 |  | Welcome to, 'Whynot,' California | | Rated:
13+ | | Another saga in the endless war to change the world | | by: K. I. Smet ![View k-i-smet's Portfolio. [Offline / Private]](http://imgs.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/costumicons/ps-icon-regular-10.gif "View k-i-smet's Portfolio. [Offline / Private]") ![Email User: k-i-smet [Offline / Private]](http://imgs.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/mail-off.gif "Email User: k-i-smet [Offline / Private]") | Avg Rating:   (46) |
|
| Item Size: 5 Entries
Created: 7:53pm on 04-22-2006
Modified: 9:47am on 06-25-2007 | |
| |
|
PART ONE
Chapter 1
Stormy Weather
As he watched the waves crashing into the pilings, he felt the analogy to his life reflected in the turmoil. He was not surprised by the fury of the approaching pacific low. His life, so carefully constructed, was on a parallel course. Like the drops of rain driven, horizontally, before the wind, he too was unable to reach the ground. What had happened? This question was his personal typhoon howling through his thoughts. One goal had been his fuel, the American dream, and until thirty days ago, he believed he was going to grow up and achieve this triumph. Thirty-eight years of truth, honor and the American way were his foundation and now to discover it was not sound. He had not lied, yet he was vilified, he had not cheated, yet he was a pariah. Where were the values of his youth? Had those icons of his rearing misled him? One million to zero, this was then the ratio of questions to answers.
Sidney Skinner, or Skinner to those who knew him, had always known his task. It was given to him to vanquish the Villain and set right the wrongs of the world. His instructors were mythic and always victorious. The right is might values of the Lone Ranger, Superman, Batman the panoply of guardians directing his upbringing, where had it gone wrong. The million questions of his dilemma assaulted his senses and the zero answers provided no surcease. Hands in pockets, his collar turned up against the driving rain he presented the forlorn image of a wet, lost mongrel. However, there would be no rectangleof light from an opening door of greeting, no hot meal with its accompanying warm spot by the fire. Siege was his plight, personal, and professional siege, as every aspect of his life was under assault. Looking down at his, sand coated, shoes Skinner allowed his thoughts to consider the path, which had brought him to standing upon this spot. If asked about that path, a mere thirty days ago, he would have delineated a tale of Tom Sawyer, Huck Finn idyllic youth, choreography of magical metastasis from one ideal step to the next. If there had been any hint of the cataclysmic juncture to come, it was a sub plot of devious obscurity and guile. No play write had ever been so successful in disguising their agenda or fooling their audience. Once again, he sought out the beginning, in hopes such perusal would reveal a missed step, a forgotten event that would lead to clarification of that burning question…Why?
Sidney Skinner awoke in his new bed in a new home. Sid considered his options and found himself at a loss, he had never lived in a town before, and this presented his dilemma. Where were the battles fought and who were the warriors? Well school would open in a week and then he would meet his allies in the quest to save the world. The newness of his surrounding soon overwhelmed these matters and exploration became the sirens cry. Yes, that was the order of the day, for it was vital to know the terrain. He could smell the aroma of breakfast and the reassuring sounds of his mother’s preparations. Secure in the cocoon of his families routines he got up and prepared to meet the challenges of this new world. Before heading to the kitchen, he checked his weapons, his trusty Daisy BB gun was safely at hand, and he reassured himself of its operational condition. Oh yes, he was ready, and once breakfast was out of the way he would scout the environs for danger. For the moment, he was alone and he could not chance a lapse in vigilance, for villains liked to strike when you least expected it.
It never occurred to Sid’s young mind that this day would become imprinted forever in his storage banks. Not only was it stored safely away, but often, through out his life, to come unbidden to his conscious thoughts. This occurrence would be precipitated as he looked back at these formative years and marveled at his good fortune. There could be no doubt he had been blessed by both time and circumstances, for the dangers of his era were those of storybook adventures. The world had not yet spun out of control and monsters were imaginary and easily vanquished by pure thoughts. These were the benefits of his time and the circumstances were the product of his family. The values he would be raised by were truth, honor, and fair play. The strong were to protect the weak and heaven help you if you failed to display respectful manners. In the mind of his father, lying was just cause for the sternest of response and truth could always moderate your punishment. It is not strange that under these circumstances Sid grew up with a profound respect for the truth. It would have never occurred to his father to defend his son’s errors and always Sid was required to personally, make amends.
Often, Sid looked back and was amazed at the formative factor of the small town life he had enjoyed. It had been impossible to break the rules within the structure of this community. A transgression, at the remotest reaches of its boundaries always had wings, which exceeded your swiftest retreat home. It was inevitable upon walking in the door the news of your misconduct had preceded you. This was true even in the hard times when the telephone was disconnected and this had always been a mystery. Although this was the case, it must be noted Sid’s insatiable curiosity and need to know, often led him to a close personal experience with this phenomenon. It was not that Sid was atroublemaker; it was more due to the only flaw he could point to in his father’s makeup. His father had an irritating propensity of telling you one time and one time only. Further his consistent response to Sid’s inevitable question, “Why” was the dreaded “Because I said so.” Sadly, for Sid’s needs this was inadequate. If only his father would have explained, “Because it will make people unhappy, or cats can’t breathe under water,” Sid’s life would have been far simpler. Oh well, that was not to be the case and so Sid was forced to pay the price in order to understand that pesky, “Why.” Fortunately, for Sid he was a fast learner and it was a rare situation, which would require a second dose of education.
Sid wandered into the kitchen to discover the accuracy of his olfactory senses, indeed pancakes and eggs were this morning’s fare. The kitchen was a favorite haunt of his and provided balance and comfort in times of stress.
Most meal times would find him helping his mother’s preparations, just as a way to justify being there. Osmotic learning was not a consideration he would ever have understood during this time. However, later years would verify its existence, for from this time-spent came a life long love for cooking and a natural ability in its application. Soon it was time for the appearance of his siblings and his mother asked him to call them. Sid was cursed and blessed with two sisters, one older and one younger. He also had an older brother, however; the eight-year disparity of their ages had produced a barrier between them. This was not an insurmountable barrier, as the years would show, but at-this-juncture it was monumental.
Further, his brother had graduated from school and was currently living in some remote corner of the world called Southern California. Sid was surprised to find he often thought on this situation and was plagued by a disquieting sense of loose. After all, he personally had no knowledge of this far away land, and without having scouted the terrain could not be assured of its safety.
Finding these thoughts had consumed his mind, he was surprised to find the morning meal complete, and he was free to venture forth and defend the world. Receiving permission to explore the neighborhood, he displayed great alacrity in hefting his Daisy BB gun and exiting the door.
Sid was quick admitting they did not, in truth, live in town, for their house was the only one on their street. Looking in the direction of the town, Sid was comforted by the two-block barrier of almond orchards shielding them from curious eyes. Turning, he perused the open fields and beckoning ditches all of which were his to protect and there do battle with the forces of evil. There was no doubt he would be busy but it was not in him to shirk this duty.
A great hay barn lay just to the south of their home and it whispered to him of great rainy day battles and a perfect lookout vantage point, from its soaring loft. The following days were spent in the full time effort of learning the land and far too fast, it was time for school.
School, that dreaded appellation, and all the more so, a new school. Sid was reaching an age where self-awareness was beginning to assert itself. For instance, he was well aware that his reading was far more comprehensive than his peers, and the last year had shown him he was stronger than most others of his age. This information was subliminal yet present and gave him an assurance he could handle what ever this new school presented. As far as the educational side of school, this rarely entered his his mind. The number and variety of books he consumed on a regular basis made the mundane matters of education a task of simply showing up. He was blessed with the ability of reading a book and forever after, that book was available for his instant recall. Now this ability was not always reflected in his grades because homework was, to his thinking, a waste of time. Test scores would show his grasp of the information and yet the failed homework would inevitably drop his grades. Many, parent teacher conferences resulted from this proclivity and always the same tune was played. “Sid does not work up to his abilities, if he would apply himself he could be anything he chooses.” Deaf ears would again hear his solemn response, “I am being exactly what I choose.” Shaking heads and regretful sighs would meet this claim as though he had delivered himself to perdition. In these situations, Sid would find respite in the simple sage instruction of his father, “Never live down to someone else’s opinion of you,
always live up to yours.”
CHAPTER 2
ERODING FOUNDATIONS
As these thoughts, of his youth, played through his mind, Skinner’s posture slowly became more erect and his stride seemed to take on a purposeful gait. His voice ratcheted into the wind, “You can kill me, but you can’t eat me. That is against the law.” This inane saying from his youth brought the relief of joyful laughter, and Skinner felt renewed. He had done nothing wrong and in fact he had been one–hundred percent right. Let them come with their personal vendetta, as he had no intention of surrender. In considering his current condition, he mused perhaps he had not gone far enough. It was time to quit sniveling and fight back, so what if his ego had been bruised, did he think he was bulletproof. What should he have expected, as he had taken on the most powerful agency of the State government? Life was not meant to be easy, it was meant to be lived, and that included all of its travails. He was not without resources, so if it was war they wanted, war there would be. Each of these thoughts fueled his steps as he hurried towards the parking lot and his waiting vehicle. Reaching his car he laughed at finding the drivers side rear tire flat.
Well what could he expect, he had known this tire had a slow leak for the past two months and done nothing. Considering the driving rain, once again he made excuses as he opened the trunk and removed his pump from under the spare tire. Tomorrow, that was when he would have the tire fixed. Plugging the pump into his cigarette lighter, he watched the tire slowly inflate. Confident it would hold up for the drive home, he replaced the pump and pulled from the parking lot. Very carefully, he surveyed his surroundings; the past thirty days had demonstrated driving was his most vulnerable time. Five times in thirty days, he had been stopped and falsely accused of traffic violations of increasing seriousness. Surprise, surprise, tomorrow the system would find out Skinner was no fool and had not just fallen off the pumpkin wagon.
The first of these citations had waved a red flag and the second confirmed the sagacity of these feelings. Skinner, could be knocked down but he would be damned if he would lay there and be kicked. The first of these citations, he had dismissed as the random ire of a disgruntled officer. One of those misfits who were convinced their purpose was judge and jury for society. Skinner was well aware his articles concerning the Criminal Justice System had created quite a stir and resentment among those feeding at this public trough. His assertions of greed, power, and failure of purpose had been backed by facts, figures, and case, after case references. It was in this light, he could understand a random act of retribution, however, he could not quite dismiss its implications. The next incident triggered alarm bells throughout his senses and he understood it was time to defend his position.
