tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69790242275963548412024-02-07T13:29:07.971-08:00RAFTER'S REDEMPTIONAn original short story by Dave StancliffImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.comBlogger1587125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-74542766788457418122013-06-08T12:06:00.002-07:002013-06-13T17:41:59.537-07:00How 'Rafter's Redemption' came about and some thoughts on writing fiction<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;"> A</span>fter working for over two decades in journalism, in newspapers to be specific, I had an itch that needed scratching when it came to writing style. I needed to not only re-evaluate the way I wrote, but what I was writing about.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> As you can imagine this took some time. Years. Then last year, I wrote my first fiction piece - Rafter's Redemption - a 40,000 word novella. I went with the idea that writing about what you know - or have experience in - makes for a stronger story.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> To be clear, this book is fiction. Not my life experiences. I've had people ask me if I was Rafter, the main character in the story? The answer is NO! Yes, I'm a Vietnam/Cambodian veteran, but none of the experiences in the book are mine. That goes for the pot growing part.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I never got involved in growing, but I did move to Humboldt County in the mi-1970's when a lot of veterans were escaping the cities and coming up to Humboldt and growing weed. For the record, I've lived in Humboldt County - with the exception of a couple of years break inbetween - for three decades.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> That accounts for my familiarty with the area. Again, writing about what I knew. The challenge was pulling the story together while trying to be as descriptive as possible. My journalistic style was hard for me to deviate from and I struggled at times, searching for adjectives like a man in the desert despertly searching for water.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Publishing my first effort on a blog like this has been informative.I've got terrific feedback. Many people couldn't understand why I didn't self-publishing this story on an e-book or something along those lines.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> My only answer to that is I wanted as many people as possible to read my first effort at fiction, and offering free access has accomplished that I believe. During the 10 weeks I ran it - a chapter per week- there were over 60,000 views.And, excellent feedback from viewers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Based upon the positive responses, I've decided to write another fiction piece. I'm not sure If I will try to self-publish (that takes a lot of work). I may shop it around with agents and see what happens. But I have to write it first! Any suggests? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Thanks for stopping by!</span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: white;"> </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Dave Stancliff</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-79061887270829518612013-05-28T08:09:00.000-07:002013-06-08T12:27:39.928-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">CHAPTER 10</b><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <b> FINAL ACTS</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #990000; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">Rafter's</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #990000; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">Redemption</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #990000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"> By Dave Stancliff</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;">A</span> month passed as Rafter and Smiley recovered from their wounds. Jenny kept things moving. She cleaned the house and made their meals. She came up with little odd jobs that both men could handle in their weakened conditions.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Sundance chased Mogli around the yard in the waning light of the day. In the drying shed, Rafter and Smiley recounted the pounds of pot. Each was wrapped in plastic and tagged with a number.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “That’s 174 pounds right?” Smiley asked.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Right on.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “We can’t count on your buddy Lenny to help us get rid of these because he’s too busy bossing Rick’s smoke. Looks like you and I have to play salesman again.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “There it is. I’m think of selling mine out-of-state. I’m also thinking of moving out of the state. The magic of Humboldt County is gone for me. I need to escape these new ghosts we’ve created,” Rafter said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “So when do you plan on making your move?” Smiley asked. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Soon. Not quite sure when, but soon…”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter straightened up and stretched as he stacked the last pound on the pallet. He limped over to the side door and stopped for a moment.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Are you coming?” he asked Smiley. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Suddenly both men froze.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Every combat veteran knows the whopping sound the UH- 1 Gunship-Transport Huey helicopter makes. They brought you down in the middle of hell and were there when it was time to go back. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The sound of the rotor blades caused a different reaction in the two men. Smiley listened intently, weighing options, and wondering who was going to visit them. He was outwardly calm and calculating.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> In Rafter’s head he was in one of a dozen slicks, each carrying 11 men, flying over the Song Ve Valley. His squad was aboard one of the helicopters. The Hueys dropped, one by one, down to an open area between stretches of jungle. They didn’t know it, but they were landing on a hornet’s nest. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter’s eyes glazed over and Smiley heard him shout, “Hey! I’m an American! Look at me! Look at me!” He raised his arms to the sky pleading to be picked up. Smiley wasn’t sure what to do with him. It was obvious he was having another flashback. The whopping sounds got louder.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;">O</span>n the other side of the mountain Rick stopped watering his plants and looked up at the rapidly darkening sky. His sharp old eyes spotted movements on the dim horizon, then his ears picked up the familiar whopping sound. He sighed. Part of him had expected this day to come. The day when the government made its move.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Probably DEA…” he told Lenny, who was watching him tend the plants. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> A blank look came over Lenny’s face and he looked up into the sky.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “What the hell?” he replied.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Here comes trouble. C’mon. Follow me, we haven’t got much time.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The two men ran headlong towards the house. Rick moved surprisingly fast. Faster than Lenny had ever seen him move. Rick was more of a mystery than ever.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Leading the way, Rick burst through the front door and ran to his room in the rear of the house. Lenny stopped in the living room and listened to the increasingly loud noise overhead. His normally pale face was now chalk white. Who was coming? He hadn’t clearly heard what Rick said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rick reappeared holding two M-16s and two bandoleers with extra clips of ammunition. He casually tossed a bandoleer to Lenny, who stood petrified in the middle of the room. Smiling broadly, he asked,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Have you ever fired a rifle? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lenny’s head swiveled from side to side as he tried to speak. His mouth felt stuffed with cotton.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Don’t worry about it, my man, these things are really easy to use.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He offered him one of the M-16s. Woodenly, Lenny reached out and took it, surprised at how light it was. He couldn’t seem to form words.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rick studied him for a moment.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Well, it’s up to you partner. I’m going out and defend my crops from these invaders. These people shoot and then ask questions. Government sanctioned killers. DEA. I’ve heard rumors for over a year that a task force was forming. Looks like they’re ready to play. I’m outta here…”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Lenny dropped the M-16. Lucky for him, it wasn’t loaded. He threw the bandoleer down and looked around for a place to hide in the house. He told himself that if he survived this situation he was done with selling pot. The whole scene had turned into a major bummer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;">B</span>ack at Smiley’s drying shed Rafter suddenly came to himself. He realized the helicopters meant trouble right now and hobbled as fast as he could on his bum hip to the house. Jenny stood at the front door looking skyward. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Get Sundance and Mogli! Quick! To the bunker!” he shouted.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Jenny instantly responded and went back inside the house. Rafter followed as best as he could. Jenny found Mogli and took him in her arms. Sundance ran to her and they went out the back door. Rafter stopped just outside the house and looked around.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Where had Smiley gone? What was he doing? No time to find out. The tree tops bent under the force of the helicopter blades. He turned and followed Jenny into the trees.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Smiley threw the last gas can aside and took out a book of matches. He’d saturated the barn - with their precious marijuana - in gasoline. He paused before throwing the match and thought about the money the weed represented. Gone now.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> There was no other choice. If they didn’t find his pot they couldn’t bust him and take his land away. Or his freedom. He lit a match and let it fall on the pile of hay in the center of the barn. Took a few more steps and struck another match, and another…</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;">R</span>ick watched the first of the two helicopters land near his Jeep. They were both black with no markings. The men who poured out of them wore black and had DEA stenciled on their armored vests. Inside the house, Lenny was terrified. He jumped out a side window and ran towards the nearest trees. He wondered what the popping sounds were.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The first two off the helicopter spun around, clutched their shattered helmets and fell. Rick’s .33 caliber hunting rifle used bullets with 250 grains of gunpowder. Enough to stop a charging Rhino, or shatter a plastic helmet like it wasn’t there.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The remaining six agents scattered. Rick withheld his fire while they poured hundreds of rounds in his direction. The Redwood tree he was hiding behind gave him great protection. Rick might not have been a combat veteran, but he grew up hunting and was a crack shot.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Five hundred yards away, to the south, Lenny lay down on his stomach in some dense ferns near the stump of an old Redwood tree. He figured out what the popping sounds were when he saw the muzzle flashes and a stream of red tracers stitching the growing darkness. He began to pray in earnest.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rick retreated on his belly, snaking through ferns and thick undergrowth, until he was 50 yards south of his original position. He took up a sitting position in a strand of young spruce pines and waited.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He didn’t have to wait long. The agents also moved about and two had him spotted. They fired in his direction as he squeezed off a shot. One of the agents dropped his weapon and fell forward. Rick took two slugs in his chest and rolled over. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He couldn’t feel his fingers or move but he was still breathing. He was on his back and saw the stars between the giant trees surrounding them. A smile broke out on his face. He tried to say something to the men who gathered around him, pointing their weapons.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Time stood still as a rivulet of blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. He croaked once. One of the agents leaned over as if to hear his last words. Then one word came out, clear and strong,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Pig!” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The sound of gunfire filled the night.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Hyper alert Lenny heard him speak. It sounded like “Pig.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then more gunfire. It was more than he could bear. He curled up into a ball in the dense vegetation and prayed no one would find him. He fell asleep from sheer exhaustion after several hours of pure terror.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;">K</span>alispell, Montana - Rafter, Jenny, Sundance, and Mogli settled in for another winter of snow-oriented activities including snowshoeing, cross-country skiing and touring. A year had passed since the raid and not one word from Smiley. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Thanks to Jenny’s aunt Susan, they had found a place far away from Humboldt County. An old boyfriend of hers had agreed to sell his luxury lodge in Kalispell. They wouldn’t be giving up anything in the scenic beauty department, he assured Jenny and Rafter.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> They lived close to Glacier National Park which contained a particularly rich biological diversity of plant and animal species. Their new neighborhood was 10,000 foot peaks, alpine meadows, lakes and streams, and nearly 50 glaciers. Getting used to the temperatures proved to be a challenge at first. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Money was no object. Most of Jenny’s money from their grows had been in three banks. She did lose some cash and all of her jewelry to whoever took their house safe in the raid. Rafter was in even better financial shape. Trusty Lenny had put his cash in two safe deposit boxes.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> When he called a week after the raid Lenny answered his home phone in southern California. He’d escaped and swore off selling pot. He was concentrating on his grades in college. He’d managed to save enough money to pay his way through college to a masters degree in business, if he so desired. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “You know they killed Rick,” Rafter told him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Yeah. I read the story. It’s one of the many reasons why I’m going legit, Rafter. I’d advise you to do the same.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “No problem there. I promised Jenny to walk the straight and narrow when we move.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter had called from Jenny‘s Aunt Susan’s house in Ferndale. After the call, he drove to Lenny’s house in a car rented by Jenny’s aunt. It took eleven hours, with two stops for gas.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The two old friends drank a bottle of 19-year old scotch and talked about old times for hours.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “You’re going to stay in touch with me, aren’t you?” Lenny asked, refilling Rafter’s shot class.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Of course. It’s not like I have all that many friends,” Rafter chided. “Seriously, you’re like a brother to me. I plan on having many good times ahead.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The next day they went to the safe deposit boxes and emptied them. They hugged. Rafter got in his rented car and promised to stay in touch. He thought about seeing his parents, then decided against it. Perhaps another time. It would take eleven hours of driving to get back to Humboldt County and he was eager to start his new life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Two days later Jenny and he bought a brand new Ford F-350 King cab and headed for Montana. Despite all the terrible things that had happened, Jenny was happy. She was with Rafter and that was all that mattered. Nine months after moving into their new home he asked her to marry him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;"> L</span>enny and Aunt Susan came to witness their union. It was held in a small church just outside of the Kalispell city limits. Lenny got a surprise phone call before he left for Montana.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Snow blanketed the ground outside the picturesque little church with it’s old fashioned steeple and bell. It was a picture right from a post card. The stained glass windows glowed in the afternoon sun, lighting the interior of the church.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Only three trucks and one car were parked in the church parking lot. Suddenly another truck approached and turned into the parking lot. The driver jumped out and ran for the front door. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> It was warm inside the church and Sundance, with Mogli patiently sitting on his lap, sat in the first pew. As the ceremony was about to begin, the preacher asked, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Is there anyone here who objects to this marriage?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Suddenly, the church door burst open and a tall, red bearded man with blue eyes hurried down the aisle. The preacher stopped short and watched him with a wary eye. All eyes turned to him as he approached the altar.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I’m in time, right?” Smiley said with a stern look. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The tense silence that followed was palpable. The preacher, an older man with a long white beard, looked at Rafter and then Smiley, trying to gauge the situation.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Jenny looked at Rafter and then Smiley. Rafter watched Smiley intently, searching for an expression that would tip off his mood. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The silence was finally broken, Smiley asked, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Can I be the best man?”</span><br />
<br />
<br />
****<br />
ABOUT THE AUTHOR<br />
Dave Stancliff is a retired newspaper editor and publisher who currently writes an Op Ed column for a daily newspaper in Northern California.<br />
He’s a Vietnam veteran (Tour of Duty-1970), husband, father, grandfather, blogger since 2008, and a lifetime Los Angeles Laker fan. You can reach Dave at richarddavestancliff@gmail.com or his blog, “As It Stands” at www.davesblogcentral.com<br />
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ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-14543085448029973482013-05-21T06:05:00.000-07:002013-06-08T12:40:10.596-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"></span><br /><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"> <b> CHAPTER 9</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><b> DEATH IN THE REDWOODS</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"> Rafter's</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"> </span><span style="color: #990000; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">Redemption</span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"> By Dave Stancliff</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;"> R</span>ick knew something was wrong when Rafter didn’t show up for the morning sweat. He was over an hour late. Not like Rafter. It was a special sweat, too. Lenny’s first, and he needed Rafter’s guidance. After smoking a joint with Lenny, Rick shared his concerns and they agreed to go to Smiley’s house and see what was going on.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">O</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">nce Rafter was in a heavily forested spot surrounding with brush he stopped crawling through the old growth redwood. He leaned his head back against a tree and looked up and thought he saw infinity before passing out from loss of blood.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;">J</span>enny cautiously led Sundance out of the hideout and toward Rick’s ranch. She didn’t know where else to go. They’d gone a short way when she noticed something strange; bloody drag marks on the ground. She was no woodsman, but after several years of walking around these hills she had learned to recognize animal sign. And blood trails!</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> All her senses went into overdrive as she carefully followed the blood-speckled drag marks. Minutes passed before she found Rafter. A shaft of sunlight broke through the canopy overhead and illuminated his pale face. She feared she was too late and had to fight back tears as she knelt down and felt his neck for a pulse.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He was alive, but barely. Then she saw the gunshot wound to his thigh. The lower half of his body was soaked with his lifeblood. She felt his thigh until she found a gaping hole still seeping blood. She tore pieces of cloth from his t-shirt to tie above the wounded area to staunch the bleeding, and to plug the hole.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Sundance watched with wide eyes and softly called out Rafter’s name. Tears ran down his chubby cheeks as he watched Jenny work. He loved Rafter. He knew his Mommy did too. Rafter had to be okay. If only he would wake up!</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Smokey walked slowly. His whole body hurt and it pissed him off. He had just finished drinking a six pack of Budweiser to keep his buzz going. It was daylight outside and time to finish off this little drama. He would have to get the safe key before he killed Jenny, and thought he could manage that by threatening Sundance. What chance did a woman and a child have against him? </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> They couldn’t have gone far. He expected to find them soon. He cradled the shotgun in one arm like the hunters he saw on TV. Maybe he’d take up hunting after he resettled in Mexico. Of course, it would never be as pleasurable as this hunting expedition. This was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. No doubt about. He probably should take pictures of the dead to prove he was a bad ass dude, so when he got older and his memory wasn’t as sharp, he could look at them.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> That made him chuckle. He entered the forest. He’d had time to think about it. This was the way to the ranch where their crazy friend Rick lived and he knew Jenny would try to get help. He knew the way. He’d gone with Smiley and Rafter to visit the crazy coot several times. A crude trail wound through the hills right to Rick’ s house. Even a city boy like Smokey could find it again.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> There was one other important thing Smokey knew. A concealed bunker he had discovered in his wanderings. One day he saw Smiley disappear into a thicket with a bag and return shortly thereafter empty handed. Being clever and curious, Smokey investigated and, after hours of looking he discovered the bunkers location. He had kept that knowledge to himself.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Now, as he walked through the forest he grew serious and listened closely. They were out here somewhere and he was going to find them. There was still a lot for him to do. He had to dispose of all the bodies for starters. He went to the bunker first. They weren’t there.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> It was almost anti-climatic when he found them. Jenny was tending to Rafter’s wound when he stepped off the trail at the sound of Sundance’s voice. He was surprised to see Rafter after shooting him under the house. Apparently he hadn’t finished the job. What kind of man killer was he, anyway?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Well, look what we have here.” He mocked them casually waving the 12- gauge. “Two star-crossed lovers. Looks like lover boy has had it, but I can’t write him off yet. He’s a durable bastard. I’ll take care of him shortly. You and I have some talking to do first. Where’s your key to the safe?”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Who said I have one?” Jenny stalled. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Don’t try that with me, girlie. Playing stupid is going to get your son hurt.”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He reached out, grabbed Sundance’s arm, and pulled him away from her. Sundance cried out in terror. At the same time Rafter opened his eyes and weakly called out Sundance’s name!</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “It’s time for ‘The Price Is Right’ Jenny and if you don’t give me that key your brat is dead!”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “No! Stop! Here it is!” she cried.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> She pulled a golden chain from her neck with the key dangling from it. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Please! Here!” she pleaded and threw it to him. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He lowered the shotgun and Sundance,deftly catching the chain and key in mid air.Sundance took the opportunity to scamper to Jenny and clutch her leg.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “That was sure easy, Jenny. Just to show my appreciation, I’ll kill you before I kill your brat. You know, so you won’t have to see me make cottage cheese out of him! This really has been a great experience but…”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The zing of a Winchester is recognizable to gun aficionados. One barked three times and Smokey staggered around like a puppet whose strings had been cut loose. Blood blossomed on his back and he clutched his chest. The shotgun slipped from his nerveless fingers to the forest floor and he sunk down groaning. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Smiley spit a gob of phlegm at Smokey’s still twitching body and stood there with his Winchester. His left arm hung loosely by his side. He watched Smokey die,gurgling in his own blood,with contempt. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> In the distance they heard the roar of Rick’s Jeep. As it came closer, they could hear Lenny calling Rafter’s name. Rafter, whose head was nestled in Jenny’s lap, looked up at Smiley and weakly asked, </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “What took you so long to get here, bro?”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> It fell on Jenny to care for the two wounded men. She managed to get them into the back seats of the crew-cab with help from Rick and Lenny. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She put Sundance’s in the front. Mogli rode between them. It was a bumpy road and the men groaned in spite of themselves. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Sundance was silent. Something unusual for him. Normally a chatter box, he had trouble saying what was going on in his head. He’d seen a man die violently. His world had changed. It was no longer safe and he was afraid. Mogli, who normally would have been yapping playfully, seemed to pick up the mood and lay quietly on the seat. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Jenny’s true character came to the fore as she took charge and maintained her calm.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “We need a story,” she said.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Smiley agreed out loud, but Rafter merely nodded, drifting in and out of consciousness.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “How about a hunting accident?” Smiley ventured.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “How would that work?” Jenny asked.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “We can say that while deer hunting Rafter and I were directly across from each other at one point - by accident of course - and both shot at the same buck.”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I don’t know. You have a .30-30 Winchester and Rafter was hit by a 12-gage shotgun. There’s a big difference in the wounds.”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “We can say I had the shotgun and Rafter had the Winchester.”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “What about your wound? You were hit by a shotgun too.”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “We both had shotguns?”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “For hunting deer?”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Well hell Jenny, I’m trying…”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to give you a hard time Smiley, but we need a plausible story for the authorities. Hospitals always report gun wounds.”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Wait a minute? Why go to a hospital? Nothing but questions there. I know a doctor in Garberville who has his own practice. He’s a friend. A fellow Nam vet. I bet he’d help us out.”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Okay…where does he live?”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> It was light outside when they pulled up in front of a small house in a tree-lined neighborhood off the main drag of Garberville. A sign hung on a stand in the middle of the well-trimmed lawn, “Dr. Harold West.” That was all the information on it. No hours or days. The dark green letters stood out sharply on the white backround.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Jenny reached back and gently shook Rafter, who had dozed off. Smiley stared at the front door of the house, his expression unreadable. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I’ll take it from here,” he said.