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Sunday, July 30, 2006

A few changes

Recently, I submitted my blog to Frog My Blog for review. It is a site that will review your blog in exchange for Blog Explosion credits. The author promises to review your blog objectively and I must say that the person reviewing my blog did a very good job. You can read the review.

As you can see, the reveiwer absolutely hates my blog template. So much so, that the reviewer didn't even comment on the writing. Now, if I were thin skinned or unrealistic, I might have gotten bent out of shape by the review. However, I sought the feedback, I read it and I took it to heart. My objective is to get people to read my work and if my template is that distracting, then I need to do something about it.

If you have been reading this blog, you may remember that I have lamented the apparent lack of "stickness" of my site. Meaning, I get good traffic, but most people sail past after just a few seconds. With this in mind, I am going to take steps to make visits more enjoyable.

You may notice that I have changed a few things immediately after reading the review. I have attempted to clean up the template so that, at worst, it is merely boring and not complicated. Since I am not a web designer, I have decided to follow the reviewer's suggestion. I have contract someone to design mhy site ao that is more easy to navigate. Until I get the new template, you will see this cleaned up version. As soon as I publish the new template, I plan to resubmit my blog to see if I can get the content reviewed.

As always, I'll keep you posted.


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Is blogging a waste of time

A question I have been pondering lately is whether I am wasting my time sitting for hours with my laptop trying to think of something interesting to say. When I do finally come up with something suitable to commit to a posting, how many people actually take the time to read it?

A little while ago, I realized that doesn't matter. Not at all. What really matters is, I am doing what I want to be doing. I love to tell stories. That's what I do. At work, I tell humorous anecdotes as a way of relating to my co-workers. At home, I tell stories to entertain my family and friends. On my blog, I tell stories to take the pressure of my friends. They can only take so much of my offbeat humor. You on the other hand can simply move on with a simple click of the mouse. My family and friends, on the other hand, are driven to taking frequent trips to the refrigerator to get more beer to get them prepared for yet another story.

That actually works in my favor. The more beer they drink while I am spewing my charming little stories, the less likely they are to mind when I a repeating something for the forty-third time. Man invented beer for a reason!

I have come to terms with this a very long time ago. When I was younger, I use to worry whether or not I was boring people stiff. Then I noticed something. People seek me out for conversation. I can only attribute that to the fact that I must be somewhat entertaining and down right funny. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t sit down and plan out how I am going fit my little tidbits in to conversation. It is simply the way I choose to relate to people.

When I do indulge my little pleasure, it usually has a point. It usually pertains to the topic at hand. I reveal a part of myself in order to put the other person at ease and allow them a comfort zone in which to reveal something about them. We all strive to be understood, to share common interest, to live a full life.

So is blogging a waste of time? Not for me. It is my way to do what I want to do. Plain and simple.


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Wednesday, July 26, 2006

While I'm on the topic

Writing about my adventures in the United Kingdom stirred up many, many memories. To date, it was the one of the best years of my life. So much so, that I even have fond memories of some of the less than ideal circumstances I encountered. For instance, I alluded to my wonderful flat that overlooked the Thames in last night's post. This story is screaming to be shared, so here we go.

Upon arrival in England, we were booked into the Heathrow Marriott until a proper flat could be located. It took about a week before the housing administrator informed me that they had two flats for us to view. They happened to be in the same complex called The Boathouse. Which at one time had been an actual boathouse. One was on the first floor and the other was on the third floor. We went to the first floor flat first. Walking into the place was like walking into a cave. There was only one window and the ceiling was only seven feet high. Talk about claustrophobia. Guess we know where they kept the boats. Quickly, we passed.

Moving on to our other choice, we came to the longest, skinniest stairwell I have ever seen in my life. Since it went straight up to the third floor without any landings, it was more like a ladder than a staircase. We managed to negotiate the long staircase, where we opened the door to a two-room flat. No, not a two-bedroom flat, a two room flat. It was approximately 400 square feet. The “living room” was tiny and the bedroom was even smaller.

I lay down on the bed and my head touched the headboard and my feet touched the footboard. The funniest part was that the headboard touched the wall and the footboard touched the other wall. That meant the room was about five-feet, ten-inches wide. On the positive side, it was at least ten feet wide.

Stunned, we asked if these were are only choices. The housing administrator said we were welcome to stay in the Marriott until I could find another place. But since we had so many American expats on the project, it could be a couple of months. Not wanting to stay in a hotel without a kitchen for any longer, we acquiesced and took the attic place.

After moving in, we found how small the place really was. Since it was an attic, the ceiling angled in to make the point of the roof. The first time I walked in the bathroom to pee, my head hit the slanted ceiling. Looking down, I noticed that it was the exact distance I needed to stand to take care of my business. It was the first time in my life that I was ever grateful that I am only five-feet nine-inches tall.

Then it was time for bed, I took my traditional side of the bed which happened to be the side closest to the wall. When I laid on my back, I looked up an saw the ceiling about six inches from my face. You can guess how each of my days started. Forgetting where I was, I would sit up in bed and smack my face on the ceiling. It happened almost every morning. Luckily for me, I have a very hard head.

When the pain subsided, I got up and stumbled like a drunk to the shower. I stepped in the stall and attempted to close the door. It hit me in the back and would close all the way. Squeezing tightly against the wall, I managed to get the door closed. There I was, wedged into the tiny stall, trying to apply soap to my body. When I turned to wash the soap off the front of my body, the shower door swung open. Soon I learned that I had to open the shower door in order to turn around. Talk about culture shock.

I know, I know. It’s not like I was in the Peace Corps sent to Belize or Upper Volta or anything. But still, less than a week before that, I left my 2,400 square foot, three bedroom, three bath single family home. Now I found myself in a flat that was smaller than my family room and kitchen.

On the positive side, the apartment was in Windsor, a town I love, right on the Thames and that tiny little place had seven, counting seven windows. It was light and airy and often times, families of swans would swim by on the river. Additionally, we were so thrilled to be in England, that we were determined to overcome any obstacles thrown at us and enjoy the experience, or more appropriately, the adventure we had embarked upon.

Six or seven weeks later, a very nice duplex became available. As light and airy as it was, we jumped at the chance to move to more hospitable environs. We bid a fond adieu to our tiny flat and Windsor and made the big move to Maidenhead. It wasn’t the only time we moved while we were there, but it was the only one we had mixed feelings about.


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Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Anglophilia

It dawned on me that I have never written about how much I love the United Kingdom. Although I have actually only been there twice, it is one of my favorite places on earth. Of course, both of my visits last longer than a quick pop over the pond. The first time I was there, it was for five weeks when I was fourteen. My second visit was just shy of a year in 1996 and 1997.

On both occasions, I had a chance to really get to know the people of my host country. Although I did manage to hit all the big tourist attractions in London, Westminster Abbey, The Tower of London, St. Paul's, Big Ben, Parliment, Harrods, Sticky Fingers (Bill Wyman's version of The Hardrock Cafe) and all the other stuff. Don't get me wrong, I love being a tourist. But there is nothing like living with people to really get to know a new culture.

The first trip, I stayed with an English family. Mom, Dad, Nigel and Suzy. Dad worked for the dame company as my father. Nigel and I were about the same age, so the two of them cooked up this scheme where I would go live with them for five weeks and Nigel would return with me and stay with my family. That is when I developed my love for footie. That's right, I spent most of July glued to the tele watching the World Cup - kinda explains the lack of postings in July, huh?

Football was not the only thing I was introduced to on that trip. Whoever says the Brits can't cook has never had homemade shepard's pie or real fish and chips or the absolutely fabulous dessert with the most disgusting name imaginable - spotted dick. How many of you can say that you ate spotted dick and totally enjoyed it. Hmmm...maybe I don't want to hear the answers.

On my second visit, I was an adult with more life experiences behind me. In spite of being older and wiser - okay - older, I still felt a rush of wonderment when I walked up the long flight of stairs from the tube into Piccadilly Circus. I know it's a cliche, but I can freely admit that I love Picadilly Circus. Maybe I am just being stereotypically American, but I really do think it was a hold-over from my first visit there. Good memories last a life time.

Although I had to work a full-time job on my second visit, I still managed to put over 12,000 miles on my leased Polish car. You read it correctly, my Polish car. It was actually called an FSO Caro. Seems after Poland separated itself from the Eastern bloc, they decided to get into the automobile business. So some genius bought an old Fiat factory from Italy and moved it to Poland - no shit. Being it was Poland's first attempt at building automobiles, it turned out to be the biggest piece of shit you can possibly imagine.

How could I, a obviously culture man with discerning taste, possibly choose to lease such an inferior product? Well, sit back, open a beverage, relax and let me tell you. My company gave me less than two weeks notice that I was going to England for at least a year. I had to get everything in my life in the US in order and get to work in the beautiful city of Slough in the Royal Borough of Windsor and Maidenhead. In the rush, they forgot to provide me with all the details of the compensation package I would be entitled to. When I arrived, they informed me that since the public transportation was so readily available, there was no car allowance. Since I am an American, I had to have a car. I checked into leases and I found that to rent a Ford Escort it would run me about $850/month. Since have been known to vocalize my personal issues, I could be heard bitching pretty much every day of how I was being deprived of a car. Within a couple of days, another American heard about my completely unbearable predictiment. She informed me that there was a company that leased cars for around $170/month including insurance and a free membership to AA. No not Alcoholics Anomymous, but the UK version of AAA. Although, I probably could have used the services of the American version of AA after driving that death trap for close to a year.

