Ticket To Happiness or the Self-Indulgent Truth? (standard:humor, 56223 words)
Author: Reid Laurence	Added: Jun 10 2008	Views/Reads: 3393/3389	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Wouldn't it be great if life always turned out the way we'd like it to - or thought it should? The one good thing about writing fiction is - yep, you guessed it - the story always turns out exactly as it should... or the way you'd like it to, anyway.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

for better or for worse, I still can't decide. I guess, it's all in how 
you look at it. Stepping up to the cashier, I set my bottle of juice on 
the counter and awkwardly searched for the last two dollars to my name 
at the bottom of my pocket. Bringing out the crumpled bills, I unfolded 
them and put them on the counter, waiting for the cashier to tell me 
exactly what the tab was. “Dollar thirty-nine,” he said, smiling, 
leaning his weight on his hands as he rested them on the top of the 
glass counter. “Feel'in lucky taday?” he continued. “Lotto's worth an 
even mil. Wanna give it a shot?” “No,” I answered in a low, shy and 
muted tone. “I don't think so.” “What's that?” he replied, leaning his 
head forward in an effort to hear me better. “No game taday?” “Well... 
I don't know. I've never played before. Just thought it was a waste of 
money. Whaddaya think?” I said, hesitating. “Which one would you play 
if you were gonna try?” “Like I said, Lotto's jackpot starts out at a 
cool million bucks. Gets better'n that if nobody wins it before 
Saturday. I'd give Lotto a try if I were you. Only a buck for two 
plays. That's what I'd do... Lotto.” “Well... hold on now. That is a 
lot of money isn't it,” I said, fishing through the bottoms of my 
pockets for any loose change I might be hiding. Finding three dimes and 
one lonely nickel, I laid them on the counter and told the cashier, 
“I'm short four cents. Doesn't look like I'm gonna play taday. Maybe 
it's just someone's way of telling me not to, who knows.” “It's okay, I 
got it,” he said. Then, almost without hesitation and as if the thought 
were predetermined, he reached into a small dish of pennies near the 
register and pulled out the four I needed to complete the transaction. 
“Looks like this here's yer lucky day sir,” he continued, as he handed 
me the Lotto play slip. “I don't know,” I mumbled. “What do I do now?” 
“Just pick two sets a six different numbers like it says,” he said, as 
I turned to leave with my head pointed down at the ticket in my hands. 
“Hey mister, don't forget yer juice. You paid fer it.” “Right,” I 
answered. “Thanks, I was forgetting it wasn't I.” “Hey, I forget all 
the time. Probably forget my head if it wasn't attached. Anyways, yer 
on yer way now ain'tcha. Good luck!” “Thanks,” I said, and in picking 
up the cold bottle with my right hand, I walked back through the 
electronic double doors and at once felt the odd sensation that I'd 
somehow sealed a deal. But as the intense heat of the sun began to 
change the temperature of my skin back to the uncomfortable level I'd 
felt when I'd walked in, I slowly began to forget about the purchase 
I'd just made, stuffed the ticket in my pocket, and began instead to 
think of the mile or so I had to go to reach the air-conditioned 
comfort of our humble, small house. Twisting open the cap of the 
bottle, I took a long chug of the cold drink, and set a course for 
home. 

“Where were you?” asked my wife, as I pulled open our sliding glass door
and walked into the dining room. “Just tak'in my morning 
constitutional,” I replied. “What's new?” “Nut'in much. I thought you 
were gonna wait for me,” said Mary, sitting on the living room sofa, 
watching her favorite morning TV shows. “Now I'll have to get on the 
treadmill instead.” “Sorry,” I answered. “Just wanted some fresh air 
and you were still sleeping. Why don't we go to Wilson's Creek,” I 
offered, in an effort to appease her. “You talked me into it. I'll meet 
you in the car.” Getting to the car after talking about taking a walk 
was no easy task. Daisy - one of our dogs - always seemed to know what 
we were up to and if one of us mentioned a walk, she'd come up to me 
and stare at me with those big brown eyes of hers, giving me a sad look 
that always seemed to say, what about me? Why can't I go? Then, 
automatically and to relieve my guilt, I'd put the ball in Mary's court 
and have her make the final decision on wether or not to take the dogs 
with. “No, they'll ruin it,” was Mary's stock reply. Since neither of 
our four dogs could calm down long enough to stop pulling us along on 
their leashes, we usually chose not to take them with. Later in the 
day, I'd have to bring them on separate walks around the immediate 
neighbor-hood, without the company of my wife, and all the while being 
dragged from lawn to lawn as they sniff their way around, following 
their noses with complete disregard for me, their tried and true 
master. “They'll pull our arms out,” she continued to say. “You know 
that. C'mon, lets go.” “Yeah, but look at her,” I said, pleading my 
case on Daisy's behalf. “She's giving me that sad look again. What am I 
supposed to do about it?” “Get in the car, that's what.” 

Wilson's Creek - a place we like to walk around, not too far from our
home - is an old Civil War battlefield, set aside by the federal 
government as a vast seventeen-hundred and fifty acre state park where 
people can hike on trails, ride their horses or drive around to check 
out the many locations in which North and South clashed one hot day in 
late August, shedding their blood all in one terrible effort to just 
plain, get their own way. Running into each others rifle fire, getting 
cut to pieces by canister - designed to explode and send its contents 
of metal fragments hurtling through space and flesh alike - or getting 
mowed down by cannon balls, all were the methods of the day, and all 
were equally as hazard-ous to a young mans health, many of whom died on 
that field, some one-hundred forty-five years ago. But now, in the 
present day world, we've been given the opportunity to think over the 
results of their actions, and we - for the most part I believe - can 
appreciate what they did for us, in freeing an entire race of people 
put to slavery, and in bringing together each state of an otherwise 
divided Union, can hold their memory in great esteem, and respect those 
who so bravely gave their lives to defend our constitution and the 
fundamental reasons for the creation of a free nation, the United 
States of America. Arriving at the park, I pulled the car into one of 
the many places to stop along. Getting out, I took a deep drag of fresh 
country air and wondered what the action of combat must have been like. 
On occasion, I've questioned myself, and wondered how I would've 
performed given such conditions as those these young men were faced 
with. Even though I disagreed with those who fought to defend the 
south, I have to admit, they fought bravely, as bravely as any Union 
soldier. After all, that's what made the war so long and horrible isn't 
it? The conviction one has to fight, given a certain set of 
circumstances and the struggle to forge new policies into the law of 
the land until, beyond reproach, you've beaten down the enemy and won 
your way. Evidently, all that really is necessary to start a war is a 
grave difference of opinion, and at the time, there were many such 
differences. “Pretty, isn't it?” asked Mary, looking out over the great 
expanse of lush green grass and rolling hills, unable to tell exactly 
where the huge park begins and where it ends for all of the open land 
around us. “It's great,” I answered, with my arms folded across my 
chest, having caught me in a mood of contemplation, thinking over the 
war and its participants. “It's a beautiful day too. I was just 
thinking about all the people who died here, probably on a sunny, 
pretty day just like this one. Strange, isn't it?” “How do you mean?” 
“Just strange how people can fight and die on otherwise calm, pretty 
days like today. When I think of men and boys dying at war, I think of 
cold, grey weather, but that isn't necessarily so is it?” “Yeah, I 
guess. C'mon,” answered Mary, anxious to get on with our walk. “Snap 
out of it. Enjoy the day. Just be glad you didn't have to go to war.” 
“You're not kidd'in,” I replied. “I lucked out.” But still, inside, I 
couldn't help wondering what I would have done at the time. Would I 
have fought bravely, or would I have turned tail and run the other way? 
I like to think not. On our way to a hiking trail, we came across one 
of the authentic cannon that took up strategic locations against each 
other on that day. Walking to its side, I ran my hand over the dark, 
heavy, cast iron barrel of the gun and noticed a date stamped into it 
which read; 1861. Still trained on a position called Bloody Hill for 
all the men who died there, I strained to see through the trees that 
had grown in over the past century and a half to get an idea of what it 
must've been like back then. It made me wonder how in the world - 
between all the screaming, shouting, rifle fire and cannon bursts - did 
soldiers manage to keep from shooting the wrong people? I suppose they 
sometimes did, and that day in August must've been no different. What a 
terrible feeling that had to have been, to later find out that some of 
the bodies you piled up were men fighting on your own side. What do you 
say? Oops, sorry? Walking down a steep trail, we left the antique, 
muted weapon to itself. Fossil hunting was a priority on our list of 
things to do, and as I kneeled and began searching for the ancient 
impressions of bones we still have never found to this day, my cell 
phone suddenly began ringing a tune in my pocket...The first few lines 
from; It's A Small World After All played over and over until - before 
we both nearly went nuts - I opened it and took the call. “Hello,” I 
said as I usually did. “Who is it?” “It's your realtor,” answered the 
caller. “I have a contract for you to sign.” Hmm, I thought to myself. 
I know our house is up for sale, but he couldn't have sold it this 
fast. Only a few months had gone by since we'd hired a realtor and 
signed a contract with him, granting him exclusive rights to sell the 
home. “I don't understand John,” I said into the phone. “What kind of 
contract?” After telling the Broker I did home inspections just a few 
days prior, I thought he'd found someone who wanted one. I was about to 
say thanks for referring me, but his response to my question was 
something I never would have imagined in my wildest dreams. “What do 
you mean, what kind of contract? I sold your house, that's what kind. 
When can we meet? I need you and your wife to sign.” Dropping the phone 
from my ear, my arm-hanging limp at my side, I turned to Mary and told 
her the news. “Do you believe it? He sold the house. I'm in shock.” 
“Holy shit,” she answered. “He sold our crummy old dump. What now?” “We 
meet him, I guess.” “John,” I said into the phone. “Are you still 
there?” “Yes, when can we meet?” “How about an hour,” I replied. “I'm 
in the middle of Wilson's Creek battlefield. We never expected you to 
sell it so quickly.” “I'm a Broker Reid,” he said very plainly and 
distinctly. “It's my business to sell homes. I'll see you in an hour.” 
Closing my cell phone, I turned to Mary to tell her what surprise I 
felt, but in putting my hands in my pockets to rest them as I normally 
did, a strange feeling of coincidence came over me. It seemed there was 
an unfamiliar rock at the bottom of my pocket, and as I pulled it out 
to the light of day, I realized it was no rock at all. It was the 
buckeye, given to me the day before by that friendly older man who, as 
I recalled, told me it was; for good luck. “Mary,” I said. “Do you 
suppose... do you think this had anything to do with the house selling, 
or am I go'in crazy? Is it possible? Remember that guy... he told me it 
was for good luck.” “I remember. Who knows? You know me,” she 
continued. “I always did believe in a spiritual force. You're the one 
who never believed.” “I'm beginning to,” I said. “This thing has me 
thinking. What if it's like some kinda Aladdin's lamp? I'll tell ya 
Mary, if there's any truth to this thing, I'm gonna find out just as 
quick as I can.” “Oh yeah? Just how do you intend to do that?” “I'm 
gonna go on rubbing it, that's how. Who knows Mary,” I replied. 
“Anything can happen, anything at all.” “Who knows, maybe you're right 
Reid. We've got nothing to loose but some bad luck, so go on, rub it 
and make a wish...” 

“Where's that damn Lotto ticket Mary? Help me look for it will ya? I
can't remember where I put it.” “You've got such a bad memory. It's 
because you're getting old.” “You're the old one, not me. I'm never 
getting old, I refuse. Just help me look will you?” “What did you do 
when you came home? It was only yesterday. Just backtrack. Think of 
what you did.” “We went to Wilson's Creek after I bought the thing, 
just like I told you. What if I lost it there? Damn.” “Check the car. 
It might've fallen out of your pocket in the car.” She was right about 
my memory I thought, on my way out to the garage. It was getting so 
bad, I could hardly remember the events of a few previous days. Partly 
because they were uneventful days to begin with and partly because of 
my fading, short term memory. I dreaded the day when I'd wake up next 
to my wife of twenty-five years - only to ask her who she was - fearful 
of the probable scenario... “I'm your wife, you old goof.” “Oh yeah,” I 
imagined myself saying. “Prove it.” “How am I gonna prove it if you 
can't remember anything?” “How about a marriage certificate? That's a 
way to prove it, isn't it?” “Forget it,” might be her reply. “You look 
for it, I'm going back to sleep.” Opening the big garage door, I typed 
out the entry code on the driver side of the car - one of the things I 
proudly committed to memory besides my phone number, name and age - and 
began searching for the lost Lotto ticket. I had no idea if I'd 
purchased a winning ticket. Something like that was extremely far 
fetched, but since the incident with our house selling so quickly - the 
day after I'd been given the buckeye - I wasn't going to take chances. 
Who knows, I thought. What if I could continue this streak of good 
luck? What if it wasn't just a coincidence, but the intervention of 
some kindred spirit who knows I'm down on my luck. What if? For me, the 
chance was just too tempting not to follow up on, and as soon as I got 
the car door open, I got down on my hands and knees, searching every 
crevice of the seats and floor, only to come up with two dry, hairy 
french fries, a dime and an old address from a job interview I went on 
that never panned out. Oh boy, I thought, as I crumpled the useless 
road instructions in my palm and stared out one of the car windows into 
oblivion. It appeared as if my good luck streak wasn't a streak at all, 
just another bump in an otherwise smooth road to Nowhere-ville. Walking 
back into the house, I glumly passed Mary and sat down in my desk chair 
with my head in my hand. “Looks like I'm never gonna find out if I won 
or lost,” I said, watching the leaves shake from the wind on the tree 
outside our bedroom window. “It's just as well. Our chances of winning 
were something like three million to one.” “What pants were you 
wearing,” asked Mary, stubbornly unwilling to give up the quest. “What? 
Huh?” I replied, shaken from my lousy mood. “Uhh, the ones I've got on 
I think. Why?” “You probably never took it out of your pocket if I know 
you. Check your pockets.” Digging down into my two front pockets, I was 
rewarded with the buckeye, a dog treat, an old gum wrapper, and what do 
you know... of all things, the Lotto ticket. “See,” answered Mary. “I 
told you so. God, how hard was that? You're making me miss my talk 
shows, don't you have something to do?” “What would I do without you 
Mary?” “Probably forget where you live.” “Is that a good thing, or a 
bad?” I asked, as she walked out of the bedroom and into the living 
room. “Oh well,” I said to myself. “Some things are better left 
unsaid.” 

