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Joe Bell Publishing
Hoodwinked: defined as depriving somebody of something by deceit. We’ve all been duped before and if someone says that they haven’t … they’re lying.
My name is Bodine. I’m a ROD, an acronym for retired-on-duty, LA cop on a pension. I rode a bike and walked a beat for thirty years, stayed alive, and I’m still packing. I’m married, but sleep alone. I don’t have friends. I don’t talk to anyone. I drink by myself. I stir my coffee counterclockwise and my toilet paper feeds from the top. You won’t see me on the streets because there’s nothing about me that would garner your attention. Generally, I keep my head down and go about my business, but sometimes, like a blue moon rising, even a guy like me has to jump up and yell “WTF!”
Serendipity, if you will, never sat down and played a hand of poker with me until I had to make a garden-variety dash to the store one day for smokes. It was a little errand that forever altered my life given that I ran into this punk kid, a wannabe gangbanger that wore his pants halfway down his ass. He called himself Slash. Over time, I would learn that he had been born into and raised within the welfare system, an environment that eventually would cost him his family and almost his life. Thirty years of riding a bike and walking a beat supplied me with a ton of street smarts, but truth be told, I didn’t know jack about the effects of being engulfed in the welfare system and how that could destroy a person’s soul. And so, a chance meeting between a cantankerous, worn-down old cop and a ratty, bogus-badass juvenile would evolve into a remarkable collaboration of souls. As time passed, we would bear many crosses to each other but ultimately, Slash became the conduit that allowed me to recognize that, beyond the intellect, only the heart remains.