Instantly, I stopped the vital work I was doing and called the company. Hastily, I made arrangements to pick up the car the next day. Being ignorant of London geography, I had no idea how long it would take me to get to the east end. After a tube ride that lasted approximately the same amount of time it took me to fly from Denver to London, I arrived to find out that I was just there to sign the lease. I actually had to go to Stafford to pick up the car. That meant I had the pleasure of taking the tube back to Windsor.

Just to give you an idea of what that entails. You have to take the tube from the east end to Paddington station which takes about the same amount of time as elephant gestation. Then get on a train to Slough, which at that particular time of day, stops at each of the fifteen or so stops along the way. Once in Slough, you have to disembark and take another train on the branch line to Windsor. Once I reached my final destination, I had to walk just shy of a mile to my cozy flat overlooking the Thames - not as glamourous as it sounds, but we aren't going to open that particular can of worms. Imagine that, an American forced to walk. Walk, for Christ sake. Wasn't it 1996? Unbelievable!

Once again my geographic retardation got the best of me. I had no idea that I had to take a train to Reading and transfer to a different train to Stafford - another three hour train ride - fantastic. I scheduled a Saturday pick up so that I could parlay the train ride into a visit to the Midlands. Arriving at the lot, I see my brand spanking new Polish car waiting to be picked up. Grabbing the keys, I hurried to the car full of anticipation. The first thing I noticed was the overpowering smell of diesel. Must have been in the hold of a cargo ship or something. The next thing I see is the giant stain on the driver's seat. This car had 98 miles on it and it already had a disgusting stain on the seat. Oh well, I was going to let that dampen my spirits. I turned the key and noticed that the gas gauge read empty, go figure.

Being that it was a typical October day in merry ole England, it was raining. As I reached to turn on the defroster and the knob came off in my hands, I shit you not. That wasn't the only pleasant feature of my rolling garbage heap. Oh no, not even close. It was a four-door, but only three of them opened. Luckily, it was the rear passenger door. Also, the window on the other rear door could not be rolled down. But the sneakiest thing was the hatch stayed open just long enough for me to lean in before it came crashing down on my head. The worst part was it didn't do it all the time. It was as if it waited for the most inopportune time, right after you were lulled into believing that it would stay up before it would execute it's sneak attack.

All that being said, I drove that car hard and it only broke down once. I got to see more of the tiny little island that most subjects of the realm will ever see. It was a blast. As I said, good memories last a lifetime. I find myself musing about the adventures I had driving that car and despite all it's fobiles, it still brings a smile to my face everytime I think about that bastard Fiat.


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Monday, July 24, 2006

Blog friends

Even though I have only been blogging for seven months, I have been doing it long enough to make a few observations about this funny little addiction. That's right, I called it an addiction. Being a reformed junkie, I know an addiction when I see one. No, I never did heroin or hit the pipe. But a junkie is a junkie regardless of the choice of poison. Digging around, searching for enough change to buy a can of tabacco just to feel the rush when I put a little pinch between my check and gum is just as degrading as hocking a hot stereo to score some rock. Hiding out downstairs to indulge in my nasty little habit away from the disapproving eyes of my family and friends is just a guilt generating as hiding a bottle of vodka in the laundry hamper.

But of course, that is not really the subject of this blog. Just one of my little asides that make reading my blog the most enjoyable part of your day. Here's the thing.

Since I pride myself in being able to see people as individual, I don't like to overly generalize. But it seems to me that there are some very distinct types of bloogers. There are those that set up a blog for family and friends, some are truly daily journals, others are the "know it alls" that want to share their extensive knowledge and the last are the people that started blogging a topic, but soon began to share more about themselves than they originally planned. I think I fall into the last catagory. I think a few of you are, too.

You know what I am talking about, you spill your guts on to a page inviting, no begging other people to stop by and tell you how wonderful your creative talents are. Occasionally, some one starts reading. Rarely, a random stranger will be taken by something in your blog. For some unknown reason, they decide to visit again. Only this time they leave a little tidbit in the form of a comment. Out of curiousity, you decide to check out their blog, view their profile and maybe even take a few moments to leave a little "Stopped by to visit" or "Really like you blog".

Then the dance begins. When you really like this person you have never met, you blog roll them. You find yourself slipping to their blog during down times at work to check out what they are writing about today. Then you check your stats and see that they have been peaking in at you on occasion. Feeling the electricity building, you check the profile a few times just to get a look at that picture. There is something in the look of their eyes that makes you wonder what their story is aside from what the choose to write on their blog.

After a week or two, you continue visit. After a few months, the person seems as familiar as one of your "real" friends. Soon, you find yourself revealing more about yourself other than the "subject" of your blogs. Then your hooked. You can do your job, tend to your family and friends, go to the movies or go on vacations. But no matter what you do, you've gotta get your fix. Admit it. When you are away from your computer for more than a few hours, you start to feel the itch. You just have to get online to check your stats, see what your new friends wrote, tweek your template and more important than anything - post. Gotta post, gotta post, gotta post. Nothing like the feeling of pressing that "Publish Post" button. Nothing like it, nothing like it, absolutely nothing like it.

Sure hope it isn't just me.


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Sunday, July 23, 2006

After a very productive weekend - Chapter 41

Here's another little personal relevation, I love writing at the lake. Over half of Web Site was written sitting on the dock at one of the most beautiful lakes in the world. Lake Couer d'Alene is located in Northern Idaho. It is a wonderful place. If you have never been there, you are just going to have to trust me on this one.

This weekend, I sat watching the kids play in the water. As a watched, I had my laptop exactly where it should be - on my lap. The words just flew off my fingers. I finished two chapters in less than four hours of writing. I am only publishing Chapter 41 today. I want to go over Chapter 42 before I post it.

Also, you may notice that I finally cracked and reactivated Google Adsense. I know, I declared that Google was the new "Evil Empire". But I decided that if I want to attract more traffic - yeah, again with the traffic - I need to use all the resources available. Maybe I get a few more Blogger hits for the [Next Blog] button when I publish. That in turn will give more people the pleasure of reading the exciting, fresh and humorous posts that I create. See, I am not really doing this to boost traffic. I am doing this to spread my writing goodness to others that haven't happened to my blog. When it comes down to it, this is all for you.


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The Break - Chapter 41

Chapter 41

They were on to him. He knew it. Before he entered the house, he knew they were close. But he had to eliminate the threat. He had taken a calculated risk. But he had one flaw in his plan. By not accounting for the possibility that Harrison would act so aggressively, he lost his opportunity. It had cost him dearly. Although he got the advantage long enough to get away, Harrison had hurt him badly. Although he was in great shape for a man in his late sixties, his body had grown old. That meant he could not absorb the hard blows delivered by such a large man.

Lying in the underbrush under a large Douglas Fir, he did a quick inventory of his injuries. From experience, he knew he had fifty-fifty shot of evading his pursuers, but he was not capable of engaging them physically. Knowing the skill level of the men the company would send, he knew it was going to difficult. The only hope he had was to wait in place until darkness. That meant he had to take advantage of the concealment of the long grass and keep perfectly still. Which meant that he had to ignore the pain, bugs and critters.

Drawing on what he learn from his years in the rat-hole Soviet prison, Ian retreated into meditation. Knowing that he had to listen for the men hunting him, Ian did not allow himself to go into his full state of hibernation.

At about midday, he heard them. Ian’s eyes shot open. Instantly, he was aware that there were two of them. One was about thirty yards of to the right, the other was about forty yards way on the left and they were about fifty yards away from each other. Not very good positioning in his mind, he would have made sure they stayed closer together. In their desire to cover more ground quickly, they had gotten sloppy. If his ribs were throbbing or if he was twenty years younger, these two would not have to worry about their pensions. They would both be on the ground trying to suck air through their broken wind pipes. But that wasn’t the case, so he had to be content with evading them. From their position, there was no way they would spot him. They were simply moving to quickly. Suddenly, he had to force himself not to shake his head in disgust for their lack of discipline.

“How are they training these guys?” He thought to himself.

As he lay there, the man on his right passed within three yards of him. Fortunately for Ian, the concealment was enough to shield him from that distance. One foot closer, the man would have seen him. One of the reason he chose to hide under this particular tree was that it had thick low branches that would force anyone approaching to go wide of the tree on come in under the branches.

After they passed, Ian remained still, but he allowed himself to relax. Since they were moving so quickly, he correctly assumed that they would not do any back-tracking even though it was standard procedure. He waited another fifteen minutes. Then he let out the fart he had been holding for the last several hours. There was no way to keep it silent after holding it for that long. He hoped the sound of the wind through the trees would cover the noise. The tension in his stomach, told him that soon he was going to have to relieve his bowels. No small feat for an old man in the woods trying to conceal himself. Quickly, he scanned the landscape for good concealment to move to after he relieved himself.

Ian spotted another Douglas fir about fifty or sixty yards in the direction of where the men came. When he knew he couldn’t wait any longer, he crouched under the tree and began grunting out his feces. When he finished, he wiped himself with his hand. He turned and began to clean his hand on the trunk of the tree. As he exited the tree, he was surprised to see an agent standing, assault weapon pointing menacingly, twenty feet in front of him.

“Gotcha old man.” A man’s voice said. “You thought we were sloppy, turns out you got complacent.”

“Teaching you big words at Langley?” Ian queried.

“Funny.” The man replied. “My partner has you sighted, so let’s just do this and not have anyone get hurt.”

“Sure.” Ian replied resigned to the fact he had been taken. “I must be getting old.”

“Whatever. Let’s go.” The agent commanded.

Glancing over his shoulder, Ian saw the other agent speaking into a microphone. The communication would bring in the other teams. If they got here before Ian made a move, it was all over. Gauging his physical ability, he knew he had to get within six feet of the closest agent. If he could do that, he had slightly less than an even chance of immobilizing him long enough to get his weapon. Just then the agent turned slight to verify that his partner was calling in to announce they found him. That was all Ian needed. He shot in fast and low. Feeling the knee give as his body weight slammed into the agent’s exposed left leg.

