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The Plodder's Mile -- Chapter Twenty

CHAPTER TWENTY

Cody was sweating, even though the night was cold and crisp. He had always thought of himself as a cool cucumber, someone who could handle the most horrifying accident, who could make it through what others could not. He hadn’t contemplated how he would react to having a gun, his own gun, pointed at his back as he prepared to drive through a police checkpoint. He was feeling like a criminal himself, and wondered if there was any way to help these officers collect the human trash they were searching for at the checkpoint.

He had read about false bravery, and those who risked their lives to appear fearless. The families left behind had nothing good to say about the bravado of challenging someone to shoot. Cody wondered about the training he had just completed and realized nothing he had studied could prepare him for this event. But the bigger worry was if he would survive this night and get the chance to use his newly acquired skills helping others. Or if he would just end up on a list of those killed by the desperate man in the back of his car.

Cody pulled up to the checkpoint. He looked at the officer’s name badge, and asked politely, “Looking for somebody?”

He realized almost immediately this was the wrong question, since most of the people in the line had no idea why the roadblock had been set up. Cody knew why they were all stopped, but had he just tipped his hand?

The officer refused to answer, simply waving his flashlight in the back and asking, “Who’s that in the back?”

Cody swallowed and tried to look convincing. “Oh, Dad’s just trying to catch some Z’s before we pull into town.”

The flashlight stayed on the backseat while the officer paused.

Then he turned the flashlight on Cody.

“Thanks for your cooperation,” said the officer routinely. “Please pull ahead.”

And that was it.

As the car pulled forward, Jack Arness motioned to his partner. As the other officer crossed over in front of the next vehicle, Jack said, “How much longer do you think we’ll have to do this tonight?”

The yellow Honda was slipping into third gear as it disappeared into the night.

John Graham by this time was fast asleep. He had eaten well, enjoyed the evening with his wife, and then crawled into a warm bed. As he slept, he dreamt of spending money. He had much more than the $100,000 he knew would soon be his, and when the unreality of the amount entered into the dream, he justified the spending by inserting his own financial prowess into the equation, and the dream continued.

He was driving a Ferrari. Red. With the top down. Even though he had no thoughts of leaving his wife for another woman, he enjoyed the attention he was receiving from the beautiful women he passed on the street. He kept eye contact with them as they stared first at his car, and then at his handsome face. It was the ultimate ego trip, with the sound of the motor underneath him and the attention of the world being showered from the outside.

He was dressed in a fancy Joseph Abboud suit, which was custom-tailored. A soft olive color, he knew it had silk-lined pants even though he couldn’t see them in his dream. There were suspender buttons sewn into the pants, and the styling was perfect. As if on cue, he arrived wherever it was that he was going, and got out of the car so those walking alongside him could admire his finely tailored clothes.

His shoes were Gucci. His jewelry was gold. Some of his high school students walked by admiring the ensemble and were appropriately complimentary, to which John Graham replied in his dream, “Extra credit.” It was a joke he often used in his waking moments to illustrate to students just how desperate some of them were for high grades, high scores, and the adulation of parents and teachers. Students would do anything for extra credit, just so they could have the highest scores possible.

But this was where John’s dream began to change. He looked back at the student’s to see if they were laughing at him behind his back, praising him unjustly and without sincerity. It seemed to Mr. Graham that the sudden respect he was receiving was the same false respect some students gave to teachers, the same butt-kissing that went on in the schools, but that this time everyone was catering to him and expecting some money in return.

The car, the clothes, the shoes, the glamour seemed to tarnish as he looked around and saw the crowd toadying to him, trying to win favor, and in the process, trying to gain money. He pulled out the pockets of his pants, and noticed they were empty. No money. The crowds around him looked at the white pockets turned inside out, obviously devoid of coin. They turned en masse, and suddenly the backs of the entire world were turned upon him.

John fought for the attention he had so recently enjoyed. He extolled his virtues – he was a great teacher, a caring person, a loving father, that he was more than just about money. He deserved the praise of the world, and its respect, but the world would have none of it. They continued to walk away, and suddenly John Graham awoke. The fear of the dream was still with him. The money sitting in the top of the closet hall seemed to mock him, and his only desire at that moment was to take the money back to the bank.

But it was the middle of the night, his rational mind assured him. No one would be at the bank right now. His paranoia began to ease, as he ticked off the reasons why he should be keeping the money, his fears subsided, and slowly, but surely, John Graham talked himself back to sleep.

Cody Merring was contemplating his options. As his car pulled away from the checkpoint, he realized that if he didn’t act fast, and smart, that he would probably be dead very soon. This guy didn’t need a driver, and he didn’t want a witness around either. So instead of waiting for Raymond Johnson to speak up and praise his performance with the officer, Cody spoke up first.

“That went better than I thought it would,” he said quickly. “But don’t sit up yet,” he cautioned Ray in the back seat. “I can still see the police cars.”

“Yeah, thanks for the heads up,” Ray said, not getting the irony in the statement.

Cody jumped back into the conversation. “Look, I know you probably just want to get rid of me as fast as you can, but if you shoot me now, it won’t be long before they find me, or maybe someone hears the gun.”

Ray didn’t speak.

“So, see what you think about this plan,” Cody continued. “We are about 40 miles from Ridgeway. In about 20 minutes, you drop me off and let me walk to town, which should take me over an hour. I don’t know where you are going, I can’t contact anyone for an hour, and you have one less body to worry about someone finding and pinning on you.”