I didn't have long to wait to find out what the winning numbers were,
since the following Saturday promised to tell all. Drawings for Lotto 
in Missouri are every Wednesday and Saturday. Jackpots begin at one 
million dollars and have the potential to grow to a whopping six 
million bucks, depending on when winning tickets are drawn. The jackpot 
we were waiting for had already grown to four million dollars and as 
usual, Missourians were eagerly awaiting the results. Knowing that I 
could find out with ease by visiting the Missouri Lotto website on my 
computer, I did just that on that warm August morning. Clicking the 
power on, I waited for files to load while I walked around the room 
pacing, made myself a cup of coffee to distract myself and finally, sat 
down with great apprehension to determine the course of my financial 
destiny. “What's taking so long?” asked my overly anxious soul mate. 
“C'mon, I don't have all day!” “The files have to load Mary. It'll just 
get confused if I start clicking on things now. Hold on just one more 
minute. There,” I said, after what seemed even to me like an eternity. 
“It must be done, I don't hear the hard drive whirring around anymore. 
I'll get on-line.” Our telephone connection was extra slow and a 
dinosaur compared to other services, but at the time, we didn't have 
much choice in the matter. “Are you on yet?” she asked me. “Did we win 
anything?” “Hold on would ya. God Mary, how am I supposed to do 
anything with you bugging me like this? I still have'ta get to the 
Lotto website... Okay,” I replied, after another desperate eon of 
crawling time. “I'm there.” “And, did we win or what?” “No, dammit! You 
won't believe it, we're off by one digit of one number.” The numbers on 
my play slip read... 16-18-23-35-37-44, and all we needed to win the 
jackpot was a 28 in place of the number 23. “Do you believe it?” I 
said, running my hands through what was left of my decrepit hairline. 
“I can't believe my luck. I really thought we had a chance. Hell,” I 
said, as I listened to myself whine like an overtired baby. “I can't 
believe it. I just can't believe it. We were so close to becoming 
millionaires. So close,” I said, as I let my head fall to the surface 
of my computer desk with a loud thud, subconsciously expressing the 
disastrous effects of what was supposed to be a game, but instead, had 
grown to outrageous proportions of agony and frustration. “So close,” I 
continued to mumble like some forgotten recording going around and 
around. “So close...” “Oh God,” answered Mary. “I can't believe our 
luck. It's just the same as it ever was..., rotten. Can I see the 
ticket?” she asked, feeling the need to confirm in her mind the 
unfortunate stroke of bad luck we'd been given. Taking the play slip 
from my desk, she gently ran her fingers over the surface of it, as if 
to reveal some hidden information we'd only lightly gone over, but 
missed in our haste. “It's dead Mary. What's the use in depressing 
yourself? Look,” I said, pulling my head from my desktop. “I think we 
probably won some other secondary prize. Could be six or seven hundred 
bucks. What the heck, we matched most of the numbers didn't we? That's 
enough to pay the electric bill, some of our credit cards and go out 
for dinner. Whaddaya think?” “I think there's something on the card, 
that's what I think. Something sticking to it,” she said. “Look at 
this, it's some sticky stuff from those dog treats you carry around... 
it's coming off. Look!” she shouted. “Look at this! That's not a 23, 
it's a 28! You couldn't read it. The sticky junk made the eight look 
like a three! We're rich Reid! We're fabulously wealthy!” “You're 
kidding me?” I said, unable to believe we'd really won. After all, I'd 
practically never won a thing in my life and this winning ticket came 
as a tremendous shock wave to me. “Can I see it? C'mon Mary,” I 
insisted. “Let me take a look at it. Wholly cow,” I proclaimed, 
examining the play slip. “We beat the odds. We really beat the odds. 
Three million to one. It's hard to believe isn't it?” But even as the 
words left my mouth, an uncomfortable premonition had taken their 
place, and settled in to stay along with what appeared to be our lucky 
streak and more then mild, good fortune. Never one to wreck any happy 
occasion, I dismissed the thought as best I could but wondered what the 
future would bring. Like a pebble tossed into a still pond, would there 
be repercussions like rippling waves for years to follow? What new 
responsibilities would I have to carry like new added weights, I 
wondered. But instead of telling Mary anything of my new concerns, I 
dropped them as best I could. I knew she'd be calling me a worrier and 
besides, it was time to party. Time to revel in our new good fortune, 
and time to explore all of those things that were only just moments 
before, completely out of reach. 

Chapter 2 

“Hey Reid,” came a voice over my home phone. “It's Gordon, how ya
do'in?” “Do'in okay I guess. How are you do'in?” I asked. “I'm okay,” 
he said. “Do'in just fine.” But as our Chicago style salutations came 
to a close, I couldn't help wondering just who the heck I was talking 
to. The only Gordon I knew had left for military school when we were 
kids in seventh grade and let me tell you, he was one wild little guy. 
As I recalled - from my foggy, fading memory - we were hanging out one 
day around a low wooden fence, just shooting the breeze as bored kids 
have been known to do. The fence I remember was made out of regularly 
spaced, horizontal 4x4 beams that framed into the same size vertical 
posts and on that day, old Gordy had hopped up to the top beam, about 
four feet off the ground and wondered out loud what would happen if he 
jumped up and came down on it. Myself and another middle school friend 
of mine just stood and watched as Gordon got ready to make his move, 
and what we witnessed that day was just this side of unbelievable. Like 
a master of Karate, and with no formal training, this one-hundred 
twenty pound boy leapt four feet into the air over his target - far 
over our heads - and came crashing down on that beam. Needless to say, 
it snapped like a twig and astonished both me and my awestruck friend, 
but we never really got the chance to congratulate Gordon as the 
following week, he'd vanished into thin air. All that I could find out 
was that he'd left for military school and later, after thinking about 
it, I finally realized that his parents had given up on him. Sad when 
you think about it, because he really wasn't a bad guy, it's just that 
he was - to put it mildly - uncontrollable. “So Gordon,” I said. “It's 
nice to hear from you, but I'm sorry, I can't seem to place you.” 
“C'mon man,” he insisted. “It's old Gordy. You know, Gordon Steinberg.” 
Finally, when I heard the name in full, it dawned on me - this really 
was old Gordon. The same one who'd busted up the fence that day. “Holy 
cow Gordon, I haven't seen you in years. What's go'in on?” I asked. 
“Oh, I been busy. Never had the chance ta call anyone really, till now 
anyway.” “How so Gordon? What did you end up do'in anyway? I lost track 
a you a long time ago.” “Oh,” he muttered, after some hesitation in his 
voice. “Guess you could say, I been around the block, know what I 
mean?” “No,” I replied. “I can't say that I do, but if you don't want 
to tell me, that's alright. I didn't mean ta pry.” “No that's okay, I 
guess it don't matter now. You remember,” he began. “A long time ago, 
after I didn't see you guy's no more?” “Yeah, sure,” I answered. “I 
remember. We wondered what happened ta you. All we heard was you went 
off to military school.” “Yep, that's true,” he agreed. “But that was 
just for starters. After I got out, I felt like I been in jail, so I 
figured what's the difference, my life stinks anyway an I... well I... 
I stole a car.” “You're kidd'in me Gordon.” “Nope,” he said. “I ain't 
kidd'in.” “Didya get in trouble?” I asked naively. “Did the cops get 
ya?” “Nope... well... not right away, anyway. It took ‘em a while ta 
catch on to me. I got pretty good at it if I do say so myself. Things 
went pretty good there, for awhile.” “Whaddaya mean?” “Till I got 
caught. I ended up do'in five years in Joliet. Man I'll tell you, that 
place stinks. I mean it really smells bad there, especially in the 
summertime. You don't wanna end up there man, whatever you do.” “Yeah, 
I hear ya,” I answered. “I think I read something like that in the 
newspaper once. The Sunday Tribune or something. But anyway,” I 
continued. “You got out, then what?” “Couldn't find a job Reid. No one 
would hire me, be'in an ex-con an all.” “So what'd ya do?” “What could 
I do? I stole another car. Not just any car though. A real nice one. It 
was a brand new black Cadillac with everything on it, the works. Power 
this, power that, cold air, ran like a top.” “So, did ya wind up 
sell'in it for parts, or what?” “I would've, but since the car belonged 
to an alderman, I didn't get the chance. Cops were all over me like 
flies.” “Oh no Gordon,” I said, after suddenly realizing that there 
were some people in this world with even worse luck than mine. “So what 
happened?” “So whaddaya think happened? I wound up back in the slammer, 
that's what. Eight years this time. Geez, that alderman guy was pissed 
off. How was I supposed ta know whose car it was? My luck, ya know?” 
“Yeah, Gordon,” I said. “Sounds pretty crummy, but anyway, you're out 
now right? Hey,” I asked, feeling like it might be a good idea to 
change the subject. “What's the weather like up there in Chi-town? It 
outta still be nice an warm right?” “Nice an sweaty you mean. Hey look 
Reid,” he said. “Why don't I just get ta the point?” “Shoot,” I 
replied, before I realized that a man like Gordon might actually do 
just that, given the right set of circumstances. “Well...” he began. 
“It seems like I'm a little bit down on my luck lately, you know. Work 
is scarce for a guy like me Reid - be'in an ex-con an all - an anyways, 
I got ta think'in when I heard you won the Lotto an all...” “How in the 
world did you hear that, Gordon?” I asked, knowing how we'd lost touch 
with each other so many years ago. “Oh, you'd be surprised buddy. Word 
can travel pretty fast, especially in the slammer.” “I see what you're 
getting at Gordon,” I said, after finally putting together the reason 
for his phone call. “But as it is right now, I'm broke. I don't have a 
pocket to piss in. We're just gett'in by here, really.” “But, I don't 
understand,” he began. “You just won four million bucks didn'tcha? 
What's the problem?” “They don't pay out sums like that for weeks 
Gordon. Then, when they finally do get around to it, we're mov'in 
straight to a better house. I promised my wife, I owe it to her after 
all these years.” “So... does that mean ya can't see yer way ta loan an 
old buddy a few bucks. I'll pay it back, honest. Soon as I get on my 
feet.” “Tell you what,” I answered, after some careful deliberation. 
“Why don'tcha give me your number, an I'll get back to you. I'll run it 
past my wife and see what she thinks, whaddaya say?” “Sounds okay,” he 
replied, with just a bit of dejection to his voice. “But yer not gonna 
ferget me now are ya? I know, its been a long time since we talked, but 
gosh Reid, I wouldn't be call'in if I didn't really need the dough. I 
got my pride too ya know. It took a lot for me ta call. Yer talk'in to 
a desperate man here.” “I know Gordon. Hey buddy,” I said, feeling like 
I ought to wind up the call and get off the phone, as nothing would be 
resolved in the next few minutes anyhow. “My wife wants ta go shopping 
an I'm gonna help her lug the packages. I promise I'll get back to you, 
okay?” “Okay man. Hey,” he said, after giving me his number. “We gotta 
get together sometime, ya know? It'd be like the old days, just hang'in 
out.” “Yeah Gordon, we should,” I said in agreement, and hung the 
telephone handset back in place. “Who was that?” asked Mary, soon after 
I'd hung up. “That was a long call.” “Yeah it was, wasn't it,” I 
answered, still thinking over what Gordon had said and the problems 
he'd encountered in his life. “Was it an old friend, or what?” “Geez 
Mary, you wouldn't believe it if I told you. Talk about old friends, 
this one goes way back.” “But it's nice that he thought of you isn't 
it?” “I suppose. C'mon,” I said. “I'll tell you all about it on our 
walk. We are walking today aren't we?” “Sure, but It'll cost ya,” 
quipped Mary. “You mean the walk's gonna cost me money?” “Yep. Your 
mister money bags now aren't you?” “I guess. At least, that's what 
people are beginning to think. You know Mary, I'm gett'in the idea that 
being rich may not be all it's cracked up to be.” “It's a hellava lot 
better then the alternative.” “But we don't even have the money yet,” I 
said. “I can dream, can't I?” Isn't that just part of the problem, I 
thought to myself, as we got into the car and started up the muscular, 
gas chugging V8 engine I was so proud of. People always dreaming, 
always wondering what it would be like to live like someone else, or 
even to be someone else. Someone wealthy or famous, or both. After all, 
I wondered, who is completely satisfied with the way they ended up? 
Certainly not old Gordon, that's for sure. 