The man let out a squeal as the ligaments gave way. It was loud enough to alert his partner. But the only thing it alerted him to was the fact he was about to die. Before he could react, Ian had the M4A in his hands and sent three rounds downrange. All three met their mark just below his left eye. Although it was risky to go for the head shot, Ian was supremely confident in his accuracy at this range.

Standing up, he turned the weapon on his would-be captor. The man was still writhing in pain clutching his ruined knee.

“You should pay a little closer attention to old guys.” Ian spat. “You’re lucky I don’t have time to introduce to real pain.

With that he pulled the trigger one more time. The shot was true. Quickly, Ian fled. He knew the others were aware that he had taken their fellow agents and they would be coming hard. Now that he was armed, he was doubly dangerous. No matter what orders they had been given, they wouldn’t give him a second chance to best them. If they saw him first, he knew he would be dead. He couldn’t die just yet. There was one last matter he had to settle.

Instead of making a break for it, Ian headed directly towards the house. Moving quickly, he determined it would take him about seven minutes to get back to the house of the rough terrain. It would take the other teams at least ten minutes to locate their fallen brethren. Then they would waste time looking for him. That would give him five minutes in the house. Much more time than he would need now that he was armed. Instintively, he checked the clip. There were still over twenty rounds in the clip.

“More than enough to do the job.” He said to himself confidently.

Moving quickly, he closed on the house. His head was pivoting from left to right as he scanned the house and the driveway for any potential threats. He was somewhat surprised to find the front door unlocked. But in his haste, he didn’t give it a second thought.

“Think.” He instructed himself as he crossed the threshold. “Where are they.”

It was an important decision. If he guessed right, he could kill the first one without anyone knowing he was in the house. That honor was going to Big Ron Harrison. Not just because of the beating he suffered at Big Ron’s hands. But more importantly, Harrison was the only person that could tie him to the crime. They had to be in the breakfast room. It only made sense. The agents would want to interview them as close to where the accident happened as possible. In this case, they could do it exactly where it happened.

Ian flew through the door, gun leveled, finger on the trigger. Only expecting to see five people in the room, he was completely stunned to see a room full of men with weapons trained on him. When his eyes trained on the closet figure, he realized it was the man he had shot in the face a little less than ten minutes ago. The man next to him was the one he shot three times. His eyes blurred and he felt himself gasping for air, Ian dropped his weapon, fell to his knees and then everything went dark.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

In less than ten minutes they would have the pleasure of meeting Eddie Vedder, Mike McCready, Stone Gossard and Jeff Ament. Their limo driver had called and said the band wanted to see Ratdick play. The excitement was electric. Ronnie felt the familiar feeling in his stomach. Although he had gotten over throwing up before each show, he wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to control it tonight. The combination of playing in such a big venue and getting to meet one of his idols was just too much. Quickly, Ronnie stood up, ran to the stall and emptied the contents of his stomach.

“Jesus Christ, Ronnie.” Pete chuckled. “Could you puke a little more?”

“Hey, at least I hit the bowl.” Ronnie replied as he bent over the sink to fill his mouth with water.

He swished the water around and spit it back into the sink. He did this three more times, to make sure he got it all out.

“Man, I wish I had a toothbrush.” Ronnie said.

“Maybe you can call the page.” Ben suggested.

Before anyone could move, they were all rocked by a tremendous explosion. The door flew off it’s hinges, slammed directly into Ben and pinned him against the wall. Ronnie flew forward, his face shattering the mirror. Instantly, he lost consciousness. Pete and Ass weren't as lucky. Both were standing in the middle of the room and although the force of the explosion threw them to the ground, their heads were not slammed against any hard surfaces. Ass watched in horror as Ben slid down the wall and the door bounced twice on his body before it slid partially off and came to a rest. Before Ass could regain his feet, the ceiling began to crumble. Two large metal cross beams fell from the ceiling and landed on both Ass an Pete.

The first fell across Ass’ legs, breaking both of them and pinning him to the ground. The other fell right on Pete’s exposed chest, breaking several of his ribs. Painfully, he tried to breath, but he was unable catch his breath. Each gasp brought excruciating pain. He tried to call out, but all the air had been forced from his lungs by the impact. Ass began wailing in pain as more debris fell from the upper levels of the Pepsi Center. Luckily for all of them, the structure above them remained relatively intact and for the moment shielded them from the giant shards of glass and chucks of steel that fell loudly on the partial ceiling above them. Still some of the pieces fell through, more than a few hit them as they lay exposed.

Since Ben was mostly covered by the door, the falling debris that fell though the gaping holes did little additional damage. Being close to the wall kept Ronnie shielded from the worst of the objects. It only took a few minutes for Ronnie to regain consciousness. When he did, he felt a throbbing pain in his head. Within moments, he realized that he was covered in his own blood. Most of which came from the nasty gash across his forehead. Some how he managed to gain his feet. He could hear the girders above straining from the weight of the debris. Ronnie had no idea what happened, but soon realized that the most important thing was to get out of this place as quickly as possible.

Looking around he saw Ass and Pete, but he could not see Ben. Ass was still screaming loudly. When he looked at Pete’s face his saw his mouth open and his face was contorted in pain It seemed no matter how desperately he tried, he could no get any air. Forcing himself into action, he thought he should get to Pete first.

“Ass.” He said forcefully. “Calm down, buddy.”

“Ah, fuck me.” Ass replied. “This fucking hurts. Ahhhh.”

“Come on, suck it up.” He encouraged. “What would the master do?”

Instinctively Ronnie knew that if he invoked the name of the master, Ass would calm down and he would be able to help Pete.

“Focus.” Ass replied.

Ass closed his eyes, drew in a breath and began to put all his training to work to put the pain aside. Slowly, his mind began to win the battle against the pain.

As this was happening, Ronnie had made his way over to Pete. He was comforted to see that Ass had closed his eyes and began to retreat into his head. That would work for a while.

“K Pete.” He said softly. “I’m going to try to get this off of you. Hang in there.”

Ronnie grabbed the beam and started to lift. It was surprisingly heavy and only moved a couple of inches. Knowing he misjudged the weight, he had to set it back down. He also realized that setting it back down was going to hurt Pete.

“Dude.” He said to Pete apologetically. “This is too heavy, I have to set it back down.”

“No.” Pete managed to gasp.

“Dude, I have too.” Ronnie said. “I’ll hold it like this for a few, try to breath.”

Pete drew in several painful breaths. Despite the pain, it did feel better to have air flowing into his lungs again.

“Get ready.” Ronnie cautioned. “I’m setting it back down. Try not to yell, it’ll use up your air.”

“Errrrrrrrrrr.” Pete growled as Ronnie gently lower the beam back on to him.

Instead of putting it back on his chest, Ronnie was able to move it lower on his abdomen.

“I am never going to be able to move this off you.” Ronnie said. “But I think I can lift it enough for you to slide out. Can you do that?”

“No.” Pete replied.

“Well you have to, dude.” Ronnie insisted. “Come on. One, two, three, go!”

Ronnie lifted using all the strength in his legs, back and arms. He managed to lift the beam seven or eight inches.

“Go, go, go.” He yelled.

Painfully, Pete struggled to freedom. As soon as Pete’s feet cleared the spot below the beam, Ronnie let go. The beam hit the ground with a loud thud. Fairly sure that he spent a good portion of his energy on getting Pete out, Ronnie scanned the room for something to use as a lever. Pete remained on the ground trying to fill his lungs. Ronnie spied a piece of pipe about twelve feet long. Retrieving it, he slid it under the beam covering Ass’ legs and moved a large piece under the piece of pipe creating a very crude levering system.

“Ass, Ass.” Ronnie said.

Ass’ eyes snapped open. He looked at Ronnie as if he was trying to determine who he was.

“Ass.” Ronnie repeated. “You ready to get this off of you.”

“Yes.” He said crisply, then added. “Ben?”

“Where is Ben?” Ronnie asked.

“Door.” Ass responded flatly. It was taking all of his concentration to fight the pain.

Taking a quick look, Ronnie saw Ben’s arm sticking out from under the door.

“I’ll get to him as soon as I have you out.” Ronnie responded.

“Ready?” Ronnie asked again.

“Yes.”

“One, two, three.”

Ronnie pushed down on the lever, lifting the beam. It moved much easier and Ronnie was able to use the lever to move the beam completely off of Ass’ legs. As soon as he had clearance, he let the beam drop and threw the pipe to the ground. Looking at Ass’ legs, he saw the blood. It looked bad and he wasn’t sure how he was going to get all his friends out. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he was surprised to see Pete standing behind him.

“Looks pretty bad.” Pete said softly.

“Yeah.” Ronnie agreed. “You can walk?”

“Yeah, dude.” Pete responded.

“Don’t know how we are going to get these two out.” Ronnie said solemnly.

“You get Ben.” Pete suggested. “Ass and I’ll get outta here. Right, dude?”

“Yes.” Ass responded weakly.

“You sure?” Ronnie questioned. “You’re pretty beat up, Pete and I don’t think Ass can walk.”

“I can do it.” Ass said confidently. “I will do it.”

Ronnie looked at both his friends and saw the determination.

“Okay, here’s what we’ll do.” Ronnie said as the idea flashed through his mind. “Turn around, Pete. I’ll get Ass up and Ass, you wrap your arms around Pete. Over his shoulders, you know. Then Pete, you can drag him.”

“Sounds good.” Pete replied.

“It’s going to hurt like hell.” Ronnie cautioned.

“We can handle it.” Ass said

“Use the master’s techniques, right dude?” Pete suggested.

