common for the time. However, he would also do shit like hold his head underwater in the bathtub to quote, cool him off. And that, making your kid think that you might drown them to death, not common for the time. That's fucking psychotic. According to his siblings, these punishments began before Junior was old enough to even attend school and he

seemed to be punished the most frequently at a young age. And that, along with the constant moving, seems to have had a strong, very negative effect on young Mike's development. Beginning at an early age, Mike became a quiet loner, detached from the other children and becoming increasingly anti-social as time went on. According to his own account and that of his sister, he preferred solitary activities and spent a great deal of time drawing

and sketching in his room. He did pretty well in school for a little while, not surprised based on what he will pull off later. In 1953 in Albany, New York at the Philip Livingstone Junior High School, he got a 92 in English, a 95 in social studies, 93 in science, 89 in algebra, and a 79 in Spanish. Not bad at all.

But then his home life would cause his school life to suffer. In 1956, Mike would commit the first act of what was to become a routine apparently, a physical assault against his mother. He called her for some reason Moe. Not clear what the initial assault was, but Moe got her ass beat by a baby boy for the first time when he was 16. And there's no mention of dad or mom punishing their son for this. They spoke of this years later after one of Junior's early arrests and would tell authorities they became

afraid of Junior and thought he was capable already of murdering them. And he probably was. Shortly after he whooped mama's ass, the first entry on Mike's rap sheet shows up in the fall of 1956 when he was arrested for carrying a concealed weapon while the family still lived in Albany, New York. That September 8th, he'd purchased two handguns and ammunition with the friend and later that month he was arrested and convicted of his first felony, possessing a concealed firearm. Some sources say around the same time he'd also threatened his mother with either a hatchet or a letter opener. Was he planning on threatening her with the gun next, killing her? I was probably thinking about it.

In May of 1957, Mike just turned 17, almost collided his 51 Chevy coupe with the car driven by Albany police officer George Lynch, and got another charge on his rap sheet, reckless driving. And for his mugshot, he went with the wild one, kind of rebel-withotic-cause vibes. He wore a leather jacket, dark rim glasses, and a sneer. Lucky for Mike, a local judge dismissed the gun charge and the reckless driving case in exchange for him paying a small fine.

But then just a few weeks later, Mike was expelled from Peter Shuler High School for undisclosed reasons. And now his parents turned to the common solution for delinquent young men at the time. They each took turns rusty tugboating him, but despite making him eat so, so much butthole chili he still did not get his act together. Uh no, no they shipped him off to the military. In October of that year under strong parental parental pressure, Mike enlisted in the US Air Force, was stationed at the Lackland Air Force Base in Bear County, Texas, before being moved to Scott Air Force Base in Illinois. After only a year, he was court-martialed in March of 1958 for disorderly behavior on charges

ranging from wearing improper insignia and improper uniform to disorderly behavior and sentenced to two months in the base stockade. In June he was cited again for unauthorized absence from bed check, two charges of breaking restrictions and being disrespectful to superiors and all that earned him a visit to the Air Force psychiatrist and that psychiatrist would describe him as a quote verbose young man of superior intelligence who gave an extensive history of repetitive acts of egocentric and antisocial nature

dating back several years. He approaches interpersonal relationships with a suspicious attitude that leaves little room for consideration of others. So in other words, it's fucking sociopath. The psychiatrist did not feel a future in the military was looking very promising for Mike and psychiatrists would be right. In August of 1958 at the age of 18, Mike was discharged from

the Air Force under other than honorable conditions and he moved into a small Fort Worth Texas home that his parents had bought after their children had all left the house. And I'm sure they were fucking thrilled to have abusive baby boy who's already beating up mom at least once back home. Junior sister Linda had gotten married by now. Baby brother Ralph had dropped out of high school and joined the army. So he's the only kid living at home now. So Junior's living at home with his parents. Parents he despises, doing various jobs, pumping gas, selling men's clothing, and he starts to tell others now that he does not intend to work hard for living for very much longer. Initially he had some kind of plan to make easy money legitimately though. He figured it was time to give school

another shot set himself up for whatever he was thinking about. In January of 1959 Mike enrolled at R.L. Pascal High School but after three months got expelled again for undisclosed reasons. Then in August of that year, he marries his first wife, Linda Weir, described as a Fort Worth teenager. Just three weeks later though, they would separate. In October of 1959, now 19 year old Mike, still wanting to make lots of money without having to work hard for it,

decides to give robbery a try. On October 5th, he and an accomplice attempted to rob the Echo Service Station in Fort Worth. He pulled a paper bag over his head, approached the night shift attendant with a pistol in hand, but when the man reached for the money Mike panicked, thinking he was reaching for a gun, fired his gun, and then fucking ran. The attendant fortunately was unharmed. When the pair were then arrested two weeks later for a string of auto thefts, Mike's accomplice readily confessed and Mike was now sentenced to five years probation. I can't believe that's all he got.

That November, Mike's wife Linda, they unfortunately got back together. readily confessed and Mike was now sentenced to five years probation. I can't believe that's all he got. That November, Mike's wife Linda, they unfortunately got back together. She gives birth to a premature, stillborn daughter. Mike, of course, is the father. He doesn't really seem to care about the dead child or his wife. He's already focused by this time on somebody else. A 17-year-old girl from the area he had recently met. Charlotte Weber, daughter of a railroad engineer. She was a high school student when Mike asked her out. She fell in love with Mike pretty quick. He seemed like a handsome young rebel from a movie. Wild, reckless, had a bad boy. Even though she thought it was odd that he sometimes literally spent hours in front of the mirror adjusting his appearance, getting ready. Even using makeup.

She was still enamored with him. Even after she shared this or he shared this next bit. At home where he still mooched off of his parents and did shit like kicking in doors, lighting fires in his room and putting holes in the walls. Mary Lou and Mike Sr told Charlotte about all that but she didn't seem to care. Why didn't his parents stop him, kick him out? Well, he still scared them. Scared them more than ever. By March of 1960, Charlotte is now pregnant with Junior's baby. Junior was able to get a divorce from his first wife by this point and now these two get married on June 9th at Charlotte's parents house. The couple's daughter will be born December 12th, 1960 and they will name her Bethany.

And Junior would now move out of his parents' house. The young couple's first home was an apartment at 3127 Lubbock Street in Fort Worth. And there Charlotte soon realized that Mike was not that interested in being a father or in being a husband. He wasn't abusive yet. He just wasn't around. And he wasn't making enough money to provide for his family. And now Charlotte and Junior's daughter, well they move in with Junior's parents.

But he does not move in with them and that's so fucking weird. Instead he just disappears for a while. Then one day at Charlotte's parents house where this poor girl and her daughter have now moved into, Mike comes to visit and that's when they conceive their second child also a daughter. A daughter who's Charlotte's parents forced her to give up for adoption If they're gonna keep letting her live with them, right? It was bad enough that they were supporting their daughter and granddaughter They did not need yet another mouth to feed. So Junior, he's fucking killing it By the age of 21, he's been married twice. He's had three kids

He hasn't done shit to take care of either wife or either of the kids who are still alive. And before we move forward with Junior's life, let's take this week's first of two mid-show sponsor breaks. If you hate hearing these ads, please sign up to be a space alert on Patreon, get the catalog ad free, get episodes three days early, help us donate to charities and more. Thanks for listening to those ads and now let's return to 1961. On August 12th, 1961, while Mike is still only 21, his 19 year old brother Ralph is home on leave from the army and he's been staying with his

parents. But a few days earlier he and Mike Jr. got into a big argument over what we do not know and Ralph stormed out and then rented a room in a motel. And after staying at this motel for a few days, he dies by suicide in a church parking lot after asphyxiating himself with the car's exhaust. Mike will claim his brother did what he did because a girlfriend had just broken up with him. He was unhappy in the military, did not want to go back to the army, and also he was fucked up from the childhood Mike experienced. You know, Mike also experienced. And maybe that's true. Maybe there's some truth to that. the childhood Mike experienced. You know, Mike also experienced and maybe that's true Maybe there's some truth to that or maybe Mike jr. Did or said something that pushed his baby bro over the edge

I think it's interesting that he took his life a few days after leaving his parents house because he'd had an argument with his psychotic brother That's September Mike will now divorce Charlotte and give education a third try. Why not? Mike briefly started attending two different universities in Texas, Texas Christian University and North Texas State University in Denton during the summer of 1961 despite lacking a high school diploma. He took some business courses, some English, French, and psychology that he stuck with it that fall, also the following spring, but after two semesters he left school again where he'd held a D plus average.

Then in September of 1962, his probation on the auto theft sentence was revoked for reasons sources don't say. And now Mike found himself doing some hard time at the Texas State Prison in Huntsville. He'll be paroled after eight months into the custody of his parents, who had now relocated again to Arlington, Texas. And they found that their son, very, very unstable before he had been sent away, much much worse condition now. When he moved back in with them he was suffering from hepatitis, which kind sources do not say, mononucleosis, you know mono and

prost- oh my gosh, prostatitis. There we go. I had to slow down. So hepatitis, mononucleosis, prostatitis. Interestingly, you can get all three of these infections from sex. Specifically, you can get prostatitis, an inflammation of the prostate gland, from bacteria introduced to the prostate via semen. Don't have to get it that way, but you can. So via anal sex, rough unprotected, unlooped anal sex, say prison rape anal sex, would make it easier to get all three of these conditions. To be very clear, zero sources say that Mike was ever raped or that he got these infections and prostate inflammation from sex of any

kind. Also no one else shared in the story that I'm aware of has come to the same conclusion but I find it very interesting that he was apparently not sexually aggressive before he went to prison for this time like this first time. Neither one of his first two wives would claim that but then after prison he becomes very sexually sadistic and his go-to becomes painful anal sex. I want to make the wild guess that Junior spent a lot of time or spent a lot of you know his time in prison getting roughly fucked in the ass and that maybe You know being sexually assaulted there is what turned him into a sexual sadist more than perhaps his mommy issues

Lending me to think that even more junior spent his recovery time when he gets home from prison in his bedroom Mostly screening hardcore porn movies on a movie projector Comes home from eight months in prison three medical maladies that you don't have to give him sex but definitely can. Three that when combined sure make it seem like you know he's been getting raw dogged by his cell mate and then right away he's super into porn. And the porn here is the first mention of anything sexual with Mike. And porn in 1963 I will say or will add in Texas no less infinitely more taboo than it is today. He also shortly after getting out of prison comes down with colitis and inflammation of the colon.

A lot of stuff going on. It was a colon area. Did that prison have a pool? Was he getting rusty tugboated? Or did his cellmate just have a giant dick that fucked up his colon? Whatever the cause, he'll struggle with colitis for the rest of his life. And this colitis, and the medicines used to treat it and reduce inflammation, will lead to all sorts of dry skin patches, skin discoloration, weight loss, rashes, hair loss, all sorts of shit that hurt juniors up, vanity deeply. His face really hollowed out, his eyes were like really hollow now, he lost a lot of weight, he was already thin, he had premature wrinkles, his smooth complexion has turned chalky and pitted.

He also doesn't feel well because his colon just continually hurts. And to distract himself he starts reading psychiatry and psychology texts. I guess he also did that so he could figure out how to manipulate others more effectively. And he also started photographing nude models. And when his parents would object to any of this, you know, maybe push him to go get a job, move out, whatever, he would threaten their lives. Especially Moe's. And finally on the night he chased his mother around with a fucking razor, his dad finally called the police. And then a few days later he was sent to Western State Hospital, a psychiatric facility in Stanton, Virginia, where he would spend 45 days being held against his will and being medicated and

Psychiatrists there were startled to hear that Mike was considering a career in clinical psychology His own doctor thought Mike was a true psychopath Not a sociopath psychopath and the prison would be a much better place for him to be held in a hospital But then his spineless dad drops the assault charges against his son, takes baby boy back home. May 16th, 1964, Mike Sr. picks Mike Jr. up from the hospital, drives his 24-year-old absolute fucking train wreck of a human being's son home. Then four months later, Mike gets married again. Third time will not be the charm. This time he married a poor 19-year year old cosmetology student named Wanda Faye Davis from the little town of Tazwell, Virginia. Even though she was 19, she was especially innocent and trusting. More like a 15 or 16 year old,

she had literally never been to a nice restaurant or gone out on a single date before in her life. Not long after their wedding, Mike pressures Wanda to model nude for him. And as soon as she agrees, he takes it further. He pressures her to let him take photos of her in various sexual positions, getting more extreme. Then sexual acts he pressures her to perform, he starts taking pictures of. They become more extreme. Hardcore BDSM shit she was not into. He's taking photos of her naked, tied up, in pain, you know, stuff sticking out of her fucking ass.

What an introduction into one's sexual life. Then this piece of shit used these photos as blackmail to get her to help him with the scam. Together, Mike explained they would target older women, find out which banks they kept their money in, and ask them if they could make a withdrawal so the quote federal bank examiner could pick up or yeah pick up an examine cash their cash and make sure it was not counterfeit This scam began in 1965 continued for a year and a half Wanda would later guess they scammed 25 or 30 different women and on average they stole about 1200 each from them So now this 25 year old scumbag has gotten expelled from high school twice. He's dropped out of two different colleges He's gotten kicked out of the army. He spent time in a psychiatric facility for

chased his mom around with a razor. He's had two kids he didn't do shit to provide for completely abandoned. He's abandoned two different wives. He's committed a variety of crimes that sent him to prison for eight months. He is sexually abusing his third wife documenting it and has used that documentation to blackmail her into helping him

steal from over two dozen elderly women and he is just barely getting started. In 1966, Mike along with Wanda's cousin gets charged in Prince George's County, Maryland with the assault, sodomy, and kidnap of a young girl. He talks his fucking wife's cousin into kidnapping some girl and sodomizing her. What in the fucking backwoods white trash inbred hillbillies going on there? But then because our values in this country, like most others around the world, have been so fucked for so long, the assault charges are dropped because the girl, age not

listed in sources but it's strongly alluded to that she was a minor, apparently got into the car with him willingly. And then the men were acquitted of the other charges now. Jesus Christ. You know, if you willingly got into the car with him willingly and then the men were acquitted of the other charges now. Jesus Christ. You know if you willingly got into a car with two men as a teenage girl they just legally got to do whatever they wanted to do with you. Sexually I guess right? You know because you were asking for it. You gave them permission to do whatever by just getting in the car. Such an unbelievably fucked up way to think that again makes me fantasize about having some kind of magical death button.