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The loss of blood was taking it’s toll. Smiley had trouble standing after he got out of the truck. He tried to clear his head and recall all he knew about Dr. Harold West. He was content to have a small practice with one secretary. He was secretive and had few friends. Smiley was lucky to be one of the chosen few.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He had been a Marine, stationed in a hospital in De Nang. During the 1968 Tet Offensive. Viet Cong fighters broke into the hospital and slaughtered 18 bed-ridden men. He personally helped fight off the attackers and killed two of them.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Smiley met him at a friend’s house, a grower, and they hit it off. Harold, whose soft voice was soothing, was the complete opposite of Smiley, whose voice reverberated loudly in any room. Rumors were that Harold often treated people outside of the law. He gave “private practice” a new meaning by never advertising and seldom taking regular patients. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Smiley steadied himself against the wood door frame and knocked. Noticing a buzzer, he pushed it too. He heard a rustling inside and suddenly the front door opened. Harold asked,</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “What happened Smiley? </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Need help. My friend too. Bad scene. No cops.” </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Harold’s eyes, wide with surprise, suddenly blinked. His expression became guarded. Then he looked at Smiley’s side and all the blood. A silent decision was made.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Get in here quick. I don’t have any patients today. What about your friend?”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Outside in the pickup truck.”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Go into the bathroom and wait for me. I’ll be right back.”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Outside Harold saw the pickup and its three occupants. Not just one friend in need. He broke out in a sweat and walked up to the driver’s side.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Smiley said someone else is hurt,” he said without an introduction.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Jenny gave him a weak smile and opened the door.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “In the back seat.”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Harold looked in on Rafter and saw blood from the waist down. His head hung low, chin on chest, and his breathing was rapid and irregular.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Can you help me get him inside?”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Together they got Rafter to his feet. He came to, blinked his eyes and groaned in pain. Despite his misery, he was aware of a new person in the picture and a strange house. They managed to hold him up, and they struggled inside. Jenny went back to fetch Sundance and Mogli.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ***</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;"> R</span>ick and Lenny worked silently and steadily, deepening the hole which would receive Smokey’s remains. Lenny felt as though he had stepped into a horror movie. Part of his brain screamed,</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I’m burying a dead man! A bloody and bloated dead man! How can this be happening?”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> When the hole reached a depth of four feet, they stopped. They lifted the body and tossed it into the grave. They took a break for a few minutes before filling in the hole. Violent death was a new experience for Lenny. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and stared down at the crumpled body. Rick, who’d seen the handiwork of war, was unfazed by the deadly turn of events.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Suddenly Rick spoke, </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “This asshole is why you have to be careful,” he warned. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Lenny was surprised at Rick’s outburst and nodded his head, timidly agreeing to whatever Rick meant. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “It was a bad call, bringing that shifty-eyed bastard on to help. I was surprised when Smiley told me about him. He hardly knew the jerk! I predicted trouble. I sure hate it when I’m right like this,” Rick said.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Without another word, Rick picked up a shovel and tossed it to Lenny, who was regretting his involvement in the cover up. They filled the hole with dark rich earth and tamped it down with their boots. Then they picked up nearby leaves and twigs and scattered them over the earth. Rick relieved himself on the grave site in a final show of distain.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> As they drove back to Rick’s place, both men were silent, buried in their thoughts. Rick’s normal paranoia grew with every mile. Visions of law enforcement officers searching the mountain for Smokey danced through his fevered brain like imps in hell. How far would they look? Would they come looking for him at all?</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Lenny tried to re-normalize his world. It was shaken badly. He had become accessory to murder when he helped bury Smokey. The thought tortured him. He didn’t mind being on the other side of the law when it came to selling pot, but this new development was more than he ever bargained for. He glanced at Rick lean face. A blank slate. Whatever was going on behind those dark eyes was carefully concealed.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> When they finally pulled up the house, Rick broke the silence.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Just how fast can you move my pot?”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Coming May 28th - THE FINAL CHAPTER - Chapter 10 - FINAL ACTS</span><br />
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ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-7209673851985000092013-05-14T12:58:00.001-07:002013-06-08T12:28:20.880-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"> <b> CHAPTER 8</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><b> SHOOTOUTS</b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #990000; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"> Rafter's</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #990000; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">Redemption</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #990000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"> By Dave Stancliff</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Sgt. Borgalac kept asking Rafter for his canteen of Scotch. His shattered face gleamed wetly under the full moon’s light. Sprawled out on the ground, without ears, eyes, and genitals, Hansen lay in a growing pool of blood in the middle of an alley. Suddenly he sat up and pointed at Rafter.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Where were you buddy? I didn’t stand a chance?”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter screamed so hard he fell out of bed! But he didn’t come to his senses. Still wrapped in his nightmare, he got up off the hardwood floor and lunged across the room. He began swinging his arms and making contact with walls and a lamp on the dresser, which he sent flying off into the dark room.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The shattering lamp woke Sundance and he immediately began to cry. Jenny jumped out of bed and ran to Sundance’s room. Her mother’s instinct blindly led her to him. She held him close. A wail of anguish startled her, until she realized it came from Rafter’s room.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Out in the drying shed, Smiley and Smokey were working on their second bottle of Jack Daniels. As usual, Smiley wasn’t holding his liquor as well as Smokey. He was nearly blind drunk. Smokey had drunk more than usual and was feeling reckless. Maybe it was because he felt so physically strong. Maybe it was because he hadn’t been laid in months.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “So you see the way she looks at him?” Smokey asked.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “What the hell are you talking about? The way who looks at who?” </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Too drunk to back down, Smokey went on, ’Jenny of course. Your old lady. She gives Rafter that look a lot.”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Look a lot?” </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “You know what I mean. That look. Where you want someone to have sex with you.”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Sex? Who? You mean Rafter and Jenny? I told you before they’re just friends.”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Hell yes. Are you blind or what? I bet she’s been doing him when you’re not around for years now. They must have been laughing out loud behind your back all along. Hell, I’ll bet Sundance is his kid!”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “The hell you say…”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Listen…I didn’t want to bring this up again, but your partner has been plowing your ground for years.”</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Smiley stood up and shook his head as if to clear it. Then he raised the bottle of Jack Daniels and took a hearty slug. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “We’ll see about that,” he said, slurring the words. He stumbled towards the main house.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;">J</span>enny was so proud of Sundance. Once she explained to him that Rafter was having a bad nightmare, he settled back down in his bed. Then she was able to go into Rafter’s room and check on him. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He was leaning against the wall, head down and sobbing, when she came into his room. Without thinking, she went up to him, wrapped her arms around him, and gave him a hug. He kept sobbing. She held him close and felt his terrified heart beating in his chest. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Smiley walked into the room! Snarling like an animal he awkwardly lunged across the room and barreled into them! Jenny fell backward and Rafter wobbled around, but kept his feet. They embraced like two enraged bears and thrashed around the room. Rafter bigger and stronger, broke loose and threw a combination of punches that knocked Smiley down and nearly out.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He’d never been hit so hard in his life! His jaw felt like it was broken and he was sucking air between what he was sure were broken ribs. Unable to stand, he waited for more punishment.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter staggered around the room throwing his arms blindly around like windmills. They hit the wall, the chest of drawers and paddled at the air furiously. Then Smiley saw the blank sleepwalker eyes and knew what was going on in a flash of understanding. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter was having one of his damn nightmares!</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He stopped and sagged against a wall. Jenny came up to him and hugged him. Smiley was suddenly sober as he looked at the panting, tortured soul before him and realized his mistake. Jenny was between them, facing Rafter, softly speaking words of understanding and assurance. She looked over her shoulder once at Smiley and saw that he understood what really was happening.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Jenny knew he was drunk again and spending too much time with that snake Smokey. She instinctively knew Smokey was to blame for this incident. She felt no pity for Smiley, and wasn‘t concerned about his injuries. She had stopped feeling anything good about him a long time ago.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Clutching his side, Smiley got up and walked out of the room burning with shame at his stupidity. He went straight to the drying shed to see Smokey. Despite the pain in his ribs and jaw, he kicked Smokey’s ass around the shed almost leisurely, inflicting pain and then taking a swig from a bottle of Jack Daniels, before continuing the beat down. It lasted for an hour before Smiley passed out drunk. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;">H</span>e should have tied Smokey up or run him off the property. It was too late for that. Smiley was deep in his drunken sleep when the shotgun roared! </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He was lying on his stomach and his back was suddenly turned into a bloody mess! Smokey looked down at the ragged flesh and the growing pool of blood and felt a warm rush in his loins. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Something had snapped inside him after the beating. For the first time in Smokey's life he was ready to take someone else’s life. He’d known where Smiley kept the old 12- gauge shotgun in the drying shed, the one they sometimes let him use when they were out tending the gardens. The beating had sent him over the edge. He got the 12-gauge, shot Smiley, and turned his attention to the house. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He could barely walk, he was so sore. His eyes were so swollen and he had to squint through slits to see. After shooting Smiley, he grabbed a pocket full of shells and hobbled toward the main house.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Jenny couldn’t stop Rafter from leaving the house. His hallucinations had taken over and he was somewhere in Southeast Asia running from an invisible enemy. She didn’t follow him out of the house because of Sundance.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> She heard a shotgun blast outside. Reacting instantly, she ran to grab Sundance. Next she ran to her room and grabbed the .38 caliber Smith & Wesson she kept in the dresser drawer beside her bed. She slipped it into the pocket of her robe and ran to the back door. Mogli followed them.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The adrenaline pouring through Smokey’s system was better than the best Meth he’d ever had. It made heroin look tame. He could see how people got addicted to this pleasurable rush that came when you killed someone. Shooting Smiley had turned his monster loose, and now he stalked the others with eager anticipation. His time had come. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;">J</span>enny took Sundance and Mogli to the “hideout.” It was a concealed bunker the three partners had built for protection a couple of years ago. If you didn’t know it was there, you’d pass the hideout because it was well camouflaged. There were cots and camping gear stashed inside. Several folding chairs stood next to them. A complex air exchange and duct system was cleverly concealed from the outside. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> There were boxes of C-rations and plastic jugs of water in the bunker, along with a battery radio, a 20 gallon tank of propane for the camp stove, and stacks of magazines to read. There were three battery powered lanterns and a box of flares. A small round wooden table sat in the center of the room.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> She was starting to doubt herself for running to the bunker when she heard Smokey’s voice,</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Hey! Don’t be shy! It’s just me…come on out! I just want to play with you guys. Don’t you like to play games Sundance?” </span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Jenny put a hand over Mogli’s mouth, but he didn’t resist. It was like he understood he had to be quiet.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Smokey couldn’t see where they were and was hoping they hadn’t gone too far. That they were still within range of his voice. He didn’t feel like chasing them right now. He was feeling the effects of the beating. It was still dark out and he needed something for the pain. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a little while,” he called at the tree line where he supposed they had disappeared. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He still had one more thing to attend to before hunting Jenny and her brat down. That crazy bastard Rafter was roaming around somewhere.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He went back to the main house and started up the steps to the front door. He heard a moan. He froze and listened closely. There it was again! Someone was under the house and it had to be Rafter. He backtracked and looked at the wooden skirting surrounding the house.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> It became a deadly game. He got down on all fours, crept up to the intricate lattice work and peeked under the house. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Come out, come out wherever you are!” he called.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> At first there was no sound and he wondered if he’d imagined the groan? Then he heard it! Another groan. He saw movement from that direction, </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I’ve got you now, you son of a bitch!” he shouted, firing the shotgun!</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter howled in pain when the shot struck his hip! He was still in the clutches of his hallucinations and didn’t know who he was. He was stuck between reality and the mother of all nightmares. He had no idea who would want to shoot him. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Only his survival instincts could help him now. He didn’t move despite the horrendous pain and slowed his breathing.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Smokey, who pumped another shell into the breech, peered through the wood work and saw Rafter’s outline clearly against the first rays of morning light. He wasn’t moving. Damn! This killing stuff was fun! He had no idea how easy it was. Who would have thought? He wondered if there was any beer in the house? He was thirsty. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter heard footsteps above him and knew his attacker was inside the house. Animal instinct told him he had to move now. To get help. He was bleeding profusely. Ignoring the pain, he crawled to an opening in the lattice work and pulled himself through onto the wet grass. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He stopped crawling once and looked at the sunrise heralding a new day with shades of pink and orange at the skyline. Memories stirred. Names rattled around in his head. Lenny. Rick. Jenny. Who were they? Then instinct took over again and he crawled toward the tree line.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;"> J</span>enny knew she couldn’t stay in the hideout forever. By now, she suspected Smokey had shot Smiley. She tried not to think about him dead. She had no idea where Rafter was, or if he was still alive. She had heard another shot hours ago and suspected Smokey had shot him too. That 12-gauge made a distinct sound. She prayed Rafter wasn’t dead. It just wouldn’t be fair. There was so much she wanted to say to him.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Sundance agreed it wouldn’t be fair when she shared her thoughts with him. With four-year old wisdom, he assured her everything was going to be all right, and he would look out for her. She smiled at him and thought he looked like a little angel with his golden locks. Then she slipped her hand into her robe pocket and held the pistol for reassurance.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Coming May 21st - Chapter Nine </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> DEATH IN THE REDWOODS</span></span><br />
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ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-25935298865105177422013-04-30T06:50:00.000-07:002013-06-08T12:28:37.397-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> CHAPTER 6</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> DEADLY HARVEST</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="color: #990000;"> By Dave Stancliff</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 19px;">C</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19px;">hristmas 1973. Smiley, Jenny, Sundance, and Rafter inside the trailer. A small live spruce in a pot, decorated with tinsel and tiny silver star ornaments stood next to Rafter’s cot. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The room was warm, thanks to propane. It was snowing outside. They sipped Jack Daniels and opened presents. Sundance, still wearing an elves hat, slept in his crib. He was a sound sleeper and they didn’t have to whisper for fear of waking him.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The trio tried to adjust to the piles of money on the bed. After paying a $5,000 commission they had $120,000! They were elated to see so much money laid out before them in $100, $50,$20, $10, and $5 bills.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> It was the most money Rafter and Jenny had ever seen in one place. Smiley had seen Rick’s payoff</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the year he worked for him. It amounted to $500,000 and came in a suitcase. Still, seeing their money in piles by denominations was awesome. It was proof they could make a living growing marijuana. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> It meant they could continue to live on the mountain and pursue a peaceful way of life on their own terms. They all felt strongly about their personal freedom. They divided the money as agreed, Rafter got half, and Smiley and Jenny the other half.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Toast!” Smiley said, holding up his glass - a mason jar. “To another successful season as farmers!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> They touched glasses and repeated, “To another successful season as farmers!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I have a proposal for next season’s profits,” Rafter said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “What?” Jenny inquired.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I think we should divide them three ways next time. I feel guilty about getting so much and you two having to split the same amount. We’re all partners, aren’t we? Jenny will be as just as busy as we will, if not more so because she’ll be taking care of Sundance too. I’d feel better if we split it three ways. What do you guys say?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Smiley immediately raised his glass, “Bravo Rafter! Gotta hand it to you bro…you’re a good man! I agree. Let’s split it in three.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I don’t know what to say.” Jenny blushed furiously. Her face felt hot. “Thanks.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Today we celebrate. Tomorrow we can make some decisions about upgrading our living quarters,” Smiley suggested. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;">G</span>etting permits to build was a drawn out process that required going to several locations and dealing with bureaucrats. Rafter hated going to the court house, which stood next to the county prison, and to the County Planning Department a few miles away. He couldn’t expect Smiley to take care of everything. So he went along and let Smiley do most of the talking.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Smiley didn’t seem to mind haggling with people and always maintained his smile. Rafter secretly would get pissed off at a clerk’s stupidity and his heartbeat would increase. He also grew more uncomfortable around groups of people. He sat with his back to the wall when they ate in restaurants.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19px;"> His sense of being on guard was heightened in public situations in spite of himself. The hell of it was Rafter didn’t know why he felt that way. He seldom found something humorous, despite Smiley’s constant jokes and funny observations.</span><span style="line-height: 19px;">Rafter found himself forcing a smile at times. His old rubber face was now a rigid sculpture with a scar. All he wanted was to go back to the mountain and spend time in the woods. His only joy was Sundance. </span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He was glad he had found Smiley and realized he would never have made this kind of money in a factory. Just the thought of being trapped inside four walls, eight hours a day, made him sick. What would have happened if Smiley and Jenny hadn’t picked him up that day? Where would he be now? The realization that he probably would have been homeless sobered him. Smiley and Jenny had become his best friends. They all respected each other’s space and enjoyed being together. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 19px;"> “</span><span style="line-height: 19px;">T</span><span style="line-height: 19px;">racers and screams. Fernandez tried to pull Enriquez to safety by his arm while firing his M-16. They were engulfed by black bodies savagely bayoneting them…Sgt. Borgalac stared sightlessly into the<span style="font-size: 14px;"> </span></span>night…his head cleaved wide open…suddenly he sat up looked at Rafter and demanded his Scotch!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Sweat poured down Rafter’s face as he gasped and woke up from the nightmare. He lay there with heart beating fast, adrenaline coursing through his body like acid, and wondered when the nightmares would go away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;">A</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">fter Sundance was born, Jenny started thinking about marriage. She was afraid to approach the subject with Smiley, as much as she loved him. The idea of being rejected at any level was too painful to contemplate. The idea of getting married never passed through Smiley’s head. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter wondered if they would marry someday, but since they never talked about the subject he assumed neither was interested in matrimony. Even when Smiley talked about “his son” marriage didn’t come up. Sundance’s birth affected Rafter deeply.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> For reasons he didn’t understand, bringing Sundance into the world had changed him. Life seemed to suddenly have a purpose. The miracle of birth was a stark contrast to the deaths that continually reoccurred in his nightmares. He felt he’d been given a chance to redeem himself. His heart easily made room for this new person in his life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Alternative lifestyles were becoming the norm in parts of Humboldt County. The “back to earthers” invaded the hills to escape San Francisco’s failed hippie paradise, and they weren’t the only ones who fled to the backwoods to escape urban madness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Vietnam veterans seeking distance from those who hated and feared them in the cities found rural living suitable. Most of them hated and distrusted the government that had sent them to Southeast Asia to die for no good reason.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> They were survivors who found themselves outcasts in society. Men like Smiley and Rafter. Each had a story, but the common denominator was distrust of government. Any government. So when a chance came to make money illegally, on their own terms, they took it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Other Vietnam veterans came to southern Humboldt County with the “back to earthers” and adopted their communal lifestyle. They learned to grow fruit and vegetables. They raised bees, goats, cows, and pigs. Many built crude shelters that were never approved by any planning department or county commissioners. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The rare Vietnam veteran visionaries like Smiley and Rick, prided themselves on building safe compounds with secure perimeters. That meant they worked with the “man” so their structures wouldn’t be torn down by anal authorities. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The plan was to become totally self-sufficient, and still have some conveniences. Big generators were the key to softer living. Smiley and Rafter copied Rick’s idea and installed solar panels on the roof of their new three-bedroom house. Solar power was still in it’s fledgling stage, but people did obtain solar panels, often secondhand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Smiley and Rafter dug out the foundation and paid a local contractor, another Vietnam veteran, Justin Stillwater, to pour it. Stillwater also helped them frame the house. The Redwood plank walls and the cedar and pine floors were milled at Rick’s ranch. His portable mill often came in handy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The Redwood tree came from Smiley’s land. It was highly unlikely anyone would notice. It wasn’t an ancient Redwood, but still stood 80-feet tall. The cedar and coastal pine also came from Smiley’s property. This helped keep construction costs down.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> When they finished the house, a true labor of love, they invited Rick, his girlfriend, the 10 members of the commune near Rick’s property, and their contractor friend Justin over for a house-warming celebration.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Several members of the commune played instruments and they partied through the night, smoking weed, drinking booze, and dropping LSD. The big open living room easily accommodated the visitors. Little Sundance slept through most of the night and only woke once for a quick feeding and change.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;">S</span>eptember 1975. Smiley and Rafter sat near the wood stove in their new home. They were both dirty and tired from the day’s labor in the woods. Their camouflage shirts and pants still had mud clinging to them. Rafter still wore his boonie hat. Smiley’s hat hung from his neck, down his back. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Jenny was making dinner in the kitchen. Two - and-a-half year old Sundance ran through the house with a truck in one hand and a race car in the other, making high pitched machine noises. His Mario Andretti t-shirt was on backward and he was barefoot. His long blond hair flowed down his back as he raced from room-to-room in noisy glee.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Following closely behind him was Rafter’s new puppy, a Pug named Mogli. A 4 ft. by 8 ft. safe stood in one corner of the room.. In it, stacks of money from the last two harvests, almost three million dollars, were divided into thirds. Each third was in a leather suitcase with a combination lock. There were also two Winchester repeating rifles, and the ammunition for them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Several pieces of valuable jewelry belonging to Jenny were in a gilded box with silver pot leaves adorning the four sides. A gold watch lined with tiny but perfect diamonds, nestled next to it. A gold necklace with a ruby pendant, and matching ear rings completed the set. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “So what do you think? Four more weeks?” Rafter asked Smiley.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Sounds about right. We’ll call Jesus after the harvest. This year let’s call him on November 28 and arrange the meet. He was pretty eager to get his hands on our bud last Nov. 21st. Making him wait another week ought to give us another ace-in-the-hole when we discuss price.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I’m thinking we could bump it up two hundred a pound this season. My friend Lenny has been keeping me up on the street prices for quality weed and our buddy Jesus is making a killing,” Rafter said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Smiley pulled out a wooden pipe from one shirt pocket and reached into the other for a plastic baggie of bud. Carefully selecting a sticky nugget he pressed it into the pipe bowl. His Zippo lit the pungent ingredients. After taking a deep hit, he passed the pipe to Rafter. Rafter took a toke, and Smiley said, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “We got $1,500 per pound last season and I did kinda feel like we gave it away. I’ve heard our bud is the biggest seller in Porterville and the Loco Park gang has a growing reputation. If you know what I mean.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter passed the pipe back and nodded, “Yeah. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> They’re apparently showing off their wealth in cars and jewelry lately. Other gangs are envious of Loco Park’s good fortune.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Smiley exhaled a cloud of smoke that drifted lazily across the room. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Everything points to $1,700 a pound then, bro. So be it.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Jenny called, “Dinner’s ready! Where’s Sundance?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Just then, Sundance raced into the living room and tackled Rafter’s leg! They played for a minute before Rafter picked him up and carried him into the dining room, squealing with delight. “I want ice cream!” Sundance demanded.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Jenny was happy. Sundance was her main source of happiness. She loved Smiley and Rafter. One as a lover, the other as a brother. She loved her beautiful house with its double gables and a front porch made out of redwood. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> She was proud of the pretty white picket fence around the foundation, hiding the fact that the house was on piers and had a crawl space beneath it. She enjoyed all the electrical devices in the house that made her life easier. All possible because of their newest and biggest generator.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Jenny loved the spectacular scenery surrounding the house from the large picture windows. She smelled the fresh air. Her parents had got over the shock of her having a baby out of wedlock and actually grew to love their grandchild. Aunt Susan was her confident and best friend. She could buy anything she wanted. She’d say, “What more could a girl ask for?” And that was the problem.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Despite pushing her feelings for Rafter into a hidden space in her mind, she thought about him at odd moments. Wondered what it would be like to be with him? Somehow her love for him was breaking through her barrier of daily denial and changing from the kind for a brother to something entirely different. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He made her heart and stomach flitter unexpectedly, even when Smiley was nearby. He seemed to like the things she liked, unlike Smiley who was mostly interested in having sex. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She and Smiley seldom talked anymore. Smiley was always too busy. Or drinking booze. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter, who was just as busy, found time to talk with her and play with Sundance. Smiley’s father instinct appeared sparse if existent. He certainly didn’t have enough patience to deal with a rambunctious two-and-a-half year-old. Even his own two-and-half year old. The two never seemed to have made a connection.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter and Sundance, on the other hand, were as close as father and son. Sundance followed him around like a faithful hound dog. Rafter always seemed to be there for Sundance’s firsts. When he walked. When he talked and said </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Da Da" to him. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> When he fell for the first time and scuffed his knees.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Smiley didn’t see their bond as anything unusual. He would correct the baby, and point at himself and say “Da Da.” The thing was, Smiley didn’t enjoy doing things with Sundance. He had no patience with him. To himself, Smiley admitted he had little or no interest in Sundance. He didn’t know why. He tried at times, but his efforts always came off flat and awkward. It made him feel guilty. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter certainly didn’t appear interested in Jenny as a lover and seemed content with their platonic relationship. Jenny spent her days and nights conflicted. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;">T</span>he diner was empty except for the four men who sat at the rear table. The waiter in the small Mom & Pop diner poured out four cups of coffee. Two of the men were Hispanic and sported heavy gold chains dangling from their open madras shirts. One blue and the other brown.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Their shoulder length jet black hair was combed back and looked carved into place. One wore a diamond earring. When standing, you could see the sharp center pleats in their baggy brown trousers. They wore Italian designer shoes that reflected the light. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Sitting across from them were two tall thin white men. Neither wore jewelry. Both had long hair pulled back in ponytails and wore bright multi-colored Hawaiian shirts and levis. They wore hand crafted logger boots. Smiley’s baseball cap had a Smiley face on it. Rafter wore a brown felt fedora. He also wore a pair of blue-tinted circular sunglasses, despite the muted lighting in the diner. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> They ordered breakfast and casually ate, sharing small talk. None of them wanted to appear in a hurry. That wouldn’t have been cool. After three years of being partners Rick and Oscar had developed rituals for negotiation day. An hour passed before Oscar opened the negotiations.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “How was your season?” he politely asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “We had challenges. The weather was good. The quality is top shelf,” Smiley assured him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “How much do you have for me?” Jesus blurted out. </span></div>
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<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The others looked at him with disapproval.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Hey Homie…where’s your manners?” Oscar asked.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Jesus reluctantly apologized. “What’s the pound price this season?”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Everything considered, we believe $1,700 per pound is reasonable. Especially with the reputation our buds are making down south.”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “What the hell? I paid $1,500 last year! That’s a two hundred dollar increase!” Jesus sputtered angrily.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “What’s the matter with you homie? This is business. Prices change according to the market. You’re embarrassing me,” Oscar growled menacingly.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Tension filled the air. Rafter and Smiley shifted in their seats. Jesus stared at Smiley. Oscar scowled at Jesus. A minute passed in sullen silence. Finally Jesus spoke,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “All right. $1,700 per pound. How much do you have?”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> A sigh of relief escaped Oscar who knew his hotheaded cousin could be an ass. He wondered for the thousandth time how Jesus had managed to take control of the Loco Park gang. He could be dangerously unpredictable.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “We have 125 pounds dried and cured,” Smiley said, staring steadily into Jesus’s eyes.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Neither man had taken his eyes off the other since the flare up.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Good…then I need to know when and where the transaction will be,” Jesus replied, returning the stare.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Two days from now. Here’s a map to the shopping center where we’ll meet in Willets,” Smiley said.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He pulled out a folded piece of paper from his top pocket and handed it to Jesus.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “We’ll meet at 10 p.m.” </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “We’ll see you then, my friends.” </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Oscar stood up.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I’ll get the tab.”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;">T</span>wo days later.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;">I</span>t was dark and the lights in the middle of the parking lot caused car and people shadows that stretched toward the supermarket and across the small strip of stores. It was warm and people wore shorts and tee shirts.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> A black King Cab pickup truck was parked in the center of the lot. Two men sat inside impatiently waiting. The radio played, “Money” by Pink Floyd,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “ Money, it's a gas - grab that cash with both hands - and make a stash…” </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “We never brought weapons before, Smiley. Why now?”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Listen bro…like I told you before, I have instincts that some people don’t. It’s why I survived out in the jungle. I wouldn’t be surprised if our pal Jesus decides this is the day to end our partnership and reap the profits from our labors.”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “If you really believe that, maybe we should call this transaction off. Talk with Oscar and let him know your concerns.”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Okay…let me put it this way. We really need to sell our weed. I’m not 100 per cent sure he’ll try anything. I’m feeling the need for caution. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “No. But borrowing Rick’s 9 mm seems like an abundance of caution.”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Bare with me bro…everything’s probably going to be fine. I just feel the need for an equalizer.”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A black Riviera pulled up next to them. Then a black Ford van pulled up on the other side. The van’s side door opened. Both doors on the Riviera opened and two men got out. Jesus and a stranger with two brief cases. Smiley immediately suspected foul play when Oscar wasn’t there, but opened his door and stepped out. </span></div>
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</span>
<br />
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</span>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter opened his door and walked around to unlock the truck’s camper. The stranger set the two brief cases down on the cement. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Where’s Oscar?” Smiley calmly asked.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“He got sick and asked Jorge to come in his place. They’re homies,” Jesus said.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Rafter unlocked the camper. Then he came around the side of the truck where Smiley was, stopped a few feet back, and waited to see what would happen next.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Unseen by either party, a homeless man blended in the outer shadows. He shambled along, wrapped in a dark blanket. His street instincts were pure and when he saw the black pickup, the Van, and the Riviera in the center of the parking lot, he stopped. His eyes focused on the emerging figures. He slipped further into the shadows behind a stall of shopping carts. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He was young and his hearing was good. So was his eyesight. His name was Smokey. Not his real name, but his street name. </div>
</span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Normally he had a hand-rolled cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He was a stoner who depended upon his friends to get him high. Now he perked up his ears and listened: </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “No phone call. That seems odd to…” </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Smiley broke off mid sentence as Jorge reached under his long-sleeved blue checkered shirt for a gun! </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Smiley was faster and shot Jorge in the head before he cleared his .38 revolver. Jesus fired a quick shot in Smiley’s direction and jumped inside the Riviera. Smiley rolled on the ground towards the car. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The car’s engine started. Smiley rose, took aim and fired three quick shots into the driver’s side. Two struck Jesus in the head and he pitched sidewise striking the horn which blared angrily as the engine raced. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The van door slammed closed and it came to life, screeching across the parking lot towards the main highway. It’s occupants obviously didn’t want to continue the fight. Rafter, who hit the deck when the shooting started, got up and ran to Smiley, who grabbed the brief cases. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Are you all right, bro?” Rafter asked.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “We have to move fast. Let’s get out of here.”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The car horn blared away. Smokey stared. He had never seen someone get killed before. This was so out of his normal existence he was stunned. Shocked. He couldn’t move, even when the Van’s lights hit him and it looked like the driver was going to barrel into him! </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then the pickup truck passed and Smokey stared at the passenger</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> and driver. He got an especially good look at the passenger just before they turned onto the road.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter and Smiley peeled out toward the highway heading north. Rafter drove. Smiley opened one of the brief cases and swore, </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “It’s full of newspapers! The sons of bitches!” he roared.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The incident was a game-changer. Smiley had killed two men and was paranoid about the law catching up to him so he stayed drunk. Rafter worried about witnesses, but a week after the shootout it became apparent the law had no solid leads.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The shooting was sensationalized in newspapers across the country. Two known gangsters shot by an unknown person or persons. No leads. Authorities baffled. No trace of drugs found. No large wads of cash concealed in the Riviera. The two hand guns the gangsters used were clean of identification and provided no clues. It would go on to be the story of the year in Willets;</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Who shot the gangsters?”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The ramifications of the shoot-out came to them a week later when Rick stopped by in his camouflaged Jeep.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “That was a really bad scene bros…what happened?” he asked without the usual amenities like “hello,” or dapping. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “They set us up, Rick,” Smiley scowled.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Your friend Oscar wasn’t there bro…” Rafter said, as if that were explanation enough.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Where’s my 9 mm?” Rick asked.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I took it apart and threw the pieces into the Eel River,” Smiley said. “I’ll buy you another one.”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I mainly wanted to know that no one else would find it,” Rick explained. “Might have caused me some trouble.”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Now what?” Rafter asked.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to contact Oscar and he’s not returning my calls. That’s not a good sign. One of the guys you killed was his relative. A cousin or something.”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Yeah, I know. Jesus had it in for me though. What else could I do? I was defending myself. If I hadn’t borrowed your gun, I wouldn’t be here now. That’s a fact.”</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “What I want to know is why wasn’t Oscar with him? That broke our agreement,” Rafter asked.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I hear you bro…I just don’t have the answer right now. All I can say is, lay low and don’t leave the homestead for a while. Get rid of your truck. Buy a new one. I’ll do what I can to find out what happened. Just be glad you live up on this mountain. You don’t have to worry about your neighbors ratting you out,” Rick reasoned.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> They talked for nearly an hour before dapping and parting.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;">J</span>enny was hysterical when she heard what happened. She clutched Sundance to her chest and stayed in her room for several days. She couldn’t bear to talk with either of them. Smiley had killed two men!</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He was up front about it and expected her to understand. She didn’t. The whole business of growing pot had taken a deadly turn and she didn’t like it. The killings upset her world. She never expected anything this horrible would come from gardening. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
They were just farmers. Not gangsters. She’d worried about the money connection from the start. It was a necessary evil, they assured her. They would make sure there was no trouble. Rick’s connection was tight. It was just business.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sure. A business that went bad. Now death was a by-product of their hard work and peaceful existence. The real world interrupted their happy little haven. Now the stink of sticky buds came with the stink of death. The two would be associated in her mind now. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She knew what Smiley had done in the Nam. She forgave that and wrote it off as doing his duty. This was different. The man she thought she knew was still very much a killer under his smiling mask. He was more complex than she realized. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It didn’t surprise her that Rafter wasn’t involved in the shoot out. That he didn’t kill anyone. He was a Vietnam veteran too, and had faced what Smiley did, but no blood was on his hands this time. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Rafter often shared his regrets with her about the people he had killed overseas. Smiley never showed any remorse for what happened in the Nam. It bothered her at times, but she knew people reacted differently to stressful situations. How had it come to this?</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">W</span>hen Rick finally reached Oscar on the telephone, the first thing out of his mouth was, </div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
“What happened? Where were you?”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Easy bro…I’m dealing with a lot of angry home boys right now. They want to find your friends really bad. Some are asking me to sever ties with you, my friend. I wasn’t there because Jesus called and said it was postponed for a day. He lied to me.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Sever ties with me?”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“They’re your friends and right now my homies want blood. One white boy would be as good as another. Especially since you know them. We have to stop doing business bro. There’s no way around it.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Can’t say I’m happy about this, but I know you’re right. Maybe someday down the line we’ll meet again and have a bottle of Jack Daniels.”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“And smoke some of your loco weed too,” Oscar added.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The phone line went dead. Rick looked around his living room as if searching for something. The walls were bare. The room was sparsely furnished. The wooden rocker he sat in. A small brown couch. An end table. He was comfortable with the Spartan look.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He felt a sense of loss at this parting that went beyond financial. They had some good times back in the Nam. He’d never forget them. Now he had to deal with this new reality; he didn’t have a buyer for this year’s crop.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Rafter and Smiley decided they had to reach out and do some sales work if they hoped to get rid of their 125 pounds of pot. Rafter called Lenny, who was now a junior at Cal State Fullerton, and offered him a way to make some serious money. Lenny realized he had a built-in customer base at the college and selling top-of-the-line weed would make him a quick profit. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Rafter started him with one pound and he advised Lenny to bag it up into ounces, and quarter-ounces, to sell. He gave Lenny the pound on a Friday morning. By Sunday, Lenny called to say he had sold it all and could he have two more pounds? In three months Lenny sold 25 pounds.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Smiley was busy too. He hooked up with some Hell’s Angels and successfully sold them 50 pounds before sensing they were going to rip him off on their next transaction. He was a survivor after all, and his instincts were as sharp as a Samurai Sword made by the fabled master Amakuni, who created the first one. The last thing he wanted was another shoot out. After two months of dealing with the Stockton Chapter of the Hell’s Angels he decided it was time to move on.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Rafter and Smiley agreed there would be no crop that season. They still had 50 pounds left over and it would require more sales efforts. The time for planting was passing. Secretly Rafter was happy with their new arrangement. They’d made a ridiculous profit already. He didn’t need more.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He had three full suitcases of money totaling over a one and a half million dollars in small bills. It was enough for a lifetime. After they sold the rest, he planned to tell Smiley he wasn’t interested in growing more.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He knew it would mean leaving Jenny and Sundance. Perhaps that would be the best thing to do, despite the fact that he loved them both. She was Smiley’s woman. They didn’t have to be legally as far as he was concerned. They had a child together, and he didn’t want to come between them. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Still he would sorely miss them both. He admitted to himself he loved her more than was safe. He didn’t want to cause trouble. He had no right. They had taken him in and treated him like an equal. He couldn’t betray either of them, no matter how much he desired Jenny and wanted to be with her and Sundance as a family.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The easiest thing was to continue to funnel pounds to Lenny, who had branched out considerably. Rafter spent more time in Southern California, saying it was necessary to monitor Lenny’s progress. He finally leased a furnished apartment in Fullerton that allowed animals, and bought a new burgundy Chevrolet Monte Carlo.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He spent most of his time in the apartment with Mogli, listening to music and staying high. Lenny sold the rest of their weed. Then one day Rafter was back in the jungle! He was cooking eggs and suddenly he was running through elephant grass so tall he couldn’t see where he was going!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As the days turned to weeks, Rafter went outside less and less. Lenny stopped by once a week to give him money and report on his progress. He never stayed long. Rafter’s moods troubled him.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A black veil settled upon Rafter’s soul and nightmares nagged his nights. It had been a while since they bothered him so often and they had never been as intense as now. His days became hazy. Unclear. A challenge to reality. He experienced flashbacks, forgetting where he was. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">O</span>ne day Lenny stopped by and got the scare of his life. Driving along the 605 Freeway. Lenny couldn’t believe how much money he was making. He couldn’t wait to tell Rafter he’d sold the last of his weed. He was concerned about where to get more. This was the last of Rafter and Smiley’s crop. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He knew Rafter had connections up north, and hoped he could supply him a new source. Lenny got out of his Mustang, grabbed the brown leather suitcase full of money, and headed for Rafter’s ground floor apartment.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It was a warm June night and a full moon glowed in the heavens. Lenny knocked on the door, despite having a key. He heard movement inside. A dog barked excitedly. Seconds pass into a minute. Then two. </div>
<div>
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Finally Lenny pulled out his key and inserted it. He didn’t want to be outside too long with all that money. He opened the door. The only illumination in the room was a lava lamp. It cast an eerie red glow on Rafter who was huddled in a corner, snarling like an animal! Mogli barked at Lenny and charged him, nipping at his ankles. He meant to protect Rafter at all costs. Lenny was horrified.</div>
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He’s never experienced anything like it in his young life. He froze after taking two steps into the room. The suitcase slipped from his fingers. Fear tickled his guts. Rafter’s eyes were pinpoints and his front teeth bared like a wolf‘s. Time stood still. Minutes passed and the only sound in the room was Lenny’s rapid breathing and an occasional grunt from Rafter. Mogli stopped barking and retreated to Rafter’s side. </div>
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“Rafter…it’s me, man. Lenny.”</div>
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The silence was stifling. Rafter stopped grunting. Sobs replaced the grunts.</div>
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“Rafter…listen to me, man. It’s Lenny. Everything’s okay.”</div>
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“No,” was Rafter’s suddenly strong reply, </div>
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“Nothing is okay!”</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Coming May 6th - Chapter 7 </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"> "Consequences"</span></div>
