

## Left-handed Dog

### Allen Nesbitt

When the dog was very old, he liked to lie outside in the sun and sleep. When it was too cold outside, he would find a room where the sun illuminated an area of the floor and sink down there. When the man was home, sometimes he would lie on the floor next to the dog and talk softly to him. The man had heard that dogs could only understand a few repetitive words, but that they loved to hear their master talk to them. So the man told stories, spoke of recent sporting events or days long past. When the old dog heard two names, he would get excited and seem to smile.

For: Luca, Boomerang, Shy Anne, Gracie, Tar Baby and Otter

Chapter One

Love In Vain

Creighton Lee pulled into his slot in the parking garage at a little after nine o'clock on a sunny, spring morning. Although he had been parking there for several years, it seemed oddly foreign to him.

He shut off the engine and climbed out of his black Suburban. He gathered his briefcase from the back seat, locked his vehicle and walked toward the doorway that led into a hallway where the elevators were. The concrete floor seemed to be tilting under him. He slowed his pace. The fluorescent lighting seemed too bright and he felt his heart pounding.

He entered the vestibule and walked to the bank of elevators. He punched his floor on the number panel. The elevator came quickly and quietly whisked him up to the twenty-second floor. He stepped out into the hallway and walked toward his office suite. He used his key card and entered a private door to his office.

Two young, attractive women came into his office from the reception area. His paralegal, Roxy, gave him a hug as did Teresa, who was the receptionist that he shared with the two attorneys who had offices on the other end of the office suite. They both expressed their condolences, then drifted away to their areas. He couldn't blame them. He had never known what to say when someone had died.

Lee sat at his desk and stared blankly at the files and papers neatly stacked by Roxy. He glanced at the calendar on his desk. April 29, 1996. It was already hot and humid in San Antonio that Monday morning. He felt strange. His vision seemed to waver and the coolness of the air conditioning sent shivers through his body.

He got up and walked to the window that looked out over the city. Lee was a tall man in his early thirties. He had an athletic build, short blonde hair that was almost white and deep blue eyes. He was dressed casually in khaki trousers and a dark blue golf shirt.

He spent several minutes looking out at the city of San Antonio. He knew that he needed to immerse himself in his work and hope that the memories of Marie would slip back into the far recesses of his mind as time went along, but he continued to look out at the sky and reminisce.

* * *

He had been born in the small town of Boerne just northwest of San Antonio in 1964. His father owned a small ranch and his mother worked at a bank in the town. Lee was a good athlete and a good student. When he was a senior in high school, he was named an All State halfback for the division 3-A Greyhounds. He was ignored by the big football programs, but was recruited by a few universities and accepted a scholarship to the University of Virginia for football and track. After graduation from Virginia, he had enrolled in the University of Texas law school.

Some of his classmates saw themselves becoming famous defense attorneys or crafty prosecutors. Lee quickly noticed how the area around San Antonio and Austin was rapidly growing and expanding. He concentrated on real estate law. There was property in Texas that had been conveyed by Spanish land grants. Then France had owned Texas before Mexico did. Finally, Texas had become a Republic for several years before being admitted to the United States. Due to the constitution that had been written after reconstruction, almost every step of a real estate transaction had to be blessed by an attorney. It was dull and tedious work, but fairly simple and it was lucrative.

He had hit it big when a friend from UT, Marshall Meunster, who had gone to work in the family business, had started giving some of his family's business to Lee. One day, his friend's father, who was a major developer in the area, invited Lee to his office. When Lee arrived, the man showed Lee a mockup of a large property that he was intending to develop.

It encompassed several acres on a corner of a new interstate highway loop and a busy boulevard. The development would contain several office buildings around a small man-made lake. Also there would be a hotel, a service station, a bank, two restaurants, a small strip of high-end shops and a swank apartment complex. And every step of the process required an attorney. The project took quite a while to be completed and Lee made a very nice sum of money which he saved and invested. He had been living a quiet bachelor existence at that time.

* * *

Lee heard someone coming down the hallway toward his office. He turned away from the window and saw Jim Flynn enter. Jim was a bear of a man in his fifties who had an unruly head of gray hair. He always had a rumpled appearance and, even this early in the work day, his collar was unbuttoned, his tie loosened and the sleeves of his blue shirt were rolled up. Despite his appearance, he was a very good criminal defense attorney.

He walked over to Lee and enveloped him in a hug. Then he stepped back.

"Damn sorry, Creighton. Let me know if I can do anything to help. I used to love the times when she would drop by to see you and come into my office to say hello. Even if I was having a crappy day, it suddenly became a very good one. They say that the good die young. I guess I'll live to be one hundred and fifty."

Lee smiled. "What have you got going on?"

"A young fellow named Ernesto Remigio owns a small auto repair shop down in the barrio. He became suspicious of his wife. He began driving by their house at odd hours during the day. One day, he spotted an unfamiliar truck parked in front. He slipped into the back door and found her in bed with a man. He took the tire iron that he was carrying and bashed the guy's brains in. Had he stopped there, I could have gotten him off with manslaughter and probably probation. But Ernesto takes out a switchblade and proceeds to stab his wife. Not once, but thirty-two times. Now it's going to be more difficult to get him off."

"Who is prosecuting?"

"Deanne Brand."

"I hear that she is the rising star in the DA's office," Lee said.

"She will be damn good in a few years. But I think that I can win this during jury selection. I'll act like I want a juror that I really don't and make her use up her strikes. I'll strike every woman that I can and hopefully end up with a panel of twelve men, mostly Mexican. They will empathize with Ernesto and he'll walk. Gotta go. Keep your head up, Creighton."

Flynn ambled back toward his end of the office suite. Lee smiled. He had learned very early never to play poker with Jim. He went out into the hallway, drank some water at the fountain and went to the restroom.

As Lee walked back down the hallway to his office, he thought about Deanne Brand. He had met her at a few bar association events. She was a tall, willowy blonde in her mid-twenties. She had sparkling eyes and a great sense of humor. He pictured her facing Jim in the trial. Maybe he would go over to the courthouse and observe the proceedings when jury selection began.

He settled into his chair and pulled the top file into the middle of his desk and opened it. He stared blankly at the pages and then noticed that Winfield Skinner had wandered in. Skinner was a divorce attorney who had the third office in the suite. He was a small, well-built man with a perpetual tan, carefully styled hair and dark eyes. He was dressed in an immaculate, expensive suit, a snowy white shirt and regimental tie. Skinner always looked as if he had just walked out of a barber shop and a dry cleaners. It was quite a contrast whenever he and Flynn stood together in a room.

Skinner offered his condolences and then sat down in one of the chairs that faced Lee's desk. Skinner liked to say that one of the additional bonuses of his specialty was that he got close with women who were suddenly single and often wealthy or beautiful. If the woman had all three of those attributes, he referred to it as the trifecta. He told Lee that he had a luncheon date with one of his recent clients.

"With any luck, you won't see me in the office this afternoon," he smiled as he got up and walked back toward his office.

Lee turned back to the file, but just stared at it. His phone had not rung and he wondered if Roxy was telling callers that he was not back in the office yet. He closed the file and leaned back in his chair and began to reminisce again.

* * *

One of his friends, Dawson Ray, had built a house on Canyon Lake northeast of San Antonio. In the spring of 1992, Ray had a large gathering at the lake house. Lee had attended the party and was talking with a group of his friends when he noticed a very pretty girl in a sundress talking with a group of women. It was the first time that he saw Marie du Croix. He quickly noticed that she was one of the most breathtaking women that he had ever seen. She had long, very dark hair, a flawless complexion and bright, violet eyes. She had a fabulous figure and when he heard her laughter, his stomach seemed to be full of butterflies. He thought that she was a model or a dancer.

Soon, the groups broke up and mingled and he had a chance to go up to her and introduce himself. He asked her if she wanted to walk down to the dock with him and she smiled and said that was a good idea. He refilled their beers from the keg and they walked together down the long, sloping lawn to the water's edge. The water in the deep lake was clear and very blue. A solitary hawk surfed the thermals high above them.

He discovered that she taught kindergarten in New Braunfels, adored her pupils and loved her work. She had come to the party with a girlfriend and didn't know any of the others. They continued to talk and Creighton learned that she had been born deep in Cajun country in South Louisiana. Her father had been nearly sixty and her mother forty-five when she was born. She had no siblings. Her father was a trapper and fisherman and her mother cooked at a small inn. They both were dead. Marie had graduated from LSU and had moved out of Louisiana as soon as she could.

They finished their beers and walked up to the house where the food was being served. Lee introduced her to his friends and they feasted on smoked ribs, brisket, sausage, corn on the cob and beans. Finally, Marie's friend had to leave. Lee had gotten Marie's phone number and promised to call her. He watched her walk away.

The following Monday, he had called her and they talked for quite a while. That Friday, he had gone to New Braunfels and picked her up at her duplex. They had dinner at a venerable German restaurant and then had gone to a smoky bar were a very old Negro played the blues. Marie had kissed him as they stood on her front porch and thanked him for a wonderful time. He tasted her kiss all the way back to San Antonio. Soon they were spending most of their free time together. She loved San Antonio and they spent hours roaming the old city.

In the fall of 1992, they took a cruise in the Caribbean and he had proposed to her on a warm beach under an impossibly bright moon. They had made love the entire night and Lee felt like he was the luckiest man in the world.

He used some of his savings to purchase a large lot in a new development west of the city. It was on a hill and had a view of the city to the east and of the hill country to the west. Marie resigned her position at the end of the school year in 1993. She moved to San Antonio and lived in Creighton's small apartment while they had a house built. Marie worked closely with the architect and builder, both of whom were friends of Creighton.

They married that summer in a small civil ceremony and spent their honeymoon in Maui. When the new house had been finished, they moved in and it soon became a site for many parties and gatherings. Marie had given Creighton an Australian shepherd puppy on his last birthday. He was named Wallaby. Wallaby soon took over the household and put terror in the heart of any squirrel who dared to venture into his back yard.

Creighton's law practice continued to grow and things were very good. Marie found many good causes to volunteer with and was kept very busy. They talked about starting a family. But after several months, Marie did not get pregnant. Creighton volunteered to get tested, but it turned out that there was nothing wrong with him. Marie went to see her doctor on a sunny, warm day in early April of 1996.

Marie was examined and tested. Two days later, her doctor called and told her that he had arranged for her to see a specialist.

"What kind of doctor is he?" Creighton asked her when she had called his office.

"I am not sure. My doctor's office faxed me a copy of the specialist's business card. I called his office and they gave me instructions for tomorrow. I cannot pronounce the name of his specialty, so I will spell it."

Lee wrote down the letters on a yellow legal pad.

"Did they tell you what they will be doing tomorrow?" he asked.

"They want me to have an endoscopy and maybe an MRI. I have to be sedated. I know that you have a big meeting with the Cline brothers tomorrow, so Julie has said that she will take me to the appointment and back home."

"I could cancel that and be with you," said Lee.

"No. Julie wants to do this for me. I'll be fine. Your meeting could turn into something big for us!"

After he told Marie goodbye, he pulled up Google on his computer and entered the specialty. He selected one of the offerings and began to read. A chill ran through his body. He read the article and then read it again slowly.

Lee got up from his chair and walked down the hall to an elevator. He went to the ground floor and out onto the sidewalk. It was hot and breezy as he slowly walked around the block. A million thoughts ran through his mind. He decided not to mention anything to Marie when he got home. This could just be a precaution to rule out a disease. He entered the building and went back to his office.

Marie had to fast for her tests, so Creighton heated up some leftovers and watched a Spurs game on television while Marie worked in their home office organizing a fundraiser for one of the volunteer groups that she was involved with. She went to bed early.

Lee went outside with Wallaby. He took a cold Heineken from the outdoor refrigerator and walked over and looked down on the city. Wallaby was busily investigating something in a patch of shrubbery. Lee walked over to the other side of his yard and stared at the black sky, which was filled with stars. He spotted a shooting star and made a wish that Marie would be fine. He felt a little foolish for doing that. He called Wallaby and they went inside and were soon asleep.

Marie went to her appointment and had the tests run. After she left the doctor's office, she called Lee.

"I had this tube run down my throat. I was so out of it that I never felt a thing. Then I had to drink this chalky stuff and had an MRI. I never saw the specialist, and the technicians wouldn't tell me anything. They said that the doctor would contact me."

"Yeah. The technicians are not allowed to speculate. That could lead to legal issues."

"I understand. See you when you get home."

"Are you OK?"

"I'm fine. Julie just went home. See you later."

Lee had sat at his desk and thought about death.

* * *

Lee's mother had had a stroke and died while he was in his first year of law school. His father got weary of ranching and of the city moving closer seemingly each day. He sold his small ranch and moved forty miles west to a large ranch owned by a close friend. He only took his pickup truck, horse trailer, saddle and his horse. He moved into a small stone cabin on the ranch. He spent his mornings having coffee in town with some of the other ranchers, his afternoons riding his horse around the ranch and his nights at the VFW hall playing cards and drinking Pearl beer.

One afternoon two years previously, Lee had gotten a phone call from the rancher. Two of his cowboys had found his father's horse standing over his body. He had apparently suffered a heart attack. He had wished to have a simple cowboy burial. So a couple of ranch hands dug a grave on a hill next to a lone oak tree. His father was not embalmed. They dressed him in a white shirt and blue jeans and placed him in a simple wooden casket. Some of his father's friends from the café, VFW and the ranch hands attended the brief service. Lee gave the pickup, trailer and horse to the owner of the ranch. He kept the saddle and a few family mementos and drove back to San Antonio.

* * *

Lee made reservations at a local steakhouse for dinner that night. Marie had ordered a small filet mignon, but was barely touching it. When Lee asked her about it, she replied that she was still a little queasy from the liquid that she had to ingest earlier that day. Lee was concerned. Normally, Marie could plough through a large steak, baked potato, salad and a couple of drinks and still want to top it off with a slice of key lime pie.

They talked about vacation plans for the upcoming summer. Marie had always wanted to go to Canada to Arcadia to see where her ancestors had settled when they came over from France. When they had later migrated down to the swamps of Louisiana, "Arcadians" became corrupted into "Cajuns" over the years.

Lee thought that they could then go to Boston and check out the sights there. Then rent a car and drive to Washington, D.C. After they spent some time there, they would drive down to the campus that Thomas Jefferson had designed in Charlottesville and Marie could see where he had attended college.

The next day was Friday and Marie had called him at the office. The specialist wanted to see her at four o'clock. He asked her to bring Creighton. Lee hung up the phone and silently cursed. The day seemed to creep by. Finally, he left and drove to a large hospital complex where the doctor had his office.

He found the office and saw Marie standing at the receptionist's window talking and joking with a large black woman. The waiting room was almost dark and there were no other patients waiting. When the woman saw Lee, she came around and opened a door and led them to the doctor's private office.

The doctor was a short, rotund man who was bald except for clumps of wild, white hair above each ear. He was wearing wrinkled khaki pants and a green golf shirt. He shook hands with each of them and asked them to sit in the chairs in front of his desk. He went back and sat behind his desk. He leafed through a folder on his desk then looked directly at Marie.

"This is the hardest thing that I ever have to do and there is no good way to do it. Marie, you have a very rare gastrointestinal stromal tumor. I have confirmed my diagnosis with physicians at MD Anderson hospital in Houston and also with a colleague in Sweden. They have done more research over there than we have. None of the traditional methods of fighting cancer are effective. This disease has no symptoms and the tumor has likely been growing for quite some time. My friend in Sweden refers to it as the, 'silent assassin.' If there is anything good about this, it is that at this stage, it is very quick and you won't suffer a long illness. I am so sorry to tell you this."

Creighton had been squeezing Marie's hand as the doctor spoke. Marie stood up and held out her hand to the doctor.

"Thanks for leveling with us."

Lee got up and shook the doctor's hand. The doctor handed him a business card which Lee slipped into his pocket. He put his arm around Marie and they walked out of the doctor's office where the black lady was waiting to let them out of the suite. She hugged Marie and then they left the office and went down to hallway to the parking garage.

Once they reached the parking garage, Lee held her tight and kissed her.

"If we had tried for kids earlier and you had been checked first, then maybe..."

"And if I hadn't gone to that party at the lake house," smiled Marie.

"OK. I just meant..."

"I know, sweetheart. See you at home," said Marie.

"Are you sure that you can drive home all right?"

"Bet I beat you!"

She unlocked her black Porsche and slid into the seat.

Lee watched her back out and drive off. He thought of the words to an old Elvis song, "That's When Your Heartaches Begin." His had begun that afternoon in the office of the kindly doctor who had spoken the words that sent an icicle straight into his heart.

He let out a stream of loud curses and noticed an elderly woman shuffling past on a cane with a mortified look on her face.

"Sorry, ma'am," he said sheepishly.

He went searching for his Suburban. He drove home slowly feeling hollow and angry. When he got home, he pulled into his garage and found Marie out by the pool with Wallaby.

They went into the house, he held her tight and she began to cry.

"I so wanted to have your baby."

"There will be time for that later. Let's get you well." He kissed her and stroked her long hair.

Marie smiled grimly. "You heard the verdict."

"There's a chance that they could find a cure soon. We'll beat this."

"I feel like a dip in the pool," Marie said with a smile.

"I'll get my trunks," Lee said as he started toward their room.

"No need," she smiled and quickly shed her clothes.

"How many more times will I get to see this?" Lee thought to himself.

Marie stood naked in the den. Lee had never seen her look more beautiful and he felt like his heart was being shredded. He quickly got undressed, kissed her quickly and they went outside and Marie dove into the pool. Lee followed her and soon they were clinging together in the water. They splashed and played for a while, then got out dripping. Lee took a large towel from a shelf by the bar and began to dry Marie. Then he ran the towel over himself. They went inside and walked to the bedroom clinging together.

Lee closed the drapes as Marie got into their bed. She lay back as Lee began to run his tongue over her body as he had hundreds of times before. This time he was particularly slow and gentle wanting to make the moment last. He spent long moments kissing and sucking on her soft, full breasts. Marie was moaning softly and holding tightly to his back. Then he lowered his head and slid his tongue deep into Marie. She gasped and thrust up to meet him. Finally, he reluctantly left her darkest treasure, moved up and entered her gently and they began to rock slowly together. Long moments later, Lee exploded in a shuddering climax just as Marie cried out and he felt a gush of warm liquid envelop him.

They lay joined together for a long while. Marie kissed him.

"Save the best for last, huh?"

"Best, but not last," Lee whispered. He kissed her for a long time. "I've got a little more in the tank." He began slowly moving inside of her.

Much later, Lee went into the kitchen and fixed a large sandwich which he washed down with a chilled Heineken. Marie had told him that she was not hungry. It was very late, so he showered and went to bed. Marie was sleeping soundly beside him.

When Lee had gotten up the following morning, Marie was still asleep. He put on shorts, a tee shirt and his running shoes. He put Wallaby on a leash and they made their morning run around the neighborhood. When they returned, he fed Wallaby and gave him a clean bowl of water. He let Wallaby outside to look for a squirrel, changed into his trunks and swam several laps in the pool.

When he came in, Marie was still sleeping. He went over and looked at her. She was curled into a ball and opened her eyes when she sensed that he had come close to her.

"I'm sorry that I didn't have our breakfast ready. I am feeling very weird. I threw up a few minutes ago. I am also freezing."

"Don't worry. I'll get something after my shower," Lee said as he caressed her forehead. She felt cold. He got a Hudson Bay blanket from a closet in the hallway and placed it on top of the bedspread.

"Do you want any water?"

"Not right now," she replied.

Lee took a quick shower, dressed and went into the kitchen. He toasted some frozen waffles and drank a glass of orange juice.

He returned to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. Marie remained curled up. He felt her forehead again and it was cold and clammy. He looked on the top of his dresser for the card that the doctor had given him. When he read it, he saw that was not the doctor, rather a hospice service. His hand began to tremble and he fought to hold back tears.

Lee went into the kitchen and called the number. They seemed to have already been briefed about Marie and promised to send someone right away.

Shortly, he heard Wallaby run toward the front door barking. When he opened the door, he found a sturdy, gray-haired woman who appeared to be in her fifties. She carried a small suitcase, a medical bag and a file folder.

"Hello. I'm Susan Bishop." Her voice had a trace of a British accent.

Lee led her into a guest bedroom and she set her suitcase down. Lee showed her the guest bathroom and then they went together into the master bedroom. Marie was looking toward them.

"Honey, this is Susan. She is here to help you feel better."

Susan went to Marie's bedside and extended her hand. "Hello Marie. It will be my pleasure to take care of you."

Marie smiled weakly and said, "Thank you."

Susan took some items from her small bag. She took Marie's temperature, blood pressure and listened to her chest. She marked her readings down in the file folder and wrote some comments. She turned to Lee.

"I would like to order a hospital bed. Can you clear out one of your other bedrooms?"

"Sure." He led her to a bedroom down the hallway and said, "I'll get this cleared out right now."

Susan pulled out her phone and made a call. Then she went back and joined Marie.

Lee pulled the bedspread and sheets from the bed. He tossed them into a clothes hamper. He pulled the mattress and the box springs into his office, then returned to break down the head and foot boards and took them into his office. He got out a vacuum cleaner and made a quick pass over the carpet.

Wallaby ran again to the front door where a small truck had driven up into the circular driveway. Two men brought a folded bed into the room that Susan pointed out and quickly made it up. After they left, Lee went into their bedroom, peeled back the covers and gently lifted Marie and carried her to the new bed. He and Susan got her comfortable and Wallaby jumped up and curled up at the foot of the bed. He only would leave to be fed or go outside to relieve himself.

Her condition seemed to stay about the same throughout Saturday and Sunday. Early on Monday morning, Lee called his office and advised his paralegal of the situation. He told her not to expect him anytime soon. He had rolled his office chair into the room where Marie was and sat holding her hand and talking softly to her.

As he sat by her bedside, Creighton remembered Marie on a bright moonlit night on a beach in St. Thomas. Her long, slim and muscular legs in tight white shorts, her raven hair flowing and her white teeth gleaming.

He had briefly thought about calling her close friends, but there was nothing that they could do and Marie had always taken pride in her appearance. She would not want to be remembered curled up in a hospital bed.

Later on, Susan asked him to come out of the room. She looked up at him.

"It's time to start the morphine. She is very brave in hiding her pain, but it will be best to start now. After I begin administering it, she may not be able to understand what you are saying to her. I'll give you a few minutes alone."

Lee went into the room and leaned over and kissed Marie on her dry lips.

"I love you Marie," he said softly and then turned quickly away as tears ran down his cheeks.

He called Wallaby who followed him outside. Lee walked the perimeter of his backyard as he tried to control his sobbing. Suddenly, Wallaby stopped, sat on his haunches and emitted a mournful howl. Lee bent down and rubbed his head.

"That's how I feel, too, boy," he said.

Two days later he was sitting by the side of the rented hospital bed. Marie's skin was gray and she felt clammy to the touch. Beads of sweat lay on her forehead. Her lips were dry when he kissed her. Susan had just given her a shot.

Marie mumbled something.

"That almost sounded like French," said Susan.

"Seventeenth century French. Marie is Cajun."

"I am unfamiliar with that," said Susan.

Lee explained how the Cajuns had come to settle in Louisiana.

"We never learned that in Liverpool," smiled Susan. "What did she say?"

"It is sort of a personal joke between us," said Lee.

It was getting close to dinner and Susan had made herself some tea. Lee had been outside with Wallaby when Susan called him to come quickly.

"Kiss her. It's almost over."

Lee held Marie tight and kissed her. He whispered into her ear. She seemed to let out a long sigh and relax under the blankets.

Susan came over and said gently, "She's gone. I'll leave you with her while I make a call."

Lee held her close until he heard Wallaby run to the door barking.

Susan let in the two men from the funeral home. Lee kissed Marie one last time and went into his room, closed the door and broke down.

A few minutes later, Susan knocked on his door and handed him some papers to sign. The men had already driven Marie away. Susan hugged him tight, gathered her things and left. Shortly afterward, the truck came and the guys came inside and removed the hospital bed. After they drove away, he and Wallaby were alone.

Lee called three of Marie's closest friends who called others and soon several carloads pulled up laden with food and drink. Lee was glad to have them around and soon the house sounded and smelled like it did when they hosted parties. Lee's friend from Canyon Lake offered his house for a service on Saturday.

Neither Lee nor Marie had been particularly religious, so the memorial service that was held at the same house on Canyon Lake where they had met four years earlier was more of a party or a wake than a service. Stories were told, old times brought up there was more laughter than there were tears. After everyone had stuffed themselves on the enormous amount of food that had been brought, they walked down to the shore and Lee opened the container that held the ashes of Marie. He reached in and brought out a small handful of what seemed like volcanic ash and let it drift from his hand into the blue water.

"Goodbye, sweetheart," he said softly as tears streamed down his face. He walked to the back of the crowd while the others said their goodbyes.

Then they all walked back toward the house. The party continued on and suddenly the sunny day got very dark and a thunderstorm moved across the lake sending everyone inside.