A button I could press to make literally every person on earth who thinks a girl is asking for in this situation to instantaneously die. God, I would push that button so fast. That's not a fucking record for the fastest button ever pushed. It'd be so great. Junior's wife Wanda was glad that the kidnapping had not turned into something even worse. Murder. Her husband now talked of little else apparently. God, what a lucky girl. He straight-up told her he wanted to abduct a woman. He's telling his wife this. Told her he wanted to abduct a woman, torture her, strangle her, and then fucking watch the light go out in her eyes. Just watch her die. That he would then hide her body so that if she was found years later

there would be no evidence anymore of what exactly he had done to it. And he called that the perfect crime. And why did she stay with him after that? Well, because she's fucking terrified. Also, he told her that if she ever left him, he would send copies of photos of her in sexually degrading positions to her parents and to a whole bunch of other people back in her tiny little hometown. In April of 1969 now, Mike pressures Wanda into helping him commit a more extreme crime. For two months Junior had surveilled Edgar W. Smith Jr. an American National Bank branch manager in Wheaton Maryland. He watched Edgar come and go from his residence at 3707 Fairleigh Street in Wheaton as well as monitor his daily routine at the bank and on April 25th Mike's ready to go. He

stole a set of license plates placed them on his car. He sent Wanda to a giant food store, not like giant as in it was a big place, it's actually called giant. Sent her to the store's parking lot adjacent to the bank and told her to keep an eye out for Edgar. He said Edgar would be there around 2 o'clock. At 1.30, DeBarta Laban knocked on the Smith's front door, flashed a badge at Edgar's wife Mary. He said he was a Secret Service agent who needed to talk to her about Edgar's going-ons at the bank. She let him in and he pulled the gun on her. He then handcuffed her, covered her mouth in adhesive tape. Then he telephoned Edgar at the bank, told him that he had his wife in a motel and that he would kill her if Edgar did not do exactly what he said. And he instructed Edgar to take 60 grand from the bank to the Wheaton Library immediately

and then to hide it in the men's room there. Once Mike hung up, Edgar immediately asked his head teller for the money. They couldn't come up with 60 grand, but they did come up with 30 grand plus another 4,000 and 20, so I guess 34 grand. Outside on his car, Edgar then found a note that said, disregard previous instructions, told him to retrieve a brown paper bag beneath his car. He was to put the ransom money inside it, drive to the corner, around the corner to the giant food store parking lot, and then placed the bag beneath a waiting vehicle there. Back at the Smiths house, Mike dragged Mary into the kitchen, tied her

up. Before he left the house, she quickly managed to break free, stumble into the street though where a neighbor helped her. Wanda meanwhile retrieved the kitchen, tied her up before he left the house. She quickly managed to break free, stumble into the street though, where a neighbor helped her. Wanda, meanwhile, retrieved the money, met with Mike, and the couple drove across Virginia with 34 grand to a little shed near Virginia's hungry Mother State Park. There they put the money into glass jars and buried it. And now Wanda really worried about going to the police, because now she ratted on Junior, well, she would possibly go to prison herself. Still, she did summon the courage to

threaten Mike that she was going to tell the police and in response Mike tied her to the bed, beat her, raped her, took photos of her when he was done with her. And when she told the police about this years later she said quote, sexual atrocities that I will not mention to you were performed upon me. It even hurts to think about it fuck And if you're wondering how could he really hurt her with a tiny little ding-a-ling? Well, he liked to use foreign objects in the bedroom On another occasion she slid her wrists because she would rather in all

People will say later that he had a tiny penis. I'm just like not just making that up On another occasion she would slit her wrists Because she said she would rather die than stay with Mike and then at the hospital she begged the doctor not to make her go home with Mike. She said she told him that he was sexually abusing her but the doctor just kind of laughed it off. Sent her back anyway. Years later when speaking of the abuse her husband dished out she said you don't know the meaning of being beaten up. I'm not talking about somebody taking their fist and beating you black and blue. We are talking about things being done to you that you would not believe. Soon after she was sent home, poor Wanda got

pregnant, but then Mike threw her down a fucking flight of stairs. She had a miscarriage. After that her sadistic rapist husband quickly impregnated her again. Mike now pressured Wanda to have an abortion, but she didn't want to. And with the prospect of a baby on the way way she said she was no longer afraid of the pictures of herself getting released. She felt she had to get away from him to protect her child no matter the cost to herself and so she fled and then she was granted a divorce in August of 1969. Five months later, January of 1970, she gave birth to a baby girl, Lindsay, at George Washington University Hospital in

Washington DC. Meanwhile, Mike is not through with her. He is now stalking her. He breaks into her apartment a few times after she gives birth. Once he tries to rape her and would have succeeded had a building manager not rescued her after hearing her scream. After he tried to rape her, he then comes back later to the apartment a few times to see the baby and brings his new girlfriend with him. Why can't the right people, people like Mike get murdered instead of all the innocent people just struggling, you know, through their lives? Yeah, Mike is already dating someone seriously again. He begun pursuing her before Wanda left him a high school senior named Karen. Of course, he fucking lived by the credo of get them while they're young.

Her last name is intentionally omitted in sources, guessing that's the way she wanted it. He's 30 now, by the way. So a 30-year-old sexual sadist dating a high school senior. On June 10th, 1970, Mike and Karen get married in Silver Springs, Maryland. She's 18. Vomit! Karen's super cool new husband quickly returned to college again, spending the semester at George Mason University where he took classes in philosophy, history,

government, and Spanish. Meanwhile, he systematically subjected Karen to the same sexual degradation he had forced on Wanda. Of course he did. And he's gotten real methodical about it now. He refined this evil process of breaking a young woman down to a step-by-step list he wrote out, recovered later in some notes that investigators found. That sick fuck actually wrote, quote, isolate her contacts with others. Don't let her make any decisions. Don't let her acquire any skills, working, driving, social skills, etc. Don't let her have any power, bank accounts, ownership, inside information, material for blackmail.

Never trust her completely. Don't enlighten her with knowledge, especially of psychology. Always remember that the relationship is temporary and likewise prepare to cut her loose before she does it to you. Set the price higher than needed at first. Whip, infidelity, extreme humiliation. Then gradually reduce to keep at an adequate level. Actively seek a new partner when she begins showing signs of rebellion.

Make her more dependent, drugs, live in the country, no phone or hidden phone for my use only, no driver's license, no books except fantasy books, no fancy clothes, no books, except fantasy books. No fancy clothes, no doctors. Never show weakness, never show guilt or insecurity. That was so fucking evil. My God, to court romance and seduce someone, knowing the entire time that your real end goal is just to break them and bend them entirely to your will is just so fucking diabolical. Again, please give me the magic death button. I promise not to abuse it. Not very often. At least not at first. But eventually a lot of people are gonna die. Okay. Like he done with Wanda, Mike Ropeen Mike would manipulate Karen into becoming

his accomplice. On April 30th, 1971, Karen and Junior drove to Springfield, Virginia, where Mike dropped her off at a payphone before proceeding to the residence of Robert H. Campbell, Jr. A lot of juniors in this suck. Vice President of the United Virginia Bank branch office in Springfield. Gail, his wife, answered the door and now Mike proceeded to do the same shit he had done to Edgar and Mary Smith except he told Gail that he was investigating one of her former neighbors, Aaron Salter, and needed her help. Once he was inside her home, Junior handcuffed Gail bound her with tape, Mike placed a call to Robert's bank told him that he needed $65,000 delivered to a shopping center and placed in a phone booth. And then

like with the Smiths, Robert soon found instructions on his car saying to disregard the previous instructions. Instead, drive the money to a local real estate office, put it under his car, and walk. Put it under a car there, walk away. Karen retrieved the bag of money, so much money, and the two slipped away. The evil villain did it again. Right? Mike now used some of that money to bankroll his next venture, which was a nude modeling service called the Naked Eye in Washington, D.C.'s downtown red light district.

Of course. His shop would open on March 4th, 1972, and at his shop, amateur photographers could rent nude models and also rent cameras and other equipment for an hour of picture taking. I mean, pretty good title, Naked Eye, for this business. But it was a flop. At least on the financial end. Who knows how much fucking devious sexual shit Mike got into.

Police raided the shop twice, arrested Mike twice on gun charges before he finally closed the naked eye. So now he turns back to more crime to get more money. May 16th, 1973, Mike places a call to Raymond Trithall, an officer of the Citizens Bank in Rockville, Maryland, tells him that his wife Carolyn and the two-year-old daughter Kelly Lynn were being held hostage. That they would be released in exchange for $75,000. And this time, Mike acts alone. Also this time, instead of complying, Raymond only selected $200 in marked bills, the minimum

threshold of the time for grand theft, tossed it over a tall fence in the alley behind the bank, as per the second note's instructions. Then instead of waiting to return to the bank like he had been instructed, Raymond simply headed back, telephoned the FBI. Mike retrieved the bag himself, fled as FBI agents swarmed the Trithal house where they found Raymond's wife and child unharmed. Man, Raymond was either one very cool, confident cucumber or maybe somebody who was kind of hoping his wife and kid were going to die in a hostage situation.

This picture, I'm talking to the FBI, just, is my family okay? Oh, no, they're fine, Mr. Trithal. Safe and sound in your home. Fuck! yeah they're fine Mr. Treithal safe and sound in your home. Fuck! What was that Mr. Treithal? Sorry just so happy that they're alive you know. After this botched ransom Mike decides it's time for a change of scenery. He would now take Karen to Fort Worth Texas where they lived on Spurgeon Street where Mama Mary Lou lived who was now widowed. No more Mike Sr. No more James. Dad died seven years earlier back in 1966. He died of disappointment in his firstborn son. I'm not sure what he actually died from. At one point while living with her mother-in-law, Karen went

back to DC for a surgery and as she recuperated she got a call from Mike saying that she had to come back to Texas immediately He said there had been a crisis involving his mom Well Karen hopped on the next flight But then to her surprise Mike's not there to pick her up at the airport So she takes a cab arriving at the house to find out that her husband had kidnapped young female hitchhiker Who he's now had kept or had trapped in the attic And then he tells Karen his fucking wife that he'd raped the young woman a bunch of times. And now he was afraid he'd have to kill her, or she'd report the assaults.

That's the crisis he called his wife for. Karen, still only 21 at this point, now tries to save this girl's life. She begs Mike to release her, and finally Mike reluctantly does. And then these two fucking lovebirds will keep living at Mary Lou's house until September of 1973, when Mary Lou dies. During that time, Mike would force Karen into helping him with two more unsuccessful bank schemes. And of course, I'm sure do all kinds of horrible sexual shit to her and take photos of it all. He broke her down to the point where she just stays with a dude

she knows has kidnapped and raped a young girl that he wanted to murder. Then after her mom and Mary Lou dies, the couple relocates to Arlington, Virginia where Mike first got the idea of becoming a counterfeiter. But he was not ready to give up his old ransom career quite yet. On the morning of April 9th, 1974, Marshall H. Groom, CEO of the Potomac Bank and Trust Company left his home in Vienna, Virginia. While driving to the bank, he was suddenly rammed off the road from behind by another car, like kind of pushed out into an intersection.

Then the driver of the car, Mike, of course, pulls a gun on him. Mike and Karen hustle him into their car, then drive into a hotel room where Marshall contacts his bank and asks for the ransom money. After Marshall placed the call, Mike hogtied him. Then he and his wife, slash other hostage, left the hotel room together. After they left, Marshall was able to struggle out of his bindings, managed to rip the tape off his face, get the ropes loose, walks out the door and calls the police. But it's too late.

Robbers were already long gone with the bank's money and they managed to get about 20 grand this time. 1975 now. Karen finally decides it's time to leave. But she doesn't know where to go. She contacts her family for help and her family will then end up contacting Greg Murphy, a recent graduate of the University of Virginia Law School. Murphy seemed like a good choice. He specialized in unusual clients. Years later, he will represent John Wayne Bobbitt, the Manassas resident whose dick got surgically reattached after his wife, Lorena,

cut it off with a kitchen knife. However, back at this time he doesn't have a reputation yet and Karen's too embarrassed to tell him the full extent of Mike's abuse. Also in 1975, a woman named Philippa Voliner, a Memphis, Tennessee exotic dancer, is savagely pistol-whipped by a man called himself Eugene Baker. She will later identify this Eugene character as actually Mike DeBartolabin, but a local prosecutor will decline to press the case because of Filippa's work. It made her quote an unsympathetic victim Fuck's sake teen girl gets into a car with two dudes doesn't matter to the raper, right?

She didn't want to be raped shouldn't got into the car Exotic dancer gets brutally pistol-whipped. Ah, no crime again. She didn't want someone fucking her face up with a pistol well she should have never danced naked for anybody. And still to this day, some people actually wonder why women worry about their rights being taken away. About being treated like second class citizens. What are you complaining about? This kind of fucking shit. Because this nation is shit on women for most of its history. 1976, Mike and Karen finally get divorced. But that will not stop Mike's torture of his fourth wife. He hires private investigators to find her and then one night sneaks into her house,

brutally rapes her and leaves. Jesus Christ! He does this fucking again to another wife. Does he get arrested for that? No, of course not. If she didn't want him to rape her, well, she should have never married him in the first place. Luckily for Karen, however, the Secret Service will catch on to Mike's activities and arrest him for counterfeiting.

His first foray into fakery, not very good. Secret Service led a search of his residence at 1201 South Columbus in Arlington, Texas, picking their way through a dark and dusty living room. And they discovered upstairs two closed rooms. Within one was a movie projector, displaying, of course, a lot of hardcore porn, porn, a lot of butt. The rest of the room was ranked with sweats, cigarettes, half-eaten sandwiches, walls covered with amateur homemade pornography.

Stacks of five-by-seven cards with women's names, addresses, measurements, physical descriptions. There were giant fucking dildos, whips, vibrators, pills, handcuffs, rope, audio recordings of phone sex conversations. On Mike's unmade bed, there were several quote, sex magazines explicitly and specifically dedicated to bondage and anal intercourse. Under the pillow were two guns, a 38 revolver and a 9mm automatic both loaded. Three more handguns were recovered from the house along with 3,500 rounds of ammo. But the thing the house investigators were most concerned with was Mike's Multilith 1250,

his sophisticated printing press, like a commercial printing press. Some aluminum printing plates and counterfeit money were scattered on the floor around it. Agents found inks for the press in the kitchen. The case for Mike being a counterfeiter was pretty much a slam dunk. But interviews would take place anyway. One person they talked to was 24-year-old Karen, Mike's ex-wife, who seemed sleepless and haunted. Jesus. When they asked about the pornography, and if her husband was committing any sex crimes, she literally burst into tears.

And just started repeating that Mike was going to kill her. She's fucking terrified. Then for some reason, they would not press her any further about his possible sex crimes. Mike will now soon be locked up at the federal penitentiary. Penitentiary? There we go. Danbury, I fucking hate that word so much. In Danbury, Connecticut, on counterfeiting charges from March 1976 to May of 1979. And during his imprisonment, Mike will write, I feel that I have been unjustly tormented, degraded and shit upon by society. and during his imprisonment, Mike will write,

Jesus Christ, this fucking dramatic piece of shit. I feel compelled to somehow restore my self-respect. If I were to shit upon society for an adequate monetary gain, Commensurate with the pain I've suffered and not get caught it would accomplish my objective. Right, here we go again. Playing the victim. These sexually sadistic sociopaths, they do this like 99% of the time. Right? Just incapable of true introspection. They just rationalize all the evil shit they've done as you know It's somebody else's fault somehow and then act like the punishment they receive for doing that stuff You know wildly unjust and grounds for revenge Man, that's the fucking stories people tell themselves. Sometimes I wish I could just be that fucking delusional I am so much more prone to be like I fucking suck. I'm not doing enough. I should be fucking doing more in life

I should be helping more people fucking I don't know being a better husband being a better dad I should have more patience and these guys are just like I'm fucking awesome Meanwhile, they're just the biggest pieces of shit ever must be a great way to go through life Just no matter just what evil shit you do just to look in the mirror be like fucking love that guy I'm looking at right now. Hell yeah 1978 a clerk misunderstood expired on Mike's parole form to mean deceased and she reports that to the National Crime Information Center And they'll now mark Mike DeBartolabin is dead. Not knowing how much this mistake will fuck up further investigations into trying to catch him

But it certainly obviously will not help. May 5th 1978. Sorry, before moving on just like yeah, just fucking bad person getting a lucky break. I hate that shit. It happened so much. May 5th 1978. After serving 23 months of his 1976 counterfeiting sentence at the federal fucking prison in Danbury, Mike was released to a District of Columbia halfway house following month his 38 year old ex convict or this 38 year old ex-convict now moves back into the shabby two-story house he still owned at 1201 South Columbus Street in Arlington and he takes a bartending job that he will not keep very long he'll stop showing up

real soon he just wanted to look like he got a straight job for a little bit. Following month in July at Brown's Tyson Corner Dodge in Fairfax, Virginia, he buys a dark blue 77 Thunderbird that looks a little bit like a cop car. Uh oh. Before we find out what Junior does with his new car that looks like a cop car, nothing good. Time for today's second of two mid-show sponsor breaks. Thanks for listening to those sponsors and now let's return to 1978 find out what jr. Has planned with his new blue 77 Thunderbird That's September on Labor Day weekend 1978 19 year old student nurse Lucy Alexander Goes camping with her boyfriend on the Indian River in southwestern, Delaware not far from the Maryland border on Sunday September 3rd the couple drove a few miles south across the state line to

Ocean City, where they partied at a bar called Back of the Rack. Back of the Rack, baby! Shortly after midnight, after several hours of drinking, Lucy and her boyfriend get into a fight. Upset, Lucy leaves the bar, heads north, and Tana walking back to their campsite alone. But it was a longer route than she'd expected, and by 1.30 in the morning, she north, intent on walking back to their campsite alone, but it was a longer route than she'd expected. And by 1.30 in the morning, she still had not made it back. She made it to Fenwick Island, Delaware, which was still about five miles away from where

she needed to be going on Route 1. And now a dark, late model luxury car pulls up beside her. The driver is a dark haired, clean shaven white man clad in a blue leisure suit that did not disguise how skinny he was. Quote, wimpy looking. That's how Lucy would describe him later. That's such a fucking emasculating description for any guy. That's just like, God, just like, I think a lot of guys, that would be top five at least of the worst ways they could be described.