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ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-90036676025695574402013-04-23T07:09:00.000-07:002013-04-26T11:46:42.658-07:00Chapter Five - Plants and a Baby<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Attention New Readers!</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Go to right side of page for links to Prologue and all the Chapters.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="color: #990000;">Rafter's</span> <span style="color: #990000;">Redemption</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> <span style="color: #990000;"> By Dave Stancliff</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">O</span>n a brisk late April day, Smiley announced the last frost was over and they could start planting. It was still early in the morning and steam rose off their cups of coffee. Jenny served wooden bowls of oatmeal flavored with brown sugar, and slices of buttered bread.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Spring. Robins and Larks trading insults with sparrows. Patches of fog still clung to the thickly forested area that surrounded the humble homestead. Clean fresh air. The smell of wood smoke from the fire pit the three figures huddled around. An hour passed as they ate breakfast and talked about the weather. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Finally, Smiley stood up, and stretched his lanky six-foot four frame and declared,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “It’s time to go. I want to show you the spots I picked and it’s going to take most of the day to check them out.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter smoothly uncoiled from his folding chair ready to go. Grabbing a pre-packed ruck sack, Smiley set off toward the rising sun. Rafter, who wore an Army surplus web belt with canteen and knife, grabbed his ruck sack, and followed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Jenny watched the men disappear into the forest and wondered exactly how far along she was? She knew she had missed her period prior to hooking up with Smiley, and they had only been together two months. He wasn’t aware she was pregnant, but she had to tell him soon. Thanks to the loose flowing dresses with pants underneath, her belly was well hidden. She couldn’t keep hiding it though. Luckily, he wasn’t as interested in having sex since Rafter arrived. He was always busy and exhausted from the day’s labors.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> All three slept in the tiny trailer; Jenny and Smiley on the small bed, and Rafter on the other side of the room on a wood and canvas WW II Army cot. The men stayed up late every night talking and smoking weed so she could go to bed and fall asleep before Smiley joined her. He seldom woke her. Now her belly was getting too big to ignore and she knew it was time to see a doctor and find out how things were going. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> That meant she was would to have to tell Smiley she was with child. Remembering Sonny’s reaction to this news, she was concerned. But Smiley was different. They were best friends and lovers. She decided to say it was his baby. Who’d ever know but her?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Yes, the more she thought about it, the more comfortable she became with the idea. There was a risk she misread him and he would be upset with the announcement, but it was worth a try. She sensed a goodness in him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> There were no other options in Jenny McQueen’s life. Her family didn’t understand her. For them the final straw was when she was arrested while protesting against the Vietnam war. Her wealthy and very conservative parents were appalled. After posting her bail they told her she was going to go to college and stop acting silly. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> It wasn’t that she didn’t have good grades. She could have done very well if she had wanted to go to college. She didn’t, and told her parents. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They said, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “As long as you live under this roof you’ll do as we say.” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> So she packed a suitcase that night and left the next day, choosing to leave a note rather than have a face-to-face confrontation. She still loved them, but she was her own person and they’d just have to accept it. She was 18 years-old after all.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> So Jenny hitch-hiked to San Francisco and lived in a commune. She lost her virginity to a hippie named Sonny who had long blond hair, blue eyes, and played base guitar. Things were good with them until she missed her period and told him about it. He got uptight and accused her of trying to “tie him down” and really “bumming him out.” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> With the cards down, she took the hint, packed her suitcase, and moved out of the apartment building they shared with numerous other musicians and hippies. She wanted to get away from the whole scene. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> She had an aunt living in Ferndale who would welcome Jenny if she showed up on her doorstep. Her Aunt Susan was a free spirit and the family black sheep. Jenny had been to Humboldt County several times to visit her during summer vacations and loved her dearly. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Aunt Susan was quirky and funny. She lived alone, and had never married. She was an artist, and good enough one to make a comfortable living at her craft. The Victorian home she lived in was perfectly in a row of similarly preserved Victorians and Queen Anne’s. Each yard was manicured with loving care. The colors contrasted beautifully and visitors came year around to take pictures of these homes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> How did she meet Smiley? During the North Country Fair in Arcata, a college town north of Eureka. This annual event brought out hippies, tourists, college students, loggers, and fishermen from throughout the county. Vendors sold everything from fish tacos to handmade scarves and sweaters. There were herbs, fresh vegetables, and ornamental plants for sale. Jugglers intermingled with the mass of humanity packed into the downtown plaza.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Loud music blared from speakers positioned around a local band playing a Jazz tune at one end of the Arcata Plaza. Belly dancers and a parade of people dressed in wild costumes, undulated around the square, which featured a bronze statue of President William McKinley in the center. Smiley followed the parade, dancing along happily.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Jenny was sitting on a small bench watching the revelers when she saw him. What was it about his red hair and blue eyes that turned her on? She flashed on Sonny’s blond hair and blue eyes and cringed, wondering how long it would take before she started to show. She’d decided to keep the baby and was at peace with her decision. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Then she watched Smiley do his lanky Big Bird dance moves, long hair flying behind him. He offered his doobie to a young woman. She took a hit and passed it on to another dancer. Forgetting about the doobie, Smiley danced on blissfully unaware of how silly he looked to any “straights“ who might be watching.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The center of town rose to a nearby hill where Humboldt State University seemed to peer down benevolently upon the festivities. After a while Jenny got up and slowly walked to her aunt’s purple VW Bus parked next to the Post Office. She was lonely. She saw Smiley bending over the hood of a black Ford King Cab pickup truck across the street and her heart skipped.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Hey!” He called out to her. “Have you got jumper cables?”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;">T</span>he men went from one pre-selected spot to the next with Smiley showing Rafter the reasons they were picked. It was a hot, exhausting hike up and down steep mountain sides. They finally sat by a creek in the late afternoon and took a break before heading home. Smiley lit up a doobie and passed it to Rafter.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Here’s the thing, man. We still need some supplies and I don’t have enough cash to get them. Rafter accepted the doobie, took a long draw, and passed it back.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “No problem. We’re partners, right? I still have almost $300. What do we need?”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Smiley pulled a crumbled piece of paper out of his wallet. “We’re going to need at least two shovels, two picks or pickaxes, another ruck sack for hauling stuff, fence wire, some knives, pliers, an ax or bow saw, heavy-duty garbage bags, rope, liquid fish fertilizer, blooming mixture, soil additives like vermiculite, mulch, or some commercial mixture, bone meal, and some peat moss.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I have no idea how much that adds up to, but we can find out, I suppose.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “It’ll be close because we still have to buy seeds or cuttings too,” Smiley assured him. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> They sat silently for some time watching the water sparkle under the sun. Both men were feeling mellow, each with his private dreams drifting to another place. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Wait until we have to haul stuff,” Smiley said, breaking the spell. “We’re going to work our asses off, bro!”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Don’t mean nuthin,” Rafter replied.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Right on bro! It don’t mean nuthin…” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Jenny was waiting for them when they got back. She’d prepared a simple meal and made sugar cookies for desert. Rafter didn’t know if it was his imagination, but Jenny looked more beautiful than usual. There was a glow to her features. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Smiley sensed something too. He had fallen in love with her in a very short period of time and sometimes it troubled him. He’d become attuned to her moods and knew she was nervous now. He wasn’t sure why.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> They ate dinner and enjoyed small talk for about an hour before Jenny decided the time was right. She stood up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Smiley?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He looked away from Rafter who had been talking with him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Yes?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Could you come in the trailer for a moment? There’s something I want to show you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Puzzled, Smiley got up from his folding chair, glanced at Rafter with a look of surprise, shrugged his shoulders, and followed her inside.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I’m pregnant.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Jenny lifted her blouse, exposing her belly. Her stomach showed a noticeable bulge.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> For once, Smiley was speechless. Time stood still. He had never known his father, always a sore subject. Now he was going to be one. Then, as if his brain suddenly made the connection, he blurted out,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “We’re going to have a baby?” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Jenny knew it was going to be okay.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Yes,” she said, matching his excitement, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“We’re going to have a baby!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Wow! I can’t believe it! I’m going to be a Dad!” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He threw open the trailer door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Guess what?” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I heard! Congratulations to both of you!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I’m going to be a Dad…”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The men opened a bottle of Jack Daniel and celebrated. Jenny, who was felt sick, went to bed early. The men exchanged stories throughout the night, their laughter startling the family of skunks who lived in the nearly finished drying shed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> A coyote howled at the full moon. A female black bear and her two cubs ambled nearby, carefully avoiding the noisy humans and their fire.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The earth moved, shifting on silent gears, and when morning light chased the remnants of the night away, it revealed the two men, passed out on the ground beside the now cold fire pit. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Back breaking days followed. Despite being in good shape, both men were exhausted at the end of each day. The got up at dawn and worked until there was no light. Hauling supplies to the gardens proved to be a test of determination. They cleared the bed areas and prepared the soil, hacking away with their picks and shovels, removing roots and rocks from the beds. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Afterward, they mixed in soil additives. A typical bed was 6 feet by 10 feet. A half bale of peat moss was scattered over it, 10 pounds of bone meal and 15 bags, weighing 40 pounds each, of commercial manure. All those supplies had to be hauled in on their backs for the six gardens.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter was a good student and paid close attention as Smiley fenced off a bed. He ran the thin wire around the bed and explained deer would usually be deterred by it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Nothing’s perfect, but it’s worth the effort.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The water system was the most time-consuming chore of all. They ran hundreds of feet of plastic hose from the creeks to water the sites. Each creek had to be dammed to hold water for the thirsty plants. They got cuttings from Rick at a generous price, and bought 125 of them culled from his mother plants. Twenty-five for each garden. Once prepared, the cuttings were transferred to their new homes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The ball of soil around the roots of each cutting had to be carefully planted in a baseball-sized hole in the garden soil. More back breaking, tedious work. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The work didn’t stop there. It was necessary to constantly check on the gardens to see they were properly watered and adding liquid fish if they needed more fertilizer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “You see how the larger leaves are turning yellow and the smaller leaves are still green?” Smiley asked one day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Yeah.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “The problem is Nitrogen deficiency. Remember what I recommended for it?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Let’s see…oh yeah! I should add nitrate of soda or an organic fertilizer.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Right on bro! Now add some and we’ll check out the rest of the girls.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The fencing had to be maintained and they had to deal with deer and other wildlife on their rounds. Despite the passage of frost, it was cold enough to make every task a little more challenging. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> But as the days turned to weeks it warmed up. They shared carrying a 12-gauge shotgun for protection. Hours grudgingly slid by as they worked side-by-side, silent in their own thoughts. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> When they took breaks, they talked about their experiences in the Nam. Both were against the war, for different reasons. Smiley had no regrets about what he did in Vietnam. Rafter did. The thing they shared was the desire to live a simple life with the least amount of rules. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Peace and love were something to be embraced. Make love not war. Soon, they knew a lot about each other. More than ever they became brothers. They had their differences, but respected each other enough to live with them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> One day, during a break in their activities, Smiley talked about his fear of becoming a father.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Never had one, bro. Never celebrated Father’s Day. Barely knew my mother, who ran off with a drifter when I was six years old. My father’s brother, Uncle Tony, raised me.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “What happened to your Dad?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “He was shot during an argument in a bar. He was unarmed. His killer emptied his six-shot Smith and Wesson revolver into him, finished off his whiskey and walked outside never to be seen again.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “The cops never caught him?”</span></div>
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“Nope. But my Uncle Tony did. He loved my Dad, even though he didn’t approve of his wild ways with whiskey and women. He tracked Daddy’s murderer to a little shit hole town in Nevada and emptied his shotgun into him as he stumbled out of a bar. That case is still unsolved today.”</div>
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“Sorry to hear about your Dad.”</div>
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“Don’t mean nuthin…I was better off being raised by my uncle. He wasn’t always getting into trouble and he owned land. He told me many times I was better off, and would have a chance of making it in the world because of his guidance. He and my Aunt Dora were religious folk and spent a lot of time reading the Bible to me.”<br />
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“That’s hard for me to imagine. There was no religion in my house growing up.”</div>
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“Sometimes I think we had a little too much. I always felt like I had to redeem myself for my father’s exploits.” </div>
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Smiley slowly got up. Break time was over.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">A</span>fter the big announcement, Jenny drove to Ferndale the next day to visit her Aunt Susan. She found her cutting roses in the front yard. She wore a floppy straw hat and a pair of bibbed overalls with a bright pink blouse peeking out. A loving embrace.</div>
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She led Jenny inside for a glass of tea. Mortimer, Aunt Susan’s Siamese cat, followed them, winding in and out of their legs. Hours later, after a few phone calls, Aunt Susan set Jenny up with a doctor. Over steaming Mango tea, the women talked.</div>
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Nothing shocked her aunt, and Jenny realized she always had her to fall back on. She hadn’t fully realized that until now. </div>
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“Do you love him?” Aunt Susan asked, offering a slice of fresh pound cake.</div>
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“I think so. I wish I knew for absolutely sure. He’s such a kind and funny man. He’s looking forward to the baby’s arrival.”</div>
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“It’s good that he’s supportive, dear. I’m a little troubled that you don’t seem sure you love him, but that can change in time. When are you going to tell your parents?”</div>
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Jenny choked on a crumb of the pound cake. Clearing her voice she replied,</div>
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“Not anytime soon. Maybe after the baby arrives.”</div>
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“Any talk of marriage?”</div>
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“No. The subject hasn’t come up,” she admitted.</div>
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“That’s all right darling. Just know that you can count on me.” </div>
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Feeling less lonely on the drive home, Jenny settled into her pregnancy with a loving determination to have a healthy child.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">O</span>ut of sheer exhaustion, Rafter missed the fresh bear sign. For some time now, the men had been aware of several black bears in the vicinity and avoided them as much as possible. He was leaving the last garden of the day when two black bear cubs crossed his path.</div>
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Startled, he turned in time to see an enraged blur of a she bear hurtling toward him! The protective mother bruin knocked him down. Paws of fury slashed at him. Teeth bared, she snarled, as he kicked and tried to push her away.</div>
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Suddenly a rock hit her snout and she roared in terrified surprise.Instantly breaking off the engagement, she scrambled away as another rock hit her in the head. This unexpected attack confused her and she quickly ambled into the nearby undergrowth.</div>
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“You okay?” Smiley approached Rafter, who was unsteadily trying to stand up. </div>
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“That damn bear tried to kill me. Why didn’t you shoot it? You have the shotgun.” </div>
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“What would have happened to those two cubs without their mama?” Smiley asked.</div>
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“Oh well…silly-assed me! I thought I was more important to you than some black bears!”</div>
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“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, bro. I’ve been around bears all my life and have used the rock method before instead of killing them. She was just teaching you a lesson for getting too close to her cubs.”</div>
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“I’ll be damned. Where’s this compassion coming from? Aren’t you the same guy who collected ears off of your kills in the Nam? I’m surprised by your protective attitude toward wildlife.” </div>
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“I grew up in the country. You learn some things that’s all. Animals have never been my enemy. The gooks were. Let me see your arm. Looks like she nipped you.”</div>
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“Damn straight! And look at these claw marks.”</div>
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“You’ll live. She wasn’t rabid. Just protecting her cubs. We’re almost home and Jenny can take care of it for you when we get there.”</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">G</span>rowing up, Jenny wanted to be a nurse. Her parents said she should strive to be a physician.</div>
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“You make more money as a doctor,” her mother patiently explained to her when she was in third grade.It was always like that. She wanted one thing and her parents wanted another for her. </div>
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They tried to map out her life and she resented it. By the time she hit junior high, she acted out and got in trouble, mortifying her mother, who was the President of the local PTA. They didn’t seem to understand she had a mind of her own.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">C</span>hecking Rafter’s wounds to be sure they were clean, she smeared on an antibiotic jell and carefully wrapped them in gauze.</div>
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“The bite mark was the deepest, but it should be okay,” Jenny told him.</div>
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She gathered up her materials and headed for the trailer.</div>
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“Damn,” Smiley cracked. “You look like some war hero or something all bandaged up like that.”</div>
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The next day Smiley took Rafter to Rick’s ranch. They walked along animal trails that led over hills and out into a flat area. Smiley’s ranch bordered Rick’s 320 acres. Smiley led him to a sweat lodge next to a cabin and said this was where Rick was waiting for them.</div>
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“Rick’s a funny guy, bro. He may have taken too many trips in his day, but he’s got a heart of gold. We became good friends during the last couple of years. He’s a Nam vet like us. Just go with the flow of the conversation and be yourself.” </div>
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Sweat poured down the men’s semi-naked bodies. Rafter and Smiley braced themselves as Rick added more water to the stones in the center of the sweat lodge. The skunky smell of marijuana mingled with their musky sweat. They passed the long peace pipe Rick had carved years before. His eyes rested on the two men as he considered what to say.</div>
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Rick took daily sweats and was used to the intense heat. Rafter found it hard to breath at first. Smiley had a year’s experience in sweat lodge meetings and was comfortable. Rick claimed the practice renewed his spirit, and it made him more willing to talk with people. To share experiences. To impart his gems of hard-earned wisdom. To listen to others.</div>
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“Nearly time to consider harvesting,” he said.</div>
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“It’s true,” Smiley replied. “That’s why we’re here today.”</div>
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“Questions on what to do?” Rick asked.</div>
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“No. You taught me well. I’m, we’re, here to find out if you know people who would buy our weed?”</div>
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Rick pulled on his long salt and pepper beard with little beads entwined in it, as he considered the request.</div>
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“I want to see you bros do well. Us Vietnam vets need to stick together. I do know of possible buyers. My connect is another bro in Southern California. We were stationed together in the Nam back in ‘68. He’s a Mex, but he’s one of us. His people don’t particularly like gringos, but we’ve been able to work around that little detail so far.</div>
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“The important thing about him is that he’s a pipeline to cash because he has connections with Mexican gangs who have lots of money to spend. They have no problem coming up with large amounts of cash in small bills. You just have to be careful dealing with these guys. They’re macho little suckers, and their egos are easily bruised.”</div>
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“Does that mean you’ll give us your connection?” Rafter wondered.</div>
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“No way. You’ll probably meet him, but he’s got friends that could work with you guys. I think I can arrange that.”</div>
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“Am I right in estimating that our 125 plants will produce 125 pounds?” Smiley asked.</div>
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“Pretty much. You’re still not out of the doghouse when it comes time for harvesting. Things could happen. Mold. Mildew. They’re seldom a problem in this higher altitude, however. Sometimes intruders destroy, or steal, your gardens.”</div>
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“What’s the market on pounds?” Smiley asked.</div>
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“I’m locked into $1,000 a pound this season,” Rick calmly answered.</div>
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“Holy crap! That’s a lot of money!” Rafter said. “How about us? Should we ask that much?”</div>
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“Absolutely. You’re selling one of the best hybrid strains around, my Grand Daddy Purp. We need to stay together on the pricing. Not too many people have it yet. It’s strictly stone city, bro. This stuff rivals the pot we had in the Nam. It makes their crappy Mex weed look sick with it’s stems and seeds. You will be offering nothing but buds. Fresh, well-cured buds. The best the Humboldt County has to offer.”</div>
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I like the sound of that,” said Rafter. “I can’t imagine splitting $125,000 for just nine months’ work.”</div>
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The conversation died down and the three men sat sweating, deep in their thoughts. Rick finally motioned that it was time to leave the crude sweat lodge. Outside, a slight breeze carried a chill in the air. It was early October and the harvest was only weeks away.</div>
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Rafter and Smiley got dressed. Rick watched the two men trudge up his private gravel road to where their truck was parked. He was a little man, at 5-foot, seven-inches, and older than they were. Their size didn’t intimidate him at all. He was use to dealing with larger men. </div>
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They claimed he had “little man” syndrome and that was why he was such a scrappy guy. He recognized they had “big man” syndrome and mistakenly thought their size gave them an advantage in all situations. It was a stupid stereotype that more than one person had found untrue when it came to dealing with Rick.</div>
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Long odds only challenged him. As one of eight children born to a dirt poor family, he learned early in life that anyone wanting to succeed must be willing to sacrifice. Being a survivor meant you had to be clever, fast, and fearless where he grew up in the Arizona desert. </div>
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Every day was hard, hot, and soul-sucking for the McNeese family. When Rick turned 18 he signed up for the Army. It was his only means of escaping the dreary hardscrabble hell he was raised in. There was talk at the time of Americans fighting in some faraway South Asian land called Vietnam. That didn’t bother Rick. Anything was better than his life in that miserable desert.</div>
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Rick was saved from combat in Vietnam because he was a great mechanic. The Army took advantage (a rare occurrence) of his skill with vehicles and put him in the motor pool. He spent his days fixing the engines of trucks and jeeps. His nights were spent partying at the NCO club.</div>
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He managed to get involved in the black market after meeting his Sp/6 Oscar Flores. The two men were rebels at heart and quickly discovered they made a good team at buying, and selling black market goods. They built up considerable stashes of illegal greenbacks after two tours in Vietnam.</div>
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Oscar went home first and Rick sent him their loot hidden in souvenirs. They were brothers so Rick didn’t hesitate to send their accumulated wealth. It added up to nearly a half million dollars. More money than either man had ever dreamed of making before going overseas.</div>
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When Rick came home, he met Oscar in South LA. Oscar gave him a backpack filled with $250,000 in cash. They were both established and vowed to stay in touch. They were bros after all.When Rick went north and fell in love with Humboldt County he bought the land where he now lived. He got the proper permits and built a sturdy little house. He paid for amenities like a well, a septic system, and a huge gasoline-powered generator for electricity. He went with the best of everything. </div>
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After a while his money began run low and that was when he learned how to grow marijuana for profit. His eastern neighbors were a group of hippies living in a commune. They grew all their own food and pot. He made friends with the group, many of whom were former “Diggers” from San Francisco, and soon learned how to grow marijuana.</div>
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When his first crop was ready for market, he called Oscar, who agreed to buy it. After smoking Rick’s Grand Daddy Perp he was sold. It was better than anything else he could get. It took a while to negotiate the price, as both men were crafty bargainers. </div>
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They finally settled on $800 a pound. That was the first crop. The next year, the second crop went for $900 a pound. This year, Rick was asking $1,000 a pound. Not bad for a dirt poor boy who dropped out of high school and had to pass a GED test to get into the Army.</div>
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Rick knew he would need help when he started out and decided to try a temporary partnership. The temporary partner would get one-third of one season’s profits and learn how to properly grow, harvest, and cure bud for production. Every year he took a new partner, after interviewing numerous candidates who were looking for a living in the woods. They had to be hardy. The work was exhausting and called for a huge commitment.</div>