The hills are alive, with the sound of music...That's about it I
thought, as I observed Mary spinning around in an open field at 
Wilson's Creek that day. I guess you'd have to be a bit older to 
remember that 1965 classic film. As for myself, I was always partial to 
action movies, but I have to admit, Mary does a good Julie Andrews 
impression. Some of Mary's performances are better then others but this 
time however, she put on a good show. I think winning four million 
bucks may have been the key to her inspiration. Her emotions just 
seemed to pour out all over the grass that day and the backdrop for the 
scene - the seventeen hundred some acres of tall grass and wild flowers 
of the battlefield just suited the purpose perfectly. The only thing we 
were missing was a video camera to film the action, but I resigned 
myself to committing my wife's performance to memory, even though in my 
case, that is not so spectacular a resolution. After the show, I 
decided to walk my starry eyed mate along one of the more well traveled 
paths of the park, where I knew we'd eventually come to a bridge which 
overlooks the creek the battlefield was named for. When we arrived at 
the spot, I did what I always do when we get there, and I began to 
stare into the passing water below, looking for any signs of life in 
the quickly moving current. Sometimes we get lucky and we get to see 
quite a bit of wildlife while we're there. On a recent occasion, we'd 
seen a medium sized bird called a Kingfisher. Smaller then the Great 
Blue Heron, but bigger then Robbins or Crows, it stood out with its 
long thin bill and dark blue body, streaking along under the bridge at 
high speed, searching the waters below for small fish until it came to 
rest in a tall tree hundreds of yards in the distance. I wouldn't have 
been able to identify it, were it not for the bird clock Mary got me 
for Christmas some time ago. Dang thing comes in handy sometimes. 
Anyway, on that day, as I fixed my gaze into the clear running stream, 
I noticed a turtle moving slowly along near the shoreline. It wasn't 
all that fascinating but it proved to be more interesting then the 
water itself and I watched as it made progress and moved towards us 
from our vantage point on the bridge. “Won't be long til it gets here,” 
I said to my wife. “Reckon?” she replied. “Yep. Just hold on ta yer hat 
cause the wind it'll create when it passes might give us whiplash.” 
“Think so?” she answered. “You're just being facetious. Anyhow, it 
couldn't move any slower then yer work speed Reidy,” she snidely 
remarked. “You're so funny, I forgot ta laugh,” I answered, as any 
socially skilled six grader would have. But no sooner did I have the 
chance to revel in my keen strategy, then the cell phone in my pocket 
began to sing its familiar song, shattering our harmonious union. Two 
verses of It's A Small World After All filled the air around us, before 
I grudgingly opened the tiny, bothersome beast. “Yeah,” I answered, 
still slightly peeved over Mary's merciless attack. “It's your nickel.” 
“Reid, is that you?” asked the caller. “None other.” “Boy am I glad I 
finally reached you. You got no idea how hard it was ta find your 
number. How ya do'in buddy! Long time no see.” “I'm okay,” I said, as a 
strange feeling of deja vu came over me, having received a similar call 
only hours before. “What can I do for you?” I asked, as I watched a 
school of tiny fish swim under the bridge, disappearing from sight. 
“Hey man,” answered the exuberant, nameless voice. “It's not what you 
can do for me.” “No?” “Hell no. It's what I can do for you,” he said, 
reminiscent of one of the late president Kennedy's famous speeches - 
Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your 
country - even though the general gist had been inverted. “You've got 
my interest up,” I remarked. “But I still don't know who you are.” 
“Oops, sorry old buddy,” he said. “Hey, you remember who put the tacks 
on Mrs. Brock's chair dont'cha?” “Tacks on Mrs. Brock's chair?” I 
reiterated. “No, sorry. Can't say that I do.” “Well, how about the time 
we put grasshoppers in Rachael Cohen's lunch. You remember that 
dont'cha?” “Not off hand,” I said. “Sorry, my memory's not what it used 
to be. Maybe if you told me your name, I'd remember.” “Gosh old man, 
you really are los'in it aren'cha. It's Jerry. Your old pal Jerry 
Goldberg. You remember me now, right?” “Jerry Goldberg,” I repeated out 
loud. “I knew a Jerry Goldberg along time ago... in kindergarten I 
think. Damn, I was only five years old then. That's the only Jerry 
Goldberg I can think of right now.” “Bravo!” said the caller. “You got 
it. That's me! Boy, that didn't take too long, did it?” he said, with a 
note of sarcasm in his voice. “Well, look Jerry,” I began, not wanting 
to be rude, but at the same time, I was getting tired of being on the 
phone. “I'm out in the middle of nowhere right now, taking a walk with 
my wife. Can I call you back?” “What?” he asked. “And pass up the deal 
of a lifetime! Are you crazy?” “I don't think so,” I answered. “That 
is, I didn't think so til now, anyway.” “What kinda remark is that?” 
asked Jerry. “I come ta you with an open heart and a helping hand an 
this is the way you treat me. I swear, you've changed.” “Forty-five 
years can do that to a person,” I said, anxious to get off the phone. 
“Can't we get to the point?” “Okay then, if it makes ya feel better to 
be rude after all these years, I'll just say what's on my mind.” “Yes 
Jerry, please just say it. What's on your mind?” “I can sum it all up 
in one word buddy boy...” “Yes please, sum it up.” “Land.” “Is that the 
word?” I asked impatiently. “Land?” “You know it man! The magic word is 
land. L-A-N-D, land.” “What about it Jerry?” But just as I had asked 
the question, I'd closed my eyes and missed a baby Quail pop out from 
its nest in the tall grass and run to the other side of the road. Mary 
did her best to describe what had happened, but a description of 
something generally palls in comparison to having seen it with your own 
eyes. Now I was really getting mad at Jerry for keeping me on the 
phone, but he was intent on bothering me all the more... “Look, Jerry,” 
I continued. “I really gotta go. Why don't we talk about this another 
time.” “There may not be another time Reid. People are buying up acres 
as we speak, an you're in a great position now to buy whatever you 
want.” “Whaddaya mean Jerry? Who told you that?” “Oh shit, you're 
loaded pal, everyone knows it. Word gets around. Everyone knows you're 
a millionaire now, an this is the best way ta invest. A sure thing.” 
“If you really wanna know Jerry, I haven't seen a dime a that money an 
I won't for weeks. Where is this land deal anyway?” I asked, slightly 
curious to know. “Missouri,” he replied. “Southeast Missouri.” But even 
as he spoke, a Great White Heron landed in the stream, plucked a fish 
from the water and flew off. Beating its huge wings to gain altitude, I 
caught only a glimpse of the impressive bird, as it flew off over 
distant trees and on into the azure blue horizon. “Southeast Missouri?” 
I repeated. “You mean the boot heal?” “Yep,” he replied. “How'd ya 
know?” “There's nothing there but swampland,” I said. “But it's a great 
place ta go fishing.” “Oh yeah,” he answered, slightly annoyed. “Since 
when?” “Since the last ice age. Look Jerry, I really have ta go. 
Sorry,” I said, as I pressed the ‘end call' button on the phone and 
closed it. “Wow, did you get to see the Heron that landed?” asked Mary, 
as I put the phone back in place on my belt. “Pretty bird.” “Just 
barely,” I said. “He wouldn't let me off the darn phone. You'll never 
guess what he wanted.” “Try me.” “The past two calls I received were 
old friends all right. So old, I never expected to hear from them 
again, but ever since word got around that we won the Lotto jackpot, 
well... you know the rest. They just want me ta give ‘em money we 
haven't even seen yet. They're com'in outta the woodwork Mary, what do 
I do?” “Just turn your phone off. If it's important, people will leave 
a message.” “Is this the way it's gonna be now?” I asked my wife, as I 
stared down into the water to the very bottom of the streambed, 
discovering with my eyes, ancient rocks of different sizes and colors, 
weathered by time and current. Some of the rocks were so large, I 
imagined it would take a small bulldozer to remove them, and some so 
small, you could put them in your pocket and walk away with them, but 
all of them as common to the area as the Buckeye I carried in my 
pocket. “Is this the way it's gonna be now?” I repeated, hypnotized by 
the tranquil, rippling water passing beneath me. “You know what people 
say...,” she replied, turning to meet my eyes with hers. “Watch what 
you wish for, it just might happen.” 

Chapter 3 

When it came time to close the loan on the new house we picked out, I
did something I always wanted to do, but never thought I could - I paid 
with a suitcase full of cash. It was worth it just to see the 
expression on the closing agents face and it gave Mary and I a great 
feeling of security, knowing that we didn't owe the bank a dime. 
Compared to what we'd been living in, the new place was a palace. Four 
thousand square feet gave us plenty of room to move around in without 
bumping into each other, and the ten acres of land it was on gave Mary 
ample space to play Julie Andrews all she wanted. In fact, we were 
deliriously happy, but it didn't take us long to find out that all 
those rooms in the house weren't going to clean themselves, so we 
mutually decided to hire a maid to help out around the place. All we 
had to do was look in the phone book to find one, but the kind of maid 
I had in mind wasn't all that easy to find... “Lets do something 
non-conventional,” I suggested. “Like what?” “How about a topless 
maid?” “Yeah, right,” answered Mary. “No, really,” I said. “I hear 
they're real thorough and they don't cost much more then other maids.” 
“You gotta be kidding. Do I look nuts to you?” “Well...” was all I 
said, even though she'd given me a perfect opening in which to agree, 
and it wasn't very often that we agreed on anything. “Never mind. Don't 
answer that. C'mon,” she urged. “Get serious, we have to make a 
decision.” “Okay, tell ya what,” I replied. “You call ‘em in and I'll 
interview ‘em. Fair enough?” “Not really, but It'll give you something 
to do with your time and I've gotta go food shopping, the cupboard's 
bare.” “Very well then, I'll even help make the selection here,” I 
said, as I leafed through the pages of our phone book. Taking the 
buckeye out of my pocket, I closed my eyes, made a wish and rubbed it 
for good luck. Handing my wife the phone, I read the number out loud to 
her, sat back in my chair and waited to let destiny take its course. 

I was in my study, tinkering at my computer when the doorbell rang out.
The bell was actually a chime that sounded more like the bell atop the 
Cathedral of Notre Dame then the kind of doorbell I was used to, but at 
any rate, when someone pressed it, you knew they were there. Grasping 
the big brass handle in my right hand, I opened the heavy, oversized 
oak door and stood aghast at what was before me. In shock, there wasn't 
much I could do but stand in the doorway, stare and breathe air - the 
kind of brain functions that normally carry on in the body without 
having to make any conscious effort - that was about all I was capable 
of at the time. “Aren't you gonna ask me in?” said the young lady on my 
porch. “It's hot as hell out here and I sure could use somethin ta 
drink.” “Uh... uh...” “Oh c'mon, you can do better then that,” she 
said. “Haven't you ever seen a girl before?” “Sure,” I muttered. 
“Well... so?” she replied, still staring at me through the dark lenses 
of her sunglasses. “Let me in then, I'm not gonna bite you.” “Okay, 
sure,” I said, inviting her into the entrance hall with a wave of my 
arm. “Yeah, wow. What got into me? I'm sorry, I usually don't act like 
that. It's just that I didn't expect someone...” “Someone like me?” she 
said, interrupting me and giving me the feeling that my mind was an 
open book. “Yeah,” I said. “I kinda expected someone older and if you 
don't mind my saying so... not as pretty.” “Well, I guess maids come in 
all shapes and sizes don't they. So,” she continued, removing her 
glasses to reveal the most beautiful sparkling blue eyes I'd ever seen. 
“You gonna interview me, or what?” “Yes, certainly,” I replied, 
thanking my lucky stars for the day I'd been given that small, acorn 
looking, hunk of tree I'd been carrying around with me for the past few 
weeks in my pocket. After all, people never tire of telling you that 
money doesn't grow on trees, but my case was a true exception to the 
rule. Leading my welcome visitor to the living room - where I thought I 
would best be able to relax and calm down - I came to rest in one of 
the overstuffed new chairs we'd bought and began where I'd left off in 
the foyer... staring in awe with my mouth agape. “If you don't wanna 
start, I can,” she said, taking the bull by the horns. “The name's 
Vera. Vera Goode.” “You're kidding me right?” I asked, doing my best to 
suppress the nervous laughter that wanted to come out. “Nope, I ain't 
kidd'in. That's my real name, and I might as well tell you right from 
the start, I don't do windows.” “Hmm,” I muttered. “I wonder why so 
many people have a problem with windows. Are they that hard to clean?” 
“Not really,” answered Vera. “It's just a lotta shit I don't feel like 
do'in. You okay with that?” “I guess, but somebody's gotta do ‘em. I 
suppose I can if they get really bad.” “Whatever. Anyway,” she 
continued. “Is this a live-in job, cause I need a place ta stay. I 
don't feel like liv'in outta my suitcase anymore. I tried that. It's 
not much fun, I'll tell you that right now.” “I'll bet,” I said. “It 
sounds like you've been through some rough times.” “You know it,” she 
replied. “But I'd rather not go into that. So?...” “What?” “Is it a 
live-in job or what?” “Oh yeah, sorry. Sure,” I answered. “We can swing 
that. There's plenty of room here. Too much really for just my wife and 
I, so heck, how about the guest room on the first floor. You got your 
own bathroom/spa with environmental controls you can set for a light 
tropical rain, steam, or mist. Whatever you like, it's cool. I always 
wanted something like it, but I was never able to buy it til now.” “Oh 
yeah,” answered Vera. “Nouveau riche?” “I suppose you could say that,” 
I said. “But I'd rather not go into explanations right now.” 

