Unbalanced Behavior

Martin Pelloquin

Description

The book is based on a true story about the I-10 bandit who committed 26 armed bank
robberies before getting caught then sentenced to 34 and one half years where he spent the next 29 years in some of the worst federal penitentiary’s across the United States. As he describes his emotions before during and after he walks you through the line he crossed that most of us would never consider crossing. The violence he experienced in all faze’s of the federal prison system trapped in a love affair he managed to allude the FBI tossing aside a professional career all for the sole purpose to spend more time with his children after a heartbreaking divorce. His experience will shock you as he describes his feelings while committing these Robbies as well as trying to survive such a long sentence to make it home alive to his family once again.

Sujets

• Biography
• Autobiography

Informations

• Publié par: AuthorHouse
• Date de parution: 18 juillet 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9798823011020
• Langue: English

Extrait

Unbalanced Behavior
 
True Story of the 1-10 Bandit
 
 
 
 
Brent Pelloquin
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
AuthorHouse™
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.authorhouse.com
Phone: [phone]
 
 
 
 
© 2023 Brent Pelloquin. All rights reserved.
 
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
 
Published by AuthorHouse 07/14/2023
 
ISBN: 979-8-8230-1101-3 (sc)
ISBN: 979-8-8230-1103-7 (hc)
ISBN: 979-8-8230-1102-0 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2023911779
 
 
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
 
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
Contents
1     The Start of It All
2     On My Way to the Joint
3     Moving to Biloxi
4     Meeting the Fellas
5     A Night Out on the Town
6     Atlanta Pen—The Hole
7     Here I Go Again
8     Atlanta Pen
9     A Lucky Night
10   The Big Game
11   Going Diving
12   Cheryl’s Last Visit
13   Catching a Trophy
14   A Bad Killing
15   Exposing My Past
16   Leaving Atlanta
17   A Day at the Beach
18   Getting the Job Done
19   Was That a Dream?
20   Loss of a Good Friend
21   Stuck in a Bad Space
22   A Night to Remember
23   Pulling Off the Impossible
24   The Explanation
25   The Hidden Secret
26   Flirting with Disaster
27   Living a Lie
28   Going Where No Convict Ever Goes
29   Christening the House
30   The Exchange
31   Taking Flight
32   The Pen Explodes
33   A Video Gone Bad
34   Another Trip Through Transit
35   Setting Up My Last Score
36   Texarkana Low
37   The Storm Before the Storm
38   Damaged Goods
39   Back at FBI Headquarters
40   It’s Over
Fisherman’s Pr ayer
God grant that I may live to fish for another shining day.
But when my final cast is made, I then most humbly pray.
When nestled in your landing net as I lay peacefully as leep.
You’ll smile at me and judge that I’m “Good enough to keep.”
 
