He went to Tequila, Mexico to find certain relative-info on how the possibility of an ex-U.S.M.C. might have become a mercenary... There could-have been many “paths” taken-by a man suited to battle elsewhere, in place and time. If Bo was searching for a dutiful ‘red-herring’ how was he to settle the deep code of friend and honor. He’d hoped that the winds of change, time and life’s honoring might-dissolve old military-hones and accept that men are persons deserving that last-act of inevitable fate that all men must equate to their destiny… The Indian called it honor by sacrifice, most men who dealt with things greater than themselves understand this honor as a devoted agreement that, is never over-turned even unto death. Bo, as he rode-over the border into the lower-Central America, he went into another world ‘entirely’ different. The people lived-in relative squalor and dirt roads went-off into the distance all through the town. The city-was guarded by the nationals and local guardsmen who’d probably sold marijuana to junkies, taken kick-backs, and allowed lewd-undertakings for a fast slip-of U.S. dollars.
The only civil custodians where local-leaders who, at times, risked their lives to do self-tasks. As he rode through Chihuahua, he was there to meet the local-newspaper on the rebels:”Antifederalia pasa, its self-designs where all, in the effort to satisfy the particular-’debt’ owed by on-the-take officials who had taken land, money and power in the name of progress. For this and their representation of the country’s backlash several presidents-had been assassinated for this, though not all unfair, it was their image that didn’t settle with the factions known as leftist though most had just-plain decency, as their main-concern…
Quite stoic and ascetic, headmen had taken drastic action to satisfy, needful hearts, eventually becoming assailants and martars as a result… It had been a back-and-forth battle of expensive bravado and pensive-revenge yet based-on simplistic tacit. This was not unlike the sixties’ civil-rights yet this had been dragged-on for decades. Yet there-was no reason to stop it, for the growing country had increased on both sides and money, power and hopes had each dissolved-into inherent polarity, for all. And yet, still in no better-terms there was only this as a dignity of an indigenous country below the greatest-country in the world.
…Devotion, death and division had become not only a way-of-life but a standard of living. How in this uneven yet supplant character all Mexico, stood defining-life. In a supposition of what and why, there was no certainty… As he-drove away from the populated denisonship and out into nowhere to reach Porto Peute where the back-country little-town. Held the office of the rebel-paper looking to speak with one, Senore Perez on a man he didn’t know for sure was the flesh and blood-fighter en par, who left one very seriously contradicting-lifestyle for one that was easily and standard ingrained to its concourse…
Mr.Perez didn’t meet him out-front of the three-story ‘40ish brownstone which had probably served some administrative duty long-since past. The building was the only one in a large open-area. He knocked three-times as the instructions were told and then a strange tap came hardly noticeable. He peered into the doorway and there was a bespectacled black-haired man who beckoned him-in. After their mutual introduction they began speaking of Bo’s concerns, Mr.Perez was quite-gentle yet he spoke firmly. He said he was aware of the aspect of an American black man had been in an interesting position-of honor. He did not want to go into it too much to protect his identity.
As he spoke within his abode-building where he’d made a business, network and a resource… Bo could tell he had a right to be reserved, he was doing something no one in his-country could do without true-guts, which in their country was respectable. He showed Bo Jon all the designs of his place before getting-down to Bo’s concerns, directly. Men of Mexico were indeed in every facet of life believed in doing proud work. He eventually told him every aspect, situation and detail of what his job was, its function and how implicitly and adhocly, germaine his work entailed. After arriving back at his desk-on the second-floor he spoke of a story of a black, a man from N. America who participated, then joined the retaliation of antifedia… “Cie, Senore your friend has a lion’s heart both given and resolved to serve the people…” He could see Bo had that strange requaint known in the resigned-American. “Sir, we do not judge men by their following-rules we judge them by their direction of heart…” After blithely telling him of a once grand American “…who’d followed the mission…”. Then,after his-deciding to giving what he wanted;owing of men who’d gave all to defend the home-land...
There within portfolias were the large picture of a man, echoingly familiar of old-times. General Purrez , was his name as the editor-spoke. “He was a great fighter for the cause”, said the intentful editor. He then told him if he wanted to see him he would schedule a site within 12 hours. Bo soberly but reckoning, agreed.
***
The next morning, he awakened in the lesser-jungles, where he had been sent by driving his own Cad as instructed. There he said he’d be safe… -A knocking came at the car window, he saw 3-men with rapid-fire weapons, and covering the perimeter like a true soldier-knows, then they spoke in Mexican then English . “Please wait, General Purrez will see you soon…” A half-hour passed and a trail of 14-men came down the trail then two-men guarded a man who’d once saved a country from its enemies:Samuel William Whitson, Bo had then recognized that he ‘was’, a fine fighting soldier…
The End
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Bio: Mr. Allen, is the writer of “Well wishers”-a memoir, and four other books. 46, he has written for 16 years. He has written a sequel to Bo Jon, as “Sequoia trail“... Also his other books to come out soon in the area of a how-to in writing, and a historical-romance… He plans to write a mystery-suspense, a third Bo Jon and a mystic-drama.
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