Forest Service Trail 74
The noon sun broke through the canopy of the trees, flooding the clearing with sunshine. Barely large enough for a small camp, the clearing was surrounded on all sides by tall, thick cedars making it hard for a low flying aircraft to spot. It was also far enough off the main trail as to go unnoticed by any passer bys, or so the man thought a few months ago while scouting out new locations.
The straps of the heavy pack cut deep into his shoulders as he pushed through the last of the brush and stepped into the clearing. Walking to the center of it he slowly took the pack off, gently lowered it to the ground, and went down on one knee breathing hard, trying to catch his breath.
As the sweat poured off his bald black head and down his face, it made his goatee itch. After scratching at it furiously, he carefully took a look around. As expected, the 8x10 green canvas tent that he and the others had set up earlier in the morning was undisturbed.
I’m too old for this kind of work. He lifted his head in an attempt to breath in as much air as possible. But that would soon change. Not yet thirty, he had done well for himself. Selling illegal drugs on the streets at a young age, he’d worked hard and learned from the fatal mistakes of others.
When he was young, he learned the value of making a good impression. During daily dealings with his superiors, he learned to talk and act like they did. He wanted them to see him as one of them, not just another street punk. Giving up the street slang, he started using words such as raw materials, product, and return on investment.
Soon after making these changes, he was noticed by one of the bosses in the Organization who moved him from sales into production. There he quickly learned that security was crucial—either you had it or you didn’t. That’s why the locations he used remained a secret known only by himself. This made some of the bosses nervous at first, but they couldn’t argue with the results. Always producing a quality product on time, the man had never lost a shipment to their competition or been busted. This made him a prime candidate to move into the “business” side of the Organization.
A smile spread across his face as he thought about it. There’s more money and less work to be had on the business side, which was a fitting reward for his years of faithful service. All he had to do now is find a replacement to take over production, and success would be his.
That’s what this trip was all about, after all. This is the final weeding out process. It had taken a long time, but he had to make sure his successor was both worthy and capable of taking over. If he wasn’t, it would reflect poorly on him and that he couldn’t allow. So, he would invest all time and effort needed to be certain his successor was not only smart, but had large stones as well. Suddenly, from the direction in which he’d come, a noise in the brush caught his attention.
“Tommy? Tommy! Where are you?” A young woman’s voice exclaimed. Speaking of investments, he had many and with each he expected a healthy profit.
Finally pushing her way through, the young woman stumbled into the clearing and collapsed onto a log close to Tommy. “Ouch! Tommy, I’ve got blisters on my feet,” she complained.
He looked her over. Beads of sweat were rolling down her face as she pulled some of the long curly blond hair off her forehead. Panting to catch her breath, he couldn’t help but notice the way her chest stretched out the clean white tank top under her open jacket.
She was young and fresh, just the way he liked them. But that, too, would soon change. His eyes walked down her body, past the short raggedy cutoffs, down her skinny white legs, and to her feet.
“Why aren’t you wearing the hiking boots I bought you?”
“They made my feet look too big, so I didn’t bring them,” she replied.
“Well, don’t worry,” he said kindly, “you won’t have to do anymore walking until we leave in a few days.”
“Oh, good.” Relief flooded her voice. She paused, before asking the question that had been haunting her since she’d left the car.
“Tommy?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you have any more…stuff?”
He looked at her closely. He’d seen it so many times before, even studied it so he could use it to his advantage. Her hands were slightly shaky and the discomfort on her face was from much more than aching feet. She is close, he thought, but not quite ready yet. He’d make her wait a little longer.
“Be patient, baby. In a few hours you’ll be up to your neck in it,” he replied, turning to look toward the trees. “Where are the guys?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. Maybe they got lost.”
Tommy struggled to his feet. His neck and back ached from the pack, but then again the numerous gold chains hanging around his neck weren’t helping either, he knew. Normally he wouldn’t be wearing them or the large rings and Rolex on a trip like this, but this time they were essential.
This time he had subordinates with him, and that meant he needed to portray an image of success for them to admire and respect. It also gave them a very important goal to shoot for. All of a sudden, the brush started moving, not from the direction he and the girl had come, but from somewhere to his right.
“That must be them now,” the girl said without looking up.
It probably was, he thought, staring in the direction of the rustling brush. The chance of being followed was slim, but not impossible. He hadn’t lasted this long by being careless. Bending down he opened the pack, and drew out a shiny black Uzi.