What does he look like? Wimpy looking is what comes to mind first. No! Yeah, he was an ugly wimpy looking dude with a tiny dick and knowing that makes me happy. Anyway, Junior asked where she wanted to go and if she wanted to lift she replied that she was headed to the Indian River campground but that she would rather walk than risk being seen in a car driven by a silly little douche beta Melvin fucking tiny dick wimp. She said she'd just rather walk. But Junior the wimp persisted. He waved his wimpy little stick arms around. Surprised he didn't break him when he fucking shook him around real fast. And he said he was headed directly past the campgrounds and it would be no trouble to let her off. Finally thinking about the mile she

still had to go, Lucy relented, got in the car. As they drove he asked her how old she was. 19 she replied and for some reason he seemed surprised and disappointed by that answer. He said she looked younger than that. Was she sure she wasn't younger? he asked and she thought that was weird because it is. It's fucking weird. He's a creep who wants to sexually degrade virginal young teens. Women who will be you know probably less likely to compare his genitals to a normal sized set of adult cock and balls. As he got to the campground the man stopped the car suddenly whipped out an official looking badge, not dick, saying he was with the FBI and she was under arrest for

hitchhiking. Before she could say anything he handcuffed her wrist behind her and was driving again. First he said he planned to deliver her to the custody of officials at the Rehoboth Beach, about 10 miles to the north. Then he said he changed his mind. He was now going to drive her to the Sussex County Correctional Institute in Georgetown, about 20 miles west. Totally, because they're just going to fucking throw her in the cell for having the audacity to hitchhike at night. Finally, after they were well into the Delaware countryside, he dropped the ruse, he stopped the car in a field, and when Lucy began screaming he gagged and blindfolded her with adhesive tape. He pushed Lucy over the seat down onto the black floorboard, covered her with a blanket, and said,

if you listen to me, I won't hurt you. The exact kind of thing, someone says, when they definitely plan on hurting you. She would spend the next two hours lying in the back of his car, bound, gagged, blindfolded, and terrified. He finally stopped in a residential neighborhood. He then got out, guided her from his car to some low steps, then across a porch into a house where he shoved her upstairs into a room with the mattress on the floor covered with a blue blanket. He removed the gag, but left her blindfolded on, then said he was going downstairs to negotiate a ransom with her parents. But only a few minutes later, he reappeared. Lucy could only listen to the rustling of fabric and soft grunting as he undressed her. It was obvious he was already jerking off. Then he dropped

down onto her and forced himself inside her. He would rape her for over an hour continually without ejaculating, she said. Then he forced her to have anal sex as he demanded that she call him daddy again and again until he climaxed For several hours he would rape her over and over in between taking breaks for root beer cheese and cigarettes Cigarettes he would smoke while forcing Lucy to give him oral sex Repeatedly he warned her that he would kill her if she did not keep his dick in her mouth Which had to have been fucking hard because it was like the size of a fucking baby pinky And he had trouble maintaining an erection. He also talked about his ex-wife while his little dick is in her mouth saying all she did

was spend the money they couldn't afford. Again, he's the victim. By late the following night, September 4th, he raped her at least four times vaginally and anally not counting all the fellatio. Then he took her downstairs gave her a drink of water and hurried her out to his car. And then at about 2.30 in the morning on September 5th, 1978, he just released Lucy into an isolated area known as Hard Scrabble, about five miles east of Georgetown, Delaware. She didn't see anything, as he pulled away except his brake lights. Next person to appear was a Delaware State Trooper. Had to scare the shit out of her.

Is this a real fucking cop? She told the officer she did not know Mike's license plate number, didn't know his name, didn't know where he had taken her. She had no idea who the man was that he kidnapped and raped her. The police now have little to go on and the case of her assault is pretty much cold from the very beginning. Several weeks following her abduction, Mike puts his South Columbus street house on the market. Time to leave the area. Then he sets out on a road trip up and down the mid-Atlantic picking up women, paying escorts for sex, visiting printing supply houses, scouting

hideouts, all things necessary to resume his quote career of currency counterfeiting. But the house when it sold earlier the next year did not clear much only about 15 grand. Frustrated in February he decides to go on another hunting trip to clear his mind. At 3.30 p.m. February 4, 1979, most residents of Fayetteville, North Carolina, are enjoying a bright Sunday afternoon. Some of them, however, are at work, like 31-year-old real estate agent Elizabeth Mason, who was alone paying bills in the sales office of a partially completed track development just outside of town. Five-foot-five, blue eyed with naturally dark blonde hair, Elizabeth was also a part time actress who had actually just been in the local production

of a comedy play called Born Yesterday. A photo of her had appeared in local newspapers and posters across town advertising the play's run. Probably where Mike determined that she would be his victim. Now she's at her day job. Clad in brown slacks, matching plaid shirt, brown leather jacket, and she is surprised when a stranger wearing aviator sunglasses appears in the doorway to her office. He introduced himself as Al Weiss. Said he was a federal employee about to be transferred from Arlington, Virginia along with his wife.

Said he wanted to buy a house. She offered to help him. She took in his clothes, crop, salt and pepper hair, his pale pockmark complexion. Something about him just felt off to her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. He said he was willing to spend around $100,000, and he accompanied Elizabeth on a short walking tour of the subdivision before he confided that, you know what, actually I'd rather live out in the country. You know, preferably some property on a lake.

Elizabeth knew he probably was not going to buy anything that day, so she saw no reason to drag, you know, her butt all the way out into the country. Instead, they returned to her desk where she showed him some pictures of some lakefront property in the area. Then he said he really, really wanted to see a house in person. So now she drove him to a nearby community called Warren Wood. Suddenly, however, in Warren Wood, Al, slash Mike, he said he was short on time, needed to go back to pick up his car. As they drove back, he said he wanted to look at more houses in a higher price range, but couldn't leave his car parked at the real estate office because he, quote, didn't feel it would be safe there.

Back at the office, he moved his car to the Highland Presbyterian Church, then came back to continue the tour with her. Elizabeth agreed, but not until after alerting her boss via radio that she was going on a tour with a dude who was fucking weird. Kind of giving her the heebie-jeebies. Heading to a house at 402 Foxhall Drive. At that house they find a lock box securing a kitchen door inside. He makes an elaborate show of figuring out how and where his pieces of furniture are all gonna be. Elizabeth suddenly realizes this is all a performance.

She is really creeped out now. Her gut is like, get out, get away. This guy's a fucking maniac. She has just one idea of how to get him to stop with his charade. And she starts screaming and flailing and jumping up and down, acting the way she would put it later, quote, bananas. She doesn't know what else to do. And now instead of not wanting anything else to do with her, instead of running away, Mike jumps into action, clubs her with a handgun over and over, hits her in the head, then

tries to shoot her but the gun doesn't go off, and now Elizabeth starts attacking him. Soon this creepy sadistic wimp of a man starts repeating, I just want your purse, I just want your purse. Elizabeth knows that's not true, but she screams it's in the car, and doesn't mention she only has 18 cents in cash in it. Before he goes after it, Mike says he wants to tie her up. She resists as he pushes her into a back bathroom. There he gags her, blindfolds her with tape before grabbing her by the throat, slamming

her to the bathroom floor, and he starts screaming, pass out, bitch, pass out. And then she does start to pass out. She will later say, and this is so odd, she had a vision of being with three entities, all female, and it was very pleasant. Elizabeth asked these entities if she could go back and one of them said, no, we don't think you can. It doesn't work that way. Elizabeth said she wasn't upset, but then she asked, well, would you mind asking again? I'm really not ready. And then they said, well, okay, you can go back. And then she came to. Fucking strange, whatever's going on there. Police let her estimate that Elizabeth was unconscious for about 45 minutes.

She came to, covered in her blood, realized her car was missing. She hobbled over to a neighbor's house, rang the doorbell with her chin since her hands were still tied up. They called the police. At Cape Fear Hospital, Elizabeth will need 31 stitches in her head. Despite waking up partially undressed, she had not been sexually assaulted. This was a new kind of crime for Mike. Well not sure if it's the first time he did this but you know first time we know of him committing a crime like this. It does not appear to be sexually motivated. Just you know violent but not sexually motivated. Some women he

wanted to kidnap, rape, release. Others he seemed to want to kill. Elizabeth's car will be found but a search revealed only that you know Mike had taken her purse. A witness later came forward to say he had seen a blood-soaked man struggling to open Elizabeth's Oldsmobile and the witness had helped him open the door since his hands were too slick with all the blood, Jews and keys. Jesus Christ, I hope whoever helped him at least asked him, hey, how'd you get all that blood all over your hands? And then he then came up with a convincing lie as to just, you know, seeing some fucking dude with hands so bloody they can't properly hold on to car keys and just being like, hey, need some help? Oh, let me grab those super bloody keys and get you in that car. You not at all suspicious looking strange man.

I hate it when my hands are covered in blood. I know exactly what you're dealing with. A few days later, Elizabeth got a call from a man asking if she was Elizabeth Mason, the real estate agent, and she knew instantly it was this fucking creep that had attacked her. And she knew she could identify him if they could just catch him. But we're away from that. Two months later, April 19th, 1979, 24-year-old Sheila Grant is driving home from a singles bar in Baldwin, Missouri Missouri around one in the morning

When an unmarked police car or what she thought was an unmarked police car pulls her over by flashing some red lights I think her now approached her car pulls out a gun tells her to drive as he now climbs into the backseat Once they get to a location he liked he climbed into the front proceeded to insert his fingers into her vagina Then had her do the same then asked her if she was about to orgasm. He's a fucking maniac. Then he pulls out his penis, orders her to suck it. He seemed to enjoy her pleading when she asked him not to hurt her. When he was done, he guided her back to his car, got in, and just drove off.

Several days later, Sheila's trauma was compounded when her fucking husband died by suicide. Did he kill himself because of what happened? Because he, you know, wasn't able to protect her from what he did? You know, the timing of his death makes me think that that for sure was possible. And his death to me illustrates how when people commit violent crimes against others, the list of their victims is so much longer than the list of people they victimized directly, right? They hurt so many other people around their victims as well. So much pain ripping out from the source of their attack Right this guy. I mean he essentially fucking killed him May of 1979 Mike finally found the perfect location for his counterfeit

It was a grayish wood-framed bungalow at 1913 Howman Road in Falls Church, Virginia. He was able to lease it for just 320 bucks a month His new money press would be a 1250 multi-lith printing press, as if I have any clue what that means. That's what it's called. You know, he didn't just get any old printing press. He got a 1250 multi-lith for all you printing press aficionados who listen to the show. He bought it for 600 bucks from PSB Fine Printing Service in Wheaton, Maryland,

posing as Frank A. Turner to make the purchase. Days later, neighbors in Falls Church noticed their new neighbors stealing off his house's windows. Then he set up his press in an upstairs bedroom, shot negatives, burned them onto thin aluminum plates and mixed his ink, eager to take advantage of the early summer's good conditions, good temperatures and humidity that would make printing passable money far easier. The 39 year old found some time to relax in Falls Church attending to disco called Studio 50 where he met a young woman named

Barbara Abbott who had just graduated from college was about to become an elementary school teacher. That summer he'd bring her gifts, flatter her, generally try to woo her, and sadly it worked. He loved young somewhat naive women. Less life experience, easier to break down and control. She loved the attention he showered on her. She also noticed that he was gone a lot, like over Memorial Day weekend. For Memorial Day, 1979, Junior would return

to the Delaware, Maryland seashore to do some more human hunting. Just before midnight on Friday, June 1st, Lori Jensen closed the Ocean City convenience store she'd been hired to manage that summer and started on her short walk home. Lori was a warm, soft and trusting 20 year old with strawberry blonde hair. A 20 but her sweet gentle affect made her appear much younger. Exactly the type of young innocent looking woman Junior lusted after.

Half block from the rental house she shared with a roommate she ran into a joker who she greeted with a casual high. Just then a white man in a blue leisure suit pulled his dark blue sedan beside her and stopped. Police! He barked. Laurie was instantly confused. He told her to get into the car and not being a confrontational person, but quick to defer to authorities she did. After examining her driver's license then tucking it into his pocket, he told her that a store had been broken into by a man and a woman and he suspected that she and the jogger seen passing her were both the robbers.

They were working together. Lori told him that she couldn't have done it. She'd been at work since 2.30 that afternoon. Her boss could vouch for her. The man, Mike Ropane Mike of course, asked her to direct him to her employer's residence in Ocean City. But then once he found the house, he just drove past it, informed her that she was under arrest for robbery and handcuffed her almost exactly what he had done

to Lucy Alexander. Once again, he drove north on Delaware Route 1, then west along County Roads, saying they were headed for the Sussex Correctional Institute. When they stopped in the countryside, Lori realized what she had been suspecting for a while, that this dude was not who he said he was. She opened the door, got both feet on the ground, and screamed trying to get away.

But Mike grabbed her by the hair, then got duct tape and wound it around her head. As she struggled, he said, Cool it. Don't anybody tell you, or excuse me, he said, Cool it. Didn't anybody ever tell you what to do in case something like this ever happened to you? You're defenseless. Don't even struggle. There's nothing you can do. Cool it's weird. That's nothing you can do. Cool-it's weird. That's a weird thing to say in a kidnapping situation, right? Cool-it? Hey, cool-it! Hey, hey, hey! Cool your jets, young lady! Trying to kidnap you, for Pete's sake. Gee, Willikers! The wimpy dork then pushed her to the floor of the car and drove off. Like with Lucy,

he hustled her into a house and into a bedroom. From what she could tell, the place was small and seedy and littered with Pepsi bottles, random tools, and cardboard. He first forced her to give him oral sex. Afterwards, he raped her anally, then placed her on a pad in the locked bedroom closet, naked and bound and chained to an eyebolt in the floor with handcuffs. By morning, she could hear the familiar music of Family Feud. What a fucking maniac! He's out the familiar music of Family Feud. What a fucking maniac he's out there like, I'll watch a little Family Feud. He came and then got her shortly afterwards, forced her to give him more oral sex. Laurie would later recall that his penis was quote very small. She would actually later testify in court

in front of the jury that he had a very tiny dick and recalled that he also called her Becky for no discernible reason. And I wonder, and I'm totally being serious here, does having insecurity over having an especially small dick like make a dude more likely to rape? Somebody needs to do a study on the correlation between penis size and rape. I'm sure it happens, but I feel like when dick sizes brought up in stories of sexual predators, it's never like, oh, he had had a huge dick But little dicks definitely come up Anyway during his sexual assaults of Lori, Junior seemed to be using mirrors to watch the assault from different angles Then after he was done, he locked her in the closet

Later that afternoon he both photographed and audio taped her as he raped her again also forced her to put an oversized dildo He called the biggie into her vagina Back in the closet she then listened as he prepared a Salisbury steak TV dinner. What a guy. Later he told her that he had an ex-old lady who pissed me off and fucked me over. I just want to get back at women. As if she's supposed to be like, no, I get it. You know what? I was pretty mad at first about you kidnapping and raping me, but you know what? You were fucked over by women. Okay, I'll take one for the team. about you kidnapping and raping me, but you know what? You were fucked over by women.

Okay, I'll take one for the team. After venting, he told her to give him a blowjob and that he would then let her go. But then when she couldn't get him to ejaculate, he again forced anal sex and then returned her to the closet. Early in the morning of June 3rd, he finally removes her tape, binds her eyes now with a bandana instead

and drives her back to Maryland. He releases her a few blocks from her family home after warning her that if she went to the police he would make sure everyone she knew saw the naked pictures he had taken of her. And then Mike the demon headed back to Fall's Church. There he continued to woo Barbara Abbott like nothing had happened, though she realized by now that there was something shady about her new beau. He had shown her a homemade driver's license and some counterfeit money now. Slowly she will learn about the rest of Mike's world, his guns, his drugs, his

hatred for the police, his hatred for his dead mother, hatred for his ex. Once someone cut them off when Mike was driving and Mike got out of the car chased the guy on foot with the gun, a guy who did not have a gun himself, a real tough guy move, ultimately the man got away as he manipulated her more and more soon he began to pressure Barbara to listen to tapes of women being tortured then to pose nude for photos then to submit to rough anal sex she did not enjoy and also do drugs and if you're wondering how rough the sex could be again if his dick was so small again he liked to use

objects he had these fucking giant dildos that he bought specifically for the purpose of sexually hurting partners because he's such a fucking creep. As he's done with some of his wives, he's breaking her down, gaining more and more control over her despite the fact that she is submitting to all of his dark desires though, still not enough for him. Never is for these creeps. He wants to degrade more women and soon Mike is eager to go back on the road and get back to hunting. Once the printed sheets were dry he cut his individual bills to the standard width and length, steeped each in tea to age them, put on gloves to meticulously crumple the notes, further disguising them, and finally in late July 1979 he selected his best products,

his best look of money, climbed into that blue T-bird and hit the road. July 31st, 1979, some real crisp, brand new $20 bills pop up at a Super Sam's fast food franchise in the Florence mall of Florence, Kentucky. Just south of the Ohio River from Cincinnati, Ohio. Next day, a bank teller discovers the counterfeits in Super Sam's deposit bag. Following standard procedure, the bills are sent to the Secret Service field office in Cincinnati, who then forward them to headquarters in Washington DC. Their document analysts in the Forensic Services Division lab can tell quickly that the bills are fakes. They'd obviously been printed on an offset machine which yielded a bill lacking some of the crisp

details and familiar raised ink feel of genuine notes. Nor was it a match for the magnetic inks used by the U.S. Bureau of Printing and Engraving. On the other hand, the counterfeiter had done a good job of reproducing the treasury seal, a design including 13 stars, inside bars, and an exterior pattern of tiny cog-like little teeth, which is one of the most difficult parts of a U.S. bill to get exactly right. And the green was almost exactly the same shade of the real thing. Most people at quick glance would never be able to tell that these bills were fake. To an expert there were some obvious defects like a small black diagonal line in the field to the left of the J and the black Federal Reserve Board seal, plus a defect in the interior outline of the zero and 20.