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He also hired people to help him harvest and trim the plants. His system worked beautifully, and Rick flourished as a pot farmer. He tended to give preference to other Vietnam veterans, out of loyalty. When Smiley showed up, Rick liked his sense of humor and apparent desire to work hard and get ahead. It was an easy working relationship and the men enjoyed each other’s company.</div>
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Rick, who learned from his neighbors which mushrooms were safe to eat, had a habit of tripping on the psilocybin ones, and he always had some on hand. He listened to their voices, as Rafter and Smiley disappeared into the tree line on the trail. After a couple of minutes he turned his attention to a shriveled specimen from his fanny pack, and thoughtfully chewed it.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">E</span>arly October. Jenny’s water broke as she was hanging some clothes on the line next to the trailer. Smiley was in town picking up supplies. Rafter was working on final improvements in the drying shed. Anticipating the coming harvest, he was whistling when he heard Jenny cry out in pain. He threw down his hammer and ran outside to see her bent over next to the trailer. </div>
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“What’s wrong?” he asked, concern written on his face.</div>
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“Ba…baby’s coming…..” she said in between rapid breaths.</div>
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Rafter knew nothing about delivering babies. His heart hammered his ribs, but he tried to sound calm,</div>
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“Jenny…let’s go inside the trailer. Can you move?”</div>
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She nodded, her face scrunched up in pain. Holding her arm awkwardly, he guided her slowly up the steps into the trailer. Once inside, he led her to the bed. She sat down awkwardly, her back against the headboard, embryonic fluids leaking down her legs. </div>
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“Boil water,” she said, surprised at how calm her voice sounded.</div>
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Rafter filled up a large kettle with water and put it on the propane camp stove on the makeshift kitchen counter. As he waited for it to boil, he studied her face and was relieved to see no apparent panic. She pointed to a stack of baby blankets and cloth diapers neatly folded on her tiny dresser. In between contractions, she said, </div>
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“We’ll need those.” </div>
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After a few minutes, Jenny got up from the bed and walked across the room. She steadied herself against the wall when the next wave of contractions hit. Rafter watched helplessly. She straightened up when the contractions stopped and started walking again.Puzzled, Rafter asked,</div>
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“What are you doing? Shouldn’t you lie down or something?”</div>
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He was clearly out of his element and didn’t know what to expect. Jenny understood that and said, </div>
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“Walking…moving around…is good. Makes things happen faster.”</div>
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Relieved, Rafter turned to the boiling water and asked what to do next. She pointed at a stack of white hand towels, doubled over and grunted, then told him to boil four of them. One at a time. Then put them in the green mixing bowl next to the coffee pot. Once that task was complete he turned to her awaiting further instructions.</div>
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“Will you light those two candles?” </div>
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She pointed to the top of the kitchen cupboard.</div>
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“Aromatherapy will help me relax. I learned that in my child birth classes.” </div>
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Things went pretty well for nearly eight hours, then started turning ugly. Jenny called this sudden change “transition,” cursing men in general. One moment she felt sick, shaky, and cold, and huddled under the bed’s covers. The next, she threw the covers back and hurled abusive language at Rafter. She’d wept, apologized, then suddenly snarled like a tigress. Her eyes lit with anger and the desire for vengeance on the perpetrator of her pain. </div>
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Rafter was horrified and didn’t know what to think. Was this normal? She was like a female Jekyll and Hyde. He was able to calm her with foot and neck massages now and then, but for the most part, he feared for his life! He had no idea that sweet Jenny knew words like that. He’d never heard her swear before. Or threaten physical harm with such gusto.</div>
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Then Jenny settled down and began to push. This went on for nearly an hour before a healthy-looking baby boy popped into Rafter’s sterilized hands. As instructed, Rafter carefully held his slippery charge and cleared his airway. He was rewarded with a scream of indignation as the baby took his first breath. </div>
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Jenny managed to smile as he handed her the howling, wrinkled, red-faced newcomer. She quickly guided the baby to her waiting nipple. He latched on instantly, and she closed her eyes in utter exhaustion.</div>
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Following her instructions, Rafter cut and clamped the umbilical cord and waited for the placenta. When it emerged he gathered it up and put in in the glass jar she had placed beside her bed.. She told him she had plans for the placenta, which bothered him little, but he complied. </div>
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After helping Jenny clean up, Rafter slipped outside and lit up a doobie. He was still shaking from the experience. He’d witnessed many deaths in Vietnam. He had blood on his hands and couldn’t forget it. Now he’d experienced something life affirming. Redeeming. </div>
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He’d witnessed the birth of a new soul. It humbled him. Something in him stirred when he thought about that moment when he held the baby, willing him to breath. A door opened in his heart, and this un-named baby boy stepped in. </div>
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More than one thing changed for Jenny that day. The earth shifted slightly. She had a son. She also found herself feeling very close to Rafter. Their shared experience had thrilled them both. Somehow Rafter didn’t look sinister any more. The thought gave her a warm feeling. </div>
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Then she remembered Smiley. She realized she was committed to him, and she had convinced him this was their child. There could be no thoughts about a romantic relationship with Rafter. He was just a good friend. It had to stay that way.</div>
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Meanwhile, Smiley was sleeping in the drunk tank at the Eureka County jail. He’d had too much to drink, and made a fool of himself, and been arrested for public intoxication. His truck was impounded by the police. </div>
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Jenny and Rafter had no idea what had happened to him, and without a phone or means of transportation, they were helpless to find out. It wasn’t until Rick stopped in his jeep the next day, that they could get Jenny and the baby into town and have a doctor look at them.</div>
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They took Jenny and the baby to the Arcata Open Door Clinic. Then they searched for Smiley. It was Rick who thought of checking the Eureka County jail. In a twist of timing, Smiley was released when they stopped by and they ran into each other outside the County Court House. When informed he had a son, Smiley shouted in joy, </div>
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“C’mon bros! Drinks are on me!”</div>
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They named the baby Sundance Dan McQueen-Holt. Jenny and Sundance stayed with her aunt in Ferndale for a month until the men were done with the harvest.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">T</span>he harvest was a grueling process. They used machetes to hack the limbs off with the buds, leaving the stalks intact in the ground. The stinky bundles were hauled by hand to a pickup truck. Depending upon the terrain, they drove the truck as close to each garden as possible, in order to ease their workload. </div>
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They worked till the last rays of light fled into the night. For days they hacked and chopped. They worked by lantern light each night in the drying shed, draping the heavy limbs over ropes strung the length of the shed. Air slits with wire screens were cut in all four walls for ventilation. Because they had no electricity, they couldn’t employ oscillating fans like Rick used in his drying shed. </div>
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The limbs had to be rotated regularly and watched closely for any signs of mold. If some appeared, the limb had to be thrown out so it didn’t spread to the healthy buds. It was a labor intensive process, but vital if they hoped to properly cure the buds.</div>
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As they worked, they talked about things. Sundance was a favorite topic for Rafter. Smiley wondered if the baby’s fine blond hair would eventually turn red like his? Rafter responded with a joke:</div>
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“The less he looks like his daddy the better! Hopefully, he’ll take after Jenny.”</div>
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Smiley reminded him that Sundance was a boy and really shouldn’t look too much like his Mom. This new person made them both examine their lives. Smiley had moments of panic as he thought about the responsibility attached to fatherhood. He kept waiting for his heart to flip flop over his son and was saddened when it didn’t. The initial glow of being a father was wearing off. Meanwhile, Rafter acted like a babbling idiot around the baby and went out of his way to play with him at every opportunity.</div>
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Drying completed, the long-awaited day to trim their product arrived. They trimmed every waking moment and carefully bagged the buds in plastic turkey bags. Each bag held one pound. The number of bags grew. The men talked and dreamed. Jenny nursed the baby and watched them work; prepared to give them food or drink at a moments’ notice. Days slipped by in a haze of smoke and conversation.</div>
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One day, as Rafter was talking a walk, a VC stepped out from behind a tree and leveled an AK 47 at him! Rafter pulled his shotgun off his shoulder and fired at the black clad Viet Cong! The loud boom echoed through the trees and birds scattered in startled surprise. The noise brought Rafter back to the present. </div>
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He stood still, holding the shotgun at port arms, and tried to slow his breathing. It had happened again. The flashbacks seemed to occur more often lately for no good reason. What was happening to him? </div>
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He had talked about them with Smiley several times. Smiley didn’t seem to have this problem and he never talked about having nightmares. Still, it was helpful to talk with someone who could understand, and who had also undergone many life-and-deathmoments in Vietnam. Once Smiley suggested he was just overtired and having “daymares.” </div>
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The big day finally arrived. The sun was setting in the distant mountains and an owl swooped down over the drying shed in search of prey. Smiley squeezed a medium-sized bud between his thumb and forefinger. It rebounded slightly when he released it. The smell was skunky and pungent.</div>
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He handed the bud to Rafter who tore off a bit and packed it in a wooden pipe Smiley had carved. He handed the pipe and Zippo lighter to Jenny who had returned to the homestead the day before, toting a chubby and happy Sundance.</div>
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She lit it, took a hit, and passed it to Smiley. Both men watched her exhale and waited for her response. </div>
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“Wow…I didn‘t know weed could pack a punch like this!” she exclaimed. </div>
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By the time the pot was burned to ashes the trio were babbling happily and flames from the pit fire made shadows dance across the dirt and into the nearby tree line. Mama Bruin and her two cubs came to a halt when they saw the fire. Nothing but trouble there. She herded her rambunctious cubs off in a safer direction. There was no telling what those man things would do next. As she ambled away she thought,</div>
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“There goes the neighborhood.”</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Y</span>ou didn’t just walk into Juan Rivera’s neighborhood unless you had a damn good reason. He ran an 18th Street gang that was part of one of the largest street gangs in America. It got its start in the 1960s near 18th Street and Union Avenue in downtown Los Angeles. </div>
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Rivera was born in Los Angeles and was awarded more respect than those from other areas. Gangs generally functioned independently, but would join forces when combating rival gangs or law enforcement. Their street colors were blue and white.</div>
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When Rivera’s younger brother Alvaro got out of the Army, Juan quickly found a place for him in the organization. Alvaro presented him with a wild plan to make money that intrigued Juan. He had a connection, a close friend from Vietnam, who had been his partner in the black market trade there. They had smuggled $500,000 in cash out of Vietnam and split the money when they both were home. </div>
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This friend, a gringo, was so trustworthy he sent all their greenbacks to Alvaro to hold until he came back from Vietnam. He had big conjones and ideas. His latest was selling marijuana that he grew up in Northern California. When Alvaro sampled it he was impressed and told Juan it would be easy to sell at a premium. </div>
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“It would have no trouble competing with the Panama Red, Columbian Gold, Thai Sticks, Vietnamese weed, or anything else on the market. And the price is right,” Alvaro assured his brother. </div>
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As an added attraction, the seller wouldn’t waste their money on stems and seeds that normally came with a pot purchase. They’d get sticky buds dripping with THC.The result of that arrangement was several years of fat profits for all concerned. </div>
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Everything went smoothly after each harvest and the 18th Street Gang soon had a reputation for the best pot around. Rick and Alvaro met once a year to transact business, at a different location each time. There was no need to be in contact the rest of the year.</div>
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This year was going to be different. Rick had called Alvaro before their annual meeting date on November 22nd and asked for a earlier meeting on neutral ground. They decided to meet in Stockton at a Denny’s restaurant.</div>
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The two men sipped their coffee in companionable silence after finishing breakfast. Alvaro finally broke the spell, </div>
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“So what’s up bro? Why this meeting?” </div>
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“Got a favor to ask you,” Rick said. </div>
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“This ought to be interesting.”</div>
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“I’ve got two friends, Nam vets, who are my neighbors and in the same business as I am. They’re cool. We watch out for each other up on the mountain. They’re just starting out. This year is their first harvest. They’re growing the same strain as mine, Grand Daddy Perp, so you know it’s excellent.”</div>
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“Sounds like competition for you my friend,” Alvaro observed.</div>
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“Not the way I’m thinking. I’m hoping you will provide my friends with a link to your homies in another city. A person, like yourself, with push, who can make things happen.” “I’ve got friends all over the state,” Alvaro bragged. </div>
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“Do you have any place in mind?”</div>
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“I was thinking Porterville. It’s nowhere near your operation and closer to my friends.”</div>
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“Porterville is a good pick. I know some guys in Sureno gangs there. Let’s see, there’s Loco Park, the Brown Surenos, Barrio Sur Trece, Campos Locos, and the Original Buster Killers…oh wait! My cousin Jesus Fernandez runs Loco Park now. He might be interested in doing business with you.”</div>
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“The question is, can my friends trust your cousin? You and I are bros with a history or we wouldn’t have anything to do with one another. Would there be any accountability?”</div>
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“Depends on what you mean.”</div>
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“What if Jesus decides to rip my friends off when they show up with a 125 pounds of high grade pot? How could this be prevented?”</div>
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“Jesus listens to me. If I tell him to treat you fair, he will. I’ll tell him about my profits from this wonder weed.”</div>
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“Forgive me bro, but I need more assurance than that. Would it be possible for you to be there when their deal goes down?”</div>
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“I have to hand it to you bro. You think things through. I’ll do it, but you know me, I’d like a small slice the pie for my trouble.”</div>
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“I understand and respect that. How about each side, your cousin and my friends, kick in a commission for you? Say $5,000 each? That would be $10,000 for a few minutes work. How does that sound?”“I would have to sell my cousin on that, but it shouldn’t be too hard. He’d be making so much money it wouldn’t matter. Seeing as how I’m family, he’ll know this connection will be righteous. Blood matters in these things.”</div>
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“Sounds like a plan, then?”</div>
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“I’ll call you next week. I need some time to visit in Porterville. I have other family members there too.”</div>
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“Sounds good bro.”</div>
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Outside, before they got into their cars, the two men slowly dapped. Fists bumping, hands sliding up and down while elbows clashed slightly in a complex pattern only they understood.</div>
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An observer pulling a newspaper out of a rack near them paused and watched curiously. </div>
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A short white man with long brown hair bound with a black bandana, wearing torn jeans and a black Mickey Mouse t-shirt; and a Mexican with jet black hair combed back in a duck tail, wearing brown baggy pants and a long-sleeved checkered shirt. Apparently their slapping and gentle punching was some kind of ritual. Now that was something the observer didn’t see everyday. He’d have to tell his wife about it when he got home.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Chapter Six - DEADLY HARVEST - Coming April 30th</span></div>
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All rights © 2012 Dave Stancliff</div>
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All rights reserved.<br />
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ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-2411053063391489702013-04-16T06:05:00.001-07:002013-06-08T12:31:30.494-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #990000;">Rafter's Redemption</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> By Dave Stancliff</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;"> <b> Chapter Four</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span> <b> <span style="color: blue;"> Back in the World</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Lenny’s eye shifted from the road momentarily as he watched Rafter inhale the doobie.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The young man sitting next to him wasn’t the one who left for Vietnam a year ago. This version was thinner. Quieter. His sense of humor gone. There was an air of danger clinging to him as his eyes scanned his surroundings. He seemed to be on the alert for a hidden enemy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Lenny had heard stories about guys who returned from Vietnam. Changed. Outcasts from nice society. Paranoid killers ready to flip out and shoot anyone in sight. He looked at his best friend and wondered what Rafter had endured over there. What did he see?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Lenny’s only reference was the 6:00 o’clock news showing soldiers wading through rice paddies and firing at invisible enemies. There was a surreal quality about them, like a B-movie with a thin plot. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He knew his friend wasn’t back from playing a bit part in a movie. The change in his overall demeanor was no act. He was no actor. In spite of himself, Lenny shivered, and wondered what was happening in Rafter’s head. He had barely said a word since Lenny picked him up. Conversation was strained as Rafter answered questions in short, terse sentences.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> When they got to Lenny’s apartment, shared with his girlfriend Peggy, the sun was going down. Lenny parked his Mustang on the street, as Peggy had her Volkswagon in their parking place next to the apartment.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> As they climbed the stairs to the apartment, Rafter looked back and saw two young Hispanic men in white t-shirts loitering around the front of the apartments near the car. He stopped briefly and stared down at them. They noticed the thin white gringo in uniform glaring at them and moved uneasily away.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Peggy was a little bird of a woman who stood under five feet and had the high chirping voice of a cartoon character. Lenny introduced her. Rafter said hello and looked uneasy. Sensing his discomfort, Peggy offered to get them beers. They sat on the fold-out couch in the tiny living room while Peggy busied herself in the kitchen. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “You know what? There’s a football game on right now.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Lenny got up and turned on the television. Rafter barely heard him, because somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind he was listening to the sound of a Huey gunship.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;">L</span>enny drove Rafter to Ft. McArthur, his new duty base, the next day. He turned his 8-track up and they listened to Crosby, Stills & Nash on the way.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The commanding General at Ft. MacArthur, General Osborn II, leaned back in his swivel chair and glanced at the paperwork laying open on his desk, next to his WW II grenade lighter. He wasn’t sure what to do with the new man, Sp/4 Rambago. He was a Bronze Star and Purple Heart recipient and a combat engineer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> This was not an engineer base. Signal Corps, yes. There was a company of WACS in a big building across from the base’s temporary stockade. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> WWII barracks housed the 101st MP Unit just south of the stockade. A mess hall. A small medical complex with a dentist and two full time doctors. A half dozen nurses. One psychiatrist. Two orderlies. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> More WW II barracks for the men in the Signal Corps and the Honor Guard. Separate quarters for enlisted men and officers. Tiny lawns in front with flowers nurtured by privates.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> What was he supposed to do with Sp/4 Rabago who was an engineer? He was due to report this morning and he still hadn’t decided where to place him. Perhaps he could put him with the honor guard detachment for military burials. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He wondered how motivated Sp/4 Rabago was? Was he a man on the way up in the military? Bronze Stars carried a lot of weight in three-star General Osborn’s world. He was sipping his coffee when his orderly came in and announced that Sp/4 Rabago was reporting for duty.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Minutes later, a thin young man in a crumpled Class-A uniform appeared in the door. He seemed unsure what to do and finally raised a sloppy salute, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “ Sp/4 Rabago reporting for duty.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The general was stunned. This wasn’t what he expected at all. The man didn’t even have his medals properly displayed! His soft cap was cocked to one side and seemed in danger of slipping off at any moment. A surly scowl lingered on his unshaved jaw. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> A scar on his left cheek ran from the jaw line to the middle of his nose and gave him a sinister sneer. His bloodshot eyes were sullen golden brown slits. A streak of white hair looked like he had purposely bleached it or something. He casually slumped against the doorway and eyed the general with sullen suspicion.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Welcome home, Sp/4 Rabago. I will do all I can to make your last year in this man’s Army comfortable. To that end, I’m assigning you to our honor guard detachment. You are to report to Captain Harrison at Building E. He will get you set up. Do you have any questions?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “No.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Ignoring this breech of military etiquette, General Osborn II saluted Rafter and dismissed him. Rafter shuffled off looking more like a lithium-laced loony tune than a future member of the Honor Guard. The general was troubled by what he saw. A zombie.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> In his wisdom, he knew something was wrong with Rafter. He didn’t want any trouble in his command. He was due to retire next year and expected an executive position in his uncle’s company. His life was quiet and predictable. The way it should be. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter posed an unknown threat to his serene existence and he didn’t like that feeling. He made a note to check on him in a week.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Captain Blake Harrison knew he had a problem the minute he saw Sp/4 Rafter. He swore under his breath as he thought about the general foisting this off on him. Just what was he supposed to do with this pissed-off individual?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He’d seen his type plenty of times before. You just didn’t mess with them. Rafter was an even rarer bird with his Bronze Star and Purple Heart. This called for a sensitivity the Captain had seldom needed in his military career.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Do you know what an honor guard does Sp/4 Rabago?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “No.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “It escorts fallen heroes to their final resting place, showing them respect and honor for their great sacrifice to our nation. In order to do this you need to be squared away. Tight. Your uniform must be perfect. Your low quarters polished to a gleaming shine. You march in perfect step, showing the deceased dignity every moment. You fire your rifle in a final salute and bid your fallen brother goodbye. Any questions, Sp/4 Rabago?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “No.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Then why do you look like you spent the night in that uniform?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Because I did.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I see. Did you ever see that movie “Cool Hand Luke, with Paul Newman?” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “No.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “There’s a scene in it when a prison guard suggests that he and Paul Newman, a prisoner, had a “problem communicating.” I don’t want that to be our case.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Are we talking about prisoners or honor guards here Cap?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Okay. You’re a tough guy with an attitude. I don’t like mincing words, that’s for liberals and commies. I’m a straight-shooting kind of guy. Are you going to go along with my program here or should we look for an alternative?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I’m not burying my brothers.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I’ll tell you what, Sp/4 Rabago, why don’t you see Sgt. Anderson. He’s waiting outside, and he’ll assign you to a rack in B Building. You unload your gear and take it easy for the rest of the day. We’ll talk tomorrow after I’ve done some looking around. I think we can arrive at a compromise that will make us both happy. After Sgt. Anderson shows you to your room, he’ll show you where the mess hall is and give you a tour of the base. Dismissed.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Without a word Rafter turned and walked out. Captain Harrison sighed, whipped out a Marlboro and lit it with his Zippo. It was a reminder of when he was in Vietnam as a 2nd louie working as a general’s aide. Boy those were the good times, he thought.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> So the year passed without incident until the day Rafter parted ways with Uncle Sam. There were no ceremonies. He went around the base with a list of things to be checked off until he came to the final door. It was the psych’s office. Major North greeted him warmly and signed the piece of paper he offered. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “You’re going to be fine now, aren’t you Rafter? It was good talking with you.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Sure Doc. Goodbye.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter went home long enough to get his red 1963 convertible Chevrolet Impala SS. It was still there along with three boxes of his personal possessions. He spent one night and ate dinner with his parents.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Frank kept staring at his scar and Madeline tried to pretend he just returned from a boy scout jamboree. The next morning, he spread out his Class A uniform and it’s medals on his bed and added his Honorable Discharge signed by President Nixon. He was gone before they woke up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He had no set destination. No plans beyond filling the gas tank and driving. He mustered out with eight hundred dollars, nearly a year’s back pay, because his records were destroyed in a mortar attack in Vietnam and new ones had to be created. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> A year with no spending money. He’d have gone crazy at Fort McArthur if Lenny hadn’t come by to visit him on weekends. They went to baseball and basketball games. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Now, all that was behind him. No goal. No one trying to kill him. And for the first time in years, his freedom. Now, if he’d could quit having those damn nightmares. Major North kept telling him they wouldn’t go away unless he talked about them and his intrusive thoughts. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> All Rafter heard was the sound of angry bees. What the hell did the Doc know about Vietnam? He’d never been there. He had no idea of the horrors that lurked there. He went home at night to his sweet little wife and two perfect children, and didn’t have to deal with memories that stalked him like malicious ghosts.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> A week later Rafter picked up two teenaged hippie chicks heading to San Francisco. They had just scored some blond hash from Lebanon and were happy to share it in return for the lift north. He took them straight to Haight-Ashbury and dropped them off. After looking around for several hours he was disgusted by what he saw. </span></div>