Jim Alda was the number one advocacy attorney in the United States and during Skinners article research they had become firm friends. Within moments, after he received his second citation, Skinner was on the phone to Alda for advice. Hearing Skinners explanation for his call, Alda urgently informed him to come directly to his office. Skinner tried to schedule the appointment for the next day, however, Alda was adamant and Skinner finally relented and drove directly to Alda’s Century City office. As he drove through the traffic, laden streets, and canyons of L.A. Skinner’s thoughts were on the unique speed he and Alda had become friends. Skinner, had a personal philosophy about such things, and he had never violated the foundation of these beliefs before. It was his contention anyone you knew less than five years was simply an acquaintance. He believed it took this long before people felt comfortable enough to actually allow another person to see the true them. In the case of Jim Alda, he had felt from the first, here was a person supremely confident in whom they were. This confidence was so grounded; it was obvious Alda put it on the line and if you did not like it that was your problem.
In short order, Skinner had come to realize Alda was the most secure person he had ever met. This had so intrigued Skinner, on several occasions he had broached the matter during their conversations, and found himself often pondering the enigmatic one word response, “Whynot.”
Now, as he was driving home through the slashing rain Skinner could not help but smile at the results of his fortuitous phone call to Alda, let the games begin and tomorrow they would. The instant he arrived at Alda’s office he was shown into his office and before he could speak Alda handed him a sheaf of papers with the terse instructions to read them. The papers were a recent article discussing the local police departments usage of Global Positioning satellites to monitor their vehicles. It further highlighted the benefits of North Star and like
systems for monitoring vehicle performance. The instant he saw the company name, which had won the Police Departments contract, he erupted in laughter. Globally Locally, he looked up at Alda as he handed him back the paper work. “I get your meaning and it could not have been a more timely insight.” Skinner went on to explain that the owner of Globally Locally was a long time friend of his, going back to elementary school. Alda was surprised at this news and asked about David Artis, the founder and CEO.
Skinner filled him in on the varied background of Artis and then added. David is a unique individual, one who never quit in his life and if you threw one-hundred people into a whirlpool David is the one to bet on to survive. “Well there you go Skinner, I think you had better get with your friend and install the most comprehensive system available.
I will go to work getting your citations enjoined so we can handle them at one time. You inform me each time you are stopped and cited, and you can rest assured there will be more times to report. With the certified reports from your friends' company, we will have a little fun…I am hoping,” was Alda’s advice. Before leaving Alda’s office Skinner called David and explained his situation, David’s response was immediate,
“Come on over. Sounds like things are going to get interesting.” Skinner used Alda’s phone once more to call his office. Getting through to his secretary, he told her to clear his calendar, as he would be researching a big story the rest of the day. Then, thanking Alda, he headed across town to mount his defenses. Before the day was over he would have his car completely wired, and monitored.
Thinking it wouldn’t do to get stopped again, before he was prepared, Skinner drove surface streets and round about routes towards his destination. His mind was working over the meeting he had just had with Jim Alda. Some indefinable question kept buzzing through his mind and try as he might there seemed no answer to this buzzing. Since knowing Alda this was the second time, he had availed himself of his services and each time Alda had merely waved aside any discussion of payment for his services. Skinner had also noted that not one time, when he had called Alda, was he ever told the high profile attorney was busy. It was almost as though Alda had nothing better to do than waiting for his calls. Here was one of the most successful attorneys in the country, yet he was always available when Skinner called, very curious. Skinner was a reporter so these thoughts perhaps haunted him more than the ordinary individual yet he could not help himself. After each encounter with Alda, he left with a sense of destiny or perhaps a hidden agenda that was just beyond his grasp.
Skinner liked the no nonsense advocate and their friendship was obviously a mutual response…And yet. Glancing about Skinner became aware his ruminations had transported him back to his own street and he chuckled with the realization. Talk about spacing out, he realized he had been on autopilot during his drive back from the beach. The rain was still pelting his windshield as he hit his remote and watched his garage door open its gaping maw in preparation of consuming both he and his car. He could not recall not feeling like Aladdin on these occasions, “Open Sesame,” he intoned and pulled into the cave. Where, the hell is that damn genie he muttered and chuckled while exiting his car. Before he had taken a step, he instinctively knew something was not right. His garage light failed to come on and every nerve in his body was warning it was time for fight or flight. Aside from the light malfunction all appeared in order, however, Skinner had learned over the years to never, ignore these feelings. Carefully he opened his car door and flipped on the headlights before the delay timer could shut them off. The garage door had successfully closed, so he ignored that direction of attack. His total concentration was on the door into his kitchen as he crossed his garage to the storage shelves. He reached to the back of a shelf and found his sawed off Remington Eleven–hundred. He had deliberately chosen this as his weapon of choice so he would not have to worry about harming anyone other than those in his immediate vicinity.
No stray shot from this gun would penetrate his neighbor’s house or hit somebody five blocks away. Skinner had grown up handling guns and he was very aware of the responsibility they bestowed. He also knew without a doubt he would not fire, unless that was the response required, then that was the response he would give.
He paused and considered calling the police, then decided under his current situation, with them, it would be a bad idea. He had nothing but a feeling on which to base such a call and if he was wrong, he felt sure it would be used against him. Standing to one side, he tried the door to the kitchen. Now he was positive something was wrong for the door was locked. He never locked this door when leaving his house and he realized all elements of surprise had been eliminated. If somebody were in his home, they would have plenty of warning when he opened the door. Skinner had no intention of being a sitting duck and considered his options. He knew the longer he waited the more nervous anyone inside would become. Skinner had spent countless mornings sitting in a duck blind waiting for the morning sun to bring the flights of ducks and geese. He was the hunter and his patience would allow no error.
Walking to the shelves once again, he acquired a pair of pliers and then crossed to his car and reached in shutting off the lights he waited for the delay timer. Then with the pale glow from his illuminated key, he crossed to the door leading to the back yard and eased it open. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the pliers onto the brick patio, just outside of the sliding patio doors. He then closed the door and smiled; let them wonder about that. As he thought on the situation, he was aware that he was enjoying himself a great deal, perhaps too much he thought. Well, if fools put money in the jukebox they had better expect to dance.
Skinner crouched as low as possible while reaching up with the key to unlock the door. Very carefully, he slid the key into the keyway and turned the lock. When he was sure, the door was unlocked he sat back and waited some more. Skinner waited until he was sure his night vision was at its highest level and then he waited several minutes longer. Very slowly, he extended the shotgun above his shoulder, and with the other hand, he turned the knob. With a hard shove, the door flew open and Skinner fell prone into the kitchen. Silence, a palpable blanket, shrouded the room. Skinner could feel his heart beat against the floor tiles and his breath seemed stentorian in his ears. He knew he was either alone or facing one very professional adversary. It was not logical for the average thief to display such resolve, so getting to his knees he reach up and flipped the light switch.
CHAPTER 3
BASIC TRAINING
The rooster crowed and strutted the yard, anyway that was how Skinner saw it. Lewis, was trying his best to establish his dominance. The first day of school provided the standard push comes to shove theatrics he had expected. Skinner did not care one way ot the other about Lewis’s antics as long as they did not go to far. The other members of the fifth grade class watched as the scene played out. Skinner knew there would be no interference or aid given. This was the time worn dance, which had been performed for centuries. The stranger was an outsider and must be tested. The days first recess had begun this ritual and Skinner instinctively knew the noon break would be the deciding time. Having completed their lunches, the lower class students were involved in a game of touch football. Lewis wasted no time in making his intent clear.
The first two plays found Skinner sprawled upon the ground the victim of Lewis’s excessive ‘touching.’ The second of these events had brought a round of derisive laughter from the watching crowd. Skinner knew he could not allow it to continue, or soon others would begin to join Lewis’s antics and his acceptance would be through.
As the ball was snapped, Skinner started down the field. From the corner of his eye he watched Lewis angle across the field on a clear cut collison course. Skinner waited until just before impact and then turned as though to catch the ball. In doing this he brought his elbows up and timed it perfectly as his elbow impacted Lewis’s nose. Down went his antagonist but clearly not out. There were tears in Lewis’s eyes and a very prevalent bloody nose, however he started up stating, “I am going to kick your ass.” By now a crowd had gathered to surround them and not one could help but hear Skinner’s response. “Ice,” that was the nickname that resulted from his statement very quietly said, “If you get up it better be friendly or I will hurt you.” Lewis stopped half way up and looked closely at the speaker of these ominous words. Nobody blamed him for his response, for each knew they would have done the same. Straighting up Lewis struck out his hand and replied, “Nice block.”
It was over and Skinner knew he had passed muster, but it wasn’t until later that he fully understood how well. Apparently he was definitely his father’s son, because when his new friends talked of this event they claimed the temperature had turned cold. Further they stated when Skinner was mad he was a very scary person. Even though he had not yelled or threatened, not one of them had considered continuing the matter. While he did not understand, Skinner thought on these words, and realized, he had not gotten angry. No, the feeling was a sense of calm, and yes, icy resolve.
The following years in ‘Sutter, California,’ had been every child’s dream. Sutter is a town so small there never had been, nor was there yet a stop light within it’s boundaries. The opinion giving for this fact was simple. If you didn’t live there you did not need to stop, and if you did live there you probably knew it and would stop automatically. Driving came early in Sutter due to it’s farming economy and the need for the labor force to get to work. School started two weeks later than in the cities because of harvest, and most of the youth were anxious to make some money. An early age saw the youth join the seasonal labor force and Skinner was as anxious as his peers to ply his strength. Yard work, hoeing beans and by thirteen he had joined the elite by working hauling hay. One-hundred fifty pound bales of hay at three cents apiece meant you could make twenty dollars a day. This was a fortune in the minds of those so employed. The ancillary benefits, while unconsidered, meant the young men of Sutter rarely encountered a situation they were not physically prepared for.