There was also a tiny green curl in the sky above the White House and below the letter T in United. All in all, it was decently advanced, but hardly a masterwork. A four or a six between there, between four and a six on a scale of ten being a perfect match. No agent would be fooled by it, but it had clearly fooled a couple of laypeople, which meant at the end of the day it was good You know because it worked After all if you're the producer you only have to get your bills past cashier's not Secret Service agents a detailed report in the note

Was sent out to all 63 Secret Service field officers in the US with its code number 7215 meaning it was the 7215 separate example of counterfeit currency since the criteria for recognizing official U.S. currency was first systematized in the late 19th century. Nobody at Super Sam's remembered who had paid with it, but a clerk at the Donut Palace, just a few doors down, had been approached with the same bills, and they had refused to accept them. Fucking well done, Donut King!

Not just gonna give those apple fritters away for free? Fuck no, bro. You gotta pony up for those maple frosted cakes, those Boston creams, those cinnamon sugar twists. The employee said that the man was in his mid-30s, about six feet tall, somewhere in the neighborhood of 160 pounds, black hair, looked like a fucking real wimp, walked with small penis energy. He didn't say those last two things, but I wish he did.

He had like a real, I don't know, like a tiny dick energy, I guess? And like he was like, I don't know, just wimpy. He was dressed in a white shirt with a polka dot pattern, navy blue trousers, wore gold wristwatch and wire-rimmed glasses. On August 1st, the next day another bill turned up at the till of the United Dairy Farmer's Store across the river in Cincinnati. Next bill wouldn't pop up for three weeks, not until the 21st, when it was passed at a Cincinnati burger chef. Or burger, what do I say? Burger chef, not chef.

Cincinnati Burger Jeff. But that could have been a floater, a bill unwittingly passed from hand to hand before authorities detect it. Then there would be no recurrences of Junior's 7215 money for almost three months, not until November 13th, when the manager of the Empress Shop franchise in Elizabeth, New Jersey found another counterfeit bill. In DC, Secret Service agents compared it to the original 7215, determined that the same press had been used to print both, except the FRB seal had been changed on this one,

and they designated it 7373. A third variety 7404 was then recovered from a cash drawer at the United Pennsylvania Bank on December 14th. Quick jumps in numbers, clearly a lot of other people are running money scams around this time. Frustratingly none of these varieties give any clues as to their maker. The best thing authorities have to go on is the description that the Donut Palace employee had given them. And so Micah's keep living off his funny money. And by early 1980 old junior was making more of it than ever. From March 1st to the 10th examples of his work turned up in Durham, North Carolina, Charlottesville, Fredericksburg, and Sterling,

Virginia and in Columbus, Ohio. On April 12th he hit the Blue Hen Mall in Dover, Delaware. Two days later his money popped up at a J.C. Pen Hen Mall in Dover, Delaware. Two days later his money popped up at a JCPenney's in a mall in St. Louis. Eight days after that 16 notes are found in malls around Charlotte and Greensboro, North Carolina. Junior's next stop, Birmingham, Alabama June 11th, the Cumberland Mall in Atlanta June 12th, and the Valley View Mall in Dallas. June 16th and 17th the mall passer, as he's now being called by secret service agents visited New Orleans and Shreveport in Louisiana. Next two days he's back in Dallas Texas then Kansas

City Missouri then Charlotte North Carolina and there's still no closer to catching him than they were when they had that donut clerks initial description. Junior's money will then disappear for a month before popping back up at the 12 Oaks Mall in Novi, Michigan Just out of just outside of Detroit July 31st Then more fake $20 bills proceeded to be found as he traveled through Minneapolis, Minnesota, Milwaukee, Wisconsin Niles, Illinois, Milwaukee again, then Louisville, Kentucky before his counterfeits then abruptly drop off over Labor Day weekend in Tulsa, Oklahoma And I'm not positive for Michigan time suckers that Novi is actually outside of Detroit. I think it is.

I just kind of threw that in there. From then until late in the year, the Bills would stick close to home at recurring giant food stores in Greenbelt and Wheaton, Maryland, and the giant Good Outlet in Fairfax, Virginia. So now authorities feel like they're a bit closer to catching him, assuming correctly that he lived in that part of the country. The total amount passed in 1980 would rise to a staggering 1,500 counterfeit notes, roughly a total of about $30,000 equivalent to roughly 120 grand today. And that's just the money that was recovered. And while the Secret Service authorities look for a counterfeiter, the FBI gets involved to

look for the same damn guy. They just gets involved to look for the same damn guy. They just don't know it's the same damn guy yet. The FBI thinks the same man is, or yeah, not the same man as the counterfeiter, but one guy committing multiple crimes, that he's responsible for two kidnap and rape attacks on the coast near the border of Delaware and Maryland. A 19-year-old student, that nurse, Lucy Alexander, attacked in Delaware over Liberty Weekend in 1978 as we went over and Laurie Jensen attacked on Memorial Day June 1st 1979 in Ocean City Maryland as we went over. And now

the FBI's Behavioral Science Unit puts together a profile of the suspect. Still in its infancy at this time, the BSU only established, you know, back in 1972, eight years prior and a lot of conventional law enforcement units don't yet trust the behavioral science unit as a real means of identifying a perpetrator like what they do with his profiling but it was hard to doubt the credentials of special agent John Douglas a dude we have met over and over again in our true crime episodes here he's a 30 year vet of the Air Force with two years

experience as a profiler in August of 1979. Actually 33-year vet of the Air Force. And he's assigned to investigate the two kidnappings Junior had committed. Generally, Douglas would note in his report, suspects involved in criminal offenses such as this were raised by a domineering, overbearing mother and a father who was passive, weak and indifferent when expressing his feelings to his son and other members of his family. By puberty, he has already been involved in criminal offenses and in all probability has been confronted by local police agencies. If there was one thing Douglas was certain of,

it was that the perpetrator had a rap sheet. He wrote, his arrest record will reflect offenses including voyeuristic activities, burglary, and assault. Based on that, Douglas thought the subject had likely joined the military after high school, although there would have been major problems on his part in adjusting to the military way of life. Douglas also wrote about the suspect's biggest problem, that it was sex. Your subject has had a problem throughout his life in adjusting to females and heterosexual

relations in general. Your subject can be classified as a sexual experimenter who by his own inadequacies, in-ad-equices, believes his assaults on his victims are desired by them. That's terrifying. Much of his warped thinking comes from pornographic literature. The pornographic literature that is most appealing to his sexual fantasies are those depicting sadomasochistic types of behavior. Behavior that reflects total domination and degradation of the female by the male.

Although your offender can be classified as being sexually inadequate, it is not surprising to find offenders such as yours either married or recently divorced. Interviews of former spouses generally will reflect a stressful marriage. A marriage that included sexual experimentation and degradation of his own wife. Fucking nailed it! Douglas wrote about the perpetrator, how they seemed intelligent enough not to take undue chances when he cruised around at night. Also found his blue car interesting. Made Douglas think that the perp might be trying to impersonate a police officer or had tried to become a police

officer himself. I mean obviously he had tried to impersonate one. He wrote his obsession will consequently find him reading various detective magazines. It is from these that he may go one step further and send away for various police badges, which will satisfy his police fantasy. And finally, Douglas tried to make some predictions about what might happen next. He wrote the subject in future weeks and months will use these photographs and perhaps articles of clothing from his victims to fantasize and relive his conquests. The clothing and photographs, however, will

not always be sexually satisfying for him. So generally, it is at this point that we will find offenders returning to the victim's residence in a hope that he can personally observe her. Also so scary. And he does like to go stalk people and he finishes with he is smart enough however not to confront the victim in as much as this could result in an identification of him as her abductor. So while Douglas's profile was accurate and certainly helpful on some level, doesn't provide a name obviously or home address for who they're trying to catch and now

the winter of 1979 into 1980 passes with no more news about this mystery perpetrator. Then on February 21st 1980 Mike will go back to his old bread and butter, the bank scam. This time he puts a twist on it, phoning an elderly woman named Ruth Flickinger and telling her that someone has withdrawn $700 from her account and he needs her to go withdraw 850 more so that investigators can get fingerprints off the money. Then a police officer will come to her house to collect the money. But this scam goes off the rails pretty quick. As Ruth tries to make the withdrawals, bank tellers notice a young woman walking up to the tellers cage requesting quarters and change, then

trying to change the quarters into pennies and just generally being weird and hanging around This woman of course is Mike's co-wrote accomplice Barbara Abbott. All of the bank tellers thought this was incredibly suspicious So they only agreed to give Ruth $105 in marked bills They're pretty weird. They can make that decision. I gotta say that they can say like nope You can't have that money of yours right now I know it's your money and we're just holding it for you. And legally you should be able to take as much as you want whenever you want. But no, you don't get to.

Anyway, a teller then watches as Barbara bolts out of the bank and gets into a Chevy Nova. Mike's at the wheel. The teller made no to the plates. Wouldn't you know it? They're registered to Barbara. The very next day, police officers visit Barbara's parents house where Barbara quickly confesses gives up the identity of her accomplice. However, following Monday, when Mike and Barbara are brought into the Frederick, Maryland Police Department to be

charged in the case, Barbara's changed her story. It wasn't Mike, she said. It was a guy named Joe Dalton. They knew this was a lie, but investigators, you know, they have no way to charge Mike as long as she sticks to this lie, and she does, and they get released. Then three days later, Mike convinces Barbara to marry him. Wife number five. After their honeymoon, a counterfeit passing tour down the Florida Keys and back, excuse me, Barbara changed her mind again, now pled guilty, got 30 days. But since she was a schoolteacher, the judge allowed her to serve her jail time over 15 consecutive weekends, which was actually a nice break for her

to get away from Mike. At home, of course, he is forcing her to turn over her paychecks, sexually abusing her, degrading her, she's taking her car without asking, all kinds of shit. Dominance and control for this ugly little wimp of a man. He also is sometimes disappearing for up to two months at a time,

and he will often take her car when he does disappear. By the end of 1980 he had put 60,000 miles on her car and when Barbara raised any objections he would tell her that she was just a paranoid. She was a paranoid schizophrenic. He would fucking abuse her, you know, whatever. November 1st 1980 25-year-old Diane Overton now brushes her curly dark blonde hair, pulls on a burgundy dress, slips on some high heels, heads out from her parents' house in Knoxville, Maryland to the California Inn in Laurel, about an hour and a half away.

Diane was a data entry clerk, and she and her friends liked to go out at night to make their long weeks a little more exciting. This night, however, her friends had canceled on her, but Diane still wanted to go out, and so she goes out on her own. A band called Summer was playing and she had a crush on the drummer. Not wanting to miss her chance to see him, Diane arrived around 9 30 p.m. Ordered a tequila with some orange juice. The drummer came over, talked to her, but the conversation soon

lagged and Diane, disappointed, has another drink and then decides, well, time to go home. It's about 1 30 when she leaves. She's driving her new old Forenzi white with black stripes. This beautiful car somewhat soothes her frustration. She could tell it was never gonna work out with the drummer. In Frederick she makes a turn onto the road that will take her to Knoxville. Stopping at an intersection she sees a light flash behind her. Doesn't pay any attention but a few miles later sees a flashing red light in her mirror, and here is the short blast of a siren. It's a cop.

At least that's what she, or any other reasonable person, would have thought. Pulling onto Route 180's narrow shoulder, she watches the fake police officer approach her, brandishing his silver badge. He told her to pull down the next road to her right. That made Diane suspicious. Instead, good for her, she drove into town. Stopping at the bottom of the hill in front of Miller's General Store where there would likely be more witnesses. The officer pulled in behind her, but not officer. This time, she can make him out more clearly. Black hair, receding hairline,

dark framed glasses, dressed in a blue suit. Overall, fucking wimp vibe. He asked her to get out of the car. She wanted to refuse, but she thought he was probably trying to figure out if she'd been drinking. Arguing wouldn't do her any favors on that front if he was a cop. So she got out. Now the cop told her to turn off her car's engine. As she turned to reach it for the ignition, he slapped a pair of handcuffs on her wrists. The cars wanted, was all he said, as he pushed her back into his car. She tried to resist screaming and kicking, even bit his hand when he put it over her mouth. Once she was in the car, she kicked it in with her high heels, trying to keep him from getting in. When he reached for the ignition, she kicked his hand off of it, but soon he was able to overpower her and get in.

But now the car stalled. Love this. In the cops' momentary confusion, Diane managed to get the door open, but it was backed up against a cement wall. Fucking sucks, she's not catching any brakes. She doesn't give up. The man now gunned the car in reverse. Diane was flung out onto her side, out of the car, where the passenger door nearly decapitated her then,

just missed her by inches. And now this maniac throws the car into drive, hits the gas, he's coming right for her, about to hit her. Not knowing what else to do, she leaned at an angle into his oncoming fender, used its momentum to bump her up and out of the way like a fucking crash test dummy. Then she hits the pavement, when she pops back up, she's looking across Route 180, sees him circling the gas station, ready to come after her again. Luckily, she can still run and she does.

She runs for a nearby concrete staircase, soon hears footsteps on the pavement behind her. He's coming for her, thinking fast. She quickly hides, hides well. Unable to find her, he jumps back in his car and finally he drives away and Diane bangs on the door of some people she knew collapsing into their teenage son's arms. Fucking hail Diane Overton. That's like something out of a movie. Mike of course not just gonna give up on attacking women after this failed kidnapping attempt. The very next month December 11th 1980 a 27 year old Italian-American mother of two named Maria Santini arrived for her job as a sales clerk in

a clothing shop in Willingborough New Jersey. A little small town on the fringe of the Pine Barrens. We've been to the Pine Barrens so many times. Look here now. After listening to the Daily Frank Sinatra Hour on the radio station WPEN on a drive over, she opened the store. Let alone customer came in. A man wearing black sunglasses, dark business suit, and a trench coat. He's carrying a black briefcase.

In a soft, distinctly southern accent, he asked if the manager was in. Maria said no, but she'd be happy to provide her telephone number. She turned to the counter to grab a paper and pen. When she turned back around, she saw a double-barreled, sawed-off shotgun pointed at her. This is a robbery, the man said. Open the registers. After she gave him the money, he then told her to lie down on the floor with her head down. He tied her hands and ankles with rope before taking the $148.55 in cash.

Then he said he was going to take her to a rented house outside a nearby village called Browns Mill and rape her. He said he only wanted sex. Only. He's a maniac. Don't worry ma'am. Not going to hurt you. It's not going to be a big deal.