There were the usual jokes that God had put Marie in charge of the weather. Not long afterward, the storm moved off and the sun reappeared. The guests began drifting away with Lee receiving hugs from the women and handshakes from the guys. Lee was spending the night with his friend and soon went to his room and fell asleep.

On Sunday, Lee played golf with some of his friends on a course in Austin. He was glad to get away and enjoy the sunny day and the companionship. He did not relish the thought of going back to his empty house in San Antonio. A house full of memories.

When he returned home, he put his clubs in his garage and then let Wallaby outside. He stripped off his soggy golf attire and slipped into his swimming trunks.

He dove into the pool and swam several laps. Wallaby ran around the yard chasing squirrels for a while, then walked down one of the steps leading into the pool and lay in the water panting. Lee got out of the pool and went to a small refrigerator built into the stone around the barbeque pit. He pulled out a bottle of Heineken and drank deeply.

Wallaby shook the water off of him and lay down in the shade. Lee let the sun dry him as he finished his beer. He went into the house with Wallaby and fed the dog his dinner. Then he stripped out of his trunks and headed to the bathroom. He took a quick shower, toweled off and slipped into some faded Madras shorts and a blue golf shirt. He began to think about what he wanted to heat up for dinner, when he heard Wallaby start barking and run toward the front door.

Lee heard the sound of a vehicle heading up the circular driveway. He looked out of a window and saw a large pickup truck roll to a stop. A petite woman with blonde hair got out, pulled out a small suitcase and began walking toward the front door. It was Sissy Lockhart.

Lee opened the door and Wallaby ran to the woman. She stopped, bent down and petted Wallaby. Wallaby bounded along beside her as she walked toward Lee. She set the suitcase down and hugged Lee.

"Oh Buddy, I am so sorry! Jake and I were in Argentina looking over some cattle to buy. We flew into Houston and got back home about three o'clock. There was a message from my mother. I called her and she told me everything. I repacked and told Jake that I would be gone for a few days." She kissed him quickly on his lips and picked up her suitcase.

"Jake sends his condolences," she said.

They walked inside and Lee closed the door.

"I need a hot shower. I probably smell like a cow turd on a July day."

Lee led her to a guest bedroom, got her a towel from the linen closet and walked back to the kitchen. He got a bottle of Heineken, went back to the patio and sat down. He thought about Sissy.

Sissy's real name had been Mary Anne Guenther when she was growing up on a ranch that was down the road from the ranch that his family had owned. In the tradition of most ranching families in that part of Texas, the first daughter was invariably called, "Sissy." The first-born son was usually called, "Buddy."

Of course, this would cause a great deal of confusion when they began school, so Lee was Buddy at home and Creighton at school. He had been aware of Mary Anne for most of his life, seeing her at school, at movies in town and at rodeos. She was two years younger than Lee and thus, two grades behind him. She was a champion barrel rider and loved horses. Lee always marveled at her being so small and being able to guide a thousand pound horse going at a dead run around the barrels.

When Sissy was a sophomore, she was becoming a very stunning looking woman. She and Lee began dating and their romance was very intense. Sissy was intelligent and had a devious sense of humor. She was fun to be with and Lee was grateful that he was with her. As a football star, he had the opportunity to be with many girls, but Sissy was definitely a notch above his prior sweethearts.

Lee had a friend named Mack, whose family owned a ranch south of town. The ranch had a spring that fed a nice swimming hole nestled deep inside a grove of oak trees. The family had built a cabin near the water. Mack's father had taken a position on the governor's staff, so he and Mack's mother had rented an apartment in Austin. Mack oversaw the ranching operations while he finished high school.

Mack allowed Lee to use the cabin whenever he needed it. Lee remembered Sissy walking out of the water naked with the setting sun illuminating the golden down on her tan back like a fire in the sun. He recalled the summer nights with Sissy when, after a swim in the chilly water, they would make love deep into the night.

They swore that they would be together forever, but Charlottesville was far away and Lee was only able to come home during the summers. After her graduation, Sissy headed off to Texas Tech where she eventually met Jake Lockhart who was from a prominent ranching family in South Texas near Goliad. Lee was popular at Virginia and attracted many girls. The southern belle types were very different than the Texas girls. Without intending to, he became involved with several.

His breakup with Sissy was cordial and they remained close friends. He had attended her wedding to Jake, and Sissy and Jake had come to Lee's wedding to Marie. Sissy and Marie had instantly hit it off and had become close friends.

He heard the French doors open and Sissy came out clad in sandals, white shorts and a black sleeveless blouse. She was very tan and her blonde hair was shining in the setting sun.

"I'll bet you don't have any Lone Star. Just that fancy, foreign beer you like."

She sat down in the chair next to him.

"Actually I have some for Jorge, who is my landscaper," Lee said getting up and going to the refrigerator. He pulled out a bottle, removed the cap and walked over to Sissy.

"How's your workload next week?" she asked.

"I've been out for a week, so I imagine that I will have something to do."

"Tomorrow call in and tell them that you will be back next Monday. You are in no shape to return yet." Sissy reached into her shorts and produced a key and a slip of paper. "This is to our beach house on Padre Island. There is the address and directions. Swim, run, read or whatever. The house is stocked with anything you may need. Don't worry about restocking. That's all taken care of."

"This is very generous," Lee smiled. "But I'm fine here."

"Well, Wallaby wants to go and someone has to take him," she said.

Wallaby barked twice and shook his rear end vigorously.

"Guess that I am out-voted," Lee laughed.

"Is Los Rios still there?" asked Sissy. "I'm getting hungry."

"It's going strong," Lee said as he stood up and stretched. He drained his bottle and waited for Sissy to get up. She finished her beer and they walked into the house, refreshed Wallaby's water bowl, and then went into the garage. Sissy climbed into the passenger side of his Suburban and Lee got into the driver's seat, raised the garage door and slowly backed out.

They drove into an old part of San Antonio to an industrial area. On a corner stood what appeared to have once been a house. Cars and trucks were parked all along the street and in a small parking lot.

A crowd of people walked out of the building past them. A rotund Mexican holding a stack of menus greeted them.

"Welcome Senor Lee. Table for two on the patio?"

Lee looked at Sissy who nodded.

"That's fine, Manuel," Lee said and they followed the man through a large dining room, up a flight of stairs and out to a deck that overlooked an auto body shop.

"Ah, still the same lovely view," laughed Sissy.

"I doubt that anyone has ever come here for the view," Lee said.

A waiter took their order and quickly brought over two large schooners of Dos Equis, a basket of tostados and a bowl of spicy sauce. They ordered dinner and talked about old times throughout the delicious meal. It was dark when they left and drove back to Lee's house.

They let Wallaby out and Sissy kissed him on the cheek and said, "Night, Buddy. I'm not sure that one can get jet lag going north, but I need some sleep."

She walked down the hall to her room.

Lee let Wallaby back in and locked the door. He watched Sports Center for a while, then walked down to his bedroom with Wallaby tagging along behind him. He undressed and was soon asleep.

Lee woke early on Monday and slipped on his running gear. He and Wallaby went outside and began their morning loop around the neighborhood. It promised to be another hot, dry day as they ran along the gentle hills of the area. Once back home, he fed Wallaby and changed into his swimming trunks. He swam several slow laps, got out of the pool, dried off and went to his bedroom. He shaved and took a quick shower. He put on khaki shorts and a yellow button-down shirt. As he headed toward the kitchen, he smelled bacon frying and coffee brewing.

Sissy was scrambling a large pan off eggs. Her blonde hair was pulled back and she was wearing a white robe.

"Courtesy of the M Hotel in Buenos Aires. They encourage you to take them home. I was surprised to find a coffee maker, since you never drink it."

"I kept it for my dad and never got rid of it."

"I always liked him a lot," Sissy said as she filled up a plate and brought it over to Lee who was sitting at the kitchen table reading the sports page.

Wallaby was looking up at Sissy with a hopeful expression on his face.

Sissy looked at Creighton. "OK if I give him a slice of bacon?"

"He'll love you forever."

"Where have I heard that before?" laughed Sissy as she tossed a piece of bacon toward Wallaby who snagged it out of the air and seemed to swallow it in the same motion. He nestled next to Sissy as she sat down and began eating.

After breakfast, Sissy told him that she had business in town and would be leaving the next day. Lee gave her a house key and told her to leave it in the refrigerator on the patio when she left.

He brushed his teeth, then called his paralegal and let her know that he would not be back into the office until the following Monday. He packed a small suitcase, got Wallaby's food, hugged Sissy and went into the garage. He let Wallaby into the Suburban, put his suitcase and Wallaby's bag of food into the back of the vehicle and walked to the driver's side door where Wallaby was sitting behind the wheel.

"I'll do the driving," he smiled at Wallaby who reluctantly moved over to the passenger seat.

Lee drove off, soon got onto Interstate 37 and the traffic was light. He picked up US Highway 77 at Robstown. He stopped for a quick barbeque sandwich at a small place and left a few scraps for Wallaby. Later, he crossed over onto Padre Island and soon located Sissy's beach house.

It was a large structure made of faded cedar, stone and a lot of glass. He let Wallaby out of the car. Wallaby ran onto the sand and peed. Lee unlocked the front door and they went inside. The floors were polished wood with oriental rugs and expensive furniture.

"Nice place, huh Wallaby?" Lee laughed.

Wallaby barked twice and wagged his rear end. Lee took his suitcase up a staircase and found that there were three bedrooms facing the Gulf of Mexico. The master bedroom was in the middle with a smaller room on either side. Each one had its own balcony. Lee placed his suitcase in one of the smaller rooms and unpacked. He changed into his trunks and went downstairs. Next to a side door was a utility room that had a shelf full of towels. He grabbed one and also found a sand chair. He took Wallaby around to the front of the house and headed toward the water.

Lee put the chair down and walked toward the surf. Wallaby ran up to a receding wave, then yelped when it headed back toward him. He barked furiously at it as it chased him back up onto the beach. For the next hour, they swam in the surf and ran along the beach. Then Lee returned to the house, went into a large den filled with books and found an old Mickey Spillane mystery. He grabbed a cold beer from the refrigerator and got a milk bone for Wallaby.

Wallaby immediately buried the bone when they went back onto the sand. Lee sat in the chair, read his book and sipped the beer while Wallaby continued to unearth his bone and rebury it. As the sun began to set, Lee gathered his things and they walked back to the house. He rinsed off under the outdoor shower head and did the same for Wallaby. He dried off and toweled Wallaby down. They went inside and Lee began to think about dinner. He found some sausage and macaroni and cheese. He figured that Jake must have had a hand in stocking the pantry and refrigerator. After dinner, Lee read for a while, then took a hot shower and they went to bed.

The next few days were spent the same way. It was relaxing and he was grateful to Sissy for doing this for him. On their last morning, Lee was sitting in the sand chair with Wallaby lying beside him. Far down the beach a woman was slowly coming in their direction. As she drew closer, Lee saw her long, dark hair and tan body come into focus. For a brief moment he flashed back to memories of Marie in a bikini on a beach. He knew that it was not her, but the resemblance from a distance was similar. As she came up to them, he noticed that she was not near as beautiful as Marie had been.

"What a cute dog," she said to Lee.

"Thanks," replied Lee.

"Shake," she said, and Wallaby held out his left front paw. "Hey, I'm a lefty too!"

Lee said nothing.

"Nice place you have here," she smiled at Lee and removed her sunglasses.

"Yeah," Lee said.

The woman lingered a moment, then shrugged and continued her walk down the beach. She exaggerated the swing of her hips as if to say, "Look what you could have had."

Lee gathered his things, rinsed Wallaby off and then dried him. He put him into the Suburban and drove him to a groomer to get a trim and bath. Then he returned to the beach house, showered and dressed. He packed up, left the key where Sissy had instructed him to and drove over to the groomer. He fetched Wallaby and they headed back to San Antonio.

After he pulled into the garage, he fed Wallaby and let him out into the back yard, Lee walked back to his bedroom to unpack and noticed that it had been repainted. He looked into Marie's closet and found it empty. He looked through her dresser and found that empty as well. He went into their bathroom and found that all of Marie's things were gone. There was a photograph of Marie on her dresser, but all of her cosmetics and perfumes were gone.

He walked into the kitchen and out onto the patio. He opened the refrigerator, pulled out a Heineken and saw the house key with a note underneath it. It told Lee where she had hidden Marie's jewelry and thanked him for letting her stay in his house.

Lee went into his office and sent an e-mail to Sissy thanking her for removing all of Marie's belongings. He told her that doing that himself would have been very difficult.

The house seemed to be very empty and quiet. He kept expecting Marie to appear in the room. He told himself that he was not the only person to lose a mate. Wallaby tagged along whenever he moved to a different part of the house.

"Just us now, boy," he told Wallaby.

He went to bed early, but he had a difficult time falling asleep and he tossed and turned until his alarm went off.

On Monday, he went back to work. At first it had been almost impossible to organize his thoughts. When he began to read a file, a vision of Marie would filter into his mind.

After a few days, he found that it was somewhat easier to concentrate on his work and not let the memories of Marie slide through his mind as often.
Chapter Two

Ch-ch-ch-Changes

Hank Macon sat at his desk in the corner office on the eighteenth floor of a glass and steel building in the downtown area of Tampa. The lights were not turned on and the sun was setting over the Gulf of Mexico. He sat in his plush, leather chair behind a large, mahogany desk. He yawned and leaned back in his chair. All of the other employees had long since departed. He was alone in the office suite leased by Puget Sound Industries. A brass name plate on the wall outside of his doorway read, "Hank Macon-Regional Manager."

His large office was devoid of any personal objects. The only item on his desk was a calendar that showed it to be May of 1997. Macon got up and stretched. He walked to the window and watched as the red ball of the sun slipped slowly below the surface of the silver water.

"Damn, I had it made," he mused. "Now this."

The merger rumors had begun to circulate in February. Over the years, Macon had learned that rumors usually became reality. Puget Sound Industries was to be taken over and merged into Commonwealth Corporation that was headquartered in Boston.

Puget Sound Industries was headquartered in Seattle. There were twelve regional offices across the country. Macon had the perfect situation. When he arrived at his office at nine o'clock each work day, it was six o'clock in Seattle. By the time his boss arrived to work in Seattle, it was noon in Tampa and Macon was out to lunch. When he returned from lunch, he had only two hours before his boss went to lunch. When his boss returned from lunch, it was close to quitting time in Tampa.

Macon ran his office efficiently, but was careful not to be one of the top couple of managers. Sometimes those managers were promoted and transferred to Seattle. Macon was happy where he was. Those managers who ranked in the lower realms received much attention from Seattle and Macon was mostly left alone. His boss had only been to Tampa twice in the past seven years.

The CEO loved the west coast, so the annual meetings were held in San Diego, San Francisco, Portland or Vancouver, British Columbia. He had never come to Tampa while Macon was the manager.

The previous day, he had received a phone call from Will Hessler, who was the regional manager of the Twin Cities region located in Minneapolis.

"You are going to get a visit from a Jew boy named Jerome who is swinging a very sharp axe," Hessler told Macon.

"When will he be here?" asked Macon.

"I can't tell exactly. His schedule seem rather random. But one place that he is not coming is here," said Hessler.

"You are staying on?" asked Macon.

"No. Jen Nobis in HR and I go way back. When she got word of the takeover, she backdated my retirement papers and sent them to me. I signed them and today my old ass is out of here forever. Jerome was not happy to hear that, but fuck him."

"Are you staying in Minnesota?" asked Macon.

"Yeah. I happen to like it up here. You can have your heat, humidity and insects."

"We've got beach bunnies down here, Will," said Macon.

"We've got snow bunnies up here. Tall, pretty Scandinavians. I'm happy," laughed Hessler.

"Well, thanks for warning me. Enjoy your retirement, Will!"

Macon hung up the phone.

"Damn!" he muttered.

The day after he had received Hessler's call was a Friday. Macon was working in his office when Liza Fentress, Macon's executive assistant, poked her head into his office just after ten o'clock and said, "There are three people from Commonwealth Corp here to see you."

"Set them up in the conference room, I'll be there in a minute."

Liza went off to attend to the visitors. Macon waited for a few moments, then he picked up a white legal pad and strode down a hallway to the conference room. Two men and a woman were sitting along one side of the long table.

They all stood as Macon made his way slowly toward them.

"Good morning, Mr. Macon. I am Jerome Baumberg." He shook hands with Macon and handed him a business card.

The card was thick and had an elaborate imprint of Commonwealth Corp. "Jerome M. Baumberg-Senior Executive Vice President," was inscribed in bold print.

"These are my associates, Amanda Morse and Herbert Singletary."

Macon shook hands with both of them and then moved across the table and sat down.

Amanda was a very thin woman who appeared to be in her mid-thirties. Her jet black hair was pulled back in a bun and she wore glasses with large, round frames. She wore a severe business suit that was dark gray with a white blouse that had a ruffled collar.

Singletary was a pudgy man in his late twenties. He had thin red hair that he was quickly losing. He wore a dark suit, white shirt and blue tie.

Macon looked across the table at Baumberg. The man had dark curly hair cut short, a thin weasel-like face and a large, hooked nose. The man looked fit and trim. Macon guessed that he was in his early thirties. He was clad in an expensive-looking, charcoal pin-stripe suit, a snow-white shirt and a red tie with raindrop designs.

"I've never known of a regional manager in a large corporation who not only does not have a college degree, but has no high school diploma as well. At Commonwealth, all executives at your level must have an advanced degree," said Baumberg.

Macon remained silent, staring hard into Baumberg's eyes. Baumberg seemed to be uncomfortable. Macon guessed that Baumberg had sensed that he was not dealing with a typical employee that was fearful of him.

Baumberg took a thin stack of documents and slid them across the table.

"This is your separation package. It is quite generous. Four week's pay for every year that you have been employed by Puget Sound, your accrued vacation, holiday and sick leave, and a pro-rated amount of the bonus that would have been paid at year-end."

Macon glanced through the documents and signed in the appropriate spaces. He slid them back to Baumberg who handed them to Amanda. She slipped out of the room and soon came back with a copy that bore his signature. She handed them to him and returned to her chair.

"That will be in your bank today. Today will be your last day. Your replacement will be here Monday," Baumberg said looking at Macon. Then he turned to Singletary.

"Call Wayno and tell him to file a flight plan to Charlotte. We'll be back at Colvin Field in about twenty minutes."

They all stood up. Singletary punched in a number on his cellular phone and called the pilot.

"We can see our way out," said Baumberg and walked through the door with his two lackeys in his wake. Macon walked to the large window in the conference room and looked down to the street. A long, black limousine sat at the curb in a no parking zone. He watched as Singletary ran to open the door for Baumberg. Amanda slid in after him, then Singletary climbed aboard.

"Glad that I am not working with those assholes," he thought.

He thought about calling the regional manager in Charlotte to warn him of Baumberg's impending visit, but he had always thought that the guy was a prick, so he didn't.

After Baumberg had departed, Macon called all of the employees into the conference room and told them what had just happened. There was a murmur of disbelief, some curses and a lot of stunned expressions. Several employees spoke up and then the group that usually organized things got going and had barbeque catered in and soon the atmosphere was closer to normal. After lunch, they presented him with a gift card to a high-end restaurant on the beach.

Macon stood before the group and said, "I'm still the boss until midnight. The office is closed. Everyone can leave now."

The employees all came up and gave him hugs or shook his hand. Angie Triplett lingered behind the others as they rushed to gather their belongings and head out for an unexpected Friday afternoon off before the weekend.

Angie was a tall, athletic woman with short, sun-bleached blonde hair and golden brown eyes. She had been a superb volleyball player at the University of Florida and was the regional marketing manager.

"I could share that with you," she said pointing to the gift card that he was holding.

"Sounds good to me. I'll call you," he smiled.

Angie reached up and kissed his cheek. "Baumberg screwed you good. Bet I can do better." She smiled and quickly turned and walked away.

Macon watched her walk away, her taut buttocks moving rhythmically under her short, linen skirt. He had always avoided any relationships with his fellow employees or subordinates during his career. That had been especially difficult when had lived in Houston where it seemed like producing stunning looking women was a local industry.

He ambled through the office suite flipping off light switches and thinking about Angie. He returned to his office and stared through the window at the silvery Gulf of Mexico. His office was completely devoid of any personal items.

"Nothing to pack up," he thought to himself.

He sat down in his chair and placed his feet onto the large mahogany desk.

"Goddamn. Forty-nine last month," he thought to himself.

He looked up the balance in his 401K plan on his computer. Enough to last for a while. That plus the severance check. He checked his bank account and saw that the check had been credited just as Baumberg had promised. At some point he would have to get another job. He thought about what Baumberg had said about no high school diploma. Surely his experience should count for something, but he felt a chill run through his body.

Macon stared out at the dark sky and his thoughts travelled back to the distant past.

* * *

He had been born in 1948 in Pensacola, Florida. He remembered little of his father who had left when he was two years old. His mother worked at a motel on the beach as a maid. She worked long hours and Macon was often left to fend for himself. Schoolwork came easy to him and he did the minimum to get by. He was coordinated, strong and excelled at all of the games.

By the time that he was a senior in high school had grown to be six feet, three inches tall and weighed two hundred and twenty pounds. Macon was a very good football player, playing linebacker on defense and fullback on offense. However, he was an indifferent student and had fallen in with an unsavory gang of boys.

In the spring of 1965, he was nearing graduation with no plans for the future. A few junior colleges had expressed interest in him, but he was done with early morning practices and running the stadium steps. One of his buddies had a brother who owned an automobile repair shop. He had spent a lot of time there when his friends had their cars souped up. Maybe he could get on there. In the meantime, he was content to roam the city with the guys, race cars, start fights and chase girls.

On a Friday night in late May, he and his pals, Novack and Metcalfe, were lounging against Novack's Chevy in the parking lot of a bowling alley. They were sipping malt liquor and playing the car radio loud. A group of boys walked out of the bowling alley and headed across the parking lot.

"Hey," grinned Novack. "There's that fat prick Hulsey. Wonder if he's got any money on him? I'm broke."

They sauntered toward Hulsey's group. As Hulsey and the other boys tried to run back into the building, they were caught by Macon and his buddies. Metcalfe had a short boy cornered, Macon grabbed a tall, thin boy and put him in a hammerlock while Novack grabbed Hulsey.

"Hey fat boy, give me your car keys!" Novack demanded.

Halsey, who was on the verge of tears, handed over his keys to Novack who threw them into some tall weeds by the edge of the parking lot.

"Now fat ass, hand over your wallet!" Novack snarled slapping Hulsey hard across his mouth.

In the lights from the parking lot, Macon saw a plume of blood and spittle halo around the fat boy's head.

"You are breaking my arm!" cried the boy that Macon was holding. Macon suddenly jerked the skinny boy's arm up sharply and there was a loud snapping sound.

"No," Macon laughed. "That's breaking your arm."

He released the boy who fell to the pavement screaming and writhing in pain.

Novack had yanked the wallet from Hulsey' pocket and was rifling through it.

"Hey eighty bucks! We'll have some fun tonight!" He tossed the wallet into the weeds as well and said, "Let's roll!"

Mertcalfe walked away from the boy that he had been holding, then suddenly turned and hit him hard in the stomach, The boy doubled over and began gagging and vomiting. They all laughed at him until Novack urged them to leave. He floored the Chevy as they sped from the parking lot.

Macon remembered little of what they had done afterward. But he never forgot the next morning when two deputy sheriffs pulled him from his bed while his mother stood staring with her mouth covered by her hand.

They booked him into the county jail and he was unable to make bail. Metcalfe's and Novack's parents had bailed them out and he did not see them again for ten days until the hearing.

Macon was clad in jail whites at the hearing while Metcalfe and Novack were dressed in blazers and ties. Macon was up first. His court-appointed attorney had worked out a deal with the prosecutor. He pled Macon guilty and they approached the bench for sentencing.

The judge was a small man with white hair. He looked sadly at Macon.

"Son, I enjoyed watching you play football last fall and I am sorry to see you here. I know that you have had no mentoring or positive role models in your life and you have associated with some bad apples." He stared hard at Novack and Metcalfe.

"I am offering you a chance to spend four years in the United States Army or two years at Raiford. Since you are a juvenile, your record will be expunged if you complete your army obligation."

Macon turned and winked at his friends. "I'll do the four with Sam," he smirked at the judge.

"So ordered!" The judge slammed his gavel down and two deputies led Macon from the courtroom.

They led him back to the jail and gave him his clothes and personal items. He changed out of his jail uniform while they waited. Then they took him outside to a squad car and placed him inside. They drove to a recruiting office downtown and signed him over to the sergeant in charge.

A very large soldier wearing a white belt and a harness with a billy club attached on the left side of his belt and a .45 caliber pistol in a holster on his right side appeared in the room. He wore a white helmet and arm band that read, "MP."

"Macon, this is Corporal Marsh. He will be with you until you arrive at Fort Jackson," said the sergeant.

Marsh looked at Macon like he would a turd floating in his cereal and said nothing. The recruiter had Macon sign a stack of forms, then took him into a room with an American flag and swore him into the United States Army. Macon was seventeen years old.

