trees and hot dogs

On that Monday morning I was at my shack in the woods where I spent my time fishing, hunting, and doing just as little real work as possible. One of the things I had to do was to cut wood for the winter. It was simple, do that amount of work or freeze to death in my bed.

So first thing that morning, I was off to cut down a tree. The tree was on a piece of property owned by an old family friend. He had been sort of a drop in caretaker of the shack while I was away. Away being two years in a country where they still killed people for fun, then five years in a U. S. federal prison for shooting one of the locals in the back. At least they had the decency to put me in a country club prison. I should have gotten a medal, but I got ten to twenty for murder.

You just can't mix politics and bullets. Unfortunately I learned that a little late in life. What would have gotten me a medal one day, got me a felony record the next. Yes I am bitter as hell about it. If I had been on a federal payroll, I would have gotten a slap on the wrist. Since I was working for an oil company, I got arrested. At the time the left wingers thought all oil company employee were part of the devil's horde.

I bring this up because I had an afternoon appointment with my parole officer. Even she knew it was all bullshit. Still the rules are the rules she had informed me on our first meeting. She had to assess whether I was likely to go shooting anyone else while still on parole. To do that I was supposed to go in once a week, but she changed it to once a month.


"Hey Rex, thought I'm come take down that tree for you," I suggested.

"Help yourself. If you are going to haul it off in the jap pickup, you are going to have to make a lot of trips."

"Yeah I know, that's one big mother of a tree."

Rex shook his head. If his long gray hair hadn't been so greasy, it would have moved like a TV commercial. Instead it stayed pretty much in place.

The tree he wanted taken down had been dead long enough so that the wood would be usable instantly. It would burn quickly, but it wouldn't soot up the chimney. It was a trade off. I had some green oak, which I could burn over night. It would burn slower and hold the fire better.

I planned to get the tree on the ground before I went to my meeting with the P.O. To accomplish it I had borrowed a chain saw from another friend. The chain saw was a large one so it made the first cut pretty quickly. After cutting the 1/4 notch on the north side of the tree, I move around to the south side and made the cut that would have brought the tree down. That is if it hadn't been so large. The saw started to choke about half way into the trunk. That left me with a pretty good sized piece of the tree I couldn't reach.

I began working the wedges into the tree. Between the wedges and a couple of cuts on the sides, the tree finally broke off. Since I didn't top it first, it was a risky trip down to the ground. If it had gotten hung in the neighboring trees, I would have been in a world of crap. I got lucky or maybe my planning was better than I thought, Either way it fell right where I had hoped that it would.

I had never cut such a large tree, but since my dad had grown up in a lumber camp, I has some idea what I was doing. It also might have been in the genes. I laughed at that thought. I spent what little time I had left stripping the tree of dead limbs. Those would make good kindling.

"So Richard, what have you been up to since our last meeting?" My P.O. was at least fifty pounds over weight. She might have been attractive without the excess weight, and if she were a few years younger. As it was she reminded me of my old main aunt.

"Oh I caught about twenty pounds of catfish last week. This morning I cut down a tree."

"Good, it sounds like you are staying out of trouble."

"Oh I am." I had never told her about Executive Security Company. She didn't need to know everything. My deal with them was a cash under the table arrangement. E.S.C was a twig of the same tree I fell from in the middle east. I suppose it was their idea of looking after their own.

"That's good to hear. So are you looking for a job yet?"

"You know the payout package from the 'Swamp Thing' got invested in their stock. It sat there growing while I was in the joint. War is a good investment it seems. I don't need to work for a while." I said it hoping she would believe that it was true. Well technically it was true.

"In the joint. I would hardly call the facility you did your time in, the joint."

"Well whenever I can't make a midnight snack, it is prison to me."

"You don't seem to have gained any weight since your release."

"No, I still can't make a snack. I keep forgetting to buy anything to snack on." I didn't mention that it was a constant struggle to keep my weight down.

"Well stay out of trouble and I'll see you on the 21st of next month."

"Yes Ma'am." She was in a hurry to move on to her next parolee, so I left the room quickly. I was in just as big a hurry to get out of the federal building.

Just like always I walked two blocks to the Dog House restaurant. I ordered three hot dogs with everything, then moved to a rear corner to eat. The Diet Coke was the only concession to my attempt to keep my weight down.

The black kid came in carrying a shotgun. He was big for his age but obvious still a teenager. He was also waving the shotgun around like a character from a bad 1940 movie. I had seen a few of those over the years. He had probably picked that time of day because the place was almost empty. He demanded the contents of the register. The cashier tried to get it open but she was terrified so the register got jammed.

"Open the fucking register or I'm going to blow your head off." He said that way to loud. I didn't want to know what he was thinking, but he had told me anyway. He was scared and he just might shoot the cashier in his a panic state of mind. The odds were about fifty, fifty that she was going to die. If he did that, leaving witnesses would be stupid.

I told myself that I should sit there and do nothing. I was about thirty feet from him, so it made no sense at all for me to do anything but mind my own business. I had probably seen too many movies. I know I had seen it done in at least three or four. Yes I had practiced it for hours, so it wasn't something out of the blue that I just came up with.

I yelled, "Cops." Then I threw the heavy cut glass sugar holder at him. She swung the shotgun toward me. I had hoped to hit him square in the face with the sugar holder, but it missed. I did hit him a glancing blow, which gave me a chance to move toward him. I was much faster then his decision making ability. If he had been a trained killer, I would have been very dead.

When the shotgun went off, it was in the direction of the ceiling. I had him on the floor with the gun butt on his throat when the owner came from the kitchen. He took a slow look around and said to me, "You gonna' have to pay for that hole in my ceiling."

"In a pigs ass," I whispered.