Sutter never lacked for entertainment in the form of sports, hunting, fishing, or exploring, but the social experience of movies and hamburger stands was lacking. This pursuit required hitchhiking or riding your bike ten miles to Yuba City. This was no less of an act than an invasion of a foreign country. Outsiders, and easily recognized as such, therefore easy prey. Each generation of Sutter youth were required to defend their roots in this endeavor and Skinner’s group of friends were no different. Weekends generally saw the pooling of funds for financing their invasion of Yuba Cities movie matinees, and all realized this was just another way of saying “battle.” In retrospect this too was merely another form of entertainment. The establishment of a pecking order, which had existed for genrations. The boys of Sutter went where they wanted and if you didn’t like it then take your best shot. The hard work, hard play lifestyle had always won the day and Skinner and his friends would be damned if they would be the first generation to fail this cause. No police were involved or counsellors, courts or clowns just the natural exuberance of youth, and when it was over the shaking of hands and sharing a soft drink. Life was basic and hard feelings were quickly forgotten. It did not matter that they were from a system of forty-five classmates invading a town with five hundred. Numbers were unconsidered, for this was a matter of honor and was always settled one-on-one. A meeting of the biggest and best for establishing the right of passage.
CHAPTER 4
CHAOS THEORY
Skinner’s eyes flew open as the light exploded its bright luminance. He had closed them, before flipping on the switch, in hopes he could minimize the blindness of the the first moment. He planned to be prepared for any assault that may come his way, however, nothing could have prepared him for the assault which occurred. A barrage of total chaos meet his eyes and it took several seconds to assimilate this vision. A poltergist could not have been more efficent in its destruction of his world. Everywhere he looked, his possessions were strewn like confetti. No surface, or object had survived unscathed. Surveying the room and listening carefully he decided he was alone, though he would not drop his vigilance until positive. Slowly rising to his feet he began the chore of checking his house room-by-room. Each room provided a fresh blow to his senses, for nothing had been left undisturbed. Trying to move silently was out of the question. All he could hope for was to not trample too much of his property. However, until sure he was totally alone this was a minor concern.
As he moved through the chaos Skinner felt an unbidden insight enter his thoughts, “This must be what his sister’s had felt when he invaded their privacy by reading their diaries.” A sad smile played the corners of his mouth, and he realized how the consquences of your actions never impacted you the same as those on the receiving end. Well, he hoped it was not too late for his phone calls, out of the blue, informing his sisters of his regret. These thoughts brought a chuckle from his heart, and he realized instant karma is going to get you. Skinner stopped his surveyal of his world, and shook his head to clear these thoughts, now was not the time for a stroll down memory lane. Instinctively Skinner knew he was alone, however, until a complete search was conducted he would not drop his vigilance. Thiry minutes later he could only shake his head at the throughness of destruction. Stepping into his den, he found himself lost to uproarious laughter. There, undisturbed above the fireplace was his ancient BB gun. Aloud, he heard his words, “The fools should never have left me armed.” The evil villians were in deep shit now. Again the laughter brought tears to his eyes, as his mind coursed the heroic adventures of his youth.
“Well Kato, we have work to do,” as again he spoke aloud. Skinner worked his way into the laundry room and there, firmly attached to the side of the dryer, he found a ten pound horseshoe magnet. Removing the towel casually hanging on this item, he pulled it from its berth. With the magnet, firmly held, he re-entered the den and crossed to the closet. As he had known he would, there he found the top of his floor safe ripped from the buried cylinder. Sinner was curious, would his fail safe precautions survive? He knelt and peered into the cylinder and grinned. The contents had been totally rumaged but not his little boy treasures. Skinner had this safe specially made to the specifications of his cousin Gary Edwards who was one of the primier lock and safe men in the world.
Gary had designed and manufactured this safe himself and only two of them existed in the world. Unconcerned with the loss of the articles placed in the top compartment Skinner took note of their effect. He had placed decoys for the edification of any invaders and these had proven their worth. A half ounce of marijuana, which he did not smoke, a bundle of hundred dollar bills equalling one thousand dollars and a half pound of quinine in hope it would be mistaken for drugs. The marajuna and quinine were absent and the thousand dollars was scattered carelessly among his strewn possessions. Skinner extended the magnet into the cylinder until it clanged its contact with the bottom plate. Lifting the magnet served to raise this plate revealing a separate chamber in which his toys were securely preserved. This plate was so precisely fitted that no other method could have raised it. Reaching in Skinner lifted out his toys; three complete sets of ID’s including credit cards, and passports, a fourteen shot nine millimeter semi-automatic hand gun, and ten thousand dollars in various bills.
These were the efforts of an article he had done on identity theft and at the time were an adventure into the depths of the underworld. Along with these toys, this article had introduced him to a jack-of-all trades named Rodger Wilburn. Rodger had proven an encylopedia of information when it came to the dark side of society. Basically a honest business man Rodger had educated himself in all aspects of life and claimed shadows or sunlight there was always a road. Their collaboration had led to a lasting friendship and Skinner was aware he may need this resource very shortly. Musing on the variety of life, Skinner was amazed how childish fantasies so often became reality.
Winding his way through the carnage, he moved into the master bedroom and found the intercom which was usually kept along side his bed. Assuring himself it was still functional he flipped the A-B switch on the back and pressed the talk button. “I have big problems, will be there shortly please unlock the door,” he did not expect an answer nor wait for one as he gathered his toys and made for the back door.
As he made his way into the back yard he thought on his destination. The intercom, which appeared as an average communicator with the front door, served two purposes; one, it did answer the door and two by flipping the switch it signaled an apartment facing the next street over. Skinner had acquired these apartments as the by-product of several novels, of moderate success, he had written years ago. At the time he had done his article on indentity theft he had transferred these into an offshore holding company with no visible ties to himself. Oh the games boys play.
As Skinner made his way through his back yard his mind was awhirl with the implications of the nights events. It was very clear his very life style was under assualt and this assualt had escalated. No longer were simple traffic harassments the weapons of choice and this concerned him greatly. Finding his way to the back storage shed Skinner entered and made his way to some shelves along the back wall. Bending down he lifted a wooden peg from the bottom shelf and swung the shelves away from the wall. There was disclosed an opening, exposed as a segment of the wall swinging away with the shelves. Stepping through and pulling the wall closed, using an embedded eyebolt, he checked the alley for any watchers. Convinced all was clear he stepped away from the shed and crossed the alley into the parking lot of his eight-unit apartment building. There he paused and let his thoughts once again review the events leading to his meeting with the enigmatic individual he went to see.
Chapter 5
Ursis Major
The horse stood, three legged, in the paltry shade of a giagantic seguro cactus. It took a special vision to appreciate the raw beauty of the endless nothing, which spread to the horizon. A few feet away, western hat resting back on his head, stood Skinner. His eyes had traveled high in-order to see the upper reaches of the solitary sentinel. The incongruous placement of this hugh plateau in the center of miles of level dessert filled his mind with rapt amazement. A monument of such awesome proportion, man’s meager efforts paled in comparision. As he scanned the sentinel his thoughts noted the wind sculpted cavern just below the upper reaches. His mind was busy constructing a plexiglass residence in this formation when a rumbling voice expressed his thoughts. “It would be a remarkable view, wouldn’t it?” Frozen for a moment, by shock, Skinner spun towards the words and was unprepared for what he saw. Six foot nine or more of towering Indian stood less than ten feet away. An explosion of thoughts flashed through Skinner’s mind, “How was this possible?”
Skinner had come to the four corners area to research an article on tribal corruption and corporate abuse of Indian land. In the process he had created powerful enemies and thus he had tried to be very careful about allowing anyone to get close to him. Now he found himself in a remote section of the Navajo nation with the biggest Indian he had ever seen. Try as he might he could not grasp how this man had gotten so close to him without his awareness. Well nothing to it but to do it and so he replied,
“Yes, I was just picturing that fact and mentally constructing a glass house built in that depression.”
“I know,” was the only reply.
Skinner was just thinking this a weird thing to say as there was no way anyone could know this thought when the Indian spoke again.“Having trouble believing I could know your thoughts…Huh.”
Now Skinner was totally confused and so replied, “Well yes, we both know that is not reasonable.”
“Did you discover what you were looking for when you came to this area?”
No sense playing games, because it was obvious this man knew a great deal about him and his purpose. Skinner approached the large man and was aware of a sense of amusement in the Indians eyes. The remarkable gray eyes seemed to project a deep wisdom and Skinner could detect no feeling of hostility. As he neared the figure he answered the question, “Yes…I believe I have.”
“That is good, for the situation is a sad and serious blemish upon our heritage.”
Skinner relaxed a little at these words and decided to learn what he could, “You don’t appear Navajo, Zuni, Hopi, or Apache so I am curious what your interest is in this matter?”
“You are right I am none of those tribes, however I am Indian and therefore strongly interested in all Indian matters.”
“Well perhaps you won’t mind telling me exactly what tribe you do belong to,” Skinner asked.
A rumble of heart felt laughter answered this personal question and the giant replied, “That too remains to be seen.” He quickly added, “As we get to know each other you will have all the information you will need.”
Now Skinner was completely confused and he spoke, “Well there is not much getting to know involved as I am leaving early tomorrow.”
“Oh, do not worry, your leaving has nothing to do with it.”
Skinner searched his memory and could not think of a stranger conversation in his entire life. “It seems to me it has a great deal to do with it for getting to know takes a long time.”
“You are not going to die anytime soon so there is time.” answered the hugh man.
“Look, I feel like a fool standing here talking about getting to know each other. Why don’t you tell me your name that would be a good start…Don’t you think?”
“A very good start, ‘Sid,’ so I think you should call me Bear.”
As Sinner started to speak he realized the man had called him by name. Well he was fairly well known so that could be the answer. He shook his head and realized he could not be more confused if he had just awoken from a coma. “I am not sure if I have any desire to get to know you. This is the most confusing and unproductive conversation I have ever had,” he stated.
“Somethings we do not get a vote on,” came the retort, “and in time I believe it shall prove beneficial to all.”
Skinner gave up, “Look my friend it appears you know me and you seem to know the area. So how about giving me a tour before I leave tomorrow.”
“That too is a good start,” the only reply.
Skinner found the rest of the day one of the most enjoyable times he had ever spent. Bear seemed an endless well of knowledge and this was not just confined to Indian lore and history. The range of their conversations amazed Skinner and he found himself greatly enjoying the big man’s company. All to soon the day ended and Sinner wished he was not leaving tomorrow, for he would have liked to talk further with the extremely intelligent Indian.