The proposition hung in the air. Ray sat up slowly, looking out the back window.

“What’s to stop you from flagging down someone and getting the cops on me right away?” Ray asked.

“Tie me up so it takes me a while to get undone, or to find someone to untie me.”

Ray grunted. He tossed the idea around in his mind some more, trying to figure out the angle this guy was playing. Everybody always had an angle.

“Look, can I be honest with you?” said Cody. Since Ray said nothing, he continued. “I have just graduated from an emergency medical technician program. I’ve spent a lot of my parents’ money, and a lot of hours trying to get ready to help people out. That’s why I stopped to help you tonight. I want to help people, but if I’m dead, none of that will matter. It would be a waste of all that effort. You can understand that; you’re going to a lot of effort right now.”

Ray leaned forward and pushed the gun next to Cody. “That was a nice speech kid. The kind I’m used to making in front of judges just before they make me sit in a little room for a few years. None of my ‘efforts’ have ever got me anything but trouble. So that sales pitch probably is not the best one to use tonight. But the more I think about it, you would make a very good hostage, since those bleeding hearts out there don’t want a young man with a future to suddenly meet his end. That’s the kind of a hostage I might be needing in a very short while.”

Ray pulled the gun from Cody’s head. “So your first story was not so good, but the story you’re gonna tell your kids will be a whopper. Let’s call it ‘Hostage for a Day’. Just keep driving, and I’ll tell you what comes next when we get to Ridgeway. Just don’t do anything stupid between here and there, and we’ll all have a happy ending to tell the grandkids.”

Smitty was on the radio trying to find someone who could get Greg Jones on the phone. He imagined that Jones and that TV woman, Paula Rogers were busy playing house. He wondered if there was someone in Ridgeway he could call to go over and knock on the door of the “supposedly” empty house. That would be quite the wake-up call, at 11:00 P.M. at night. He was trying to be sensitive to Darrell, whose brother was dead because the state police hadn’t put the pieces together fast enough. If Larry was still alive, he would be the go-to man. He would have been able to get Jones on the speaker.

So now, as the four of them all sat silently in a car racing toward Ridgeway, Smitty turned over the details in his head. He was almost positive that this teacher, John Graham had found the rest of the money, and sent the fake package to the police. It didn’t make sense for Raymond Johnson to plan some elaborate decoy, and then go back for the decoy as if it were the real money. And now, Smitty was betting that Johnson was on his way back to Ridgeway to collect the rest of his money.

But the gasoline skip didn’t fit that either. The cashier had positively identified both the truck and the driver, but if Johnson had picked up the money from the evidence safe, and had the cash from the Mike Shepherd money, then why chance getting caught stealing gas. That made Smitty think back to the smug look on Simon’s face. He had the smile of a cat that just ate a bird, and had remembered to get the feathers away from his mouth. Smitty thought to himself that he would have to go back and see if Simon would cough up the money.

The gasoline theft had pointed them in the right direction, back toward Ridgeway, even though Johnson had left Simon’s house in the other direction. Smitty knew Raymond Johnson was planning on a rendezvous with the rest of his money, and the deaths of at least four people hadn’t bothered his conscience yet. Smitty wondered how many more would have to die to stop this maniac.

Ray handed the address to Cody. Cody looked at it 3 or 4 times and kept looking back up at the road. Ray thought that for a smart graduated guy, he sure couldn’t read very well. “Want me to read it for you?” Ray volunteered.

“I can read it, sorry. I was just trying to watch the road,” Cody explained. “I know right where this is in Ridgeway. It’s on the other side of town from my folk’s house.”

What Cody Merring didn’t say was that he also recognized the name. John Graham had taught him in high school, less than 2 years ago. Graham had been one of his favorite teachers, and Cody remembered how much fun they had in classes where laughing had an equal part with learning. John Graham was one of the reasons he had stayed in school, instead of dropping out like his older brother. Graham had talked honestly with him, stressing to Cody how much richer his wallet and his life would be to have a degree. But the main message had been to finish what you start. Many of Cody’s friends had dropped out in their junior and even their senior years, just months away from completing a twelve year hike toward a diploma. Cody had been tempted to try to get a job at the local gas station at minimum wage, and now that his EMT training was done, he was overwhelmed that the man who had helped him see the light at the end of the tunnel was the same man who this crazy man in the back seat wanted to see tonight. He tried to think of how to salvage what was turning into a terrible nightmare.

Cody began to try to pry some information from Ray. “So this guy, this John Graham, he lives at this address?”

Ray shrugged. “I guess. It’s just the address I have for this guy. Do you know him?” the gunman asked.

“I think I know who he is,” Cody revealed, but tried to hide his true involvement. “I think he’s a teacher at the high school.”

A light bulb went off in Ray’s head. He had seen how small the town of Ridgeway was, and this kid was trying to say he didn’t know the guy? Something wasn’t adding up.

“The high school you went to?” Ray demanded.

Cody looked into the rear view mirror. Ray didn’t look happy. “Yeah,” Cody said slowly.

“He taught at your high school, and you don’t know much about him?”

“Well,” Cody said as he searched for what would satisfy Ray’s curiosity. “He was the drama teacher. I was more into the sciences.”

It must have been the right thing to say, because Ray slowly relaxed and began to chuckle to himself. “The drama teacher. This is gonna be a pushover.”

