Hella Nation - Evan Wright [75]
Because of Southland’s training at Monterey and his service in Augsburg, his claims of having been a CIA agent have a kernel of plausibility. More likely, Southland underwent training at Monterey to prepare for more prosaic Russian-language intelligence-gathering duties such as those performed by Britt. However, if the CIA’s intent had been to create a deep-cover identity for Southland as a total screwup, the effort would have been deemed a success.
Southland claims that after his discharge from the military, he moved to Portland, Oregon, and “helped launch Crimson Trace,” a manufacturer of laser gun sights. Adam Wilder, a spokesman for Crimson Trace, says, “Sean Southland worked for us as a salesman. He was very effective for the short time he worked for us. He did a damn good job.” But he adds, “I can tell you that he took opportunities to exaggerate things many times. He was let go from the company.”
After being fired from Crimson Trace, Southland and his wife and two children moved back to the Phoenix area, where his mother and stepfather lived in semi-retirement. They advanced him money to obtain an apartment, helped him finance his tow-truck company and provided the seed investment for Sea Castle Ventures. Southland’s mother even introduced him to Olga, his future girlfriend, when Olga was still working as a bank teller in the hope that she could introduce her son to rich investors.
His former instructor Los Angeles Harbor police chief Cunningham kept in touch with Southland. He says, “It seemed like Sean just couldn’t get it together. His wife became the provider for the family.”
Southland’s wife, Kimber, had begun working as an air hostess when he was in the Army. After they moved to Phoenix, she began to work as a stripper; she currently dances full-time at a club called Babes. Despite their divorce, Kimber lives in an apartment next door to Southland’s mother and stepfather.
I visit Southland’s mother and stepfather in a tiny but well-kept ground-floor apartment on a busy thoroughfare in Scottsdale. Jane, a fiery, petite woman with the same soulful eyes as her son, also shares his easygoing hospitality. Harold, a retired construction engineer in his late fifties, wears a short-sleeved shirt that shows off his impressive build and ornately inked skin. When I ask them about the veracity of certain aspects of Southland’s story, Harold is happy to point out inconsistencies, such as correcting the notion that Southland’s biological father was a millionaire. But at the same time, both profess a belief in his innocence. They have poured their life savings into his legal defense, and Harold has recently come out of retirement in order to help support Southland.
I point out the irony that they live in a small apartment with burglar bars while supporting a son who lives in a mansion inside a gated community.
“We are an extremely close family,” Jane says.
In a way, you couldn’t imagine cooler parents. They provide a cheerful rationalization for everything. Late in the afternoon, Kimber traipses into the kitchen, looking for a snack before heading into her shift at Babes. Jane rushes into the kitchen and fusses over her, making sure she finds some leftovers in the fridge. Kimber pokes her head into the living room and says good night to Harold before leaving the apartment.
“You know she works at a strip club,” I say to Harold and Jane.
“Goodness.” Jane laughs. “In Scottsdale, half the girls dance.”
“Doctors, lawyers, judges all go there,” Harold says. “Kimber