The Three Trolls Under The Bridge

I'm not making this up, though it's such a combination of crazy, nasty and naive that you might think so. This is the next chapter of Rich's life, as told to us this afternoon.

It started out as an opportunity to do a kindness for a stranger, a homeless vet down on his luck, sheltering under a bridge where Grand Avenue, aka highway 60, crosses over an expanse of nothing between Sun City/Youngton and El Mirage. As a person too familiar with the homeless situation, Rich was given a chance to keep a fellow company, acceptance, and a few bottles of water in some brutal heat. He used his online resources to locate some possible employment opportunities matching the skills the fellow had, thinking that with this guy's military background he knew what he might qualify for.

He turned out to be troll number 1. Vet? Who knows? Veteran crook, maybe.

Troll number 2 again started out as an opportunity to do a favor for another acquaintance in need. She presented herself as a damsel in distress, evicted three days earlier for unknown reasons (I can imagine several, it turns out), out in too much heat, too long, and without resources. Rich brought her home, and we offered her water, food, a "cool" shower (oops, sorry, we lied: no such thing as cool water this season), and a bed for the night. Rich assured me there was nothing romantic, particularly since she was a year older than his daughter. She left the next morning.

Rich left to get some cigarettes that evening, and we didn't see or hear from him for three days. When he returned, he was dehydrated, unfed, and exhausted. Also broke. Not by his choice.

After a day and a half to sleep, rehydrate, and eat, we heard a bit of the story. One could imagine almost any script to fill in the details - and my imagination has in a variety of ways. The necessary parts involve him reconnecting with Troll 1 and Troll 2, and finding  Troll 3. They work together. Fill in all kinds of blanks here, but they all end with his pay from his job stolen, other than what little he'd already spent on getting himself a decent phone and three months of cell plan. He had planned to also find himself a workable bike out of some pawn shop so he wasn't dependent on bus schedules and  routes so he could find a better, closer location to work, plus a few other things. It wasn't a huge amount, but it was everything he had.

And no, he absolutely does not want to give any more details. Nor press charges.

Only now did he know that the three worked together. He mostly blames himself for falling for whatever they finally did, calling it a long game. Strangely he doesn't blame the young woman so much. He believes she is even more naive than he is, the "honest" one of the group, in denial about what they do and how they involve/use her. She's also in denial about the fact that she hears voices talking to her meaning that she is schizophrenic. Because, well, she hears them, you know.

I can't help but wonder if she's not the best con in the bunch.

Meanwhile, one of the final consequences is that Steve and I have to put him in quarantine for 14 days. No telling what other kinds of nasties he made the acquaintance of those several days, but we won't risk him sharing. He has his room and the patio outside. The room at least has AC and a fan. To enter the rest of the house, he must wear a mask, wash his hands when he enters out space, after leaving the bathroom, and before opening the fridge or freezer. He can remove his mask in his room for eating and drinking rather than join us. If we want to go to the back yard, we don't pass through, our previous direct route, but go out the front door and around. I won't give him a ride in the car during that time. We think we've thought of everything.

But his new phone arrived, just before he did, so he's got his main tool again. It has a new number though, a local one. Friends and family can contact us for the number.