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Big River -- Five Interviews

"Big River -- The Huckleberry Finn musical" Dane Allred plays the King in this production, and he interviewed five members of the cast and crew.  All five interviews are included in this podcast in the order listed below: Elizabeth Hansen -- Director James Arrington -- Co-producer Harry Bonner -- "Jim" Anna Marie Johnson -- Costume designer Nathan Waite -- "Huckleberry Finn"

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Big River Radio -- Anna Marie Johnson and Nathan Waite

Costume designer Anna Marie Waite discusses "Big River" with Dane Allred.  Nathan Waite also talks about playing the role of "Huckleberry Finn" in Big River.

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Abundance Rescue July 18th

This is the entire episode from July 18th.

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The Plodder's Mile -- Chapter Nineteen

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Ray pulled into the gas station and parked at the pump closest to the road. As he got out and looked at the pump, he read “Prepay or card only”. Apparently, someone else had already done to this business what Ray was planning on doing – pulling away without paying. A gas skip, it was called. Many service stations now required the pumps farthest from the station to be pre-paid.

“What a bunch of crooks,” Ray muttered, not catching the irony of the statement. “These people don’t trust nobody.”

Ray pulled the car around to the inside bay and began to fill the car. He knew the teller was probably already writing down the license plate, which made him smile a bit since this was already a stolen truck. About to be filled with stolen gas.

Inside, a young teenage girl wondered why the customer had pulled around from the front. Now next to the station, he waved as he filled the tank. She then remembered that those pre-pay pumps had lots of people pulling around, and they usually tried to pay with a bad check. She caught herself being negative, and trying to put a better spin on the situation, said out loud, “Well, maybe he just wants to pay with cash.” She went back to the stocking of the shelf, and listened to the pump tick away.

Ray employed another trick he had learned back in the pen. As he got close to full, he pumped the last dollar very slowly, like he was trying to fill it completely. But what he had done was watch the attendant turn her back on him, relying on the counter in the station to tell her when he was done. Then she would stop stocking the shelves and take his money. So she thought.

After her back was turned, Ray placed the pump end on the ground and let the gas puddle. Inside the store, the counter ticked away as gas spilled on the ground. Almost three gallons ticked out slowly before she thought to look back and see what was taking this moron so long to pump his gas. The truck was gone.

By the time cars the two other cars arrived to pick up Smitty, Skinner and the others, nearly an hour had passed. Smitty decided to let the other cars ahead that had been contacted to be looking for Simon’s truck do their job. He would stop with Skinner and talk to Simon. They would have to depend on the troops farther up the line to do their job, and maybe they would be able to gather some valuable information.

Smitty was sitting in the front room on some old magazines, while Simon was sitting on the tattered Barcolounger. This had really been a wasted effort. Simon’s time frames kept changing, and from what Smitty could tell, he was hiding something. Smitty suspected that Simon had encountered Ray much earlier in the day than his official story, and the transport of Ray to the farm was still murky.

“So,” said Smitty, “exactly how did you get Raymond Johnson here to the house?”

Simon sat back and looked Smitty in the eye. “I made him walk back while I followed in the truck.”

Smitty and Skinner looked at each other, and then back at Simon. “How exactly did you get him to do that?”

“I was in my truck with my shotgun pointed out the window out him,” Simon said matter-of-factly. “He just walked down the road in front of me.”

“Then when was it,” inquired Smitty, “that he got away from you?”

“It was when I was getting out of the truck.” Simon replied. “I was closing the door when I looked up and he was skedaddling around the corner of the house. I got one shot off before he made it into the barn.”

Skinner was smiling, but Smitty was trying to stick to business.

“So how long did you have him trapped in the barn before you called us?” asked Smitty.

“Oh, I called you right away,” Simon lied, hoping there wouldn’t be any questions about the money or the phone call he had just made. “It wasn’t more than a minute or two and then I called my neighbors for backup.” Simon smiled, remembering the television word. He had watched enough television shows to know when to call for help and what cops called it.

Smitty asked about weapons the suspect might have.

Simon decided to speak slowly and carefully, so as not to reveal how Joe’s gun had really ended up in Ray’s hands. “Well,” Simon drawled out slowly, “when he came out of the barn with his hands up, we sort of circled him and I think Joe just got a little too close. That’s when he grabbed Joes’ gun and took my truck.”

Smitty decided he had the information he needed, but there was still something Simon was holding back. “We have an all points bulletin out on your truck, so we hope to have that back to you as soon as possible,” Smitty said, using Simon’s truck reference as an excuse to wrap up the interview.

“An APB, huh?” Simon said, enjoying being able to speak the lingo. “You guys will get him, I bet. Didn’t strike me as a particularly smart fella.”

“Well,” Smitty said as they walked to the front door, “he got away from you, made me crash two cars and has killed three police officers and shot another. He might be stupid, but I don’t want to see anyone else hurt.”

Ray was looking up the road at three squad cars blockaded across the road. With the lights flashing, they were visible for over a mile, and Ray was able to pull over before they saw the truck. He could choose to try to find another road, walk to Ridgeway, or find another ride. He propped up the hood of the truck and pretended to work on the engine.

Out here in the middle of the country, it wouldn’t be long before someone would stop and ask for help. Then Ray would make sure they would be the ones who needed help.