Pulling the bolt back, he loaded a round into the chamber and walked towards the noise. Someone or something was definitely moving their way. He stepped behind a tree and peered cautiously around it. Abruptly two Asian teenage boys with packs on their shoulders stepped out of the trees.
“Damn! This packs heavy!” the first one exclaimed, walking into the center of the clearing. Taking the pack off, he gently rested it on the ground. The other teen was too winded to speak. He pulled the strap off of one shoulder and let the pack fall to the ground with a thud.
“Hey! The scale is in that one!” Tommy barked.
Surprised by the sudden appearance, the two teens wheeled around quickly. Tommy walked over to the pack, opened it up, and removed the delicate object.
“Without a scale, the operation is over,” he hissed angrily. “You better pray it’s all right.” After first zeroing it out, he removed a series of metric weights from a box. Placing each on one at a time, he checked the reading carefully.
“It looks like you got lucky,” Tommy sighed with relief. “But remember, always be gentle with the equipment. You didn’t pack it all the way up here just to break it.”
“So when do we start making toot?” one of the boys inquired.
Standing up, Tommy addressed them in a serious manner. “You’re not on the street anymore. People in the Organization refer to it as product.”
The teenager shrugged. “So when do we start making product?” he asked again.
“Just as soon as you two are done hauling the rest of the gear up. We’ll finish setting up camp, then start the first batch.”
“Just us!? Hey, man, this stuff is heavy. How bout giving us a hand,” the other youth complained.
“You’re here to learn how a production site works. Part of that is packing in and setting up your equipment. I helped out this morning, but, from now on, I’m just here to school ya,” Tommy answered.
“But you’re gonna score a lot more green from this shipment than us. It’s not fair that—”
“—Shut up!” Tommy barked, cutting him off. “I’m tired of all the complaints! Everyone in the Organization started out the same way you are. The first thing you’d better get through your thick skulls is that the people who work hard, keep their mouth shut, and do what they’re told make it in and move their way up. Those that don’t…Don’t!”
The two teens stared at him in silence, understanding the threat.
“Anymore questions?
” Tommy asked.
After a moment, one of them quietly spoke up. “What about the girl? Is she going to help?”
“She stays.”
“Then what good is she? She’s just been getting in the way.”
Tommy turned to look at the girl, making sure she was out of earshot before replying.
“She’s entertainment,” he said, turning back to them. The teens gave him a confused look.
“Think of her as an incentive. If you work hard and put out a quality product on schedule, I’ll let you have your fun.”
The eyes of the two teens narrowed and wicked grins replaced their previous looks of bewilderment.
“Now, you’ve got two packs, fishing rods, and a cooler left to bring up.” Tommy said. He checked his Rolex. “If you hurry, you can have it all up here with one trip in about an hour.”
“What? How are we going to do all that in one hour?”
“Be creative, but gentle,” he replied. “And remember, the quicker the work gets done, the more time there is for recreation. Now get moving.”
Both teens exchanged looks, then turned and ran into the trees at a sprint.
Tommy chuckled. All companies should work on the incentive program, he thought. You get so much more from the work force. He really didn’t expect them to be back in an hour, probably closer to two. But they’d try, and that’s all that mattered. Besides, he needed the extra time to do what he’d planned next. Turning around, he looked over at the girl. She sat, eyes closed, with a painful look on her face rubbing her feet.
He had done this so many times that he had it down cold. After all, she was just one in a long line of girls he’d brought into circulation. Like a crisp brand new dollar bill, everyone wanted to hold it in their hands and use it. That’s how the bill got past around from person to person. Each person received it, used it, then passed it on. So it would be with her.
He had a lot invested in her. It took months of fancy gifts and all the free party she could handle to get her to this point. Now, she was completely dependent on him, and it was time to get a return from his investment. After all, what was she expecting? Nothing comes without a price.
Afterwards she would drown herself in product until she could cope with it, but that was normal. They all did that. It also made them easier to manage, so he didn’t mind. Then in a few weeks, after she develops the proper attitude for business, he’ll have her out on the streets peddling both herself and the product making him rich.
Ha! The beauty of it, he thought as he examined her closely. Her hands were shaking so bad she couldn’t rub her feet, and the look on her face was shear agony. Oh yeah, she’s ready. Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled out a small plastic bag of white powder. “Hey, baby, look what I’ve got for ya!”
The girl’s eyes lit up at the sight of the bag. “Oh Tommy! I just knew you wouldn’t forget me!” she exclaimed as she ran over to him.