They returned to the outer office where a soldier dressed in fatigues was waiting. He led Macon and Marsh out to a sedan that was painted an ugly color of green and they all got in. The driver drove into an industrial part of the city near the docks. He stopped in front of a building that looked like a warehouse. There was a sign on the front that read, "US Army Processing Center-CONARC."

Marsh and Macon got out of the vehicle and the driver drove off. Marsh led Macon into the building and handed the paperwork to another soldier. Then, he led Macon into a large room that was filled with bunks. He handed Macon a green, cloth bag with a strap on it.

"Strip down, put your clothes on this bunk. Put your wallet and personal things in this bag. Hang the bag around your neck."

Macon did as he was told, then Marsh led him into another room where a line of naked men were waiting. They were all shapes and sizes. They were mostly white with a few Negroes and Mexicans sprinkled in. He was examined by some doctors, a dentist, blood was drawn and then he was led back into the other room to get dressed.

Macon was hungry. He idly wondered when he would be able to eat. As soon as he was dressed, Marsh led him into another part of the building that smelled like burned meat and onions. A bored-looking soldier slapped some food onto a metal tray. Marsh took him to a table away from the other men who were eating.

"You have to eat this shit every day?" he asked Marsh.

"Nah. I live in town and get a meal allowance. Assholes like you eat this crap," he grinned.

* * *

The ringing of his phone startled Marsh. He looked at the display. Seattle. He let it go to voice mail and stood up and stretched.

Chapter Three

Forgive Us Our Debts

While Macon was sitting in his dark office in Tampa, Hampton Wall was driving his ten year old Dodge toward his home in Bedford, Texas. He had to make a stop on the way. In his pocket was four hundred dollars in cash that he needed to deposit into the bank account that only he knew existed. The small bank was in a shopping center next to a post office.

Before he went to the bank's drive up window, he parked and entered the post office. The unattractive building smelled of dirt and disinfectant. He went to his small box and extracted the envelopes from credit card companies. He kept the statements and return envelopes. He tossed the outer envelopes into a trash can. He glanced at the statements. The balances were edging closer to the credit limits.

He returned to his car, drove through the drive in and deposited the cash. He would soon write checks from this account to pay the minimum payment shown on the statements. Next week, he would go to a bank near his office, obtain a cash advance and repeat the cycle.

He had ten credit cards. When he had first thought of the idea, he did not count on the fact that the interest charges would drive up the balances so quickly. He had thought that there would be a kind of equilibrium until he could use some of his income to pay them off.

The sick feeling in his stomach appeared again. In the back of his mind, a plan was taking shape that would rid himself of this problem for good.

Wall was thirty-five years of age. He was a dumpy man with bad skin and greasy, dark hair worn too long. He wore thick glasses and was employed as the office manager for a branch of a finance company in Fort Worth.

Wall had been born in Grand Prairie in 1962. His father had worked in the aircraft assembly plants that littered the landscape of that town. Wall was an only child who had had no friends while growing up. He was average in school and enlisted in the United States Air Force after graduation. After basic training, Wall was sent to clerical school and became a clerk-typist. He was sent to a base in California where he spent the entire term of his enlistment. In a world of macho fighter pilots, irreverent bomber pilots, cocky flight crews and mechanics. Wall was the bottom of the pecking order. He was called a "titless WAF," in scorn. He bunked in a building with cooks and truck drivers.

He did not fraternize with the other airmen and spent his off duty hours lying in his bunk reading comic books. He never left the base to go into town like the others did. When he was separated in 1984, his rank was E-3, having only been promoted twice in four years. One of them was automatic after he had completed his training.

When Wall returned back to Texas after his enlistment, he found a job as a cashier at a small loan company, Plains Finance. The company made small loans at very high rates of interest and cashed paychecks for minorities and poor white people. Wall was content.

He began to look forward to the day every week when a young woman named Hortense McClure would come in and pay a small amount on a loan for furniture.

Finally, Wall got up the nerve to ask her out on a date. They were married two years later. Hortense was an angular, overweight woman with stringy orange hair. She wore thick glasses and had a variety of medical issues. She worked at a dry cleaners and lived in a small house in Bedford that an aunt had bequeathed her. She was two years older than Wall and was very religious.

Two years after their marriage, they had a son and named him Hampton Wall Jr. By now, Wall was an assistant manager of the loan branch and was making $17,000 per year. Hortense had quit her job at the laundry and things got a little tighter financially. She became more whiny and demanding. When Wall asked that she reduce the amount that she gave to her church each week, she got so angry that it frightened him.

Hortense had told Wall that sex was painful for her, so they refrained from that activity. Wall was glad. He did not like the smells, the sweaty rolls of fat and barnyard grunts. He could not understand why the guys in the locker room at high school and in the barracks at the base were always talking and bragging about their escapades. He much preferred his comic books and television shows.

Before long, debts began to pile up. Kids were expensive Wall decided. One day in 1993, Wall received a pre-approved credit card in the mail from a bank in New York City. It had a credit limit of $5,000. As he was about to discard it, he had an idea. He could get a cash advance, pay his bills and then pay off the balance on the card from his paycheck.

He decided to keep this from Hortense. She was not smart enough to grasp financial things. So he had opened the checking account at a bank near his office. There was a post office next to it and he rented a small box there as well. He began to receive more pre-approved credit cards in the mail at his post office box. Soon he had accumulated ten credit cards and he was using cash from each to pay the others. By 1997, he owed $45,568 and the balance was growing daily.

Plains had been purchased by Global Financial in 1996. Wall was transferred to a district office. As the office manager, Wall made $23,000 per year and supervised eleven clerical employees. As he drove toward home on that spring evening, he knew that he had to act soon.

Chapter Four

G.I. Blues

Macon went through the dark office out into the hallway and used the restroom. He drank from the water cooler and returned to his office. He sat down in his chair and resumed the thoughts of his past. He idly wondered what had become of Novack and Metcalfe.

* * *

After the men had finished eating, they were moved back into the large room that contained the bunks. They waited for what seemed like hours. The other men talked and joked. Some men dozed off and some Negroes played craps on a blanket that they laid in a corner of the room. Marsh sat silently in a far corner with Macon.

Finally, a soldier wearing fatigues had them file out of the door and board a bus that was painted olive drab. Marsh held Macon back until all of the others had boarded. Then he wedged Macon into the seat behind the driver and sat down beside him.

The driver lurched the bus across the city to the railroad depot. He had the men get out and stand along the platform beside the track. Marsh and Macon were the last to get off of the bus. Marsh moved Macon to a spot a few feet away from the group.

"Smoke'em if you got 'em. Don't move from this spot until you board the train," the driver said.

It was dark now and the platform was illuminated by a string of lights on poles that ran the length of the platform.

A jeep skidded up beside the bus and two sharp-looking soldiers piled out. The jeep drove off and the two soldiers walked up to the group of men. The bus driver spoke with the two soldiers, handed one of them a clipboard with some white papers attached, and then went back to the bus and drove away from the station.

The two soldiers walked over and stood in front of the group of men.

"Men, I am Sergeant Donegan and this is Sergeant Winter. We will be your chaperones until we arrive at Fort Jackson. I want you to pair up and stay with your buddy throughout the trip. If you need to use the latrine, either Sergeant Winter or I will accompany you."

He took the clipboard that he was holding and began reading off names. The men acknowledged their presence.

The men paired up as Marsh kept Macon to the side of the group.

Donegan walked up to Marsh and shook his hand. "Got another one huh, Fred?"

"Yeah. A real badass," Marsh smiled.

"That will change quickly. He will be in C-9-3," laughed Donegan.

"What the fuck does that mean?" wondered Macon.

Marsh and Donegan were laughing. Macon stood silently as the group of men smoked and talked amongst themselves. From far away to the west, Macon heard the hum of diesel engines and the blast of the air horn. Other passengers began to come out onto the platform. A bright, white light washed over the tracks. With bells clanging and air brakes squealing, the Louisville and Nashville passenger train slid into the depot in Pensacola on that warm, spring evening in 1965.

Donegan and Winter herded the men onto a coach and Marsh followed Macon on board. The moon was high in the sky as the train pulled away from the station. Macon nodded off against the window of the coach as the locomotive's air horn shattered the dark silence of the spring night. Throughout the night, as the train rolled across the panhandle of Florida, whenever he opened his eyes, Marsh was awake.

Dawn was appearing on the horizon as the train threaded its way through a maze of tracks into the large station at Jacksonville. Donegan and Winter watched Macon while Marsh went to the bathroom. When he returned, he walked Macon to the bathroom and waited outside of the door while Macon pissed and washed his hands and face in the small metal sink.

As always, Marsh held Macon back until the rest of the men had detrained. They all walked into the station which was full of other groups of men headed to Fort Jackson. Donegan gave each man a voucher for breakfast and herded them into the restaurant inside of the station. Winter brought his plate over and ate with Marsh and Macon. The men ignored Macon while they talked and laughed at inside jokes.

After breakfast, Donegan got the men in line by pairs and had them file onto a silver coach of Seaboard's _Silver Star_. The train pulled out and soon was out of Florida. It rolled across the red clay of Georgia. Pine trees and small rivers went by. The train entered South Carolina and continued on northward.

When the train reached Columbia, the men filed off and formed up again. They were led through the station and to a large parking lot where several chartered busses sat. They loaded on and were whisked to Fort Jackson and deposited beside a very large field that was full of men.

There was a platform at one end of the field and three soldiers stood on it talking. They were holding papers and were waiting until the last bus drove off. At the opposite end of the field, there was a long line of school busses that were painted olive drab.

One of the soldiers huffed into a microphone. "Listen up! When you hear your name called, answer loud and clear. Then double time over to bus number one."

Marsh shook hands with Winter and Donegan and walked to a jeep that would take him back to the station for his trip back to Pensacola. A group of soldiers wearing Smokey Bear hats were milling around next to the line of school busses.

"Drill sergeants," said a man in front of Macon to no one in particular.

The soldier on the platform began calling names and men answered and ran off toward the first bus. The process was repeated over and over until only about one hundred men were left on the field.

"Bus number twenty-three. Hollie, Willie!"

A chubby Negro called out, "Heah!" and lumbered toward the bus.

"Ondrusek, Henry. Maxwell, Percy. Macon, Hank!"

"Here!" yelled Macon and ran over to the bus and boarded it. He sat down next to Hollie, glad to be free from Marsh at last. When the seats were full, a very large Negro wearing faded fatigues with sleeves covered with gold stripes climbed aboard the bus and looked at the men with a wide, white smile.

"Good morning men. I am Platoon Sergeant Blaylock and I ain't your motha. Give your heart to Jesus, because your ass belongs to me!"

The men sat silently. The bus wound through a confusing maze of buildings. Blaylock stared at them. The bus pulled up in front of a very old looking barracks.

"When you get off of this bus, you will line up in four rows of ten by height. The tallest man will be on the far right facing the barracks. You have two minutes!" Blaylock jumped down from the bus and watched the forty men cascade from the bus and try to sort themselves out. When they were in formation, Blaylock shifted a few men.

"Pay attention to who is on either side of you. They will be with you for the next eight weeks."

The men glanced around at each other.

"Now," Blaylock barked, "I said two minutes. Get your ass back on that bus and try again!"

The men scrambled back onto the bus and sat down. Blaylock followed the last one on and climbed the steps. The bus driver was laughing at the spectacle.

"Ever seen a bigger group of fuckups, Specialist Gersch?" Blaylock said to the driver.

He looked at his watch and then yelled, "Go!" and jumped from the door of the bus.

This time, they satisfied him. He stood in front of the men staring at them. The men shuffled uncomfortably.

"Men you will now enter the barracks. The first row is on the ground floor on the right side as you face the building. Second row on the left. Third and last row upstairs in the same order. Take the bunks against the far wall and fill to the front of the building. Go!"

Again, there was a mad scramble as they ran inside the barracks. They stood by their bunks and waited. The tallest man in the platoon was a Negro named Brewer. He had played basketball at Jackson State in Mississippi. He was six feet, five inches tall. His bunk mate was six foot four inches tall. He was a skinny, white boy from the swamps of Florida. He had skin that was a sickly gray color and his hair was dull black. His name was Adcock.

At six foot, three inches, Macon was the third tallest. He was just a tad taller than his bunkmate, who was a red-headed fellow from Alabama named Mercer.

Blaylock had been upstairs and he came downstairs with the twenty men in tow. He showed them the latrine and shower room. He pointed out the rifle racks located in a corner by the front door.

"Men. Do not smoke in this building. Smoke only outside of the back door. Lights out means just that. Once you make your bunk in the morning, you will not get back in it until lights out. Fall outside!"

Blaylock marched them to the mess hall. They filed inside and bored-looking cooks dumped food onto metal trays. Macon sat at a long table with several men.

"Damn, this is delicious," the man sitting next to Macon said sarcastically. "I shouldn't have been drafted. I got a bum knee!"

"Hell," said a man sitting across from Macon. "I'm almost blind." He was wearing thick glasses and going bald.

"They are drafting everybody for this war," piped up a man down at the end of the table.

"Don't worry," said another one. "Blaylock is going to make us lean, mean fighting machines."

"So we can get our asses blown off by the Viet Cong," said the man across from Macon. "Son, you don't look old enough to have been drafted."

"Wasn't," replied Macon as he sipped some milk.

"You volunteered?" the man with thick glasses asked incredulously.

"That or go to prison," Macon grinned.

"What did you do?" ask another man.

"Assault, battery and robbery," Macon said.

The men stared at him and seemed to edge away. Just then, Blaylock burst into the mess hall.

"OK, men, dump those trays and fall out in front of our barracks."

* * *

The office was almost totally dark now. Macon got out of his chair and walked through the main area. He stretched and looked at his watch. It was close to seven-thirty. He went back to his office and sat in his chair. He propped his feet up on his desk. He thought that he would soon leave and go out to get dinner.
Chapter Five

The Best Laid Plans

Hampton Wall sat in the den of his small house and stared at the television not seeing the show at all. Dinner was over and Hortense had retired to their bedroom complaining of a bad headache. Hampton, Jr. was in his bedroom. He was seven years old now and was a chubby boy who looked like his father. He loved to play video games, played no sports and was not popular at school.

Wall went over his plan again and again. It was foolproof. Soon, he would be out of debt. The eleven women in Wall's office were from the lower stratum of society. Global did not pay well and was not known as being a good company to work for. A few of the women were married, but most were divorced. They all had at least one child to support.

The office's district manager was man named Chas Johnson. There was also a credit manager named Frank Minor. Since their performance pay was tied to acquisitions, they spent a lot of their time outside of the office calling on dealers of power equipment. If a dealer chose to finance a customer's purchase with Global, they would receive a check and Global would service the loan.

As the office manager, Wall had a box of blank checks in his desk. When a contract was processed, one of the women would type the check, sign it and give it to Wall. Then either Johnson or Minor would countersign the check and it would be mailed to the dealer.

One of the women was a fat, whiny country girl. She was a slothful employee who was often absent from work and complained constantly. Her name was Beryl Jones. She had a young daughter and a husband who did little but sit around their rented house and smoke pot all day. His name was John and he bore a resemblance to Wall.

One afternoon after everyone had departed, Wall had taken a photograph of John that was on Beryl's desk. He had gone by a photo lab and had a reduced copy made. He had gotten in early the next day and had returned the photograph to her desk before anyone else had arrived.

At lunch that day, he had gone to a run-down part of Arlington and paid one hundred dollars for a Texas driver license with John Jones name and photo on it. It had John's address on it as well. He also obtained a fake social security card in John's name. He had gotten the number from Beryl's personnel file since she had carried him on her health insurance plan.

The next day, he had obtained a cash advance on two of his credit cards, gone to a small bank near his office and opened a checking account. A bored Mexican woman had looked at his identification and had begun the paperwork.

"I want this in my business name," he had told her. "John's Tractor and Backhoe Service."

The woman complied and he signed the forms. She deposited the cash and gave him some deposit slips and temporary checks.

"Your checks will be mailed in about a week, Mr. Jones."

"Fine," replied Wall.

He had driven back to work.

Two days later, he had written a temporary check for $490 and deposited it into his own secret account.

It was getting late and Wall yawned.

He scratched his stomach and belched loudly. The den was dark. His son's light was off. He turned off the television and headed to bed.

"Soon," he thought. Everything was in place.
Chapter Six

Jackson Hole

Blaylock marched the men to a large warehouse where each man was issued a pillow, a pillow case, two sheets, two towels and two brown wool blankets. Then, they marched back to the barracks and dumped the items onto their beds. Blaylock assembled them all in the bottom bay and walked over to the bunk that Macon and Mercer shared. He looked at the bottom bunk and told Mercer to make it.

Mercer looked bewildered. "My momma always does that, sir," he stammered.

"Don't call me 'sir!'" Blaylock bellowed. "I earn my pay. You will call me 'sergeant.' Your momma is not here. Make up the bunk!"

Mercer struggled with the sheets and blankets. Finally, he had the mattress covered. Another soldier had entered the barracks and was standing next to Blaylock. Blaylock went to Mercer's bunk and ripped off the blankets and sheets. He threw them onto the floor. He turned to the soldier who had entered the barracks.

"Show these fuckups how a soldier makes up his bunk, Corporal Etcheson."

Etcheson quickly made up the bunk, pulling the sheets and blankets taut.

Blaylock pulled a quarter from his pocket and flipped it onto to bunk. The coin bounced high off of the blanket.

"If I do this and it don't bounce, I dump your mattress on the floor. Now make those bunks!" he yelled and followed the upstairs group as they ran toward the stairway.

Macon found that it was easier to make the top bunk since he could pull the sheets and blankets from below to tighten them up.

When he was finished, Mercer said, "This isn't going to be fun."

"I didn't figure that it would be," replied Macon.

Mercer extended his hand. "Welcome bunkmate. I'm Tommy Mercer."

"Hank Macon."

Just then Blaylock appeared with the upstairs troops in tow.

"Ain't nobody got a first name here except, 'Private!'"

He pulled the coin from his pocket and Macon thought that he would test Mercer's bunk again. Blaylock flipped the coin high above Macon's bunk. The coin rebounded nicely.

Blaylock looked at Macon, "Nice job, private."

Blaylock walked over to Macon's empty wall locker and opened it. A diagram was taped to one of the inside doors.

"Tomorrow, you will be issued uniforms and boots. The uniforms will be arranged exactly like this diagram. If I open your locker and it's not, I will dump everything on the floor. Is that clear?"

A few men mumbled, "Yes."

"I can't hear you!" Blaylock roared.

"Yes, sergeant!" they screamed.

"Better," said Blaylock.

He opened Macon's foot locker and went through the same instructions. Then, he led them toward the shower room.

"By the shower room, there are two boxes. One contains soap and a soap dish. The other contains shampoo. Hit the showers and scrub your dirty asses. Lights out in one hour."

Blaylock left the building and Macon scrambled to be among the first so that he would have hot water. Because of his football days, group showers were nothing new to him. Some of the men seemed to be wary of mingling with a clot of wet, soapy bodies. Out of the corner of his eye, Macon noticed that Brewer was hung like a horse.

"True about black guys," he chuckled to himself.

Macon was glad to get into his bunk. He had slept fitfully on the train the night before. He thought about the ride with Marsh watching over him and soon fell into a deep sleep. It seemed as if he had just fallen asleep when the lights came on and a loud, piercing whistle sounded throughout the barracks.

"Off your ass and on your feet. Get dressed and fall outside in formation. Move it!"

"Jesus! What fucking time was it?" wondered Macon as he headed toward the latrine.

The men assembled in front of the barracks. It was still dark outside. Blaylock paced among them smiling.

"Today men, you will receive an army haircut. You will get one each week. You will receive some inoculations. You will be issued uniforms and equipment. You will keep your uniforms looking sharp and your equipment clean."

Blaylock stopped in front of a man who had long, curly hair. He smiled at the man and walked back to the front of the formation. A green bus rolled up to the barracks.

"Get your asses on that bus!" yelled Blaylock.

The men scrambled onto the bus and took their seats. The bus drove to a large building where they got out and waited in a long line of soldiers that snaked out of the building entrance.

"I hate fucking lines," muttered one man.

"Hurry up and wait. Get used to it," said another.

"FTA!" said a soldier who was in line ahead of their platoon.

Finally, they entered the building and were issued a pile of clothing, a steel helmet and a green helmet liner and a pack. These items were stuffed into a large canvas duffle bag. They got fitted for two pair of combat boots and a pair of black dress shoes. Rows of seamstresses sewed name tags onto their fatigue shirts and field jackets. Their names and serial numbers were stenciled onto their duffle bags in black ink. They received a black, plastic name tag for their Class A dress uniforms. Then, they piled back onto the bus and held the duffle bags in their laps.

The bus took them back to the barracks where they carried their duffle bags to their lockers. They filled their wall lockers and foot lockers according to the diagrams. Then they removed their civilian clothes and dressed in their new fatigues. They put on their new combat boots and a green helmet liner. Blaylock gave each man a large plastic bag.

"Put your civilian clothes in the bag. You won't be wearing them here anymore. If you want to keep them, write your name on the bag and store it in that empty squad room. He held a black marker in his hand. If you don't want them, toss them in that dumpster behind the barracks."

Macon tossed his civvies. He didn't want to be bothered with them. Blaylock sent them to chow and then they boarded the bus again. They were trundled over to a long building that was filled with barber chairs. They went in according to their place in the formation.

"A little off of the top," Mercer told a sullen-looking barber who took his electric shears and quickly shaved Mercer's head.

Macon's haircut lasted mere seconds it seemed. His head felt cold. He put on his helmet liner as he went back outside and stood in the hot sun as the others slowly filed out. Once they were all shorn, they loaded back on the bus. They went to another building where they removed their fatigue shirts and walked through a line of medics who held air guns that injected them with various vaccines. They were given a card that listed all of the various diseases that they had been inoculated against.

"Lose that card and you get them all again," grinned Blaylock. The men quickly placed the cards in their wallets.

The bus transported them back to the barracks and rolled away farting black smoke into the hot, humid air.
Chapter Seven

Rocky Horror

Blaylock put them into formation and smiled. "That's your last ride for the next eight weeks. From now on, we walk. Look to your left. That's my loop. Let's run my loop!"

He sent the men down a hill and through what appeared to have been a training area. There were tall pine trees, rocks and fox holes. There were brambles and barbed wire. Macon guessed that the loop was about a quarter of a mile long. It was uphill going back to the barracks. Macon was a good athlete and Brewer was still in shape from basketball, so they easily led the others back into formation.

Some of the men were hacking and coughing. One man was quite red in the face. Blaylock held them at attention.

"Only thing that moves is your lungs breathing air and your heart pumping piss! Got that? When we are in formation, you will only move if I tell you to do so."

"Yes sergeant!" they yelled in unison.

A soldier in the back row named, Evans, began wildly flailing his arms.

"What's the matter, Evans? You got a hearing problem?"

"No sergeant. There is a bee buzzing around my head."

"You are a soldier, not a pussy Evans. Bees don't bother you. Am I clear?" Blaylock shouted.

"Yes, sergeant!"

Blaylock paced in front of the formation. "That is your one and only time to move without my permission. Next soldier who moves will get my special treatment. Now, let's run my loop again!"

Blaylock led for half of the way, then stopped and watched the stragglers stumble along the trail. He followed the last man cussing and urging him on. That soldier was Adcock. He staggered back into formation between Macon and Brewer.

"How about some pushups?" smiled Blaylock. "Drop and give me twenty!"

The men dropped to the concrete and began to do pushups.

"Stop!" commanded Blaylock. "I don't hear you counting. I want to hear, 'One sergeant, two sergeant and so on.'"

The platoon began again. They yelled out, "One sergeant, two sergeant."

Adcock was on his knees and shaking violently. Macon suddenly noticed that the man was wetting his pants and a stream of piss was running downhill towards his hands. He shifted over, got up slightly and settled back into position. He moved his hands out of the way.

"What are you doing, Macon?" Blaylock boomed. "I told you to do pushups."

"But, sergeant, Adcock is pissing and I don't want it on my hands."

"Everyone on your feet!" Blaylock screamed. He walked up to Macon and put his face inches from Macon.

"Son, when you get into combat, your buddy next to you might get blown up. His guts, brains and blood will spray all over you. A little piss is not going to hurt you. I told you not to move. I am going to show you what happens when a young soldier disobeys me. Go upstairs, get your field pack and steel helmet. Get your goddamn ass back here in thirty seconds!"

Macon ran into the barracks.

"This sucks!" he thought.

He thought about beating the crap out of Adcock sometime. But then, he would get into more trouble. He got his gear and ran back into the street and into formation.

Blaylock marched the platoon down to a large field littered with small rocks. He halted the platoon and ordered Macon to fall out.

"These are my rocks, private. Fill your pack with my rocks."

Macon scooped up the sharp rocks and filled his pack with them. He waited while Blaylock paced and smiled.