Cody Merring had just finished his emergency medical technician program. He’d graduated last week, and now was headed home to Ridgeway to start looking for a job. His beat up old Honda had made this trip many times, and if Cody was lucky, he would be able to get some work soon and replace the rattletrap car. Up ahead, he could see a truck with its hood up, and because he needed hours of practical experience now, he had vowed to stop every time he saw someone in trouble. Even if they didn’t have a medical emergency, he knew he would have to work on his “roadside” manner, and this truck looked like the perfect opportunity.

Ray smiled as he heard the car slow down and pull in front of the truck and then back up. He kept his head in the engine for effect. Cody was by his side almost immediately. “Car problems?”

“Yeah,” Ray muttered, “same old thing. This truck has a problem with the fuel line. I’ll have to go to town and get another fuel pump. I’ve already put three in it.” Ray turned from the engine to see a tall brown-haired man in his early twenties looking into the engine. Then he faced Ray.

“I don’t know anything about engines,” Cody confessed. “But I could give you a ride to town, if you’re going to Ridgeway.”

Another smile from Ray, but this time he let Cody see it. “That would be mighty neighborly of you. You don’t mind if I bring my rifle along, do you? I’d hate to leave it here and have it get stolen.”

Cody patted his side under one arm. “I happen to be packing heat myself,” he chuckled. Cody had carried a gun since before he was legally able.

“Concealed carry permit, huh?” Ray asked.

“Yeah,” Cody replied. “I gave myself permission to carry this weapon concealed. No, I do have the permit, though. You never know when you might need a gun.”

Ray smiled broadly again, but thought to himself, “Yeah, you really never know.”

The officers at the roadblock were stopping every car. The message they had been radioed had said to watch for a blue truck and a short dark haired man. A fax of the criminal was smudged badly, but the assembled troops thought they would be able to identify the man. But mostly they were looking for the blue truck.

Cody got back in the car, and Ray asked if he could lie down on the back seat and rest, saying it had been a long night. They were less than an hour out of Ridgeway on the only road from the south, so Ray said he was hoping to get a quick nap. Cody hadn’t given a second thought to the request, so into the back seat went Ray and his rifle. When Cody pulled up to the line of cars waiting to get through the roadblock. He felt a cold steel barrel on the back of his neck.

“These guys up ahead are looking for me,” Ray said slowly. “Tell them I’m your father asleep in the back, and you never saw the blue truck I was in. Got it?

Cody nodded and then said, “Yes,” quietly. He was trying to think of a way to get his hands from the wheel and onto his own gun. But Ray was already anticipating that.

“Get your gun from your holster and give it to me. Slowly.”

Cody did as he was told and took the gun out. He began to turn around to give Ray the gun, but Ray just said, “No reason for you to turn around. Just hold it up and I’ll grab it.”

For a split second Cody thought about turning around and pulling the trigger, but the steel barrel poked his neck in a reminder that slow and steady was the name of the game. He held the gun over the seat, and Ray reached up and grabbed it. The rifle was lowered.

“I’ve got your pistol aimed right at you. Thanks for this blanket in the back, “said Ray. “I’m going to pretend to be asleep, and don’t do anything funny. We wouldn’t want them to make me get out, because I will shoot you first, and then I’ll shoot them.”

A silence hung in the air. Cody was certain this man was serious, and would have no problem shooting anyone, even if it were a policeman. He wouldn’t even bat an eye at shooting an emergency medical technician.

At the roadblock Jack Arness was checking ID’s. Still looking for the blue truck, he waved the yellow volkswagon through without stopping her, since the female driver was the only passenger. He did look in the backseat as she drove by, but after checking 100 or more cars, the tedium was beginning to set in. “Bet this guy has already left the state,” Jack said to the other patrolman helping with the blockade.

There was nothing drivers hated worse than waiting in a line only to be waved through. Though the technique usually netted some arrests for drug deals (the guys were always the most nervous) and some minor violations, the “net” thrown around the roads rarely produced the suspects they were put in place to find. Jack and his partner knew this, but the odd van-full-of-drugs or illegal alien transporting explosives made the job at least a little interesting. Every car was a potential surprise.

Jack had seen it all in his 14 years of service with the highway patrol. He had seen people driving completely naked (he ignored it), he had people take off their seatbelts in violation of the state code just to spite the officers (they insisted they weren’t driving at the time they were stopped) and he had seen guns pointed at him. That guy hadn’t spent a day in jail, but he was on an extended visit to the state mental hospital.

Tonight’s gallery of fools included a man who changed places with his Doberman, thinking the officers would be amused by the doggie driver. His humor would cost him $150.00 for improper operation of a moving vehicle. They had also seen people lighting up joints less than 3 cars away, then fanning the smoke out of the windows as they were pulling up to the checkpoint. Another $300.00 fine for no drug stamp. At least they weren’t stupid enough to carry more than the legally allowed amount at one time (where it could be seen openly).

Jack waved another single occupant through the line, male, also with no one in the back seat. He had always wondered about the drug stamp law. Why would the state require a stamp for use of a product that was technically illegal? He often wondered if people actually went up to the state offices and tried to purchase drug stamps in advance, and if the state then took their names and addresses for further investigation later. Even though he wondered about it, he never took the time to find out if anyone actually ever paid for one before they used the drugs. Everyone who got caught got billed later. So what was the point?

Jack muttered under his breath, “So what’s the point in a roadblock that has no chance of turning up the suspect?” It was too bad that public work often involved simply doing what one was told because your boss thought it would work. Someone above who had less experience in the matter, and was too stupid to actually ask someone on the front lines what would work. It was the bane of the public employee. Effective people running the front lines, ineffective bureaucrats in charge of the show. Luckily, the faces of the bureaucrats changed often enough that the frustration didn’t drive Jack crazy.