I'm going to aintly rape you. No lube. But you will barely feel it. Then I'm gonna drop you back off and you can carry on with your day. No big whoop. Well, Junior Micropene unties her ankles now before marching her out the front door to his vehicle. After about 50 minutes later, they arrive at an unfurnished house where he removes her clothes, asks her if she's ever had sex before. I love what she says back. She goes, well I've been married for eight years. He then says that he was married, had several children, and had never done anything like this before. I don't know he's playing some fantasy role here. Then he said he was a quote transvestite and

they like bondage and dressing up in women's clothing. With her all tied up he left. Minutes later he returned wearing a yellow mini skirt now and some high heels. Then after undressing her and rubbing her feet and her butt like he's fucking a masseuse, I guess now, he then took some nude pictures of her in different bondage poses. Said he'd seen some photos in a magazine that inspired him, thought it looked very fun. Then he led her into the bedroom, had her lay on the bed, gave her some shoes to try on while he

photographed her again. He tied different ropes around her for each picture, including one arrangement he called the Chinese hog tie. Then he got onto the bed with her, started kissing her breasts, rubbing her vagina with his hand, and then abruptly just stopped and said, I'm not getting anything out of this. Then he covered her up, had her put her clothes back on, led her back to the car before letting her out in the New Jersey Pine Barrens, and then he asked her if she needed some money for a phone call. And she was like, no, I'm good. And then he just drove off. What is happening? I hate this dude, but he's also clearly mentally ill. She eventually made it to the police where

she reported the crime. Detectives would find some strange information later. The store had been the location, the store that she worked at, been the location of an almost identical crime a year earlier, October 10, 1979. On that day, a dude pulled a handgun on a clerk, a different clerk than Maria, but she refused to go into the back room as he instructed. So after biting her hands and feet and taking 60 bucks in cash, he just left. Was it possible the same man had returned a year later? Detectives thought so. They thought that he wanted a second chance to get the crime quote right. Also that December Barbara was reaching a breaking point in her marriage with this fucking creep. She and Mike went to visit

Mike's sister Linda and her family in New York for Christmas. Linda had taken Barbara's side and said whatever he's involved with you better get out if you don't want him to hurt you. All right she knew on some level who her brother really was. A few weeks later January of 1981 Mike got pneumonia and Barbara saw this as her chance to escape. She dropped him off at a hospital in Arlington and just fucking took off. Undeterred, it's not like Junior ever really cared about his wives on any emotional level. Once he's better and discharged, Mike gets right back to moving around the country, passing fake bills, attacking women throughout 1981, also 1982. Who knows how many women he

hurt during that time that we just don't know about. On February 23rd, 1982, he identified himself as Roger Collin Blanchard at the Drury Inn in Nashville. Stayed there later that summer, he was Robert T. Trombly in Little Rock, Arkansas, where he traded a Vermont license for an Arkansas one and listed his new address as 5517 MacArthur Drive. Then he purchased a handgun. By the end of 1982, he'd hit businesses and banks in 44 different states and passed more than

130,000 of his fake dollars. Damn! Now he was really irritating and embarrassing the Treasury Department. They had a couple more witnesses now and from these descriptions the Secret Service produced a set of composite drawings that were sent to field offices and also to nearly every mall in the US and like the BSU had done before they would now put together a profile of this guy. The mall passer was always neatly clothed, but not necessarily tastefully or expensively. Wore a lot of polyester, used disguises like beards, mustaches, and wigs. Occasionally colored his hair. He avoided male and older female clerks,

preferring to only give his fake bills to young women, preferably attractive young women, presumably so he could distract them with conversation as they rang up and maybe consider them for future kidnappings, but they don't know this right now. Most confusing thing about him was his ability to move enormous distances very quickly. He seemed to travel across the country remarkably fast. They thought maybe he's a trucker, maybe he's a commercial pilot, traveling salesman. It was hard to narrow down where he was even on a single day. Bills once turned up in Jacksonville, Florida and Mobile, Alabama, 400 miles away, same day.

So where was he, really? They still, despite their efforts, weren't close to catching him for counterfeiting, but maybe he'd get caught for something else. He, of course, had not stopped committing sex crimes. April 27th, 1982. Now a mild spring day in Bossier City, Louisiana. As per usual, it was humid as hell, meaning the 79 degree temperature felt a lot more than that, but there was a slight breeze that made the weather tolerable.

Jean McFall, a real estate agent from Alabama, was in the middle of her staff meeting at the office of Norman's Realty on Meadowview Drive when someone identifying themselves as Dr. Zack from Midland called the office and asked for her by name. Jean dressed professionally in a red suit and white blouse was eager to make a sale. She was 40 years old, recently separated from her husband Richard. All right, is that the first Richard we've had in this one? First dick? Okay. Still that didn't mean she was about to skip out on the meeting, but when Dr. Zach kept phoning, she slipped out. He said he was looking for a new house in the area and wanted to purchase soon. His money was no object. They planned to meet at the Beauxer Sheraton Motel, five miles away from the office. From there, Jean drove

her 1980 Pontiac Phoenix to the Green Acres place, a new subdivision. Witness would see a man get out of her car about five foot ten, neat grain hair, long thin nose, wimpy, tiny dick energy. He got back in the car after Jean had retrieved the keys for five houses she planned to show him and then the two vanished into the subdivision. Her boss Norman Hood started getting worried about Jean about two that afternoon. He had an employee drive to the Sheraton where they found Jean's car parked in the back. Car was empty except for a pair of shoes Jean had worn that day. At that point, Norman made two calls to the police and to Jean's pregnant 21-year-old daughter Karen.

Oh my god, so sad. Doug Payne was the first Bossier City PD officer to report to the subdivision. Having had two years in the homicide division, he thought it was more likely Jean and this Dr. Zack had taken a liking to each other and decided to go on a little date. He ordered that her car be put under surveillance for the rest of the day but then nothing happened and then Jean didn't show up at work the next morning. So now they know something's wrong. Something's gone very wrong. That morning Norman began to look through the five houses Jean had planned on showing Dr.

Zack, Doug Payne and his partner Glenn Sproles joined him. They looked through the first house, nothing. Second house, nothing. Third house, also nothing. Except for some little pieces of insulation on the floor. Had somebody gone up into the attic, they decided they should check. They pulled down the ladder and Sproles stepped up and soon he shouted, Oh shit, she's here. Just a few feet above them latched to a rafter brace with the length of denim wound tightly around her throat was Jean McFall's dead body. Her eyes were still open. She was fully dressed.

Blood had poured out of two deep puncture wounds to her chest. There was no sign of a struggle. Probably the perpetrator had taken her by surprise. After stabbing her twice, he cleaned his knife off on her white blouse. A coroner would later determine that she had not been sexually assaulted and nobody could figure out a motive for this crime. And I wonder, did Junior kill women like this as some way of taking out the anger he still held towards his mother? And then were the rape cases unrelated to any feelings he had towards mom. Right? Just very different crimes. Agent J. Michael Watson of the FBI would consult with the case determining that the killer quote was experiencing a great deal of stress prior to the

murder. This type of stress may have been caused by the loss of a loved one such as his mother or wife and children. His anger was clearly directed at a woman and McFaul was picked by him specifically. He is not living with a woman now but McFaul was picked by him specifically. He is not living with the woman now but has been married in the past probably more than once. He did not know the victim but planned out his crime one or more days in advance. The offender will not live in the general area, he added, saying that Dr. Zack had left Gene's car at the Sheraton to throw the police off his trail.

In addition, Doug Payne determined that the killer had found Gene McFaul from a photo that appeared in a Normans newspaper ad. She'd also been helping out with the realty event at a nearby mall a few weeks before. Maybe the killer saw her there. Crime was deeply unnerving to the Bossier City's residents. Many calls came in including one that claimed that the suspect can be viewed every night as an anchorman on a cable TV show. That's weird. I know who did it! The fucking guy watching the news! But in the end it was one call that gave the investigator some important info. Came from Mrs. DeMoss, a woman who ran a boarding house in the area. She described how just before noon on the 27th she noticed a 40-ish year old man

parking what looked like a gold late model Toyota on her street. And he then approached on foot. Introduced himself as Dr. Zack said he was interested in renting a room for himself and for his wife Mrs. Zack and their three-year-old daughter. They left, didn't come back and the man she described looked a lot like exactly like Mike DeBarta-Laman but still he remains on the loose. By April 28th, 82 just hours after police officers discovered Gene's body Mike was already 800 miles away. That day he hit the South Park Mall in Charlotte, North Carolina again. East Ridge Mall in neighboring Gastonia, passing bills totaling $600.

Unfortunately for him, he'd leave a total of nine store clerks who had spotted him along with other witnesses. With their help, Secret Service redid the sketches, produced a portrait of a middle-aged man neatly groomed with a distinctly long nose. Still this description did not lead to actually identifying the slippery son of a bitch. So let's now fast forward a couple months and meet somebody else. In the fall of 82, Secret Service agent Dennis Foos had just transferred from Seattle field office there to the criminal squad in Washington, D.C.

He had lived and worked in the Capitol before. Years earlier earlier he'd gotten his start in the White House Communications Agency, which oversees all White House and presidential communication needs. Then he joined the Executive Protective Service in 1970. There, among other things, he'd be trained as a member of the service's first counter sniper team. Then after moving to Seattle, where he had grown up, he answered a call for agents to relocate in 1982 and that sent him back to DC. That was where he first learned about the mall passer. Quickly the mysterious figure became an obsession of his.

An obsession he shared with fellow agents, Greg Mertz and Mike Stevens. Greg would investigate a tip-off in September of 82 when a woman at a small local airport reported that a man emerged from an airplane, asking if she could take him to a nearby mall. But even under hypnosis, the woman could not recall the airplane's tail number that would identify its pilot. Well, the agents would follow a pilot who somewhat fit Mike's description for a little while after this,

but he was not passed any fake bills, so they then moved on. By Christmas of 82, Mike's bills had reached far and wide all around the country, but the mall passer remained elusive. However, the agents were able to start to predict his travel patterns. Based on the number of visits to grocery stores around DC agents determined that the man lived in that area. Why go grocery shopping if you were going to leave town a day later? Still they didn't know exactly where this fucker was. And now let's hear about another one of Junior's crimes. And now let's hear about another one of Junior's crimes. April 13th, 1983, 36-year-old David Starr, manager of the local Columbia Savings Bank, drove home to his 42-year-old housemate, Joe Rapini, who was sick with a fever. Joe was a blood chemist at nearby Park Ridge Hospital,

and he had a vascular disease that often kept him home from work. He normally had head and chest pains, but also dealt occasionally with fever, diarrhea, and vomiting. This poor bastard. Once at home David called Joe's doctor, arranged for the two of them to bring Joe to the emergency room where they arrived at 630. There the doctor gave Joe a sedative, made another appointment for him to get a GI scan on Thursday. It was 930 by the time David and Joe arrived back home. David pulled into their covered garage headed inside with Joe behind him. Immediately they noticed that their kitchen window had been broken and there was a stranger in their house. A stranger told him to

get on the floor, said they would be involved in a bank robbery. David as a manager of a bank knew exactly what to do in a robbery. He did a quick scan of the man, was later able to describe a ski-masked man, 35 to 40, about 6 feet tall, wearing a dark jacket, dark pants, very thin, held a gun police-style, hands extended, feet apart. The masked gunman led the roommates into the living room, where he handcuffed both men's wrists behind their backs. Then the men put pillowcases over their heads before informing David Starr that he wanted

at least 70 grand, all in five, ten, and twenty dollar denominations. Joe Rapini, he said, would be delivered to an undisclosed location until the ransom was paid. If everything went smoothly, Joe would be left behind in the trunk of a car where a passerby could rescue him. He then marched David downstairs, handcuffed him to a post while he dictated notes for Joe to write in his own handwriting. Before he put David in the basement, he ordered him to wrap his entire head with a roll of masking tape, which David did. He then had

to wait in this dark basement, his eyes covered with only small slits in the tape for him to breathe, as Joe was let out of the house. Two hours later, the man reappeared. This time he seemed anxious, a little shook up. He uncuffed David quickly. They reviewed their plan. The gunman left around three o'clock in the morning. Per the plan David was supposed to drive to Columbia Savings, wait until 8 30 a.m. when the vault was opened. Once he gathered the ransom he would look under a plan at the bank for further instructions. David did exactly as he was told. Arrived opposite the bank at 3 30 the morning, watched a small white automobile cruise by him at three different times, 4 5 and 7 a.m. At 8 20 he

walked into the vault, explained the situation to his stunned staff, was able to collect $37,920 minutes. The note under the plant directed him to the Ontario State Parkway, where he was ordered to retrieve a second message. There, the second note in Joe's handwriting, as was the first, directed him to go west on the parkway. Once again, David saw the small white automobile

that had passed him in the parking lot. Finally, he arrived at a burnout house on a garbage-strewn lot. He was supposed to put the ransom money on top of an old washing machine inside. He did and immediately returned to the bank, arriving in his office at 9.15. Nine hours later, police found Joe's car abandoned

in the parking lot of a large apartment complex. He had been stuffed in the trunk, just as the man had promised, but he was not alive. He'd sustained a severe beating, but that wasn't what had killed him. He'd taken two.32 caliber bullets to the chest, one had went through his heart. Subsequent forensic investigations revealed he had probably been killed while sitting in the front passenger seat and probably not when the car was next to the apartment complex Despite David's detailed description. The suspect was not found in the case went cold. So why did Mike kill Joe there? Did Joe try and escape that he reminded him of his dad? Did he just want to fucking kill him because he enjoyed it? He commits so many terrible crimes for so many different reasons it seems

After this murder the mall passer shows back up in North Carolina in April, April 1983. Fortunately on April 25th, three days before he appeared, agents had passed out sketches of the mall passer at the Eastridge Mall in Gastonia, North Carolina. Dressed in gray corduroys and a blue and gray knit pullover, he walked into the mall's B. Dalton bookseller about 730 p.. Man, fucking B. Dalton. Been a long time since I've heard that name. They've been gone for a dozen years now. After a moment, the man picked up a $3.95 paperback,

brought it to the cash register, asked the manager, Dean Huey, to hold it behind the counter while he went and got some money. 20 minutes later, he then reappeared, offered a $20 bill. It looked suspicious, but Dean accepted it. And then the man walked out of the store. And then Dean had a change of conscience and decided to follow him.

Longer he followed him from store to store, the more he became convinced this dude was the mall passer he'd heard so much about. But when he paged the mall security guard, nobody answered. Well, it turns out the guard's pager was fucking broke. Good job, guys. This dude just keeps catching breaks. As Dean scrambled to figure out who to alert, the mall passer slipped further and further away. Finally he's able to message the woman monitoring the CCTV's Barbara

Alexander. She then relayed the message to Atchwall Dean, a planes closed detective who now also began following the mall passer and around 830 p.m. the mall passer seemed to realize he's being followed gets quote jittery a Clerk in a toy store later remembered that he was actually shaking Meanwhile at Swadene kept tracking him finally ended up outside in the parking lot and there she caught the license plate of his car Ryp 87 as he drove away a North Carolina plate. Did they just get a big break? They're gonna catch him now I know fuck no. No, he stole that plate. The detectives later find that plate

had been taken from a car in Windixie parking lot. Later that night the mall passers car and a stolen plates vanished. Mike spent the night as Maurice R. Paquette of 82 Albion Street Wakefield, Massachusetts when he checked into a hotel. He's got so many fucking fake IDs. Then three days later, he's buying stuff again with more of his fake money in the Lenox Square Mall in Atlanta. Then the next weekend, he's in Columbia, South Carolina spending more money there. May 11th, he hit the Fairgrounds Square Mall in Reading, Pennsylvania. Then it's off to Lynchburg, Tennessee. Oh, no, I'm sorry. Lynchburg, Virginia. I don't know why. I just was like, no, it's gonna be Tennessee.

Southwestern, Virginia. Secret service, new from years just was like, no, it's got to be Tennessee. Southwestern Virginia. Secret service knew from years past that an appearance in Lynchburg typically either meant men, they studied him so hard. Typically either meant he had a, would now head back into North Carolina or head to Tennessee, Arkansas or Texas. They decided to go with Tennessee on nothing more than a educated guess, a hunch really specifically the cities of Bristol Johnson County and Kingsport to hope for the best. And they right their hunch paid off. May 24th 1982 Mike appears at the Johnson City Mall where he buys a blue and white hat

from a clerk named Melissa Cloyd then he heads to the Miracle Mall where he passes 13 more of his fake $20 bills then he heads to a B-Dolls bookstore asked a clerk if they had any city maps at Kingsport he selected one put, put it on the counter, said he'd be back in a few minutes. Then he comes back, hands her 20. Looks fake, because it is. She tells him it looks counterfeit, asks him if he had gotten it from anybody. He said, yeah, I got it from a national shirt shop. His wife had taken it, I guess.

She said she would need to put in a call and report it. And then she saw him snatch the bill back and while she's On the phone he disappears from the store mere minutes later criminal investigator Harold E. Gilreith from the Kingsport Police Department arrives at the bookstore telephones TJ Bondurant head of the Secret Service field office in Knoxville and they agree that Knoxville Likely to be the next target and they wait for him again. Just fucking hoping he would show back up again. And he does. Before he got there, at 2 p.m. May 24th, TJ Bondurant arrived at Westtown Mall in Knoxville. Another agent, Pete Allison, headed south for the newly opened Foothill Mall, arriving at 2.45 p.m. Both men in their respective malls proceed to talk to clerks and shop owners

about the mall passer. Then just minutes later, the mall passer walks into a store called Walden Books. And another now defunct bookstore he used to love. An employee named Donna Medor spotted him, instructed her assistant to call the Secret Service while she sold him a book. Man, good on her. Good job, Donna. Pete Allison gets the alert. The agent busts through the mall doors, dashes into Walden Books.

Lieutenant Ron Duffin of the mall security forces is already trailing Mike DeBarta-Leben on the other side of the mall now. Pete Allison catches up and the chase is on. Mike breaks into a run. Luckily, he's not very fast. He's fucking wimpy, but his tiny dick doesn't fucking throw off his, you know, strike, which is an advantage. So maybe it was kind of hard to catch him. He clears the doors, darts to the left only to run straight into two police officers, tells them he had been cleared by the guys behind him and they're like, uh-uh, they hold him. They slam his weak wimpy Michael Pena ass against the car. The mall passer has finally been caught.