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<img height="231" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSFV3hUfpiTtVVhljymnwvXKlIou87Lr6AHqWDKl31s9XfJeTZm7Q" width="320" /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> There were so many street people lying and sitting on the sidewalks they were nearly impassable. A person had to be aggressive to avoid panhandlers and stoned hippies offering drugs for a price. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter waded through them long enough to know that this seething mass of humanity wasn’t for him. It looked like a bad trip. The only good thing he saw was the availability of his new favorite drug, LSD.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He bought a large quantity of Owlsley Acid in sugar cubes. He also found good deals on Thai sticks, black hash from Afghanistan, and some Colombian Gold marijuana. He bought boxes of Zig Zag cigarette wrapping papers and a small water pipe. To hold this stash, he purchased a fanny pack decorated with the Jamaican national colors and a picture of Bob Marley. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He put the hookah in the trunk with the rest of his worldly processions. He tried apartment living near the Tenderloin district for a month and realized he couldn’t stand to live among so many people. They stressed him out. While the hippie chicks were generally available for sex, they were also usually hooked on drugs, with one foot in another world he didn’t understand. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> It was just too much, so one day he pointed his red Impala SS north on Highway 101. He’d heard there were very few people up north and groups of hippies were creating new communes in touch with nature, growing their own food and marijuana. They were called “back-to-the-landers” by the mainstream media. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> These people were escaping the rat race of civilization. Their disillusionment following the so-called Summer Of Love, called for change. When would-be hippies from around the country flooded San Francisco it became a bummer, convincing many of the original flower children to head north to rural areas. To a simpler way of life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> There were several good reasons why the car didn’t make the turn and rammed into the Redwood tree. The first, and perhaps foremost, that Rafter was peaking on a cube of Owlsley when he hit the first series of tight turns at high speed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><img height="200" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSaPFQlbxeUCAV3XHRRdJYagzBUUVi0R06oS_VOef3GFkeGG-W9jg" width="200" /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> It didn’t help that he thought he saw a unicorn and swerved to avoid it. He was ejected from his seat like a stuntman fired from a cannon. His landing was amazingly soft as he smacked into grass, ferns, and soft mud and slid to a halt against another Redwood tree.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The wreck might have been caused by the rain that saturated the ground and ran off into little rivers that flooded the road. Heck, a whole confluence of events conspired against Rafter if you considered why he didn’t make that turn. Or, you could shake your head in awe, as Rafter once again dodged death.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> When he woke up two days later, he was in a little hospital in Garberville. Southern Humboldt County. The nurse squealed in surprise when she saw he was awake and ran off calling for a doctor. Minutes later Doctor Porter and two nurses came into the room. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> As the nurses fussed with all the equipment he was attached to, Doctor Porter smiled at Rafter and asked how he felt?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Fine,” he croaked, suddenly thirsty. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Well…well you had quite a scare, young man. How’s your head feel?” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He slowly unwrapped the gauze around it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Sore.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Yes...it would be, Mr. Rabago. You have a remarkably hard head and I think you’re going to be all right. Is there anyone you want us to call? There were no emergency phone </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">numbers in your wallet.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “No.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Very well, then. I’m going to take you off these IVs and order you some solid food. I’ll be back tomorrow.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I want to leave now.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Not yet,” the doctor said. “Let’s see how you feel tomorrow, then we’ll talk.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> They released him the next day. Two surprising things happened. One, he didn’t have to pay for his stay, and two, his fanny pack was recovered with money and drugs intact! He walked out the front door and down the street to a residential section of older wooden houses. He went left for a block, then right and saw he was on the town’s main strip.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Motels, a walk-in theatre with art deco facade, a restaurant, small stores offering clothing, souvenirs, hardware items, and a supermarket. A new and used car lot at one end of the strip.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He had a phone number to call for the disposition of his car. From a phone booth outside a café, he called the number. A wrecking yard, 67 miles north, in Eureka. When he described his car, a man said they had what remained of it and he owed them $50.00 towing fee. Rafter assured him he’d pay the bill as soon as he could catch a ride. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> His course temporarily set, Rafter walked down the street to the freeway entrance. He followed it onto Highway 101 going north. Every now and then he stuck a thumb out halfheartedly, not really expecting a ride. He was pleasantly surprised when a black Ford King Cab pulled over just ahead of him after only 15 minutes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> When he got to the side of the pickup, a beautiful young woman in a tie-dye dress over blue jeans, got out and pulled the passenger seat forward so he could get in the back.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Where are you going?” she asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He pulled himself up and in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Eureka.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Cool. We are too,” she explained and jumped into the front passenger’s seat. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The driver introduced himself as “Smiley,” and extended a long thin arm to Rafter for a handshake. A slight twist while gripping and they both slowly pulled away. A white man’s dap from Vietnam. Rafter looked at him with interest. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Name’s Rafter. When were you in-country?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “67-68 Army. Infantry. Bien Hoi.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “70 Army. Combat engineer. Phouc Bien.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “When did you get out? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “A week ago.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “No shit.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Smiley handed him a doobie and said “Welcome home bro.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter took a long hit and passed it back. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “No…give it to Jenny,” he nodding toward her. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> As Rafter passed the doobie he couldn’t help noticing her delicate white hands and long blond hair braided in intricate plaits. She had a pixie face, but an earthy voice and open smile.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The radio was playing Canned Heat’s “Going up the Country,” and Bob Hite’s voice offered promise, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Well, I’m going where the water tastes like wine…”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> They took him to the wrecking yard, and waited outside while he paid his bill and returned with two paper shopping bags full of clothing he salvaged from the wreck. There was no sign of the hooka in the mangled trunk.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Serendipity. That’s what happened next. As they drove to the grocery store, they discovered they enjoyed each other’s company. One thing led to another. When Rafter told them he had no place to stay, they insisted he come to their place until he could find one of his own. They had a 160-acre parcel off of Highway 36 with a trailer Jenny explained. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> They protested when Rafter paid for the groceries, but were thankful. They were low in the cash department and counting pennies. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Serendipity” Smiley said as if reading his mind, as he put the groceries in the truck. They made another stop and filled three 20-gallon propane containers, and three 5-gallon jerry cans. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “We weren’t sure if we had the money to fill these but brought them along anyway,” Smiley explained.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> It took three hours to get to their trailer. Rafter watched the Redwood trees go by with a sense of wonder. He felt a strange kinship with this countryside. It was so vast. So beautiful. </span></div>
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<img height="150" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT84AKYOacd9kcQl4rkWzeETn4NcCqkukSK8zMo4llRzGVcG7Rg" width="200" /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The drive was smooth going on the two-lane highway, until they turned off the road and came to a locked gate. Then they followed a dirt road that wound into the hills. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> After half a mile, they came to another gate with a combination padlock. The road split there. They bore to the right and followed the narrow one-lane road up the mountain. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> At times Smiley shifted down, but kept plodding on. They went another half mile before coming to a final gate. Jenny hopped out and opened it to let Smiley drive inside, closing it when he passed. Home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The trailer had seen better days. It was trimmed in rust and the roof was covered with a brown tarp weighted down with piles of boards growing moss. It’s saving grace was the Redwood deck Smiley made from salvaged scraps of wood from friends. It lent the trailer a rustic look that blended in better with it’s beautiful natural surroundings.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The two steps leading up to the porch were made from slabs of unfinished birds eye burl supported on a bed of bricks. The porch itself was slanted slightly downhill, which accounted for the wobbly wooden table and two chairs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “It’s going to be planting time soon,“ Smiley said a week later.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter passed back the doobie and looked at the valley spread out below them. He watched a Red-Tailed Hawk suspended in the air currents, then spiraling downward with a purpose. In search of prey.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter knew what Smiley was talking about, but still asked, “Time to plant what?” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Smiley, who sometimes looked like a weasel with his thin angular face and red goatee, read his eyes for a moment to see if he was serious.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Pot, what else?”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I don’t know anything about growing grass,” Rafter pointed out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I do. You can learn. We can make money,” Smiley assured him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Can’t dance,” Rafter said, “but I’m game.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> They dapped, a slower more intricate shake that bonded them as brothers-in-war. That dap sealed their new partnership as pot farmers. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Jenny watched the two men with interest. She enjoyed listening to their conversations. She was curious about Rafter’s history, but never asked questions about it. It would have been a breach of etiquette in their world. She secretly studied his face as they talked excitedly, in an effort to know him better. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The streak of white hair at the center of his head and the livid scar on his cheek gave him a sinister appearance. He seldom smiled, which furthered the impression. He was the exact opposite of her Smiley who got his nickname for his broad, inviting grin. Rafter’s golden brown penetrating gaze could be unnerving. He often stared into space.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Sometimes at night he woke her, making animal-like sounds in his nightmares. When she checked on him at those times, he was bathed in sweat. Sometimes he sobbed so hard she wanted to run over and hold him and tell him it was going to be all right. She didn’t mention that to him. She didn’t want to embarrass him. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Wishing them a good night, Jenny retired to the trailer. The two future pot farmers talked late into the night, sitting outside on folding chairs next to the fire pit and smoking weed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> To Rafter, it promised to be a good life. He knew he couldn’t go back to the rat race and get a job loading boxcars, or serving people at McDonalds. It was so quiet here. So peaceful. They were off the grid. No electricity. They had their own well and a small generator. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> There was even a septic system behind the trailer. A rare luxury. The only link to the world was the battery radio. They used propane for cooking and heating the small trailer which had a tiny shower and bathroom. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> They ate a lot of rice and beans. It was a crude setup, but wonderfully liberating. He didn’t have to worry about someone telling him what to do. He could be his own man again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The hard work Smiley said they had ahead of them didn’t bother him. He was okay working with his hands and he had a strong back. Jenny was like a sister and the three of them were agreeable companions. He liked Smiley and admired his grit and knowledge. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> This land had been given to Smiley by his favorite uncle when he got out of the Army in 1970. It was all he had in the world. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The terrain was rugged, and there was only one large flat area where the trailer and the pickup were parked. It was rough country that hosted Redwoods, Madrone trees, Sequoias, Cedar, California Black Oak, Coast Live Oak, California Sycamores, White Alder, Black Cottonwood, Sitk</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a Spruce, Mountain Hemlock, and more.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Shrubs like Greasewood, Manzanita, Coyote Bush, Lupines, Huckleberries, Currants, and Creosote Bushes thickened the steep hillsides. The uneven terrain was home to black bears, skunks, wild turkeys introduced 100 years ago, mountain lions, coyotes, squirrels, raccoons, foxes, and deer. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter was falling in love with it. The contrast between this and living in the city was dramatic. As a city boy, he had grown up in a concrete jungle, seldom exposed to nature’s beauty. Now he felt he’d found his Shangri La. His Lemuria. His Utopia. And it was here in Humboldt County.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He knew he couldn’t stand to be around a lot of people. The hermit who roamed the base in Vietnam still existed beneath a thin surface. He didn’t want to be part of the insanity city life offered. He wanted peace. He wanted to be away from the maddening din of so-called civilization. Now he was poised for another milestone in his life. It seemed almost too good to be true. </span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Smiley had a year of local experience in outdoor growing. He had worked with another Vietnam veteran, his nearest neighbor, on his pot gardens and learned all the basics of growing and how to properly harvest, cure, and trim his product.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> If he was stumped by something the veteran, Rick McNeese, was always available to give advice. The one thing Smiley needed was a partner with some cash and willingness to work hard, and he felt he found both in Rafter. The drying shed he had started was nearly finished with Rafter’s help. He was determined that his first crop, their first crop, would be a success.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Carrying compass and notebook, Smiley had spent the prior summer surveying his land for potential sites. He selected several spots close to creeks. As he was taught, he checked the sun’s path relative to the possible garden spots knowing maximum sun exposure was a critical element in achieving a successful grow. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> After helping his neighbor harvest his gardens, he felt he had a well-rounded education. Pre-planning was important for success.He learned that in the Army Rangers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> There were still supplies to be purchased. Smiley whose real name was Dan Holt, grew up in the country near Paradise Valley, California, on his Uncle Tony’s ranch. He was a country boy through and through. He grew up hunting and was a crack shot before going into the Army. He set several training records with the M-14 at Ft. Bragg before his tour of duty in Vietnam.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The outdoor life appealed to him. He was comfortable with it. He never had any desire to live in the city. When he got out of the Army, a friend told him to look up Rick McNeese, saying they probably had a lot in common. Similar backrounds and all. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> When he found out the man who raised him, his uncle Tony, had died he was grieve-stricken and didn’t know where to go. Then his cousin, George Hall, gave him his uncle’s will and a letter. A few words of wisdom. An admonition to “man up” and be his own man. A farewell from a hard, but always fair man. Plus a deed to 160 acres of land near Hydesville, off Highway 36 in Humboldt County</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> As fate would have it, one of his neighbors was Rick McNeese, who owned 320 acres bordering his land. Smiley took that as a positive sign and the will of the Gods he claimed not to believe in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Next: Chapter Five -<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #274e13;"> Plants and a Baby </span></span>-<span style="color: #b45f06;"> Coming</span></b> <b><span style="color: #b45f06;">April 23, 2013</span></b></span></div>
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ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-4219644119038633432013-04-02T09:32:00.000-07:002013-04-12T14:45:24.834-07:00Chapter Two <br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Rafter's Redemption</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> By Dave Stancliff </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Chapter Two </span> <span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b> <span style="color: #38761d;"><span style="font-size: large;"> IN THE ARMY</span></span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">B</span>asic training happened by the sea, at Ft. Ord, the U.S. Army’s Training Center for Infantry in California. It was named after Major General Edward Cresap Ord, who served with Fremont’s Army in the early days of California.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter and his fellow trainees in Company B, 1st Battalion, 1st Brigade, ran along the beach in the morning fog every day. They ran all over the base. Everywhere they went they ran. They sang as they ran. They moaned while running miles in full gear with their heavy M-14 rifles at port arms. They ran through obstacle courses. They ran carrying a buddy on their back. They ran in their dreams like dogs sometimes do.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Every morning they woke to infuriated drill instructors telling them to get their maggoty asses off their racks. The tension got worse every step of the way. Every day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “You maggots have five minutes to enjoy Uncle Sam’s food. Then you better get out of here!” roared a drill instructor, as he strolled between the long tables during a typical breakfast. Scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, all disappeared down 140 gullets in record time each morning. Then it was time to run.<b> </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The trainees learned new skills every day. How to properly use a bayonet. How to get a linoleum floor squeaky clean with a toothbrush. How to sight your M-14. How to say - and act out a mime pointing at their rifle and their genitals,</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “This is my rifle, this is my gun. One is for shooting and one is for fun!” whenever they made the mistake of calling their rifle a “gun.” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> On the firing range, metal barrels with fires burning inside of them, stood ready as each trainee blackened the sight of his rifle before trudging through beach sand to the shooting range. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Targets down range. Pissed off drill instructors screaming at trainees who missed whole targets. Their bullets screaming off in another, undetermined direction while range masters shook their heads sadly at the thought of sending lousy marksmen to Vietnam.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They would surely die if they couldn’t shoot better than that. A good grunt was a good shot. A dead grunt was the one who couldn’t hit the side of a barn. Charlie, their opponent in Vietnam, was a damn good shot, the drill instructors assured the trainees, hoping to motivate them. </span><br />
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Instead, it scared some so badly they panicked and fired blindly. The nearly bald trainees, mostly 19 and 20 year-olds, were clueless about what was happening in Vietnam. Some were still in shock at being drafted and were only thinking of ways to get out before someone put them on a plane to that bad place.<br />
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Rafter was blessed with a good eye and steady aim. He turned out to be one of three trainees in the entire company who earned an Expert Marksmanship rating. His platoon drill instructor, Sgt. Christenson, was pleased with him. It made a platoon sergeant look good to have one of the best shots in the company. It also made him look good that Rafter had the highest physical training scores in the company.<br />
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The downside, for Sgt. Christenson, was Rafter’s lack of respect for authority. Little things like saying “Drill Sgt! Yes Drill Sgt!” instead of “Okay Sarge” prevented him from being an ideal soldier. Sgt. Christenson stayed awake nights wondering what it would take to straighten him out? He lost a lot of sleep pondering that puzzle.<br />
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Rafter continued to do stupid things like whispering, laughing, and farting in formation. Infractions so dire that he was forced to spend hours doing push-ups, kitchen patrol, extra laps, and cleaning toilets with a tooth brush.</span><br />
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It bothered Sgt. Christenson that Rafter had the potential to be a Sgt. York or an Audie Murphy and didn‘t appreciate it. He could be the next hero for his generation. It bothered Sgt. Christenson that a chance of a lifetime was passing him by because of Rafter’s lousy attitude and lack of respect for his superior officers.<br />
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To be known as Rafter’s mentor, when he stood before the president of the United States and received the Medal of Honor, would have been a crowning achievement. Such a waste of grand thoughts. In his heart, he knew Rafter would be lucky not to get a dishonorable discharge for his rebellious ways.<br />
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When he thought about the situation long enough, he’d seek Rafter out after regular training hours, and make him do push-ups until he got tired of watching.</span><br />
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Graduation Day. Everyone in the company, except Rafter, proudly paraded before a grand stand full of relatives and friends, wearing their new Class A uniforms with private stripes. Martial music blared. The sun glared. Everyone saluted as each company marched by the review stand.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Meanwhile, Rafter shined pots and pans in the company kitchen and butchered the lyrics to “Come Together“ by the Beatles.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /> His failure to pass a final inspection infuriated the company commander, Captain Miles, who had planned to present him with his Expert Marksman Badge and tell the audience how he set a new record at the base range. Perfection. But no.<br />
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The idiot’s locker looked like a bomb had exploded in it, and when reprimanded Rafter shot off his mouth, “Well what are you going to do? Send me to Vietnam?”<br />
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So it came to pass that Rafter’s shooting record was silently entered into the base history books by a bored corporal that afternoon. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Orders were cut, and he was sent to Ft. Leonard Wood, Missouri, a base fondly called “Fort Lost in the Woods” by former graduates who had braved the Big Piney River and woods during night navigation courses and other outside activities. It was especially challenging in the winter.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">R</span>after arrived in early October 1969, for his advanced individual training (AIT). He was assigned to AIT Bravo Company, 3rd Platoon, 2nd Battalion. The clerk told him to go to supply and get his winter duds. He walked outside, stuck out his tongue to catch the gently falling snow flakes, and went in search of the supply building.<br />
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What a different look his new home had. In basic training they had concrete bays, three levels high and lined up in endless rows. Here, the barracks were old vintage wooden buildings used during WW I, with pot-bellied stoves at one end that required a “fire watch” by one of the trainees every night. This was treated the same as being a sentry in a war zone and falling asleep meant big trouble.<br />
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The overall effect was depressing for Rafter at first. Perhaps it was the slate gray skies threatening snow or the dilapidated wooden buildings. It could have been a sense of being far from civilization, surrounded by trees in a place so unlike Southern California it was like landing on the moon.<br />
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Rafter noted the drill instructors didn’t seem as pissed off as the ones in basic training. They still shouted at the top of their lungs, but not as often. The Army decided to introduce the M-16 and other trainees like Rafter who had qualified with the M-14, had to re-qualify with the new lighter weapon.<br />