Jack saw the yellow Honda three or four cars back, but paid it no particular attention, since he had by this time checked almost 200 cars. Routine had set in, and unless something jarred him from the regular motion of cars passing and him waving them on, this particular yellow Honda would let the very man they were seeking cross into the town where a large bundle of money was waiting for him.

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Chapter Seventeen -- The Plodder's Mile

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Ray aimed the gun at Simon, who was laid out flat on the ground face down. “Sorry you won’t be able to spend any of my money, old man,” Ray said as his finger wrapped around the trigger. Then Ray heard a familiar sound. The sirens were just over the hill.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, and ran for the truck, keys jangling in his one hand, the rifle held in the other. Simon raised the gun to shoot him in the back as he ran, but just wasn’t fast enough to get the gun up in time. He squeezed off a shot just as Ray had dashed around the corner.

The three farmers looked at each other. They were still sitting on the ground, and heard the sirens approaching. Joe dug in his pocket and pulled out the money Ray had used for bait to get his gun. He passed one bill to Simon, put one down in front of himself, and gave the other farmer one. When the money was divided, they put the bills in their pockets, and stood up to give assistance to the police if it was necessary. Without speaking a word, it was now Ray’s word about what happened to that money versus three old codgers who knew opportunity when they saw it.

Ray jumped in the truck, and sped around the front of the house, being careful to avoid the pile of three farmers. He had heard the shotgun go off again just behind him as he turned the corner, and Ray had no doubt that Simon would like to get off another shot, even if he was shooting at his own truck. The sirens were approaching from the north, so Ray punched the gas and turned the truck south. He would double back when he got to the lake exit, and then find a way to get to John Graham’s house and get the rest of his money.

Smitty wasn’t planning on a flight risk, so the sirens were wailing as a warning to the farmers to keep their hostage safe until the big boys arrived. But the best laid plans only proved to warn Ray, and when the three cop cars pulled up to the farm, the three farmers started pointing up the road. It was only seconds before Smitty realized what had happened. “James, stay here and get the story. I think we’ll speed ahead and see what kind of lead he has.”

The last car stayed and the other two kept the bubblegum machines spinning, while Officer James stood looking at Simon and friends. The conversation that ensued consisted mostly of silence and shrugged shoulders from the three.

Ray was only a minute ahead of the cop cars, and as he topped the hill, he could see the flashing lights just across the small valley. He would be over the top in just a moment, and if he remembered right, there was a fork in the road. One road led to the lake, and the other to the city. If he could get behind some brush or trees, he might be able to hide in the dark. Perhaps they would assume he had gone on to the city, and not the lake. He killed the lights.

Smitty saw the truck across the valley. Then the lights went out and the truck disappeared. He radioed ahead to the cars coming up north from the city. They were only about 5 miles out, and he quizzed them about the roads ahead.

“This is Smith,” he said. “How many roads between where we are and you are? Over.”

“Skinner here,” came the reply. “We have three turnoffs between us with the suspect in between. The lake road is over the hill to your right, farming road two miles farther and one switchback road to Ridgeway. Over.”

“Copy that.” Smitty thought quickly and made the assignments. “Stay at the switchback in case he goes straight back for the money. We’ll split off at the two roads and pursue. Over.”

“Copy. Waiting at the switchback.”

Now for the tough call. One car would go to the lake, one to the farm road turnoff. Smitty hated to chase wild gooses, idling in the car while the real action was radioed back for everyone else to hear. He sent the other car to the lake.

“We’ll see if he took the farm road, and radio back,” he said to the troops. Sometimes it was good to be the boss, because you got to do what you wanted. Smitty wanted to see Raymond Johnson’s face.

John Graham had just spent one of the best days of his life, and was determined to make it one of the best nights of his life, too. When he got home, he had no idea his best friend had been watching his house all day. He had no idea that Raymond Johnson was hell bent for leather to get to his house, ransack it at least, and kill everybody in the house if necessary. He was living so blissfully unaware he might as well have been on another planet.

His wife Reba didn’t mind the change. John had been irritable and distracted the last few days, and to hear him enter the house whistling was a nice change. She left her chores and went to the front door to greet him.

“Whistling, huh?” she said to him.

“Yeah,” John replied. “It was a good day at school. Let’s go out to dinner tonight, or maybe go see a show.”

“With what money?” she questioned him, with the same question that was always asked when either of them wanted to splurge. “Or do you have some money?”

John paused for a moment, and then realized that this was the same question she always asked, and she couldn’t possibly know about the bundle of money, unless he had been talking in his sleep again. His step-siblings used to have conversations with him when he was asleep, and they never really told him what the “talks” were about.

“Have I been talking about money in my sleep?” he probed.

“Yeah, you’ve been babbling about your billions,” she said as she poked him. “What kind of a question is that?”

“Just checking,” John said, and then he mentioned one of their favorite restaurants. She was only seconds getting her coat and turning down the crock-pot. “We can have this for lunch tomorrow,” she said.

“Look, Greg” said Paula. The red sedan was leaving the house again, but this time with two passengers. Greg sighed his relief.

“That’s good news,” he said, and then turned to Paula to explain. “I’d rather have them out of the house if this bad guy shows up here in town again.”

She nodded and then asked if they should stay at their post. Greg drew her near and didn’t bother to answer the question.