Tommy lifted the bag in the air out of her reach, which brought an alarmed look to her face. “Please, Tommy! I really need it bad!” she pleaded.
“Then I guess its time you show me how bad you need it,” he replied coldly, putting the bag back in his pocket.
It took a moment, but when she realized what he meant the bewildered expression on her face changed to one of shock, then fear. Instantly, she tried stepping away, but his hand gripped her arm firmly. He held her tightly as he walked her to the tent. Lifting the canvas door flap out of the way, he stepped inside pulling her in with him. He released the flap. It closed silently behind them.
In the bush next to the tent, an unsuspecting butterfly landed in a web. The spider quickly pounced, trapping it in silk. Gripping it tightly, the spider carried the doomed butterfly back to its lair to be devoured.
That evening, Buck and Clifford sat on the bench of the covered porch at Buck’s home. Clifford surveyed his surroundings. They sat silently enjoying the view. Fifty yards in front of the house, and just slightly to the right, were the gravel shores of Mineral Lake. The sapphire blue, kidney shaped water stretched out a quarter of a mile to the opposite beach. Encircling the lake, tall Douglas Firs cut sharply into the evening sky, almost rivaling the snow tipped mountains on either side. Bushy, fat cedars filled in spaces between them, the darker green color breaking up the humbling forest of giants nicely.
Clifford gazed down from the porch of Buck’s single story cedar log home. He let his eyes slowly travel over the gravel landscape, which stretched the distance between him and the lake, and studied the small aluminum boat tied fast to the dock Buck had built some years ago. To his left, Clifford could see the large, old, gray cedar barn used as shelter for the animals. The front of it faced the lake, similar to the house, but at perpendicular angle so as to look down the shoreline on his right instead of the left.
Making up more than half of its front face, the barn’s two large, heavy doors were a pain in the butt to open and close. He had found that out earlier when he’d fed the mules. A pair of identical doors were in the back leading to a corral behind the barn.
He let his gaze move slowly up the brushy hill, behind the corral, and then to the tree line not much higher than the barn. Looking farther left, he could barely make out the private dirt road cutting though the trees and down the hill, separating the two buildings. Both buildings had matching lofty green metal roofs angled sharply to let the deep winter snow slide easily off.
The courtyard was triangular in shape, with the lake shore being the longest side and the faces of both buildings at almost ninety degrees to each other. Clifford took a drink from his can of grape soda then closed his eyes, breathing deeply in mountain air.
“Ya know, Uncle Buck,” he exhaled, still taking in the view. “This is the kind of place where a guy can really relax.”
Buck didn’t answer. He just looked around slowly and smiled, knowing Clifford’s statement was accurate.
Ding!
A small bell rang to Clifford’s right. He looked over towards the end of the porch where a circular wooden object about three feet in diameter was attached to the side railing. He examined it closely. Its front surface was smooth, except for a section missing near the top like a piece cut from a pie. Dividing the middle of this piece was a dark horizontal line.
Actually, they were two separate pieces, he noticed. The top half had a bright orange “8” painted on it, and the bottom piece had a “00”. As Clifford watched it, the bottom pieces rotated to the right, disappearing behind the cover, and was replaced by a piece with “05” painted on it.
“Where did you get this weird clock?” he inquired.
Buck turned, looked at the clock, and smiled. “I built it a few months ago when I was snowed in,” he replied proudly.
“No way!” Clifford remarked surprised. “You never mentioned you were an engineer.”
Buck snapped to attention, seeing the opportunity to show off his latest creation. “I just like to tinker,” he commented. “I got the plans from an old copy of Popular Science and most of the parts came from the dump.” Buck stood up and walked over to the clock. “Let me show you.” Clifford got up and followed him.
“Ya see, rain water comes off the roof into the gutter and flows into this trough. The water is stored there and drains through this small copper tube into the top of the clock.”
Reaching around the clock, Buck pulled out a pin on either side of the front cover then removed it. As the inner workings were revealed, a huge smile came over Buck’s face. He observed it with pride. Inside were two old bicycle wheels set one behind the other, and each without a rim.
They were just gear hubs with an axle running though both and spokes sticking out from the center. Both spokes had a thin wooden shingle attached to the end. The wheel closest to them had twenty short spokes with minutes of the hour painted on the shingles in five-minute increments. The second wheel had twelve longer spokes with the number of the hou
r on each shingle.
“How does it work?” Clifford asked.