“Touché,” she quipped, with a look of sullen disinterest on her flawless
face. Adjusting her large, heavy breasts with both hands as if they 
were cumbersome weights, she continued by adding... “I gotta get outta 
this bra, it's kill'in me.” But just as she'd innocently made her 
wishes apparent to me, who should walk into the room but my adoring 
wife, Mary. “Hi,” said my wife, never one to assume me guilty of any 
crime until proven, beyond the shadow of a doubt. “What's going on?” 
she asked, as anyone would have. “Hey Mary,” I replied. “This is Vera. 
She came to apply for the job.” “Super,” responded Mary, sitting down 
in a chair next to mine. “I need help around the place. It's so big, 
it's just too much for me to handle alone. Have you done this kind of 
thing before?” “Oh yeah,” answered Vera. “Well... can I ask, where?” 
“Around,” said Vera, most evasively. “Uh... okay,” was all Mary could 
say, but she soon followed up with, “Reid, can I see you in the study 
for a minute?” And when I heard that, I knew there were going to be 
repercussions and a price to pay for wanting to hire the likes of Vera. 
“What is it pumpkin?” I asked innocently, on our way into the study. 
“What's wrong?” “You know what's wrong,” said Mary, throwing the ball 
right back at me as most wives would have. “She is rude!, and you 
expect me to hire her? Plus, I don't trust her. What's her job history 
like?” “Her job history?” “Yes! What did she do before this.” “Well... 
I, er...” “You don't even know, do you?” “Well, it's just that we 
didn't get that far yet my dove. I'll go back and ask her if you want 
me to.” “Of course I want you to. Haven't you explained your own job 
history every time you've applied for work? Doesn't everyone? Why 
should she be exempt?” “You're right lambchop. I'll go right in there 
and make her talk. How's that?” “That's a start, anyway. God, do I have 
to do everything?” “C'mon Mary,” I pled. “I just didn't get that far 
with her yet, that's all. You came home before I could ask her those 
things.” “Well, make sure you do.” “Right honey pie. You'll see, I'm an 
expert inter-viewer. I'll get her ta spill the beans, you'll see.” 
“Yeah, right. And another thing...” “Yes, my swan.” “If I ever catch 
you two, it's curtains for you buster.” “But dumpling,” I said, holding 
Mary's lithe body close to mine, putting my arms around her as I spoke. 
“You know my love for you is beyond reproach.” “Just make sure you 
remember that when she goes home at night.” “Well babykin,” I said 
tentatively. “That's the thing. I told her this was a live-in 
position.” “You what! No way!” “She's got no where else to go baby. 
She's homeless. What was I supposed to do?” “Shit, now what? Are there 
any more surprises? I go shopping for two hours and the whole place 
turns upside down. What's next? Are her cousins moving in? What about 
her parents? Do they need a place to stay too?” “No, lambchop. Nobody 
mentioned any relatives.” “There better not be. And stop using those 
ridiculous descriptive adjectives. Lambchop my ass. You go in there and 
get her job history, pronto.” “Yes dear.” I said, as I left the study, 
having made the determination in my mind to be firm with Vera and get 
as much information about her past as I possibly could. After all, I 
had to agree with Mary. Who knows what Vera had been up to before she 
answered our call? And the clandestine way she treated the issue only 
served to create more suspicion. I could see that I had my work cut out 
for me. It was up to me to find out what was going on in that gorgeous 
head of Vera's, and dadgummit, I was going to find out. Walking back to 
the living room, I expected to find her sitting on one of the love 
seats where I left her, but I found no sign of her shapely torso 
anywhere in the room. Wondering where she went, I quietly searched from 
room to room until I came to the guest room. Noticing that the door was 
closed, I gently knocked, thinking that any loud noises might alarm my 
lovely wife and alert her to this unforeseen problem, but no answer 
came. Hearing nothing but the sound of gently running water, I turned 
the unlocked door handle and cautiously called Vera's name, but again, 
I heard no reply. Looking into the room - or trying to anyway - I saw 
nothing but steam. The furniture; the bed, in fact everything and 
anything in the room had become lost behind one great wall of man-made, 
or I should say in this case, woman-made fog. “Vera,” I called out 
again, slightly louder then before. “Vera, are you there?” but still, I 
got no reply. Walking blindly, running on only my memory of the layout 
of the large guest suite, I searched in vain for the source of the 
steam and tried to make my way to the bathroom, but walked deftly into 
a nearby wall. Falling from the force of impact, I landed flat on my 
back and laid there helplessly, rubbing my head, until the unthinkable 
finally happened... “Ouch! Shit!” said Vera, as she tripped over me, 
landing directly on top of me, as naked as the day she was born. “What 
the hell are you doing here?” she asked, in that brazen manner of hers 
I'd already become accustom to. “I live here,” I replied. “Remember?” 
“Yeah, but excuse me, don't people normally bathe alone?” she said, as 
her right breast unavoidably grazed my face. “Wholly shit Vera, you're 
naked! What if Mary comes in?” “Don't ask me, I didn't plan this. It 
was your idea, not mine.” “I couldn't find you,” I said excitedly, as 
my heart beat harder and harder with each passing second. “I was just 
about to ask you about your job history.” “I thought you gave me the 
job,” she replied. “Remember? You told me it was a live-in position.” 
“Yeah, but I didn't realize the living-in part had already started.” 
Then, finding myself lodged between two of the biggest natural breasts 
I'd ever seen, the stunning realization of knowing she was on top of me 
began to set in. “V-V-Vera,” I stuttered. “I've gotta get outta here. 
My marriage is on the line.” “So? Who's stopp'in ya. You know where the 
door is, use it.” “Okay,” I said, barely audibly. “Just let me up and 
I'll get outta here.” Rising from her prone position, Vera stood - I 
supposed - as I still couldn't see anything in the room further away 
then two feet, and I made my way to the bedroom door, crawling on all 
fours. Feeling the carpet ahead of me, looking out for any other 
obstacles like the wall I'd hit on my way in, I finally found my way 
back to the door, got up on my feet, and closed it behind me. Wow, I 
thought, as I stood in the clear air of the hallway, catching my 
breath. Is this the way it's gonna be now? I wondered, recalling that 
I'd said the very same thing to my wife only weeks before on our visit 
to Wilson's Creek. “I'll just have ta roll the dice and see what 
happens,” I said to myself. “A'course, it wouldn't hurt ta break out 
the old buckeye neither,” I added, fishing around in my pocket for the 
small, wood-like source of my admiration. “With a girl like Vera 
around, I'm gonna need all the luck I can get, and then some.” 

“So?” asked Mary, when I met her in the kitchen. “What's her job history
like? Aren't you going to call her references?” “I'm glad you asked,” I 
boldly replied. “I was just getting to that.” “You were just gonna 
call, right?” “Well I... I thought that I was a pretty good judge of 
character, don't you think?” “And?” “And, so, I thought I'd just let 
her start. We can pretty much judge her work ethic from watching her 
for a while, don't you think?” “I think,” said Mary, “but I wonder 
about you sometimes. Do you really think you can trust that... that 
porno star in there? Who knows what's going on in her mind? She could 
steal you blind when you're not looking.” “Don't you worry dear, I'll 
keep my eye on her.” “That's what I'm afraid of,” answered Mary. “It 
looks like you got your wish after all, doesn't it.” “What's that my 
dove?” “The topless maid you wanted. I don't know how you did it, but 
you did it.” “What do you get the man who has everything,” I answered. 
“I'm getting tougher to shop for, ain't I?” “You just keep your hands 
off that vixen in there, if you know what's good for you.” “Mary, 
there's no reason to go calling Vera names like that. You hardly even 
know her. And stop worrying,” I said, as I gave the buckeye in my 
pocket an extra rub for good measure. “Nothing's going to go wrong.” 

Days passed and turned into weeks but still, the place was just as dirty
as when Vera had first arrived. In fact, she did hardly anything, but 
when she did decide to do some work around the place, it was hard for 
me to take my eyes off her body in motion. It was like watching the 
pages of a risque men's magazine come to life before me, and when 
weekends rolled around, she was fond of laying out by the pool in our 
yard, in the two pieces of yarn she called; a swimsuit. Of course, our 
bar tab with the neighborhood liquor store rose to an all time high 
too, but that didn't bother me. Money like that was hardly a factor for 
consideration anymore, and I liked to see Vera get happy. Like most 
people, she got giddier when she got sloshed and she became a lot 
easier to talk to - not as defensive as she usually was when sober. 
Then one day, as I was sitting in my study with the door open, a 
thought occurred to me. Not about Vera, but about the prospect of 
making more money. I was opening a bag of beef jerky, about to break 
off a chaw - a habit I'd picked up from living in the Ozarks - when I 
started thinking about all those people here who enjoy it as much, or 
even more, then I do. I remembered I had a boss who even made his own 
and on occasion, he'd bring it to work for us to try. I liked it when I 
tried it, and he told me there were different types to choose from. 
“You kin make it outta just about anything,” he said. “Whatever ya got 
handy. Beef; turkey; venison, anything.” And sitting there, I wondered 
if I could use a little of the money I'd won from Lotto, invest it in 
my own company and package my own brand to sell around town. I could 
start out by underselling other brands to get a foothold in the market 
and hell, I knew some of the grocers and businessmen around Springfield 
so I figured, why not give it a try. The only thing I was really 
lacking was a name for my new product, but as I stared out the windows 
of my home office, watching the inflatable toys in the pool slowly 
migrate from one side to the other in the gentle breeze of summer, I 
came up completely empty. In fact, the only thing I got out of my long, 
ponderous thought was eyestrain from the intense sunlight pouring in on 
my face. Then suddenly, I heard a voice call to me from what seemed, 
out of nowhere. Where exactly it was coming from, I couldn't tell and 
it shocked me when I realized there'd been someone else in the room 
with me all along. “Whatcha up to?” asked the faceless voice. “Vera?” I 
asked. “Is that you?” “None other,” she said, as she pushed the door of 
my office closed to reveal herself, standing there with no top on, with 
a grin on her face the likes of which would have made the Cheshire cat 
from Alice In Wonderland jealous. “You should see your face,” she 
continued. “You're as red as a beet.” “You've got no clothes on!” I 
said. “What if Mary walks in!” “Relax, would ya. She's out shopping. 
It's just you an me now buddy boy,” she said, drawing nearer to me. 
“When the cat's away, the mice will play.” “Oh no they don't. They 
can't play, I just can't Vera. Please, put a top on before she comes 
home and finds us.” “I know you've been watching me. I have eyes,” she 
said, sitting down in front of me, on top of my desk. “What are you 
waiting for, an invitation?” “No, no. I don't need an invitation.” I 
said, but just as visions of my angry wife began flashing through my 
mind, I'd already begun to lose control of the part of me that said ‘I 
can't' and was just about to indulge the part that said ‘I can', when 
suddenly, the front door bell rang out like the summoning of 
parishioners to church. “Quick, put some clothes on! Someone's here!” I 
yelled. Getting up, I ran out of the office and slammed the door shut 
behind me. Close call, I thought, as I paused at the front door to 
smooth out the wrinkles in my pants and shirt. I wonder who that could 
be now? And with my hands still shaking from all the excitement, I took 
hold of the big brass handle, pressed down on the thumb latch and 
slowly, opened the door. “Hello,” I said, trying hard to act natural. 
“What can I do for you?” “You can sign for this here package mister, 
that's all I need.” “Oh, okay. Any idea what's inside?” I asked. “Nope, 
don't know. They don't tell me, I just deliver.” “Hmm... what if I 
shake it a little ta find out?” “Don't know why people always wanna 
shake packages,” he answered. “Might be glass in there or someth'in 
else breakable, but you go ahead if ya want. It's yours now, see ya” he 
said, and with that, I watched as he turned and walked down our winding 
concrete path on the way back to his delivery truck. Wow, that guy was 
so rude, I thought. Has to make a big deal over shaking a little 
package. But when I brought the box inside and laid it down on the 
floor, I couldn't help myself or stay my curiosity, and I shook that 
darn package until the contents seemed to slide from one side to the 
other. “What is it?” asked Vera, walking into the foyer to find out 
what I was doing. “Just a package delivery,” I answered. “Try'in ta 
find out what's inside.” “I know a good way,” she said. “Open it.” 
“But, what if it's Mary's stuff? She hates it when I open her mail.” 
“Don't worry about it. Where's it from?” “Hmm,” I replied, after much 
consternation. “Someplace called; Vicky's Secret.” “There ya go. That's 
mine,” said Vera. “Hand it over here.” “What is the secret anyway?” I 
asked. “I've heard a this place but I never could figure out what the 
heck the secret was.” “You'll see,” she replied, as she picked up the 
package and disappeared into the guest room. When Vera came out, I 
couldn't believe my eyes. “You're naked again,” I said. “I can see 
right through that thing.” “Do you like it?” “Of course I like it. 
Wouldn't anyone? Look Vera,” I said, trying my hardest to get my mind 
off her, knowing that Mary might walk in with only a moments notice to 
react. “I've got something on my mind.” “So... tell me about it. We're 
friends aren't we?” “Sure we're friends but...” “But what?” “Well, it's 
like this Vera. I've been thinking lately that you're just interested 
in my money. You're not interested in the real me.” “To tell you the 
truth,” she said. “Money doesn't hurt, and lets face it, from the looks 
a this dump, you got quite a bit of it.” “Yeah, I don't know. Forget 
it. Forget I even said that will ya?” “No problem.” “There's something 
else on my mind though. It's a business idea I've been thinking over.” 
“So, tell me about it,” she said, standing in front of the doorway to 
the guestroom in her sheer, see through nightgown. “Okay, I can do 
that. I'll meet you in the study,” I replied. “I do my best thinking 
there.” 

Coming to rest in my office chair, Vera came into the room right after
me, took up a position behind me and started rubbing my shoulders. 
“You've gotta relax,” she said. “You worry too much.” “Yeah, you're 
right,” I agreed. And closing my eyes, I let Vera work her magic on me 
until she'd massaged my upper body into raw bread dough, ready for the 
oven. “Wow, that feels good,” I remarked. “Where'd ya learn how ta do 
that?” “I may be young,” she said. “But I've been around the block. 
Anyway,” she continued. “What's this business venture you've got on 
your mind? You're not gonna lose all your dough now are you?” “I sure 
hope not. But everything I've got, I owe to a stroke of good luck, so 
I'm hoping I can just continue on that way.” “Hopefully,” remarked 
Vera, kneading the muscles of my back like a cat. “Anyway, what's this 
idea? My curiosity's killing me.” “Alright,” I said, ready to spill the 
beans. “It's jerky.” “Jerky who? Who's jerky?” “It's not a who, it's a 
thing,” I answered. “It's something you eat.” “Oh yeah, like beef 
jerky. I get it,” she said. “What about it?” “I'm gonna make my own. 
I'm gonna package it, sell it and hopefully turn a profit after six 
months or so. Whaddaya think? The only problem is, I can't think of a 
name for it. I try an try and I just come up dry. Ya got any ideas?” 
“Are you berserk?” replied Vera, suddenly stopping the massage she'd 
been giving me. “You're gonna take a chance on losing what you got here 
on some crappy old beef jerky? Does Mary know what you're planning on 
doing?” “No, I haven't told her yet. I guess that means ya don't like 
the idea.” “You guessed right. I think you're berserk, but go ahead. 
It's your money, I can't stop you.” After scolding me, I watched Vera 
walk out of my office and followed her every motion until I lost sight 
of her. She was physically a true work of art I thought, but 
emotionally or intellectually, a little rough around the edges. I'd 
never been reprimanded by an employee before, but then, I'd never had 
an employee before either. First time for everything, I thought, as I 
reversed the direction of my chair and focused on the great outdoors 
outside my window. Hmm, what was that she called me? I wondered to 
myself. “Berserk, wasn't it? The nerve a that girl, I swear. Berserk... 
Berserky, that's it!” I shouted, rising to my feet with what I thought 
was one, swift, stroke of genius. I'll call it Berserky Jerky! That's 
it, it's done, it's finished. Now, I thought, I can put my mind to rest 
for awhile and work on getting my product to market. 