Both Ass and Ronnie looked hard at Pete.

“What?” He asked. “You don’t think I listen when you talk about him?”

“Let’s go.” Ronnie said feeling the urgency of the situation. “Pete, stand about a foot in front of Ass’ feet and turn your back to him.

Ronnie got into position at Ass’ head. Reaching down, he placed his hands in Ass’ arm pits. Exhaling he lifted his band mate into a standing position behind Pete.

“Errrrrrr.” Ass moaned.

“Throw you arms over Pete’s shoulders.” Ronnie instructed. “And hang on tight.”

Despite the immense pain, Ass did as Ronnie instructed. When he was in position, Ronnie double checked to make sure he had a firm grip.

“Now, go.” He commanded.

As Pete began walking slowly, he grimaced in pain. The pain was like nothing he had ever experienced. For a brief moment, he thought he was going to pass out. By the time he got to the door, he felt he was winning the battle against the pain. Feeling more confident, he began to pick up the pace.

“Errrrrrr.” Ass exclaimed as the pain rocked his body.

“Hang on, dude.” Pete encouraged.

“Don’t worry about me.” Ass responded.

Ronnie made his way to Ben. Without pausing, he pulled the door of Ben and without checking his breathing, he used what seemed to be the last of his strength to lift his friend. Somehow, he managed to hoist Ben up in a fireman’s carry and followed the other guys out the door. Quickly, he caught up with them and the four walked towards a giant opening in the side of the Pepsi Center. As they walked, the three that conscious ones shared words of encouragement to each other. As a team, they made it to the parking lot. Seeing a vast array of fire trucks, police cars and ambulances, they walked towards the flash emergency lights and collapsed in front of an ambulance. Ron knew Ben was still alive, because he could feel him breathing as he carried him. But he decided to double check anyway. Thankfully, he felt a pulse as he saw Ben’s chest rising and falling in a normal rhythm.

Within a few minutes, an EMT came over and began to apply first aid. As badly as they were hurt, there were many other’s in much worse condition. Ass and Ben were suffering from the worst injuries. But they still had to wait almost two hours before being transported to a make shift emergency room in the parking lot of Denver General Hospital.

Ronnie and Pete were discussing what had just occurred when they heard a gun behind them.

“What the hell?” Pete said as the both spun in the direction of the sound.

“No idea.” Ronnie responded. “This is so fucked up, I can’t even image what that was.”

Then Pete saw the man with a gun. Within seconds, several police officers wrestled him to the ground.

“Holy shit, Ronnie.” Pete exclaimed. “Isn’t that …”

“Yeah, it’s my Dad.” He interrupted feeling more completely confused than had on this very bizarre day.






<<< Chapter 40

Chapter 41 >>>



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Thursday, July 20, 2006

Night at Comedy Works

Ever try to be funny? It's not as easy as it seems. Personally, I consider myself a fairly witty member of the species homo sapien. As I have told everyone I have ever talked to, I am the funniest person I have ever met. Immodest as it may sound, it happens to be true. I crack my self up. This skill is not always a blessing. At times, it had proven to be down right embarassing.

For instance, I vividly remember in a meeting with my boss, my boss' boss and several self-important, Fortune 500 vice president types when I found my mind beging to wander which it is wont to do when I am so bored, I feel like shoving my pen in my ear just to break the monotony. Suddenly, I am struck by the thought of what the world would be like if instead of shaking hands when you met someone, you stuck your finger in their nose and wiggled it around. They, in turn, you shove their finger in your nose. Just as you seek to give the perfect hand shake - not to firm, not to weak - you would try to give the perfect nose wiggle.

Now you may not find these thought very funny. I, on the other hand, find it hysterical. So, of course, I burst out laughing at a very inopportune moment. As you might have guessed, the entire room went completely silent and all eyes turned to me.

"Would you mind telling the group what is so funny about missing deadlines?" One of the client vps asked.

"Uh ... no." I replied candidly.

"No, please enlighten us." She continued menancingly.

"Nothing, really." I said with all the sincerity I could muster. "We at OOCC (Obnoxiously Overpaid Consulting Company) take our client commitments very seriously. I sincerely apologize for my unacceptable behavior. Please excuse me."

[Blank stares]

"Fine, back to the ... BLAH, BLAH, BLAHLA, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH ..."

Jesus Christ get me out of this overblown bullsh*t!

Back to the point. It's true that I find myself humorous and so do many people. I have a unique ability to provide light-hearted commentary in almost any conversation. Even at funerals which tends to draw just as many disapproving looks.

Many years ago, I had the pleasure of working with a bartender that, at one point in his life, made a living as a standup comedian. In fact, while we were working together he was frequent called upon to MC at several of the local comedy clubs. He was quite possibly the second funniest person I have ever met. During our shifts we use to try to crack each other up. It was a kick.

One day, we were discussing stand up comedians when I uttered the stupidest words that ever came out of my mouth. Trust me, that is saying alot.

"Those guys are okay, but I am much funnier than them." I blustered.

"Oh, yeah." He said some what defensively. "Tell me a joke you wrote."

"Huh?" I replied somewhat stunned.

"Come on, tell me a joke you wrote." He insisted.

"Well ... I ... uh ... well, I've never actually written a joke." I bumbled. "But how tough can it be?"

With that, he spun on his heal and walked behind the bar. Mystified as to how I could have insulted him so dearly as to make him walk away, I stood and watched in amazement as he picked up the phone and started dialing numbers. Standing there like a statue in wait of a pigeon, i tried to figure out what he was doing.

"Okay, Tuesday then. Bye." He said into the receiver.

Then he came back and said the most frightening thing I have ever heard in my life.

"I got you to minutes at The Comedy Works on Tuesday night."

"Huh?" I managed most articulately.

"Let's see how easy you think it is when you have to come up with two minutes of your own stuff."

Never known to back down from a challenge, I was stuck. I mean, there were witnesses and everything. How could I say no. For the next week, I worked my ass off trying to write two minutes worth of material. Do you have any idea how long two minutes is? If you really want to know, pick up a book and read out loud for two minutes. Go ahead, I'll wait. See, long time, huh?

Finally, it was Tuesday. After spending approxiamately FORTY hours writing, rewriting, working on my delivery and rewriting, I was so nervous I was sweating like a priest in boys locker room. Seriously, my stomach was so knotted, I was farting like one of the bean-munching cowboys in "Blazing Saddles". And it was only nine o'clock in the morning. By showtime, I wanted to vomit. The only thing that kept me from doing it, was my stubborn pride. I was not going to back down and give him lifetime gloating rights.

At the club, I was slated fifth. The first guy gets up and starts his two minute. He was greeted by crickets. For all you novices, that's dead silence. Mr. Number Two didn't fair much better. Then it was the bartenders turn. As a show of support, he volunteered to do five minutes. I think he did it just so I couldn't slink out the stage door. He KILLED! Which is comic parlance for everyone laughed at every joke. Did I ever tell you he's a very funny man. Then the fourth guy got up there. He was doing five minutes as well. He was so completely unfunny that after three minutes, he hung up his microphone and walked off stage. Welcome to amatuer night.

It was time. The feeling I had when I heard the MC call my name really is indescribable. Choking back my fear, I bounded on to stage. Suddenly my mouth began began talking, while I stood there watching myself wondering where the words were originating. Then it hit me. The audience was laughing - hard. Talk about a rush.

I finished my two minutes and ran off the stage like a kid headed to the playground for recess. In the wings, I was met by the bartender. He patted me on the back and congratuated me. It surprised me how happy he was for me. I thought he might be a little disappointed that I didn't bomb. I guess he made his point by introducing me to the process.

After the show, the owner came over to talked to me. He said usually they make people do several two minutes shows, but he was willing to give me five minutes if I wanted to come back next week. Although flattered, I turned him down. Before all this happened, I could never have appreciated what comedians go through. The pressure to be funny on cue is immense and these folks are out there doing it every night. Constantly, working on new material and honing their existing stuff.

Was I funny that night? Yes. Was I the funniest one to take the stage? Not even close. The bartender's stock bits where twice as funny as my "new" stuff. I respect that man and all other comedians emmensely.


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Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Political blogging

A thought occured to me as I was jousting with some neo-cons on a political blog. It seems like as Americans, we have no sense of history what-so-ever. I find this rather appalling. But then again since my undergraduate degree is in Political Science, I am of a history snob. See all the fun facts you are finding out about me?

It goes without saying, I actually enjoy tilting with the sorry lot that trolls around the blogosphere spouting the inane garbage they are fed by right-wing blow hards. I simple cannot tell you the amount of enjoyment I derive when one of these individuals calls me out. Their arguements simply have no depth. When you push past the talking points, they immediately explode into personal attacks. I know, I know. It sounds like I go around baiting these people and you may think that I only dare to do it from the safety of my couch. You would be wrong on both accounts.

First, I don't bait anyone. I simply comment on an issue of the day and they come back at me usually questioning my patriotism, my lineage and intellignce. If you really are suprised by this, maybe you should read my posting The thing is .... What can I say? I am born rabble-rouser.

Second, I frequently engage in face-to-face conversations about politics with people with whom I vehemently disagree. Most noticably, my brother. There are times that I truly wonder how we could have shared the same womb. But that is an entirely different story.

That said, even I wonder why I engage in this particular activity. I guess a part of me wants to pursuade people ... okay, enlighten them. But being that I am a quasi-intelligent human being, I hold no illusions that any one will change their position by my charming personality. And yet, I am drawn by some kind of compulsion to speak my mind.