“The copper tube runs from the trough to the small turbine in the back.” Buck pointed to a small black box in the back of the compartment. Clifford looked at it closely and noticed it emitting a slight hum. “The water turns the turbine which spin this gear in front of it,” Buck continued. “It’s attached to this set of reduction gears. They then turn the bicycle wheels that tell you what time it is.”
The pair watched fascinated as the minute wheel rotated from the “05” shingle to the “10” shingle. “The hour wheel rings this bell each time it turns.” Buck indicated a small brass bell hanging from the top of the inside housing.
“Then the water comes out of the bottom of the turbine, though another copper tube.” Clifford said as he followed the tube with his finger. “And comes out the back of the clock and onto the ground.”
“Very good,” Buck remarked. “You’ll make a good engineer yet.”
Clifford looked at the clock, then to his watch curiously. “Your clock is almost an hour slow.”
“Oh yeah, I’ve been having some trouble with the timing. I think the turbine’s regulating orifice is too small,” Buck frowned. “It loses about an hour per week.”
“Maybe when we get back from our trip, I can help you fix it,” Clifford offered.
“Hey! Great idea! I could use a good assistant,” Buck replied enthusiastically. “Your first job is to help me get this cover back on.”
Helping Buck lift the cover back in place, Clifford took one pin and slipped it into its hole while Buck did the same on the other end. Clifford then turned, leaned over the rail, and looked out at the lake. Buck returned to his chair. He picked up his glass and took a drink.
After a few moments, Clifford spoke up, “Uncle Buck?”
“Yeah?”
“How is it that you’ve never gotten married?”
Buck nearly choked on his beverage in surprise. “What! You mean like to a woman?”
Laughing, Clifford confirmed. “Yeah, to a woman.”
Buck calmed himself then rested a foot on the chair next to him before answering. “A woman would make me give up all this,” he spread his arms out to encompass their surroundings. “Oh sure, when I was younger I entertained the idea of falling in love and having a few rug rats, but I couldn’t find a woman who’d put up with me. I know they look nice and smell good, but that doesn’t last long and by that time you’re stuck with em.
“Women!” Buck said with disgust. “Take it from me kid, I’ve seen it all my life. Why does a woman fall in love with a man do ya suppose? I’ll tell ya. A woman becomes attracted to a man’s independence. They see a man who is in control of his life, someone who’s adventurous and exciting. They’d like to be that way too, but can’t. So, a woman feeds off a man’s life like a leach! I’ve seen it happen too many times, and to some of my closest friends. A man and a woman fall in love, get married, she moves in, and what do you think she does first?” He looked at Clifford questioningly.
Clifford just shrugged, unknowingly.
“She throws away all his stuff!” Bucked continued his rant, not missing a beat. “Everything he’s collected over the years. The very things that define his entire existence as a man—gone!”
Buck shook a bony finger at Clifford. “And that’s just the first step and it doesn’t all happen over night either. It takes years. She makes him play house till his head falls off. She twists and bends his mind till she’s made him into what she thinks she wants him to be. Sure, it takes ten to twenty years to do it, but she’ll succeed. Then one day she’ll look at him and wonder why she fell in love with him in the first place. Wonder why he isn’t a man anymore. Then she’ll leave him for another man and the process starts all over again. And why? Because there hasn’t been a woman created that really knows what she wants! They just think they do.”
Clifford listened intently as Buck rambled on. “A woman is like a lumberjack who goes into the forest and finds a tall wonderful tree. Instead of leaving it alone and admiring it she has got to chop it down and take it home with her. When the needles turn brown and fall off she’ll wonder why it died, and she’ll go out looking for another one to chop down. I’ve never gotten married because there has never been a woman created who can fit into a man’s life without taking control. No, sir, there’s no such animal!”
A moment later, Buck laughed at himself. “Look at me. You shouldn’t let me get on my soap box, kid, I may never stop.”
Ding!
They both looked to see that the water clock said nine o’clock, which really meant ten. Reddish light from the burning cigar lit up Buck’s face as he puffed it. “You’d better hit the hay, son. We have to be on the trail early tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Clifford yawned, taking one more look around. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He walked past Buck, through the front door and disappeared.
Buck stood up slowly, pulled his arms up and stretched. Then he took a deep breath of fresh air and smiled. Putting the cigar back in his mouth, he walked into the house and closed the door behind him.
He walked through the living room and turned left into the kitchen. At the sink, he dumped the ice from his finished drink into the drain. Slowly lifting a stack of dirty dishes out of the full sink and carefully placed them on the already cluttered counter.