Chapter 4 

Right from the very start, I decided to offer as many different types of
jerky as I could think of. If people wanted snake or gator jerky, I'd 
have given them that too, but I didn't feel there was much call for 
items of that nature and focused on the more mundane like beef, turkey, 
and pork. I talked a manufacturer in the city into helping me make my 
dream a reality - for a percentage of the action of course - and when 
the first twelve-ounce bags rolled off the assembly line, I brought 
them home for Mary and Vera to try. Neither of them had ever eaten the 
stuff before, so I knew they'd be tough customers to convince, but Mary 
would be especially difficult to win over since it was in part, her 
money I'd been using to make it. “Hi honey, I'm home,” I shouted, 
walking through the threshold of the front door and into the foyer. 
Noticing Vera in the living room dusting in a new outfit that must've 
come straight from Vicky's Secret, I walked over to her, showed her the 
bags of jerky, and asked her which one she'd like to try first. “Do I 
have to?” she asked me. “Yes, consider it a part of the job,” I 
answered. Tearing open the bag of beef jerky first, I stuck my hand in 
and pulled out two long strips and handed one to Vera. “Well?” “Well 
what?” she replied. “Go on,” I urged. “Don't be bashful, take a bite.” 
Watching the expression on her face as she tore off a hunk of the 
tough, dry meat and began to chew it, I asked her what she thought of 
it. “It sucks,” she said, never one to mince words. “Is that your final 
answer?” “Yes, can I go back to work now? You didn't invest much, did 
you?” “Yes, go back to work,” I replied. “And yes, I did invest quite a 
bit. A few hundred thousand.” “Oh God, I can't believe it. Mary will 
kill you.” “Not if you don't tell her,” I said. “This is a secret 
between you and me, okay. I'm not gonna tell her anything she doesn't 
need to know, it'll only worry her.” As I'd finished speaking, I got 
that eerie feeling a person gets when you know you're being watched but 
haven't committed the feeling to conscience thought yet, turned around, 
and met Mary's eyes with mine as she descended the stairway from the 
second floor. “Hi honey,” I said. “You're just in time.” “For what?” 
“To try my new brand of beef jerky, that's what. How's that for 
excitement?” “You got me foaming like a rabid dog,” she answered 
sarcastically. “I can't wait.” “Here ya go babe,” I said. “Check it 
out.” Opening the bag of turkey flavored jerky, since the beef didn't 
seem to have gone over very well, I offered her a strip of it and 
readied myself for what I hoped would be, a favorable reply. “Do you 
eat it, or hammer nails with it?” she said, reacting much in the same 
way as Vera had. “You eat it, honey. Here, watch me,” I remarked, 
tearing off a chunk with my front incisors like any other rugged 
mountain man or cowboy out of the past. “Mmm,” I remarked. “Good 
stuff.” “You gotta be kidd'in,” said Mary. “Why would ya bring this 
stuff home anyway? Wait, don't tell me. We're going camping, right? 
Great, I'll get my gear together. I've got an idea, why don't we go buy 
an RV today. We don't have to spend much and we'll see the country. 
I've always wanted to see the country in one big road trip and now's 
our chance. Hell, Vera can come too if she wants to. Whaddaya think?” 
“That sounds swell dear, but it just wasn't what I had in mind.” “Then, 
what did you have in mind?” “I just wanted you to try the jerky, that's 
all.” “Oh, is that all?” she replied, losing some of the energy and 
excitement she'd gained while thinking over the prospects of a 
vacation. “I guess I got carried away, didn't I.” “A little,” I said, 
“but we can go on vacation if you want. I'd just like to wait a bit, to 
find out how my new product is doing. After that, I can go anywhere you 
want. You name the place an I'll go, how's that?” “Sounds great,” she 
replied. “Now what's this about a new product? What new product?” 
“You're look'in at it babe. Berserky Jerky!” I proudly exclaimed. “See, 
read the package. Whaddaya think?” “How much?” “It'll sell for about 
two bucks I guess. Cool, ain't it?” “No, I mean how much did it cost 
you to produce it? Food products don't package themselves.” “A few 
thousand dollars my dove, that's all I spent so far, I swear.” “If you 
lose our money on a hair-brained scheme, I'll kill you, do you hear 
me?” “Yes, my sweet. Loud and clear,” I said, and turning from my wife, 
looking for approval in Vera's chiseled face, I watched as she rolled 
her eyes skyward, as if to say that the whole situation, including 
myself, was far beyond hope. 

It was time I thought, after some months had passed, to find out what
kind of competitor Berserky Jerky was on the open market, so I placed a 
call to my accountant, Ralph Uppins, to find out what was going on. 
Ralph and two other accountants had been handling my portfolio ever 
since I received my first Lotto payment, but he was the easiest to talk 
to. He didn't talk over my head like the others and he explained things 
in plain language that even an unworldly hillbilly-in-training like 
myself could understand. Another thing I liked about Ralph was the 
pretty secretary he hired soon after we met. I supposed what I paid him 
to look out for my best interests in a world full of predators was 
enough to meet her salary and then some. It gave me a good feeling to 
know that I could finally make a difference in this world, and that the 
money I gave him was going to a very good cause. On that day, when I 
walked in, I remember her sitting there with her mile long legs 
crossed, nail file in hand, hard at work on her nails as was to be 
expected. Hell, if that was good enough for Ralph it was certainly good 
enough for me, I couldn't complain. From where I sat, the view was all 
too good. “Hey there Miss Willing, how are ya,” I said, opening the 
office door and taking my seat as I usually did on arrival. “Mr. 
Laurence, how nice to see you,” she responded. “Please, call me Ima.” 
“Sure thing Ima. You sure are look'in sharp taday. And hey,” I added. 
“Just call me Reid. Is Ralph real busy taday? I'm sure anxious ta find 
out how my new product's doing. Did he tell you ‘bout Berserky Jerky 
yet?” “Hmm... no. Not that I recall. He's probably got too much on his 
mind to tell me everything that's going on. You know Ralph. Work, work, 
work.” “Yeah, I guess. Anyway, I'll just sit here an wait for ‘im if ya 
don't mind,” I said. But just as I was about to crack open Ralph's new 
photo packed issue of National Geographic, who should come into the 
waiting area but old Ralph himself. “Hey buddy,” he exclaimed. “Good to 
see you. Come on in, I've been wanting to talk to you but I didn't want 
to talk on the phone about business. You know me, I just don't like 
phones. C'mon in Reid,” he said. “Have a seat old boy,” he added. 
Closing the door to his tastefully decorated office suite - complete 
with shower facility and workout center - I sat down in a soft, plushy 
leather chair while he began to rattle off numbers about my earnings in 
the stock market and the like. As he was talking, I was reminded of the 
way he normally didn't talk over my head, but I guess there was an 
exception to every rule. “Hold on a minute Ralph,” I interjected. “Just 
say it in English this time. Ya know I'm not the brightest bulb in the 
chandelier.” “Okay, okay,” he muttered, turning his chair to get a good 
view of what was going on outside his window. “I get like this 
sometimes when I have to give people news. It's a bad habit of mine. I 
really should stop.” “No harm done,” I answered. “What's the scoop? 
How's Berserky Jerky com'in along?” “Well... ya see Reid, that's what I 
wanted ta talk to you about.” “I'm all ears,” I said, eagerly awaiting 
the news. “It seems that your new product is not doing what we'd hoped 
it would do.” “Okay,” I replied, shaking my head up and down, showing 
Ralph that I was indeed, listening closely, following his every word. 
“Just what kind of sales has it been making?” “Do you want an exact 
figure, or a ballpark number?” “Oh... I don't know. How about an exact 
figure.” “Exactly...” said Ralph, turning his chair back around, 
looking me square in the face. “Exactly, nothing.” “You mean,” I said, 
not quite sure that I'd heard what I thought I heard. “It hasn't even 
sold a bag? Not even one bag?” “That's correct Reid. Berserky Jerky 
hasn't sold one bag. It's just about as lame as a one legged hooker. 
Oh, Damn... forget I said that would you. That's not a very good 
analogy. It's just not selling. That's the cold, hard truth. Sorry.” 
“Shit, I really thought it would sell, you know. I thought my chances 
were really good,” I said, digging in my pocket for the buckeye that 
until now, hadn't let me down. It was the good luck piece that I 
carried constantly. It sold my mess of a house for me; it made me rich; 
it even found Vera for me, but now, what now? This was the first time 
in a string of events that I'd been let down and I was financially in 
about as deep as I could be. Even for me, it was not a pretty picture. 
I had a lot of bills to pay out now, and Mary was counting on living 
off our savings for the rest of our lives. What was I going to tell her 
now? ‘Sorry honey, I seem to have lost a few hundred thousand dollars.' 
I didn't think that would go over very well. “What do I do now Ralph? 
I'm not broke, am I?” “Not right now you're not. But after I pay out 
what you owe the manufacturer for production and storage costs, let's 
just say... it's not a very pretty picture.” “Shit.” “You can say that 
again. Anyway, I'm sorry I had to tell you old boy. I knew it wouldn't 
be easy. Hey,” he added. “Martha's mak'in her famous lasagna tonight. 
Why don'tcha come over? Bring Mary. I got a new pool table in the game 
room we can try out. Ya gotta see my new TV. too, it'll knock your 
socks off. It's sixty inches. Takes up the whole wall.” “No, I can't 
Ralph, but thanks. Tell the wife I'm sorry. I'm just not in a party 
mood. Maybe some other time,” I said. Standing up, I walked dejectedly 
out of Ralph's office, said good-bye to Miss Willing and went directly 
to a bar to drown my sorrows and to somehow, put my lousy situation in 
stall so I wouldn't have to face my wife. 

The blinking neon sign out front said; Joe's Bar & Grill. “Don't they
always?” I said to myself, as I pushed open the door and took a seat at 
the bar. “What'll it be?” asked the stalwart looking bartender from 
behind the counter. “Got a preference?” “Something with alcohol in it,” 
I answered. “I'm here ta do some serious boozing.” “Com'in right up,” 
he replied. “How about a double scotch? That's serious enough, ain't 
it?” “Sounds like a good start,” I said, as he poured out the more then 
ample sized drink. “Say,” I started to ask, looking around the room for 
any patrons I hadn't seen when I first sat down. “Where is everyone? 
Looks like I'm the only one here.” “As luck would have it,” replied the 
proprietor. “You are. I guess you ain't the only guy with troubles. 
Can't seem ta bring people in lately, I might have ta close my doors. 
Wasn't always like this ya know. This place used ta thrive.” “What 
happened?” I asked, getting interested in the bartenders plight, 
finding my mind temporarily eased from my own woes, as I pondered 
another's. “Oh, bunch a new places opened up around the city here,” he 
remarked. “Renovating old buildings in the town square. Hell, I can 
hardly pay my rent anymore. Sure, property values are go'in up, but the 
little guys like me are gonna suffer, see what I mean?” “Yeah, I 
understand,” I said, taking a long chug of the drink he put down in 
front of me. “So what's your problem Mack? I told you mine,” he said, 
calmly wiping the smooth black surface of the bar as he spoke. “Oh, it 
probably wouldn't even interest you.” “Try me.” “Alright, if you really 
wanna know. I won a lotta money at Lotto, an now I'm hard at work 
los'in it,” I stated. Finishing my drink, I inadvertently slammed it 
down on the counter as I asked him for another. “If ya don't mind my 
say'in so,” offered my newly found, stout advisor. “You ain't the only 
one who ever lost money. It might be of some consolation to you if you 
considered that.” “Thanks,” I said. “I'll try. Wow,” I exclaimed, 
“thish shtuff really goes ta your head don't it,” I remarked, slurring 
my words, feeling the effects of the alcohol. “You don't drink much do 
ya?” “Not really, once in a blue moon. Hey buddy,” I asked, as I downed 
the second double he'd put in front of me. “How's ‘bout another. Whew, 
thatsh shome powerful shtuff.” “If you think you can handle it.” “Sure, 
I can handle it just fine,” I answered. “By the way, I didn't catch yer 
name.” “Name's Joe, like it says on the sign.” “Good ta meet'cha Joe,” 
I said, and as I extended my arm to shake hands, I collapsed head first 
into the unforgiving surface of the bar and passed out, stone cold 
drunk. Hours later, I woke up with a marble sized bump on my forehead 
where my head hit the bar. Rubbing it, I looked out the window to find 
that day had turned to night and I wondered what time it was. I never 
did carry a watch - it made me nervous to know that time was constantly 
moving, pushing us to do things and make progress - so I looked for Joe 
to ask him, but he was nowhere in sight. Hmm, I thought. He must be in 
back somewhere. So I waited for a while and called out his name, but 
still, no answer. “Wonder where he went,” I mumbled under my breath. 
Staggering from the aftereffects of the scotch and the hard knock I'd 
taken, I got up out of my seat, reached into my pocket for cash and 
pulled out two crumpled dollar bills and the buckeye I'd been carrying. 
Exactly what I had on me when this whole damn thing started, I thought, 
as I laid the two singles on the bar in a clump. Looking around, I 
found a pencil and a napkin, and began scratching out a note that read; 
Thanks for the drinks. I know I owe you more then this. Be back soon 
with the rest. Reid. Knowing that Mary would be wondering where I was 
all this time, I made my way for the door and started to walk to my car 
when I suddenly realized that Joe's blinking neon sign had been turned 
off. “Seems strange,” I said to myself. “Why would he just disappear 
like that?” Oh well, maybe I'll find out later, I thought, as I got 
into my car, pulled out of the space and set a course for home. Driving 
along, I couldn't help thinking about the possibility that someone, or 
something, had put Joe there for me to meet that day. At any rate, he 
reminded me of the fact that many others had been in my shoes before 
and had lost money. I wasn't the first I guess. That was what he wanted 
to tell me. Then all at once, I found myself wondering if my chance 
meeting with him might have been part of some greater plan? A plan to 
teach me one of life's lessons? The whole action of winning money, then 
losing it, then having to learn to survive the aftermath and deal with 
it. A scenario of unavoidable destiny? If that was the case, I 
wondered, then why did I feel so damn stupid? 