The next morning Skinner checked into his airline and turned to await his flight. There standing before him was Bear with his hand stretched out. Though surprised Skinner took the hand in a firm hand shake and expressed his pleasure at having met the man.
Bear’s head nodded once and he declared,
“Next time we shall have more time for knowing.”
“What makes you think there is going to be a next time. It is not like there is much chance I will be coming here again.”
Bear’s face lit up in a smile, he shrugged and answered, “Sometimes, we do not get a vote.” With that he turned and walked away.
Chapter 6
No Vote
As Skinner stood in the parking lot these thoughts ran through his mind he thought, “Indeed, sometimes you do not get a vote.” These words had proven very prophetic as, over the years, Skinner had time and again run into the enigmatic indian. Researching an article on old growth Redwoods in Northern California and Bear was there, writing about the Iroquois Confederation in the North East and there again was the intelligent giant. Over the next five or so years, this, “no vote,” situation seemed to take effect seven or eight times. Sure, Bear had shrugged it off as chance, however Skinner had never accepted this as a good answer. When asked directly about this, “chance,” Bear merely shrugged and answered, “Life is mysterious.”
Walking into the apartment courtyard Skinner chuckled, regardless of reason the two had become close friends and the why really did not matter. Besides Skinner had time, and he was sure he would figure it out some day. The inexplicable only served to make their friendship stronger and entertaining, to say the least.
Approaching the front unit Skinner examined it’s exterior. It was clearly larger than the other units and designed for the owner/manager to reside in. Over the years it had evolved into a place for Bear to live and this was the place Skinner came when he needed assistance of any kind. While Bear continued his traveling ways, it was curious that not once, when Skinner needed him, was he absent.
Skinner walked to the front entrance and rapped twice, turned the knob and entered. As he knew it would be, the door was open and there sprawled on the rug was the gigantic figure of Bear.
“Got a problem I take it,” were the only words from the reclining figure.
Skinner considered the strange giant and was amused by the checkered history he had been given. Quonah Parker, was the name the big man claimed for his birth records, however, Bear, Big Bear, Standing Bear, or Sachem, were the names most often associated with his introduction. Skinner, was amused by this because he knew none of these names could be verified by hard copy records. After Bear had diclosed the name Quonah Parker, Skinner had researced the supposed dissendants lineage and had learned enough to know it was possible. The original Quonah Parker had kept numerous wifes and produced numerous offspring and there was no way to verify any of them. Indian agency records had listed the names, however, Indian tendencies toward changing their names, as they matured, seriously clouded the issue. What could be proven was the fact the original, Quonah Parker, had been the leader of the fierce South Plains Commanche tribe, which had terrorized the American south west in the late nineteenth century. It was also true he had never formally signed a peace treaty, but after their horses had been slaughtered, by the army, in Palo Duro canyon, Quonah took them to the agency, and fought no more.
Putting these thoughts from his mind, Skinner crossed the room and took a seat on the couch. The next hour was spent telling his friend the full details of his latest adventures. Leaving out no detail Skinner ended his tale by outlining the events of the evening. Having finished he waited for, Bear’s response.
After several minutes of silence, Bear began giving his impressions of the information.
“It sounds like you have stirred up quite a hornets nest, and if you don’t take some preventative steps you are going to be stung. I would suggest you begin with a few precautions. You need to get a car, which cannot be traced to you, and you need to find a hole where you can go to ground if need be. Mobility, and invisibility are advantages in any battle and right now you are a sitting duck.”
Skinner considered these words and commented, “I don’t want to run from this fight because I have done nothing wrong.”
“Right, or wrong is not a concern, survival and victory are the only considerations,” came Bear’s response. “As was the rule of my ancestors, it only makes sense to run from a fight you cannot win, and prepare to fight another time.”
“Of course you are right, however it goes against my every instinct about dealing with bullies,” Skinner mused. “However, on consideration this may be a long and potentially destructive war and I better take survival steps, because anything less than victory can only mean my destruction.”
Skinner gave Bear a set of his ID’s and requested he contact Rodger Wilburn to secure him a car. After consideration he requested it be a pickup, which would blend in better if he had to travel to northern California to disappear. He also gave him the ten-thousand dollars and explained where, in the pickup, to build a secure hiding place for the money. It was agreed the vehicle should be delivered to an empty parking spot in the apartment house parking lot, and where the keys should be hidden.
Skinner realized how tired he was and told Bear he would take advantage of his guest room if that was alright with him. Bear, laughed at him and replied. “When has it never been alright, Clarion.” It took Skinner a moment to realize what Bear had called him. As he reflected on this he became aware this was not the first time his friend had used this appellation. Thinking on it he decided to ask about this name at another time, he was just too tired to indulge in a semantic debate right now. Skinner bid his friend goodnight and made his way into the spare room. Too tired to even remove his clothing he fell prone upon the bed and was instantly asleep.
Bear watched his friends’ progress, and when sure he was out of hearing muttered aloud, “It is almost time for the Clarion’s sound, and the walls shall begin to crumble. What joy there would be, for the one who is three, if they were only here to see.” With those words Bear wandered into the night, there he would keep watch over the welfare of the “Clarion.”
Chapter 7
Strike Six
Skinner sat on the edge of the bed and found his thoughts analyzing the entire range of experiences he and Bear had shared. He found this somewhat unusual because one would think his whole attention would be on the occurences of the past few weeks. He had begun this analysis when he had awoke and found himself so refreshed and alert. This he mused was always the case when in the big man’s company, and this had triggered his mental journey. In retrospect, he acknowledged it was due to the fact he had complete confidence nothing could occur that the big man would not be totally aware of in advance. This understanding led to the fact he could not ever remember seeing the big man sleep. He further realized he could not recall ever seeing the big man consume more than cursory bites of food. It was almost as though Bear had no need for sleep or sustenance, and yet these thoughts were ridiculous. Still Skinner could not shake the feeling that regardless of how ridiculous they were it was the truth.
Deciding to put these thoughts aside, for another time, he rose and made his way into the front room. Just as he knew would be the case, Bear was sitting there seeming to await his arrival. “One of these days I am going to get to the bottom of this,” he thought.
“Good morning,” came Bear’s rumbling greeting.
“Good morning,” Skinner replied, and then unable to help himself, added, “don’t you ever sleep.”
Bear smiled, shrugged his shoulders and replied, “When it is necessary.”
Sinner knew better than to continue this line of questioning, for the big man was a master of obsfucation, and he would just end up that much more confused. Getting back to the problem at hand Skinner requested Bear lend a hand in making some sense of order out of the destruction of his house. Bear assured him it would be done and not to worry about anything. Then in one of his classic asides Bear stated, “Be sure your monitors are working this morning, I believe you will need them.” This referral to the system Skinner had installed, in his car, served to fully focus his thoughts. “You are right, I believe things are going to start moving very fast.”
Confident Bear would handle everything in his usually efficent manner, Skinner retraced his path of the night before. Again he was amazed at the totality of destruction, which had been inflicted on his home. No time to think on this now, were his thoughts as he dug through the refuse, in search of clothing presentable enough for this mornings meeting. Today was the day he would fire back on this system of abuse directed at him. Finding clean but somewhat wrinkled clothing Sinner changed, ran an electric razor over his face, and prepared to leave. A quick peek into his floor safe confirmed the bottom plate was secure and the magnet was back in its usual place in the laundry room.
Skinner decided safe was better than sorry, so before entering his car he checked, under, around, and in, until fairly certain it was safe. Finally he pulled from the garage and stopped in the drive, here he ran a complete check of his monitoring system until confident all was in order. Only then did he back into the street and head for his meeting with Alda, the District Attorney and Federal Court Judge Horn.
Skinner was feeling that same old school yard excitement. It was the bully and the new kid time, and he couldn’t wait for the music to start. Even with these thoughts going through his mind, he found himself watching his speed and every nuance of his driving. This proved to be a very prudent exercise, when after about four blocks of travel, a glance in his rear view mirror disclosed flashing lights.
Skinner pulled his car to the shoulder and stopped. He could barely control the anger as his thoughts exploded in his mind. Rolling down the window, he waited and watched as the officer got out of the cruiser and walked toward his car.
“Sir can I see your license and registration, please.”
“Certainly, and I would like an explanation why you are harassing me with this illegal stop,” Skinner couldn’t restrain himself.
“Just sit there and keep your mouth shut,” the Officer responded.
“Officer I have the right to know what I am being stopped for.”
“All right wise guy, how about excessive speed and reckless endangerment. Now keep your mouth shut or I will gladly place you under arrest.
“Officer, before we continue, I am required by law to inform you this encounter is being video taped and sound recorded.”
“Alright wise guy, just what do you mean by that. Are you threatening me,” as he replied the Officer rested his hand on his gun.
“I mean exactly what I said. This is the sixth bogus stop you phoney serve and protect outlaws have pulled on me in the last three weeks. Now I may have been born at night, but it wasn’t last night. Did you think I would just lay down and be kicked?”
Nervous now the Officer glanced around and stated, “Look sir, I don’t have any idea what you are talking about. I assure you I have you accurately clocked at fifty-five miles per hour in a twenty-five zone.”
“Officer, I don’t mean to call you a liar, but I have a total performance monitor in this vehicle. This system monitors and records all performance factors of it’s operation. On top of that, if you will note the video camera in the turn signal on my front left fender, and another just over my left shoulder, which records all speedometer reading, now are you beginning to understand? A little more information before you become foolish, the Satellite dish antennae on the trunk has sent this entire meeting to my monitoring company, and they immediately forward this to my attorney. Now if you want to keep playing your stupid game write the damn ticket. You may also want to inform your superiors, when you stopped me, I was going to a meeting with my attorney, the District Attorney, and a Federal Judge, about just this situation. Now jump on in and go swimming the water is damn hot, or you could just issue a warning and get the hell out of here.
The conflicting emotions were plain on the Officers face, every fiber of his being wanted to punish this smart ass. Finally his face fell, in resignation, and he mumbled, “Just don’t let it happen again.” With this, the best he could manage, he spun on his heels and stalked to his cruiser. As Skinner drove past, the Officer was plainly in a heated discussion on his radio. Skinner felt like singing, however he knew the die was cast and it would not do to think he had won, so he settled for a smile, and insolent wave.
