Read Under Suspicion - The Legend of D.B. Cooper Page 34

Clifford helped Buck off his horse. Lousy drunk, he thought to himself. He was beginning to believe that coming here wasn’t such a good idea after all. They should have gone home yesterday, but Buck refused to leave the mountains until the repairs on the trails were finished. Of course, drunk as he was, Buck was no help and Clifford finished the work himself.

  The other night after the D.B. Cooper story, Clifford thought Buck was a little out there. But after last night’s story, he was convinced that his drunken companion was certifiable. The previous night Buck had weaved a tale about Bigfoot being a Native American Spirit sent to protect a secret ancient temple on top of the mountain. Lucky for Clifford, the booze ran out just slightly before midnight.

  They awoke at dawn. Clifford wanted to sleep in, but Buck had a disturbing vision. That, along with his hangover, induced migraine wouldn’t let them. Buck explained that in his dream he had seen Native American symbols warning of future doom. Clifford thought he was delusional, but they quickly loaded the mules and got out of there, anyway.

  With one of Buck’s arms over his shoulder, Clifford helped him to the porch, up the stairs, and into the house. Guiding him to the couch, Clifford laid Buck on his back. Buck immediately started to snore. Deciding to attend to the mules, he shook his head, then walked out the door. Taking the packs off, he placed them in the corner of the barn, and put the mules in the corral. He would brush them down later, after having something to eat.

  He was starving. They had skipped breakfast in order to get Buck and his hangover back home. As he walked back to the house, he heard a loud crash of pots and pans. Well, guess who’s up, he thought. He walked into the kitchen and saw Buck leaning against the counter holding his head with an extremely painful look on his face.

  “Why don’t you take some aspirin and go lay down,” Clifford suggested, as he picked the clutter off the floor. “I’ll make lunch.”

  “Aspirin can’t help a headache like this. What I need is the venom from the snake that bit me,” Buck replied, then walked from the kitchen to his bedroom.

  “The snake that what?” Clifford asked, putting the pans down. His question was soon answered when Buck emerged from the bedroom carrying a new bottle of whiskey. “Are you crazy? You’re going to end up killing yourself,” Clifford started to loose his temper. “You and mom ganged up on me because I smoked a little pot, and you’re the one that has the problem!”

  “Don’t talk so loud.” Buck cringed from the throbbing in is head. “There’s a big difference between alcohol and drugs. Whiskey is legal and only losers use drugs,” he replied as he took a drink.

  “The only reason pot isn’t legal is because the government is ran by old farts like you!” Clifford protested.

  “Shhh!” Buck pleaded. “Let’s talk about this later. Would you get me an ice pack for my head?”

  Clifford turned grabbed a towel, then walked to the freezer and emptied an ice tray. When he returned, Buck was again snoring on the couch. After placing the pack on Buck’s head, he returned to the kitchen. He will probably sleep the whole day away, he thought to himself.

  Clifford was getting angry. He hadn’t come down here to take care of a crazy old drunk. Then he thought about it for a moment. This might work to his advantage. If Buck slept all day, Clifford could drive to Seattle, make some phone calls, sell the brick, then be back here in time for dinner.

  Again, Clifford looked over at Buck. He wouldn’t even know Clifford had gone. Back in the kitchen, Clifford made a couple quick sandwiches and put them in a bag. He then found the aluminum covered brick in his pack.

  “Time to get rich,” he said with a smile. With his jacket and sandwiches in hand, he grabbed the keys to the Suburban and walked out the front door closing it quietly behind him.