"There are forty soldiers in this platoon, private. I want one lap for each young soldier. When you pass by, you will call out, 'One for Private Brewer, Sergeant.' I will give you the name of the next man as you pass by. Now move your sorry ass!"

Macon began to jog. He guessed it to be about one eighth of a mile around the edge of the field. Five miles. He could do that with no problem. Except in school, he was wearing athletic shoes and running on a smooth surface. The combat boots were awkward, the rocks made the footing difficult and the pack full of rocks bumped against his lower back.

"One for Private Brewer!" he yelled out as he passed by the platoon. Blaylock was making them stand at attention.

He began to kick the rocks out of his way as he jogged along and soon a tiny path was formed. It was fairly smooth. He hitched his pack up tight against his upper back and it did not bother him as much. Blaylock called out the next man in formation as Macon passed by and he responded.

He began to forget his anger at Adcock and strove to show Blaylock that he could do whatever challenge was thrown at him. It was humid and hot and his new fatigues were soaked with sweat as he passed the thirty-ninth soldier. He ran the final lap calling out his own name at the end. He stood in front of Blaylock.

"What are my rocks doing in your pack? Put them back on the field!" Blaylock yelled.

Macon was glad to comply. Blaylock marched the platoon back to the barracks.

He stood in front of them and asked quietly, "Are there any more young soldiers who want to disobey me?"

The men stood very still and very quiet.

"Fall out!" commanded Blaylock. The men filed into the barracks.

Macon replaced his pack and helmet and slumped down on his footlocker. He took off his boots and massaged his feet.

Brewer came over and stood in front of him. "That was cold-blooded, man."

"Yeah. But I did disobey Sergeant Blaylock," Macon replied.

"But you had a reason."

"That doesn't seem to matter much," laughed Macon.

The men went to the mess hall for chow soon thereafter and Mercer and Brewer sat with Macon. The balding man who wore the thick glasses joined them. His name was Shapiro.

"Blaylock is a chicken shit," he opined. "I couldn't have made two of those laps, much less forty."

"We will all be able to do forty by the time we get out of this shithole," said Mercer.

When they returned to the barracks, Blaylock appeared.

"There is a box by the back door that has a shoeshine kit for each of you. Every night, you will polish your boots. You will rotate both pairs so that they wear evenly. Your boots will look like mine."

Macon looked at Blaylock's jump boots. They looked like a polished, black mirror. He retrieved a kit and opened it. Blaylock disappeared again. Brewer came over with a white cloth.

"My cousin was in the war. He showed me a trick. Use this diaper and some water. We'll impress the big man."

Macon did as he was told and soon the pair of boots that he had yet to wear were gleaming. He called over to Brewer who was heading toward the shower, "Thanks, man!"

Brewer just smiled at him as he walked away toward the shower room.

Then he tackled the boots that he had taken off. They were badly scuffed by the rocks, but he made them look as good as he could.

The next morning, Blaylock marched them to the armory where they were issued M-14 rifles. The men marched back to the barracks carrying the weapons at the right shoulder arms position.

"This afternoon, some soldiers will instruct you on the care of your rifle. You will take their instructions just as if it came from me. Your rifle will be kept clean! You will memorize the serial number of your rifle. You have five minutes to do so. Stand at ease and smoke if you wish."

When the time was up, Blaylock went up to Evans and took his rifle. "How is your bumble bee, Private Evans?"

Evans looked like he wanted to be somewhere else. He began to stammer.

"It is permissible to laugh when I make a joke."

The men laughed nervously.

"I haven't seen the bee lately, sergeant," Evans finally said.

"Good! What is the serial number of your piece, soldier?"

"8567453, sergeant," replied Evans.

Blaylock returned the rifle to him. "Good."

Blaylock moved toward the first row.

"Please don't ask Adcock," Macon prayed.

Blaylock stopped in front to Mercer instead. The red-haired soldier was able to whip off the serial number.

Then they entered the barracks and locked their rifles in the rifle racks.

"Memorize the number of the slot that your rifle is in," Blaylock said.

Then they fell out into formation in the company street. It was getting very hot in South Carolina as summer approached.

"Let's run my loop, men. Go!"

Macon and Brewer led the platoon along the now familiar and hated trail. The men seemed to be getting in better physical condition. Adcock still lagged and wheezed along.

* * *

Macon yawned and stretched. He left his office and went down the hallway to the reception area. He checked to make sure that the door to the office suite was locked and left for the last time. He headed for a stairwell and loped down to the ground floor. He went into the parking garage and walked to his reserved slot. He got into his black Ford 150 pickup truck. He decided where he would get dinner, started the truck and backed out of his spot for the final time. He glanced at the gas gauge.

"Damn!" he muttered.

He had meant to get gas on his way to work and had forgotten. He drove from the parking structure toward the gulf.

Chapter Eight

The Whip Comes Down

Wall was very nervous. Time dragged along with agonizing slowness. Minor and Johnson had gone to a construction equipment show. Wall knew that they always went drinking with some of the dealers afterward and would not be returning to the office.

Finally, it was four-thirty and the women shuffled out complaining and chirping. His hands were shaking and he felt like throwing up. He opened his desk drawer where he kept the box of checks and took the next check in sequence. He inserted it carefully into a typewriter on one of the clerk's desks. He typed the date on the check stub portion. Then he typed, "One Case 580K Backhoe/Loader, serial #KPH646141 w/Low Boy Trailer, serial #001462." He paused before he entered an amount on the stub.

"May as well make a little profit on this," he smiled and typed in $56,189.24.

He began to carefully type on the check itself. He paid it to the order of John's Tractor and Backhoe. He rolled the check from the typewriter. He went to the Xerox machine and took a sheet of paper from the tray. Then he got the binder that contained the third check copy. These were colored pink. He found a check that had Beryl's sloppy handwriting on it. He practiced writing her name on the blank white paper until he got very close to mimicking it. Then he wrote her signature on the first signature line of the check.

Minor must have aced penmanship in grade school. His signature was large, neat and easily forged. Wall carefully detached the check and put it in his wallet next to a temporary deposit slip that he had filled out.

Then he went to the desk of the woman who made the bank deposits. He removed the carbon paper from the deposit book and laid it over the yellow second copy of the check. He took a small ruler and wrote the word, "VOID" in block letters that would be impossible to trace. He also did that to the pink third copy of the check. He carefully tore the signature block area from the pink copy per company policy and put it in a pile with the white paper, the yellow copy of the check and the carbon paper.

He punched two holes in the pink copy, placed it in the binder and put the binder back into his drawer. He got a new piece of carbon paper from the deposit book and inserted it where the old one had been. He replaced the deposit book.

He took the pieces of paper to be discarded and went down the hall to the men's restroom, tore them into tiny pieces and flushed them down a toilet. He returned to the office suite and looked for loose ends. Satisfied, he left the office, locked the door and went out to his old car that was baking in the sun.

He deposited the check at the drive-through window and headed home. Soon it would all be just a bad memory. Hortense had a church event to attend, so he took his son out for a fast-food meal. He tried to relax, but there was much more to do before he was totally out of the woods.

The next day was odd at work. He could not concentrate at all. He thought about the check. He was very impatient, but knew that he had to relax. He called his bank late that afternoon, but the deposit had not posted. He knew that it could take a few days to be credited to his account.

Two days later, he called and discovered that the funds were in his account. He called the banks for each credit card and obtained payoff amounts. He wrote these on a small piece of paper that he placed in his wallet. Shortly after lunch, he reminded Minor that he would be going to a dental appointment and he left shortly thereafter. His new checks had come in. He took the checkbook and tore out the first few checks and flushed them down the toilet in the men's restroom. He drove to a dingy business in a small shopping center. A small sign on the door read, "Southwest Gold and Silver." A fat Jew with thinning hair unlocked the door and let him in. Wall purchased $56,000 in gold coins and gave the man his check.

"I cannot take this without knowing if it is good," he told Wall. "Ride with me to your bank."

"Sure," Wall replied.

The man summoned a frail-looking woman to watch the store. Wall followed the man to a dark- blue Cadillac and got into the passenger seat. The man drove erratically, was silent and listened to some weird-sounding music. They entered the bank and the man had the cashier verify Wall's balance. The cashier verified the amount, initialed the check and called a teller over to cash it. The teller brought the cash to the man who counted it carefully. They left the bank and rode back to his store.

"Never can tell these days, John. You look honest, but one cannot be too careful," he said.

Wall took the heavy box of coins and put them into the trunk of his car. He drove to the east side of Fort Worth to Wally's Precious Metals. He introduced himself as John Jones and sold his coins. He was pleased to see that the value had inched up during the afternoon. Wally asked if he wanted a check or cash. Wall seemed indecisive for a moment, then asked for cash. Wally went to a back room and returned with a large manila envelope. He dumped the stacks of bills onto the counter and carefully counted them. Wall recounted the money, bade Wally a good day and went out to his car. He placed the money into the trunk. He stopped along the way home buying money orders for the payoffs at several different banks.

After Hortense had gone to bed that night, he went out to his car and got the money orders and remittance stubs, placed them in envelopes, put stamps on them and replaced them in the trunk of his car. He mailed them on his way to work the next day. Now he was out of debt and had over eight thousand dollars in cash. He removed most of the money in the account for John Jones during his lunch hour. He destroyed the remaining checks and deposit slips.
Chapter Nine

Come On Baby, Light My Fire

Macon went to a small restaurant and ate an excellent seafood meal and washed it down with a few beers. He relaxed at his table on the patio looking at the waves rolling onto the sand and continued thinking about his past.

* * *

After two weeks of basic training, when the men fell out into the street for morning formation, Macon noticed that Adcock was missing.

"Close up those ranks, men. We started with forty. Now we have thirty-six in the platoon. Feller, Wasizsjki and Long have been found to have serious medical conditions. They are processing out of the army with medical discharges. Adcock has been transferred to the recycle platoon. God help whomever ends up with him. You are all shaping up very nicely. This is a big job and I need some help."

Blaylock held up a black armband that had three gold chevrons on it.

"I am selecting one of you to be an acting platoon sergeant. You will obey that soldier just the same as you would me. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sergeant!" the platoon yelled out.

"Come up here, Sergeant Macon!"

Macon was stunned as he walked up to Blaylock who fastened the armband on the sleeve of his fatigue shirt.

"Drill the men, sergeant."

"Yes, sergeant. Platoon, left face! Forward march! Left, left, left, right, left!"

The men did twenty minutes of close-order drill until Macon stopped them and dismissed them for breakfast. He sat in the mess hall at a small table with Blaylock.

"You have the makings of an excellent soldier, Macon. I would put you up for OCS but you are not eighteen and have no high school diploma. Anyway, sergeants run this man's army and I will teach you everything that I know. I've been through Korea and Nam. By the way, you are the only soldier to ever make it through the run on my field. I have bet the company commander two cases of Budweiser beer that you will max the PT test. Don't let me down!"

Macon smiled as he sipped some orange juice. "Don't worry about that, sergeant."

For the following six weeks, during after hours, Blaylock took Macon to a small office in the company headquarters and showed him how to read topographical maps, reviewed infantry tactics and how to be effective on the field while keeping his men as safe as was possible under the conditions. Macon felt as close to Blaylock as he had his football coach back in Pensacola. With the biggest game of the season on the line, the coach had called a play with Macon carrying the ball for the winning touchdown in the final seconds. Now Blaylock was trusting him to lead men into combat.

Blaylock had turned quite a bit of the training over to Macon and the platoon responded to him. They had become a highly disciplined and proficient group. On the night before graduation, Blaylock took Macon to the NCO club and they enjoyed some cold beers.

After graduation that was held on the same field where Macon had gotten off of a bus eight weeks before, another line of chartered busses sat waiting. The platoon was being scattered all over the country for advanced training. The soldiers who had enlisted for a certain specialty would be heading to bases where that training was conducted. The draftees and those with longer enlistments were being sent to bases for training in the combat arms; infantry, armor and artillery.

Mercer was headed to Fort Sill for artillery school and Brewer was going to Fort Knox in Kentucky for armor training. Macon had been assigned to advanced infantry training at Fort Ord in California.

The men who were going short distances were bussed. The others were taken to either the train station in Columbia or to the Atlanta airport. Macon and his group flew from Atlanta to San Francisco and were bussed to Fort Ord. All of the soldiers had been automatically promoted to Private E-2, but Blaylock had pulled some strings with the battalion commander and gotten Macon promoted to Private First Class. He was made an acting sergeant as soon as he reached Fort Ord and assigned to a platoon.

The new sergeant was a far cry from Blaylock. He was a small, white man from the hills of West Virginia. He never yelled or cussed at the men. All of the training was overseen by a cadre of specialists in their field, so Sergeant Evett had little to do except to make sure they got to the right place at the right time. Macon again excelled in all aspects of training and was promoted to Corporal upon graduation.

Unlike basic training, the men had free time at night and on the weekends. Macon fraternized with some of the men without ever getting close to them. One weekend, he took a train to San Francisco and had a good time in the old city.

With so many troops being sent to Viet Nam, the ranks of non-commissioned officers were getting very thin. The army sent soldiers with three and four year enlistments to Fort Benning in Georgia where they formed elite companies and underwent rigorous training. The army formed a NCO academy in Virginia and Macon was selected to attend with soldiers from all over the country. After graduation, he was promoted to sergeant and given an infantry squad. He remained at Fort Benning as his second year in the army wound down.

The army finally realized that the tactics that had been so successful in World War II were not working in Viet Nam. They set up a special warfare training school. Some of it was held in the swamps of Florida where the Army Rangers trained. They also set up a complete Vietnamese village at Fort Wolters in Texas complete with thatched huts and soldiers in black pajamas and coolie hats. This was also where army pilots learned how to fly helicopters. Macon spent three months in this training. He was promoted to Staff Sergeant and received his orders for Viet Nam in September of 1967.

He was flown to Oakland Army Terminal on a transport plane and to Viet Nam on a chartered 707. After he landed at the air base at Cam Rahn Bay, he was trucked to a large facility with a group of soldiers and flown by helicopter to his outpost. He was assigned to a company in Diem Bhom province. His company commander was a grizzled captain named, Crum, who was a newspaper reporter in civilian life. He had fought in World War II, Korea and now Viet Nam. At age forty-three, he had only seven years of service to his credit. After each war, he resigned and went back to work. When a war broke out, he signed up again. Captain Crum liked to fight, but hated the peace-time army.

Crum was a crafty commander and prided himself on keeping his men safe yet effective. He would interpret orders in a way that made it appear that he had followed them without really doing so exactly. As sometimes happens in the army, Crum's superior, the battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Chamberlain, had served under Crum in World War II. Crum was then a captain in Patton's Third Army crushing the Germans back toward the east and Chamberlain was a raw second lieutenant whom Crum had taken under his wing. So, Chamberlain now gave Crum great latitude in carrying out the battle plans.

Macon was given the third platoon. Normally, second lieutenants led a platoon, but they also were in short supply. The only other officers besides Crum were his Executive Officer, Lt. Machelli and the platoon leader of the second platoon, Lt. Lynn.

The war was escalating daily and more and more United States soldiers and those of allied nations poured into the country. In one engagement, Macon's platoon had seized a RVN munitions depot and killed twenty enemy soldiers. In the fracas, he had received some shrapnel wounds on his back that were not serious.

A few days later, the brigade commander had presented Macon with the Purple Heart and the Bronze Star for bravery. After six months, it was time for his week of "Rest and Relaxation." He had a choice of Hong Kong, Bangkok, Singapore or Australia. A lot of the men went to Bangkok to spend their week at the brothels there. Macon went to Australia with a few other soldiers. The beach was warm, the beer cold and the girls were delicious.

More months passed and soon it was close enough for Macon to be counting the days until he would rotate back to the United States. Three weeks before that date, Captain Crum was promoted to major and transferred to the Pentagon. A young, ambitious ROTC graduate, Captain Henke, arrived and assumed command.

Henke was a small man with red hair. When he got settled into his tent, he told the first sergeant to get the men into formation.

"Formation?" scoffed a grizzled staff sergeant in the weapons platoon.

The men straggled over and formed up loosely. Most were bare chested, few of them wore headgear and most needed a shave.

"This is the saddest looking group of soldiers that I have ever seen!" screamed Henke. "I will have you men looking like real soldiers before long."

"Fat chance," came a voice from the back row and all of the men laughed.

"First sergeant, I want that soldier to receive an Article Fifteen!" demanded Henke.

"Yes, sir!" replied the first sergeant.

After the men were dismissed, they wandered back to their positions and tents.

"That motherfucker is gonna get fragged," said an Italian soldier from Brooklyn.

"You'll have to stand in line," quipped another soldier.

Henke tried to shape the company up, but had little luck. They were mostly draftees, half of whom were stoned on pot often. Most of them did not give a shit about anything except getting out of Nam alive. Macon was a short-timer and had no use for this kind of officer. Thirteen more days and he would be trucked back to the airbase and flown to Oakland.

One evening, Henke gathered the platoon leaders and sergeants. He traced a route on a large map.

"There's Viet Cong in this area. We will attack them at dawn."

Macon pointed to an area of the map.

"The area north of your planned route could make an ideal spot for Charlie to hit our flank. That is a levee in that swampy area. Perfect cover for them to enfilade us," Macon told the captain.

Henke stared at Macon. "Are you being insubordinate, sergeant?"

"You goddamn, stupid motherfucker," Macon thought to himself. "No, sir!" he replied.

The company headed out at daybreak. Henke had the second platoon on the point followed by the first platoon. He stationed the weapons platoon on a small rise of land to the rear and ordered the third platoon to support them and stay in reserve.

As soon as they passed from view, Macon detached the third squad to remain with the weapons platoon and led the rest of the platoon on a circular route to flank the area where he suspected the Viet Cong to be entrenched.

Suddenly, the point man in the second platoon hit a trip wire exploding a land mine and the Viet Cong raked the advancing American columns with machine gun fire and mortars. Henke's radio operator was blown to bits and Henke lost both legs and one arm. A medic scrambled over to him.

Macon's men sliced into the exposed flank of the Viet Cong and laid down a lethal field of machine gun and rifle fire. Macon radioed the weapons platoon who sent down a hail of mortar fire and one–o- six rounds. Wounded and dead enemy troops littered the area. A few managed to run into the jungle area beside the swamp. Macon got on his radio and called division artillery. Their call sign that day was, "Killer Rain," and Macon found that to be amusing. He gave the coordinates.

"You've got a mess of gooks heading south. Send them a surprise."

"On the way," replied the artillery officer and soon massive explosions engulfed the area. Macon called in helicopters to evacuate the wounded and dead. He moved his troops back to the area where the weapons platoon was situated. Henke had been given morphine and was swathed in bloody bandages. Macon looked disgustedly at him. Too many good men had died today due to his ineptness and desire to prove that he could lead troops into battle.

As the helicopter whisked Henke away, Macon saw that Lt. Machelli had returned with the remainder of the troops. He assumed command and led them back to their base.

Macon peeled off his fatigues and took a quick, cold shower. He got dressed and then Machelli called the men together.

"While we were out there, the supply truck was here. Our week's ration of beer is iced down by the mess tent."

The men let out a cheer and headed that direction. Macon pulled two icy cans from a barrel and went over to a pile of sand bags and sat down. Soon a few of the other sergeants joined him.

The first sergeant walked by with a can of beer and a Camel cigarette in his hands.

"Hey Top, you ever give Kluzewski that Article Fifteen?" asked one of the men.

"What do you think?" laughed the man as he headed toward the command tent.

The men roared in laughter.

A muscular, black sergeant sat next to Macon. His name was Lemon Hopkins and he was from Destin, Florida not far from Pensacola.

"Nice work out there, homeboy. How many days you got now?"

Macon held up three fingers.

"What are you doing when you get your ass out of here?" asked Lemon.

"When I get processed through Oakland Army Terminal, I've got thirty days of leave before I report to Fort Dix to go to Germany. I am going to go to San Francisco, get a room in a nice hotel and take a long, hot shower till the water turns cold. I want to get this battlefield stink off of me. Get lots of sleep in a real bed, eat decent food and find a tall blonde who wants to welcome home a lonely soldier."

"Good plan. I'll be heading straight home. That's where my woman be."

"You're a lucky guy, Lemon," said Macon as he killed his first can of beer.

The next day, a helicopter from division landed at the compound and General Martin got off. The men stood in formation as he awarded medals to them. Macon thought that he might get an Oak Leaf Cluster for his Bronze Star, but the general had not called his name.

Then, the last name that he called out was Macon's. He stepped forward and the general handed him a pair of platoon sergeant chevrons and pinned the Distinguished Service Cross on his fatigue shirt.

"Hell of a job, sergeant!"

"Thank you, sir," said Macon saluting the general who turned and jogged back to the waiting helicopter. Macon was twenty years old.

The next day he was flown in a helicopter to a large secure area and taken to the airbase in a deuce and a half truck that picked up several other soldiers along the way. He boarded a chartered 707 and headed back to Oakland. He was quickly processed through and was paid up to date. He shared a cab with three other soldiers and was taken to San Francisco. The other soldiers went to the airport and the cabbie took Macon to a nice hotel that he recommended. Macon paid for a week and went up to his room. He stripped off his fatigues and stood in the shower until he felt waterlogged. He soaped off several times. Then he fell onto a soft mattress for the first time in six months. He slept for over twelve hours. He dressed and went outside. This time, he was dressed in his summer khaki Class A uniform. As he walked along the streets, several long-haired kids yelled at him and called him names. When he turned and faced them, they scurried off.

America had changed since he had been gone. He found a small restaurant and had an excellent breakfast. He wandered down to the wharf and stared across the blue ocean. Several thousand miles away, American soldiers were dying every day. For what, he wondered. The politicians had dictated so many restrictions that the generals were not able to fight the way that they wanted. He pictured Major Crum sitting at a desk at the Pentagon counting the days until he could get out of the army. He thought about Blaylock training men to be sent into the meat grinder of the unwinnable war.

He was not old enough to buy beer, but he thought that maybe the uniform would help him. He found a small store and entered. He pulled two cases of cold beer from a cooler and dropped them on the counter. The man behind the counter appeared to be in his fifties. He looked at the patch on the shoulder of Macon's uniform.

"Big Red One, huh? I was in that outfit in Belgium during World War II. Best goddamn outfit in the fucking army."

Macon smiled as he tossed a twenty dollar bill on the counter.

The man rang up the sale and handed the change to Macon. He pointed to the ribbons on Macon's chest. "That's impressive son!"

"Thank you, sir," Macon picked up his change and the beer and carried it back to his room. He filled the sink up with ice and chilled several cans while he took another long shower. Slowly he was putting Viet Nam in his rear view mirror.

After his week was up, he took a cab to the railroad station and bought a ticket on the _Coast_ _Starlight_ to Los Angeles and on the _Sunset Limited_ to New Orleans. He had had enough of flying for a while. He stayed in New Orleans for several days enjoying the old city, the cuisine and a woman that he had met. He did not run across any hippies and people seemed respectful when they saw his uniform.

His mother had married a man that she had met at the motel and moved to Durham. Her new husband had four children and she was busy helping raise them. Macon planned to visit her on the way to New Jersey where he would fly to Germany.

He took a train to Mobile and a bus to Gulf Shores where he relaxed on the beach and ate his fill of seafood. The horrors that he had seen would always be with him, but there was within him a sense of accomplishment and pride. He mentally thanked Sergeant Blaylock for seeing his potential as a leader. He thought of how it would have been if he had drifted through life in Pensacola with no goals or purpose. The army was not anything that he considered for his future. He would complete his tour in Germany and get out.

As the time got closer for him to report to Fort Dix, he took a train to Durham to visit his mother. Then he took the _Silver Meteor_ to Philadelphia and a bus to Fort Dix. After a few days, he was flown to Frankfurt and sent by train to Furth and assigned to the 51st Infantry. The war was in full swing now and the troops in Germany were being levied to Viet Nam by the thousands. His new company was at half strength. Morale was low and a lot of the soldiers were drunks or potheads. Most of the soldiers were older.

"Fucking kid," sneered one man. "I don't take orders from a goddamn punk kid."

The man was a scruffy-looking Private First Class. His uniform was dirty and he needed a shave. One morning, Macon marched his new platoon to a wooded area. He told the soldier whose name was, Newby, to fall out. The man slouched out of formation and spat.

"Private Newby says that he doesn't take orders from a kid," he addressed the men.

"Want to change your mind, Newby?" Macon asked as he turned to Newby.

"Fuck you!" snarled Newby.

With snake-like quickness, Macon hooked Newby hard in the stomach. When the man bent over gasping and clutching his midsection, Macon kicked him in the head and blood spewed into the air. Newby fell onto the dirt rolling around moaning.

"Looks like Newby has had a training accident."

The platoon stood silent looking fearful.

"I hope that none of you has a training accident," smiled Macon. "Wyatt, you and Blue drag his sorry ass to the aid station. Reed, march the men to chow."

Macon went back to the barracks and entered the orderly room. The first sergeant was reading the _Army Times_ newspaper. "Is the old man in?" ask Macon.

"Yeah, go on in."