Briefly, I had a political blog. I started it because I wanted to write about things that interest me. Soon I found that the only people interested in commenting on my blog were fellow-travelers (how boring is that) and the troll patrol. So, I shut that down and have settled for commenting on other people's blogs. Sometimes, I do manage to find a good conversation with some one with well thought out logical arguments. I guess that's what keeps my interest, the chance happening upon some one that really is interested in talking rationally about solutions to big issues. Who knows, maybe someday we will be able return to rational discourse in this country.


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Sunday, July 16, 2006

An now Chapter 40

Check it out. It seems I am on a roll. This weekend I wrote Chapter 40 and half of Chapter 41. Currently, I have written 99,271 words according to MS Word. Who thought I even knew that many words, let alone be able to string them together in some sort of cohesive manner. It looks like I can finish the story in three more chapters.

The plan is to start at the beginning and rewrite each chapter. My two invaluable readers and commentators have agreed to review each chapter. Hopefully, they will help me with the spelling and grammar issues. Maybe I'll even listen to them. I envision that the final result will be approxiamately 60 chapters and around 150,000 to 175,000 words. Where's all this new stuff coming from? Well, I blew past some stuff I was thinking about but haven't fully formed the ideas to puch the story forward. Most of the new writing is going to be to flesh out the characters. I want my readers to get a really good feeling of who these people are. Additionally, I refered to Ronnie's step-mother, but I didn't really work that relationship. There are also some things I want to share about his real mother. There still isn't enough explanation of the tension between Ronnie and Big Ron. So you can see, there is a lot more to this story.

There is one problem I haven't figured out. Do I give away the ending to satisfy my loyal blog readers or should I quit now and just start posting and make you read the whole story again? Hmmm. Idea coming on ... why don't you leave a comment and let me know what you think?


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The Break - Chapter 40

Chapter 40

When Schneider finally recovered enough to sit up, he picked up the envelope that Ian had left behind. The only thing it contained was a small slip of paper with two type-written words – Pepsi Center.

Schneider understood the message immediately. He crumpled the paper and put it into his mouth. He chewed the thin piece thoroughly before swallowing it. This guaranteed that no other eyes would ever see it. Not that there was any chance that anyone else could possibly understand it, but he had learned his lesson well – do not jeopardize the mission.

Tomorrow they would arrive in Denver. As soon as the show ended tonight in Salt Lake City, Schneider would have to drive the bus to Denver so they could make it in time to set up for the show. That meant he had a very little time to set up for the show and make his preparations to carry out the mission.

Over the past three weeks, he had assembled and disassembled the device hundreds of times. Each time, he took the risk that it would go off in his hands. At first, the process was painfully slow due to his extreme cautiousness. The last time he did it which was right after the show started, it only took him seventeen minutes to assemble it. He was very proud of his progress.

But he was tired. Since he had to practice undetected, he only had two opportunities for practice – during the shows and after everyone was asleep. Lack of sleep combined with all the driving was beginning to take its toll.

Hearing the thunderous applause, he knew that the guys were through for the evening. Schneider hustled inside to help breakdown. Now that the band had received so much support from the record label, his work was pretty easy. All he had to do was to grab Pete’s favorite guitar and a few other items. The local guys would load up the newly arrived, record company funded eighteen-wheeler. That meant they could get on the road immediately after the show.

By the time he returned, everyone was on the bus. They were eager to get on the road. The excitement was electric. It was if they felt the sooner they got to Denver, the sooner tomorrow would come. Tomorrow night was going to be the biggest night in their lives. Ratdick had been slated to fill in for System of the Down as the support band for Pearl Jam. The excitement had been building since Randy told them five days ago. Their last three shows had been adrenaline fueled frenzies which were very well received by fans and critics alike.

Ronnie was determined that tomorrow’s show was going to launch them as mega-stars. They had the opportunity and he was going to make sure they put on the best show the crowd had ever seen.

As Schneider boarded the bus, he heard Ronnie addressing his band mates.

“All right.” He heard Ronnie say. “This is it. I want everyone to get as much sleep as possible tonight. Let’s keep the alcohol consumption down a bit, okay Pete.”

“What the fuck?” Pete asked incredulously.

The response drew a chuckle from Ass, Ben and Emily. Which in turn elicted a very dirty look from Chelsea.

“You know what I mean.” Ronnie explained soothingly. “After a great show, like we had tonight. You have a tendency to over indulge a bit. I’m not saying don’t drink, I am saying take it easy.”

“Cool, dude.” Pete replied after considering Ronnie’s explanation. “I’ll just smoke it up like a mother fucker.”

That drew serious laughter from the rest.

“Think I might join you.” Big Ron said. “Just for medicinal purposes.”

Slightly taken aback, Ronnie just couldn’t get use to the fact that his Dad had been smoking with Pete and Chelsea. Even if it was to counter the effects of his cancer medications, it still seemed weird.

“Fine.” Ronnie said. His tone betrayed his level of discomfort with his father’s statement. “Look, this is it. We need to be well rested and ready to tear it up. We only get an hour and a half to play and I want to leave it all on the stage.”

A thought flashed through Schneider’s mind. This kid has got his head on right. For a twenty-something, he was impressive in the way he lead his team. He had been given a challenge and had stepped up to it.

It reminded Schneider of a young lieutenant that arrived in Vietnam during his second tour. When he first arrived, no one in his platoon could take him seriously. He could barely even shave. But on their second LRP, the platoon was ambushed. The squad leaders began deploying their men, but the lieutenant countermanded their orders. Sharply, he ordered his men to pull back fifty meters and take cover three-quarters of the way up the ridge behind them. Although several of the non-commissioned officers had reservations about the order, they were delivered with such confidence and authority that none of them considered challenged.

“Let’s move.” Schneider barked at his men.

Within a split second, the other three squad leaders had their men on the move as well.. The men battled through the jungle in search of cover.

Just as they took up their positions, their previous position erupted with earth-shaking explosions. The Vietnamese had anticipated that the Americans would choose to fight from their current positions and zeroed in artillery on the most inviting positions. Although, the platoon lost three men falling back, it would have been a massacre.

The lieutenant held his men in place and waited for the Vietnamese to reconnoiter the kill zone as he knew they would. As soon as they showed themselves, he order his men to open fire. The ensuing battle was short, but very intense. Withering under the deadly fire from the Americans, the Vietnamese broke off contact and faded back into the jungle.

The young lieutenant only got better. By the time Schneider was ready to rotate back to the United States, he considered that man the best officer he had ever served. His third tour only reinforced this opinion.

No, this wasn’t Vietnam and these kids weren’t fighting a tenacious guerilla enemy. No, these kids didn’t have it nearly as easy as that. They had to battle record company executives, marketing people, the press, promoters and union representatives. All of whom happen to be the truly vicious people of this world.

“Hell, in Vietnam all they could do was kill ya.” Schneider thought. “These fuckers’ll suck your blood, bleed you dry, use you for all you’ve got and then dump you quicker than a pregnant whore. Leave you alive to suffer. Well, I’m going to show those fuckers tomorrow.”

“We can do this.” Ronnie’s words brought him back to the present.

“Jesus Christ, Ronnie.” Pete responded. “Give it a rest.”

“Shut the fuck up, Pete.” Ass jumped in. “He’s right, we have to concentrate and keep focus. When you lose focus, bad things happen.”

“Oooo, words from the master .” Pete replied sarcastically.

“Once again, Pete.” Ass fired back as he turned to face Pete to indicate he wasn’t going to take his disrespectfully attitude toward the master. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Knock it off, guys.” Ronnie commanded trying to diffuse the confrontation. “So, maybe I a bit overboard, Pete. But I am serious. We have all made a commitment to this band and I just want to remind everybody. It’s not like you haven’t had a few gaps in concentration.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Pete asked defensively.

Ronnie paused to ensure he chose his words properly. Not wanting this to escalate out of control, he decided to keep it as simple as possible.

“Portland and New York before the Lettermen show.” He said simply.

Pete reflected on the words for a moment. In Portland, he and Chelsea had stayed up all night drinking, smoking and having sex. It continued through the entire day, so that by show time he was drunk and hadn’t slept in over thirty-six hours. Though it wasn’t his best performance, he didn’t think he played all that bad.

In New York, he spent three hours before the Lettermen show doing body shots of tequila off Chelsea. When he got to the green room, he was roaring drunk. The other band members pumped him full of coffee, so that he would at least be a wide-awake drunk. Once again, it was a good show, but he had definitely played better.

“Hey, I was okay for both of those shows.” He said defending his behavior.

“That’s the point ‘okay’ won’t cut it tomorrow, Pete.” Ron said softy. “We gotta be the best we’ve ever been.”

“Exactly.” Ass added sincerely looking directly into Pete’s eyes.

“Exactly.” Ben echoed.

An observer to this point, Chelsea listened closely to the band members. She had a vested interest in the success of the band. The last couple of months had been a endless thrill ride for her. She had been places she only dreamed about and there was so much money they could literally do anything they wanted. She imagined how much better it could get if they really hit it big. Although she originally followed the band for their music, the ability to do anything she wanted is what kept her with them. She wasn’t about to let that slip away from her.

“I agree.” Chelsea joined in. “Pete, this is it for you guys. So, tonight we take it easy. No biggie, right?”

“Me, too.” Emily added not wanting to be left out.


About half way through the show, Big Ron noticed that Schneider was no where to be found. That could only mean one thing. He must be out back smoking a joint. Feeling a little hankering, Big Ron decided to seek him out.

Walking toward the fire escape, Big Ron felt a little tug of guilt. Walking out on his son’s performance to get high seemed a little dodgy. But who would know? Besides, he had seen him play every show for the last three months. As he opened the door, heard the explosion of applause as Pete finished another amazing guitar solo.

“They’ll be all right.” He told himself.