Hail Nimrod. But now investigators have to assemble the chaos of the last several years into a coherent narrative to make sure he doesn't get back out on the street. And that's not gonna be easy. May 28th, Agent Greg Mertz looked through Mike's belongings at a landmark mini storage locker on Edsel Road in Alexandria, the facility nearest to Debar DeLeben's apartment.

There he found dozens of receipts that hinted at a network of stashes of fake cash. Also spotted an audio tape marked Karen, C-A-R-Y-N, name of his fourth wife. He pushed play and immediately a woman's screams filled the room. She's sobbing, what are you gonna do to me? No, what are you gonna do to me? Please, please tell me, please tell me, what are you doing? Tell me. me come on a male voice drawled. Oh, please don't do it again You're gonna be a crybaby, huh? No, no, I won't she whimpered but a moment later. She started screaming again, please please untie my hands

Please Mike don't fuck me in the ass. I wouldn't do something like that to you. Don't fuck me in the ass Greg is dumbfounded. What the fuck is this a counterfeit case? He's like what the fuck is going on? In total, the tape is in a half hour long, half an hour of Mike brutally, roughly sodomizing, sexually torturing his wife, Karen, as she, or as he, excuse me, fucking giggles over her agony. Please let me die, she pleads at one point. Let me die. Let me die. Let me die. Why can't I die? Why can't I die? Why can't I die? Then Mike says my mother died. I wish I were her she says I wish I were her and not me I wish I were her. Oh god. I want to die. Why don't you do it?

Agent Greg Mertz he feels sick to his stomach Also, obviously they're dealing with somebody a lot more criminally deviant than a typical counterfeiter Later that morning agent Dennis Dennis Fuse arrives, also listens to the tape and discovers how Deep Mike's identities run. All the fake names he had given were consistent with the respective fake addresses, most of those leading to motels for forwarding services which were connected to other addresses. This guy was very methodical. They also found a roster of sex workers in his contacts including Tara, a woman who said she had serviced him on four or five occasions around various places in DC and Northern Virginia.

She'd later tell them that sex with him was actually never strange, but that he was fond of speed and coke. Agent Foose also found a bunch of notes in the storage locker, over a hundred notes that were crude appraisals of women he had encountered at random, like Brown Dodge Challenger, 5'3''Blonde, Big Tits, Nice Ass, Pretty Face, or 16? 5'10'140, Blonde, Face, 5, Ass, 3-4. Along with that note was her address and name, Nora Thomas. It was hard to tell what was real for investigators, notes corresponding to real women that is, and what was fantasy. There were literally hundreds of other crude typewritten notes, some his own amateur written pornography like, get your back down bitch, tilt your ass up. He shouted as he

pushed brutally on her trembling little waist. And all this was found in just one of Mike's storage lockers. Inside another storage locker in suburban Manassas, about 20 miles from D.C., they found Mike's multi-lith 1250 partially dismantled, mixed with debris where plates, inks, and over $200,000 in counterfeit 20s. It should have been the ultimate moment for the Secret Service. They had everything they needed for conviction now. They had all Mike's equipment, but it looked like it was just the beginning. In addition to the pornography, the tape of Karen, the strange files, notes on women,

the second storage locker contained six handguns. There were also a bunch of knives, razors, other cutting tools, women's underwear, seven more license plates, a number of women's driver's licenses, numerous wadded balls of tape that had women's hair stuck to them. Numerous wadded balls of tape that had women's hair stuck to them. Jesus, the evidence collected filled up 144 different cardboard boxes. Now the Secret Service understood they likely had a very, very different kind of criminal on their hands. Maybe a serial killer. How are they going to track down all of his crimes when nobody they knew of had come forward? Secret Service agent Jane Viseris decided it was time to approach the FBI.

They weren't set up to investigate this type of criminal, right? They felt they were out of their depth. But without proof that the crimes had taken place, at least their standard of proof, the FBI declined to investigate. Vassaris now wondered if it was possible that the Secret Service could in fact investigate Mike's many crimes themselves. She and Dennis Foos took their proposal to acting assistant director, Joe Carlin. There they were surprised to get a drop-in by the Secret Service director himself, John R. Simpson. He didn't say much during their presentation,

but when it was over, he said they would get whatever they needed. That was good because the evidence they were turning up was looking scarier and scarier. One recovered note read, "'Plenty of rope, nylon, belt with O-ring for waist. Wrap-around shades. Rubber bands. Ladies trench coat with hood. Dark blue. Black. KY as in the lubricant. And car. Cameras. Man. Floods. Rainy weekend at best. Or floods. Rainy weekend best. Eye bolts.

Buzzer alarms. Panties to tear, makeup, eyeshadow, lipstick, hair curlers, nail polish, enema bag, say original statements, all caps." Plenty of SPD plus downers plus smoke for her plus laxatives. There were his endless bizarre plans written down. One, buy five acres in West Virginia mountains. Two, rent bulldozer, dig myself basement. Three, side of hill, soft dirt, no rocky ground. This is all in caps by the way too and misspelled. Play small self-contained trailer, complete with air conditioning, heat, power, escape, exit. That can be collapsed in a hurry with motorcycle at end of tunnel hidden for by land under other state

and by land under other out of state name junior with answering a SER service maybe for ad five by trailer plus place without anyone else knowing six room for I for, I don't know, PR, whatever that it stands for, place to park car hidden or accessible by motorcycle easier to hide. Then another note where Mike seemed to be contemplating a possible career change maybe. Everybody, here I am, for some reason this one's not in all caps.

Here I am depressed as to best course of action filled with doubt. Not a great amount of physical stamina, extreme hostility towards women, artistic nature, creative desires, oh he's an artist, intelligent, dislike authoritarian work conditions, rigid boss, hours, etc. Low in capital, beautician, hairdresser, yuck. Long hours on feet, around women all day, have to please women. Placed in position of subservient to women. Is he thinking about becoming a hairdresser? Bummer he didn't become a hairdresser for a while. That would have just been a very unexpected twist.

Though he seemed to hate all women, he had a particular loathing for his fourth wife, Karen. He wrote about the tools he wanted to use on her like 1. Whips, dildos, handcuffs, ceiling harness, upside down and water, etc. 2. AH harness, suspended shoulders. 3. AH platform, at correct angle to hold in place. 4. Two-handled broom device to AF with dildo while 34 and a half. 5. Photo and tape equipment. 6. The biggie! And then lots of exclamation points. Fuck.

He wanted her to tell him about her pain, he wrote, as she was being tortured, for her to, quote, convince me that you like it. Tell him how she felt humiliated and degraded, how he wanted to bite or whip her at moment of ejaculation, how he wanted to pull her hair,

as she said, arf,OW WOW or NAE and that of course all these statements had to be quote original. Are you fucking kidding me? I said are you fucking kidding me? Exactly Miles. There's something darkly funny about him wanting quote original statements uttered during moments of torture. It's just so fucking bizarre. Oh seriously? AHHHHH PLEASE STOP! LET ME GO! Is that the best you can do? It's so fucking hacky.

Come on! Oh please God no! Why are you doing this? That's so lame! It's been said so many times before. Come on! Try something like... Oh wow! That's... oh my God that's a huge cock!

You must be half-elephant. And we both know which half is the elephant, the trunk you somehow keep hidden in your pants. It must be hard to see when you get a boner, cause your giant dick has popped up in front of your eyes. That's what I'm looking for, okay? That's some good original shit. Come on. I'm trying to fill some high quality porn here. You just give me the fucking amateur hour.

Because of Junior's strange abbreviations and references in his notes, the task force forwarded dozens of pages to the FBI for analysis. KRK, the bureau included, probably meant kidnap, rape, kill. the bureau included probably meant a kidnap rape kill. Well SMB stood for a sadomasochistic broad slash bitch. FM was funny money. BB was black beauty slang for type of amphetamine. BL, BLD, BLDE, BLNDE all meant blonde. That's weird they had so many acronyms for blonde. And AF one of his most used acronyms meant ass flick okay

even with all this information the task force knew they couldn't just send out a description of what they found what they suspected the bar to lay been and done and just wait around for cops from around the country to come to DC to dig through boxes evidence so they developed categories of evidence right guns female clothing maps notes newspaper articles, jewelry, books, etc. This would be essential in case any police department wanted to see a specific kind of evidence while trying to solve an open case. All the paper evidence was photocopied, organized. Eventually there was a 200 page index of all the evidence of

Mike DeBard Laban's crimes. Jane Viseris' husband John, also a Secret Service agent, would computerize the information into a customized Apple computer with the help of a squad of data entry clerks. The data entry alone took 10 weeks with some clerks working 16 hours a day. In the end, they compiled a huge dossier on where Mike DeBardelaben had been at any given time and what he'd been doing. If the police department wanted to know where he'd been on September 23rd, 1981, for example, the computer could spit out Albany, New York. Or he could put in a motel and receive the dates DeBartolaben had stayed there, and the

names he had stayed under wall there. Okay, after all that, do you still remember where we are on the timeline? If you said the summer of 1983, you're fucking incredible. The day after Mike's arrest, May 25th, Dennis Foos had sent a teletype to all Secret Service field offices revealing the preliminary info in the case against the mall passer. Then an update was sent on June 20th, June 3rd excuse me, confirming that Mike de Bardelaben was the mall passer and much more. The teletype described him as an accomplished con artist

and may be involved in fraud, forgery, or sex-related crimes of a violent nature. On June 14, 1983, a federal grand jury in Knoxville indicted DeBarta Laban on six counts of passing and possessing counterfeit currency, two counts of firearms possession by a felon, and one count of carrying a firearm during the commission of a crime. He would then hire local criminal defense lawyer James Jim A.H. Bell to represent him. Meanwhile, Dennis Foos received an important call from Harold Bibb, a Secret Service agent out of Shreveport, Louisiana. Bibb told Foos about the still unsolved 1982 murder of real estate agent Gene McFall. Bibb who lived three blocks from the house where Gene was murdered, had seen DeBarta Laban's picture in the newspaper and said he matched the

witness descriptions of Gene's killer. Bibb asked if it was possible that DeBarta Laban had been in the area around the time of the murder and he sure as shit was. Good thing they had that database. Just before the killing, the mall passer had struck off of Interstate 20, which continues directly into Bossier City. Dennis Fuse was beyond excited. Bibb said that he'd send up Detective Doug Payne of the Bozher City PD who wanted to see if the denim material found around Gene's neck matched the dress or some other garment found in the 144 boxes evidence they'd removed from those two storage lockers. He agreed to come to DC in early July. And Doug had other information. During his search of real estate murders, he had come across another slain in Barrington,

Rhode Island that seemed very familiar. Or similar, excuse me. 52-year-old Edna McDonald had been murdered in April of 1971. Just before that, a man had shown up in Barrington and started asking various real estate agents to show him around some upscale properties. Edna was known as Terry due to her mother's maiden name of Theral. She was married to a local businessman, John G. McDonald, with whom she'd had four kids.

And on the morning of April 2nd, a man identifying himself as Peter Morgan had asked for Terry to show him a new colonial house, uh, up to a price of $60,000. $60,000 for a new nice house. That's fucking crazy. You know what? Humor me for two minutes here Maybe three but probably hopefully closer to for a highly informative side road into one of the real reasons I think political and social unrest has become especially intense in the US in recent years outside of the obvious reasons Did you know that since 1970 home prices

have increased by approximately 1608 percent in America? That's insane. Inflation meanwhile has increased 644 percent during that same period meaning the cost of homes way the fuck out of alignment with the cost of basic goods. You're not getting the fucking shed for 60 grand now. Even worse when adjusted for inflation the current federal minimum wage in the US of $7.25 an hour, over 40% lower than the minimum wage was in 1970. Which means comparatively, everything is a lot more expensive now than it used to be for the average worker.

Wages in general, so far behind what they used to be for the majority of workers. Not just minimum wage workers. I can make a whole presentation, but that would take too long, so I'm simplifying it. Although the real dollar minimum wage in 1970 was $1.60, when expressed in 2025 dollars, that increases to $13.05. Finally, to match the home buying power of minimum wage in 1970, the current minimum wage would need to be roughly $24.44 an hour for someone to get a house of the same size, same quality, same kind of neighborhood. And then there's the overall insurance nightmare that fucks with everyone. Health insurance, auto

insurance, home insurance, all of it, prescription drugs, increasingly unaffordable. The financial pressure on the average American is far, far, far worse than it's literally ever been in this country. And look into, you know, economists, it is currently on pace to get much worse still. All this creates an ominous financial cloud of doom hanging over the majority of Americans' heads. People who don't have parents, don't have an inheritance, that can help them get into a good job or buy a good home.

And while yes, of course, there are a lot of very important social challenges and political human rights threats that need to be addressed right now it's fucking pretty damn hard to deal with any of that if only a small percentage of Americans can actually afford the mental clarity and space to calmly fucking reflect on what is going on in the country and how to improve things because most people are stressed out living paycheck to paycheck continually on the edge of financial ruin if the so-called American dream is

so far out of reach you no longer have any real incentive to give a shit about your job to give a shit about being an American right apathy and anger are of course going to set in for reasonable people if the game is rigged and it's fucking rigged and that's why I think the biggest problem America is not a left versus right problem it's an upper 1% versus everyone else problem the top 1 an upper 1% versus everyone else problem. The top 1% owns 30% of America. So much lobbying power. The top 10% owns 70% of America. That's not aspirational. It's greedy and it's fucked. How do we fix it? We call shit out like

this. We post about it. We protest. We speak up. We get preachy. We make it clear that equity is what we want. And if we do, politicians will follow the lead. They need need votes and if they think fighting for this shit will get them the most votes they will That's how it works. Hail Nimrod fuck the real Illuminati the grifters and morally bankrupt oligarchs who control an exhausted delusion populace by continually Economically strangling them while waving American flags never sending their kids to foreign wars Telling us that given more power to corporations is in the best interest of the working man and working woman that's the real Illuminati right that's the fucking Bojangles I'm not a communist I'm progressive and just wanted to share some information because

I fucking actually care about people more than most politicians okay back to murder and escapism I Are you fucking kidding me? I said, are you fucking kidding me? I know, Miles! That was a bit longer of a detour than I probably promised, but I thought it was important. Don't fucking sass me. Terry the realtor showed the strange man we know as Junior several properties, but he wouldn't call back until April 27th, 1971.

Then they made an appointment to meet in Providence on the 29th. On that day, Terry went out with Peter, who then drove her home. Her two daughters were waiting as Terry came inside, promised that she'd be back in a bit. When she's done with Peter, she grabbed a flashlight, measuring tape, departed around seven. Well, by midnight, she hadn't come back. Next day, the realty company provided police with a list of three houses Terry might have visited the previous day

Second house at 24 heritage road still in development didn't even have electricity They couldn't get in that afternoon since Terry had the only key But that night the police managed to get in touch with the developer who passed another copy of the key along And in the basement Saturday find what is left of Terry McDonald She had clearly been murdered her body according to according to police, looked like, quote, a pile of rags. A length of cord had been secured to her neck, which was hoisted a few inches off of the basement's dirt floor. To Doug and Dennis, this sounded so similar to Gene McFall's case, and it proved that quite possibly the mall passer had been killing for a long, long time.