After weeks of hiding the facts from my wife and Vera, I finally decided
to break down and tell them about my losses. I was never much good at 
keeping secrets and besides, if I was unable to stay ahead of my 
monthly bills, they were going to find out anyway. So that was it, I 
thought. I had it in my mind that I would tell them that Saturday and 
started looking around my office for the bottle of whiskey I kept 
behind a book, meant for just such an occasion. Just because the event 
was sobering, didn't mean I had to be sober, and as I watched Vera 
tanning from my office window, I took several long chugs off the 
bottle. In just a few minutes, I could feel the booze working on me and 
as I sat there drinking my courage, I watched Mary come out with a cold 
drink in her hand and sit down in a lounge chair next to Vera. Double 
or nothing, I thought, as I raised the bottle to my mouth and thought 
over the prospect of telling them both at once. They'd lately come to 
like each other much more then I thought possible and though I hated to 
break up the party, I had to spill the beans, but there was one thing I 
could do before walking outside to meet my doom. One thing to take the 
edge off. One thing that I still had faith in and still hoped would 
save me... the buckeye in my pocket. It had clearly let me down I 
thought, otherwise I wouldn't be in the position I was in, but I still 
believed in it. Taking it out, I held it up in my right hand and let 
the natural light from the window play on its surface. Those portions 
nearest the light shone most radiantly and the wood grain lines in it 
became more apparent then before. It seemed to me to have lines in it 
that I hadn't noticed before and it made me wonder if the buckeye 
wasn't growing in some way, along with the wishes it granted or the 
lives it affected. If this were true, I wondered what it would look 
like in the years to come. Would it retain its dark brown hue, or 
become one great mass of wavy, grainy lines, growing in time almost as 
an aging mind achieves wisdom over years. Who knows I thought, 
anything's possible. At least, that's what people say at times when 
something unexpected or unforeseen happens. And so, rubbing the smooth, 
natural indentation on its upper surface, I took another long chug of 
booze, pulled my sagging trousers up my waist and bravely made my way 
to the glass sliding doors that led to the backyard pool. This won't 
hurt much, I thought. Just like a visit to the dentist. It's just 
something I have to do, and as I opened the big door - my body, 
precisely poised between indoors and out, right foot leading the way 
and about to touch down on the outdoor concrete slab - when suddenly, 
my cell phone began to ring and the music from; It's A Small World 
After All filled the air. Caught in this momentary, real and figurative 
limbo, I felt as if I were not just between tangible spaces, but 
between intangible as well. And all those things unaccountable to the 
senses, spiritual and indefinite became suddenly clear and definite. It 
was then that I opened the phone and received the call, and just as my 
foot came to rest on the outdoor pavement, I felt as if I'd made this 
otherworldly connection. Even so, the call I was about to receive was 
very much, of this world... “Hey buddy,” announced the caller. “You 
know who this is don'tcha?” Thinking that this was probably just 
another one of those contacts from my ancient past, I very 
unenthusiastically answered the phone. “No, I really don't know who 
this is,” I said. “But go ahead, surprise me.” “It's Ralph.” “That's 
swell Ralph,” I answered, still unaware of who it was and the nature of 
the call. “But If this is about the Lotto money I won, you can forget 
it. I don't have anything to give away or loan out. The well's dry. 
You're beat'in a dead horse. Give it up...” “What're you talk'in 
about?” asked the caller. “This is Ralph. You know, Ralph Uppins, your 
accountant.” “Oh, Ralph. I'm sorry,” I said, in an effort to sound 
apologetic at a time when I felt like stuffing a handgun in my mouth. 
“I didn't know it was you. I thought it was just someone else about to 
ask me for money, or sell me swampland, or some crap like that. I'm 
feel'in pretty low right now, if you really wanna know,” I admitted, 
turning away from Mary and Vera, cupping my hand over the phone to keep 
the girls from hearing my conversation. “I was just about to give Mary 
the bad news.” “Well don't,” replied Ralph. “Don't tell her anything 
like that. Just go an git yerself a bottle a that bubbly stuff an find 
yourself a seat boy. Your jerky's sell'in like hot cakes. They can't 
stock it fast enough! An hey, pour one for me too will ya?” “But you 
told me I was bust, I don't get it.” “Bust? You're richer then ever. 
Don't ask me how, but everything just turned around. Berserky Jerky is 
a big success.” “Wowww,” was all I could say. I was speechless, as I 
closed the phone and walked out onto the pool deck. “Who was that?” 
asked Mary. “Anyone I know?” “Just Ralph, my accountant.” “What's the 
news?” asked Vera, interested in what I might have to say. Knowing I'd 
been worried about losing everything and going broke. “The news is, I'm 
rich,” I announced proudly, feeling like a newly knighted squire, or a 
man of great accomplishment. “Lets go somewhere,” I said. “Someplace 
far away. Lets spend some loot. C'mon, whaddaya say? I feel like I've 
been through the ringer.” “Why Reid? What's gotten into you?” asked my 
wife. “It's a long story,” I replied. “I'll tell you on the plane.” 
“Where are we going?” asked Vera. “Why don't I surprise you,” I 
answered. “But for now, lets not waste anymore time. Last one packed is 
a rotten egg.” 

Chapter 5 

“Are you gonna tell us where we're going?” asked Mary. “Or do we hav'ta
beat it outta ya?” “Don'tcha wanna be surprised?” I replied, on our way 
to the Springfield airport. “I thought you liked surprises.” “A diamond 
is a good surprise,” said Vera, mockingly. “But when it comes to a 
trip, a girl always wants ta know where she's headed. How else are we 
gonna know what to pack?” “Okay, if you really must know, I'll tell 
you.” “Yes... c'mon, spit it out,” said Mary. “Where?” “South. We're 
headed south.” “South where? Would you tell us already!” asked Vera, 
getting tired of the game I was playing. “Definitely, south of the 
border.” “Oh great!” replied my wife, exuberant over my choice in 
vacation spots. “It's been such a long time since I spoke Spanish. 
Acapulco is so much fun, I can't wait!” “Sorry honey,” I said smiling, 
prolonging what I thought was a game of harmless deception. “But we're 
headed a little further south then Mexico.” “That's it,” answered Mary, 
slapping her hands down on her legs for emphasis. “Pull over, I don't 
want you ta have an accident while I'm choking you.” “I'll help her,” 
said Vera, equally as angry with me for teasing them. “Okay, okay. God, 
I didn't think you'd get so worked up over a little teasing. If you 
really must know right now, we're going to Moroni. There,” I said. “Are 
you happy now? Geeze.” “Moroni?” replied Vera. “Where the hell is that? 
Take me home. Are you joking? Is this a gag?” “Take me home too,” 
answered Mary. “Couldn't we just go to Florida? What's with Moroni? 
Where is it anyway?” “It's a tiny island off the coast of Mozambique,” 
I said. “The perfect place to go deep sea fishing. You'll love it.” 
“Are you crazy?” said Mary. “You've never been fishing in your life.” 
“A mild oversight,” I replied. “The situation will correct itself. I'm 
a quick learner. Besides, nothing can stop the wheels of progress now. 
We're nearly at the airport.” “Great,” answered Vera. “Thirty years old 
an I'm on my way to being tortured and eaten by cannibals. I hope 
they're swift and merciful.” “Don't worry about it,” I said 
reassuringly. “Your not gonna be eaten by cannibals. Cannibals don't 
even exist on that island.” “Do I have your word?” asked Mary. “Are you 
sure?” “Sure I'm sure,” I said, certain of my decision to bravely 
explore the great unknown. “I know for a fact, that the ritual of 
tribal cannibalism isn't practiced anywhere within a full twenty mile 
radius of Moroni.” “Thanks for making that clear,” replied Vera. “I 
feel better already.” 

The plane trip to Africa went smoothly, after I finally got my traveling
companions to calm down enough. They acted as if I were kidnapping the 
both of them, when all I honestly wanted to do was have some fun and go 
somewhere I'd never been. The stress of nearly losing everything in my 
entrepreneurial quest was getting to me, and I was ready for some 
fun-in-the-sun relaxation. I always wondered what deep sea fishing was 
like and I thought that an out of the way place like Moroni was just 
what the doctor ordered. A snorkeling adventure was also on my to-do 
list, but I thought I'd better hold off for awhile before taking the 
plunge. I wanted Mary and Vera to get used to their surroundings before 
I made any more demands on their sensitive female psyches. After all, I 
was the man; the explorer; the one they were counting on to help pave 
the way in this great uncharted and until now, previously unexplored 
territory known as, the Comoros Islands. At least, it was unexplored by 
me and I had absolutely no idea where the hell I was going, or what was 
waiting for me. But so what, I thought. Was Columbus worried? Was Leif 
Eriksson? Was Reid Laurence? Of course I was, but Mary and Vera didn't 
have to know that, did they? 

The airport on the coast of Mozambique in the city of Pemba was peaceful
and amicable. “There, you see now?” I told my wife as we waited for our 
luggage. “All that worry over nothing.” “I sincerely hope you're right. 
I just would like to know why we couldn't go to the Florida Keys or 
some other nice, safe place like that?” “Mundane,” I answered. “Drab, 
unimaginative, dull.” “You sound like you've been reading your 
thesaurus again,” replied Vera. “Just speak plainly.” “Alright, I will 
then. I'm innocent I tell ya. I just thought we could all use the 
adventure and excitement in our lives. Now then,” I said, as our last 
piece of baggage showed up on the conveyor belt. “We have a boat to 
catch. Follow me, and lets not dawdle girls.” “I'm tired,” replied my 
wife. “How long till we reach the hotel?” “My feet hurt,” said Vera. 
“When can I sit down and take my shoes off?” “Africa isn't the place 
for stiletto heals Vera. Look around,” I said, recanting her for what I 
thought was an inappropriate shoe selection. “Do you see any women here 
in six inch heels?” “It's not my fault. You wouldn't tell us where we 
were going till the last minute.” “Yeah, quit picking on her,” replied 
Mary. “It wasn't her mistake. When do we get there already?” “Soon,” I 
said. “We get there soon. About another two hours, but it really 
depends on how fast we can find the ferry boat we're supposed to be 
taking.” “So find a cab and tell the driver where we need ta go,” 
answered Mary. “God, how hard is that? Do I have to do everything?” “No 
my swan. I have everything under control, you'll see.” “C'mon then,” 
said Vera, irritating, but hotter looking then a new set of snow tires. 
“Lets get crack'in.” 

Flagging down a cab was no problem. In fact, cabbies were practically
begging me to choose them and God help the customer who picked a cab 
out of sequence, as the first one in line had to be the one you'd get 
into or all hell broke out among the drivers. Did I use words like 
peaceful and amicable before? I might have spoken too soon, but once we 
got into the right cab and left the airport, things got a lot better. 
Better at least, until we got to the boat dock. I had just a little bit 
of trouble communicating with a gentleman who I assumed was captain of 
our ship, but in a tight spot, Vera came through with flying colors. I 
was glad we'd taken her along, when I asked him, “Can you take us to 
Moroni?” and all I got for an answer was a blank stare and a gesture he 
made to a sign which read...We Speak Swahili Only. “Great,” said Vera. 
“Anyone here speak Swahili?” “Not lately,” replied my wife. “You got us 
into this mess Reid,” she said, turning to me. Irritated with the 
language barrier I hadn't anticipated. “Now you get us out of it.” 
“Whadda you want me to do?” I answered. “I came to fish and have a good 
time. I didn't come to learn new languages.” “That's okay,” said Vera. 
“I know a universal language this guy's sure to understand.” And as 
Vera put her leg up on one of the vertical posts used for docking 
boats, her dress fell back to the middle of her thigh. When she started 
to speak, she not only got our captains attention, but also the 
attention of several ships mates who were standing around the dock at 
the time with their tongues hanging down to the ground, gawking. “Do 
you speak English?” she asked of the man who'd pointed out the sign. 
“Oh, yes maam,” he answered, doing his best to get a look up Vera's 
sheer, summer dress. “You bet.” “Good. Does this boat go to Moroni?” 
“Oh yes, it does. You hop in, I can take you there right away. I am 
Captain Itsandra. This is my crew,” he said, pointing to three of the 
men who were casually lined up, standing next to each other on the 
pier. “This is Suvlaki on the left. He is tall, no?” He is tall, yes, I 
thought. He must've been six-foot seven and about one hundred-thirty 
pounds. The well fed American in me wanted to feed him something right 
there on the spot, but we had no time for such pursuit. “...And in the 
middle is Baklava. Him very good worker. Baklava!” shouted Captain 
Itsandra. “Why you stand there? Get their bags!” And while Baklava 
scrambled to get our luggage on board, the captain introduced the third 
young man who seemed unable still to break free of Vera's spell, and 
stood frozen in place on the pier. “Ouzo!” shouted the captain once 
again. “You quit staring at that lady there and help them on board. Why 
I have to tell you this? Ouzo is sorry maam.” “No need for apologies,” 
replied Vera. “I've been stared at before.” “Yeah, I'll bet,” said 
Mary, walking up the ships plank with Ouzo close behind her, carefully 
observant of her balance on the narrow passage from pier to ship. 

Our accommodations at the Hotel Nzwani were better then I expected.
Ceiling fans throughout the lobby helped to circulate the hot, humid 
air and the staff looked sharp and attentive. We had two adjoining 
rooms waiting for us and the beds were soft and comfortable, complete 
with canopies and mosquito nets, put in place for what we later found 
out was an all out war on bugs. But these weren't just any bugs. These 
were big bugs. The kind that made wives think about packing up to leave 
and the kind that made husbands agree with their decision. But I felt 
the determination of an adamantine warrior. I was going to enjoy my 
vacation no matter how big the bug threat, as long as they stayed off 
my pillow and out of my shoes. We had sliding glass doors in our rooms 
which opened up to a beautiful view of the Indian Ocean and in the far 
distance, the east coast of Mozambique where we'd made our journey 
from. The coast of Moroni was littered with fisherman and their boats, 
and the sight of it all made me wonder about what I might catch in the 
pretty, unpolluted, clear waters. All of this earthly good caused a 
sudden foray within me that only a swim on the sandy beach could quell, 
and I dashed off to the bathroom with my swimming trunks, mask and 
snorkel, all the time wondering about what great watery vista might be 
waiting for me below the more superficial, serene blue surface of what 
appeared to be, a living dream. “Go'in for a swim honey!” I yelled. 
“Gonna see what I can see.” “Don't drown on me,” replied my wife. “Be 
careful.” “Yeah,” said Vera. “If you get hurt, we'll have ta go home, 
an we just got here. I wanna see this untamed frontier of yours.” “Sho 
Vera, you've finally come around,” I said, trying to move my lips and 
speak through the snorkel I had in my mouth. “You she the light now, 
don'tchew?” “I she you're gonna trip on your flippersh,” answered Mary. 
“But the mask you're wearing is a definite improvement.” “Shank you my 
dove. I sha'nt be long,” I said, marching through the open sliding door 
as if it were some line of demarcation between the everyday drab and a 
whole new world, just waiting to be discovered. The water was the 
prettiest I'd ever seen. Of course, I hadn't seen much beyond the usual 
lakes and rivers of the good old USA and this was definitely, a big 
change. On my walk down to the shore, I was drawn to a natural inlet, 
which curved around and formed its own barrier to the rest of the 
deeper water outside it. I found that it was deep enough to dive into, 
when I jumped in with my gear on and knew I couldn't touch bottom. It 
fascinated me, as I moved my legs and pushed the flippers on my feet 
through the water for the very first time, paddling my way around to 
see what I could see. There, beneath the waves were the tiniest of 
coral reef fish, the kind I'd seen on TV but never thought I'd see in 
person. And when they showed themselves to the bright, filtered 
sunlight, I was awed by their dazzling show of color. Swimming to the 
surface, I let the top of my snorkel expose itself to air as I kept my 
head submerged and took a deep breath. Gaining confidence, I swam out 
beyond the protection of the small bay, but as the water increased in 
depth, my vision seemed to decrease proportionately and many of the 
tiny fish I'd been looking at only moments before, had now become 
hidden from view. There, in the dark water below me, slowly wagging its 
great tail fin from side to side, I saw what I thought was a shark 
swimming in a large circle, interested in something that I couldn't see 
from where I was. Cutting my adventure short, I swam for shore, 
impressed by what I'd seen but a little shaken by my brush with such a 
dangerous animal. Swimming in the same water with this stealthy 
predator was a lot like visiting the zoo with the gorilla cage wide 
open. Even though he may be a distance away, it's not a comfortable 
feeling knowing he's there, on the loose. Back in the hotel room, I 
found Mary and Vera dressed in their swimsuits. Not wanting to alarm 
them, I tried to hide the fact that I'd seen a shark and instead, I 
started talking about all the pretty tropical fish I'd seen. “You 
should see ‘em,” I said. “They'll knock yer socks off.” “I'll bet,” 
answered Vera. “See any sharks in the water? This is the Indian Ocean 
ya know.” “Yeah, I know. Just one little one is all. I don't think he 
could eat much. Just a leg or two woulda filled him up.” “Are you 
kidding me?” asked Mary. Outraged that the sighting of such a beast 
might put a damper on her vacation. “I came all this way ta swim in 
shark infested waters. Great Reid, now what?” “Now we do what we came 
to do, that's what,” I replied. “We rent a boat and we go deep sea 
fishing. How's that?” I continued. “Any takers?” “No,” said Mary, not 
the least disheartened. “I came halfway across the world ta sit in my 
hotel room. C'mon putz. You too Vera. Last one ta the boat dock's a 
rotten egg.” “Hold on. Just a minute,” I said, rummaging through the 
personal items in my luggage I'd brought with for the trip - consisting 
of any and all of those things small enough to be taken along, which 
remind one of the comforts of home. “Eureka!” I exclaimed. “Found it.” 
“What now?” asked Mary, anxiously waiting to leave the room. “Whaddaya 
think?” I asked in return. “My lucky charm, that's what.” 

