Sunday, December 20, 2009

the road to nowhere

I was almost invisible leaning against the tree. I was hidden under a plastic camouflage tarp, which I had lined with an insulated blanket. The only parts of me not covered were my eyes. The antique .22 magnum rifle lay beside me under the tarp. I had arranged the tarp so that I could easily slide it off me and then raise the rifle for a quick shot.

The exercise was more to sharpen my skills, than it was about killing the small game. I delivered the small animals to a share cropper commune several miles away. I wasn't about to kill small game just to kill it. If I couldn't find someone who needed the meat, I would have cooked and eaten it myself. I would much rather feed the hungry, than to eat the animals myself.

I sat leaning against some tree, in some part of the forest, almost every winter morning. Now and then, but not often, my cell phone would vibrate as it did that morning. I gently moved the tarp aside just enough to read the caller ID. Since it was Betty Jo with Swamp Thing, I answered it. The day's hunt was already ruined so there was no need to move slowly.

"Good Morning Betty Jo what's the problem?"

"You are being summoned."

"Oh, now who would want a worn out old man?"

"Jeff, that is for me to know and you to come find out. Be in the office tomorrow morning around ten and you will find out."

"Should I bring anything.?"

"Donuts," she replied.

Swamp Thing got it's nickname from the fact that it was located inside the great dismal swamp of eastern North Carolina. It was located twenty miles from the nearest town. The town was so small it had only one grocery store and one diner nothing else. The people who worked in the aministration of Swamp Thing lived in a compound, which had started life as a boy scout camp. The cabins which were designed to hold six camper now held one employeed at least a few days a week.

Since I lived just a five hour drive from the compound, it was possible for me to drive there from my home. Most of the other part time employees had to fly into a regional airport, rent a car and then make the same five hour drive. Only two had their own small planes, those could land on a dirt airstrip, which got minimal maintenance from contractors hired by Swamp Thing.

"Donuts it is, how many should I bring?" It was a subtle way of asking would it be a meeting with someone or a briefing.

"Three dozen Krispy Kreme should do it."

"Can do, and jelly filled for me and you."

"Of course," she said with a giggle, not befitting a middle aged woman.

I put it out of my mind until I got home. At that time I gave it the thought that it deserved. Three dozen donuts made it a briefing. That made it more than just a one or two man operation this time. That happened now and then, but it was the exception not the rule. Swamp Thing used men generally who were not good at taking orders. A partner is a friend, three operatives require a boss type relationship. Me and most of the others were just not good with that kind of structure. It was a stretch every time I went on one of those things. A constant fight to keep control of my emotions. Now imagine a dozen armed men struggling to keep from killing the boss every minute of every day. It did not make for a good situation in any way whatsoever.

"So you are going to do it anyway?" Gloria asked.

"Yes I am going to do it. If I were to refuse too many jobs, Betty Jo would stop calling," I informed her.

"So?"

"So, I need the money. You can't live in this kind of luxury without a job." Gloria looked at the small but filthy fishing cabin before she answered.

"Yeah this is real luxury. Even the slums of Bagdad are cleaner."

"What I need is a good woman," I said smiling.

"You have a good woman, me. What you need is a bad woman to make you clean this place."

"Just as soon as I get back," I promised.

I oiled the antique rifle before I put it away. Being an antique the finish was pretty much gone. It had to be oiled with every use to prevent rust. I paid a lot for the small caliber rifle because it had a big caliber type sighting system. I had never seen such a good sight on such a small bore rifle. Most likely when it was made, a hundred years ago, it had been a match rifle. A rifle used in competition like the olympics or something similar.

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