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It reminded Rafter of a toy. When one of the guys in his squad, Jason Henry, said the stock was made by Mattel Toy Company, Rafter wasn’t surprised. It was quite a shock going from a heavy wooden stock to a light plastic stock that could shatter if you did what you were taught in basic. That is, diving to the ground for safety, using the stock to break your fall. The Mattel stock would shatter with a good body slam like that.<br />
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This time, Rafter didn’t get a perfect rifle score. He missed a few. It might have been because he was shooting prone in a pile of snow at white pop-up targets during a snow storm. Or because he had trouble paying attention because of his frostbitten feet.<br />
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In any event, he still qualified as an Expert Marksman. With this eagle-eye ability, he should have been sent to Ft. Bragg, North Carolina to train with an infantry unit and become a sniper, but a pissed off Captain Miles at Ft. Ord instructed a bored Army clerk to send him to Ft. Leonard Wood to become a combat engineer.<br />
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There he could learn to drive heavy equipment, build bridges, roads, fire bases in hostile places, and mine sweep vital roads. Combat engineers were in big demand in Vietnam. To top it off, he would train in the harsh Missouri winter. As good a revenge as any.<br />
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One day the Company Commander, Captain Elias Thorton, asked Rafter if he’d be interested in boxing? The base held weekly “smokers” or boxing matches, and representatives from the companies fought for the glory and whatever perks they could get.</span><br />
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Rafter had never boxed before. Never laced on a pair of gloves. Never hit a speed bag, or heavy bag. He liked watching Muhammad Ali. He told the captain that. The captain said he would train him if he was interested, and the company really needed a heavyweight. Rafter, who’d thrived on Army food, had gained an astounding twenty pounds and now weighed 200 lbs. Right at the weight limit for heavies.<br /><br />
Rafter bluntly asked, “What’s in it for me?” The captain smiled and assured him of special eating privileges (steak every day), no kitchen duty, no fire watches, and a weekend pass once a month to the nearby town of Waynesville, where prostitutes gave military discounts. They shook hands in agreement, a decidedly unmilitary thing to do.<br />
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Why did the captain want him to box if he knew Rafter had no experience? Hard to understand unless you knew Captain Thorton. He fancied himself as the trainer for the next Heavyweight Champion of the World. He never stopped looking for prospects. Every training cycle he looked over the men’s records in search of a champion. He literally drooled the day he saw Rafter’s physical test scores. Rafter could be a diamond in the rough. And he was the right man to polish this powerful kid into a champion. All this soldier had to do was listen to him.<br />
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Rafter’s first fight was as ugly as it was instructive. With just two weeks of training in the gym he thought he could float like a butterfly and sting like a bee just like his favorite fighter Muhammad Ali.<br />
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Didn’t happen. His opponent used Rafter’s head for a punching bag for two rounds before he realized it was time to get serious. Halfway through the third and final round, Rafter pushed his shorter opponent back against the ropes and hit him with a solid right, breaking his jaw and sending him to the canvas, effectively ending the fight. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">His opponent was one of the toughest heavies on the base and had never been knocked down, let alone out. The crowd broke into cheers, knocked back their beers, and started talking about Rafter as being the next Post Champion.</span><br />
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He fought six more opponents before his chance at the current base champion, Alex Harmon from Columbus, Ohio. They were messy bouts. He got hit a lot. Probably too much, but he always ended up knocking out his opponent. No decisions. His wins were undisputed acts of raw power and little technique. His left ear looked like a wrestler’s might after a long career. His nose was broken twice and looked pudgier than ever by the time he earned the right to fight Alex Harmon.<br />
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The big fight. Money was bet. Unit pride flared. Captain Thorton genuinely didn’t want to see Rafter get hurt, but he needed to see if there was a future for him. Knowing if Alex punched him in the head as much as his other opponents did, Rafter would go down like a sack of potatoes, he worked out a plan for him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Tie him up and don’t stand back and try to exchange punches,” he instructed. “Batter him inside. Keep your head on his chest and throw body blows.” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter slipped off his warm-up robe and shadow boxed around the tiny locker room. “I think I could, Cap,” he offered.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “You could what? No! Now listen to me, this guy was a Golden Glove champion in Cleveland, Ohio last year. He’s already a member of the regular Army boxing team, and these bouts are just warm-ups for him. His people say he’ll probably qualify for the Olympics.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter stopped and looked at him. “You do want me to win, don’t you?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Of course, I’m just telling you the best way to fight him, okay? Do your work inside. Keep punching in close. Mix in some uppercuts. Solar plexus punches will bring his guard down. Wear him out so he can’t dance around and hit you in the chops. The guy could drop a bull if he gets a clean shot. But if you work on him, punish him, stay close and use your strength, you can win.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Did Rafter take the Captains’ good advice seriously? Of course not. The moment the bell rang he stood toe-to-toe and within one minute and twenty-two seconds he was looking up from the canvas, surprised he got there but aware of someone counting: “Two..three…four…five…six…seven” Rafter got to his knees. “Eight, nine..” Rafter got up. The ref held his gloves up and looked into his still unfocused eyes and shouted “Fight!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Alex stepped up and unloaded another combination on him. Rafter took it mostly on his gloves. An animal instinct took over and he reached out and pulled a startled Alex toward him and head-butted his tormentor! Bright red blood spurted from the gash on Alex’s forehead and he backed up in stunned shock. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The gym was impossibly silent for a few seconds. The earth stood still. Then pandemonium broke out. Rafter, his blood up, closed in on Alex and punched him with jackhammers to the body and head. All six-feet four inches and 245 pounds once destined to be a champion was a broken man within a minute. Alex would require three facial surgeries after his mauling.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> As he sank to the canvas the referee pulled Rafter away. Alex’s corner men jumped into the ring roaring for revenge! Chaos broke out in the rowdy audience. Beer cans flew.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Captain Thorton’s dream was as shattered as Alex’s face. Rafter was, of course, disqualified and Alex declared the winner. Like it mattered. Neither man would ever box again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter was lucky to have the Captain in his corner that night as some of Alex’s friends, who dearly wanted revenge for their champion’s beating, might have evened the score. He became an instant Bravo Company legend. His boxing career was over.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter had to settle back into the regular training drudgery like tying knots and learning how to sweep for mines with big, heavy metal detectors that emitted painfully loud screeches at the hint of something metal. Captain Thorton, temporarily stymied in his search for a champion, waited patiently for the new cycle to begin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter knew he’d end up in Vietnam. Drill instructors since basic made sure he knew. The training cadre at Ft. Lost-in-the-Woods knew that most of the men were bound for Southeast Asia. There was a real need for combat engineers there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The cadre made sure not to get too close to the soon-to-be-condemned men. They didn’t want to know when they died, or how they died. They became jaded for their own sanity. It was much easier that way.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: blue;"> CHAPER THREE</span></b> - <b><span style="color: #38761d;">VIETNAM</span></b> - Coming April 9th, 2013</span></span></div>
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ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-31498194753326211632013-03-29T08:55:00.000-07:002013-04-12T14:58:21.404-07:00Chapter One - Freedom<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> RAFTER'S REDEMPTION</span><br />
By Dave Stancliff<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rafter Ra</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">bago barely managed to get his diploma from Covina High School in 1968, surprising friends, family, and the school’s entire faculty. Some of his detractors said he shouldn’t have graduated, based on the time he missed. His commonly known distain for the whole process of education had pushed more than one teacher to the limit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He was never interested in organized school sports. His physical education coaches constantly tried to get him to play football, basketball, or to wrestle. The reason? He was probably the most gifted athlete in the school. Except he didn’t want to be an athlete. A jock. It drove his PE coaches crazy to watch him dribble the basketball around others and to slam dunk it with apparent ease during PE class. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> When it came to football he could pass, defend, and receive the ball effortlessly. He was faster and more agile than any student in the school. At six-feet, and 180 pounds by his senior year, he was a force few physically challenged. In his physical education tests he did more pushups, sit-ups, chin-ups, and pull-ups than anyone on the varsity football squad. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He set school records in all of them. He was faster than anyone on the school’s track team, and tied the fastest 100 meters record in the school’s history as his PE coach clocked him in awe.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> With all his physical gifts, Rafter should have been groomed as a professional athlete. The coaches daydreamed about his potential. Friends didn’t ask why he didn’t participate in sports. They knew why. He didn’t like the discipline. Didn’t like the idea of being told what to do, when to do it, and how to do it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter was not a good student either. That discipline thing was a problem in classrooms. He wasn’t stupid, but he sometimes did have trouble focusing on the lessons. The teacher’s words sometimes sounded like angry bees in his head and his attention wandered off to other subjects. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> As could be expected, this lack of attention hadn’t gone unnoticed by his teachers since the first day of his first grade class. His eyes gave him away, staring into space. Or, his other extreme; Class Clown. Getting laughs while earning Ds in Mathematics and English.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Some of the contorted faces he made caused teachers to grin in spite of themselves. He was a natural clown. A rubber face. A teller of off-color jokes when adults weren’t nearby.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Despite being a poor student and a non-jock with a perfect record of never having made the honor roll in 12 years of basic education, Rafter was popular. People liked being around him because he exuded a certain air of adventure. Of discovery. And his sense of humor was a hit, especially when it came to getting girl friends.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f3f3f3;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">R</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">after was not what you’d call a good looking guy. You know, like Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise. Truth be told, he was very average looking with a pudgy nose and lips too full for his thin face. His mouse brown hair never looked combed, and was always borderline too long according to school regulations. One ear was lower than the other His golden brown eyes, topped with dark brown eyebrows, were the most intense feature of his face. His moods were reflected in them like serene twin lakes, or stormy seas, depending upon the moment. His voice was a husky baritone that carried well. It could sooth or terrify.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> And what of his home life? Pretty boring actually. Mom and Dad both worked while he was growing up. Frank, a dentist, and Madeline, a bank clerk, were both active in community organizations. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter had a succession of babysitters until he was ten, at which time he declared his independence and right to be home alone while they were out doing their things. That was fine with his parents. It saved them money.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Speaking of “saved,” no one in the Rabago household went to church. It was never discussed. Rafter remained blissfully doctrine free throughout his childhood. The world around him talked about God and he formed a vague opinion of the omniscient Spirit from what he heard. There were many times, during his school years, that God was mentioned. The Pledge of Allegiance, and songs like “God Bless America” were commonplace. Rafter saw and heard references to God in court houses, schools, and public buildings. Personally, Rafter did not know the God everyone referred to. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Talking with friends who did attend various churches gave him little insights into God. His over-all impression was of a wrathful supreme being who did not tolerate sinners (anyone who did'nt believe in him) and who had a long list of what was good and bad. That list was summarized in the Ten Commandments laid down in God’s Bible. He did see an upside to a God who loved him no matter what he did. The idea of a loving Supreme Being sparked a longing in his lonely heart. He really wanted to be loved by someone. He longed to experience the magical feeling poets and singers conveyed when describing love. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He never told people about this longing. It was his secret between him and God…if God existed. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He didn’t have brothers or sisters. This was never explained. Not that it mattered. It was obvious early on his parents weren’t thrilled to have even one child. Listening to them late at night, when they thought he was asleep, he discovered at an early age that he was an unexpected surprise. Not a happy surprise either. No, he heard words like “mistake,” and “regret,” when they talked about his birth.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Even his name isolated him. Who else had a name like Rafter? No one he read or heard about bore his unusual first name. In bits and pieces of conversation between his parents over the years, he discovered the name Rafter was the Irish variant of Raferty.His mother’s brother, Raferty O’Brian, a private in the Marines, was killed in World War II at Omaha Beach on D-Day. They decided on Rafter before he was born. If he had been a girl, his name would have been Shirley. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> One thing was for sure. He hated the name. Especially when he found out that a group of turkeys was called a rafter! His classmates used this knowledge to mock him. He discovered his best defense was to roll with the laughs, and even walk and talk like a turkey for more laughs.Rafter never let his parents know he knew how they really felt about him. He just stayed out of their way, caused a minimum of fuss around the house, and became a first class survivor. After he figured things out at age seven, he played the game to perfection.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He thought of them as Frank and Madeline. Not as Mom and Dad. Home was in name only. He never felt “at home.” Never felt ties to the place where he grew up. He slept and ate there. That was it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He knew when to pick his battles and when to retreat. Catch them at the right time, when they were feeling guilty about their mutual lack of interest in him, and he got what he wanted. From a BB Gun to a Davy Crockett coonskin hat, he more or less got what he wanted with that strategy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rafter wouldn’t have been so lonely at home if his parents had let him have a dog. That was out of the question. When they gave him a laundry list of reasons why he couldn’t have one, he stared into space, pretending he was on another planet. Communication in the Rabago household was often strained. He grew up silently envying everyone he knew who had a dog. He loved animals of all kinds, and promised himself that one day, when he was on his own, he would get one. Picking the best breed was one of his favorite day dreams.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> With the end of his formal education upon him, Rafter could honestly say he had no plans. College wasn’t a consideration. Up to this point he hadn’t had to worry about money. His parents bought whatever he needed. Food, clothes, toys, a weekly allowance; no problem. A roof over his head in a quiet middle class neighborhood. Check. It was all free. That was about to change. The independence he desired required getting a job and a place of his own. Oh, yeah. And a car.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> When it was Rafter’s turn, he stepped up to the podium and accepted his diploma (it was a phony, you got the real one when you turned in your cap and gown) from Principal Sanderson. Family and friends in the front row of the auditorium waved happily as he strolled down the steps with a big smile. He waved the false diploma at them and followed the other students to the chairs provided for graduates.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Afterward, there was a Graduation Party at his house and relatives he hadn’t seen in years attended. He zombie-walked through the rituals, cutting the cake, opening cards and presents, and smiling. Lots of “Thank yous,” to people he barely knew. Lots of advice on what to do, also from people he barely knew. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Alone in his room that night, he added up the money inside the cards. It came to a staggering $2,240! He’d never seen so much money. All in hundreds and twenties. It was liked he had robbed a store or something. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The biggest cash gift came from Frank and Madeline. A thousand dollars (ten $100 dollar bills) were stuffed into an envelope with a card that said, “Congratulations Graduate. To a wonderful son on his Graduation Day. Best of luck, Mom and Dad.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The next morning, Rafter phoned his best friend Lenny, who had a Ford Mustang, and got a ride to “Angelo’s Used Cars” on Alosta Avenue. There were forty-two cars to choose from on the lot. He took his time and examined every one of them, occasionally asking questions. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He finally selected a bright red 1963 convertible Chevrolet Impala SS. Its jet smooth styling and powerful V-8, 409 cubic-inch engine with 360 horsepower made his heart jump with excitement and anticipation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The car sported bucket seats and a shift console. There wasn’t a scratch on the body and the interior was like new. Someone had installed an eight-track cassette player just beneath the radio, and two Craig Pioneer 10” speakers in every door panel, and the rear window area. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The bargaining began. The salesman, who was actually Angelo, a short squat Italian with shiny pointed loafers and green silk tie, said the price was $1,400 out-the-door. Rafter got up, didn’t say a thing, and walked out of the office towards a waiting Lenny who was cleaning the windshield of his Mustang.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Angelo caught up to him. “Hey! Wait a minute, kid!” Rafter stopped and slowly turned around. “How were you planning on paying for the car?” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> A calculated moment of silence. “Cash.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Angelo’s eyes momentarily lit up. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I see…maybe we can knock off a hundred. What do you say?” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter should have been the salesman. Once again, he hesitated then countered, “I’ll give you $1,000 for it. Right now.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Angelo gasped like a fish out of water and staggered backward a few feet. “I gotta get at least $1,200, or I’m losing money,” he wailed. Rafter thought about the drifter in “Hang ’em High” and imagined he could hear the Italian backround music that made Clint Eastwood’s “spaghetti westerns” so popular.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I’ll give you $1,000. Take it or leave it.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The sun beat down. It was pushing 93 degrees and Angelo hadn’t made a sale in three days. “You’re robbing me. Come on inside. There’s some paperwork we have to fill out before I give you the keys.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> It was high noon and Rafter had won the shoot-out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Days later he found a one-bedroom apartment in Huntington Beach a mile from the ocean. It was furnished with a futon and a rickety wooden end table that supported a 19” Black & White television complete with a telescoping antenna. On good days, it worked well enough to get all three television stations. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The curtains were a dirty beige with a chicken foot design. The kitchen was a nook in one corner, with an electric plate, a small sink, two small cupboards made from cheap pine but stained a dark mahogany, and a table with dual chrome legs, big enough for two. Two chrome legged chairs with red vinyl seats, complimented the modest arrangement.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rafter thought it was great. His first home. No long term lease either. Rent was due every month. Miss the rent payment one month and you got kicked out. It was really a temporary way station for single young men and women. It was meant as a place to sleep, sometimes eat, and to shave and bathe. The location was its greatest asset. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He could walk to the beach easily from his apartment. His mailing address was Apt. 4A, 2377 Ocean View Drive, Huntington Beach. He got a phone. A standard black rotary phone, but special because it was his first. Everything was special because he was a free man living near the beach. He spent days walking around the neighborhood, getting to know the area. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Months slipped by like the steady surf at the beach he enjoyed so much. Lenny, who worked Monday though Friday at a car parts warehouse, usually came by on weekends and they got drunk and chased women. He could have gone on like that forever but his money was running low and he had to find a job. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The newspaper was full of ads for unskilled laborers like Rafter. He applied at a plastic factory in La Mirada and got a job loading box cars with boxes of plastic products ranging from cups to plates.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> They taught him how to drive a forklift so he could pick up pallets of boxes and supply himself as he filled a box car every shift. The warehouse was huge. Others like him worked at bay doors open to the railroad tracks and the hungry box cars. When it rained, the metal ramp to the box car was slippery and he had to watch every step as he carried the heavy boxes and neatly stacked them to the ceiling inside.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> For two months the blood vessels in both arms and his chest looked like red spider web tattoos, until he finally got into lifting shape. He slowly adjusted to his new routine and became comfortable with it despite the physical demand. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Working the graveyard shift, he soon became a night owl. It was hell on his social life at first, but he wasn’t looking for a lasting relationship anyway. After a year, he had a half dozen friends at work, both male and female. They did the lunch thing at 3:00 a.m. every morning and shared life’s defeats and victories over warmed up leftovers, sandwiches, and snack goodies. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> One of his female friends, LeAnn, was married to an abusive husband, and the other, Tina, was a single mom. Gary, Cole, and Lee were all single, and Ron was married with two children. Twins. The men enjoyed going to basketball, football, and baseball games. The five of them enjoyed playing basketball and formed a team. They called themselves the “Hoop Heads” and played other pickup teams at local gyms that offered open nights for hoopsters. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> They were his inner circle. Tina and Rafter dated several times, but the sexual attraction wasn’t there for either of them. Their relationship settled into a platonic one based upon trust. Sometimes when Tina came to his apartment for a drink she got drunk and he made her stay on his futon. He slept on the floor without grumbling. Her safety was more important than ruining a friendship.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> It was an easy, free flowing life, and predictable. Some might say boring. He seldom strayed outside his routine. He laid around on the beach during his days off, if the weather was good, watching the pretty girls in bikinis. No desire to travel troubled his mind. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> No dreams of being rich. He was content to put his years in with a company and to retire with a small pension and Social Security. He didn’t expect a gold watch, knowing he’d never stand out as employee of the month, year, or decade. Knowing he’d never turn in a money-saving tip to the suggestion box. Just an average Joe getting by.If he didn’t like the job, or got fired, he could easily find another one. There was no shortage of manufacturing jobs in Southern California in 1968. There was no shortage of any kind of jobs when he graduated. Jobs for college grads, service jobs, and manufacturing jobs, were all abundant. Full time or part time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He could have picked something more adventuresome to do with his life. He might have been a world record breaker in sports with his natural talents. An inspiration to average-looking humble guys everywhere. Or a seeker of truth with a college degree in Philosophy. A champion for the downtrodden. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Fate held a different future for him. One day Rafter checked his mailbox and found a draft notice! Uncle Sam had sent him an invitation he couldn’t deny. It arrived one year and three months after he graduated from high school and said he had three days to report to a processing center in Los Angeles for a physical. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> He stared at it while the sun suddenly hid behind gathering clouds in the sky. His steps were heavy as he slowly walked back to his apartment. The Army. He was going to be a soldier. His country wanted him. He was in trouble now! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> That night he watched the six o’clock follies on the news, as soldiers charged through rice paddies chasing little men and women in black silk suits with funny conical straw hats. The TV anchor man droned on about 234 enemy causalities and two wounded soldiers in the Valley of the Jars, which had been an enemy stronghold, but wasn’t any longer. There was no word about when the war in Vietnam would come to an end.</span></div>
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<br />ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-37409807337532845722013-03-28T16:01:00.002-07:002013-04-14T12:57:50.419-07:00RAFTER'S REDEMPTION<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"> RAFTER's REDEMPTION </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> A novella by Dave Stancliff </span> <b> </b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://openvault.wgbh.org/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/vietnam1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="http://openvault.wgbh.org/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/vietnam1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Prologue: 1976 Humboldt County, California</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
When he woke up his arms ached. He was lying on his stomach somewhere in a dark place. A basement? Minutes crawled by as his brain attempted to clear the fog clinging to it since he opened his eyes.<br />
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Dawning awareness. His fingers dug into dirt. Soft, wet, smelly. Odor of decay. Not buried in it. Lying on it. His body pressed up against it. His arm muscles were spastic snakes, stilling his movements. He waited for them to settle down.<br />
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Alive. In pain, but alive. What happened? He raised his head slightly and felt a gentle breeze. His eyes, growing accustomed to the darkness, revealed he was under a house. He had no idea whose house. He could just make out some porch steps. Irregular rows of lattice-work lined the house perimeter. There were several broken openings.<br />
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What was he doing here? The thought paralyzed him. No memory at all. There had to be a reason why he was under this house. Who was he hiding from? More important, who was he? He didn’t even know his name. Or, how long he’d been lying there.<br />