Looking around, he didn’t see Schneider in any of the obvious places. Thinking that Schneider’s paranoia might be getting the better of him tonight, Big Ron decided to look in a few of the out of the way places. A quick check behind the dumpster proved to be fruitless. Then he saw a stairwell leading down to from the floor level. Big Ron assumed that is must lead to the lower level of the arena. When he got to the top of the stairs, he found a very long, narrow and steep staircase. He estimated that there were twenty to twenty-fives stairs.

Even though he could see that Schneider was not down there, Big Ron walked down the steps and tried to open the door. Finding it locked, he cursed himself for putting himself in the position to walk back up all those steps. He began the arduous ascent. By the time he reached the fourth to the last step, he was panting heavily.

Taking a moment to rest, he looked up to see that his head was upon street level while the rest of his body remained below. It provided him with a unique perspective of this unknown street in the middle of Salt Lake City. A couple of pedestrians happened by giving Big Ron an excellent view of their bodies from their feet to their knees.

“That’s interesting.” He said out loud.

The passersby didn’t even glance in his direction. Not only did they not hear him, he realized they didn’t see him either. It felt rather strange. But he quickly buried the thought because he saw Schneider hurrying up the sidewalk. Both hands were jammed into his front pockets, his shoulders were scrunched up around his neck and his head was tilted downward.

“I doubt he would even see me if I was on the street.” Ron thought.

As Schneider quickly passed, Big Ron caught a glimpse of his face. It was a grotesque combination of fear, anguish and hatred. It took Big Ron complete by surprise. But when he considered it for a moment, it seemed that he had seen that face on Schneider before on a couple of occasions. Silently, Ron watched as Schneider went straight to the bus. He saw him open an envelope, extract and read the contents. Surprisingly, after a quick glance, he crumbled the paper and put it in his mouth and began chewing. The hard swallow was obvious even from fifty feet away.

“What the …?” Big Ron whispered out loud.

Complete engaged, Big Ron felt as if he was watching something on TV. His curiosity piqued, he decided wait to see what Schneider did next rather than interrupting him. As he watched, Schneider opened the luggage area and climbed almost completely inside and pulled out what appeared to be a very heavy bag. To his amazement, Schneider pulled out several metal objects and quickly assembled them. Big Ron had no idea what it was, since he had never seen anything like it. As soon as he was done, he looked at his watched and smiled. Then immediately, he disassembled the object and put it away. The whole process took less than twenty minutes.

When Schneider turn to walk back towards Big Ron, he had a very contented look on his face in stark contrast to the tormented façade he displayed less than a half an hour ago. The transformation was amazing.

Not willing really sure how Schneider would react if he saw him, Big Ron decided the prudent thing would be to retreat down a few stairs so that he wouldn’t be seen. After he watched Schneider passed, Ron quickly ascended the stairs. Giving himself a moment to catch his breath, Big Ron approached Schneider.

“There you are.” He called out when he got within twenty-feet of Schneider.

“Huh!” Schneider gasped as he spun to face Big Ron.

Seeing it was Big Ron did nothing to diminish the self-admonishment, he doled out.

“How could you not know someone was behind you at that distance?” He asked himself silently. “What did he see?”

“You smoking a joint or what?” Ron asked almost too enthusiastically.

“Not yet. Just about to fire up.” Schneider replied feeling relived.

Seeing Big Ron’s goofy smile set Schneider at ease. This time he was lucky. The punishment must have taken more out of him than he accounted for. He would not make an error like this again. It simply was not an option.

“Cool, man.” Big Ron continued. “Mind if I join you?”

“Nah, it’s cool.” Schneider replied as he reached into the top pocket of his field jacket.

With an experienced hand, he put the hand rolled cigarette in his mouth, produced a zippo lighter from the front pocket of his jeans and lit it. Inhaling deeply, he felt the familiar burn in his lungs. Without exhaling, he handed the joint to Big Ron. The men smoked in silence. As passing it back and forth became more difficult, each pass of the joint required the men’s fingers to come in more close contact. Finally, Big Ron waved off a pass.

“I’m good.” He said.

Schneider shrugged, took on more drag and snubbed it out on the bottom of the lighter. He placed the roach in the top of the zippo lighter, closed the lid and returned it to his jeans pocket.

“You ever in the military, Harrison?” Schneider asked.

“Nope.” He replied.

“Really?” Schneider asked somewhat surprised. “Kinda seem like you were. I was thinking Air Force, maybe. You seem to have the military vibe, you know.”

“Yeah, I hear ya.” Big Ron replied. “Must be the football thing.”

“Could be.” Schneider acknowledged.

Not wanting to press too hard, Big Ron hesitated. But then he decided to press to find out a little more about this guy.

“So, when did you get drafted?” Big Ron asked.

Schneider’s veins turned to ice when he heard the word.

“I volunteered the day I turned seventeen and a half.” He said proudly.

“Volunteered?” Big Ron questioned almost in disbelief.

“Wasn’t much of a decision for me though.” Schneider responded matter-of-factly. “I was born to be a soldier and my country needed me. Is that a problem?”

“No, man. That’s cool.” Big Ron said cautiously. “Just thought everyone was like me.”

“You some kinda protester a draft dodger?” Schneider asked in a agitated voice.

Big Ron could see the change in Schneider’s demeanor. For a moment he weighed how advisable it was to push the man.

“No, I didn’t protest or anything.” Ron explained. “I just didn’t want to get drafted. Then when I saw my number, I was happy. But I have always wondered what it would have been like if I would have gone or if I should have gone.”

Schneider looked closely at Big Ron. Instantly, he knew he was being sincere. Other than the fact that he knew he could make Big Ron feel better, he wasn’t sure why he was going to say what he was about to say.

“Look Harrison.” Schneider said directly. “You didn’t miss anything. As a matter of fact, you should count your lucky stars that you didn’t end up there. I did three tours and nothing good came out of any of them.”

“Why did you keep going back?” Big Ron asked.

Instantly, Schneider realized that no one had ever asked him that question before. Even though he knew the answer, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to share it with anyone. For some reason, he felt the flood gates open.

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” He blurted out.

“What do you mean?” Big Ron asked. “Didn’t you have any family?”

“Sure, but you just can’t understand.” Schneider said painfully. “The shit I did during my first tour. It’s tough dealing with. I went home for awhile and I just couldn’t get over it. No one understood. They just couldn’t relate. Plus, they were all into the protest thing which pissed me off more than I can even tell you, man. It was fucked up. So, I went back.”

Schneider paused, but he had started and he found he couldn’t keep the words from coming out. They had been buried for a long time and much like a deep splinter, they choose now to work there way out.

“Fuck man, when I finally got back to the world, I had no idea who I was. Literally. My last tour ended in 1974. On my way home, I was sitting in a bar in fucking Saigon. Next thing I know, I wake up on a street in San Francisco and it’s 1981. I can’t remember shit from that happened in between. I barely remember anything that has happened to me since then either. All I know is that I was living in a double-wide in the mountains outside of Denver selling dope. That’s when I met Ronnie and all of a sudden, I got my life back.”

“You’re telling me you lost almost thirty years of you life?” Big Ron asked incredulously.

“Yeah.” He said flatly. “Last couple years, it’s been much better but I still have these big gaps …”

“Like blackouts?” Big Ron helped.

“Yeah and all I know is that the evil was … is … around.” He continued.

“The evil?” Ron pressed.

“Yeah, the evil.”. Schneider responded softly.

After that, Schneider went silent. Feeling he had pushed as far as he could, Big Ron sat silently with Schneider. Just as he was about to suggest that they return to the show, Schneider look at him with a painful look in his eyes.

“Pepsi Center.” He said softly.

“What?” Ron asked him to repeat.

“I didn’t say anything.” Schneider responded.






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Chapter 41 >>>


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Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Blog Explosion

Recently, I signed up at Blog Explosion. It is a pretty cool traffic generating site and you know how I love traffic. It is one of those sites where you surf through blogs, you earn points. Each point corresponds to a reciprocal visit to your site. To keep blogger's interest, they have several games you can play.

One of the games on the site is called Blog Tycoon. The premise that you have to go through levels to earn points. At each level, you have a choice of banking your winnings or continue. The higher level you achieve the greater the points. At level one, you can bank five points. On level seven, the final level, you have a chance to win 7500 points!

My need for traffic and my alleged, but unproven, addictive personality, have combined to drive me to spend most of my free time playing. The one thing I left out of the description of the game is the catch. If you get detected by the tycoon, you lose all of your points. Since I want to win the 7500 points, I always keep going.

Tonight, I felt lucky. There I was, cruising through sites climbing level after level. I was earning points like you wouldn't believe. I finished level six and had earned 935 points. Hesitating for only a moment to consider banking my winnings, I braved starting level seven. Full of adrenaline, I clicked on "continue" and you guessed it, the first click, the rat-bastard tycoon nabbed me.

That's it. I am never, ever playing that freaking game ... until tomorrow. Who said I have an addictive personality?


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Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Slapstick

Did I mention that I run? Yes, I am a running freak. Not so unusual, so are many other people. But I guarantee you haven't heard a story like this. First let me explain my running habits.

I used to run outdoors. There is absolutely nothing like progressing rapidly over uneven terrain. Hmmm, seems like I heard that somewhere before. Anyway, I think I told you that I used to live in Colorado. Our house was west of Denver in a small mountain town called Evergreen which, interestingly enough, is the model for the "white-bread, redneck town" in South Park. That's right. I lived in Trey Parker's home town. Previous to that I lived in Matt Stone's hometown of Littleton, Colorado just 5 miles from Columbine High School.

