The Sands of Freedom (standard:drama, 6287 words)
Author: Rick	Added: Jan 01 2004	Views/Reads: 3666/2424	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Jim is an ex-con who had developed a clever financial contingency scheme prior to his arrest. Execution of the scheme is put into jeopardy, however, when he meets the young and beautiful Megan, and a powerful attraction develops.

Jim stared silently at the peeling gray cement walls of the visitor's
lounge.  After his final exit interview with the warden, he had been 
escorted here to wait for his release.  An armed guard came into the 
room, gave him a brief glance and walked over to the locked door. 

“Okay, Jim, your time has come,” the guard said as he unlocked the door.
 He waved him over and Jim got up from his seat.  At nearly seven feet 
tall, the former professional basketball player towered over the guard. 


“You're really gonna let me go, George?” Jim said jokingly. 

“Not my decision, but you know my opinion,” said the guard. 

“Hey, maybe I'll drop you a line, Georgie boy.  But then again, maybe
not,” said Jim in a sarcastic tone. 

“With any luck, I'll never hear from you again, Jim.” 

“Thanks for your encouragement.  So long, George.” 

Jim passed through the door into the bright Tuesday morning sunshine. 
He walked across a wide empty paved courtyard to the outer gate of the 
federal prison in the tiny town of Bridgehampton, Massachusetts, a few 
miles east of the New York state line.  Another guard, who was 
apparently well-aware of Jim's departure, slid open the tall 
barbed-wire topped metal gate. 

“Greyhound stops here at ten o'clock.  Have a nice life,” yelled the
guard. 

“Thanks,” Jim replied as he walked past without looking at him. 

The guard closed the gate behind him and returned to his shack.  Jim
stood there for a moment and glanced in both directions down the 
highway.  He took a big breath of fresh air and sat down on the bench 
to wait for the bus. 

Eight years.  It seemed more like twenty, but Jim couldn't complain too
much given the extensive list of drug trafficking charges he was hauled 
in for.  He could have been put away for life given the quantities of 
cocaine and marijuana he had been flying in from Mexico each week.  His 
lawyer had done a decent job for him, convincing the jury that Jim 
should be let off a little more lightly since he was not directly 
responsible for any of the deaths of several Coast Guard personnel 
which had initiated the FBI investigation of the drug ring.  Jim had 
indeed worked with many shady South American characters during his 
smuggling days.  However, he had smartly avoided anything beyond 
supplying and flying the plane.  He had carried a pistol, but only for 
personal protection; there was always someone else responsible for 
overall shipment security.  When the plane made an emergency landing on 
a dry Texas prairie, it were these security goons who carried out the 
nasty gunpoint negotiations with the Feds; they also ended up pulling 
the trigger when the situation became desperate.  In fact, Jim himself 
had become a human shield, a fact which his lawyer also used to gain 
sympathy from the jury. 

Fortunately, Jim had developed clever contingency scheme:  he had hid a
large stash of his earnings in several remote spots on Cape Cod.  
However, he now only had the fifty dollars wired from his lawyer.  His 
plane had been seized by the Feds and most of his remaining possessions 
had been turned over to his wife during the divorce which took place a 
year after he was locked up.  Other than his lawyer, no one visited him 
in prison.  Now he was free, but also broke and alone. 

The eight years in jail had given him plenty of time to review his
demise.  Adulthood had started out with such promise.  With his high 
intelligence, he easily made the Dean's list throughout college and had 
been a star of the basketball team as well.  This led to a professional 
basketball career which had provided him with the money to indulge in 
expensive toys such as the Lear jet.  Recreational drugs were a common 
accompaniment to the nouveau riche pro athlete crowd he had been a part 
of.  When his ball playing days ended, the drug habit persisted.  He 
supported his habit and made a decent profit as well using his plane, 
but had inevitably gotten in trouble for it.  Through the arrest and 


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