House Flipping Files, It's the Bomb, Conclusion

Please read, Parts I and II of this story. You'll enjoy yourself more that way. Also, posting a comment is easy: just click on the link between chapters with the word "comments" in it. You don't have to give your real name -- comment anonymously.

Last year, Oprah made "The Secret" famous when she had several shows about it. If you're not familiar with it, the concept involves something known as the "Law of Attraction." To some, The Secret is a repackaging of "The Power of Positive Thinking." To others, it's hooey.

Regardless, we asked ourselves and our friends, if you only get what you "attract," then how on Earth did we end up becoming responsible for disposing of a home-made bomb? The answer, like the Secret itself, depends upon who you ask. Those who believe in the Secret told us that it was the universe's way of solving a problem. The universe delivered us to the bomb because it knew we were the ones who would figure out the answer before anyone got hurt. Those who don't believe in the Secret simply told us that we were lucky to be alive.

We got home late after faxing the list to "Bill" and Googled "Picric Acid." The results were shown in Part I of this saga below.

What was our reaction to the Google Search findings? How many sayings are there for this type of thing? Our jaws dropped. We nearly peed our pants. We pinched each other to make sure we weren't having a nightmare. My personal favorite: I tasted a little vomit in my mouth.

After "Bill" didn't call back as promised and didn't immediately return my follow-up call, we decided that this was something that couldn't wait. By this time the morning of the next day had passed. Events had already been set in motion involving contractor visits to the house.

We decided to go back to the phone list. This time, Michael made the calls. The first person he spoke to gave him another number to call. This Michael did. Turns out the second number was to the New Mexico State Environment Department. Michael called the number and got through to a gentleman who was very helpful. Let's call him "Ted." Michael briefly explained the history of the problem and what we had found.

Just as had happened with Bill on the phone, when Michael began reading the list to Ted, there were audible gasps. Ted, it turns out, was a state employee who had knowledge of what these things were, but wasn't used to receiving calls from the public asking about how to dispose of them. His gasps quickly turned to cries of shock and alarm. Within seconds, Ted's reaction to what Michael was describing had escalated into an outright panic attack.

Michael had to stop Ted at one point and ask him to calm down. "You're really scaring me," Michael said. "I'm going to cry if you don't stop. Please just tell me who I need to call."

Ted calmed down long enough to give Michael the name of a disposal company and the conversation ended. Michael took a breather trying to calm down before he called that number. Ted also calmed down long enough to tell his boss in Santa Fe about the conversation he had just had with Michael.

Cooler heads prevailed and Ted called back immediately with new instructions: call 911.

Hindsight, baby. 20-20 as they say. Call 911. Of course. 9-1-1. Duh!

Who cares what Bill said? He hadn't done what he said he would do. We looked the stuff up online and saw it was more than simply dangerous. When we found this out, we should have immediately called 9-1-1. Hindsight. 20-20.

Michael hung up from Ted and took a deep breath. The phone rang.

"Hello, this is Michael."

"Michael! This is Lieutenant "Smith" from Albuquerque Police Department. How's it going? You doing alright today?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Thanks for calling. I was about. . ."

"What the hell's going on down there? What are doing with this stuff? Do you know what kind of trouble you're in?"

"Woh, ho,ho. Hold on, sir, we found this stuff in an empty house. No one lives there. We just walked in yesterday and found it. We've been trying to figure out what to do with it. . ."

"No one lives there?"

"No sir. It's been vacant for a long time. Yesterday was our first day there."

"There's no one there?"

"No."

"You're not there right now."

"No, sir."

The conversation calmed down after that. After verifying the address, the conversation ended with an incredulous cop telling Michael that a Bomb Disposal Team had been dispatched to the house and that someone needed to go let them in.

The Remotec Andros 5A

Bomb Disposal Robot

The scene: a quite neighborhood a few miles from downtown Albuquerque. The homes are nice, the yards are well kept. Families are coming home from school and work. It's a perfectly normal beautiful spring day. Birds are chirping. Puffy white clouds form and dissipate overhead. The streets are blocked off with dozens of squad cars. Helicopters are circling overhead. Fire trucks are lined up down the street.