Chapter 8
The Hearing
As Skinner drove the crowded streets and canyons of the sprawling metropolis, his mind journeyed the like paths of his memories. He was musing on the remarkable thought that life seemed to have a finite number of experiences. He was thinking that by time a person reached his age they had probably tasted from most of these scenarios without realizing their repetitive cycles. Life was the master illusionist, and always sought to present its experiences in a new and seemingly different light. He could not recall who had pointed this out, however he did recall the approximate quote, “There are no new stories, just different ways of presenting them.” Skinner laughed when he realized he had been as blind, as society at-large, in his interpretation of the true value of this statement. It was a common error, that when viewing these stories one would always see them as external visions. The product of the person relating the story. Yes, some would resonate with personal identification and take on special meaning, yet it was true, they would always be seen as the property of the teller of the tale. Skinner shook his head and muttered, I’ll be damned.” He pulled to the curb and sat there in rapt amazement at his thoughts. The insight, which flooded his awareness, seemed to open the dark corners of his mind. Every story, book, play, movie, all were personal. No, not in the exact replication delineated by the teller of the plot. Nevertheless, still personal and owned by every person alive. In one form, or another, we had all had that same experience, and when the wrapping was removed this became very apparent.
These thoughts led to his viewing the chore before him on this morning, and he thought of it’s counterpart in his life.
Sutter had lost the football game, however it had been close and a fairly played game. Skinner, and the crew of adventurers he ran with, were leaving the school grounds when one of his friends began to banter with opposing players on their school bus. This soon escalated to the point where someone suggested, “rocking,” the other schools bus. Skinner found himself protesting this path, however, it was not long before rocks were flying. He firmly declared, “I am not going to do it,” with no effect and soon the breaking of glass was heard. Skinner found himself chuckling as he recalled the nicknames of the perps, “Harvey, Hackey, Pipewipe, Freddie Goat, Birdman, and himself.” At the sound of glass shattering they took to heel and scattered into the dark.As the weekend passed all their talk led them to the conclusion they would be found out, and they agreed not to tell on each other.
Monday morning, and sure enough, name-by-name they were summoned to the office. When Skinner’s turn arrived he followed course and told of his involvement, and stating firmly he had thrown no rocks. When asked who had thrown the rocks, Skinner stood firm by stating, “I am not here to say who did, I am here to tell you I threw no rocks.” All the principles threats could not get him to elaborate beyond this declaration. Soon all involved were summoned together, and again questioned, each admitted their participation and further stated Skinner had thrown no rocks.
Skinner found himself shocked when their sentence was handed out, “Each of you will be suspended for two weeks, and required to pay for the other schools bus windows.” Standing, Skinner firmly stated, “I am not going to pay one dime, as I broke nothing.” They were told they had to inform their parents before they would be allowed back into school, and this sent shivers of dread down Skinner’s spine. To die so young had never been part of the plans for his future, however, that seemed to be his fate. Mom, would cry, and this would be bad enough, but, Dad would calmly kill him.
Monday mornings were never a school childs favorite day, nevertheless, he had never hated a Monday more than the one looming before him now, nor would he ever again. For two days he mopped and thought, yet no loophole could he find. At last he had made his peace with his maker, and made his announcement, “There is no need for me to get up in the morning and go to school.” He could remember no other incident where the tale had not beat him home and he was surprised at his parents response. His father interogated him with the skill of a gestapo coronel, and listend with complete concentration. At the conclusion of Skinner’s tale, only one question was asked, “Are you sure you threw no rocks?” Skinner again related the evidence given by his friends, which cleared him of any rock throwing.
He could not have been more shaken by his father’s next statement, “I will take you to school tomorrow.” Never before, nor ever again was there an event, which would cause his father to miss any time off from work. He tried to explain it would do no good, the principle would never change his mind. The conversation was ended by his father’s abrupt declaration, “You will be back in school tomorrow.”Oh lord, now he had gotten his father in trouble, what the hell was wrong with the man, had he gone crazy?
The next morning, true to his word Dad accompanied by his mother, marched him into the high school office and informed the secretary they wished to see the principle. Minutes later they were shown into the man’s office, and seated.
“I understand my son has been suspended for two weeks.”
“Why, yes, and did he explain the reason this happened?”
“Yes, and he claims that he had no involvement in the rock throwing, which broke the windows.”
“Yes that is one thing in his favor, he did show some good sense,” replied the principle.
The temperature dropped in the room as my father rose and softly said, “I pay my taxes for my children to go to school, and that is where they will be. Don’t you ever send one of my children home again. If you have a problem with one of them, you let me know and you will have that problem no more, but they will be in school.”
One look and the pinciple earned Skinner’s respect for being smarter than he had given him credit for.
“Why, ahh, yes Mr. Skinner, well I just wanted to be sure you were told of the incident, and I see no reason, why yes, Sid just go to your locker and get your books.” For a moment Skinner thought this extremely funny and then he realised his father had given the principle the perfect weapon. If he screwed up, the man had been told to call his father, no more gloomy thought could have entered his mind.
His father rose and said, “Thank you for your time, now I have to go to work, unless there in more we need to discuss.” The principle, wishing no more confrontation with Sid’s father, jumped at the opening, “No, no, I think that everything is settled.”
Number ten, Skinner came out of his journey through the past, and muttered that number. Ten patrol cars had cruised him in the ten or fifteen minutes he had spent parked along side the street. “Well Mr. Alda, I hope you have half the pressence my father had in a like situation.” With that he pulled back into the street and continued his journey to the Federal Building.
Chapter 9
The Principle’s Office
As Skinner found a place to park his mind was considering the purpose for being here this morning. Jim Alda had left him a message to meet him here with the cryptic implication they were going to deal with the harassment he had been receiving. Why they were in the Federal Building he could not imagine. Skinner claimed no great knowledge of the law, however, he did understand there were procedures one must follow in-order to receive redress in these matters. Part of these procedures required that your case be heard in the lower courts before gaining access to the federal level. Well, this was Alda’s ball park, and he would just have to wait and see.
Entering the foyer, he noted Alda waiting for him on the otherside of the security barrier. Skinner emptied his pockets and raised his arms, as a metal detecting wand was passed over his body. “Okay sir you may pass,” he was told by the guard, and he walked through the entrance. Immediately Alda grabbed his arm and led him to one side.
“Seems like you had another little adventure this morning,” the lawyer stated with a smile.
“Nothing serious, thanks to your idea about, Globally Locally,” Skinner returned.
“Well it came at just the right time, and your friends company performed perfectly. I had the complete file on the situation before it was concluded.”
“Artis has his flaws but not being a good friend is not one of them,” replied Skinner.
“Well with the prior incidents bolstered by this morning’s bumbled effort, I had everything I needed to get Judge Sierra’s ear.”
Skinner looked the lawyer in the eye as he questioned, “Look, I am no legal eagle, however I am no fool either. I am aware there is an order-of-operations to this system and we have not qualified to present this in Federal Court.”
Jim Alda gave a little jig along with his reply which came, once again, as one word, “Whynot.”
This time Skinner could no longer deny the clanging of alarm bells ringing in his thoughts. This was far from the first time Alda had used this word, and each time had given a greater pause for thought. Skinner was uncomfortable with the realization something was afoot and he was clueless about what it was. This was a situation foreign to his nature and he could not help feeling very wary.Looking the attorney in the eye Skinner intoned, “Something is going on and I feel like I was left on the sidelines.”
Alda took him by the arm as he began walking towards the elevators, “Who is the lawyer here, don’t you trust me to do whats best for you?”
“Oh, I trust you, its just that I thought I had been thrown into a ping pong game as a paddle, and now I am beginning to think I might be the ball.”
The attorney rocked with laughter as he led them onto the elevator, “Don’t worry we are both paddles and this morning we are going to do some spanking.”
Skinner realized this was going nowhere and shook his head, “Might just as well talk to the wall ,” he muttered.
Following Alda they exited the elevator on the fifth floor and approached the doors to a suite of offices. The name plate identified these as the offices of Federal Magistrate J. Anthony Sierra, of the Ninth Circuit court of Appeals.
As they entered, Skinner noted the presence of L.A. County Assistant District Attorney Ron Blevins. Blevins appeared as confused as he felt, and seemed to have no idea why he had been summoned. When Blevins saw them enter, he hurried across the room, “What the hell is going on,” he questioned Alda.
Alda did not hesitate as he replied, “I have called you numerous times about your mad dog and you chose to ignore me. Well this morning we are going to muzzle the beast and be done with it.”
Look, you can’t do this and you know it. I can’t imagine how you even managed to get this appointment under the circumstances. You are wasting your time and mine and I don’t appreciate it,” Blevins raged.
“Don’t get your panties bunched Ron. Perhaps you should just wait and see exactly what I can, and can’t do. You know I think you are in for an education, and you will learn there are rules, and then there are RULES. By time you figure out who rules you will definetly have become a better lawyer.”
“Look you son-of-a-bitch I am in no mood for your theatrics,” came Blevins reply.
“Ron the play is over and you get to observe the final curtain. Now I have nothing more to say to you so leave me alone, or I will sue you for harassment,” Alda turned his back and walked away. Blevins stood there, his face so red Skinner was concerned he might have a coronary. Skinner followed Alda, leavening the sputtering D.A. standing alone.
“I don’t get the impression you were seeking friendship from that conversation,” he directed at Alda.
“That jerk could have dealt with this when I called him, but he chose to ignore me. Now let him see there many paths to the resolution of a dispute.”
“Can you actually do this,” Skinner queried.
“Whynot,” again came the one word calm reply.
Minutes later all parties were summoned into the chambers of Judge Sierra. Immediately Bon Blevins began his attack, “Look your honor I am sorry we have bothered you. It seems Mr. Alda has jumped the gun and brought this before you without due process.”
Shock crossed his face when Judge Sierra responded, “Be quiet and sit down Mr. District Attorney, in fact it seems very apparent Mr Alda has done exactly the correct thing in this case. I have reviewed all the records in this action and I have concluded there is no possibility Mr Skinner can receive a fair and unbiased hearing in the lower courts.”