Macon knocked on the captain's doorframe and entered. He saluted and said, "Sir, Private Newby has had a training accident."

The captain leaned back in his chair. "I figured that he might sometime. Careless soldier, that one. Carry on Sergeant Macon."

Macon saluted and left the office. Newby went AWOL that afternoon and was not seen again.

Macon's remaining time was unchallenging compared to being in Nam. He saved the maximum sixty days of leave to be paid at separation and spent the excess days travelling in Europe sampling the various food, beers and women. Finally, he was flown back to Fort Dix for separation. His four years was up. He took a bus to Philadelphia and flew to North Carolina where he visited his mother briefly. He took the _Silver Star_ to Jacksonville where he renewed his driver's license and purchased a Cutlass convertible. He drove to Tampa and began looking for work.

Puget Sound Industries hired him to collect accounts from commercial truckers and stationed him in Tallahassee. He rented an apartment near the university and began his career which would take him through several promotions, and to Memphis, Houston and finally back to the regional office in Tampa where he was promoted to regional manager in 1989.

* * *

Macon left the restaurant and went to his truck. His apartment was close to a park that had a small lake in the middle of it. Next to the park was a gas station. He drove to the gas station and pulled up to a pump. His was the only vehicle there. He walked inside and saw a Hindu-Chink kind of woman wearing some kind of native garb. She was hunched over a small black and white television. She looked up and he handed her a twenty dollar bill.

"Pump number four."

Macon walked back to his truck, removed the nozzle and began filling his gas tank. A shadowy figure emerged from the small park and shuffled toward Macon. When the man got into the bright lights of the gas station, Macon saw that he was a shabbily dressed Negro.

The man held out his hand and said, "Got any money, bro? I need me some food."

Macon ignored the man. The man tugged at his sleeve. Macon stopped pumping the gas and jerked his arm away from the man.

"Get the fuck out of here!"

He noticed that there was still a half a gallon left on the meter.

"Racist honky!" the Negro yelled at him.

It had not been a good day for Macon. He quickly pulled the nozzle from his truck and slammed it into the man's mouth, hearing teeth snap off. He squirted the last of the gas down the man's throat and on his face and shirt. The Negro was bent over gagging and retching. Macon glanced at the station. The woman was still hunched over her television set. Macon kicked the man hard in the face and once again as he lay writhing on the concrete. He replaced the nozzle into the pump.

"You don't listen too good, do you?"

He reached down, picked the man up and threw him into the bed of his truck. He got in and slowly drove from the station. He drove to the entrance to the park and pulled into a parking slot. The park was empty. He lowered the tailgate of his truck and dragged the man out onto the pavement. He grabbed him by the feet and pulled him to an area between the lake and the trees. He took a booklet of matches that he had picked up at the restaurant from his pocket. He lit a match and dropped it onto the man. The man screamed in terror as the gasoline burst into a ball of fire that soon engulfed him.

Macon returned to his truck and drove out of the park. He went to his apartment and parked in his slot. He entered his apartment. His decision was made for him now. He needed to leave Tampa quickly. Macon rented his furniture and television by the month. He called the rental company and left a message for them to come pick it up. He told them that the manager would let them in.

On the counter in the kitchen was his lease renewal for another year. He had not signed it yet. He tore the document up and tossed the pieces in a wastebasket.

He called the office and left a message for the manager that he was moving and that the key would be on the counter in the kitchen. He pulled a suitcase from a closet and quickly packed his underwear, socks and shoes and toiletries. He placed his laptop computer in its carrying bag. He took his clothes from the rack in the closet. He carried all of this out to his truck and placed them into the area behind the seat of his truck.

He banked at a national bank with branches all over the country. He also liked to carry a lot of cash. He counted it. He had over eight hundred dollars. He drove out of Tampa and went for two hours until he was sleepy. He found a small motel and paid cash for the night. He went into the room, undressed and went to bed.

The next day, as he ate breakfast in a small café, he thought about where he would go. He remembered the two annual meetings that had been held in Portland, Oregon. Oregon seemed like a nice place and it was about as far from Tampa as one could get. So after he left the café, he located the post office and filled out a form to have his mail forwarded to General Delivery, Salem, Oregon. Now he had a destination. He would take his time getting there. He planned to stop in Memphis to visit a few of his old haunts, then head to Colorado. He had always wanted to see that state. Then he would make it over to the west coast.
Chapter Ten

Dead End

A week had passed and nothing had happened. Wall began to relax. Global was a large company and things did not always run smoothly at headquarters. Shortly after two o'clock on a Thursday afternoon, Minor and Johnson appeared at his desk.

"We need to see the binder with the check stubs," Minor said.

"Sure," said Wall removing it from his desk drawer and handing it to Minor.

"What's that check number?" he asked Johnson.

Johnson looked at a yellow post-it note in his hand. "0082869."

Minor flipped through the pink check copies. "It's voided."

Johnson grabbed the binder. "What?"

Both men walked into Johnson's office and Wall could hear them calling Chicago. He felt his heart beating rapidly. He wanted to get up and go somewhere, but he sat at his desk pretending to look something up on his computer.

Minor and Johnson walked over to the fax machine and waited.

"Doesn't make sense," mumbled Johnson.

The fax machine spit out what they were looking for and Minor snatched it from the machine. They returned to Johnson's office.

"You signed it!" Johnson said to Minor.

"Yeah, but that's not a dealer that we finance for. I've never heard of them."

"Get the file!" ordered Johnson. His face was red and his shirt tail was hanging out.

Minor had one of the women look for the file. She could not find it and relayed that message to Minor. Minor went into Johnson's office and closed the door. Wall could hear the sound of the speaker phone, but could not hear what was being said.

Wall was glad when it was time to leave. The door was still closed in Johnson's office. When he returned home, Hortense wanted to go shopping, so he and Hampton, Jr. tagged along behind her bored. They ate dinner at a fast food spot and returned home. After Hortense and the boy were asleep, Wall roamed the house. The next day would be interesting.

Beryl Jones came into work late as usual. She came panting into the office and plopped her fat butt into her chair. Minor was standing in the doorway of his office watching her settle in, turn on her computer and pick up her phone. He walked over to her desk.

"Got a minute?" he asked.

Beryl turned her dull, country face to him. "I guess."

She got up and followed Minor into his office. Johnson joined them and closed the door. Wall could hear muffled noises, but could not discern anything. After a long time, Minor and Beryl walked out and went to her desk. Wall could tell that she was crying. Minor watched her gather her personal belongings and then walked her toward the door. He followed her into the hallway.

When he came back, he called the women and Wall into the break room where Johnson was standing. Johnson cleared his throat.

"Beryl has been terminated. There was a misappropriation of funds. We will be looking at how we conduct our business and make some changes. Probably someone from Chicago will be coming down as well. That's it."

The women went back toward their desks chattering and clucking. Wall remained behind.

"Want me to run an ad?" he asked Minor.

Minor looked at Johnson.

"Yeah," said Johnson and headed back to his office.

Wall was smiling to himself.

"It worked!" he thought.

He could not wait for lunch when he could get away and congratulate himself.

He drove down to a pizza joint for lunch and ate an entire pizza and drank a large soda.

"Home free, baby!" he laughed out loud.

His weekend was great. Hortense had a church retreat and her mother took Hampton, Jr for the weekend. Wall lay around on the couch watching television and sleeping. He sent out for pizza and guzzled colas.

Wall was at his desk early on Monday morning. Johnson and Minor had not arrived. Around ten o'clock, they entered the office accompanied by a tall man wearing a suit and tie. He had red hair that was turning gray. His complexion was ruddy and pitted.

"Hornsby," muttered Wall to himself and began to look very busy.

The three men went into Johnson's office and closed the door. Hornsby was the vice president of operations for Global out of Chicago.

"Probably just going over the changes," thought Wall.

After an hour, Minor came over to Wall.

"Got a minute?"

"Sure," Wall replied getting up. His stomach was churning and his palms were wet.

Hornsby was standing behind Johnson's desk looking out of the window. Minor and Johnson left the office and closed the door behind them.

"Sit down!" commanded Hornsby.

Wall sat down into one of the chairs and Hornsby came over and stared down at him.

"There are some things about this company that I don't like. But I can't seem to get them changed. One of them is a policy that they never prosecute anyone. It would not take an average cop long to see how you set up that poor woman. What is it? Gambling, a girl friend, drugs?"

"I don't know what you mean, sir."

Wall was shrinking back in the chair as Hornsby inched closer toward him. Sweat flowed down his chest, onto his stomach and he felt his underwear getting damp.

"Damn, he's big," he thought.

"You sorry, fat sack of shit!" Hornsby screamed into Wall's terrified face. "You know goddamn well what I mean. You are going to have your shitty, little job forty years from now. No raises, no bonuses and no promotions. You quit and try to get another job and all references calls will be directed to me. You don't have the balls to do anything on your own. Now get your fat, greasy ass out of this office!"

Wall got up quickly and walked back to his desk. Minor and Johnson went back into Johnson's office and closed the door. Wall got up, went down the corridor to the restroom and threw up over and over again. He was sobbing and shaking. He finally washed his face and hands and returned to his desk. Hornsby, Johnson and Minor had gone to visit some dealers. They wouldn't be back before Hornsby's flight departed. Wall left and went out to his car.

At some point, Hortense would badger him about getting a raise or a promotion. He would have to make excuses about the company having a bad year. When pressured to find something else, he would have to bring up the bad job market. Hornsby had fixed him good. Still, he was out of debt. But that wouldn't last long. Expenses would soon exceed income again. The eight thousand dollars in cash that was in the trunk of his old car would disappear. Then what?

Suddenly, he had an idea. He still had the identification for John Jones. He could become John and go far away. Hortense could go back to work. Her mother could take care of the boy. He was jolly during dinner. After Hortense and the boy went to bed, he packed some clothes and took what he wanted from the house. He packed his car and set the alarm for five thirty in the morning.

When the alarm went off the next morning, Hortense asked sleepily, "Why so early?"

"Big breakfast with Mr. Johnson today. I may get that raise!"

"Oh," said Hortense turning back into her pillow.

By noon, he was almost to Amarillo. By nightfall, he was in Colorado. He found a cheap motel and slept long and well. He sold his car for five hundred dollars at a small lot in Denver. A car jockey gave him a ride to the bus station. He found that the next bus out heading west was to Portland, Oregon. He purchased a one-way ticket. He went across the street and bought a dozen jelly doughnuts and a sixty-four ounce soda. He boarded the bus and settled back for the long trip to Portland.

After he arrived in Portland, he rented a room at a weekly rate motel in a sketchy part of town. He obtained an Oregon driver's license using the address of the motel. He joined a discount club, gaining another photo ID in the name of John Jones. He registered to vote. Soon, he purchased an old Toyota. He enrolled in a truck driving academy and got his commercial license upon graduation. After a few weeks, he got a job with Cascade Fuels delivering tankers full of gasoline to stations in south and east Portland.
Chapter Eleven

Go West, Young Man

Macon took his time driving through Colorado. The cooler summer weather was a contrast to the steamy heat of Florida. He travelled though the deserts of Utah to Salt Lake City. A week later, he rolled into Salem. He found the main post office and found that there was nothing for him. That was not unusual. He never received any personal mail and had no creditors. He checked into a small motel and obtained an Oregon driver's license using the address at the motel.

A few days later, he drove over to the coast. He drove along a narrow road that wound in and out of dense woods. Small openings offered glimpses of the Pacific Ocean with wide sandy beaches. Soon, he approached a massive pile of freshly cut logs. Then he spotted a large saw mill owned by Georgia Pacific. Mountains of logs were piled up. They would be cut into boards for shipment to China and Japan.

He also saw a small railroad yard that was full of flat cars loaded with logs waiting to be unloaded. A shiny, yellow diesel locomotive was shuttling the cars around the yard, moving the empty ones away from the unloading operation and bringing the loaded flat cars into position to be unloaded. Macon watched the operation for a while, then he drove away and found a restaurant where he ate a delicious seafood lunch.

He wondered if the mill or railroad had any job openings. He thought that the mill would be the less desirable, so he headed back to the railroad yard. Strings of empty log carriers slumbered in the sunshine along with two shiny diesel locomotives. Near the yard was a white, wooden building with a tall radio antennae at one end. A sign on the building read, "Pacific and Oregon Eastern Railroad."

There was a small parking lot with a few cars and trucks scattered about. Macon parked and got out of his truck. The air was permeated with the smell of freshly cut logs. As he walked toward the building, a late model Ford F-250 pickup truck drove into the lot and parked in a space that had a sign that read, "Reserved for the CEO."

A tall man with gray hair cut very short got out and noticed Macon walking toward him.

"Good afternoon," he said.

"Good afternoon, sir," replied Macon. "I was wondering if you had any jobs available."

The man looked at Macon for a long moment and then stuck out his hand. "Ben Beaumont. Come with me."

He led Macon into the building that had a large map along one wall and several people working at desks. Macon followed him into a small office that was nicely furnished. There were several framed photographs of trains with snow-covered peaks in the background.

"Have a seat." Beaumont indicated a chair in front of a massive oak desk.

Beaumont went around his desk and sat down in his leather chair.

"Do you have any railroad experience?" asked Beaumont.

"No, sir," answered Macon.

"You look familiar. Were you ever in the military?" asked Beaumont.

"Four years in the army," said Macon. "Nam for thirteen months, two years in the states and then the rest of the time in Germany."

Beaumont smiled. "I was the range officer at Hoenfels. You had a rifle platoon in the first and fifty-first. You were the youngest E-7 that I ever saw. I was talking with your first sergeant and he just smiled and said that you had the DSC."

"They gave those out like candy," replied Macon.

Beaumont knew that this wasn't true.

Macon told Beaumont about his job experience and how he had lost his job in the acquisition of Puget Sound.

"What I have would be way below your abilities, I'm afraid," said Beaumont.

"That doesn't matter to me. I am looking for a change. New part of the country and something different to keep me busy."

"What I have is a brakeman position. You ride in the engine and do all of the switching. We run the empties up into the Cascades and the logging companies load the logs. We bring the logs back down here to the mill and they are unloaded. There is no set schedule. A turn may take two days or three sometimes. Once you return here, you get at least thirty-six hours off. You stay in the camp up there and are based here in town. You start at four thousand a month. No drinking on the run or up at camp. When you get back here, I don't care what you do. We are not unionized, but I give you good benefits."

"That sounds good. When can I start?"

Beaumont took a business card from his desk. He handed it to Macon. "This clinic is about two miles down the highway just past the Thriftway grocery store. Take your drug test and I should have the results later today."

He got Macon's cell phone number and wrote it down on a slip of paper.

"I'll call you when I hear from them."

He got up and walked Macon outside. They shook hands and Macon drove off to find the drug testing place. He found it, peed in the bottle and left. He drove back to the beach and took a long walk in the sand. It seemed that everyone had a dog and the dogs seemed to be enjoying their outing.

Beaumont called him at four o'clock.

"OK, you passed the drug test. Be here at eight o'clock on Thursday. We will get all of your paperwork squared away and you will go out on your first run up the hill. Do you have something to write on?"

"Yes." Macon grabbed a pen and an envelope that was in his glove box.

"Go into Portland to REI. Get a rain suit in bright yellow. Get heavy work gloves, a parka with a hood and enough warm clothes. You will be out in the snow often in the Cascades. It will also rain quite a bit."

He gave Macon the address of a motel close to the railroad yard.

"Get a room and pay for the week. They give us a good rate. It is clean and when you are at the lodge, we reimburse your rent. I think that you will enjoy living in this town. We get a lot of female tourists here. For a reason that I have never been able to fathom, women love the beach. When they are on vacation, they want to have something to tell their friends back home about. An old NCO knows what to do," he laughed. "Welcome aboard!"

"Thank you, sir," replied Macon. "I will be there on Thursday."

He got into his truck and found his way to the motel where a nice lady named Cassie showed him his room and gave him the key.

"Just call me if you need anything. Your room gets cleaned every day." She smiled and walked back to the office.

Macon watched her walk away then walked to his truck and brought his luggage inside. He decided to head to Portland, purchase the items that he would need and look for a place to have dinner before he returned to the motel. On the way out, he stopped at the post office and had his mail forwarded to the motel.

e though about nH

Chapter Twelve

Portland Rose

Creighton Lee continued spending most of his days at his law practice. The spring of 1997 was hot and humid. He knew that he needed a break and began to think about getting away for a while. He conferred with Wallaby and it was decided that they would take a long camping trip in July. He began to ease up on his workload and let his paralegal know of his plans. She arranged to take her vacation in June so that she would be able to cover for him in July.

He arranged to have one of the teenage boys in the neighborhood to look after his house and made sure that his gardener would continue to maintain the grounds and keep everything looking good. He purchased all of the gear that he thought that they would need. Early on the first day of July, he loaded the Suburban and Wallaby jumped into the front seat wagging his rump furiously.

Lee drove across the barren plains of Texas and into the panhandle. He crossed into New Mexico and he and Wallaby spent a few days camping in the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo range alongside a pretty river with tall pine trees all around. Wallaby loved to run the trails and jump into the cold water. At night, he curled up by the campfire waiting for Lee to feed him scraps. Wallaby could run all day without appearing ever to get tired. Lee pushed himself each day working his muscles like he hadn't done in years. Although he jogged and swam at home, climbing in the thin mountain air was much more of a challenge.

They moved west into the Rockies and spent a few more days. Lee had no real destination in mind. They drove across Wyoming, Idaho and finally into Oregon. Lee found that he was thinking very little about his practice and seldom of Marie. He felt guilty, but knew that he had to move past her. Being so far from San Antonio helped as well.

Lee drove west across southern Oregon until they hit US Highway 101. He turned north and followed the scenic highway along the Pacific Ocean. He and Wallaby stopped for a walk along one of the many beaches along the way. The water was cold and Wallaby quickly tired of chasing the surf. They spent the night in Depoe Bay and headed east into the Cascade Range.

The next day, they found a state park called "Silver Falls." Lee got a secluded camp site back away from the park road and pitched his tent. It was getting late, so he cooked his meal, fed Wallaby and they turned in soon after dinner.

The next morning after breakfast, they headed along a trail that led upward. They passed by some large waterfalls. Wallaby shook the spray off of him and they continued moving along up the trail. Wallaby liked to run ahead of Lee and then come bounding back to him. At one point Wallaby had gotten far ahead of Lee around a bend in the trail. As Lee climbed upward he spotted a woman kneeling down and talking to Wallaby.

"Come here, Wallaby!" Lee called. "Sorry ma'am."

"He's not bothering me. He is so cute! Shake, Wallaby!" the woman said.

Wallaby looked at Lee and winked. He lifted his left paw and offered it to the woman.

"A left-handed dog," she smiled as she took the offered paw.

The woman stood up. She was wearing the uniform of a park ranger and she was tall and trim. Blonde hair was tucked up under her Smokey Bear hat. A few tendrils that were not covered waved softly in the breeze. Sun glasses hid her eyes, but Lee noticed her perfect white teeth and tan, toned body. A small brass nameplate on the front of her uniform shirt read, "Auburn."

"You've met Wallaby. I am Creighton Lee, Ranger Auburn." Lee extended his hand.

"Alisa Auburn. You don't sound like you are from around here," she smiled.

"Wallaby and I are from San Antonio."

"Ah, Texans. Welcome to God's country."

"I'm beginning to believe that," grinned Lee. "Can park rangers socialize with guests?"

The woman gazed at Lee for long seconds. "I'm off at six o'clock this evening. I can do whatever on my time."

"Then Wallaby and I expect you for dinner. Barbeque chicken, baked potatoes and beans. We are in campsite thirty-three in the South Falls section."

"I'll see you boys then." She bent down and scratched Wallaby's head. Then she headed back down the trail.

Lee turned and watched as her strong calf muscles flexed on the rocky trail. Wallaby looked up again panting and winked again.

"Yes, you did good, boy," laughed Lee.

During the afternoon, Lee went into a small town about twenty miles from the park and replenished their supplies. He bought Wallaby a large bone at a meat market and picked up a bouquet of flowers as well. Back at their campsite, Wallaby immediately buried the bone under some pine needles while Lee spruced up the area. He read for a while and Wallaby fell into a deep slumber.

The sun was filtering through the tall pine trees when Lee heard the sound of a vehicle approaching. Wallaby edged toward the road, his ears standing up and his rump wagging. A bright, yellow Mustang convertible eased into the space next to Lee's Suburban. Wallaby ran up to the car and waited.

Alisa got out and shut the car door. Lee walked slowly over to her car looking at the woman. She was wearing sandals, dark blue shorts and a pale, blue, sleeveless blouse. The hair that had been tucked up under the ranger hat was very blonde and flowed down her golden shoulders. The eyes that had been hidden by sunglasses were a bright, emerald green.

"Holy shit!" he muttered to himself.

"Good evening, Alisa!" he smiled.

"Hi, Wallaby!" she bent down to rub the dog's back. "Hello, Creighton."

She opened the trunk of her car and pulled out a small cooler.

"I figured that a Texan would be a beer man. But I also thought that he might not have discovered Oregon beer yet."

She walked over to the picnic table on which Lee had placed the flowers in an old milk carton.

She laughed. "Nice touch!"

She pulled a bottle opener from her pocket and flipped off the top of two amber bottles and handed one to Lee.

"Thanks!" He looked at the label.

It read, "Mirror Pond Ale."

"We definitely don't have this back home." He toasted her, "To park rangers."

Alisa pouted, "That's a big group. Any special park ranger?"

"That's one word. I'm thinking of about a hundred more right now," he chuckled.

They sat in camp chairs and talked as dusk began to envelop the campsite. Lee lit two Coleman lanterns and began the fire. He basted the sizzling chicken with a sauce that he had made and placed the foil-wrapped potatoes deep into the coals. When the chicken was almost ready, he placed a can of beans on the grill and shorty served up dinner.

They ate and talked while Wallaby lay patiently beneath Alisa's feet. She helped him clean up and Wallaby was the recipient of some tasty scraps.

Alisa got up from the table. "I've got the early shift tomorrow. I better be getting home. Thanks for a wonderful time! Tomorrow, let me have you boys for dinner at my house."

"We would like that!" Lee answered as he walked her toward her car.

They paused before she got in. She looked up at Lee and he bent slightly to kiss the offered lips. Wallaby barked. They both laughed.

"I'll come by here around six o'clock," she waved and carefully backed out onto the park road.

After she had driven off down the dark road, Lee walked into the woods and pissed. He washed his hands and brushed his teeth at the water connection and refilled Wallaby's water bowl. They went into the tent and Lee undressed and lay down on top of his sleeping bag with Wallaby curled up at his feet.

He reviewed what he had learned about her. She was twenty-eight years old. She had grown up in Portland where her father was a surgeon. He had retired and moved to Sun River with his wife. Alisa had an older sister who was married to an architect and had a daughter who was five years old. Alisa had wanted to be a ranger all of her life. She had graduated from Oregon State with a degree in forestry. While there, she had been on the varsity volleyball team and liked to swim, run, and lift weights. She had never married, but had had a serious relationship while in college. Lee quickly recognized the name since the man now played in the NFL.

When Lee had told her about Marie, she had grasped his hand and held it tight while she expressed her sorrow. He compared their similarities, which were many. Marie would have liked this girl had they met somehow.

Wallaby kicked his legs and growled while he was sleeping. Lee rolled over and fell quickly asleep.

The next day he took Wallaby on a very long hike. Then, they swam in a chilly pond near one of the waterfalls. In the late afternoon, Lee shaved, showered and changed into the nicest clothes that he had packed.

"Time to find another laundromat," he said to Wallaby. "And maybe a nice bath for you."

Wallaby ignored Lee and went searching for the bone that he had reburied many times during their stay at the campsite. Wallaby perked up his ears when he heard Alisa's car approaching. He ran up to it as she parked next to the Suburban. She stepped out of her car.

"Hi, Wallaby!" she said bending to pet him.

Lee gazed at the woman. He still could not believe how lucky he had gotten. He walked up to her and they kissed as her long hair was swirling in the breeze. She looked up at him with her gorgeous eyes.

"Did you boys have a fun day?"

Wallaby wagged his stubby tail and Lee told her about their day. Wallaby panted in concurrence.

"Follow me," she said getting back into her car.

Wallaby jumped into the Suburban and Lee backed out and let Alisa lead them to the park exit and out onto the highway. The highway was narrow, hilly and winding. He noticed a small, silver river alongside of the road. White water was crashing over small boulders and sending up plumes of spray into the late afternoon air.

As they went along a very long, gradual curve though a cut in the cliffs, Lee noticed a yellow railroad warning sign. Alisa had slowed down to a crawl and stopped at the crossing that was only guarded by a white "X" sign that read, "Railroad Crossing." He followed her over the track and she picked up speed.

After a while, she signaled a right turn from the highway onto a very narrow road that climbed deep into the forest. Lee peered at the edge of the road and it seemed to drop away into a deep valley. Soon, she signaled another turn and drove up another narrow road which turned out to be her driveway. She stopped in front a large log cabin that had a tall chimney made of small boulders. Next to where she parked, Lee noticed an older Jeep that had four-wheel drive and had new-looking snow tires on it. He parked next to her Mustang and he and Wallaby got out and looked around. Wallaby pissed on a tree and Alisa walked up to Lee.