What was I writing about? Oh yeah, running outdoors. My domicile was perched high on a mountain at 8500 feet in altitude. My normal routine was to run three and one half miles down hill towards Evergreen to the more oxygen rich environment of 7000 feet of altitude and then turn around and run back up the mountain. Doing this three times a week for well over two years, landed me in the best shape ever. If you have never done it, take my word for it. Running up a 1500 foot change in elevation over a three and a one half mile distance is not as easy as it may sound. But I loved it. Actually, it was one of my favorite activities until one day.

As per my normal, I was running along listening to my "running tape" on my head phones. My running tape consists of songs that motivate me which are mainly skull crushing, heavy hitting songs that no other sane person would even consider listening to. Given the type of music I like to run to, it goes without saying that the volume was pegged to the highest volume my Sony Walkman could deliver. As I ran in my extreme sonic isolation, I felt a pair of paws hit me square in the middle of my back. I believe that my next stride would have shamed Carl Lewis. Upon landing some thirty-two feet farther up the path, I spun in preparation to be torn limb from limb by one of the frequently seen neighborhood cougars. Much to my surprise, all I saw was the happiest, friendliest dog giggling at me. He was so happy to have elicited such a reaction from a dumb human.

Pleased that I wasn't about to meet the fate of the two local llamas - another story - I go to thinking. Maybe it's not such a good idea to run outside in the wilderness wearing head phones, listening to obnoxious music at such extreme volumes. I tried running without music for awhile. But after ten attempts it seemed as if I was, well, running. Needing to find an alternative, I returned to the gym to run on the treadmill.

One of the reasons I started running outdoors was I had grown weary of the constant scrutiny I received at the gym. I know, I know - everyone thinks that people at the gym are staring at them. But in my case, it happens to be true. Let me tell you why. I probably haven't told you this before, but I am not a small man. In fact, I carry more weight on my medium-sized, five-foot nine-inch frame than many players in the NFL. So, when I step on a treadmill next to the skinny-mini, salad eating, slow walking lamers and strap on my head phones, click play, set the timer at forty-five minutes and start running at nine miles an hour, people turn and look. I cannot count the number of times people have walked up to me and delivered the most irrating left-handed compliment of "you move really well ... for a big man.

Within five minutes, I am drenched in sweat, lost in my head, singing along with my favorite songs. By the eight minute mark, I have successfully cleared the treadmill to my immediate left and right. By the ten minute mark, I am usually the lone runner on the forty-two treadmills in the gym. What the heck, I am there to run.

Finally, it's time to tell the story - here goes. Being that I've been known to travel around, I frequently find myself in different gyms. There I was, working in Slough, UK on a project for a large wireless provider. One of the benefits of working for this particular company was a discounted membership at the Thames Valley University Gymnasium. Needing to get my running fix, I decided to partake of the fringe benefit. Upon walking in, I see the familiar line of treadmills. But since it was England, there wasn't forty-two, brand new shiny machine. In fact, these treadmills were green. No not the color, they weren't electric.

Sounds weird, but it is cool if you think about it. I mean, does it really make sense to burn electrical energy to exercise? Anyway, the way to operate these dastardly little machines is to set the incline and try to stay on it. The steeper the incline, the faster you have to run in order to stay on the belt. Deciding it would be much better to brave these unfamiliar devices than to run outside it the misty, penetrating rain which plagues the tiny little island, I mounted the beast and began indulging my physiologic vice.

Timidly, I stepped onto the machine, took a deep breath and cranked up the incline. It took a little getting use to. Either I was going painfully slow or I was awkwardly lunging forward to drop the incline to prevent myself a truly embarrassing moment. Finally, I found the proper balance and soon I was running at the proper speed.

One of the reasons I enjoy running is that it really gives me the opportunity to get inside my head and do some real thinking. At the time, I was trying to help one of my developers solve a pesky programming problem that he had been knocking his head against for the last four days. Once I got past the initial lung burn and had my rhythm, my thoughts turned to the tricky piece of code. As I pondered the attempts my programmer had made, it hit me. The reason we were unable to solve the issue despite all our efforts is it was not a programming problem, it was a design issue.

The realization hit me like a blow to the gut. Why, you ask? Mainly, because I was the jerk that designed the program. In that instant, I lost focus and my left foot stepped off the spinning belt and on to the guide on the side of the treadmill. However, my right foot remained on the belt. In a split second, I felt my face bounce off the monitor unit on the front of the treadmill. Before the yell exited my mouth, I fell straight back on to my bottom and shot off the back of the infernal machine.

Needless to say, all activity in the gym ceased. Several concerned Brits ran to my aid, but quickly reversed their course when they saw my sweat soaked t-shirt. Not really, but it’s much funnier to say it happened that way. That’s all in the past. Even though I went through a period of harboring an illogical phobia of exercise equipment, I have recently conquered my fear and returned to the gym. If you happen to be in the one and only health club in my new “white-bread, redneck” town, you might actually get the pleasure of seeing a large, sweaty, loud music listening, singing fool running his heart out. Give me shout!


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Monday, July 10, 2006

I have no idea why

Tonight, I have added my blog to approxiamately 137 blog and RSS directories. Why am I doing this? Is this necessary? Is this what bloggin turns you into?

For a while, I was fine. I got over the Google Adwords crap. I quit habitually checking my stats to see if anyone was reading. Show how, I managed to quit the perpetual begging for comments from my readers. It even seemed as if I was no longer compelled to write. Now - bam - out of no where, I have been bitten by the blogging bug. It's insane. Much like quiting chewing tabacco, after two months the desire - okay, who am I kidding - the absolute need to blog invaded my thoughts. The compulsion has returned.

Much like when I found myself sneaking into the familiar convenience store to purchase yet another can of snuff, here I am strolling through the seemingly endless directories in a feeble attempt to build traffic. Oh, the evil mistress. Yes, I am a confessed addict of traffic. She owns me. I will do anything to please her. Shamelessly, I wil beg, congole, shout, plead, make feeble jokes - anything, I mean anything to see that hit counter spin.

I don't care if it comes from Blog Explosion surfers that barely even slow down to read a word or Google Pervs (thanks for the term Kristy) or directory spiders. Anything to see the counter move. Move, babhy move. That's all I can think about. I even dream of a spinning counter. I live for the day that I hit five digits. Then what's next - six digits of course.


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Thursday, July 06, 2006

That's right, baby. Chapter 39 is here.

Oh yeah, I think you're going to like this one. It starts bringing everything together for the shocking climax.

I am planning on wrapping up the story in three or four more chapters. After that, I will start the Arduous task of rewriting the whole thing. I plan to add quite a bit of depth to the characters and even add a few that I blew past whilst telling the story.

See, my writing process is to get the story told and then go back two or three times to clear up inconsistancies, add depth and try to put in a little more humor. That means you have had the pleasure of reading the first draft. I hope you enjpoyed it enough to come back for the rewrites. If you liked the story in it's raw form, just think how much better it will be after I clean it up! Maybe I'll even change the ending in the rewrite. Ya never know what the Rebeleyball might do!


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The Break - Chapter 39

Chapter 39

After turning off the water, Anita stepped out of the shower and reached for her towel. As she stretched, she caught a glimpse of her naked body in the mirror. To her surprise, she saw her reflection smiling at her. At first, she felt a little strange that the sight of her own naked body could make her smile. But why shouldn’t she?

For the six weeks she had been staying with Ron, they had been working out several hours a day. The results were startling. She had lost fifteen pounds, much of what she gained during her depression. But it wasn’t the weight loss that made the most difference in her appearance. It was the weight training. Previously, her workout regimen had consisted of aerobics and Pilates. Fine workouts, but they hadn’t built her muscle mass the way weight training had.

Additionally, Ron knew what he was doing. Being a fitness buff that could afford it, he had a world class gym with all the necessary equipment. But the most important factor was that he taught her about nutrition. It was very easy for them to maintain the diet, since Ron employed a full-time chef that planned each meal and snack so that they included the exact proportions of calories and nutrients.

The workout and diet regimen was beneficial to everyone. Even Elena had joined them. She had lost over twenty-five pounds. Since she had never participated in a fitness program, her results were the most noticeable. Like her sister, she was very happy with the way she looked in the mirror. An added benefit was that she felt ten years younger.

In between, Big Ron and Anita had been making love in the most vigorous manner. So much so, it was as if love making had become a pleasurable addition to their regular workouts. Although Big Ron understood the how working out enhance his sexual pleasure, it was the first time Anita had linked the two.

As she stood there admiring her self in the mirror, she felt a familiar twinge. Slowly, she ran her right hand across her smallish, but very pert breasts. She allowed her hand to slide over her now flat stomach to her lower region. Anita could not remember a time in the past when the sight of her reflect had made her feel like this.

“Need a hand.” Big Ron said seductively.

Anita jumped at the sound of his voice. But almost instantly she recovered.

“I was hoping you find me.” Anita said unashamed.

She did not turn towards him. Instead, she leaned forward and put both hands on the bathroom counter. Picking up on the cue, Big Ron slid in behind her. Anita gasped softly as her entered her. Watching themselves in the mirror, they enjoyed one of the most memorable experiences they had had together. The sight of Big Ron making love to her sent her quickly over the edge.

After taking a quick shower, they went down stairs to join Elena for breakfast. As they approached the bottom step, they both sensed something was wrong. Although they did not know the source, there was definitely tension in the air. As they approached the entrance to the breakfast room, they could see Elena sitting rigidly in her chair. Her face betrayed the terror she was feeling.

“Elena, what’s …” Anita started.

“Shut the fuck up and sit down.” A disembodied voice commanded.

Turning to the right, Anita and Big Ron saw him. Anita had no idea who the stranger with the gun was, but Ron recognized him immediately.

“It’s you, Geggar. You bastard.” Ron said defiantly. “I prefer to stand.”