We were within walking distance of the dock from our hotel and when we
arrived, we found our old friends; Captain Itsandra, Suvlaki, Baklava 
and Ouzo resting on the deck of their boat. From a distance, it looked 
as if they were contemplating something, talking quietly amongst 
themselves, passing something between them. What exactly it was they 
were passing around I couldn't say, but I did see smoke rising and 
began to wonder if the wooden deck of the boat had caught fire. If it 
had though, I thought, then why were they acting so calm? It was then 
that I started to think they probably didn't realize they were on fire 
and when I reached the boat, I ran up the plank in a panic just as fast 
as I could, to hopefully, get word to them in time to put the fire out 
and save the boat. “Captain Itsandra!” I shouted. “Quick, quick! 
There's a fire on board! Whadda we do? C'mon,” I continued. “We have'ta 
act fast!” “What you say mon? There's no fire here. What's he talking 
about?” he asked, as the three members of his crew all shrugged their 
shoulders in near unison. “You crazy mon. All dat fast pace in America 
got you crazy upset. Here,” he said, holding out his hand, revealing 
the source of the fire to me. “You need this more then me mon. Take 
some.” “Sorry,” I replied. “I don't smoke cigarettes, but it's good to 
know the ship's not on fire. Wow, I guess I over reacted didn't I?” 
“You certainly did,” answered Suvlaki in perfect English. “For a moment 
there, I thought we might actually be ablaze. Why don't you relax and 
have a toke? It's some of the best ganja in the Mozambique region.” 
“Toke?” I questioned. “You mean... you're smoking marijuana?” “What 
else?” replied Ouzo, also in perfect English. “Oh... okay,” I said, 
after some deliberation, giving in to their kind offer and unaware of 
what effect this psychotropic drug might have on me. “But tell me,” I 
added, puffing on the sweet smelling cigarette. “How is it that you two 
speak such terrific English? You sound better then I do and I grew up 
in America, speaking it every day.” “Oh that,” answered the Captain. 
“They meet at the university, that all. Hey look,” he continued. “You 
hogg'in the joint mon. Give it here.” “Sorry about that,” I said, but 
as I handed the cigarette back to Captain ItsandraI, I noticed Vera and 
Mary walking up the ship's plank behind me and ran out of time to 
question the men any further. Besides, I was slowly losing my ability 
to analyze a given situation to any great depth - attributing this 
effect to what we'd been smoking and for the moment, all I wanted to do 
was sit down and gaze into the water. “What's go'in on here?” 
questioned my wife. “Let's get the show on the road. Did I see you 
smoking?” she asked. “You don't smoke.” “Not until now, anyway,” 
replied Baklava, in a quiet state of mind and with precise enunciation. 
“Wow,” remarked Vera. “Where'd you learn to speak like that. You sound 
like an English professor.” “Oxford,” said the three men 
simultaneously, giving their cover away completely, and revealing their 
true selves. “You're kidd'in,” said Vera, overtaken by surprise. 
“That's some tough school.” “You know it lady,” replied Suvlaki. “The 
three of us did six years each there. Captain Itsandras' the only one 
who didn't go.” “Why not,” asked Vera. “Everyone else went.” “Someone 
had to pay de bills lady. Here,” he offered Vera. “You Americans so 
uptight. You take a puff on this. You feel much better.” “Don't mind if 
I do,” she said, taking the cigarette from his hand. Watching her, the 
deep drag she took on it made me think that she was no stranger to it. 
Before long, Mary, Vera and I were as high as kites. I was now past a 
stage of introspection and wanted to get on with our adventure and Mary 
and Vera had become talkative and giddy, sitting on the boat deck on 
chairs, passing the cigarette between them without a care in the world. 
But as of yet, the Captain and his crew had no idea why we were there, 
or what we wanted. I suppose the visit itself had become a source of 
adventure and for a while, the idea of actually moving my body to go 
deep-sea fishing had slipped my conscious mind, along with a lot of 
other more mundane thoughts. At the moment, the biggest problem at hand 
was to find a way to get everyone up and moving. Normally, that 
wouldn't have been difficult at all, but considering the circumstances, 
it was next to impossible... “Say... Mary,” I asked, necessarily 
interrupting a raucous conversation she was having with Vera. “We were 
supposed ta do someth'in taday, weren't we?” “Yeah, someth'in,” came 
her reply. “Well, is this the way you wanna spend your day, just 
sitting here laughing? I thought we came here looking for adventure?” 
“So go find some,” she said, unwilling to budge. “Whaddaya want from 
me?” “Yeah,” added Vera. “Nobody's stopp'in ya.” “C'mon you two, snap 
out of it,” I argued. “We were gonna go deep sea fishing, remember? I 
brought my lucky buckeye and everything.” “So go tell Captain Itsandra 
you wanna go fish,” answered Mary. “What do you expect me ta do about 
it?” “I expected you to be a conscious and willing participant, but 
you're smoking yourself to oblivion,” I said. Angered by our 
conversation, I walked back to where I'd left the Captain and his 
mates, only to find them equally as difficult to move, in this, my hour 
of need. “Can you take us out to sea?” I asked. “I'd like ta go 
fishing.” “Hmm,” he began, after another deep drag on his cigarette. 
“What's in it for me? I don't do this for peanuts mon. We have a 
business to run here, don't we?” he said, referring to his shipmates; 
Ouzo, Baklava and Suvlaki. “We take you out, sure,” he added. “Fifty 
bucks.” “Okay,” I answered. “That ain't so bad. Fifty bucks for the 
day. Here ya go,” I said, pulling two twenties and a ten dollar bill 
out of my front pants pocket and offering them to him. “Dat get you 
one, maybe two hour mon,” he said. “Dat all you want?” “Whadda you 
mean, ‘one, maybe two hours?'” I asked. “That's a little vague isn't 
it? How much for the day.” “Hundred bucks get you fishing for the day 
Mon. You won't be sorry. We show you a good time, you see.” “You drive 
a hard bargain, but okay,” I said, slapping a new fifty-dollar bill 
into the Captain's hand. “You got yourself a deal.” 

There were plenty of hours left in the day, the sun was shining and the
water in the Mozambique Channel, smooth and calm. The three of us 
strapped ourselves into swivel chairs that bolted down to the deck and 
we were ready for action, but as time went by, and as luck would have 
it, neither of us caught a thing. The wind felt good and the smell in 
the air was as fresh as an ocean breeze - probably because that's what 
it was - but we just couldn't catch one fish between us, until finally, 
our luck began to change. “I think I've got a bite here,” I said to my 
wife and Vera. “Look, he's pulling on the line.” “Don't let ‘im go!” 
yelled Vera. “Can you bring ‘im in a little? Wind up that thingy on the 
handle,” she said in her excitement, meaning of course, the reel. 
(Neither of us were expert at the sport of fishing, but you can't blame 
us for trying, right?) “Okay!” I exclaimed. “I've got some slack in the 
line now. Should I wind up the reel?” “Yes, yes!” shouted Mary. “Of 
course. Wind it up. Bring him in if you can.” “He's a fighter!” I 
yelled. “Help me out. I don't think I can do it alone.” When the girls 
heard me, they immediately worked on un-strapping themselves from their 
chairs and came to my aid. As the three of us pulled on the heavy-duty 
fishing pole, my prize catch seemed to be getting closer to the boat, 
and when it did, I wound up the reel a little more each time. In the 
excitement, I didn't notice Captain Itsandra behind us, watching, until 
I instinctively became aware that there were eyes on us. Turning 
around, I saw him standing there, a few feet behind me with a knowing 
smile on his face and a great, big net in his hand. “There you go now 
mon,” he said, when he saw me turn and look. “Didn't I tell you you'd 
catch fish today? Was I wrong?” “Nope! You were right on the money,” I 
shouted. “I think we've almost got ‘im. We're gonna need that net, 
aren't we?” “Right!” he said, running to the rear right corner of the 
boat where he expected the fish to come in. “I can help you now much 
better from here. I help you pull him in,” he said, taking the thick 
nylon fishing line in his hand, and yanking on it until, behold! The 
catch of the day had all but risen from its watery depths! As it 
emerged, I had visions of mounting it over the fireplace at home. That 
way, I could tell guests about our trip to Moroni and show off my 
strange, exotic trophy as I explained the arduous fight he'd given us 
all. But then I thought, even the best-laid plans are sometimes led 
astray, by chance, or fate, or what have you... “You catch a sardine 
mon. Look,” exclaimed the captain. “How tiny he is. You want to throw 
him back, right?” “It's a young pilchard,” explained Ouzo, walking over 
to us. “Roughly two and a half inches long I'd say, wouldn't you?” 
“Damn fine trophy fish,” said Baklava, snickering. “We can mount him 
right here, why wait?” “You don't have'ta get sarcastic,” I replied. 
“That's the first fish I ever caught. Just wait, you ain't seen noth'in 
yet.” “Is this gonna take long?” asked Mary. “I'm getting hungry. It's 
coming up to dinner time.” “Just give me another hour,” I pled, 
unwilling to leave without first, having achieved my goal. “We've gotta 
catch something worthwhile,” I added. “I know we can do it. A lot of 
people do. There's a whole bunch of cool fish down there. All we have 
ta do is bide our time. We'll catch something, don't worry.” “I hope 
so,” replied Vera. “If not, we can always eat sardines, right?” 

Determined now more than ever, I cast my line out into the Mozambique
Channel one more time, still hoping for the fish of my dreams to come 
along and snag the thick fishing line, making that dream a reality. I'd 
even gone as far as to consult the buckeye good-luck charm I carried, 
nearly rubbing the wood grain finish off the top of it in my desire to 
succeed, but it seemed that all I could catch that day was what I'd 
already brought up, and that two and a half inch sardine was ruining my 
reputation as a fisherman before I'd even begun. In fact, the only luck 
I was having was when I finally convinced Mary and Vera to keep trying 
for awhile longer. I thought that if all three of us kept trying, then 
at least one of us had to catch something. In my mind, our outing was 
fast becoming a matter of statistics and the three of us working at it 
had increased chances over just one of us. So on we talked and fished 
until most of the daylight hours had waned to early evening and just 
when even I had begun to think of giving it up for the day, the 
unexpected happened - or what I should say is - the unbelievable... “Oh 
my God! I think I've got a fish!” “You're kidd'in me Mary,” I said. 
“Holy shit, look at the line stretch. You really do have one! Can you 
pull ‘im in?” “Yeah,” she replied. “Just a little at a time. He's 
really pulling my arms out, but I think I can.” “How come I can't catch 
one?” asked Vera. “What did you use for bait that time?” “Baloney,” 
answered my wife. “Try it, it works like a charm.” “I thought you 
brought that stuff along to eat,” I said, as I recalled watching her 
pack some items into her purse before we left the house. “I didn't know 
you were gonna fish with it.” “Sure, why not?” she asked me. “Fish 
gotta eat, don't they?” “Yeah,” I answered. “I know that, but...” “But 
what?” “I didn't realize baloney was on their menu.” “You like it, 
don'tcha?” “Sure I like it, but...” “So, they like it too - when they 
can get it, anyway,” she answered, straining to apply a greater 
opposing force to the fishing line as she explained the virtues of 
using baloney for bait. “I didn't even know you brought it with you 
today,” I remarked. “You told me you wanted ta go fishing, so I put it 
in my bag.” “Okay, whatever works I guess. You sure you don't need help 
with that line?” I asked, worried that as a member of the opposite sex, 
she'd lose the battle with this deep sea fighting fish - or whatever it 
was she'd snagged - and we'd wind up the same way we'd begun, with 
nothing to show for our time and effort. “No, I'm fine,” she replied. 
“Just get the net. In fact...” she added, about to give metaphorical 
birth to whatever it was that was emerging from the oceans great, murky 
depths. “Don't bother with the net, just help me get ‘im inta the 
boat.” Unable to believe my eyes when I saw what had risen to the 
surface, I stood motionless for a few moments and was no help at all to 
my worn and weary better half. Luckily, Captain Itsandra had been 
watching us from the opposite end of the boat and when he saw what Mary 
had caught, still struggling and wriggling on its hook, with half a 
piece of baloney sticking out of the side of it's mouth, even he was 
astonished. “I don't believe it mon,” he exclaimed. You caught the 
fossil fish! The ancient one. What you want to do with him? You want to 
keep him?” “Huh?” I said, still surprised with Mary's catch. The mere 
size if which at five feet in length was enough to impress most people, 
but the fish's strange appearance was what really caught my attention. 
Its fins just didn't look like any I'd ever seen. In fact, it looked as 
if it might start crawling around on the deck at any moment, using its 
appendages like legs and at the time, I didn't know how right I was. 
“You've caught the ‘living fossil' alright. That's the moniker that 
stuck, anyway.” “Whaddaya mean Suvlaki?” I asked. “What's with the name 
‘living fossil'?” “What he means is,” replied Ouzo, “is that you've 
caught a Coelacanth, pronounced; see-la-canth. It's a relative to the 
first fish that came ashore to live on land - an event which occurred 
around three-hundred and sixty million years ago - and believed to have 
gone extinct about seventy million years ago, until people of the 
western world came here and began catching them in the late nineteen 
thirties.” “You forgot to tell him,” added Baklava, “how this event 
eventually gave rise to reptiles, birds and mammals and many of the 
species we're familiar with today.” “Well... shit,” was all I could 
think of saying. “That's right,” said Mary. “Be careful what you wish 
for, it just might happen.” “So what are we waiting for?” I exclaimed. 
“Lets get ‘im ta shore an take some pictures. Mary,” I said. “You're 
now the proud owner of a five foot long ‘living fossil'. What do you 
have ta say for yourself?” “I'm hungry. Lets get this over with.” 