"How do you like it?" she smiled.

"So you don't live at the park?" he asked.

"I have enough seniority to get a cabin there. But I make a nice salary and, as you can tell, there are not a lot of places around to spend money. So I bought this a few years ago."

"It looks perfect for you," smiled Lee. "A pretty nice commute, too."

"You should see it in the autumn and spring. I have never seen New England in the fall, but it would be hard to beat here when the hardwoods turn colors. The spring is really beautiful as well."

"What about winter? Do you get a lot of snow?" asked Lee.

"Most winters, we get quite a bit. When we do, I take the jeep. It has never failed me," she smiled. "Let's go in. You might want to put Wallaby on his leash," Alisa said.

Lee grabbed the leash from the Suburban and attached it to Wallaby's collar. Alisa unlocked the door and they entered the cabin. There was one large room with very high ceilings that had a railing all the way around on the second level. The floors were highly-polished wood and there were several Oriental rugs scattered amongst the comfortable-looking furniture. There were large windows and French doors. She showed him the modern kitchen that had brushed, stainless steel appliances. She led him up the stairway and pointed out a guest room and guest bathroom. She showed Lee her bedroom that had a large window along one wall. She showed him her bathroom that also had a large window with a great view.

They returned downstairs and Alisa told Lee to hold onto Wallaby's leash and she stepped through the French doors onto a large deck constructed with large planks of oak. Lee looked down and saw that the deck was suspended high over the edge of a tall cliff. He paused and Alisa laughed.

"Don't worry. This is supported by steel pillars driven into the bedrock. The entire frame is steel under the wood. You could put a tank on this deck and it would hold it."

Lee gingerly stepped out and looked far down. He could see the river running fast over the rocks and he could hear it as well. In the distance, he could see snow-capped mountain peaks.

"Wow, this is really beautiful! It really fits you, Alisa," he said.

She stepped back into the kitchen and opened two bottles of beer. She handed him one. He looked at the label and again it was nothing that he had ever heard of. He sipped it and it was good.

The deck had a large wrought iron table with matching chairs, two chaise lounges, a few other chairs and a gleaming stainless steel barbeque grill. He looped Wallaby's leashed under the table leg, but Wallaby did seem to want to move towards the edge of the deck. They drank their beers and talked.

Alisa pointed toward the west where a long string of lower mountains were silhouetted in the setting sun.

"That's the Coast Range. Just behind them is the ocean. You really need to go there before you leave."

"Actually, we came up the coast on highway 101 before heading over here. We stayed in a little town called Depoe Bay."

"Good choice. Really beautiful and not as many tourists as some of the others. Did you eat at the Sea Hag?" she asked.

"I had breakfast there. It was delicious and enough food to last me the rest of the day," laughed Lee.

After a while, Alisa went into the kitchen and began to prepare dinner. She lit the gas grill and produced two tenderloin steaks that had been marinated in a sauce that she had made. Lee stood with her as she cooked the steaks. When they were done, she set them on the table and they brought out the rest of the dinner.

The meal was delicious. Wallaby enjoy the scraps immensely. It got dark late in Oregon during the summer, so it was almost nine o'clock when they finished cleaning up the dishes and returned to the deck. Soft spotlights came on around the edge of the deck. An outdoor speaker was playing an Otis Redding track. Lee stood looking into the darkness.

When Otis began singing, "These Arms of Mine," Lee looked at Alisa.

"Would you like to dance? This is one of my favorites."

"Mine, too," she smiled and molded herself to his body as they swayed around in a small circle. When the song ended, Lee began a long, sweet kiss. They explored each other with twisting tongues. He held her very tight and felt an electric current flow through is midsection. They finally ended the kiss. He stepped back a bit, kissed her on the forehead and said, "Wow!"

"Yes," she softly said.

He held her again until she said that he and Wallaby needed to be getting back to their campsite. She had told him earlier that she would stop by after work and visit for a minute, but that she had two days off and was going to Portland to visit her sister. Lee had told her that he and Wallaby needed to be thinking about heading back to Texas soon. He got her e-mail address and cell phone number.

Lee took Wallaby out to the car and let him jump inside. He looked up at the sky and could see thousands of stars. He turned and hugged Alisa. He kissed her and told her that they would see her tomorrow after she got off work.

"I'm not sure that I can find my way to the highway," he told her.

She headed toward her car. "I'll lead you. Turn left when you reach the highway. I will turn around there," she said.

Alisa drove slowly and Lee followed her red tail lights through the inky blackness. After a few minutes, she edged off of the right side of the pavement and let Lee go past. Lee honked and waved as he turned out onto the highway. There were few cars on the road and he soon made it back to the park and their campsite. He got out and both he and Wallaby christened a pine tree. Lee washed his hands and brushed his teeth at the water spigot. They went into the tent and were soon both fast asleep.

They slept late the next day. After breakfast, they took a short hike and a quick dip in a chilly pond. After lunch Lee drove to the closest town and found a dog groomer. He left Wallaby there for a trim and bath and he went to a small barbershop and got his hair cut. He retrieved Wallaby and they went back to the campsite. They relaxed during the afternoon. Alisa arrived at a few minutes past five o'clock. She got out of her car, petted Wallaby and hugged Lee. They kissed for a long moment.

"Wallaby and I will be leaving early tomorrow. We want to see Crater Lake and then we will head back to Texas. I would like to show you San Antonio." He looked deep into her green eyes.

"I have a lot of vacation time accrued," she smiled holding his hand.

"Let me see how things are going at my office. We will aim for late September." He held her tight again. "I will be counting the seconds."

"So will I!" She kissed him again, spun out of his arms, petted Wallaby and got into her car.

Her eyes were glistening with tears as Lee and Wallaby watched her drive away from the campsite. Lee felt hollow inside. They ate an early dinner, but the park seemed different when they knew that Alisa was not in it somewhere. Lee opened a beer and spread out his maps on the picnic table. He plotted a route to Crater Lake and then back to Texas.

They went to bed early and got up very early. Lee packed the Suburban and Wallaby jumped inside. Lee drove for two hours, then found a small diner where he had a hearty breakfast.

Later in the day, they camped at a place close to the lake. The next day they drove over to the National Park and Lee was astounded by the beauty of the blue water. There were still patches of snow on some of the trails and it was chilly. He and Wallaby took a nice hike. He ate lunch in the old lodge and then they returned to their campsite where they ate an early dinner and went to bed early. They headed for Texas at the crack of dawn. Three days later, they pulled up at their home.

Lee called the boy who had watched their house and he came over to get paid. Lee looked at the grounds and the landscaper had done a good job keeping things looking good. The next day was a Saturday and he drove to the post office and collected his mail and had his delivery started again. He swam some laps in the pool and sat in the shade with a cold Heineken.

On Monday, he parked in his slot in the parking garage and went into the private entrance to his office. He saw that his desk was covered with files with notes from Roxy about the status of each one. Roxy and Teresa came into his office.

"Who is that tan stranger?" laughed Roxy.

"Beats me," said Teresa. "But he sure looks happy!"

"He couldn't be in love could he?" smiled Roxy.

Lee blushed.

The women laughed. He told them about Alisa. "She is coming here in September. We'll go out for drinks. You will like her."

"That's great, Creighton. What does she do for a living?"

When Lee replied, the women looked at each other with odd expressions on their faces.

Lee grinned. Teresa went back to her desk and Roxy pulled up a chair and they went over each file. She had done a great deal of work and Lee planned on giving her a nice bonus at Christmas.
Chapter Thirteen

Working on the Railroad

Macon moved into the motel paying for the week. The manager would adjust his rent each week depending on how many nights he stayed in the woods. As he hung his suits, blazers, ties, dress pants and shoes in a closet, he wondered when he would ever wear them again. Maybe if he went to Portland on his days off. He turned on the television and sat on the sofa.

"New career tomorrow," he thought to himself.

He woke up early and showered. He dressed and packed some clothes, filled two water bottles and retrieved a large sandwich from the small refrigerator in his room. He packed these items in his backpack and arrived at the railroad yard at the time that Beaumont had told him to come.

When he got out of his truck, the smell of the freshly cut logs filled the air. It was a bright, sunny day. The headquarters building was landscaped with rose bushes and other flowers and plants that Macon was not familiar with. Bees buzzed happily on the flowers as he entered the building. A very young man met him at the door.

"Welcome aboard, Hank!" he smiled at Macon. "I'm Ron Ross. Come with me. We have some forms to complete this morning. Follow me."

He led him inside to a table in a small room and asked him to be seated. Ross guided Macon through the stack of forms. When he had to put in a beneficiary for his life insurance policy, he was stumped. His mother had died and he had no relatives. He finally filled in the Oregon SPCA. He had never owned a dog, but he was very fond of them.

When they were finished, Ross led him back into the large office area. He introduced him to a burly man who had a bushy beard and a shaved head.

"Hank, this is Jack Walsh. He is the crew scheduler."

Walsh got up and shook Macon's hand. He verified Macon's e-mail address and cell phone number. Macon noticed a large, white magnetic board on a wall next to Walsh's area. The top portion was labeled, "Engineers" and the lower portion was labeled, "Brakemen." Macon noticed his name on a strip of magnetic plastic. Next to his name was a magnetic black dot that was in a column under the number "four."

"You will be rolling up the hill on Raven Four this morning," Walsh explained. "Even numbers are for eastbound trains and odd numbers are for the loads coming down the hill."

Ross then introduced him to the dispatcher, who was a tall, slim man with gray hair and was wearing a set of head phones. He had a large map of the track system on a wall next to his desk. There were several red and black pegs sticking in various small holes in the map. There was also a very large radio on a platform next to his desk that was connected to the headphones. Doug Ford removed his headphones and shook hands with Macon.

"Glad to have you with us! You impressed Mr. Beaumont the other day," he smiled. "I am the voice you will usually hear when you are on the run up the hill and back."

"Nice to meet you!" Macon said.

Ross introduced him to several others including some young women in the billing and accounting department.

He took Macon over to a very pretty, blonde-haired woman.

"Heather will be your best friend. She does your payroll and benefits."

"A pleasure to meet you," said Macon looking into Heather's sparkling brown eyes.

"Nice to meet you as well, Hank," she said.

A few minutes later two men walked into the office and signed a log book. They walked over to where Ross and Macon and were standing. Ross introduced Macon to them.

"Hank, this is Ray Millican. He will be the hogger on Raven Four this morning."

Macon shook hands with Millican, who was a slightly built, gray-haired man. He was wearing creased khaki pants and a blue button down shirt. He wore wire rimmed glasses and wore a pork pie hat. He carried a small, old-fashioned suitcase in his hand.

"Glad to have you with us!" he smiled at Macon.

The other man was a burly fellow with a brown crew cut. He was wearing overalls, boots, and a green tee shirt that was covered by a bright orange vest with reflective stripes. He had a backpack dangling from a meaty hand.

"This is Butch Hadrack. He is the brakeman on this run and will be training you," Ross said as Macon shook hands with the man.

"Nice to meet you," said Hadrack in a booming voice. He handed Macon a key attached to a long chain. "Fasten this to your belt. It opens all of the switches."

He gave Macon a bright orange reflective vest to wear over his shirt.

He then handed him a webbed belt that held a radio. Macon put it on and Hadrack attached the microphone to the shoulder of Macon's shirt. "Button one is to the captain," he nodded at Millican. "Button two goes to the dispatcher."

"Sign the log book please, Hank," said Millican. "We will be pulling out shortly."

Macon signed the log book, shouldered his backpack and followed the two men outside. They walked over to a track where a string of empty flat cars sat behind a gleaming diesel locomotive. The locomotive was painted a bright golden color with dark green lettering on the side.

"Pacific & Oregon Eastern" was painted in large block letters. The front of the locomotive had the image of a large black bird and the script letters, "P&OE."

Millican climbed aboard and Hadrack passed the suitcase and two backpacks up to him. Millican took them inside of the cab and took his place in the right-hand seat.

"We will now inspect the train," Hadrack said as he and Macon moved toward the rear of the train.

Hadrack checked the fuel levels of a large black tank situated beneath the locomotive. Millican started the diesels engines and a rumbling sound filled the air along with the smell of diesel exhaust. There were hissing and snapping sounds. Macon walked along with Hadrack inspecting air hose connections, brake shoes, journal boxes and couplers. When they reached the last car, Macon noticed that there was no caboose. He mentioned that to Hadrack.

"Gone the way of the dodo bird. This box here," he pointed at a rectangular box mounted on the end of the last car, "is called an 'end of train device or ETD.' It sends messages to the computer in the locomotive about brake pipe pressure and also has this red light to protect our rear."

They walked back toward the locomotive on the opposite side of the train.

Hadrack keyed his radio.

"Looks good, boss."

"Roger," said Millican.

Macon and Hadrack climbed up onto the locomotive. Hadrack sat in the left-hand seat and Macon took the jump seat between them.

The radio crackled. "Raven Four, you are cleared to go up the hill and bring us back some toothpicks."

"Roger," said Millican. He made two long blasts of the air horn, released the air brakes and eased the throttle back. The train began rolling slowly eastward.

Macon looked at Millican. "Raven?"

"All of the railroads have a nickname. The Missouri-Kansas-Texas, or MKT, was called the 'Katy.' The Southern Pacific, or SP, was called the 'Espee.' Our line is the 'POE.' A long time ago, there was a logger up the hill who liked to read." He cast a disapproving glance at Hadrack. "He loved the stories by Edgar Allen Poe. So since one of his most famous lines is, 'Quoth the raven, never more,' we became The Raven."

"Interesting," replied Macon. "What about toothpicks?"

"One of our more acerbic brakemen was talking with one of the loggers up at the lodge. They wondered how many toothpicks a typical log would make. When the brakeman got back to town, he wrote a professor of forestry at Oregon State. That fellow enlisted some of the mathematicians and they came up with a number."

"What was it?" asked Macon.

"More than I can count on my fingers and toes!" boomed Hadrack.

Macon smiled. This was going to turn out to be a pleasant job. Millican blasted the air horn for a road crossing. Two longs, a short and one more long.

"Each hogger has a signature sound that the air horn makes," said Hadrack. "Captain likes the short, machine-gun burst. We used to have a fellow that had hogged on the MoPac down in the swamps of Louisiana. He could make the horn sound a long, trembling, mournful wail. When it was snowing and dark, the sound would echo off of the trees and canyons. It was a beautiful sound. He said that he was copying the sound of a guitar that he had heard an old, black man playing in a bar in New Orleans. If I am off duty and hear the Raven from afar, I can tell you who the hogger is."

"That's something else that I didn't know," smiled Macon.

As the train climbed toward the Cascades, Macon spotted a herd of elk grazing in a meadow. He also saw several hawks and one bald eagle.

"This is great!" he said.

"This is summer," laughed Hadrack. "The snow and cold are something else."

The train was steadily gaining altitude. It got a little cooler as they wound along. Thick forests flashed by and they crossed over several rivers and streams.

Macon learned that Millican had spent forty years on the Santa Fe in Kansas. He had retired and moved to Oregon to be close to his daughter and grandkids. After a while, he had gotten bored. Beaumont had hired him in a heartbeat.

"Best hogger on the line," grinned Hadrack. "Ran the _Super Chief_ through Kansas."

The radio crackled. "Raven Four, take the hole at Hannah. Meet Raven One."

"Roger!" replied Millican. "Raven Four is taking the hole at Hannah. Meeting Raven One."

"Got to be careful with that," smiled Hadrack. "There are eight sidings between headquarters and Mountain Yard. Hannah and Harper are named after Beaumont's daughters. Hogger got fired when he said, 'Going into Hannah's hole.' Beaumont was out in the office and heard it. When the train got to Mountain Yard, Beaumont fired him on the spot. The guy had to ride out on the Sysco food delivery truck to a place where he could catch a bus back to town."

Macon grinned. "I'll remember that!"

"There are no signals on the main line. All of the movements are controlled by the dispatcher," Millican told Macon.

Ahead, Macon saw the siding as Millican slowed the train down to a crawl. He stopped the train behind a switch stand. Beside the switch was a metal sign painted white that was bolted to two steel posts and had black lettering that read, "West Hannah." Hadrack and Macon climbed down from the locomotive onto the rocky ballast.

"Raven Four heading into the hole at Hannah," Millican called on the radio.

"Walking on rocks again," smiled Macon to himself thinking about Blaylock. He hoped that the big sergeant had made it to retirement safe and sound.

"Your key fits all of the switches," said Hadrack as he inserted his key into a large padlock. He stepped on a release bar and threw the switch. The rails moved to the right and Hadrack stood to the side and waved the engineer onward. Millican gave two long blasts on the air horn and moved slowly forward onto the siding track.

"Check the air hoses, wheels and axles. If you spot anything, let the captain know."

They inspected the cars as they rolled slowly past. When the last car cleared the switch, Hadrack radioed Millican who eased the train to a halt. This time, Macon threw the switch and locked it down. They walked alongside the opposite side of the train, inspecting it again.

They boarded the locomotive and settled into their seats.

"Everything looks good," Hadrack said to Millican.

"Good," said Millican as he drank from a thermos of water.

Millican turned off the headlights.

"They see our lights are off, they know that we are on the siding," Hadrack told Macon. "We only have the lights on while we are on the main."

"Raven Four," crackled the radio. "Raven One is approaching Hannah."

Hadrack led Macon back down to the roadbed.

"You stand here while I go on the other side of the mainline. We will inspect Raven One, since they don't stop until they get back to headquarters."

Far down the track, Macon saw the bright light of the locomotive rolling toward them. Soon the train loaded with logs rolled slowly past them. The hogger gave a blast on the air horn and the fireman waved at them.

Macon and Hadrack inspected the train and found nothing amiss. Hadrack radioed this to Millican who relayed the information to headquarters.

Hadrack climbed onto the catwalk of the locomotive. "I'll let you do this one," he told Macon.

"Raven Four, enter the main and proceed to Harper," the dispatcher said.

"Roger," said Millican. "Raven Four is taking the main heading to Harper."

Macon unlocked the switch by the sign that read, "East Hannah." He turned it to allow access to the main track. Millican switched the headlight on, blasted the air horn twice and eased Raven Four back onto the main line. After the last car cleared the switch, Macon radioed Millican to stop. He turned the switch back and locked it down. He jogged back to the locomotive and climbed on board.

"Got back here pretty quick," said Hadrack.

"Had some practice running on rocks," laughed Macon.

The miles rolled by. Now they were high up in the Cascades and it was much cooler. They met Raven Three at Harper.

"I'm getting the hang of this," smiled Macon.

"Wait until the switches freeze up in the winter. You'll be trying to thaw them with a blow torch with snow up to your ass. Then there are the spring rains. You'll think you volunteered to be a duck. But today is nice, so enjoy it," smiled Hadrack.

The men munched on their sandwiches that they had packed as Raven Four headed upward. They had two more meets before they reached Mountain Yard. At the fourth side track, Macon noticed that a third siding track. This track was very short and was covered by a metal shed. Macon saw that there was a diesel locomotive parked inside.

"What is that for?" he asked Hadrack.

"That is one of our snowplows. We have one at Ocean Yard, one here at Cold River, one at Elk Ridge and one at Mountain Yard. When the snows begin, they run a loop all day clearing the track, then they tie up for the night. The last train of the day going up the hill picks up the crew at Cold River and takes them up to Mountain Yard. The last train going downhill takes the crew to headquarters. You will get plenty of opportunities to crew on one during the winter."

Macon looked back as they passed the shed and saw that the front of the locomotive had a large fan mounted on the front of the cab.

It was nearing five o'clock as they rolled deeper into the dark forest.

"Not much further," Millican said.

The evergreen trees were very tall and grew close together. Although the sun would not go down for several more hours, it was dark in the deep woods. Millican slowed down to a crawl and Macon saw Mountain Yard come into view. Blazing lights illuminated the area. Large logs wrapped in chains were piled up along one side of the yard. Large yellow machines were dragging and stacking the logs. Lumberjacks were getting off of trucks carrying their chain saws as they quit work for the day.

A slight fog was descending through the pines. Ahead of them, the tracks fanned out to their left. The switches in this yard had electric dwarf signals mounted next to them. A green light indicated that the switch was set for the main track, while red indicated that the switch was set to the adjacent track.

Macon noticed that Raven Four was on a track that was furthest from where the logs were stacked. The switch lens glowed a vivid green. At the end of the track was a steel bumper with an illuminated sign that read, "Track 6." Millican stopped the train behind a switch. The sign next to the switch read, "Mountain Wye."

Hadrack led Macon down to the roadbed after handing him a lantern. The lights from their lanterns glistened off of the silver rails, the inky creosote in the cross ties and the crystalline in the white, rock ballast.

Macon threw the switch and Millican blew the air horn twice and threaded the locomotive onto the switch which aligned the tracks to the right into thick woods. That track seemed to go nowhere.

Macon was puzzled. They had gone all the way up to Mountain Yard and now were heading away from it.

"This is the 'Wye' track," explained Hadrack. "It's how we turn the train around."

When the last flat car rolled past the switch, Hadrack radioed Millican to stop. The brakes gently squealed as Millican eased the train to a halt.

Macon threw the switch and locked it down. Hadrack and Macon climbed onto the ladders of the last flat car and Millican made two long blasts on the air horn that echoed through the tall pine trees. Millican eased the locomotive forward until it was crawling slowly along.

Macon noticed another track curving toward them from the left and a switch ahead where the track joined the one that they were on. The dwarf signal gleamed a bright red color.

Millican stopped the train behind it. Macon and Hadrack descended to the roadbed and walked along until they reached the front of the locomotive. Macon opened that switch. Then Millican tugged the handle of the air horn twice and slowly moved Raven Four until the last flat car went past the switch.

Hadrack radioed, "You're clear Captain."

The train braked to a halt. Macon threw the switch back to its original position.

"Hop on the ladder on the other side of the flat car," Hadrack said as he grabbed the ladder on his side.

"Come on back, Captain," said Hadrack.

Millican made three long blasts on the air horn.

Macon climbed aboard as Millican began rolling along the curved track that merged back onto track six at another switch. Hadrack called for him to stop and Macon jumped down and threw that switch which allowed access back the same track that they had entered the yard on.

When the locomotive had passed that switch, Millican stopped the train. Hadrack and Macon walked forward alongside the train to another switch that led to the track five on their right. Macon threw it and they walked over to track five and aligned that switch for their train. Millican gave the air horn two blasts and rolled forward until the last flat car had cleared the switch. Macon threw the switch again and locked it down. The train was now on track five and facing west. Macon threw the switch on track five. Hadrack and Macon climbed the ladder of the last flat car.

"Come on back," Hadrack said on the radio.

Millican gave three long blasts on the air horn. The sound echoed through the pine trees and Raven Four began backing up. The train was now turned and on the track that it would spend the night on.

Macon clung to the ladder as the train eased toward the end of the track. He saw the steel bumper with an illuminated sign that read, "Track 5."

"Hundred feet," radioed Hadrack. "Fifty, twenty, ten."

Millican stopped the locomotive.

"We will walk back to the engine and inspect the train as we move along," said Hadrack.

They walked along the rocky ballast until they got to the engine. They clambered aboard and Hadrack showed Macon the manual braking system. This was a steel wheel mounted on the side of the engine housing. Hadrack turned it until the chain was taunt. He locked it into position and they went into the cab.

Millican had set the air brakes and silenced the rumbling diesel engines. He turned off the headlights and keyed his radio.

"Raven Four is locked down for the night on track five in Mountain Yard."

"Roger, Raven Four. Have a nice evening, gentlemen," said a female voice.

"Assistant dispatcher," Hadrack told Macon. "She takes over in the afternoon. Doug is probably surfing this afternoon."

They gathered their backpacks and Millican's suitcase and climbed down to the roadbed. Hadrack grabbed a large two-by-four that was lying beside the track and shoved it under the front wheels of the locomotive.

"Insurance," he smiled. "Mr. Beaumont don't like trains showing up in Ocean Yard without a crew."

They walked to the end of the train. When they got to a concrete platform, Millican pointed to their left.

"The train that is loaded will head down the hill at dawn as Raven One. The crew of the train on track three will move over to the loading track and become Raven Three. We will go out after them as Raven Five," Millican said to Macon.

"What are these flat cars on tracks four and two?" he asked.

"They are extra cars that are stored up here. Sometimes the trains are longer and sometimes we need extra trains."

He also pointed out the locomotive with the snow plow attached to the front that was sitting under a shed on a short track that branched out from track one. Coupled to the locomotive with the snowplow was a flat cat that had an excavator with a large grapping hook on the boom. Beyond that car was a passenger coach that was painted the same color as the locomotives were.

"Sometimes large trees blow down and block the track. A few loggers will be taken down and cut up the tree and pull it from the tracks. In the spring they will go back, cut the tree into smaller pieces and bring it back up here for firewood," explained Millican.