Sometimes he kidnapped and raped. Nearly all the time he sexually abused and degraded his romantic partners. Sometimes he held people for ransom. He constantly produced and spent fake money. Sometimes he murdered realtors. Other times he committed armed robbery. Dude was like five or six different kinds of career criminals all rolled into one. Jumping back into the timeline. Late June 1983, the Secret Service hears about yet another homicide case. This one comes from Rochester, New York, the metro area, a suburb of Greece, specifically. I don't think I knew there was a Greece, New York. The case of David Starr and his roommate, Joe Rapini, who had been murdered and found

in the trunk of his own car as we went over earlier. Task Force was soon able to prove that one of Mike's 20s had been used at a drug store across the street from the Columbia Savings Bank, May 26, 1981, two years before the murder. And on April 11, 1983, two days before the murder, he'd passed another bogus 20, west of Buffalo, 27 miles from Greece. Right? The possible crimes of them all pass or keep adding up. Later in 1983, Secret Service zeroed in on the one person they felt could most likely confirm a lot of the most horrible crimes Mike was suspected of committing, his fourth wife Karen, the woman he may have hated even more than mommy. Investigators were starting to believe that Mike had crossed over into an abuser and petty

thief to a true serial rapist and killer while he was with her. On Friday, August 5th, Secret Service agents got in touch with her. She was still seeing doctors and in a quote precarious Psychological condition due to all the abuse abuse she had suffered from Mike according to Greg Murphy her lawyer who would act as her liaison But still she agreed to speak told investigators about the string of scams. She had committed with Mike Karen wanted blanket immunity before she discussed anything further Even though the statute of limitations had run out on all the crimes she'd been an accomplice to. While investigators arranged her immunity, they grew impatient with us, you know, trying to speak with her more. And

Dennis Foods organized a subpoena, long-distance telephone calls to Karen's parents number. They found an address in a middle-sized community in the Midwest, quickly determining where Karen's house was. They determined that Karen worked as a computer store, and when they approached her on the afternoon of October 4th, as she left work, she turned around, immediately burst into tears. They determined that Karen worked as a computer store and when they approached her on the afternoon of October 4th as she left work she turned around immediately burst into tears. They showed her their badges. She said something haunting. I've seen too many of those to trust them. She wasn't able to calm down, blubbered that she knew that Mike had sent them to kill her. Finally once she could talk a little more coherently, she actually wasn't all that

coherent. First a personality named Paula emerged and introduced herself. Then, Melissa, who sounded eerily close to Karen's voice on the audio tape where she was being raped. This was clearly someone who had been deeply traumatized. Right? Mike had damn near completely broken her. In the local Secret Service office, Karen reappeared, but she wouldn't allow the tape to be recorded. Later though she will allow for a recorded interview on November 10th and in that interview she identified a few photos found in Mike's belongings as nude models at the naked eye. That nude modeling rental business he had tried out. Other ones including

women who looked drugged or even dead. Karen could not identify. She did know of places where Mike stashed money including a chicken coop in Pennsylvania. Also provided insight into Mike's drug use stemming from his illnesses. He was She did know of places where Mike stashed money, including a chicken coop in Pennsylvania. Also provided insight into Mike's drug use stemming from his illnesses. He was quote, always in pain, according to Karen, and was addicted to Darvon, codeine, and methadone. Now, let's back up to August real quick. August 8th, 83, Mike was found guilty at a federal bench trial of some counterfeiting

related charges, a trial conducted solely by a judge, no jury. One of six separate prosecutions stemming from his arrest in Tennessee. His sentencing was set for September. By this time the task force had also connected him to two homicides, Gene McFall, Joe Rapini, four bank kidnap extortions, the failed Ruth Flickinger scam, and even the Marshall Groom case, the CEO of the Potomac Bank and Trust Company in Vienna, Virginia. Mike could face at least two more trials for counterfeiting, one in Nashville, another in Charlotte and federal prosecutor Justin Williams in Alexandria was ready to indict

as well. But the task force now assigned to his crimes wanted to convict him of so much more. They had a new goal, they unanimously wanted to have Mike de Bardelaben executed. He was the worst, most disturbing, vile, disgusting individual they had ever investigated. They'd found at least 40 still unidentified women in photos, along with several more disgusting audio tapes. One was labeled Becky, featured de Bardelaben saying, Describe the pain. How does it hurt? Just exactly how does it hurt? I want you to tell me that you're fascinated by the pain another titled

goals was Mike describing his dream house slash torture chamber and one Mike played the roles actually before I move on to this next part he literally wanted to have a house with a huge incinerator in the basement so he could just burn up women's bodies when he was done with them and another audio tape Mike played the roles of both the torturer and the victim. Going back and forth weirdly in a deep voice and a falsetto. So he'd be like, I want you to do it. Do it, do it, bite it. Bite it, bite it. Okay, here goes. You're biting it right now. Oh, you're biting it right now. Oh, the pain sharp. I love the pain.

Bite it harder. It's so fucking crazy. He's doing this by himself. Suck it, bite it, make the nipple bleed. I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself. I'm a bitch. I'm a bitch. I'm a bitch. Bite, bite, make it bleed, rip it off, hurt me. Ah, you did it. This dude was fucking batshit crazy. That's, that's his original work. These, I'm sure we're so proud of. I gotta keep this tape. This is great shit. September of 1983, Wilmington, Delaware, FBI agents contacted the task force about Laurie Jensen, who'd been abducted in 1979. Seemed very likely that Mike had committed this kidnapping. I'm going to share a horrible thought before I continue. Sorry, this is just flashing in my brain. Most people would be smarter and just keep intrusive thoughts like this inside.

But I just pictured how great it would be because I also am probably insane. But I hate this guy so much and what he did. I was like, why can't I know this is fucked up and I understand why we probably can't do it. But in just like a magical world, since I know he did all this stuff, my punishment for him would not be execution. It would not be putting him in a cell forever. It would be castrating him like making sure he had no dicking balls. Just everything's gone. Just had a little hole to pee.

And and then also and then also I'd cut off all his fingers and his thumbs. So he couldn't like grab anything. And I'd also cut off all his toes. So he couldn't walk very well and he's kind of hobbled around. And then just kind of like fuck him up, you know, visually. Like cut off his nose, cut off his ears, cut off his eyelids so he can't even close his eyes and then like not allowing to wear clothes and just just let him you know everybody knows who he is and he and he just has to fucking hobble around is this mutilated fucking monster and That everybody knows why he's mutilated and there's no crimes You can do whatever just the populace can just do whatever you want to him. You want to throw rocks at him

Yeah, throw rocks at him. You want to set him on fire. Just set him on fire Again I know I should have probably kept that inside Just the populace can just do whatever you want to him. You want to throw rocks at him? Yeah, throw rocks at him. You want to set him on fire? Just set him on fire. Again, I know I should have probably kept that inside, but these are the kind of thoughts that pop into my head, whether I want them to or not, when I read this kind of shit. Okay. I'm not, I should edit that out, but I won't. Anyway, Laurie Jensen. That's where we're back.

All right. September of 1983, Wilmington, Delaware. FBI agents. They contacted the task force about Laurie Jensen. Who had been abducted in 79. Seemed very likely that Mike had committed this kidnapping. When interviewed, Laurie was a perfect witness. She gave them descriptions of what had happened to her exactly, including the make and model of his car. A physical description of Mike, including his tiny penis. Her voice also matched the one on the Becky tape. This poor woman. She arrived in DC on September 16th, the same day Mike was to be sentenced by Judge Robert Taylor.

The task force had quickly sent all the tapes to Judge Taylor. He had them in mind after hearing them, of course, when it came to the sentencing. And he gave him the maximum time, 20 years. Task force hoped to find more victims that might put him away for longer or get him a ticket to a lethal injection. They talked to several other women who'd reported being attacked and abducted in their cars before they managed to get away, including a woman named Michelle Wallace, who had fought off an attack from Mike when he'd pretended to be a cop and started to kidnap her when

she was in college. In late October, Mike would be charged with first-degree kidnapping, in Michelle's case. Around that time, he was also awaiting his second counterfeiting trial in Nashville, but would be momentarily transported to Baltimore, where Laurie Jensen's trial would be held. There investigators photographed him, took voice and handwriting samples, as well as head and pubic hair. He refused to cooperate, make any statements to the police. Remember this dude hates cops, truly despises all law enforcement because, you know, they've

victimized him. They've dared to arrest him over the years for horrible crimes. Soon detective Doug Payne of Bossier City would come up to talk to Mike through some clever flattery. Doug actually got a confession out of him that Mike had stolen a set of Louisiana license plates around the time of Gene McFall's murder and that he'd been on route 3 same road that Dr. Zack and Gene had taken to look at houses. He didn't confess to the murder, but along with an eyewitness's identification, Doug felt he now had the evidence he needed to

get him convicted of murder. January of 1984, a federal jury in Nashville convicted Mike of two more counterfeiting charges. Sentencing set for February, he was escorted to North Carolina now where he's facing yet another counterfeiting trial. February 29th, Judge John T. Nixon in Nashville getting ready to sentence Mike for his second counterfeiting trial. February 29th, Judge John T. Nixon in Nashville getting ready to sentence Mike for his second counterfeiting conviction there. Upon entering the courtroom, Mike literally kicked staff photographer Ricky Rogers in the knee. Such a tough guy. That didn't help his case, of course, and he gets another 15 years. Next he goes to Charlotte where Assistant U.S. Attorney Ken Anderson planned to prosecute Mike under a dangerous

special offender statute. March of 1924, police in Baldwin, Missouri informed the task force they'll be charging Mike with the assault on Sheila Grant. She identified a photo of him as her attacker. Three more women would come forward, Lori Cobart of Manassas, Virginia, who had been kidnapped in February of 1921, forced to give her a sail-in-a-blow job before he let her go. She would testify that Junior's penis was quote, quite small.

And Diane Overton, the woman who had nearly been run down by DeBarta Laban in 1978, is also there. The third is Mary Santini, the store clerk who had been assaulted and kidnapped in November of 1980. The one that was like, yeah, I've had sex, I've been married for eight years. June 6th, 1904, Doug Payne of Bojah City presented information about Mike to a 12-person grand jury who agreed to indict him for first-degree murder in the case of Gene McFall.

The next day at a press conference, District Attorney Henry Brown stated he would seek the death penalty. That same month, Elizabeth Mason, who had been attacked by a man called himself Owl in Fayetteville, heard about Mike DeBartolabin while investigators would decline to pursue her case, citing that there were bigger cases further ahead in the pipeline. It nonetheless added to the portrait of DeBarta-Leban as a serial sexual sadist. And just a few weeks later the murder of Edna Terry McDonald would be brought to the attention of the task force. But first, back on June 13th, the jury would go out on Mike's third counterfeiting charge, this one in Charlotte, North Carolina, related to passing bills at the Gastonia Mall. The jury would just take 48 minutes before

the return to verdict of guilt in all counts. Sentencing set for July. And as an interesting tie-in, guess who the judge was here? Judge Robert Potter, who in 1989 would whack televangelist Jim Baker with 45 years for that grifting fucks fraud conviction. July 7th, 1984, grand jury voted for an eight-count indictment against DeBarta Laban in the Maria Santini case. Two kidnapping, one for robbery, another for aggravated sexual contact, two more for making terroristic threats and two gun charges. Judge Potter would then sentence to Bartle-Abin on August 2nd. Potter would thankfully be

able to sentence him under the dangerous special offender statute. For this the prosecution had to present Mike not only as a counterfeiter but as a dangerous criminal. A guy whose personal library of porn included magazines like Girls Who Love It From Behind, Famous Anus, and Stuff It Up My Ass, Famous Anus is a pretty clever title, as well as many incriminating phonos, like one of a girl who looked drunk or drugged being penetrated with a Pepsi bottle. Jesus Christ. It appears to this court that the defendant is a sadomasochist, said the judge, a man without morals. He merged the eight counts against Mike into four, gave him 25 years in federal prison for each one to be served consecutively. His prison time now stood at 135 years. Late August

in Baltimore, he'd be arraigned for the kidnapping of Lori Jensen. Here, Mike would complain at length about his medical problems, say he was not getting treated fairly in jail, right, this poor baby. While Judge Walter E. Black did permit DeBarta Laban to be treated at a downtown hospital, did not seem very persuaded by Junior's claims and complaints. In Maryland, Mike would act as his own lawyer. That would not go well, as you can probably imagine, claiming that during various proceedings his Fourth Amendment rights had been violated. As a reminder, the Fourth Amendment protects people from unreasonable searches and seizures by the government, and Mike would say that the warrants the government had were for counterfeiting charges, not for kidnapping or sexual offenses. So who cares what they found in those storage lockers?

Right? They should have ignored it, because it wasn't what they were looking for. Can you imagine if that's how investigations worked? If the law was that fucking stupid? Sorry, Chief. Can't find any of the stolen goods in the storage facility. We looked everywhere. Seems like it's just nothing but a bunch of dead bodies. Just people look like they've been sexually tortured before being strangled. So I guess we're just gonna have to let the guy go. October 26, 1984, a Providence County grand jury indicted Mike DeBarta-Leban for the murder of Edna Terry McDonald, the realtor from Barrington, Rhode Island.

Mike's Fourth Amendment hearing began in Baltimore February of 1985, and it dragged on to March as Mike insisted on questioning every single witness himself. On March 18th, the eve of Mike's 45th birthday, Judge Black heard closing arguments. Mike argued that the things investigators had recovered, like the Karen tape, were, quote, of the most private nature concerning the sexual relationship of husband and wife, in the privacy of their bedroom, in the sanctity of marriage." Nothing about Mike's life had a shred of sanctity in it. March 25th, Judge Black ruled for the prosecution.

Evidence would be allowed. The Lori Jensen trial would begin Monday, April 29th. Judge Black presiding. Prosecution would rest his case May 1st. Mike read his closing statements May 2nd. He said basically he was only there because of a violation of his constitutional rights and he called his trial illegitimate and blah blah blah. Judge Black sent the jury out at 1202. The foreman returned with the verdict two hours later, 212. Guilty. Lori Jensen raised her clenched fists, At 12.02, the foreman returned with the verdict two hours later, 212, guilty. Lori Jensen raised her clenched fists, shook them briefly, nodded as she glared at the

back of Mike's head. Love it. May 22nd was Mike's sentencing date. There Mike would make another bizarre speech, accusing the task force of unfairly targeting him along with his ex-wife Karen, whom he described as having the integrity and morals of an alley cat. Judge Black also made a speech in it. He said release of this defendant at any time will threaten every woman in the country. He sentenced Mike to Bardelaben to a term of 180 years.

Consecutive to his counterfeiting cases. So he'd become eligible for parole only after 59 years when Mike would be 104. With that Lucy Alexander decided that she would rather not go through with a trial since her attacker would very likely be in jail for the rest of his life. Diane Overtone also decided not to go ahead with a trial. There was still the case of Maria Santini though, the 27 year old Italian mother of two who had been kidnapped, I should Italian, Italian-American who'd been kidnapped, sexually assaulted by Mike back December 11th 1980 Taken from a job as a sales clerk in a clothing shop in Willingborough, New Jersey Mike can be sent to New Jersey to face his fate for those crimes December of 1985 before Judge Paul R. Kramer and on Monday March 14th

The jury returned guilty verdicts on all counts. He's very unlikable. Everyone has given him guilty in all counts They were no doubt influenced by the played aloud goals tape where Mike said in part The central impulse to have a complete mastery over another person to make him her a helpless object of our will To become the absolute ruler over her to become her God to do with her as one pleases to humiliate her to enslave her our means to his end And probably to by Mike's summation speech, in which he called the prosecutor, Jim Ronca, quote, a young mentally ill power drunk sociopath. And he called the judge a sinister, vindictive, sadistic, depraved alcoholic

who cares nothing for the law or constitution or fair play. Judge Kramer's sentence was 60 years, with no parole eligibility for 30 and a half years to be served consecutively. His last criminal trial would be held in Manassas, Virginia regarding the kidnapping of Laurie Kober who in 1981 had been pulled into Mike's car forced to give him oral sex before being released. Hearings for that trial began December of 86 but the trial itself would not open until November 16th, 1987 in Manassas.

And though Mike couldn't have been more fucked at this point, with more than three centuries behind bars already to look forward to, he did fuck himself even more in a pretty funny way. He'd led Lori through the attack, acting as his own lawyer, trying to prove it was too dark to identify her attacker. And he asked, now during the incident inside this man's car, it was dark all the time, wasn't it? I could see," Laurie replied.

The interior lights were not on, were they? No. And there were no overhead interior lights, were there? No. The only car lights they had there was these little ones next to the door at the bottom of the door, right? Correct. Lee Millett, one of the prosecutor attorneys, began furiously scribbling now.

Lori had described the door lights in her testimony, but she hadn't described the size, location, or brightness of them. Mike was describing his own car, exactly, and handing the case an easy win. Lee Millett made sure to mention that to the jury. After discussion of less than 40 minutes, less time than most people need for their lunch break, they returned their verdict, of course, guilty on every charge. January 1988, the judge gave him life in prison on both counts. He'd been sentenced cumulatively to 375 years behind bars now.

And with Mike now firmly put away other jurisdictions wanting to save the victims' energies and taxpayer money, declined to prosecute. On March 8, 1990, the Secret Service investigation into the life and crimes of Mike de Bardelaben officially declared closed. In the late 90s, his little wimpy ass would be shipped off to the Supermax Federal Facility in Florida, Colorado, where he waged a series of unsuccessful appeals. Apparently, he liked to be known to other inmates there as Professor. Not sure how many would call him that. Hopefully none of them. Unless they added something to the title like like Baby Dick or Micropene or maybe

Dinky Dong. Sup Professor Dinky Dong. Sup Dr. Dicklitt. That would be that would be cool. Apparently when he made it to Colorado initially some mafia types there. Some powerful people took a liking to him. They knew about his money crimes, were impressed, but then they found out about his sex crimes and he was ostracized. And he spent the last decade or so of his life as a social pariah. Never stop being a fucking freak. According to a fellow inmate, this is like toward the last 10 years of his life, DeBarta Laban took to searching through law books for the most graphic

sexual abuse and assault cases he could find, took to searching through law books for the most graphic sexual abuse and assault cases he could find, especially those involving young girls, and he would read them over and over and over and memorize them. This inmate who asked not to be identified said, you know, a lot of guys in prison are strange. What makes Mike seem so different is his detachment, I guess you'd call it. I remember that every once in a while he'd take out his folder of magazine cutouts, pictures of various parts of women's bodies.