Ray had found a clump of low-lying scrub just as the road to the lake had turned east. He pulled behind it, got out the rifle and waited for the cops to top the hill. When two cars crested it, only one came toward the lake. So they hadn’t seen him turn, he reasoned, and now they were splitting up to search. So much for safety in numbers. Now Ray just had to decide if he wanted to let the approaching car slide by, or take it out as it drove up. It was a gamble he had to take, since the other car was still in sight, but now farther up the bend on the other road. He crouched down and held the gun, scoping in the driver.

They drove past and didn’t even slow up at the clump of bushes. The road didn’t go very far, if Ray remembered right, and they would soon be back going slowly and using their spotlight to check out the sides of the road.

Ray dashed quickly to the other side of the road and waited for them to return.

Smitty had a bad feeling about following the farm road. Though it had made the most sense to him at the time, his instincts said this was the wrong road. He called the car waiting at the switchback and checked on outlets from the farm road.

They confirmed that there were no other roads that split from the farm road, and right at about that time, Smitty was reaching the end of the road. There had been no outcroppings, mounds, barns or other structures to hide a truck behind.

With no reports from the forward car at the switchback, it could only mean that the truck was back by the lake.

Smitty called the third car he had left at the farm.

“Skinner, you still at the farm?”

“Roger, that.”

“Suspect is probably up the road on the east lake road. Back-up car number two.”

“Copy. Backing up car two.”

The three farmers watched the police car roll away. After it had traveled a respectable distance, at least far enough for billfolds to be too small to see, the three took the money from their pockets and filled up their wallets. Without more than another 10 words, they parted ways happy men, and a little bit richer.

Ray trained the gun on the cop car, hoping against hope that the empty truck would get the cops out of their car and make for easy shooting. The car came around the bend in the road and slowed as the searchlight played over the hillsides.

The searchlight played across sagebrush, up and down the dusty hills. Suddenly a silhouette of Simon’s truck appeared behind a stand of scrub oak. The cops slowed and pulled over by the truck. The standard procedures would be followed, thought Ray.

They did call in the truck. It was verified as Simon’s, and one of the officers got out of the squad car to check it out. Ray was trying to be patient, because he knew it would be impossible to get to the truck again unless he had clear shots at both of them. As the other cop stayed in the car, Ray began to curse under his breath, wondering how long it would be before the first cop called the other over.

Smitty was on the speaker. “Car one, stay put until we get there. Do not engage. Repeat, do not engage.”

“Copy that,” came the response from the first car.

Ray had enough experience with the police to know that in exposed areas like this, one cop would stay in the car, especially if they knew Ray was armed. So, Ray decided, it was time to play his hand, and get both of them out to be shot.

Ray drew a bead on the first cop, who was shining his flashlight up and down the hill away from the truck. As the silhouette of the light turned away and framed the cop’s legs, Ray took his shot. The 30.06 shell was loud, and found its target. The first cop was down, rolling on the ground howling as he held his bleeding leg.

This produced the effect Ray wanted immediately. The second cop hopped out to help his partner, and Ray, thinking that these guys were so predictable, drew a bead as he dragged his partner behind the truck. This one was a chest shot. Now all he had to do was go down and finish off the other guy.

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Big River Radio with James Arrington and Harry Bonner

An interview on "Abundance"  for Big River Radio. This interview features co-producer James Arrington and Harry Bonner, who plays "Jim" in the production.

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The Plodder's Mile -- Chapter Eighteen

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

John Graham sat enjoying the stir-fry at his favorite Chinese buffet. The large grill was operated by a guy guiding two sticks back and forth across the shrimp, vegetables and garlic sauces selected by the patron, and then was deftly slid sideways into a bowl, steaming hot and succulent. It was great to have all you could eat, and with so many different choices, they rarely went home less than stuffed. The only regret John had was that there would be no leftovers for later tonight.

Reba was looking at John with her head tilted sideways.

“What?” said John. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on with you, that’s all,” she said mysteriously, wondering what the cause for the good mood was.

“Can’t a guy just be in a good mood, for Pete’s sake? You’d think I was an axe murderer or something,” said John, carefully poking the mushrooms with his fork and rolling them in the garlic sauce. “Don’t you think it’s strange that shrimp start out grey and when you cook them, they turn pink?”

“Don’t change the subject, Mr. Graham. I’m not one of your students who can be entertained by switching to a tangent.”

“I’m not trying to change the subject,” John objected. “Can’t a guy wonder why steak turns from pink to brown, and shrimp turn from grey to pink? I could be onto the greatest gastronomic discovery in the history of the culinary arts.”

Reba just snorted. “You are so full of it, your eyes are brown,” she said wagging her head. “I guess you’ll tell me as soon as you are ready. But we better not be pregnant again, because the kids are all grown.”

Now it was John’s turn to be surprised, and he almost choked, but then remembered Reba had recently had a hysterectomy, so she wasn’t announcing anything. She was just trying to get him to play his hand. He wondered if he should do a little exploratory digging.

“Well,” John said, “all I’m thinking is that we may come into a little bit of money in the near future, and I’m hoping you aren’t staying with me because I may become independently wealthy.”

It was an inside joke of theirs that revolved around the salaries of public employees. They were both dedicated to their jobs, and they made a comfortable living now, but it had been hell raising two kids on the salaries of two school teachers.

Reba looked up at John. “Did your father die and leave you a treasure map?”