As they turned around and headed in the other direction, Macon noticed a very large, log building that was brightly lit up.

"Welcome to Heartbreak Hotel," said Hadrack.

"Only if you gamble away your paycheck," replied Millican.

Hadrack looked sheepishly away.

They entered a very large room with high ceilings. They walked to the registration desk and signed in. A woman stamped a time next to their names and handed them a key to each of their rooms.

"They are all the same," said Hadrack, leading Macon up a staircase.

Macon unlocked the door to his room and went in. It was sparse, but very clean. He unpacked and returned back down the stairs to the large lobby. There was a game room and a dining room. Macon played pool with some of the loggers until dinner. His crew ate with the two other crews that were staying over at the yard for the night.

The food was abundant and very good.

"Now I know how it feels to eat like a lumberjack," Macon smiled to himself. He thought about his first army meal with the big MP guarding him.

After dinner, he played spades with the crew of Raven Two and a logger. Millican sat in a rocking chair beside a blazing fire in the massive stone fireplace and read his Bible. Hadrack was playing poker with several loggers in a far corner. The men went to bed early.

Macon slept well. He was covered with a heavy blanket as the cool air blew through the window in his room. A knock at his door woke him. He looked at his watch. It was six o'clock. He showered, shaved and dressed. He went into the dining room and ate an enormous breakfast that was as good as any he had ever eaten.

Before he went back to his room and brushed his teeth, he picked up a sandwich and some chips from the kitchen. He went upstairs and packed his backpack. Then he went down stairs to the desk and returned his key. The clerk stamped the time next to his name and went outside where Millican and Hadrack were standing.

It was frosty and Macon took a jacket from his backpack and put it on. They walked along the flat cars until they reached the locomotive. They climbed up and stored their bags. Millican started the diesel engines. Hadrack watched Macon release the manual brakes. Macon climbed to the roadbed and removed the two-by-four from under the wheels of the locomotive. He placed it beside the track.

Millican radioed headquarters and was told to move onto track three and wait for Raven Three to depart. Millican gave the air horn two tugs and released the airbrakes. He slowly rolled the train down to the first switch. That switch ran a diagonal track across all of the other tracks. Hadrack and Macon got off of the locomotive and walked up and threw the switch. They continued doing so on until they got to track three.

"Ready Captain," radioed Hadrack.

Millican sounded the air horn twice and slowly snaked the train along crossing track four until he was at track three. Macon and Hadrack hopped onto the last flat car and waited until it had cleared the switch on track three.

"Hold up, Captain," radioed Hadrack.

Millican stopped the train and waited until Macon had turned the switch. Hadrack and Macon hopped on the end flat car.

Hadrack said "Bring her back, Captain."

Millican sounded three long blasts of the horn and began backing to the end of track three. Hadrack told him when to stop and the train came to rest.

Macon and Hadrack walked back to the locomotive and climbed aboard. They took their seats.

"Now we wait," laughed Hadrack.

Macon walked out onto the catwalk and watched the logs being loaded onto Raven Three. At first it had looked chaotic, but he soon saw how smooth the operation was. Large yellow feller- bunchers were off loading the massive logs from trucks and dragging them to a specified location next to the string of flat cars. Then large yellow loaders would hoist the bundle of logs wrapped in heavy chains onto a flat car where other loggers would tie them down.

It wasn't long until Raven Three was loaded and rolled away from the yard. Hadrack had been dozing in his seat.

The radio crackled, "Move to track one and load up, Raven Five."

"Roger," said Millican. "Time to wake up, sleeping beauty," he said to Hadrack.

"Damn, I was dreaming about that royal flush that I almost got last night," muttered Hadrack.

They moved the train over to track one. Millican radioed this to headquarters.

It was misty and chilly. Millican had the heater turned on. The men talked and waited. After about an hour, a man wearing a white hard-hat climbed up onto the catwalk of the locomotive carrying a clipboard. Millican went out to meet him and brought back the manifest that identified the cargo of logs. Millican placed the paper into his suitcase. The man hopped down to the ground and Millican radioed headquarters.

"Raven Five is loaded and ready to head home."

"Bring 'em down to the sea, Raven Five," replied the dispatcher.

"Roger," replied Millican as he released the air brakes and gave two long blasts on the air horn. The misty woods echoed the wailing sound back as they rolled slowly from Mountain Yard.

As Millican rolled train westward, Hadrack said to Macon, "Different going downhill. With all of that weight behind us, Captain has got to use his brakes different. Otherwise, on a curve, those cars could jack knife and make a huge mess."

Macon watched as Millican deftly worked the throttle and air brakes as the grade got steeper and the curves rushed toward them. Just past the siding at Diamondback, the track made a long, gradual curve to the right heading downhill. The curve was almost one hundred and twenty degrees before it straightened out. The track was banked high and the roadbed was in superb shape. High bluffs loomed on either side of the track. A speed limit sign read, "25."

"Captain's a stickler for rules," said Hadrack. "He'll do twenty-five all of the way until the curve ends. Most hoggers do thirty or so. One guys brags about doing forty."

A sign that read, "X" flashed into view indicating a road with a grade crossing. Hadrack opened his window and leaned far out.

"Is he looking for cars?" wondered Macon to Millican.

"One car," smiled Millican as he blasted the air horn. "All of the guys are in love with a blonde in a yellow Mustang convertible."

Raven Five blasted past the road crossing with the air horn making a plaintive peal. There were no cars in sight.

Hadrack closed his window. "Damn," he muttered.

"Is she that good?" asked Macon.

"When you see her, you decide," Hadrack replied.

The trip was uneventful. In late-afternoon, they met Raven Eight at Hannah and hit the wye track at Ocean Yard an hour later. Macon worked the switches and Raven Five backed onto the track where it would spend the night. Across the yard, the loggers were unloading Raven Three.

"We just lock her down and sign out in the office," said Hadrack shouldering his backpack.

Millican shut down the diesel engines, set the airbrakes and turned off the headlights. He radioed headquarters that Raven Five was locked down. Hadrack dropped to the roadbed with his backpack and Macon handed Millican's suitcase to Hadrack. He shouldered his own backpack and followed Millican down the ladder to the roadbed. They walked to the headquarters building and signed in. Millican took the manifest to a woman sitting at a desk. On the way out, Macon looked at the call board and noticed that he had two nights before he would go out again at eight o'clock in the morning.

He bade Hadrack and Millican good bye and walked out of the building to his truck. He drove to the motel where he showered and changed clothes. He found a place for dinner and then went to a bar and checked out the women.

"Not Florida," he mused. "But it isn't bad either," he thought as a pair of surfer-girl types entered the building. The next time he had some time between runs he would go into Portland and check out the ladies there. He paid his tab and drove back to the motel. Soon afterward, he was fast asleep.

* * *

About one hundred miles to the northeast, Hampton Wall lay on the bed of his cheap motel room. There was an empty pizza box on the floor next to his clothes and shoes. He sipped a cola from a large cup. His hair was long and greasy and he had gained a lot of weight. He never thought about Hortense or the boy.

Chapter Fourteen

Deep In the Heart of Texas

Lee found it difficult to concentrate on his work. What had held his interest in the past seemed boring to him. His mind kept drifting to images of rivers, pine trees and especially a vision of a woman so lovely and alive.

He talked on the phone with Alisa daily. He planned out her visit to Texas in September.

Finally, on a hot afternoon in late September, Lee waited impatiently at a gate at the airport for the American Airlines flight from Portland. The silver plane arrived a few minutes early and taxied to the gate. As the passengers began to file off, he anxiously searched the crowd for Alisa. After long minutes, he spotted her golden hair at the far end of the jet way. His heart seemed to do a flip. She was wearing pale yellow slacks and a white top. She spotted Lee and went quickly to him. They kissed and Lee handed her a yellow rose.

"Welcome to San Antonio," he smiled as he took her backpack and steered her toward the baggage claim area.

"I am so excited to be here! How is Wallaby?"

"He has told me that he is excited, too," replied Lee. "How was your flight?"

"It was smooth. It just seemed to last an eternity. I have missed you so, Creighton!" She stopped and they kissed again.

They talked about many things as they waited for her bag to arrive in the carousel. Lee stepped back a bit and looked at her. She seemed to be more beautiful than he remembered. She pointed out her bag and he lifted it from the carousel.

"Only one?"

"We park rangers pack light. One doesn't need much living in the woods."

He guided her out of the terminal to the parking lot. It was hot outside. He stopped at the Porsche and popped the trunk.

"Ah, a wealthy attorney," she laughed as he set her bag into the small trunk. He opened her door and cautioned her to wait as a blast of hot air streamed out.

"This is autumn?" she asked.

"Up in Dallas, they call this 'State Fair weather.'"

Lee let her in, closed her door and got into the driver's seat. He turned the air conditioning to max cold and drove from the parking lot.

"I have you reserved at the Hyatt on the Riverwalk," he told her as they headed onto an interstate.

Alisa looked at him and said, "Cancel it."

Lee felt an electric current run through his midsection. His heart was pounding. He took the next exit and pulled into the parking lot of a Home Depot. He took a piece of paper from the glove box and called the hotel on his cell phone. After he hung up, he pulled Alisa close and kissed her.

"Done," he smiled.

"I want to see Wallaby before we go anywhere else," she said.

Lee drove into a hilly area and was soon home. He pulled toward the garage and opened the door with the remote.

"Wow!" murmured Alisa. "Mansion, Porsche. What more does a girl need?"

"Dog?" asked Lee.

They both laughed and he pulled her bag from the trunk and led her to a door that went to the house. He closed the garage door and they entered the house.

Wall made a beeline toward Alisa leaping and shaking his rump.

"Ah, here is the fella that I really came to see!" she said as she rubbed the silken hair on Wallaby's back.

She turned to Lee. "Just put my bag in the guest room."

Lee's heart sank for a brief moment until he saw her laughing. He took her bag to his bedroom and dropped it on a chair. He showed Alisa the rest of the house. Wallaby stayed close by her side. In his bedroom, she spotted a photo on his dresser. She picked it up and looked closely at it.

"Marie?" she asked.

Lee nodded.

"She is gorgeous, Creighton. I'm afraid that I may be what the man at the racetrack calls a 'step down in class.'"

"Hardly," smiled Lee.

They went outside and he showed her the patio, pool and the yard. He pulled two beers from the refrigerator on the patio and mapped out their evening. He fed Wallaby his dinner and then let him outside for a spell. When Wallaby came back inside, they headed to the garage and drove into the city. Lee parked in a lot and they headed to the Riverwalk.

Alisa noticed a small building that was a lit up and had flags flying around it.

"Remember the Alamo," she said.

"So you learned that in Oregon. I'm impressed," said Lee.

"That was about all we were taught about Texas. We had a lot of history to learn in Oregon. You know, Lewis and Clark, the Oregon Trail and so on. I bet that you didn't know that Abraham Lincoln was offered the position of governor, but he turned it down?"

"You are right. I never heard that before," Lee admitted.

They headed down some steps to the Riverwalk.

"This is a river?" laughed Alisa.

"It's the best that we can do down here, I'm afraid," replied Lee thinking of the rushing rivers that he had seen while in Oregon.

They had a drink at a popular spot and then walked down to a restaurant where a long line of people were waiting to get in. A man hurried over to them.

"Good evening, Mr. Lee. Right this way."

Some people waiting in line gave him dirty looks, but when they saw Alisa going by, a woman began to whisper to her companion as they went past.

"I think that she is on that show, you know the one where..."

The man led them up a flight of stairs and out onto a balcony that overlooked the river and the mass of humanity streaming along each bank. Music was playing and people were laughing.

"Hey, this is nice, Creighton. You have a lot of clout here."

"I'm his attorney. We go back a few years," smiled Lee.

A waiter brought their drink order and they sat talking and watching the crowd below. Flat-bottom boats carried tourists along going under small bridges. The meal was delicious. They lingered for a while, then headed off to a club to listen to some blues.

Later, Lee stifled a yawn.

"Am I keeping you up?" laughed Alisa.

"Well, it is after midnight," replied Lee.

"I'm still on Pacific time. It is early for me."

They danced and talked. The crowd had thinned out. She looked at Lee.

"Shall we?"

He paid the tab and they walked back to his Suburban. Lee's heart was pounding. They pulled into the garage and entered the house. Wallaby ran up to greet them. Lee let him outside and then let him in and locked the door.

They walked toward Lee's bedroom.

"I'd like to take a shower," Alisa said.

Lee got her a towel from a guest bathroom.

She kissed Lee and said, "I'll be back soon."

Lee stripped and slipped under the sheet. He heard the shower rumbling and became very excited. He heard the water stop running and Alisa opened the bathroom door slightly. A cloud of steamy air filtered into the room. She walked out naked. He had a brief glimpse as the light from the bathroom haloed around her. Then she turned off the light and slipped into the bed beside him. The smell of her perfume barely preceded an armful of damp girl.

Alisa was supple and firm, yet soft and silky. Everywhere that Lee kissed her seemed to be better than where he had been previously. Alisa moaned and her breathing became rapid. When he inserted his tongue into her damp, blonde treasure, she gave a loud gasp of pleasure. After long minutes, Lee slowly entered her and they quickly found a rhythm. Lee felt like his soul had seeped out of his body as they reached orgasm together.

They lay gasping and kissing. "Mmmm," whispered Alisa.

"Oh, yeah," Lee said as he kissed the pulse on her silken throat.

They fell asleep in each other's arms. Sometime in the night, Lee heard Wallaby trek out to the kitchen and drink some water. The light of a full moon crept through the edge of a curtain. Lee hiked up on one elbow and watched Alisa sleep. Suddenly her eyes opened.

"Ah, a voyeur," she said thickly.

"One of my vices," smiled Lee as he kissed her and pulled her close.

They slept late into the morning and made love again. Lee showered in a guest bathroom while Alisa showered in the master bathroom. Lee cooked breakfast and mixed Bloody Marys. They ate on the patio by the pool while Wallaby romped on the lawn and waited patiently for scraps.

In the early afternoon, they returned downtown and made the obligatory stop at the Alamo. Then they went to another Spanish mission before getting into his car and driving west. Lee showed her where the ranch that he grew up on used to be.

"Um, this looks like a shopping mall to me," said Alisa.

"That's why my dad moved forty miles west of here. He couldn't stand to see the city creeping out into the ranchlands."

"Sad," agreed Alisa.

They continued driving into the hill country. They ate at a German restaurant in Fredericksburg and went into a few of the shops. They took a leisurely drive back into San Antonio. Alisa looked at him as he drove further into a very seedy-looking part of town.

Lee laughed, "Don't worry. We are safe down here."

He parked behind a dumpster and they entered a decrepit-looking bar. Mexicans were drinking and playing pool. A few of them nodded at Lee. A fat Mexican hurried over to him.

"Senor, Lee. Always a pleasure!" the man beamed.

He looked admiringly at Alisa and led them to a corner table in another room. Lee ordered margaritas. They arrived accompanied by a bowl of tostados and salsa.

After the man had departed, Alisa asked "Another client?"

"Yes. Mariano owns about six square blocks around here. He is on the school board and the man to call if you need something taken care of down here," said Lee.

After they finished their drinks, Lee paid up and they walked outside. It was growing dark as they pulled into the garage and entered the house. They let Wallaby out and Lee produced two large steaks which he grilled. They sat on the patio talking until it was very late.

The second night was as sweet as the first one had been. After breakfast the next morning, they loaded the Suburban and drove to Corpus Christi.

Alisa commented on the miles and miles of brush and flat landscape.

"We are driving through some of the largest ranches in the country. There is oil and gas under here as well." He pointed out some wells pumping in the distance and an occasional herd of cattle including some longhorn steers.

"I'm impressed, I suppose," she said as she rubbed Wallaby who was sitting at her feet.

They stopped for barbeque and pulled up at a beach house shortly thereafter.

"Client of yours?" asked Alisa with a smile.

"No. Law school buddy. He owes me some favors."

They unloaded the car, unlocked the condo and went in. They carried their luggage upstairs. Alisa opened a door that led to a balcony and stepped out.

"Smell the salt air. This is nice, Creighton."

They changed into their swimwear. Alisa was wearing a tiny black bikini and sunglasses.

"Wow. I don't know if you look better in that or without it," he laughed.

"That's something we will have to research," smiled Alisa.

He kissed her and the led Wallaby outside.

"Better wear your sandals. The sand is hot," advised Lee.

They walked down to the surf and watched Wallaby run into the waves and run back out barking at the small waves. Alisa waded into the water.

"It feels like a warm bath, Creighton. The next time you are in Oregon, I'll show you the Pacific. That is what a real ocean is."

"Wallaby and I stopped by a beach when we were in Depoe Bay. The surfers were wearing wet suits and a north wind was blowing."

"But, I bet that you saw some little kids wearing swim suits and playing in the waves," she said.

"As a matter of fact, I did. I thought that they were nuts."

Alisa dove through the breakers and swam far out into the gulf. She floated back in on the surf. Lee remembered that she had done a lot of swimming while she was in college. He slowly walked out to meet her. He kissed her and cupped her taut buttocks. The sun was hot, the waves lapped at their ankles and he felt like he was in heaven.

They returned to the condo and rinsed Wallaby off. They fed him his dinner, then they enjoyed a long, hot shower together. It was late when Lee heated up some leftovers and they sat on the deck and ate as the tide rolled in.

The days passed too quickly and soon they drove back to San Antonio. Late on the afternoon that they got back, he took Alisa to his office and she met all of his associates. Then all of them went to happy hour at a club that was on the top floor of a hotel on the Riverwalk where Jim Flynn was a member.

Alisa charmed the group and they all had a great time. After they went on their various ways, Lee and Alisa walked back to his Suburban.

"I really like Roxy and Teresa!" Alisa told Lee. "And Jim reminds me of my grandfather. He is so funny! But you can have Skinner. He undressed me with his eyes in about three seconds. He is a creep. He kept touching my arm and I wanted to clock him."

"They say that everybody should have a hobby, and attractive women are Winfield's hobby," Lee said. "I rarely associate with him socially, so don't be too upset."

"OK," she said and kissed him as he opened the door to the Suburban for her.

They spent her last night in Texas at home. They made love throughout the night and finally slept as dawn arrived. A norther had blown through during the night. The day was windy, cloudy and cold. When they drove to the airport that afternoon, a cold rain spit on the Suburban.

Lee dropped her off and carried her bag inside. Then, he went and parked the Suburban and walked back into the terminal. He met her at the gate and they clung together until it was time to for her to board.

"Ah, the joys of a long-distance relationship," she laughed. "I love you, Creighton. I'll be counting the seconds until you come up in November."

She kissed him deeply, then turned and walked up the jet way. Lee waited until the jet pushed back from the gate. He walked to a window where he could watch her take off. When her plane was safely airborne, he walked from the terminal, got into the Suburban and drove home.

The drive was lonely and his house seemed very empty. Wallaby seemed to be moping as well.

* * *

The weather in Portland was dismal. Alisa did not see the ground until the plane broke through the cloud cover and glided over a very cold-looking Columbia River. After they landed and taxied to the gate, she retrieved her luggage and walked out into the damp cold to the parking shuttle that would take her to her car.

* * *

As Alisa was driving back to her house, Hampton Wall was lying in his motel room. He had been promoted to driving the big, tandem, gasoline tankers. His route covered the southeast portion of Portland. He was making good money. He wished that Hornsby could see him now. That fucking bastard didn't think that he could make it. Was he ever wrong!

* * *

About one hundred miles to the south, Macon was sitting in a small bar talking to a woman tourist. He had asked her why she would pick this time of year to come to the beach. She had told him that she was in awe of the magnificent storms that would roll into the area during the fall months. The woman seemed glad to be with Macon. He felt that things would end well for him on this cold, rainy night.
Chapter Fifteen

Frozen Tundra

Macon arrived at Ocean Yard very early on a cold December day. He was going out on Raven Two with an engineer named Carl Parker. They would follow the snowplow up to Mountain Yard. It was not snowing at Ocean Yard, but after they had pulled out and were at the five hundred foot level, it was snowing hard and the wind was whipping the drifts around. The sky was white, the snow was heavy and all that they could see was the red light attached to the back of the snowplow locomotive that was a hundred yards in front of them.

Macon was wearing hip-length, waterproof boots, thermal socks, long underwear, a flannel shirt, a stocking cap and a heavy parka with a hood.

"Dress that way in Florida?" laughed Parker.

"I doubt that you could buy anything like this in Florida," replied Macon.

They were moving along slowly.

"Raven Two, take the hole at Harper. Meet Raven One who will hold the main," the radio crackled.

"Roger. Raven Two will take the hole at Harper and meet Raven One who will hold the main." said Parker.

As they approached the siding, Macon watched as the snowplow continued along on the mainline all the way to the east end of the siding at Harper. The giant fan blew snow away in a graceful arc to the right of the track. This covered the side track in even more snow.

Parker had halted his train two hundred feet behind the west switch. The snowplow made three long blasts on the air horn and began to back along the mainline. After it went past the west switch, it stopped and the brakeman got off of the snowplow with a snow shovel in his hand. He tossed enough snow from the switch stand to be able to reach the lock. He unlocked it and turned the switch for the siding. The brakeman climbed back onto the snowplow. The snowplow gave two long blasts on the air horn and began heading through the switch and onto the siding. It moved slowly along blowing snow off of the passing track and into the woods. The snowplow halted at the east end of the passing track.

Macon got off of the locomotive and stepped into the deep snow. Parker blew his air horn twice and Raven Two eased onto the side track. Parker stopped one hundred feet behind the snowplow. Macon threw the switch and locked it. The main track was now open. He went back to the locomotive, shook the snow off of himself and climbed back into the warm cab.

"When you started during the summer, you probably wondered why we have to signal each movement with the air horn. But on a day like today when it is difficult to see and there is another train and crew nearby, that is the only way to warn them of your movements," explained Parker. "We've never had a fatality or a serious injury and Mr. Beaumont likes it that way."

"Let's hope that it stays that way," laughed Macon.

From far to the east, they heard the rumble of a long train heading their way.

"The brakeman on the snowplow will inspect Raven One on the far side of the track. You will stand on this side," Parker instructed.

Macon carefully climbed down the ladder to the snowy roadbed. He stood in the deep snow and the wind whipped and swirled around him. A bright light came into view as Raven One headed toward them. It slowed and blew a short blast at the snowplow and Raven Two. Macon looked closely at the couplers, air hoses, brake shoes and journal boxes. Icicles lined the undercarriage of the flat cars. The logs were covered with snow and the heavy chains were coated with ice. After the last flat car passed by, he radioed Parker that everything looked fine.

The brakeman on the snowplow boarded his locomotive. Macon unlocked the switch and turned it. He waved the snowplow forward. The hogger gave two long blasts of the air horn and moved onto the mainline. Parker made two long pulls on the air horn and rolled slowly along the passing track. After the train had cleared the switch and rolled onto the mainline, Macon told him to stop.

Macon threw the switch and locked it. He walked back to the locomotive and carefully climbed aboard. The wind was blowing hard and it made his eyes water. He wondered if his tears would freeze to his cheeks.

He entered the toasty cab and took off his parka and hung it on a hook on the wall. He yanked off his stocking cap and pulled off his heavy gloves. He drank deeply from his bottle of water. Parker gave two long blasts and they began heading eastward again in the heavy snow.

"Winter is when brakemen earn their pay," smiled Parker as Macon relaxed in his seat.

"Hear you talking," laughed Macon.

He remembered sleeping out in the snow on maneuvers when he was in Germany and was making ten times less than he was making now.

The snowplow was out of their sight and Parker gradually increased their speed. The whole world appeared to be white. The snow blew sideways as it caught gusts of wind.

"There was a brakeman named Edmund a few years ago that went up the hill on his first snowy trip. He bitched and complained the whole time. At dinner, he stated that if we were unionized, we would have it better."

"One of the engineers said to him, 'So would some union goon make it stop snowing?'"

"The guy says, 'Well they would make Beaumont put warming huts beside the passing tracks and impose hour limits so if we went past eight hours, we stop and they would bring a relief crew down to finish the run.'"

"One guy says, 'You are from California, aren't you?'"

"Edmund says, 'Yeah, so what?'"

"Another guy tells him that there are only fruits and nuts in California."

"Butch Hadrack was also there, so he tells the guy about how a hogger forgot and left a guy at a switch in a blizzard on a train that was heading to Ocean Yard. Hadrack looked at Strickland who was the hogger on Edmond's run scheduled for the next day. He told the nutcase that before the brakeman froze to death, he was killed and eaten by some mountain lions. This guy gets up and goes to his room. When he gets back to Ocean Yard the next day, he resigns," said Parker.

"That's hilarious!" laughed Macon. "Are there really mountain lions up here?"

"Oh, yeah. I think that there are bears up here, too." Parker said.

"Raven Two hold the main at Hard Rock Falls," came a female voice over the radio.

"Roger," said Parker. "Raven Two will hold the main at Hard Rock Falls."

The rest of the run was slow and long, but uneventful. After they locked down their train, they checked into the lodge. Macon went up to his room, stripped off his clothes and soaked in a hot shower for a long time.