A strange truck arrives and a ramp is lowered. Out of the back and down the ramp comes a robot on wheels. It is followed by another of its kind. The two robots roll down the street and turn up the driveway of a nice little house in the middle of the block.

Crowds gather and are dispersed at the roadblocks down the street. An unknowing resident steps out of his house with his dog on a leash and walks right up to the scene. Before anyone sees him, he is at the foot of the driveway. He stands there while his dog pees on a bush. He is oblivious.

Someone yells at him. "Hey, you! Get out of there."

It takes him a moment to look up. The shout jolts him out of his quiet little world. He first sees a firetruck off to his left. He staggers backward as his head turns to find dozens of cops and firefighters staring at him. Panic strikes. He is frozen. Someone runs up to him and escorts him away.

The garage door to the house is now open and a robot has entered it. The camera mounted on its arm focuses on the wooden box and its contents. The second robot enters and slowly approaches the box. With extreme caution and with the skill only extensive training can give, a police bomb expert manipulates the robot's grappling device until it grabs one side of the box. Slowly, slowly. The box is lifted and the robot is brought out of the garage.

Everyone is motionless. The quiet stillness is broken only by the noise of television helicopters circling, circling overhead. A truck resembling an above-ground bomb shelter has arrived and a door in its rear has been opened. The robot crawls toward it and the box is placed inside. The door is closed and the bomb is driven away. The Dead Hand goes with it.

Reporters are swarming the ends of the block, trying to get around the barricades and down to the scene to interview someone. An unsuspecting passerby suffices as the on-the-scene expert for one television station. "Gosh, a bomb down this street? That's the last thing you would expect around here. I'm really scared. I hope they don't find one on my street."

All four local television news programs air the story that night with aerial and ground footage of the robots at work. Each reporter says essentially the same thing: "The bomb squad was called out to a residence where a bomb / bomb-making materials were found. Streets were blocked off. Residents were alarmed. Fear gripped the community. No information on where the materials came from or how they got there. Stay scared for more news."

By the way, "Bill" called me on the third day after we spoke and told me that his company would come by and get the chemicals out of the house for $3000. The money had to be paid in advance or his team would not even enter the house. They were ready to get to work the next day, but if we didn't immediately engage them, it would be a month before they could come back. What a crock.

I told Bill that time had run out and that the Albuquerque Police and Fire Departments had taken care of the problem two days before. He didn't sound in the least bit embarrassed or apologetic for blowing us off. Why had he told me not to call 911? Why did he not honor his promise to call me back that night and then not return my subsequent call? Why were the terms he offered for his company to remove the materials so onerous? Simple: he thought he had me over a barrel. He knew that if I considered him the expert and if I didn't use my own common sense, he could do whatever he wanted with me. Wrong, Bill. Hope you're not making too much money doing what you do. Thief!

The cost of calling 911 and having the Police and Fire Departments perform this work in a most heroic and professional manner: Zero point zero dollars. That's right, Bill. Zero point zero. No C.O.D. No attempted deception or theft. Nothing but honest to goodness professional services rendered by the best. Heroic services, by the way. The kind you, Bill, probably think that you deliver. Total cost: Zero point zero dollars, Bill! Okay, I got some gray hairs and my bald spot expanded a little, but otherwise, heroes don't charge for their work, it seems.

The house was "cleared" by the Police and Fire Departments and renovations began a few days later. By the end of May we had completed a top-to-bottom facelift on the place with electrical upgrades, new windows, doors, carpet, and refinishing hardwood floors. It was a real gem if I do say so myself.

In the end, love triumphed. Honesty prevailed. We chose to not be deterred by the circumstances and things turned out nicely. The best part of the whole thing, besides not being blown into tiny fleshy fragments: I will always have an incredible story to tell about the day that I encountered the Dead Hand and lived to tell about it.

Next Up: Joe Thirtypack. Come back soon, ya' hear.