John chuckled. “No, and don’t get any ideas about killing me off for the insurance money, either, because they won’t pay if it looks like murder.”

“Or suicide.” Reba did a little searching of John’s eyes to see where he was going with this line of thought.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going to kill myself. I just have a good feeling about a little investment I made a few days ago. And don’t worry, there’s no financial risk involved. I didn’t raid our savings.”

Reba smiled again. John was always involved with one hair-brained scheme after another. He liked to think of himself as a financial wizard, but the only thing that was magic was that they hadn’t had more money problems than they had experienced already. John was long on optimism, but short on experience.

“Investing in another start-up company specializing in underwater telescopes?” she teased.

“Take it easy, woman,” he cautioned. “I know I’ve been down this road before, but let’s just say I’m feeling really good about the track that I’m following.” His inside joke made him smile even wider.

“Okay,” said Reba, pushing back the plate as she got ready to go get some desserts. “I won’t challenge your business expertise, Mr. Rockefeller. Just make sure you consult with J. Paul Getty before you sign on the dotted line.”

It was another old joke of theirs, and had to do with spending time on the couch if this went belly up. John was confident he wouldn’t be spending time on the couch.

Ray jumped into the pickup and headed back to the main road. These dead cops had probably called the other cops, so company was on the way. He was trying to think about the road ahead, and if there was anywhere he could turn off. Better to stay on the main road in this area, though, he thought, since he wasn’t sure where any of them lead. He had to make sure he was headed out on a road which had an escape route at the end.

So just before he got to the fork, he had to make a decision. The other cars were probably south, so he should go north, back towards Simon’s house. If they had left someone behind, there would only be one car, and who knows how many were waiting the other direction. North it was.

Skinner had by this time left Simon’s place to back up the other car by the lake. Ray was hoping the cop car from the farm would be on its way up to the lake. Ray had walked this road earlier in the day, and was observant enough to notice there was a sharp dip in the road bordered by a small river just at the bottom of the hill. He was slowing a bit to see if he could coordinate the two cars he expected to be encountering soon.

Up ahead he could see Skinner’s car coming. Ray doused the lights on the truck again and waited just above the hill’s beginning, planning his “squeeze” play by the river. If he could time this right, he would have a good lead back to Ridgeway and the money. Or he could just forget the money, vanish and never be seen again. With three cops dead now, Ray doubted anyone would let him stay vanished for long. He needed to get to another country, and that took money. Which would take Ray back to Ridgeway.

Right on time, Smitty’s car crested the hill behind Ray. Ray gunned the truck without pulling on the headlights, but pulling the knob out enough for parking lights. Ray was trying to time this so they would all meet in the middle. And to the car behind him, it would look like his headlights were on, not just the taillights.

Smitty couldn’t be sure this was the right truck with the dust flying behind it, so he was content to go slow until there was a place to overtake and pull the truck over. Nevertheless, with the lights on the top of the sedan flashing, the truck should have pulled over even if it was the wrong one. Maybe the driver was just looking for a place, too, thought Smitty.

Then the truck ahead of him sped up. Smitty could see Skinner’s car ahead, and it seemed to be coming toward the hill fast. Perhaps Skinner hadn’t seen the truck yet. As the three vehicles reached the bottom of the hill, Ray pulled on the headlights and swerved sideways, crushing on his brakes. Skinner turned toward the river, as did Smitty, and the two cars met head on in the midst of the stream. The horn on one began to whine, and steam from both engines rose from the river.

Ray stopped to look for just long enough to make sure both cars were out of commission. “That was almost too easy,” he muttered to himself. “I guess there are advantages to walking every once in a while.” Ray didn’t think he would be stopping to thank Simon for the guided tour earlier in the day.

Smitty hopped out the squad car and tried to hurry to the bank of the river, but got caught in the mud, and by the time he was on the dirt road, the truck was vanishing into the darkness. “Skinner, get car three on the box. Looks like we’ll all need a ride back. And get Greg Jones in Ridgeway on the phone. Tell him to expect company.”

Simon was sitting on his porch, rocking back and forth enjoying the crisp night air. Smoking a pipe, he thought about what to do about his truck. Call the insurance company, probably, even though he didn’t have insurance to replace the truck, just to cover collision. “When a truck gets stolen,” Simon mused to himself,” that’s not collision, that’s a loss, and that’s what insurance is for. To cover your losses.”

He turned the words over in his head. He would say it just that way to the insurance guy tomorrow. There was a noise from an engine just up the road, and it only took a few moments for Simon to recognize his own truck. Not enough time to go get the gun, but just enough to get out of the rocker and step out off the porch.

Ray drove by like a bat out of hell, and made an inappropriate gesture at Simon as he passed the old man standing in front of his house. Simon gestured back, and then muttered under his breath, “Thanks for the money, idiot.” He went in the house and called up Joe.

State policeman Darrell Skinner made the call as requested by his superior officer, Harold Smith. Then he hit the steering wheel of his squad car again as the water began to rise inside the car. He had been so focused on getting this guy he had been stupid. He had seen lights up ahead, but because the truck headlights weren’t on, he sped up, thinking the truck was farther away than it was. Now both cars were in the river, and probably totaled.

Those weren’t the real reasons Darrell was angry. He had let his hate for the man they were chasing cloud his judgment. He wasn’t thinking clearly, and that was fatal to policemen like Darrell.