When he went down to dinner, Parker told him that due to the slow movements of that day, they could sleep in some the next day. They would be pulling out around ten o'clock depending on the loading operation. The heavy snow had slowed all aspects of the operation. The log trucks were chained and dealing with deep snow on the logging roads.

Macon went to bed soon after dinner. Before doing so, he had stood around the blazing fire for a few moments talking with Millican who had brought Raven Four in behind them.

The next day seemed to be even colder. Large icicles hung from the eves of the lodge. The smoke that drifted upward from the large fire place seemed to congeal in the frigid air. They had gone out and moved their train, which today was Raven Five, to the loading area. The logs were loaded on and soon covered with a thick coating of snow.

Not long after departing Mountain Yard, the radio crackled.

"Raven Five, take the hole at Black Cave. We have a tree on the tracks just west of Harper. Remain in the hole until the loggers get the mainline cleared."

"Roger, Raven Five will take the hole at Black Cave until notified to proceed," radioed Parker.

"Damn," said Parker to Macon. "My son has a basketball game tonight. Guess that I'll miss it."

"How long will it take them to clear the line?" asked Macon.

"It will take them quite a while to even get to Harper in this snow. Raven Three will have to back up into the hole at Cold River. Then they will need for the next snowplow to come up here and lead the work train down to the tree. Well, at least have a full fuel tank and a great heater."

After a long wait, they heard the sound of the snowplow. As it passed by them, it engulfed them in the snow that it was blowing from the mainline. After it passed by, Parker immediately turned on the windshield wipers to clear the snow.

"Don't want that to freeze on the windshield," he said.

Then the work locomotive carrying the flat car with the excavator and the passenger car rolled by them. They watched the red light on the ETD fade into the snowy whiteness. The minutes passed by slowly. Macon ate half of his sandwich and drank some water.

Parker had brought yesterday's copy of _The_ _Oregonian_ that someone had left in the lobby. They split it up and read it as the time passed and the snow swirled around the locomotive.

Finally, the radio informed them that the loggers had cut up the tree and removed it from the mainline. They waited another two hours. Then, another snowplow passed by them clearing the main track. Then they saw the work train backing up to Mountain Yard. As soon as it went past them, Macon got down carrying his snow shovel and lantern. When he unlocked the switch and attempted to throw it. It was frozen solid. He climbed back onto the engine and retrieved a blow torch. He went to the switch and lit the torch. He moved along the rail melting the snow. Then he was able to turn the switch. He waved Parker onto the mainline. Parker made two long blasts on the air horn and slowly moved forward.

Macon called him on the radio to halt. He threw the switch and then trudged back to the locomotive. He thought about mountain lions and shivered. He quickened his pace and soon gladly climbed aboard the locomotive. He was grateful for the heater inside which Parker had set on high for him.

They made it down to Ocean Yard without any further difficulties. It was raining hard at headquarters. They turned Raven Five on the wye track and tied it down for the night. They sloshed to the building and logged out.

Macon was bone-weary and only wanted to take a hot shower and fall into bed. He woke up close to midnight and drove to a bar and had a hamburger and a couple of beers. Then he went back to the motel and slept until almost noon the next day.

The months passed. He had accrued some vacation, so he spent a week in San Diego in April enjoying the sunshine. When he returned to work, the spring rains had arrived, but it only snowed some in the higher elevations and it was never as severe as winter had been.

Macon was enjoying his work. It was very different than it had been in the corporate world. He didn't have to worry about quotas or corporate politics. He was often outdoors and he enjoyed the camaraderie of the other crew members.
Chapter Sixteen

Going to the Chapel and We're Gonna Get Married

Time dragged by as the calendar slowly rolled around to November. Finally it was time for Lee to fly to Oregon. He made arrangements to have the boy from the neighborhood take care of Wallaby. He drove to the airport, parked his Suburban in long-term parking and took a shuttle to the airport. His flight was uneventful and they passed by Mt. Hood and soon landed in Portland. He grabbed his carry-on bag and followed the crowd along the jet way. He immediately spotted Alisa and went quickly to her. He held her for a long time and they kissed.

"God, I missed you!" he said as he stroked her back.

"I know what you mean!" she laughed, kissing him repeatedly.

The sky was gray and raindrops were blowing against the walkway that crossed over the airport road to the parking garage. Alisa directed him to her Mustang. When they got in, Alisa turned the heater up high and drove from the parking garage. She headed west from the airport and soon, Lee spotted the skyline of Portland. Alisa drove into the downtown district and soon stopped in front of an ornate looking hotel. A bellman hurried out to grab their bags. A valet parking attendant gave her a ticket and went off with the Mustang. They registered and took an elevator to their room.

Alisa murmured, "I have a lot on our agenda, but there are priorities, you know." She kissed him and began to unbutton her blouse.

It was dark when they finally decided that it was time for dinner. They took a quick shower and then got dressed. The lobby of the hotel boasted a famous restaurant and they enjoyed a delicious meal. The waiters hovered and a man played a piano softly. After dinner, they danced to the piano for a while until it was imperative that they get back to their room. Much later, they fell asleep.

The rain had stopped and the following day was not as cold. They hailed a taxi that took them to a trendy area of shops, bar and restaurants.

"This is cool!" Lee said. "What is this area called?"

"Northwest. Portland has assorted areas like this all over. We could go to a different spot every day and it would take a few years to hit all of the restaurants and bars."

They went into a very crowded, small place on a corner. Alisa gave her name to a hostess. Then they edged their way to the bar and ordered Bloody Mary's. Their wait was lengthy, but well worth it. Their breakfast was excellent.

They caught a streetcar to the riverfront and walked along an esplanade, crossed one of the many bridges, walked some more and crossed back to the west side of the river. They had beer and bar food at a spot on the river, then took a light rail train back to their hotel. They went to a famous steakhouse that night for dinner and went to bed early.

On their last day in Portland, they were walking along in an area of stores and shops. The day was dark and chilly, but Alisa didn't seem to notice. Lee kept glancing at Alisa and feeling how fortunate he was to be in love with this gorgeous woman.

As it got close to their check-out time, they returned to the hotel, packed their bags and checked out. A valet brought her car around and loaded their bags. Lee tipped the man and they drove west from Portland.

Alisa headed west and soon they were rolling through thick forests on a curvy, hilly highway.

"I have a feeling that the beach is not going to be too warm," said Lee as they rolled along in the gray, rainy weather.

"It will be cold, but a warm fire and a warm me will do the trick," she smiled grabbing his hand.

After a while, they came around a curve and through the fog and rain, Lee spotted the Pacific Ocean. The waves were very high and were crashing onto the beach. Alisa pulled up in the parking lot of a small condominium. They checked in and went to their room. Lee set the bags down and walked to the sliding glass door. He found the thermostat and turned up the heat. Alisa laughed at him. They returned to her car and drove to a store where they purchased some food and beverages. When they got back to the condo, Lee started a fire in the fireplace while Alisa made soup and sandwiches.

The next day, the clouds had disappeared and the sun was out. The waves had diminished and there were people walking on the beach. After they had eaten breakfast, they went for a long walk. Lee was bundled up in a stocking cap and a parka. Alisa was bare-headed and wore a light wind breaker. She teased him mercilessly, but he shrugged it off.

"It is cold!" he told her. "How did you ever get used to this?"

"Girls are just tougher than boys!" she laughed and flung herself into his arms.

They enjoyed their time with the fire crackling and music playing softly as they loved their way through the cold nights.

When it was time for him to head back to San Antonio, she drove him to the Portland airport.

After he got checked in for his flight, they walked to the gate.

"This is getting old," she said softly as they were clinging together.

"Maybe I will have a surprise for you when you come to San Antonio in February," he said.

"That sounds like such a long time. But I will just have to miss you until then."

He kissed her and headed up the jet way when his flight began to board. When he arrived in San Antonio, it was over seventy degrees and he was glad that he wasn't freezing.

"Can I ever adjust to that?" he wondered as he drove home.

They had never really talked about where they would live if they got married. Lee had planned out a vacation for them on St. Kitts for Valentine's Day when he planned to give her the ring that he had given to Marie. He thought that Alisa's finger was very close to the same size as Marie's had been. He could always get it resized. He took it into the jeweler who had designed it and the man told him that he would change the design slightly so that it would be a new ring.

He had always presumed that she would give up her position and move to Texas. But as the weeks went by, he began to think about something else. He got information about taking the Oregon Bar exam and the qualifications to become admitted to practice law in that state.

There were no state parks close enough to San Antonio where she could work. He could easily support her, but he knew how much she loved her job and Oregon. Anyway, he didn't know if she would accept his marriage proposal. He consumed himself with his workload and running with Wallaby. He spent Christmas dinner with his friends in Austin and New Year's Day in Dallas where the University of Texas was playing in the Cotton Bowl game. January came and went and soon it would be time for Alisa to come.

When Lee picked her up at the airport, she looked even more beautiful than ever. He drove her to his house where she and Wallaby enjoyed their reunion. They went out for dinner, came home and spent the rest of the night in each other's arms. They flew to St. Kitts the next morning and spent several days enjoying the sunshine and beach. After a romantic dinner on one of the nights, Lee took Alisa for a walk along the beach in the moonlight and took her hand. He slipped the ring onto her finger and asked her to marry him.

Alisa was crying and laughing at the same time. She kissed him over and over.

"Yes, Creighton. Oh, yes!"

They went back to their room and the love that they made that night was endless and sweet.

Over breakfast the next morning, Alisa mentioned that it would be a good move to ask her father his blessings.

"Sure," said Lee. "I'll plan to be up there in April and meet with him then. You and your family can start planning the wedding and I can meet your parents and sister and her family. I look forward to that."

"Bring your clubs. My dad and brother-in-law both play and you can see what a golf course should look like," she teased.

They flew back to San Antonio a few days later. They went to the Riverwalk for dinner and then to bed. Alisa had an early flight back to Portland the next day. Once again, he had a heavy feeling in his heart as they kissed and she walked up the jet way.

"Not much longer," he reminded himself as he walked back to the parking area.

March dragged by and April arrived with a heavy thunderstorm. Wallaby had a distinct dislike of storms and was glued to Lee's side when the lightning flashed and the thunder boomed.

Finally it was time to head to Oregon. He placed his golf clubs and suitcase into the Suburban and drove to the airport. He landed in a light rain, but it was fairly warm. Alisa ran up to him when she spotted him coming from the jet way. They clung to each other and kissed for a long time. He saw the ring sparkling on her slim finger and it hit him that soon he would be married to this lovely woman. They got his clubs and suitcase and walked to the parking garage.

The rain got lighter as they headed over to the high desert area. Soon it stopped raining and the sun came out. Lee could see several snow-covered peaks. They talked about wedding plans as Alisa drove the Mustang through the scenic terrain. June seemed to be the consensus of her family and Lee was fine with that. He had yet to bring up where they would live. He was still not certain what he wanted to do. He gazed at her and the beautiful landscape. He knew how deeply she loved her position and the animals in the park. He had survived four years in Charlottesville. He felt that he could make it here.

After winding along rivers, canyons and arid landscape, they got to Sun River. A stream of her relatives emerged from a lovely home that was high on a cliff overlooking the Deschutes River. The women were hugging and talking. Alisa introduced Lee to everyone. When her father, Dr. Auburn, and her brother-in-law, Nathan Bedford, saw him pull his clubs from the trunk of the car, their conversation immediately turned to golf.

"I'll get a tee time for tomorrow," said Alisa's father as they all headed back to the house.

Dr. Auburn showed Lee where to put his clubs inside the garage and showed him a small room off of the garage where he was to sleep. Lee set his bag on a small bed. Then they entered the house and joined the rest. The three men went outside onto a large deck and Dr. Auburn pulled three bottles of beer from a cooler. He opened them and handed one to Lee, one to Nathan. Then the three men and moved off to one side of the deck.

"Don't worry," Nathan said. "This is painless." He moved away from Lee and Auburn.

Lee looked at Alisa's father. "Sir, I love your daughter very much. I would like to ask you for her hand in marriage."

"Alisa has always made good decisions. I believe that this may be her best one." He touched his beer bottle to Lee's. "You have my blessing. And my name is 'Jim.'"

"Come on back, Nathan. I want to ask Creighton about the Spurs. I really like their coach," he told Lee.

The women came out onto the deck. Alisa's sister, Shannon, was not as tall as Alisa was, but looked very much like her. Her five year old daughter was a miniature version of her mother. She smiled shyly at Lee. Alisa's mother was warm, friendly and also very pretty.

Jim Auburn grilled some delicious chicken and they ate, drank and talked far into the night. The women had done a lot of planning and the date was set for mid-June.

The three men played golf the next day and Lee enjoyed the beauty of the mountains around him and the camaraderie with the men. He was leaning closer to moving to Oregon.

Two days later, Alisa drove Lee back toward Portland to catch his flight to San Antonio.

After they were an hour from Bend, she asked, "Do you think that I will like living in San Antonio?"

Lee looked at the tall pine forests and a silver river rushing alongside of the highway.

"I wonder what kind of legal work I could scare up in Salem."

Alisa braked sharply and turned into a dirt road. She stopped the car and grabbed Lee crying and kissing him.

"You would really move up here?"

"This is your world. I want to be part of it."

She started the car and drove further down the road and turned into another dirt road.

"What time is your flight" she asked pulling at his belt. "We better make this a quick one!"

Lee barely made his flight. He smiled all the way back to San Antonio.

After he got home and played with Wallaby for a while, he began to make plans. He would meet with a business broker to discuss the sale of his law practice and find a realtor to list his house. They would live in Alisa's house and he could work in Salem and maybe from home some of the time.

San Antonio remained hot and dry. By late May, he pared back his practice and began looking over several offers. He spent a lot of time with Wallaby running and hanging out.

"You sure did a fine job, Wallaby," he would say and Wallaby would bark and shake his rump.

He and Alisa talked daily over the phone. All of the details had been handled with help and input from her mom and sister.
Chapter Seventeen

Until Death Us Do Part

Macon was aboard Raven Three on a beautiful, sunny morning in the Cascades. There was still snow on the ground and it was a cold, crisp day. After they moved over to track number one and were loaded, they began heading down to Ocean Yard. The melting snow had caused the rivers to run very fast. Colorful wildflowers were abundant. Lee spotted a doe with two very young fawns in a green meadow. There was not one cloud in the sky, which was a deep blue color.

"What a day!" he said to Vernon Caldwell who was the engineer that day.

"Hard to beat this," Caldwell agreed.

The trip down to Ocean Yard was routine. They turned the train and backed onto another track. They spotted the yard crew approaching them. They grabbed their luggage and dropped to the ground. They greeted the yard crew. One of the crew uncoupled the locomotive and then it wound its way to the maintenance area. There, the tank would be filled with diesel fuel, mechanics would do routine maintenance and the locomotive would be washed until it was gleaming. Beaumont liked to say that the P&OE may not be the largest railroad, but it damn sure was the cleanest. After Macon had signed in, Ross came over.

"Mr. Beaumont wants to see you."

"OK," replied Macon with a sinking feeling in his stomach. It had been just over a year since Baumberg had terminated him from Puget Sound Industries. He tried to think of any rules that he had broken and came up blank. He knocked at Beaumont's open door.

"Come in, Hank," Beaumont said. He set aside the reports that he had been reading, got up and walked over to Macon. They shook hands.

"Have a seat, Hank," he said as he went back to his desk and sat down.

"Mr. Millican has decided to really retire. I am promoting you to engineer. I have a deal with the Burlington Northern Santa Fe. They have an engineer school in Springfield, Missouri. Sixteen weeks. We'll have the motel hold your room here for you. I pay all of your expenses while you are in Springfield. As an engineer, your beginning salary will be five thousand a month. That will start when you get back to work. When I know more about when I can get you into the class, I will let your know. Congratulations!"

"Thank you, sir," said Macon as he got up, shook hands with Beaumont and walked out of Beaumont's office.

He got into his truck and drove to the motel. He took a hot shower and changed into some clean clothes. He went to a restaurant on the beach and had a steaming bowl of clam chowder and a couple of beers. Then, he went to a spot that he frequented and played a game of pool with a man named Link who worked at the saw mill. Two women walked up to the pool table.

"Play you guys for a drink," said the taller one.

She had dark hair, was somewhat heavy and very loud. Her friend was petite and blonde. They played and drank. Later, the dark-haired woman grabbed Link by the hand and pulled him out onto the dance floor. Lee sat at a table with the blonde and they talked and laughed. A few minutes later, Lee noticed the other woman escorting Link toward the door. She gave her friend a signal and they went outside.

"Looks like I have the room to myself tonight," she said looking into Macon's eyes.

Macon smiled at her. "A girl as pretty as you are should not be alone at night."

She got up and kissed him lightly on his lips. "Let's go," she said.

When Macon signed in two mornings later, he noticed a calendar on the wall. It was May 23rd.

Drake Gillar, who was the hogger for Raven Six, greeted him and they walked outside to their train.

"Good time off?" he asked Macon.

"Oh, yeah!" he smiled.

He kept thinking about the small, blonde-haired woman as he walked the length of the train inspecting it. He returned to the locomotive and climbed aboard. They got the go ahead to depart and Gillar eased the throttle back and they rolled upward toward Mountain Yard. The trip was uneventful and they tied up Raven Six in mid-afternoon.

They went out at mid-morning the next day as Raven Five. It was another warm, clear day. They met two trains waiting in the hole and continued on. The long, sweeping curve was coming up soon. Macon knew that Gillar would usually take it at a little over thirty miles per hour. He was not as cautious as Millican was.

A few miles north of the tracks, Hampton Wall was in a foul mood. Today was supposed to have been his day off. Another driver had called in sick, so Wall was called in to take the route. This route was far south of the city. "Way out in the sticks," Wall called it.

He had to look at a map often and had only delivered one load. The man at the gas station had wanted to chat, but Wall was in a hurry. He was already running late. He had pumped that gasoline from the rear tank of his tandem. He was already an hour behind schedule. His favorite television show was on tonight and he did not want to miss it. He had to hurry. There was little traffic, so he could make up some time.

Alisa was on the late shift that day. She had spent some time cleaning her house. Then she took a cup of coffee to her deck and gazed out over the river. It was absolutely beautiful that day. She envisioned Creighton sitting out here with her. She missed him so. But the wedding was just over two weeks away. She finally got up and put her uniform on. It was warm and sunny, so she put the top down on her Mustang and began to drive toward the park.

As she approached the railroad crossing, she slowed down when she heard the plaintive wailing of the air horn. She pulled up short of the crossing and stopped. She wondered who the brakeman would be. She didn't know their names, but she knew their faces. She wondered if he was going to be aboard. She had wondered about him for almost a year. He was a large man with short, blonde hair and the look of authority. He looked out of place. But like all of the others, he had caught on to the ritual of waving to her.

As they headed into the long curve, Macon leaned far out of his window and looked for the yellow car.

"Would she be there?" he wondered.

Hadrack had been right. This woman was gorgeous. Macon wondered what she was doing way out in the middle of nowhere. Gillar began his litany of two longs, one short and one long blast of the air horn. Macon grinned as he spotted the yellow car and began to wave.

Hampton Wall rolled the tandem tanker down a long curving grade. He downshifted as the curve became sharper. Ahead was a yellow sign that indicated that there was a railroad grade crossing ahead. Wall looked at the dense forest and dark rock walls on either side of the highway.

"Probably hasn't been a train here since fucking Jesse James robbed one," he thought.

By law, he was supposed to stop at all railroad crossings. Wall wasn't much for rules. He was late. He wanted to get back to his room in time for his shows. The cab of his truck rolled across the tracks. He had the air conditioning turned up high and the compact disc player blasting. He did not hear the locomotive's air-horn. As he crossed the tracks, he looked to his right.

"See, I was right," he smiled to himself.

As Macon waved to the woman, he heard Gillar yell, "Shit!" as he hit the emergency brakes.

The heavy train smashed into the tank of the first trailer and there was a tremendous explosion. A large fireball blasted upward and outward. The fire engulfed the locomotive, the cab of the truck and the yellow car. The train ground to a halt as the air brakes took hold. Several of the flat cars carrying logs caught fire. The logs gave off heavy black smoke, and the flat cars began to melt. The smoke rose high above the trees.

A truck bringing food to the park came upon the scene a few moments later. The driver immediately called 911. Some of the forest had begun to burn.

* * *

Creighton Lee had left the office early. He was lying on a chaise lounge beside the pool at his house. Wallaby was asleep at his feet. He had a chilled bottle of Heineken in his hand. His cell phone that was on a table next to him began to ring.
Epilogue

September 1998

Early Anderson sat in her small office in the administration wing of the large SPCA building in Portland. It was early in the afternoon and her dog was sleeping beside her desk.

Early had always loved dogs. She had planned to be a veterinarian. But after two rough semesters of biology and chemistry at Oregon State, she had changed her major to business.

She loved her job at the SPCA. That afternoon, she was finishing up the budget for the next fiscal year. It was going to be a lean one. Donations were not projected to be heavy the next year.

Her dog was a yellow, male Labrador retriever-husky mix that someone had dropped off one night a few weeks earlier. The dog had no tags, was not chipped and no one came or called looking for him. The veterinarian said that he was healthy, neutered and about seven years old.

People came to the shelter wanting puppies. Puppies were cute. So Early had adopted him. She took him home every night and brought him to work every day. Twice each day, she took him outside to romp with some of the other dogs. He still did not have a name. She had tried every one that she could think of, but the dog did not respond.

Suddenly, there was a shriek from the office next door where the executive director's office was.

"Oh my God!"

Early jumped up and ran to the director's office. The woman held a letter in one hand and a check in the other.

"Oh my God, Early! A man died and his life insurance named us as beneficiary. Three hundred thousand dollars! Imagine what we can do with this!"

"Who was the man?" asked Early.

"I have never heard of him. His name was, 'Hank Macon.'"

Early looked down at her dog who had followed her into the office.

"That will be your name. Hi, Hank Macon."

The dog looked up at her and yawned.

* * *

March 2008

The sky over Washington, DC was an ugly color of gray and a chilly wind was blowing. There was a convention of Viet Nam veterans in the city and in the late afternoon, several busloads of veterans went to the Viet Nam Memorial. Some walked with canes while others were in wheelchairs pushed by comrades in arms.

A very large black man with short, snow-white hair walked alone to the wall. He was still ramrod straight and had an aura of command about him. He went to the section where soldiers from Florida were memorialized and began slowly scrolling down the names. After a long while, he was done. A smile crossed his face as he turned back toward the bus that would take him back to his hotel.

"He made it!" he said softly to himself.

* * *

August 2052

The evening was still very hot that August day as the old man slowly walked along a rocky trail. Mesquite trees drooped under the oppressive heat and bees sailed around the wildflowers. He was slightly stooped, but still tall with tan, sinewy muscles. He had very white hair and piercing blue eyes. Sometimes, he would pause slightly as if waiting for something to come along the trail.

He had chosen the facility because of its location in a hilly part of the city. He was indifferent to the amenities offered there. He slowly climbed back up the slope and walked across the green lawn past an area that had chairs. He went into a rear entrance and walked to his small room. He drank a tall glass of cold water, then went to his tiny refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of Heineken. He flipped off the top with an opener and headed back outside. He pulled a chair over so that he could see the sun setting over the hill country to the west. He sat in the setting sun for a long time.

When the sun went down, the fireflies came out. He watched them as he sipped the beer. They always reminded him of his youth. Later, the mosquitoes began their nightly blood quest, so he got up, walked to the parking lot and tossed the empty bottle into a blue recycle dumpster. He went back into his room.

He did not fraternized with the other residents. They were almost all women. The few men there spent their days dozing in wheelchairs in the lobby. He ate only breakfast and lunch there. The food was mediocre. It was hard to screw up breakfast and at lunch, he made himself a fat ham and Swiss on rye at the sandwich bar and grabbed a bag of chips. He ate alone at a small table and read the local newspaper at breakfast and the Wall Street Journal at lunch. Both of them were read from a small, electronic tablet.

Newspapers had ceased being printed long ago. One could only see them in a museum now. There were many excellent restaurants in the area and he always ate dinner at one of them. He still had a drivers license and he had a nice new car in the parking lot. Cars drove themselves now. He was merely a passenger. They were all electric now. You could only see gasoline models in museums along with the newspapers. He had a television on which he watched football games and, occasionally, the news.

His cellular phone was on the table next to his bed, but he never received calls. He had no family and, at eighty-eight years of age, all of his friends had died. He placed his wallet and wristwatch on his dresser.

There were three photographs on the dresser. On the left was the picture of a young woman who had very dark hair and violet eyes. She appeared to be in her twenties and was very beautiful. On the opposite side was the picture of a woman with long, blonde hair and sparkling green eyes. She too was exceptionally beautiful. In the middle, in a silver frame, was the photograph of a dog. He had silver hair mixed with white, brown and black. His eyes were a brilliant blue, and he was smiling into the camera.

The old man looked at the images for a spell, then walked to his bed, pulled back the covers, turned out the light and fell asleep for the night.