Confusion and a hint of fear now crossed the face of Ron Blevins as he stood to speak.
“You can’t just decide to make such a ruling without hearing from both sides.”
(indent}“Mr. Blevins, I told you to sit down and be quiet. I will not tell you again. As to what I can and can’t do, well I think you will make some real discoveries this morning,” came the barely veiled threat from Judge Sierra.
Blevins now shifted nervously and it was clear, it was dawning on him, he was in way over his head. “I am sorry your honor I won’t do it again,” was his only response.
Judge Sierra pointed to the large stack of material Jim Alda had submitted on the case and asked, “Mr. Blevins have you taken the time to review any of this material. Before you answer I want to inform you I know for a fact everything including this morning’s debacle are at you disposal.”
“Well your honor our office is very busy and I haven’t found the time to, aah, well not yet.”
“Well Mr. Blevins I have, and I have ruled there is clear evidence of prejudical behavior on the part of the States justice system. Therefore I have taken it upon myself to assume jurisdiction in this matter. Based on my findings I am issuing permanent injuntive relief in the form of an order to cease-and-desist all harassment of Mr. Skinner by State and Local authorities. Do you understand what this means Mr. Blevins?
“Of course your Honor, however, I do not see how you can make such a ruling without hearing both sides of the matter.”
“Why now Mr. Blevins you may be right, and you understand you do have recourse, and by time you get this to the Supreme Court, you just might win. However until then my order stands, and I will take a very dim view of any violations of that order. Do we understand each other Mr. Blevins?”
Fully aware he had just suffered a complete defeat without even being aware he was in a fight, Blevins responded, “Yes your Honor.”
“Then I believe our business is concluded and I am a very busy man, so good day,” Judge Sierra rose, and led them to the door.
As the door closed Blevins turned towards Alda and started to speak. Alda held up his hand and beat him to the punch, “I will take anything you say in this matter as harassment and report such to Judge Sierra,” he then turned a took Skinner by the arm saying, “Let’s go.”
Skinner glance back over his shoulder and observed Blevins total confusion and thought, “Me too, me too.”
Once outside of the Federal Court House Skinner turned to his friend and asked, “How in the hell is that possible?” His only response was Alda’s singing of Garth Brook’s, “I’ve got friends in low places, where the whiskey burns and the law chases the blues away.” Alda then informed Skinner, “You need to be careful for about one more hour, and then you can count on the fact, every copin Southern California will be aware of this days work. This will go a long way, but never forget the rogues, somebody might just decide to take this into their own hands, so be very careful. Call me anytime,” Alda said and headed for his car.
Skinner stood for a moment and the thought entered his mind, “Well Mr. Alda, that was every bit as good of a performance as my father’s.” He headed for his car realizing he needed to place some phone calls. Things were getting very exciting, but he fully believed the time for flight was drawing near.
Chapter 10
Spring Cleaning
Quonah, made his plans realizing there was much to do and limited time to do it. Having made sure Skinner had gotten on the road without incident, he slid through the invisible shed door and crossed the yard. Even with Skinner’s descriptive narration, he was shocked by the totality of destruction, which greeted him. Taking the time to check the entire house, he returned to the kitchen. There he found a box of thrity gallon garbage bags and began filling them with the refuse of Skinner’s possessions. The kitchen was the logical point to start, because this would clear the path for each successive room. Room-by-room, he cleared the destruction and placed the bags out of the way in the backyard. To one side of the yard went the things to be tossed, and to the other, things Quonah believed Skinner would want to hold on to.
Several hours of steady work saw him complete the gathering of wreckage. Carefully he carried the keepsakes into the back shed and placed them whereever the was space. He was not concerned by vandals breaking in and rummaging this storage, because he knew this was no ordinary shed. The door was constructed of two sheets of three quarter inch plywood with a eigthth inch sheet of plate steel sandwiched in between. These doors, once closed and barred, would present a formidable obstacle, and the walls were no less secure. When this was complete, Quonah began the task of dropping the castoff remains unceremoniously over the fence, and into the alley. He turned and reentered the house for one last checkup and there he spotted the BB gun over the mantle. Smiling, he took it down, and carried it outside. Once again he passed through the hidden door in the shed and secured it. Having finished placing all the wreckage into the apartment house dumpster, he returned to his apartment carrying the BB gun.
He paused to consider the mornings effort and realized his friends house now gave every appearance of being unlived in. He had salvaged a few items which would make it possible to sleep and eat in the house if need be. The washer and dryer had been unharmed and while he had worked he had kept them humming with activity. What clothing that could be salavaged were clean and dry, along with some bedding and towels.
Now it was time to place the call to Rodger Wilburn and when his secretary answered Quonah gave Skinner’s name. Immediately, Rodger picked up the phone and Quonah explained the situation. After covering all the details, Rodger indicated there would be no problem. He asked Quonah to get the information on the new ID to him this morning and promised to have the truck delivered before noon tomorrow.
Deciding to make one more trip back across the alley he gathered a number of articles of clothing and personal item, which he felt Skinner might need, and when satisfied he had done all he could, for now, he returned to his apartment and placed these in his spare bedroom for easy access. Satisfied all was ready he picked up the phone, and dialed a number. When his call was answered he gave a complete report and closed by stating, “The time is near, you had better send the message.” With those words he broke the connection and sat silently meditating. His thoughts soared, his heart was full, and the words of long ago came into his thoughts, “Yes, the time is near for the curtains to be thrown wide.”
Chapter 11
Northern Lights
The tiny office had an air of confusion and clutter, which belied the fact, here was the seat of power for one of the largest publishing organizations in the world. Staring out onto the main throughfare sat Melly De La Casa, the chief of this empire. Her thoughts ran like electricity through her mind. Questions, hopes, the stuff of dreams, produced the enimgmatic smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Mel, as she was known to most, contained the excitement within her to a simple display of nervous fingers tapping on her desk top. Beauty had never concerned her and in truth she could not be called beautiful by todays standards. Arresting, memorable, even haunting were perhaps more applicable. Her reddish hair, and playful blue eyes, combined with a unique smoothness of complexion on her stong features. This served to inform here was intellect, and strength of character. She carried her thirty-six years with a girlish sense of fun, which denied their fact, and yet showed clearly her maturity and control.
Today she was caught in reverie, as she ran the brief phone message through her mind again and again. Could it be true? Was he truly the, “Clarion,” she hoped with all her being this was the case. With these thoughts, she turned to the computer keyboard and typed,
“There has never been a felony committed in Whynot, California.” With this simple act she hoped to open the door so widely it could never be closed again.
Having done this simple act she reached for the crudely bound book on her desk, and gazed at it’s title, “The Teachings of the Butte Wizard.” Opening the book automatically to a point approximately three-quarters into the writings, she read the words, “There has never been a felony committed in Whynot, California.” This was the first time these words had ever been written anywhere but in this book and she was scared. Yes, she knew there had been other times when there were discussions that it was the time for them to be written. However, there had always been something not quite right about the situation and nothing had been done. Now she had been the one to write these words and if she and her advisors were wrong, what would happen to them?
She could only take solace in the fact it had been Sachem, himself who had instructed they be written. Every indicator was present, every prophecy had occurred exactly as written. Mel shook her head and picked up the message in one hand, and the phone in the other, “Please come in here,” she spoke into the receiver. Almost instantly her office door swung open and the face of Robert Earle peered around the edge. “Are you sure?” were his only words.
“Sachem said to send it,” her terse reply.
“You don’t need to bite my head off, I’m just the messenger,” he gently chided her unintended rebuff. Mel smiled at his intended refference and needled in return, Et tu Brute’.” Both smiled at the repartee and Robert spoke his feeling in a tremulous voice, “I have prayed this would happen in my lifetime. Now I am scared when it has.”
Mel laughed out loud at his declaration and comforted him by saying, “There is nothing to fear, the book says it is time and the book says we shall win.”
“You are right, I tend to forget the book, as I have never read it,” replied Robert with a wistful regret.
“I don’t know why nobody else can read it either. Probably to insure nobody tries to manufacture a false sign. That is the only explanation that makes sense to me. Nevertheless the book clearly instructs, only the town Sachem may read it, and make the final decision. If Sachem had not called, I honestly don’t know if I would have had the nerve.”
Robert laughed aloud and looked her in the eyes as he spoke, “Nobody, who knows you, doubts you would have come to the correct decision, so don’t pull that humble stuff with me young lady.”
Mel’s eyes glinted with the gathering of moisture as she thanked him for the confidence. Before she could become effusive he turned his back, and threw his words over his shoulder, “As you order captain, it shall be sent.” Mel felt the tightening in her heart as the deep love she felt for him filled her thoughts. No, not the love of passion rather the love of family that each resident of this community felt for one another. Nevertheless it’s power was overwhelming in times like this. It was her call, and if wrong she would have let down two and a half million people. This thought dissipated like melting ice and she was filled with the elation of knowing, without a doubt, it was time.
Nervous energy lifted her from the desk and she walked through the front office and into the street. Head held high she started stiding along the sidwalk, the constant barrage of greetings made it impossible to have time for doubts. Her strength grew more certain, fueled by her immersion into the community where she had grown up. It was impossible not to be involved and comforted by the constant greeting of her fellow residents.
Whynot, California population thirty-five thousand, or sometimes two-and-a-half million residents. She smiled at the descrepency of population figures as she strolled the avenue. Mel felt reborn as the tension seemed to melt before the sunshine of recognition. Yes, these were her friends, family, neighbors and together they would not fail.
She wondered if anybody outside their community would believe she knew every citizen of this town personally. Thirty-five thousand people, and she could greet each one by name. She knew nobody would accept the fact, that, so could every other resident of their village. Well not quite everybody for the youngest of their community were still learning, however, they too would come to this level of involvement. This was the heart and soul of the structure of Whynot, California where everything was about the residents. Value was the mortar and it was never allowed to become watered down. Like a jigsaw puzzle every piece was required for completion of the picture, and this fact provided the acceptance of value for every person.
After a thirty minute walk, which included a dozen greetings, conversations, and shared thoughts, Mel was at peace. All things were exactly as there were supposed to be, and she turned back towards her office. No more doubts or recriminations entered her thoughts. She had followed the book and all they could do now was wait for the results. As editor of the daily newspaper she had work to do, and with that thought she put all else behind her and moved forward.