Instantly, Anita and Elena recognized the name and knew what it meant. Anita told herself to be ready for anything. She knew Big Ron well enough to know that he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“Sit down now or I’ll kill you right now.” Ian hissed.

Quickly, Big Ron surveyed the situation. Although he knew Ian was a professional killer, he judged that the sixty plus years had started to catch up on him. Additionally, he was between Ian and Anita which meant that any shot would have to go through him. Also, he recognized that in Ian’s desire to conceal himself until the last possible moment, he had to be very close to the door. Big Ron saw that he had a decent position to make a move. He correctly presumed that if Ian didn’t shoot him right now, he would in a matter of minutes. He was not going to get a better chance than this. Counting on the fact that Ian misjudged him, Big Ron sprung into action.

“Go ahead and shoot.” Big Ron said as he propelled himself at Ian.

The unexpected response took Ian of guard. If he had anticipated Big Ron’s reaction, Ian would have already killed him. But the instant of hesitate that Big Ron staked his life on was just enough. His right hand landed squarely on Ian’s nose. The force of the blow knocked him backwards. As he flung his arms wildly to maintain his balance, the nine-millimeter flew from his right hand. Big Ron continued his savage assault. Fist after fist found their mark. Despite the power of the blows from the much larger man, Ian was beginning to regain his composure.

He began to lay blows of his own. Big Ron felt the impact, but the years of playing football at a very high level allowed him to absorb the blows. But he was not a young man any more either and slowly the tide began to turn. Just as Ian felt he was gaining the upper hand, he was taken by surprise once again.

“Stop it right now or I’ll shoot.” A shrill voice commanded.

The gun had landed close to Elena. Without thinking she scrambled under the table and retrieved the weapon. Her beloved Jorge, had taught her how to use a gun since they lived in a bad neighborhood and though she had never pointed a gun at a living, breathing human, she knew what to do.

Taken aback, Ian quickly rolled away from Big Ron. He made sure he got far enough away that Big Ron could not gain control of him.

“Put the gun down.” Ian hissed viciously at Elena.

Elena kept the weapon trained on the would-be assailant. Ian looked in her eyes and saw the fear. He was fairly sure that she couldn’t pull the trigger. But he also knew that there was nothing more dangerous than a frightened amateur. If she did shoot, she would probably miss. But at this range, Ian decided that discretion was the better part of valor. In a split second, he scrambled to his feet and ran out of the breakfast room. In just a few seconds, they heard the front door close.

“Call 911.” Big Ron said as he collapsed back on the floor to recover from the thirty second struggle for his life.

Seeing Elena frozen in place, Anita dashed for the phone. She reached it in a split second and called in the home invasion. When the dispatcher asked her if she knew the assailant, she responded in the affirmative.

“I don’t really know him, but his name is Ian Gegger.” She explained.

Half-expecting to see Elena still standing in a firing position, she turned her attention back to Big Ron. Much to her surprise, she saw that Elena had already begun tending his wounds.

“That was … ” Anita started, her voice betraying her uneasiness.

“Yes, that was scary.” Big Ron explained. “Mr. Ian Gegger, the man behind the explosion, is a very dangerous man. I can see why Schneider always referred to him as ‘The Evil’. That guy scared the shit out of me.”

Turning to Elena, he flashed a very appreciative smile.

“If you wouldn’t have acted right when you did, I think he would have killed me.” Big Ron said.

“You seemed to be handling yourself pretty well.” Elena responded graciously.

“At first, yeah.” Big Ron explained truthfully. “But he’s a trained killer and I am just big. I am certain that he was about to show me just how good he is.”

Anita’s brain began churning like an investigative reporter.

“Who do you think trained him?” She asked.

The question took Big Ron a bit by surprise. Looking at Anita, he swore he could see her thinking. Although he found it a little disturbing that she could recover that quickly, it made him happy to see her instincts were right on target.

“Don’t know.” He answered honestly. “Military, maybe. Can you help me up?”

Immediately, Anita and Elena took an arm and helped Big Ron to his feet. Quickly he went through a physical inventory to see if he had any serious injuries. While his face was throbbing from several well placed blows and a few trickle of blood were running down his face, he seemed to be intact.

“Thought he did some serious damage.” He said as he tried to shake the pain from his arms and legs. “But I seem to be okay.”

Slowly, he lowered himself into one of the chairs that surrounded the breakfast table. Gently, he began to rub the bruises on his face. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was eight-thirty.

“Where the hell are the cops?” He asked finally.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as they heard the name they were on the move. They knew they didn’t need to alert anyone, the rest of the team was on the move as well. Since all members of the team were less than two miles away, they didn’t even bother to set up a rendezvous point.

The two gentlemen would lead four units into the house. The other four units would deploy to the perimeter and work their way to the house on foot scanning for any signs that he may have left. Not that they were very optimistic about finding anything. He was simply too good.

The black, armored Yukon flew through the open gates of the Harrison residence at seventy miles an hour. Within ten seconds they were joined by three more Yukons. The last team came to a screeching halt at the gate, positioning their vehicle perpendicular to the driveway to deny access to any others. Simultaneously, the two men exited the SUV and took up positions on the side of the vehicle closest to the house. They took extra care to keep their M4 assault rifles hidden from view. They were well armed, but had no desire to advertise it.

By the time they were in position, they other six men were on the front porch of the suburban estate. The first agent knock crisply on the door as the other five ready themselves for any potential threat.

Big Ron swung the door open. Before he even had a chance to speak, five of the six men rushed past him. Three climbed the stairs in seconds, the other two separated and began searching the rooms on the main floor. Shocked, Big Ron stood frozen in place as he heard doors being flung open and distant shouts of “Clear”.

The three men from upstairs came down the steps, taking two steps at a time. They shot past the stunned Anita and Elena and continued their search on the lower level. Big Ron was impressed by how quickly and efficient they moved. Then it dawned on him that they seemed to know every room in his house.

“What’s going on?” He managed after a full minute had passed.

“Special Agent Carter.” The vigilant man answered crisply.

“FBI?” Big Ron asked.

“Not exactly.” Carter replied.

“Well, you’re definitely not Jefferson County.” Big Ron managed.

The comment actually brought a smile to the agents stoic face. But the pleasant expression was short-lived.

“No, sir.” Carter responded. “We are definitely not with the county.”

Puzzled, Big Ron contemplated the feverous activity in his home. Before he could say anything, all five men appeared in front of Carter.

“All clear, sir.” One man barked.

“Thanks, Harris.” Carter responded.

Looking at the other four men, Carter gave a crisp command.

“Hit it.”

Without hesitation, the four men exited as quickly as they had arrived. Two went left, the other two went right. Big Ron was amazed how quickly the men faded into the forest. Even in harsh light of day, Big Ron could not see any of the men. It was as if they just disappeared.

“My men will scout the woods to see if they can pick up any signs of Mr. Gegger.” Carter informed Big Ron.

Big Ron felt as if he had been hit in the stomach. His head was spinning as he tried to figure out who these men were, what they were doing here and how they knew about Gegger. Then it all made sense.

“You guys have been staking the place out, haven’t you?” Big Ron accused more than asked.

“Pretty obvious, huh?” Carter responded. “How about if we go sit down and have a little chat about Mr. Gegger?”

Big Ron recognized that it was more of an order than a request. Turning, he walked back to the breakfast room. Without looking back he knew that Carter and Harris were right behind him. There was no need to ask Elena and Anita to join them. They were already walking towards the scene of the crime.

Once they reached the room, they all took seats around the table. Quickly and efficiently, Carter interrogated them on the incident. It was more of a debriefing than interrogation. Either way, it was not very comfortable. Carter established control and did not allow any interruptions in his questions. He limited the response to important facts about the attack. Finally, he sat back and paused.

Big Ron had been churning through thoughts whenever Carter turned his attention to his two house mates. It seemed as if Carter was anticipating Big Rons thoughts because every time he thought he was figuring something, Carter would return to him and fire off a series of questions.

“Son-of-a-bitch.” Big Ron said out loud.

The pause had given him enough time to formulate a theory.

“You guys are CIA.” He blurted out. “And the reason you have been staking us out is because Gegger is one of yours gone bad.”

“Congratulations, Mr. Harrison.” Carter said condescendingly. “We are CIA, but Gegger isn’t one of ours.”

“Maybe not now, but I bet he used to be.” Big Ron shot back.

Anita saw the look in Carter’s eyes before Ron did. Her reporter instincts kicked in.

“Now this is a story that could really bring me back.” She thought.

“He’s right.” Anita interjected. “I saw it in you eyes. This guy used to be a CIA agent. But now he’s a cowboy, isn’t that right.

Carter paused. His superiors had briefed him to reveal minimal information. But after talking to these people, he felt they had a right to know what was happening. This whole mission bothered him from the start. This man was being falsely accused of Gegger’s horrendous crime and the agency was sitting on it. Just so they wouldn’t be embarrassed.

He and Harris had talked about it for hours during their six week stake out of the Harrison residence. They were in agreement that they would let them in on it. But since they knew it would probably cost them their jobs, the decided they would only divulge information if Anita, Elena or Big Ron asked the right questions. He turned towards Harris and saw him nod his head once.

“Yes, Ian Gegger was a field agent for the CIA.” Carter said softly. “But to avoid an international incident, he was turned over to the Soviets.”

“Holy shit.” Ron exclaimed.

“It’s a long story, but none of us are going anywhere for awhile.” Harris added. “We really aren’t at liberty to divulge information, but Johnny and I decided that we will answer any questions you have as truthfully and accurately as we can. We don’t even know the whole story.”

If any of the three civilians had been standing, they would have fallen to the floor. All of them had questions they wanted answered, but none of the seemed to be able to speak.






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Chapter 40 >>>


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