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More pain. Bright lights went off behind his eyes like slivers of lightning. His head sank back onto the cold earth. Throbbing. Suddenly a thunderous roar and muzzle flash, and his hip exploded in pain!<br />
“I’ve got you now you son of a bitch!” A voice roared. He rolled over, off the wounded hip, and wondered what terrible thing he must have done to deserve an ending like this?<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"> </span></span><br />
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ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-5981004835621875072012-11-26T20:36:00.001-08:002012-11-26T20:38:20.335-08:00Some crazy thoughts just because…<img src="http://content.bored.com/photos/oddanimals089.jpg" /><br />
<span style="color: blue;">What's the difference between a novel and a book? </span>How old are you before it can be said you died of old age? <br />If nobody buys a ticket to a movie do they still show it? <br /><span style="color: #c0504d;">If someone owns a piece of land, do they own it all the way to the center of the earth? </span>If you have a cold hot pocket, is it just a pocket? <br /><span style="color: blue;">If humans evolved from monkey's/apes, why are they still here?</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">Why doesn't glue stick to the inside of the bottle? </span>Why is the show called unsolved mysteries? if they were solved they wouldn't be mysteries. <br /><span style="color: blue;">Do penguins have knees? </span>Why is it said that an alarm clock is going off when really its coming on? <br /><span style="color: blue;">How come people tell you not to stand in front of an emergency exit when if there was an emergency surely you would run through it? </span>Why did Sally sell seashells on the seashore when you can just pick them up anyway? <br /><span style="color: blue;">In libraries, do they put the bible in the fiction or non-fiction section? </span>Why are both of Spongebob's parents round like sea sponges while he is square like a kitchen sponge? <br />Does a two-humped camel store more water than a one-humped camel? <br /><span style="color: blue;">If you pamper a cow, do you get spoiled milk? </span>Why is it that if someone yells "duck" they are helping you, but if they yell "chicken" they are insulting you? <br /><span style="color: blue;">If the FBI breaks your door down do they have to pay for it? </span>If they have angel food cake on earth, do they have people food cake in heaven? <br />If you fart and burp at the same time, would it make a vacuum in your tummy? <br /><span style="color: blue;">Do they call a</span> <a href="http://www.bored.com/crazythoughts/#">fortune teller</a> <span style="color: blue;">who can’t see a "blind seer"? </span>Why do you put two cents in when its only a penny for your thoughts? <br /><span style="color: blue;">Can you cry underwater? </span>You know the signs on restaurant doors? No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service? what if someone goes in with No Pants? Would the restaurant still have to serve them? <br /><span style="color: red;">If an African elephant comes to America, is it an African-American elephant? </span>Why doesn't flavored gum turn your mouth that color?<br />
<span style="color: blue;">If a doctor suddenly died while doing surgery, would the other doctors work on the doctor or the patient? </span>Why do we sing "<em>Rock a bye baby</em>" to lull our little ones to sleep when the song is about putting your baby in a tree and letting the wind crash the cradle to the ground?ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-22332737629769401302012-11-23T16:32:00.001-08:002012-11-23T16:32:43.272-08:00I must Go…my country needs me!<p><img alt="I Must Go - Demotivational Poster" src="http://media.fakeposters.com/results/2010/11/09/dm6jic4mxe.jpg" width="470" height="377" /></p> ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-73820003000820619202012-11-19T20:18:00.001-08:002012-11-19T20:18:28.472-08:00Time Out for some funny cartoons<p><img alt="Mike Luckovich" src="http://assets.amuniversal.com/e1dd4b9013a40130fe1e001dd8b71c47" width="463" height="336" /></p> <p>Via <a href="http://www.gocomics.com/mikeluckovich">Mike Luckovich</a></p> <p><img alt="Signe Wilkinson" src="http://assets.amuniversal.com/f7fd8040127f0130fdef001dd8b71c47" width="496" height="303" /></p> <h3><font size="2">Via <a href="http://www.gocomics.com/signewilkinson">Signe Wilkinson</a></font></h3> <p><img alt="Ted Rall" src="http://assets.amuniversal.com/e4ba07a010d30130fd28001dd8b71c47" /></p> <p>Via <a href="http://www.gocomics.com/tedrall">Ted Rall</a></p> <p><img alt="Tony Auth" src="http://assets.amuniversal.com/cacc1ed00fe00130fca4001dd8b71c47" /></p> <p>Via <a href="http://www.gocomics.com/tonyauth">Tony Auth</a></p> <p><img alt="Matt Bors" src="http://assets.amuniversal.com/6dffe1b014880130fe47001dd8b71c47" /></p> <h3><font size="2">Via <a href="http://www.gocomics.com/matt-bors">Matt Bors</a></font></h3> ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-37070584800034674202012-11-17T15:37:00.001-08:002012-11-17T15:38:28.647-08:00Union Executes Twinkie Hostage<p><img style="display: inline; float: left" alt="TwinkieStrike.jpg" align="left" src="http://thepeoplescube.com/peoples_resource/image/17387" width="236" height="166" /></p> <p><font size="3">Members of the Bakery, </font><a href="http://thepeoplescube.com/peoples-blog/union-executes-twinkie-hostage-t10047.html#"><font size="3">Confectionery</font></a><font size="3">, Tobacco Workers and Grain Millers Union announced today that the Twinkie, held hostage by the Union for the last several months, </font><a href="http://www.nbcdfw.com/news/national-international/NATL-Twinkies-Maker-Hostess-Going-Out-of-Business-179643161.html"><font size="3">has been executed</font></a><font size="3">. <br /></font>"Taking a page from our Misloom brothers' playbook, we beheaded the Twinkie at 6:00 am this morning," stated union boss Joey"Dough Man" Antonelli. He elaborated that "Host<img style="display: inline; float: right" alt="Twinkie.jpg" align="right" src="http://thepeoplescube.com/peoples_resource/image/17388" width="122" height="180" />ess” refused to give in to our demands, and that's the end of the Twinkie!"</p> <p>Representatives from Hostess said that the matter had been out of their hands for quite some time, especially since newly reelected President B. Hussein Obama spent time on the picket line last week encouraging the striking union members.</p> <p> They noted that the Twinkie had always been a positive, upbeat kind of confection, and said that the world will miss him. (<a href="http://thepeoplescube.com/peoples-blog/union-executes-twinkie-hostage-t10047.html">source</a>)</p> ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-57511360382545352112012-11-16T10:41:00.001-08:002012-11-16T10:41:28.984-08:00New Reality TV Show proposed: Sneaking into America<p><img style="display: inline; float: right" align="right" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSwMkfVVTyKmRFgw4vVJWkazQMhJMwT23bHL7jpoIL1i5PottDm" /></p> <p><font color="#ff0000" size="3">While the crossing of the border between Mexico and the US by illegal aliens and drug smugglers gets a lot of news and political attention , few people actually know very much about how this is actually done.</font></p> <p><strong>Herewith is a Treatment / Proposal for a new TV reality show called "Sneaking into America" :</strong></p> <p>Ten contestants  for each series will be selected randomly from applicants. There would be 3 series of Sneaks into America.</p> <p>Each of the 3 series will have 4 episodesÂ… for a total of 12 one hour shows.</p> <p>The first episode of each "Sneak" series is titled “<b>staging for illegal entry</b>”, the second being “<b>crossing the line</b>”, the third being “<b>the overland journey of death</b>” and the final episode “<b>arriving in the promised land</b>”.</p> <p><font size="3">The last scene in each series will be the winner starting his or her new job in the United States.</font></p> <p><font size="3">Contestants who are captured, killed, die or give up with be eliminated from the contest for the winning prize.</font></p> <p><img style="display: inline; float: left" align="left" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT0QHT5WWFrCtAUi3NyDHhuzjAnsVW4ScsS7VxE6FtG2J9VHyOA" /></p> <p>All contestants will be required to pass a rigorous physical examination and sign a hold harmless agreement that if they are kidnapped, murdered or die or are injured in any way they will not be able to sue anyone involved in the program. All contestants will be afforded a $100,000 life insurance policy for the benefit of their family. <a href="http://www.bandersnatch.com/new_reality_tv_show_proposed.htm#">US citizenship</a> will not be required for contestants except for "Going to Washington DC"  run. Contestants for that series will be required to provide proof of US citizenship to be a contestant, but will not be allowed to show such proof while competing in the show.</p> <p>Each contestant will be accompanied by a cameraman who will not be allowed to provide any assistance whatsoever to the contestant during the "Sneak".</p> <p><font size="3">The first series will be called <strong>Sneak to Phoenix</strong>.</font></p> <p>The ten contestants will be taken to town of Altar in northern Sonora and left there with $1,000 in cash, one gallon of water, one cell phone, and the clothes on their back. They will not be allowed to carry any documentation <a href="http://www.bandersnatch.com/new_reality_tv_show_proposed.htm#">confirming</a> they are United States citizens if in fact they are. Each contestant will be able to guarantee payment to a "coyote" of an additional $2,000 upon their safe<img style="display: inline; float: right" align="right" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQnMwwtaZ6od8NAjZO1sPwDEBxt2Cp0AAo_-Er3qoSZf0xKkIX1" /> arrival at the destination within 14 days of starting out.</p> <p>Their goal is to reach the State Capitol building, Senate Wing in downtown Phoenix.</p> <p>In order to achieve this goal contestants will have to:</p> <p>--decide which “coyote” to hire to transport them to the US-Mexican border and get them across and negotiate the terms of their relationship.</p> <p>--purchase "crossing" clothing and supplies such as a back pack,  food and water.</p> <p>--decide whether to work together as a team or go their individual ways.</p> <p>-- then walk for 3 or 4 days through the desert to a point where they would be picked up and driven to Phoenix.</p> <p>--they will have to successfully avoid being captured by the US Border Patrol.</p> <p>--they will have to successfully avoid being robbed by border bandits.</p> <p>--they will have to avoid dying of heat prostration or dehydration while crossing into the United States to the point where they would be picked up by their coyote transportation deal</p> <p>--they will have to avoid being kidnapped in Phoenix.</p> <p>All contestants reaching the destination in Phoenix will be considered "winners". Each winner will receive a minimum wage job in the Phoenix area cleaning <a href="http://www.bandersnatch.com/new_reality_tv_show_proposed.htm#">hotel rooms</a>,.</p> <p><img style="display: inline; float: right" align="right" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQcdDIs6EWuJeTAD16gE94F3yCQ8t7G-fY7-ngqeEs9lOSe902n" /></p> <p><font size="3">The second <strong>Sneaking into America </strong>series  is called <strong>Vamos al Chicago  </strong>and will start in Oaxaca, Mexico and end in Chicago, Illinois</font></p> <p>In order to achieve that goal contestants will have to arrive alive in the vicinity of Brownsville or Laredo, Texas without being kidnapped and murdered by the Zeta cartel, cross the Rio Grande, avoid being captured by the Border Patrol, and travel across the country to downtown Chicago.</p> <p>Winners of this contest will have the choice of a minimum wage job in Chicago, Detroit or New York City.</p> <p>The third series in <strong>Sneaking into America  </strong>is called <strong>Going to Washington DC </strong>and will feature state and federal politicians as the contestants.</p> <p>The starting point for this series will be Guatemala and end at the US Capitol building in Washington, D.C.</p> <p>In addition to all the risks and challenges of the other series, the contestants will also have to sneak through Mexico and avoid being captured by that countryÂ’s law enforcement authorities for illegal entry.</p> <p>The winners of the "Going to Washington DC"  "Sneak" will be allowed to hold a press conference about issues such as securing the border and immigration law reform, and then return to their public office job.</p> <p>It is hoped that one or more Presidential candidates would participate in the "Going to Washington DC" Sneak series.</p> <p><strong>Sneaking into America could be a top rated show.</strong></p> <p><img style="display: inline; float: left" align="left" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTVLbHUhKDi-x5grmaavhP5JFyxICyqKI127EpQLTdPvmx_pxM3" /></p> <p>Viewers will experience at ground level some of the most remote and beautiful country in America ranging from burning deserts to rugged mountains.</p> <p>Each episode will be filled with suspense as each contestant tries to avoid being killed by bandits or captured by law enforcement. Viewers will experience hiding beneath bushes as helicopters circle over head and masked men carrying automatic weapons hunt for them to steal their money and shoes.</p> <p>Interspersed with eye-level video of the ordeals of the contestants, Sneak will also include real-time footage shot from Border Patrol aircraft and vehicles searching for the contestants, with commentaries from all sides of the border security and immigration law reform debate and interviews with real  illegal aliens who have survived the journey into the United States themselves.</p> <p>Viewers can pick their favorite contestants and follow their dangerous journeys on Twitter.</p> <p>At the conclusion of each series viewers will have as close to a first-hand experience as possible of what thousands of illegal immigrants experience daily as they cross the border for jobs in the United States.</p> <p><font size="3">And the question will be asked at the end of each episode "would you try and do this?"</font></p> <p>VIA the <a href="http://www.bandersnatch.com/new_reality_tv_show_proposed.htm">BANDERSNATCH</a></p> ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-15398029763433129692012-11-15T08:19:00.001-08:002012-11-15T08:19:56.234-08:00How to Tell if You’re Involved in the Petraeus Scandal<img align="right" alt="AP954212800523-465.jpg" height="188" src="http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/borowitzreport/AP954212800523-465.jpg" style="display: inline; float: right;" width="264" /><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">WASHINGTON (</span><a href="http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/borowitzreport/"><span style="font-size: small;">The Borowitz Report</span></a><span style="font-size: small;">)—In response to a high volume of panicked </span><a href="http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/borowitzreport#"><span style="font-size: small;">phone</span></a><span style="font-size: small;"> calls from the general public, the C.I.A. has published a new informational brochure entitled “How to Tell if You’re Involved in the Petraeus Scandal.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">The C.I.A. rushed to produce the brochure after it became </span><a href="http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/borowitzreport#"><span style="font-size: small;">clear</span></a><span style="font-size: small;"> that as many as one in three Americans may have some involvement in the Petraeus affair.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">And with the scandal widening every day, “a lot of average folks out there are worried that they might somehow be involved in it without knowing,” says Carol Foyler, director of the C.I.A.’s public-information office. “This booklet should clear up a lot misunderstandings.”...</span><a href="http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/borowitzreport/2012/11/how-to-tell-if-youre-involved-in-the-petraeus-scandal.html#entry-more"><span style="font-size: small;">CONTINUE READING >></span></a>ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-62088555959799204822012-11-13T08:19:00.001-08:002012-11-13T08:20:01.521-08:00Christine O'Donnell and the mice with human brains<img align="left" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTVij7fb_YgEzqJAs3z2pH5Esw40CTfXjmOhVebmXiZEvzlyvGP" style="display: inline; float: left;" /><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I almost enjoy - alright damn it! I love - listening to stupid politicians speak about science-related matters. Most are out of their league almost immediately. Still they keep trying to impress us with their scientific knowledge.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I’ve got a list of examples, but let’s just take one for today.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Sometimes, political science-gaffes spring from misremembered news bites. That seems to be the case for Christine O'Donnell, a Tea Party favorite who, during an appearance on The O'Reilly Factor in 2007, made a strange case against cloning and stem-cell research.</span><br />
<img align="right" src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTk4I7gHhlvDFChDfB3ipZqgvv4cGCiU82OIhHVIp5Gos1dytme" style="display: inline; float: right;" /><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">"American scientific companies are cross-breeding humans and animals and coming up with mice with fully functioning human brains," O'Donnell said. "<em>So they're already into this experiment</em>."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Not quite. It seems the research O'Donnell was referring to was a 2005 study in which fetal mice were </span><a href="http://www.livescience.com/159-mouse-human-brain-live.html"><span style="font-size: small;">injected with human embryonic stem cells</span></a><span style="font-size: small;">. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">The mice were born with human brain cells in their skulls, but certainly not human brains — and there was no "cross-breeding" involved. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">The mouse brains were more than 99 percent mouse cells, and the interloping neurons did not change the rodents' behavior. The ultimate goal of the study was to develop stem-cell treatments for neurological diseases, such as Parkinson's and Alzheimer's.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Need I say more?</span>ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-45086135711622240552012-11-12T11:00:00.001-08:002012-11-12T11:00:54.361-08:00Jocks ambush nerds at Comic Convention<img align="left" height="352" src="http://thedailysatire.com/modules/upload/attachments/thumbs/ComicCon_Super500x500.jpg" style="display: inline; float: left;" width="236" /><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: blue;">For years, jocks have beat up nerds but have never had the last laugh, due to their lack of intellect.</span> </span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">But when it was realized that all of America’s nerds were to be gathered in one convention hall in San Diego, they plotted the ultimate wedgie-fest.. </span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">Stay tuned for first reports.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">(<a href="http://bsgossip.com/2012/07/jocks-ambush-nerds-at-comic-con/">source</a>)</span>ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-2303368920829308212012-11-11T16:09:00.001-08:002012-11-11T16:09:54.135-08:006 Idiots Who Tweeted Their Way OUT of a Job!<p><img style="display: inline; float: left" align="left" src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTB9dMGgAibtp0QdD9M8zIRhYJErU-56j1fTtEr51ue_L5OEJ8e" /></p> <p><font color="#0000ff" size="3">How to Tweet Your Way Out of a Job</font></p> <p><font size="3">Hate your job? Want to leave without giving two weeks notice? Thanks to Twitter, it’s never been easier to get fired. All you have to do is for an account and follow these simple steps. You’ll be unemployed in no time! <br /></font><strong><font color="#0000ff">Step 1: Drunk Tweet <br /></font></strong>As any Spring Break partier knows, drinking impairs your judgment. It seems to have also impaired the judgment of Major League pitcher-turned-sports-radio-host Mike Bacsik, who put on quite a show during a San Antonio Spurs and Dallas Mavericks NBA game in April. While watching the game, Bacsik bragged that he was “About 12 deep and some shots.” He proceeded to unleash a string of insults aimed at NBA commissioner David Stern, accused the refs of fixing the game, and even threatened to blow up the NBA’s offices. But the one that really got people riled up came after the Mavericks lost the game, when Bacsik tweeted:@MikeBacsik: “<em>Congrats to all the dirty Mexicans in San Antonio</em>.”</p> <p>After sobering up, Bacsik deleted the offending tweets and issued an apology. But it was too little, too late. Numerous people complained to his radio station, which first suspended Bacsik and later fired him. After his dismissal, he told ESPN Dallas, “When you tweet like that, it’s not a playful, harmless thing…I’m very sorry and will try my best for my actions to speak louder than my tweets.”</p> <p><a href="http://strangecosmos.com/content/item/185267.html#theContent">Go here to read the rest</a></p> ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-20363722122661585772012-11-08T10:35:00.001-08:002012-11-08T10:39:08.865-08:00My campaigning days are over – Thanks for following me folks!<p><font size="3"></font></p> <p><font size="3"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-U2cubeJTO3I/UJv7Z7WKrxI/AAAAAAAAJVc/HqLem_muYww/s1600-h/2011-07-06%25252013.49.44%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: left; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="2011-07-06 13.49.44" border="0" alt="2011-07-06 13.49.44" align="left" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-N3Ef-mal3CA/UJv7aiQY1nI/AAAAAAAAJVk/JuKeMoqypWs/2011-07-06%25252013.49.44_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="245" height="200" /></a></font></p> <p><font size="4"><font color="#0000ff">I want to thank everyone who stopped by my campaign headquarters this last year.</font> </font></p> <p><font color="#0000ff" size="4">All three of you.</font></p> <p><font color="#0000ff" size="4">It’s been fun.</font></p> <p><font color="#0000ff" size="4">In case you hadn’t heard, I lost. </font></p> <p><font color="#0000ff" size="4">Now… now. Don’t take it too hard. I know that I would have been a better choice than either of the other two jerks, but that’s the way the cookie crumbles.</font></p> <p><font color="#0000ff"><font size="4"><font color="#ff0000">So this blog is officially closed.</font> No more Dave.</font></font></p> <p><font color="#0000ff" size="4">Goodbye, and may a “Higher Being” Bless America!</font></p> <p> </p> <p><font color="#0000ff" size="3"></font></p> <p><font color="#0000ff" size="3"> </font></p> ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-85194043996450018222012-11-06T21:08:00.001-08:002012-11-06T21:16:55.224-08:00Bob Dylan calls the winner before the election: Obama is re-elected<img align="right" height="227" src="http://www.washingtonpost.com/rf/image_606w/WashingtonPost/Content/Blogs/arts-post/Images/People_Bob_Dylan-0a3fa.jpg?uuid=gTfgzCg9EeK04DRih7flbA" style="display: inline; float: right;" width="274" /><span style="color: blue; font-size: small;">How about that? Dylan was right.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: blue;">Call him a musical</span> </span><a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/ezra-klein/wp/2012/10/30/the-nate-silver-backlash/"><span style="font-size: small;">Nate Silver</span></a><span style="font-size: small;">. Bob Dylan predicted Monday night at a Wisconsin concert that President Obama would win today’s election by ”a landslide,” the </span><a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/entertainment/music/bob-dylan-tells-concert-crowd-in-battleground-wisconsin-obama-will-win-in-a-landslide/2012/11/06/9ebb9580-27d9-11e2-ac64-5d52a2c5953e_story.html"><span style="font-size: small;">AP reports</span></a><span style="font-size: small;">.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I certainly wish President Obama the best. It was a close race -up to a point- then Obama whipped out a can of whoop-ass (Ohio) and that’s all she wrote!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">The Republicans would have done better with <strong>Daffy Duck</strong>…but hey! What do I care? I don’t mind losing either…hell, I’m a gracious loser. Let’s see what Mutt and his cronies have to say after the dust settles. Think they’ll be gracious losers?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Vegas odds say, Romney whines like a sissy and runs home to spend quality time with his rich friends. He might even take up a new hobby.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Meanwhile, I gotta believe there’s some pissed off millionaires and billionaires who sunk a lot of money into Mutt’s coffers…with no return! I hear casino Tycoon Sheldon Anderson flipped out over $53 million to pull Mutt’s cords when he was elected president.</span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: small;">He’s gonna want something for that money Mutt.</span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: small;">Long live the new president! </span><br />
ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-13175251287902199952012-11-06T08:02:00.001-08:002012-11-06T08:02:55.793-08:00It’s Election Day–Time to count the votes<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDQ-yxNGT63vrJkSsaiCHGVn9JTn1moUqFgj8OcTOtM4NX2qmjfEHaLzg7YjACBdzmo4Z7HnAYY5HzWj4flTZtWLlTno1mqzA0ECqjtWalzLvLpRurMHljzQV9a0hiMX6bsC3ByP2HQaA/s1600-h/imagesCAVKFNU13.jpg"><img align="right" alt="imagesCAVKFNU1" border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtjCyNLWRc4nYy4yImBNLfhby79pToLZE7CbU9n200w4RhclQWEwb2tDSMEBLhusq_dSTAHPwbznulUP2VCg_unDyiSweV_PE6aIB37g8dTGLD1fMBLDJS7O24NNIVXww-lFmmBRlZM9A/?imgmax=800" style="background-image: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; float: right; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="imagesCAVKFNU1" width="284" /></a></span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: small;">I’m breathless with excitement. No shit. I’m excited that today has arrived and we all get to vote and this damn election will be over!</span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: small;">(except for the crying)</span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: small;">This whole political circus has left me exhausted. Now we can move on to other things…</span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: small;">like boosting the economy in spite of a Congress full of morons. </span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: small;"></span><br />
ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-31176727157930343832012-11-05T07:16:00.001-08:002012-11-05T07:16:38.839-08:00Don’t forget to vote tomorrow<p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-GgozeEy6BKo/UJfYUswAVmI/AAAAAAAAJN0/UZAf7zIJpmc/s1600-h/images-73.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="images (7)" border="0" alt="images (7)" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-lSPfkkTsv0Q/UJfYVCJu7-I/AAAAAAAAJN8/kZcfbwnsucs/images-7_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="264" height="334" /></a></p> <p><font size="3"><strong>One of these guys is going to win</strong></font></p> <p><font size="3"><strong>Hopefully, it’s the guy you want!</strong></font></p> <p><strong><font size="3">If you don’t want either of these bums you can always vote for me!</font></strong></p> ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-87088233469477225182012-11-04T08:08:00.001-08:002012-11-04T08:08:10.665-08:00‘The Simpsons’ predicts Electoral College: Obama 290, Romney 248<p><img alt="Screen Shot 2012-11-03 at 8.05.38 AM" src="http://www.mercurynews.com/politics-national/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/Screen-Shot-2012-11-03-at-8.05.38-AM.png" width="396" height="221" /></p> <p><font color="#0000ff">Writers for “The Simpsons” snuck their own Electoral College prediction into a recent promotional video and they’re calling it for President Obama</font>.</p> <p><font color="#c0504d">In the one-and-a-half minute video, the cartoon’s character Mr. Burns endorses Mitt Romney, though it’s really just an excuse for the liberal-leaning show to make jokes about Republicans.</font></p> <p>At one point, Burns stands in front of an Electoral College map that shows a narrow Obama win, 290-248. The map shows Obama <a href="http://www.mercurynews.com/politics-national/2012/11/the-simpsons-predicts-electoral-college-obama-290-romney-248/#">winning</a> in the West and Upper Midwest and Romney cleaning up in the South.</p> <p>For the record, “The Simpsons” writers call Nevada, Colorado, Iowa, Ohio and New Hampshire for Obama; Virginia, North Carolina and Florida for Romney.</p> <p>That’s in line with predictions from conservative-leaning analyst Scott Elliott and the Real Clear Politics “no tossups” projection, but <a href="http://www.denverpost.com/politics-national/2012/11/nine-2012-electoral-college-predictions-have-obama-ahead/">below several other predictions for a larger Obama margin</a>.</p> <p>As fans of the show can attest, “The Simpsons” has made some accurate predictions before with jokes about <a href="http://www.11points.com/TV/11_Predictions_About_2010_That_the_Simpsons_Got_Right">soy-based snacks</a>, <a href="http://thefw.com/five-things-the-simpsons-predicted/">Farmville</a> and <a href="http://www.collegehumor.com/article/5435404/can-the-simpsons-predict-the-future">Siegfried and Roy</a>.</p> <p><a href="http://www.mercurynews.com/politics-national/2012/11/the-simpsons-predicts-electoral-college-obama-290-romney-248/">Source</a></p> ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979024227596354841.post-84923768868908347072012-11-03T09:14:00.001-07:002012-11-03T09:14:36.619-07:00Romney Refuses to Back ‘Equal Pay’ For Female Hurricanes<p><img style="display: inline; float: left" align="left" src="http://ewwatchingtv.files.wordpress.com/2012/07/mitt-romney_240.jpg" width="185" height="245" /></p> <p><font color="#0000ff" size="3"><strong>Romney:</strong></font></p> <p><strong>“BEFORE FEMA DECIDES HOW MUCH TO PAY OUT, WE SHOULD FIRST DETERMINE IF ‘SANDY’ IS A BOY HURRICANE OR A GIRL HURRICANE.  BUT WHEN I WAS GOVERNOR, I KEPT A BINDER OF FEMALE HURRICANES.”</strong></p> <p><font color="#0000ff">More on</font> <a href="http://truth-out.org/buzzflash/commentary/item/17615-the-core-values-of-a-president-romney">The Core Values of a President Romney </a>- for BuzzFlash at Truthout.</p> ImBlogCrazyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114155503257613636noreply@blogger.com0