Chapter 12
Bubbling Caldron
Skinner, decided to have a bite to eat and await the passing of the next hour. He walked down the street to a café and entered. Sitting at the counter he placed his order, and his thoughts were on the events of the morning. He had no doubt they had won the battle, however, the war was still in doubt. Unclear about what to do next, he decided to call his office and see what was on tap with his messages. He went to the pay phone dialed, and asked to be put through to his secretary. Almost immediately Ms. Erickson was on the line, her voice, strained with concern, wanted to know where the devil he had been the last few days. Skinner felt constrained to explain some of the problems of the past couple of days. He knew his secretary’s concern was genuine, and she deserved an explaination. When he finished his tale there was a moment silence, then a calmer Ms. Erickson offered her words of caution. She then very professionally filled him in on the situation at work. It seemed something was a foot, because the only messages were from his friends, Quonah, Rodger, and one from Artis Davis asking him to call. She further explained his Editor was tearing his hair out demanding to hear from him. Skinner knew if his editor was hunting him there was more trouble headed his way. He was not late for any deadline and was given complete discretion on, which stories he wrote, therefore any summons to the top floor could only bode ill tidings. He instructed Ms. Erickson to inform him he would be in the office within the hour.
Having returned to his car he found himself sitting there deep in thought. Finally, with a shake of the head he cleared his thoughts, and realized he was looking for a way out of this meeting. “No sense putting it off, it isn’t going away,” he told himself and started the engine. Fifteen minutes later he pulled into his parking space and laughed, “Well my name is still on the parking spot, it can’t be all bad.” Entering the building he could not help but feel there was a tension in the air, and Ms. Erickson’s clear look of relief only served to confirm his impression.
“Thank God you showed up, my phone has been ringing off the hook. I don’t know what you did, however it seems everybody who is anybody wants your head,” she excitedly informed him.
Skinner smiled and replied, “It can’t be too important if they want so little.” Ms. Erickson gave a weak smile and handed him a pile of inter-office memos, and one telegram. Skinner tossed the memos into the trash and looked at the telegram, “I didn’t know you could still send these in this advanced day of e-mail.” As he started to open the message he heard his name ring out.
Skinner, get in my office, I have been looking everywhere for you,” Dan Foster the editor called out. Skinner stuffed the telegram into his pocket and turned to the voice, “It’s good to see you also,” he replied.
Entering the editor’s office he was instructed to close the door, and be seated. Having done so he waited the bad news, and was not to be disappointed.
“Skinner I don’t know what the hell is going on but we have sure opened a can of worms. When you turned in your articles on the state justice system I truly believed it was good enough to earn you another Pulitzer. Now I am scrambling to keep you on staff. Corporate office has been burning up my ears with every pressure imaginable to get rid of you. The only thing stopping them from straight up firing you is fear that you might have access to another media for telling your side.
Skinner was stunned, there had been thoughts pressure might be brought to bear, however, it had never entered his mind they would go this far. “What do you suggest.” He questioned the editor.
“We need to make you invisible for awhile, is all I can suggest. Perhaps an assignment away from town, something positive to the system if at all possible,” came Foster’s reply. “I can’t think of a thing and I sure hope you have some suggestion.”
Skinner paused before his reply, “Damned if I can think of a thing, however let me think on it and I will do the best I can by morning. If they keep hounding you, tell them I am working on something big which should make them very happy.”
“I thought you couldn’t think of anything,” questioned the editor.
“I can’t but I am going to smile and tap-dance until something turns up. Just stall, and hope for the best,” he answered.
“Pretty damn weak, I hope you can bail us out of this, because I am not sure I won’t go down with you. I will cover you the best I can. Oh, and Skinner between you and me, you are the best damn reporter in the country and I have enjoyed our ride together. So get out of here, and come up with anything in the way of damage control. I will cross my fingers, smile, and tap-dance, with you. For both our sakes, I hope you have brainstorm by morning.”
Leaving it on that note Skinner walked through the office and stopped by the desk of his secretary. Seeing the deep look of concern on her face, he tried to lighten the mood, “Come on Ms. Erickson don’t throw dirt in my face just yet. ‘I have not yet begun to fight.’” The wan smile this evoked did little to lighten the mood, but it was the best he could manage. As he exited the building his mind felt like an out-of-control computer trying to solve a problem, which had no solution.
Driving from the paper’s parking lot he started to dial his friend Artis Davis, and then terminated the call as he thought, “Probably not a good idea to talk on this phone.”
He made his way to Union Station, and parking, entered the famous concourse and found a phone. Instantly he was patched through to his friend, who greeted him with raccous laughter,
“Damn this is geting fun, isn’t it old hoss.”
“I’m happy I am providing you with so much fun, chump,” he replied.
“Chump? My but you are an ungrateful fellow now aren’t you. You know, I think you should come by and have a talk and I can explain a few things I have managed to dig up.”
“I’ll be right there and you better have some of that Scotch you so freely share with everybody but your friends.”
“Well, I don’t know if this is deserving of that much effort, but you come on by, and I will think about it.”
Skinner smiled to himself, as he hung up, and reflected on how fortunate he was to have the friends and relatives he was blessed with. Once again an adage of his youth came to mind, “I like it.” This required response was mandatory for any situation from, falling in love, to cutting off your foot, as he grew-up in his little community. It was surprising how simple rememberances could put complex situations in there proper light. “What the hell, he did not need to work any way. His financial position was such he could live a very comfortable life where ever he chose to live.
Chapter 13
Hostile Reinforcements
Skinner was somewhat amused, that during trip to David’s office, not one patrol car was insight. “Mr Alda you called that one right down to the minute,” he spoke aloud. While these thoughts were refreshing he knew it was not a good idea to become cocky and drop his guard. Besides, he had no doubt David would not have called if it were not important. He pulled into the lot of Globally Locally, and found an empty visitor parking spot. Entering the building he informed the receptionist that David was expecting him. Upon hearing his name he was immediately shown into David’s office and was greeted by his friend.
“It seems you just can’t settle for mundane enemies. Oh no, you have to find the nest and stir up the hive before you are happy.”
Wondering where that statement was leading, Skinner replied, “Well it is only one state out of fifty, how bad can that be.”
“I think you better sit down, because you aren’t going to like the news.” David proceded to explain what he had discovered.
“Between you, and I Skinner, since this has started I have had my people kind of bend some rules. I thought this might be a good idea and give you a little edge in this conflict. What we have been doing is not strictly legal, however, there is no way for them to detect our efforts and so we have been monitoring some of their private communiques. Until this morning, I must admit there was nothing to report on, nevertheless, it seemed a good idea. I don’t know what you did this morning, but it must have been a dousey, because messages have been flying. Anyway the gist of these messages indicate somehow the local and state officials have been handcuffed by something, and they have called on Federal help.
Skinner was stunned by this information. He slowly filled in his friend on the mornings occurences leaving out nothing. When he was finished, David seemed deep in thought. Finally he spoke, “That is amazing and I agree with you, because I can’t guess how it was done either. But the fact remains the rules have changed and the enemy you had, is nothing compared to the enemy you face. Regarless of influence, Alda is not going to get a Federal Judge to grant an injunction against a Federal investigation.”
“Not very likely, however, I need to use your phone to let him know what is going on.
“That won’t be necessary, when I realized what was happening, I used your secure satellite link and sent him a complete report.”
“Thank you, right now I can’t think of anything else to do. It looks like I will be hitting the road sooner than I wanted.”
David told him about some insurance he had added to the pickup Rodger was getting ready for him. It was a system, which could pinpoint his location, within a hundred yards anywhere in the world. He added, there was no worry about the authorities using this, as he had installed this system using his company satelitte link and had buried the information very deeply. Concern shown clearly in David’s face as he admonished his friend, “You be very careful, and if I can help use this phone to call me. Just press SUHS, get it, Sutter Union High School, and you will be patched straight through to me. The phone is registered to the company, and should be clean for one or two calls minimum, and calls else where should be okay for some time. I will relay any messages or provide whatever help I can. After two calls, I would be concerned about anything you say, but I am sure I will understand, if you use phrases from our past.”
Rising to leave, Skinner realized, once again how lucky he was. Saking hands would not have expressed his gratitude, so he grabbed his friend warmly and admonished, “Don’t get yourself in a bind, and I won’t call unless absolutely necessary.
“I never thought otherwise,” his friend replied, “and don’t worry about me, I always survive. You just worry about you and you will have your hands full, I will take care of me.”
Nothing more needed to be said, and David walked him out.
Skinner got back to his car, and noted, once again the drivers side rear tire was getting low. “Damn, I am going to get that fixed first thing in the morning,” he thought.
Chapter 14
Fight or Flight?
“This is another fine mess you’ve gotten us into Ollie.” Thinking how different real villians were, when compared to those of his youth, Skinner pointed his car for home, and refuge. He was trying his best to find an adequate cover, to present to his editor, and had to admit he did not have the glimmer of an idea. Driving with the utmost caution, he attempted to pickup the the tail he knew must be there. He knew his odds were slim for if they were Fed’s, they would be very good. As far as he could tell there was nothing out of order, and this just served to strengthen his belief. Arriving home without incident, he pulled into his garage, and closed the door.
Everything seemed in-order as he entered the house, and a quick survey showed the throughness of Quonah’s work. His home was now more like a Motel than his home and he felt a dull ache of regret. Skinner sat on his bed, his thoughts running a marathon of confusion. Shaking his head, to clear his thoughts, a wry smile formed on his face. Yes, he had to admit the fire he had started was assumming the proportions of a conflagration. “Every action has an exact an opposite reaction, indeed. Well Mister Newton what the hell do you have to say about this shit.” It was just his nature to find the humor in everything, and he found himself laughing uproariously. No sooner had he gained control than his youth added its opinion, “Thank God they can’t eat me,” and again he was convulsed with mirth.
“Get a grip Mr. Skinner, for here there be dragons” his thoughts brought him back to reality, and he reached for the intercom. A ten minute conversation with Quonah brought them both up to speed. Assured everything was in-order on Quonah’s end, he told his friend he would stay put at home for the night. However, if things continued to degrade he would be taking advantage of their preparations very soon. With mutual warnings to take care they signed off, and Skinner was left to consider what option he could offer his editor.
