I’m not giving up — I’m just reloading with something drastically different.

Execution and Fear

There is a scheduled state execution for March 19, for inmate Gunches. I spoke with multiple officers who said they are going to personally execute him. Officer Zwick will handle the chemicals. He admitted the anesthesia can be diluted so the inmate suffers for hours, writhing in pain. He even said it’s happened before.

These same officers also work death row — and they also work my unit. This does not bode well for me.

Snitching for the FBI

I’ll be honest: I was a snitch for the FBI in New York in 1990, before I snitched in Tampa. In January 1991, I was assigned to Special Agent Kelly Thomas in Sarasota. Bonding with him was tough. He was unscrupulous, and I didn’t trust him.

My own unscrupulous behavior led me to steal from FBI counterintelligence. I took an IBM typewriter cartridge ribbon — you could reconstruct what had been typed on it. I also photocopied files from Agent Roger (Square 6) when others weren’t around, including informants’ names in the Bolshoi Ballet with Baryshnikov.

I also worked as an “office boy” at the U.S. Attorney’s Office in Tampa, on Zack Street, for Gary Montoya. I filed case files, boxed hundreds for storage, and organized records. That trust, I never violated.

The FBI office in Tampa was supervised by Karen Spandenburger. I first met her in Sarasota in 1991. She interviewed me for an hour, told me she once shot a suspect, and that she owned a Rolls-Royce and exotic car dealership in St. Petersburg. She impressed me — short black leather skirt, white blouse, pumps, gold ankle bracelet, perfume, and those intense blue eyes. She drove a Porsche 911. She invited me on the FBI sailboat in Tampa Bay. She spun my head. She was 31.

Karen authorized me to be placed on the “snitch payroll.” She even hinted I might get trained at Quantico someday.

Agent Kelly Thomas

Meanwhile, Agent Kelly Thomas married a 17-year-old girl he’d been dating since she was 15. He changed her info at the Sarasota County Clerk’s Office to make it legal. For a 30-year-old FBI agent and former prosecutor? That’s shameful.

Thomas despised me. He had one JCPenney suit, while I wore new suits. When we did interviews, witnesses treated me more professionally than him. That burned him.

There was also Agent Roderick Huff, a con man at a desk near mine, who lied on official documents about me. Revenge is best served cold.

The New Interrogations

Fast forward: November 9, 2023. The FBI pulled me out of prison. Agent James Krause and Agent Hannah interrogated me. They work Behavioral Science. They tried bonding tricks — questions about books, interests, body language. Classic Reid interrogation tactics.

But I caught the unconscious sneer Hannah gave me when she thought I wasn’t looking. Twice. A feminist sneer. Unforgiving.

She didn’t belong in a black pant suit and makeup. She’s an outdoors girl, smart, into deviant behavior analysis. But she’s not authentic. I told her and Krause I didn’t like them. I was assigned the wrong squad.

The mob squad — they think differently.

My Skills and Secrets

Back in the day, the FBI thought I was one of them. I swept offices for transmitters, changed alarm codes, and learned countermeasures. They thought I was an agent.

I raked an 8-pin lock in 10 seconds. I accessed the STU secure phone and red Top Secret file folder in the closet. I mentioned the National Reconnaissance Office and NSA. I had contacts at the Assembly of God Church in Colorado Springs, people who wanted to help me. The NRO specializes in photographs and imagery.

My Body and Brain

I trust everyone — but not the devil inside everyone.

When the FBI interrogated me, my blood glucose was in the 50s. I have diabetes. They took me before breakfast. I was forced onto psych drugs that almost stopped my heart, plus new cardiac drugs. I was confused, my logic was failing.

I also have brain damage. Officers hung me in LA County Jail. I was in a coma for days. It happened to others too.

Right Now

I haven’t been threatened in two or three days. Officers are inspecting my Styrofoam trays for threatening notes.

But for about 20 years now, officers have told me: if I confess to unsolved murders, they will let me live.

Do you want me to standardize these FBI/agent stories into a chronological timeline for him (NYC → Sarasota → Tampa → Vegas → current), or keep them scattered and repetitive, the way he tells them now?