precious metals. The top listings include: “Returning to the Gold Standard,” “Gold is Money,” and “Jason Hamel’s Bible Prophecy Study on the Pre-Tribulation Rapture.” I click on this last one to see if it’s the same guy. Sure enough, the site kicks off with this: “The dollar bears the Mark of the Beast. You can convert your abominable paper money into honest money at findgold.com. Look for our ‘WORSHIP GOD’ 1 troy oz .999 fine rounds. Help your fellow Christians pave the way to return to honest money!”
Old Jason is certainly a man with a mission. I read on about the Mark of the Beast and world government, and how usury and printed money are Tools of Satan to subjugate free men. There’s a link to another site, called goldstockreport.com, so I click on that and get to a better-looking web page that seems to be more involved with the here and now. It’s got charts of gold and silver bullion performance over the last thirty days, and a list of recommended mining stocks. There’s a photo of a smiling, bespectacled man with silver hair and a tie printed with God’s hand reaching down from the sky; he’s beaming benevolence and Christian certitude. At the bottom is a banner showing silver coins with three crosses on a hill on one side and a monument with the Ten Commandments on the other; it turns out to be a link back to the Bible Prophecy site.
I try Googling “James Caffey geologist” and get a number of hits. Most of them point to a site called
The Motherlode Mining Bulletin
, which displays an “Error—Could Not Locate Remote Server” message. A Yahoo people search does show a James Caffey between West Hollywood and the Miracle Mile, so I jot down the address and phone number. When I search for the
Motherlode Bulletin
I get a few hits that don’t point to the defunct site. I click on one that takes me to TheGeoUpdate.com and an article about the shutting down of the
Motherlode
“due to the untimely deaths of both Caffey brothers earlier this summer.” I call the listed number for James Caffey.
The line rings three times. Four. Five. Okay, no voice mail. Must be someone old. Now a voice answers. A woman says, “Yes, who is it?” I don’t have a plan for this. I never have a plan. I tell her my name is Ron Harris and I’m with
LA City Beat
doing research for an article I’m writing. I have a fake press pass that says I work for
City Beat
. “How can I help you, Mr. Harris? I’m not really involved in public events. What’s the article about?”
“I’m doing a profile on a man named Jason Hamel. I understand your husband did some work with him a while back.” There’s a silence for so long that I finally say, “Hello? Mrs. Caffey?”
She clears her throat, a long phlegmy affair, and says, “Yes. I have a few things to say about Mr. Hamel. I can give you quite a story about him.”
I ask if I can come talk to her and when would be convenient. She tells me she’s got all the time in the world, but not much left. It’s noon and I’ve still got a few hours before I can go to Jimmy’s, so I say, “How about I drive down there now? I’m maybe twenty minutes away.”
Mrs. Caffey clears her throat again and tells me, “Fine. It’s about time someone showed some interest.”
I hear noise from the kitchen, so I go there and find Mindy bending over and looking in my fridge. She glances up at me and says, “Jeez, Dad, you live on beer and taco sauce? This bread looks like a biology experiment.” She straightens up and faces me, squints, and moves her head forward as if examining me. “And what’s with the clothes? And the sideways baseball cap? You look like a retarded Eminem fan.”
I guess it’s time to put on some of my own clothes. I tell Mindy to stay home and keep a cell phone with her at all times, and to speed-dial me if anything seems weird.
“What do you mean, ‘weird’? And where are you going?”
I tell her I’ve got some business to take care of and
Old Jason is certainly a man with a mission. I read on about the Mark of the Beast and world government, and how usury and printed money are Tools of Satan to subjugate free men. There’s a link to another site, called goldstockreport.com, so I click on that and get to a better-looking web page that seems to be more involved with the here and now. It’s got charts of gold and silver bullion performance over the last thirty days, and a list of recommended mining stocks. There’s a photo of a smiling, bespectacled man with silver hair and a tie printed with God’s hand reaching down from the sky; he’s beaming benevolence and Christian certitude. At the bottom is a banner showing silver coins with three crosses on a hill on one side and a monument with the Ten Commandments on the other; it turns out to be a link back to the Bible Prophecy site.
I try Googling “James Caffey geologist” and get a number of hits. Most of them point to a site called
The Motherlode Mining Bulletin
, which displays an “Error—Could Not Locate Remote Server” message. A Yahoo people search does show a James Caffey between West Hollywood and the Miracle Mile, so I jot down the address and phone number. When I search for the
Motherlode Bulletin
I get a few hits that don’t point to the defunct site. I click on one that takes me to TheGeoUpdate.com and an article about the shutting down of the
Motherlode
“due to the untimely deaths of both Caffey brothers earlier this summer.” I call the listed number for James Caffey.
The line rings three times. Four. Five. Okay, no voice mail. Must be someone old. Now a voice answers. A woman says, “Yes, who is it?” I don’t have a plan for this. I never have a plan. I tell her my name is Ron Harris and I’m with
LA City Beat
doing research for an article I’m writing. I have a fake press pass that says I work for
City Beat
. “How can I help you, Mr. Harris? I’m not really involved in public events. What’s the article about?”
“I’m doing a profile on a man named Jason Hamel. I understand your husband did some work with him a while back.” There’s a silence for so long that I finally say, “Hello? Mrs. Caffey?”
She clears her throat, a long phlegmy affair, and says, “Yes. I have a few things to say about Mr. Hamel. I can give you quite a story about him.”
I ask if I can come talk to her and when would be convenient. She tells me she’s got all the time in the world, but not much left. It’s noon and I’ve still got a few hours before I can go to Jimmy’s, so I say, “How about I drive down there now? I’m maybe twenty minutes away.”
Mrs. Caffey clears her throat again and tells me, “Fine. It’s about time someone showed some interest.”
I hear noise from the kitchen, so I go there and find Mindy bending over and looking in my fridge. She glances up at me and says, “Jeez, Dad, you live on beer and taco sauce? This bread looks like a biology experiment.” She straightens up and faces me, squints, and moves her head forward as if examining me. “And what’s with the clothes? And the sideways baseball cap? You look like a retarded Eminem fan.”
I guess it’s time to put on some of my own clothes. I tell Mindy to stay home and keep a cell phone with her at all times, and to speed-dial me if anything seems weird.
“What do you mean, ‘weird’? And where are you going?”
I tell her I’ve got some business to take care of and
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