The need for some peace offering had haunted his thoughts all day, and he was no closer to a solution than when he awoke that morning. Hoping a hot shower might clear his thoughts, he gathered clean clothes and showered and shaved. Well, he must admit he felt more relaxed, however, there had been no brillant flash of insight, and he could see no path, which to offer Foster. He was just thinking how much the thought of running pissed him off, when he started emptying out the clothes he wore that day. He looked at the collection of change and loose bills he held, and wondered where the wadded up telegram had come from. Oh yes, he remembered his secretary handing it to him that morning, and he had totally forgotten he had it.
Sitting on the edge of the bed he smoothed out the missive and opened the flap. Incomprehensively he re-read the content, “There has never been a felony committed in Whynot, California.” “What the hell does that mean, and where the hell is, Whynot, California.” His mind focused on his knowledge of the state, and for the life of him, he could not remember ever hearing the name before. His travels had taken him over every highway in the state and he could think of nobody more familiar with it’s infrastructure than he. He turned the message over and over, however, there was no other shred of information.
A very strange joke, if that was what it was. His mind could not let go of the strange phrase, and he found himself thinking there just might be something here he could use. Tomorrow, he thought, tomorrow, I think I better do a little research. On that thought, he slipped gently into the cradle of sleep.
Chater 14
Where, and Why?
The crack of dawn rang like a pistol shot, and Skinner sat bolt upright in bed. His first thought was of the strange message he had received. He could not have explained his feelings, but, there was a lightness to his step, and the thought of an opening door pictured in his mind. What if this strange message were the answer to his dilemma? This was not logical, however, something told him this was meant to be. Excitement fueled his rush to dress and when done he pressed the intercom. Relating the strange message to Quonah, he found he was not surprised by his friends enigmatic response. “There are many paths of light and dark, perhaps this is a path of light.”
“I want to thank you for your brillant input, whatever the hell that means,” he responded.
His friend simply chuckled, “That too remains to be seen,” his only reply.
Skinner informed his friend he was going to be busy this morning. He was anxious to head for the office and see what he could discover about Whynot, California and the cryptic message. Even the steady downpour of rain greeting his morning, could not dampen his mood. Stepping into the garage , he was greeted by the reminder of his failed promises. He laughed when he discovered once again the driver’s side rear tire flat. Today he decided, enough was enough, as he popped open the trunk. Instantly his senses were on alert, the tire pump he had used a few nights ago was laying on top of the spare tire. He clearly recalled storing it under the tire when last he used it. Lifting out the spare he was greeted by a large, clear plastic bag filled with a white powder. Removing the bag he opened it and was not surprised when smelling it, discovered it was filled with high grade cocaine. Well it seems the discovery of his decoy bag of quinine had produced some brillant ideas for his enemies. Quickly he completed changing the tire and returned to the house.
Once again he pressed the talk button on the intercom, and explained the situation to Quonah. His friends concern was evident as he warned, “They will not wait long to spring this trap.”
Skinner explained what he intended to do, and Quonah agreed it was a good plan. He also warned Skinner to test his video system and monitoring, in-order to record whatever transpired.
Thinking, “If they don’t stop me as I pull into the street, I can win this battle.” Skinner started his car and raised the garage door. Backing into the street he pulled in front of his house and stopped. Slideing across the seat he took the bag and opened the passenger door. At his feet was a drain grill, and the runoff water in the gutter was swirling down into the storm drain. Opening the bag he casually poured the contents into the swirling water. Once empty he dropped the bag also, and stepping out of the car, made sure it too disappeared into the underground river rushing to the sea. He then walked swiftly to his front door and entered the house. Throughly washing his hands and waiting a few minutes, he returned to the car and headed for his office.
Confident his efforts could not have been observed, he awaited the closing jaws of this latest effort to discreit him. It was not a long wait, for three blocks later his car was surrounded by unmarked vehicles and he was pulled to the curb. Oh yes, it was easy to tell these were Federal officers, for they were polite, professional, and determined they had bagged their man. Making Skinner exit his car they informed him they had a warrant based on the information of a confidential informant, that he was trafficing in illict drugs. They showed him the proper paper work and told him they hoped his fancy monitoring system would record their entire process for evidence. Handcuffed, and placed in the back of an unmarked vehicle, he watched as they began their dance.
Two agents, gloved and masked, systematically searched his car. They began in the drivers compartment and throughly worked their way through the entire passenger area. Once they had completed this, and with glances at each other, they removed his keys and headed for the trunk of his car. Skinner was smiling as he watched their arrogant posture indicating their sureness of what was to come. Skinner chuckled to himself, as he was happy he had taken the time to refill the flat tire after he had switched it with his spare. There was nothing to give the impression anything was different after the drugs were planted.
Within moments, a clear sense of panic seemed to grip the spectacle, and after a hurried conference, two agents hurried to where he was seated in the back of their vehicle. Opening the door they were not near as polite as previously, and he was unceremoniously hauled from the car. “Where are the drugs? We know you were transporting them we have it on good authority,” they questioned.
Skinner shook his head and replied he had no idea what they were talking about. He decided to pressure them and asked, “Does your warrant cover my residence also, I don’t recall reading that in the papers you served me.” It was obvious they were in a quandry as they hastily grouped to discuss the situation. Skinner took the opportunity to inform them, that, indeed his monitoring system was fully functional, and the whole debacle was being transmitted to his attorney. This statement had exactly the effect he had hoped, as one of the agents hurried over and released his hands from behind his back. He decided to press his luck and stated, “If you decide to search my home, I hope you will be neat about it. I have already had it trashed by some other fools earlier this week.” Clearly his statement hit the mark and could be seen in the way their shoulders hunched as he spoke. He pressed on and said, “I will be gone most of the day. If you need me I will be at my office, however, I will call my attorney to meet you at my house and let you in…That is if you have more time to waste.” There was no joy in Mudville, that much was very apparent, and one of the agents coming near spoke very softly, “This isn’t over smartass, so if I were you I would watch my mouth.”
Skinner tried to give his most innocent, and contrite demeanor and replied, “I am just trying to be co-operative Officer.”
After a huddled conference there seemed no alternative, and it was decided to let Skinner go. This was done with the regretful warning he had better watch his back, for they were going to make sure he was stopped.
Again Skinner assured them he had no idea what they were talking about. As he drove towards the office he was wondering how they would explain the disapearance of a kilo of pure cocaine. This was soon replaced by the reality, it was time for a disappearing act, and there was no time to waste.
Chapter 15
Needles and Haystacks
No further incident marred the trip to his office, and once safely there he began his research. Several hours of searching public documents, left him as confused as he had been when he arrived. Two things kept bothering him. The first was the realization the town of, Whynot not only existed, but it existed within thirty miles of where he had grown up. This fact was extremely irksome because he had never heard of it. The second bit of information he found confusing was the disparity of information concerning it’s size. Some of the records listed it with a population of thirty-five thousand, and some stated it’s population as two and a half million. This later figure was clearly in error because it was impossible for a town of that size to exist without his awareness. Almost equally confusing to these facts was the complete lack of crime figures for the community. Finally accepting the fact he had learned all he could about the community, he gathered his notes and went to speak
with his editor.
As he was shown into Foster’s office he knew he was woefully unprepared, however, it ws the best he could come up with.
Dan’s first words made it clear the pressure had been turned up and he was grasping at straws, the same as Skinner. “Tell me something good, for both our sakes,” he said.
Skinner made his pitch. He covered everything he had discovered about the community of, Whynot, and felt only a slight twinge of guilt at his embellishment. He explained that he wanted to go to Whynot, and write an article highlighting the positive effects the system had produced, in-order that this community showed a complete lack of crime. He added, the best benefit would be his absence from the area, and office, so things could die down. Silently crossing his fingers he waited Foster’s reaction.
“Its pretty damn weak Skinner, however it is better than anything I have come up with. Go with it, and keep me apprised of anything good you come up with. I will do everything in my power to cover you, and unless forced to, I will keep your location quiet. I don’t have much confidence we can pull this off, nevertheless I will give you every break I am able to. Get your ass out of here, and send me any ammunition you find that you think will help me. I will be truthful, and tell you both our butts are on the line. If you don’t find something good, I believe we will both be looking for a new line of work, and this is the only job I have ever wanted in my life. I know you feel the same way, so go to work.”
Skinner thanked Foster, and promised he would do his best for both their sakes. He also apologized for getting them into this mess. Foster told him it was not his fault and it was his responsibility because he had approved the offending article.
“Neither one of us had a clue we would get this kind of reaction, and if it were up to me we would spread this information all over the front page. However, that is apparently not an option, and that makes me ashamed of my profession.”
Skinner’s chin dropped a little as he stated his agreement with this statement. “Look Dan, we did nothing wrong except do our job, and everything since then bears out the foundation of what we were trying to show. Our problem was we were naďve, and failed to appreciate just how bad it had become. We also failed to see how deeply this cancer has spread. When all of this is over, and if I survive, I am not sure I want to keep working here. I may just start an electronic web site and go on the offensive. I don’t think I am going to be able to go-along-to-get-along. Something has to be done and I guess it is my responsibility, because I’m the one who turned up this mess.”
“I agree whole heartedly and if I get buried by this, I just may join you.”
Shaking hands, and wishing each other good-luck, Skinner went to his desk and gathered his tools. He uncharacteristicly hugged Ms. Erickson and told her he would be remote for an indefinite period of time. He promised to keep in touch, one way, or another. With everything settled Skinner walked from the building and purposefully refused to look back. Never once did it enter his thoughts, he was walking from this world into a world only the imagination could create.
|
|
#5. Part Six
---->> ID #517219 entered on 06-25-07 @ 9:47 am EDT
#4. Part Four & Five
---->> ID #425621 entered on 05-25-06 @ 9:51 am EDT
#3. PART THREE
---->> ID #423238 entered on 05-03-06 @ 10:13 am EDT
#2. Part Two
---->> ID #422222 entered on 04-28-06 @ 12:21 pm EDT
#1. Part One
---->> ID #421862 entered on 04-26-06 @ 11:26 am EDT |
© Copyright 2007 K. I. Smet (UN: k-i-smet at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
K. I. Smet has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.  Login To Leave Feedback
|
Login To Leave Feedback |
|
|