Women, Buck thought to himself, filling his glass with water. A woman would nag me to do these dishes. Buck took a drink, then put the glass down. He took one last puff from the stub of his cigar, before stuffing it out in the full ash tray beside him. She’d tell me I couldn’t smoke in the house, he thought as he took the ash tray over to a twenty gallon garbage bag laying on the floor in the corner and emptied it. She’d tell me to throw out this trash too, and the bags not even half full!
Women are such wasteful creatures. In fact, it was a woman who threw out that couch, he looked into the living room at the lime green couch against the wall. She’d said it was out of style. Sure, it had a broken leg, but he propped it up on a piece of fire wood and it worked just fine.
It was the some story for the brown and gold chair in the corner. In fact almost half of what he owned he’d rescued from a trash heap at the local dump. His friend Tony Marcellous, the proprietor of the county landfill, had always let him hunt around for little treasures. Like the coffee table he had made from an old door and four spent mortar casings he found laying around. Or the lamp he’d made from a chipped bowling pin.
Heck! He thought, a woman would destroy my creative nature. Buck was known far and wide as being somewhat of a pack rat, but he considered himself to be a serious collector—admittedly, with unrefined tastes.
The rest of the stuff was his, however. His whole life was in this room. There were pictures on the wall of his platoon in Korea in the fifties, and then some more from Vietnam in the sixties. He’d been a career soldier most of his life and had collected a wall full of metals and memorabilia from the other side of the world. That seems so long ago and so far away now, he thought sadly.
Then there was his trophy bull elk and mule deer buck heads he’d mounted on each wall facing each other. Looking at them proudly, he almost laughed out loud. He rebuilt the entire roof just so the elk antlers would fit.
Besides the black and white TV in the corner, the most technologically advanced item he owned was the lava lamp. Green and gold globs slowly moved within the goo inside. It sat on the mantle next to his whiskey bottle collection and stuffed steelhead trout.
The whiskey bottles he had were from all over the world. He didn’t care much for wine or beer but he sure loved his whiskey. He’d heard that so called sophisticated men collected wine in bottles as an investment. He wrinkled up his nose in disgust at the thought of it.
His bottles were empty, of course, and he wondered how anyone could collect something all their lives without sampling
its contents. He’d also heard of beer-of-the-month clubs where you received a different beer each month from around the world. It’s too bad they didn’t have a whiskey-of-the-month club, he thought. Now that would be something.
In the far corner was his gun collection. He had a number of rifles, depending on what game he was after as well as a few shot guns. He also had the machine gun he used in Korea and the M-16 from Vietnam. Those he didn’t fire them anymore. Unlike the other firearms, these were used to kill men and he prayed he’d never have to do that again.
Next to the gun cabinet was his fishing gear. He owned an assortment of poles from heavy lake rods to light fly and spinning rods. Over the years, he’d turned this part of the business into a science.
Next was a book shelf and in it was his collection of Popular Science magazines. He started collecting them when he first built this place over thirty years ago, and still had every issue. Most of the old ones were boxed in the attic. He couldn’t bring himself to throw any of them away because each contained plans for something he knew he’d get around to building someday.
The shelves also contained a few favorite books as well as his scrapbook where he kept newspaper clippings pertaining to this area. His journal was also there. He didn’t know why he wrote in it or kept it. He only seemed to write during the winter months when there was nothing else to do besides drink, and he’d done a lot of that.
Buck walked over to the light switch and turned it off. A soft glow came from the fire place. Bending down, he picked up a log and threw it on the fire.
Buck then turned and walked toward his room. Coming to the door he stopped, looking over his shoulder and observing the living room as flames quickly engulfed the new log sending streams of orange light dancing against the opposite wall. He frowned as he thought of what a woman might do to this room, glad that he wasn’t a slave to such ideas as style, fashion or color coordination. Women just didn’t understand. Yes, he smiled to himself. This was his man cave. And only a man could love it.
Buck opened the bedroom door and walked into the darkness. Kicking off his shoes, he stepped over the pile of dirty clothes he knew would be there. Without bothering to take off his clothes, Buck lay on his bed and belched loudly. He reached over and pulled the covers on top of him as he farted loudly. Buck then smiled to himself. A woman would probably tell him he couldn’t do that anymore either. He rolled over, and a moment later began to snore.
* * * *
Chapter 5
The Kennedy Solution