Or like his brother, Larry Skinner, who had been stabbed and killed by this lunatic just the night before. Smitty had hesitated before letting Darrell come along, but Darrell had been so insistent that there was no way to stop him. He would have shadowed them, risking dismissal, to get back at his brother’s executioner.

Now he sat in a muddy river, watching the water rise up to the door handles. Luckily, this was more of a stream than a raging river, or he would have had more to worry about. As it was, sloshing out of the wrecked car was humiliation enough. He wouldn’t let this guy get away again.

John and Reba were heading back home, which was just a few blocks from the restaurant, one of only three in town. Most of the local restaurant business was tourists passing through; since there was no way the local population could keep three establishments open. It was only a minute or two and they were home.

Greg and Paula were distracted at the moment. John and Reba pulled into their garage, and the two lookouts were none the wiser. They were writhing on the floor together, in the happy ecstasy of two people who were in love. Greg didn’t even hear the radio from the car calling for him to respond, and since Smitty had taken off, Greg had turned down the volume on his walkie-talkie. Some moments were not meant to be interrupted.

Ray felt in his pocket for the money. Then he remembered trading Joe’s gun for the wad of cash, and realized he had neglected to take any money back. Ray had been so glad just to have a gun, that in the heat of the moment he forgot the cash.

If that had been the only bad news, Ray would probably have not lost his temper. But Simon’s truck was nearly out of gas after touring the countryside, and in the next town he would have to stop and gas up. With no money.

Greg and Paula were now sitting up looking at John Graham’s house again. When they saw lights on in the house, Greg said, “They must be home. I can’t believe I didn’t see them come back.”

Paula looked towards Greg. “It’s was nice for a moment to be such a great distraction. Now you’re saying you’re not glad to be distracted?”

Greg smiled. “Sorry, don’t take it personally. I wouldn’t choose anyone else to distract me, but this is my professional duty. I’m supposed to be watching this house, where a friend of mine just happens to live, so he doesn’t end up dead.”

Paula looked back toward the house. “Looks to me like everyone is alive and well,” she said. “But I’ll try to be less of a distraction.”

“Impossible,” said Greg, correctly reading the moment, and pulling her toward him, kissed her long and hard. “I may never be able to concentrate again.”

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Elizabeth Hansen -- Big River Radio

An interview from July 11th, 2010 with Elizabeth Hansen, director of "Big River", the Huckleberry Finn musical.

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The Cost of Conformity

The Cost of Conformity

Honesty is an interesting concept. There must be more honest people in the world than dishonest people or we wouldn’t be able to function as a society. Some people feel the world is just getting worse each day, but in the long run. I think most people eventually figure out its easier to live honestly in the world than dishonestly. It does seem young people who commit crimes eventually get the message as they get older.

I think the most disturbing part about the whole concept of honesty is we really aren’t honest with ourselves. We are mostly conformists. There are things we do every day which we only do only because other do the same thing. It is a basis for society and for sociability, but it makes me wonder how much of what we do is just because others are already doing it. There is a scene in an old black and white movie called “Metropolis” made back in 1925 which reminds me of how many of us conform.

In this old classic, the workers live underground and march off to work in a big square, with everyone wearing the exact same hat, shirt and pants. It’s an eerie image, and when you seen the second shift walking home from work twice as slow, but still all looking exactly the same. It was an interesting prediction to make 85 years ago, but if you look around today at the number of people wearing baseball caps, levis and t-shirts, that kind of conformity has come to pass.

Are we honest because everyone else seems honest? Do you do things because other people do? If other people are speeding down the road, do you go the same speed even if you don’t want to?

Some of us attend church so we can make a good impression. Do we not shop on Sundays because others don’t? Or do we do what we want when we want because we want to do it?

Conformity is something that takes the individuality out of our lives and denies the world the unique contribution we might be here to make. When we really pay attention to our purpose, we may find a whole new life out there waiting for us. How do we find our purpose? Why would we want to find our purpose?

Finding a purpose can give meaning to what you do in life. It could guide and direct your actions, and give you clear directions for the big decisions you may face. It could break us out of our automatic conformity. It may motivate you to do different things than you have been doing, and help you survive failures. You’ll be able to face rejection if you are truly committed to your life purpose.

Unfortunately, there is no universal formula for finding a life purpose, especially since everyone will have to find their purpose in their own way. It takes time and should be thought of as a lifetime process. Our purpose may change as our lives change. But by identifying our strengths and our passions, and causes in which you believe, you will be on the right path to find something meaningful to do with the time and talents you’ve been given.

Find a way to do some work on those things that interest you. Using your strengths and passions, working on things you think you might enjoy will help you understand if you really are on a path which is right for you.

Real enjoyment happens when we lose ourselves in whatever it is we are doing. Time seems to fly, and when we realize hours have passed, this is a good indication we may be doing something true to our purpose. Some people call this “being in the moment”, and when you are completely present in the moment, everything else vanishes and you are not thinking, doing, but you are just being.

This is what happens when we are going something we truly enjoy. Many people experience this with their favorite recreation. Time doesn’t pass in the same way. My favorite way to make time disappear is gardening. When I am working in the yard, time stands still, but also seems to pass so quickly. I have projects on which I have been working for years, and while they may be done someday, then I will move on to another project which will be completed in its own time.

A real purpose in life can make the difference between a life fulfilled, and a life of misery. Today is the day to start that journey which puts you on the path which will make a difference for you, and for the world. You will never know unless you take the chance to find the reason you are here now.

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