Then he'd sit on his bunk and play with the cutouts, moving them around and staring at them in kind of a trance. He'd always told me that all his cases were frames, that the feds had set him up, that all he'd ever done was a little counterfeiting. But I'll tell you, when he gets those pictures out and starts looking at them, you can just feel what Mike's all about. He's a scary dude. I sensed he was capable of anything. Anything. It's a damn good thing he's locked up. And then on January 26,

2011, DeBartolabin finally died at the age of 70 of pneumonia at the Federal Medical Center in North Carolina. His last words were, I mean, I mean, it's not like, it's not like weirdly small though, is it, Nurse? I don't know what his last words were. I hope as he tried to speak them, he choked on some shitty hospital food. And now let's get out of this timeline. Mike de Bardeleybin, the mall passer. This real life supervillain who never got a moniker related to the murders he committed, other sexually violent crimes.

Though he'd never be tried, he's been conclusively linked to three murders. Those are realtors Terry McDonald and Gene McFall and then also that random hostage Joe Rapini. The number of people he terrorized, whether over one evening, over a weekend, or over an entire marriage is far higher though. I wonder why he killed those three people but didn't kill the women he would kidnap and rape? Did he get off on having them live in fear of him, releasing the photos he had taken

of what he had done to them? Did he kill some of his rape victims but we just don't know about those deaths because their bodies were never found, never connected to him? Also, how had I never heard about Mike DeBarta-Leban before? You know, before our longtime researcher Sophie Evans randomly came across his name on some online list of real-life monsters. Why hasn't the true crime world caught on to him in the same way they've done with so many other maniacs? Is it because Mike was just fucking so much? Like hear me out. When we talk about serial killers,

we often latch on to a particular MO, a way of thinking. We talk about organized slash disorganized. We talk about the kinds of victims they were into. We try to understand their methodology to the fucked up haze of their savage minds. But while Mike had certain tactics and tricks he would return to again and again, he also was just all over the place. Was he a voyeur? Yeah. Did he like wearing women's clothing sometimes? Did he force his victims to do oral, anal, and vaginal sex? Yes, yes, yes. Was he brutal towards his victims? Sometimes. Was he weirdly polite to victims? Sometimes after he'd hurt them? Yeah. He was super obsessed with violent BDSM sex, but also super obsessed with financial crimes.

Not just counterfeiting but armed robbery, kidnapping, ransom. There was his fixation on control and manipulation within romantic relationships. He actually wrote out notes, drew up plans, left audio tapes about exactly how he liked to break women down. Like he was some especially demented pickup artist. Like some dark anti-hero worshiped by frustrated incels. Junior loved sex and money. Two other things that make up the very fabric of human life itself that organized to a large degree how we think about the world, how we treat people. In other words, his MO was everything. Everything he could tear apart he would. And that's a lot to digest, right? The scope of his crimes. He's just so broad. Maybe that's why his name is not very well known. is it because his name is DeBartolabin

not catchy doesn't roll off the tongue or Maybe he's not well known because he was such a wimp with a tiny wiener Right, who knows might have quite a bit to do with it Let's uh, let's head to the takeaways Let's head to the takeaways. Time Shuck! Top 5 Takeaways! Number one, Mike DeBartolabin had a long career as a counterfeiter, beginning way back in the 70s, leading to his arrest and imprisonment in 1976. Back in the row, with the government believing him dead in 1978, Mike redoubled his efforts.

Secret Service soon got a whiff of the funny money being passed all across the U.S. and one year alone he'd pass over, excuse me, $30,000 back when that was worth a lot more than it is now. Number two, once caught as the mall passer in the spring of 83, authorities made a surprising discovery. Among Mike's personal possessions were many things he used to make his fake cash, but also a bunch of items of a much more immediately concerning nature one bag contain handcuffs Giant dildo shoelaces a chain bloody panties lubricant There were also hundreds of photos of females most of them sexually explicit several Audio tapes that feature recordings of women being sexually tortured good god that man left a lot of evidence so much of it so disturbing Number three while nobody in Mike's immediate vicinity ever reported him,

uh, for the many abuses he reigned on his ex-wives, family, et cetera, it was clear early on that Mike had a particular propensity for violence. He regularly abused his family who believed that Mike would kill him when Mike was just in high school. Mike's younger brother, Greg, killed himself at the age of 19, possibly because of an argument or confrontation he had with Mike. If any of them had reported him, how many people might have been saved? Number four on January 26, 2011, DeBarta Laban died of pneumonia at the Federal Medical Center in North Carolina.

That's a strange legacy. Nearly four centuries of time in prison handed down to him by various judges put him away for the rest of his life. He left so many broken families in his wake. So many that once he'd been handed his various sentences it wasn't worth the taxpayer money to see the rest of his trials out. That's a prolific ass criminal. Number five new info where would you guess that the best counterfeit money is being made today? Apparently North Korea. Is that what you guessed? It was not what I would have guessed. Their forgeries are so advanced they're known as super dollars. The Intel is slightly shady, but North Korean defectors claimed at the factory where the notes are printed as located in the city of Pyeongsong and

as part of Room 39, a secretive organization that maintains a slush fund for the country's leaders. According to a 2009 report, at least 45 million dollars, well, fake super dollars, thought to be of North Korean origin have been detected in circulation. And estimates are that the country has earned from 15 to 25 million per year over numerous years, specifically from counterfeiting. The U.S. government has theorized that bills are generally spread in one of two ways, through North Korean diplomats in Moscow or before he died in 2018,

via the former chief of staff of the official Irish Republican army, Sean Garland, who was accused of moving the Korean money to Dublin where the notes would be exchanged for British pounds or actual real dollars. Or plot twist, has the US government itself been making and spending this money and blaming North Korea. Back on January 7th 2007 the Sunday edition of the German paper, Alge-Meine-Zeitung, challenged the official American statement and the accusations against North Korea. Their research suggested that the real source of the super dollars was a secret

printing facility close to Washington DC owned by the CIA. What? US government? Doing something criminal? Super fucking shady? I wouldn't be surprised. Time Shuck Top 5 Takeaways Realized supervillain Mike DeBarta-Leban has been sucked. Thank you to the Bad Magic Productions team for all the help in making Time Suck. Thanks to Queen of Bad Magic, Lindsay Cummins. Thanks also to Logan Keith helping to publish this episode and designing merch for the store at badmagicproductions.com. Thanks again to Sophie Evans for the initial research. Also, thanks to the all-seen-eyes moderating the Culturally Curious private Facebook page.

The Mod Squad making sure Discord keeps running smooth and everyone over on the Time Suck subreddit and Bad Magic subreddit. And now let's head over to this week's Time Sucker updates. Updates. Get your Time Sucker updates. For this week's first message, sent in to Bojangles at time suck podcast.com, we got a dirty hippie, Tyler, who sent in a message with the subject line of acid Acid King Story. Hey Dan and Lindsay and BM family, I've got a tale. Set up, I've been looking for land to rent where I could live in a trailer or camper. It's been an uphill battle, especially here in Maryland. But one guy answers my ad,

and we email a bit, and then we meet. Turns out he's very cool. Artist and musician with a lot of projects going on while also running a small airport. Meanwhile, a few days ago, I had listened to the acid king timesuck. In my 20s, I had read Tom Wolf's book and certainly always knew who Owsley Stanley was, though never did a deep dive like you did. What a great episode that was. So much fun. Anyway, since the episode, I've had Sonic Boom's song about Owsley in my head. Sonic Boom was one of the guys from Space Men 3. When he left S3, did a bunch of projects, including this one called Spectrum. I used to blast this song in 1996 when my hick racist cousin from Florida was over to bug him out. And yes, it needs to be played at volume 11.

Okay, so I'm talking with this guy who might be my future landlord. And we're talking about music and clubs and how we both lived in New York City for a long time. And he suddenly started saying something about Bear yada yada. Owsley and I'm in a haze with swimming eyes no doubt. Took me a second. I was like yes yes I know who you're talking about. Did you say he's your cousin? My inner soundtrack has had this song about him playing for days ever since that three-hour podcast I just listened to about him. Needless to say he confirmed some of the stories you told and said that Owlsley was a frickin genius. And now I know why this guy might rent land

out to campers. Because he's a bona fide hippie, because he's got bona fide hippie blood. So Owlsley's cousin might be my future landlord. I'll have to interview him. Get an oral history from him. He also knows some other rock icons like the producer Tony Visconti. Well hope you liked that. I did. Hope you like my fave song about Owsley. Xoxo. Tyler the Archivist. Tyler, thank you for the message. Had not heard of that band or that song. Appreciate the recommendation and yeah not surprised that that song is about him. It's a very trippy song. I've listened to it more times. I'm like what is this? Very cool that you met Owsley's cousins. Or cousins, excuse me. I don't know why I added plural there.

Of course, he owns some land. He'll rent out to campers. I bet he's a cool-ass landlord. Hope you get him to rent to you. Hope you enjoy the beautiful solitude of what I imagine will be living out in some nature. Hell yeah. And next up, let's hear from Meat Sack scholar Griffin Hayes, who sent in a message with the subject line of, I went to Cabrini University. Greetings, Dan, Lindsay and co. I've written a few times this show, but I've never had a personal connection to a Time Suck episode before. So imagine my shock when I'm listening to the Zizian Suck while driving today and I hear the words Cabrini University on the speakers. I went to Cabrini University from 2017 through 2020 and I spent time as a writer

and editor for the student newspaper mentioned in the suck, the Lowquitter. Also played for their short-lived baseball team. The campus is absolutely beautiful and as you mentioned community service was integrated into the curriculum. Basically every year we would take an education for the common good or ECG class. That's so cool. Which would focus on social justice, a topic often considered of community service, you know, it has community service elements. Some of them were glorified philosophy classes, but often it felt like you were really doing something and not just sitting in lectures every day. So it was very easy to buy in. You also mentioned the Catholic order who founded the university, but not their founder and the school's namesake. Mother Frances Cabrini was a sister in the Catholic Order who founded the university but not their founder

and the school's namesake. Mother Frances Cabrini was a sister in the Catholic Church who spent her life establishing schools and orphanages and fighting for her fellow immigrants in the US. After her death she was canonized by the Vatican and named the Patron Saint of Immigrants, which feels pretty relevant in this day and age. She also had a ticket for the Titanic's maiden, well, only, voyage. Shout out DJ Iceberg, well that's awesome. I forgot about DJ Iceberg.

But her travel plans changed at the last second, probably for the best. She'd make an interesting time sucker short-suck subject, I might add. As for my personal experience, I grew up in the reddest part of the reddest county in Arizona, so imagine my shock when on move in, when on move in day, my freshman year, two Muslim students come walking past in full burkas, covered head to toe. Pretty eye opening to say the least. I didn't graduate from CU mostly due to my struggles with learning to grow up. I got there eventually, but my experience there genuinely made me a better person.

And if I could do it all over again, I wouldn't change a thing. Sorry, not sorry about the length. Hail Nimrod, praise Triple M, hail Lusifena and roll calves forever. All the best Griffin Hayes. PS I just graduated with a bachelor's degree from Northern Arizona University eight years after I first started college. The path isn't always straight and never the same for two people. Find the one that works for you and grind your ass off until you reach the end of that thing. Ah man good on you Griffin. Good for you and grind your ass off until you reach the end of that thing. Ah man, good on you Griffin. Good on you for sharing your story, getting that degree. Congrats. Hail Nimrod.

And admitting that you had some growing up to do. Like all of us, you know, at some point in our lives. And thanks for letting me know that the founder of that school was someone who fought very hard for immigrants. Yeah, like you said, very topical, obviously. I am, like almost everyone else, not a fan of truly open borders. I'm a fan of legal immigration. And I'm also a fan of having some grace and goddamn basic human empathy for the millions of hardworking immigrants who are here illegally, are trying to become citizens, and actually are paying taxes despite the rhetoric.

If you don't know anybody going through this process, it's very fucking complicated. Some ICE agents grabbed the husband of a Mexican friend of mine last week. Straight up fucking kidnapped a dude who had done nothing wrong from the grocery store, then let him go the next day because he is in the process of becoming a citizen after many, many years. He and his wife, both from Mexico, own a home in Coeur d'Alene, pay fucking property taxes every year, pay income taxes, provide numerous jobs for other people through their business, are law-abiding, church-going, true Christians, awesome people, and more stories like that need to be shared. You know, wish we all had to take social justice classes like you did once, Griffin.

Love it. And now one more from clumsy fucking sucker Emma who sent in a subject line of Michael Peterson totally did it and I'm alive to prove it. Dear suckmaster and queen of the suck, my fam and I have been longtime fans. We first saw you at a New Year's Eve clean show in Denver. Oh yeah, that little recording for 800 pound gorilla little album. Anyway, that was our tradition before my youngest brother turned 18. Not 100% sure how you possibly made it clean. I had to go through a lot of old material. But we were immediately hooked nonetheless. We all live across the country now but call at least once a week, laugh about time-suck episodes. But now to my current fixation, Michael Peterson's

guilty ass. I just graduated law school in May and we were actually required to watch The Staircase on Netflix as homework in my evidence class. Every week we watched an episode, went over the evidentiary elements of the trial. It was a great way to learn about expert testimony, propensity, and improper character evidence. My professor understandably focused on all the things the judge got wrong and letting evidence of the escorts and the prior staircase death be presented to the jury. She also presented the owl theory like it was a valid explanation for Kathy's injuries. I never bought in and would get in heated arguments with her and my classmates. My brain could not put aside the fact that this dude

was a total loser, thief, and liar. Learning about his case made me realize I could never be a judge, let alone a criminal defense attorney. Cut to now, I took an insane tumble down my parents' stairs around Easter. I was drinking that night, or the night before, and I was obviously dehydrated, possibly still drunk. I stood up from my childhood bed, headed for the stairs, immediately fainted, and fell headfirst down 17 hardwood steps. Oh my god, that must have hurt. I guess you were out, but still. My poor mother was in the shower, heard my body hit each stair, came running out naked to see what had happened. Thankfully, I was unconscious and didn't witness the naked part. But we were quite My poor mother was in the shower, heard my body hit each stare, came running out naked to see what had happened.

Thankfully, I was unconscious and didn't witness the naked part. But we were quiet the scene. Long story short, I survived with just a gnarly concussion, broken nose, chipped tooth, bruised slash bloody face and body. There was blood where I landed, but nothing splattered on the walls or pooled near my head. My immediate thought once I got my bearings was, holy shit, Michael Peterson totally killed those poor women. Ultimately, we will never be sure whether Michael Peterson pushed me down the stairs. But given I survived a freak, albeit embarrassing swan dive down hardwood stairs with pretty minimal injuries, it's hard to believe that Kathy and Liz died in such a gruesome way. Anyways, had to share it because no one but my family quite understands

the importance of my fall. It was honestly for science and justice. Thank you for providing a way to connect with my family as we all move across state lines and grow up. If you end up reading this on the show, please shout out to my mom, Amy, dad Peter, and brothers Eben and Owen. They are my best friends. That's fucking adorable. With love, Michael Peterson's number one hater and certified staircase survivor, Emma. Emma, thank you. That's great.

Thank you for intentionally falling down the stairs as a legal experiment, violently, so you could prove a very important point. Amy, Peter, Eben, Owen, make sure to show Emma the fucking respect she's due, clearly. She's gonna be a great lawyer if she's willing to go that far just to make a point. God, good for her. And also tell her she looks beautiful because her face, you know, sounds like I'm pretty fucked up and she might still feel self-conscious. Emma, you're the best. Hail Nimrod. Thanks everybody for sending in the messages. for sending in the messages.

Well thank you for listening to another Bad Magic Productions podcast. Be sure rate and review this show if you haven't already. Please and thank you. Actually I know a lot of you have given ratings and reviews recently. I appreciate very much. Please don't dedicate your life to making counterfeit money, kidnapping people, holding for ransom, kidnapping other people to anally attack them, or to marrying someone specifically to destroy him. Right? That's pretty evil. Don't be evil. Do keep on sucking. Something really bummed me out about today's episode. I kept waiting for it to happen and it just never did. Just Junior, like never once, not even one time, slammed his tiny little dick in the

door and fucking severed it off. I mean it would have been so great for him to slam his little dick and I'm guessing tiny little nuts you know into some heavy door and then not be able to find them because they had rolled under a couch or something. If only all true crime sucks on sexual sadists could end with a nice firm door dick slam. What a great world that would be.