After two full nights of painting, my daughter finished this amazing work of art on my dad’s coffin while he watched from above though the window of his living room. She completed the work on Father’s Day. Dad passed away shortly after on June 24, 2017. Rest his soul.
I would like to thank my parents for their continued support throughout my entire prison sentence. Your unconditional love and support and total forgiveness have kept me strong in seeing past the ugliness I’ve witnessed at all levels of the federal prison system. A special thanks to my mother. I hope your worries all these years will one day be rewarded in the greatest of your religious beliefs by the Creator Himself.
Thanks to my brother, Mark, for raising my son as his own and guiding him to be the good man and father he has become. My never-ending appreciation for your kindness; it will never be forgotten. I am forever in your debt.
Thanks to my ex-wife, Gwen, for raising my four beautiful children, teaching them the principles of kindness and respect, showing them the strength behind their religion, and guiding them to become the loving parents they are. Their independence, success, and drive are just small examples of what a great mother you are. Thank you!
Thanks to my nephews, Blake and Dane, who are always there when needed. Your loyalty toward family will be rewarded.
Special thanks to Adam, for helping to put my story on paper.
1
The Start of It All
God, it’s quiet. Only the low subtle noise of a heater fan keeps me awake. There is a cold and eerie feeling in the air, reminding me of an empty, abandoned house. It may be a figment of my imagination, or it might come from the emptiness in my soul or maybe even my h eart.
I am completely lost in and engulfed by my thoughts. I am scared to death, which explains why I am shaking uncontrollably. I have been shaking this way ever since I grabbed hold of this pistol, and for some unexplained reason, I can’t seem to put this thing down. Maybe it’s fear, or maybe it’s the security within this object, but I grip it as though it is my last possession on earth and letting go would mean losing con trol.
It’s been three days since I slept last. I am mentally exhausted, running on fumes. How my mind continues to focus is beyond me. My heart actually hurts knowing I am going forward with this. You could say I tipped the s cale.
Only three days ago, I was completely sane, running a multimillion-dollar car dealership. Now, suddenly, here I am, turning into a gangster. What in the world is wrong with my mind, my reason, my logic? It is just you and me, buddy. Just me and my thou ghts.
I keep telling myself to snap out of it and just go home. But instead, I sit here paralyzed, snuggled up against the driver’s side door of this stolen truck, camouflaged in the middle of the woods on a dark and lonely dirt road in the middle of the n ight.
I used the whole day to prepare and make my final plans so I would know them like the back of my hand. It is one thing to be prepared and precise; to carry it out is a whole different animal. So here I am, fighting my thoughts on this lonely dirt road at four in the morning. Will I get shot? Will I get arrested? Hell, maybe both will happen. My nerves just can’t take the feeling of uncerta inty.
I look at my watch over and over and just shake. I wonder how a person arrives at stealing or robbing or even murder. I’m fixin’ to find out very soon. Anything is possible when you walk into a bank with a loaded gun.
All these thoughts ramble around my head, over and over, even when I’m asleep. Then my alarm goes off. It’s go time. It’ s on.
*     *     *
I came close to talking myself out of this nonsense twice, but then a truck appeared in my rear-view mirror, and the distance between us rapidly narrowed. Without hesitation, I placed the truck in drive and quickly sat up stiff against the back of the seat. Now, suddenly, I was wide awake.
Moving forward at a normal speed down the dirt road, I glanced down at my watch and saw that the time was eight fifty. I was committed, somehow, and unable to stop. I couldn’t explain the feeling if I tried.
My nervous, empty, growling stomach rumbled as I drove toward the old lady’s driveway. She lived off in the woods in an old run-down trailer home near the main highway I had been watching for the previous few days. As I turned the truck aggressively into the narrow driveway, I started blowing the horn, coming in fast and slamming on the brakes, bringing the truck to a sliding stop in the loose gravel. Quickly, I hopped out of the truck, leaving the driver’s-side door open as I ran up the weathered concrete steps to the trailer.
Frantically, the old lady jerked the door open, scared to death. Her eyes were magnified behind her thick wide-framed glasses. Her hair was high, and her head was wrapped in a tight maze of teal-green curlers. Standing before me, she clung tightly to her old, torn-up pink terry-cloth robe and matching slippers, with her arms wrapped around her body as if she were cold.
“What on earth is wrong?” she asked.
“Could you call the police?” I replied. “Someone is breaking into the Ortegos’ place down the road. You know the Ortegos, right?”
“Mm-hmm, I’s do. Very nice people too.”
“Hurry, please call the police.”
“I’s will. I’s call ’em right now.”
Turning her back, she hurried to shut the door while I returned to the truck and drove off toward the small town of Elton. If everything went according to plan, I should be seeing a few cop cars headed my way soon.
As if on cue, I saw the first police cruiser with lights flashing ahead of me in the far distance. Yes! I got excited. The old lady came through. It wasn’t long before he crossed me with a loud noise of the engine roaring by at about ninety mph. I watched him fly by me with both antennas lying down flat in his high-speed pursuit.
Up ahead, two more units turned onto the highway, gaining speed, while cars pulled over onto the shoulder to let them by. Traveling at that speed, both units crossed me back to back with their sirens blaring, headed for the Ortegos place, which was approximately seven minutes away from the bank where I was now headed.
As I reached town, the last sheriff’s car passed me, on a mission to catch up with the others. I couldn’t believe my plan was actually working. My adrenaline at this point had spiked so much.
I pulled around into the subdivision near the bank and placed the stolen truck in park. Removing my hands from the steering wheel, I noticed they were shaking. I told myself to settle down and get a grip on my nerves. My watch showed 9:01. Time t o go .
I put my gloves on before gripping the pistol and looking around to make sure no one was watching before I slid the mask over my face. I couldn’t believe I was about to do this. I could feel my heartbeat accelerate along with my breathing. Then I tucked the money bag and pistol beneath the waistband of my camouflage pants and let my camo shirt hang loose over my waist so neither would be seen.
I felt myself hesitate, questioning whether or not