When we got to shore and suspended the fish on a hook for pictures, we
observed that we weren't the only ones interested in what we'd caught. 
Besides some of the people who lived in nearby villages who happened by 
just to watch, our picture shoot was attended by some local paparazzi, 
unbeknownst to us at the time and hungry for a story. Thinking nothing 
of it, we took our pictures, pulled our newly found sea monster down 
from its strategically hung position and headed inland for dinner and a 
good nights rest. As I lay there in bed that night, I couldn't help 
thinking over what Mary had told me from time to time, about being 
careful what you wished for. So far, many of my wishes had been 
granted, probably due - for the most part - to the buckeye I carried 
with me. But just how these events would impact my life, I had no way 
of knowing and at the time, I thought, why should I care? Especially 
since my life had taken a turn, so much, for the better. 

Chapter 6 

Waking up the next morning, I couldn't help noticing the huge cockroach
that had climbed the insect net during the night. He was staring me 
down, trying to intimidate me and I knew it. He insisted on doing 
battle with me to prove his superiority, so when I got out of bed, I 
looked for the nearest blunt instrument - secured a mop handle I found 
in a closet - and challenged him to a war of attrition. Fighting to the 
end and having done him in - lucky for me because he was at least a 
good three inches long - I disposed of the corpse before Mary and Vera 
woke up and scoured the crime scene of any incriminating evidence. No 
body, no crime I thought, as I prepared to take my morning shower and 
get dressed. Walking down to the lobby, I decided to get a newspaper to 
find out what was happening back in the states. There were papers from 
all over the world at the hotel newsstand and when I picked up a copy 
of the Chicago Tribune and looked at the headline, I couldn't believe 
what I was reading. There, in big, black letters the shocking news line 
read... 

BERSERKY JERKY HEIRESS LANDS ANCIENT FOSSIL FISH! 

In fact, nearly every paper I picked up had a similar, if not exact
headline or front-page article on the previous day's event. I was 
shocked when I saw it. How in the world? I thought. How did this 
happen? Looking further down the front page, I noticed a picture of 
Mary - very similar to the one I'd taken of her - standing beside the 
Coelacanth she'd caught and beaming from ear to ear. Paying for the 
paper, I was on my way back to the room to give the girls the news when 
my cell phone started ringing. The ring tone from the song; It's A 
Small World After All played on for awhile as I opened the door to our 
room and sat down in a desk chair, ready to take the call... “Hello,” I 
said, innocuously. “Mr. Laurence?” asked the caller, in a resolute 
tone. “Speaking. What can I do for you?” “Allow me to introduce myself 
Mr. Laurence. My name is Charles, Charles Uppins. I'm a representative 
from the Greenlove organization. How are you today?” “I'm fine,” I 
replied. “Hey,” I said after a brief moment of thought, stretching my 
memory to its upper most limits. “Your name... Charles Uppins. Have you 
got a brother or a cousin named Ralph? My accountant's name just 
happens to be Ralph Uppins.” “No sir, I don't have a brother or cousin 
by that name,” he answered. “Well, do you mind if I call you Chuck?” I 
said. “Is that alright with you?” “That's fine,” he said. “But if you 
don't mind, I'd like to get to the reason for my call.” “You sure you 
don't have a long lost cousin named Ralph?” I said, persistent in my 
search. “It might be someone you never even met. I've got cousins I 
never met. It happens you know.” “I'm sure I don't sir,” he said. “Now, 
allow me to get to the point here, Mr. Laurence.” “Shoot Chuck, I'm all 
ears.” “Have you seen the morning paper sir?” he asked. “Yes, I have,” 
I replied. “It just so happens, I've got one right here in front of me. 
What's up Chuck? I mean... what's the problem?” “The problem is, your 
wife caught a fish on our ‘red list' yesterday sir. And if you don't 
mind my saying so, you don't seem very disturbed by it.” “Oh,” I 
answered. “You mean that big, long fossil fish or whatever it is?” 
“It's a Coelacanth sir, pronounced see-la-canth. A very rare fish, 
indeed.” “Yes, I know how to pronounce it, thank you,” I said. “I guess 
I didn't realize how rare it is. You say it's on your ‘red list'? Just 
what the heck is that Chuck? Some kinda hot sheet or someth'in?” “Mr. 
Laurence, a red list happens to be a very important list of endangered 
species. The Coelacanth your wife caught yesterday is on that list. Do 
you know what the fine is for catching and killing an animal on the red 
list?” “Ahh... no I'm sorry, I don't,” I said, after some deliberation. 
“It's a ten thousand dollar penalty sir, with up to five years in 
prison.” “Shit,” I muttered. “I didn't know that. Is it too late to 
give it back?” “It's dead isn't it?” asked Chuck. “I guess.” “Then it's 
too late to give it back.” “Damn, I didn't know it was an endangered 
species,” I said. “What can I do?” “Nothing you can do now sir. It's 
just a bit unfortunate that you're famous. Nearly everyone knows you 
masterminded the product, Berserky Jerky. If it wasn't for your fame, 
we probably never would have known what happened, but as it turns out, 
we have to take action on this. It just wouldn't appear right to the 
rest of the world if we didn't. Do you understand me sir? Have I made 
myself clear?” “Yes,” I replied. “I understand.” “Very well then Mr. 
Laurence. You should be hearing from one of our attorneys sometime 
soon. Until then, Mr. Laurence, if I were you, I'd watch my step.” 
“Right,” I answered, with a note of sarcasm in my voice and closed my 
cell phone to end the call. “Who was that?” asked my wife, waking from 
her silent slumber and pushing the insect net aside to rise from her 
bed. “Oh, nothing,” I mumbled. “Just someone who wants ta sue me, 
that's all.” “What? For what?” “It's a long story Mary. Why don't I 
tell you over breakfast,” I said, as I rolled the newspaper up under my 
arm. “Be careful what you wish for,” I said, staring out the glass 
sliding doors to the beautiful clear waters of the Mozambique Channel. 
“It just might happen.” 

When I explained what the phone call was about to Mary and Vera, they
had about as difficult a time believing it as I had, but lets face it, 
pictures don't lie, so I unfolded the newspaper and showed them both 
the picture of Mary standing next to her catch. Realizing I was 
relating the awful truth, they both began to brow beat me over my 
strange choice of vacation spots and it was finally decided that we 
should leave Moroni and head out to a more normal - as Mary put it - or 
suitable locale. Agreeing to leave, to save my skin and avoid any 
further humiliation, I went upstairs to pack and wondered what we were 
going to do with the fish we caught. Since it was dead and just about 
everyone in the world who could read knew it by now, I thought, why not 
take it with? Heck, what's done is done, right. I can't bring the damn 
thing back to life so why not wall mount it at home like I was gonna do 
in the first place. So without further ado, I looked around for the 
biggest garbage bags I could find, set the Coelacanth neatly inside 
them and in turn, laid it in the biggest suitcase I could find that I'd 
brought along. That way, I thought, no one would be the wiser and I 
could at least go ahead with my plan to wall mount my trophy fish no 
matter what legal hassle might be waiting for me back home. In 
summation, as far as our quick jaunt to Moroni is concerned, I did have 
a good swim, saw many cool tropical fish and with Mary's help, scored a 
ten out of ten on the Richter scale of interesting aquatic life and at 
this point, I was ready to call it a day anyhow. Especially when you 
consider that my luck had turned sour for the time being, and the 
possibility of doing a term in prison loomed over me like the Sword of 
Damocles. So when Mary and Vera came upstairs to pack, I gave them no 
further argument and instead, merely helped them pack their garments 
until nothing was left to do but call a cab and leave. When we arrived 
at the airport in Mozambique I couldn't help noticing one proud looking 
German shepherd as we checked our luggage in. Anyone could see that he 
was a well trained animal by the way he calmly sat, attentively 
watching the small crowd of passing people walking back and forth from 
place to place, each to their own destination. Setting our luggage on a 
conveyor belt, a metal detector automatically checked each piece for 
any kind of contents we might be hiding and then some, to our dismay. 
But as all our bags passed through one by one, I knew we had nothing to 
hide and therefore felt no cause for alarm, that is, until the dog 
started barking, pointing to one of my bags with the end of his 
powerful snout and tugging on the guard who in turn, tried to restrain 
him. “That's my bag,” I said unabashedly, wondering what the problem 
could be. “What's go'in on?” “De dog thinks he has found someting in 
your bag sir,” said the security guard. “Will you please to follow me?” 
he added, picking up the piece of luggage and motioning me to follow 
him to a security room behind the baggage checkpoint. “This won't take 
long,” I said to Mary and Vera. “After all, I've got nothing to hide.” 
“I hope not,” replied Mary. “We'll miss our flight outta here. Try ta 
speed it up, okay?” “You bet. I'll be right back.” 

When the guard opened the door to a cramped little security room they
used to search through belongings; personal articles; and other 
literally dirty laundry, I didn't have time to take a seat before he 
asked me if I would please, open my suitcase. Calmly, I did what I was 
told, thinking that the sooner I acted on his request, the sooner I'd 
be on my way. “Whew!” he said, as it opened. “Someting smell like fish. 
What is in dese garbage bags you have here? Is it someting dead?” 
“Yes,” I answered. “It's a trophy fish I intended to bring home with 
me.” “Let me see,” he replied, and still undaunted, believing I had 
nothing to fear, I pulled the garbage bags out of my case with the fish 
still inside and carefully unwrapped my strong smelling prize, 
revealing the Coelacanth within. “Oh no,” muttered the guard. “Dis look 
bad, very bad indeed. Don't you know dis is a fish on de ‘red list' 
mon. An endangered species.” “Yes,” I said. “I know that know, but how 
many times can I get in trouble for the same thing? I've already been 
threatened by the people at Greenlove. Why can't I just take it home? I 
mean, I'll probably have'ta appear in court when I get back anyway, so 
what's the big deal. Man, I didn't think it was a capitol offense to 
bring your catch home with you. It's just a damn fish!” “Dis not just a 
damn fish! Dis is a Coelacanth mon. You get five years for dis, don't 
you know! You are under arrest,” he said, seizing the wrist of my right 
hand as he reached for the handcuffs on his belt. “What you got to say 
for yourself now, mon? Don't you know, you made a beeg mistake? What 
else you hiding?” “Nothing,” I replied. “I'm not hiding anything.” “We 
make sure of dot right now. Take your clothes off.” “Why? What for? I 
told you everything. I'm not hiding anything. Besides, you handcuffed 
me to my chair. I can't take my clothes off with one hand.” “I fix dot. 
Here,” he said, freeing my wrist from its restraint. “Now you strip 
down all de way. I don't have all day.” “I wanna see my wife,” I said. 
“We're missing our flight, can't you see?” “You don't need no airoplane 
where you go'in mon.” “I have to talk to her, please,” I asked, as 
earnestly as I could. “She's standing right outside. She's expecting me 
to leave with her.” “I tell you what I do,” said my captor. “I give you 
five minutes with her. Dat's all. Den I'm calling de police.” “Okay,” I 
said. “If that's the best you can do, you got a deal.” “You bet dat's 
de best I can do. And no funny stuff. I got my eye on you,” he said. 
Opening the door, he motioned for Mary to come in and wondering what 
was happening, Vera's uncanny sixth sense led her to suspect there was 
trouble afoot, but what she didn't know, was how right she really was. 
“Which one of you is his wife?” asked the guard. “He got five minutes 
to talk to his wife, dat's all.” “I am,” said Mary. “Den you got to 
stay outside,” he said to Vera. “But I work for Mr. Laurence,” said 
Vera, as she slowly unbuttoned the top of her dress, revealing most of 
her large, perfect breasts. “There must be something I can do...” Lucky 
for me, Vera was in a ‘take charge' kind of mood that day and when the 
security guard saw her standing in place like the half naked statue of 
the goddess she resembled, he for the most part, forgot what he was 
doing, or who he was mad at. “Ahh... let me tink now,” he said, after a 
few moments filled with empty air and a lot of staring in Vera's 
direction. “You know, I tink dere is someting you can do lady.” Turning 
to me, he warned me not to go anywhere for the next few minutes - as if 
I could, handcuffed to the chair the way I was - and I assured him I 
would not. I only hoped that whatever Vera had in mind to do, she would 
hurry up and do it. Mary was getting more anxious by the moment, while 
I sat and wondered what the inside of a Mozambique prison might be 
like. I didn't think I'd make a very good girlfriend to anyone and 
what's more is, I didn't want to find out. “He's sending me ta jail, 
Mary. Do you believe it?” I said, as little beads of perspiration began 
to form on my forehead. “Why in the world would you bring that damn 
fish with, especially after all the trouble you got into over it? You 
brought all this down on yourself. I can't believe you sometimes. I've 
gotta good mind ta go home an leave you here, you know that?” “But 
Mare,” I said. “You'd leave without me, after all we've been through? I 
can't believe who I married. Your supposed ta stick by me when the 
going gets tough, not jump ship.” “You expect me ta hang around here, 
half way around the world while you do time in prison over a smelly old 
fish you never should'a packed? Mister, you've got another thing 
com'in. I don't know any wife who'd do that. I'd have'ta be nuts. Do I 
look nuts to you?” “No, my dove. Where do ya think the security guard 
went with Vera,” I asked, changing the subject to get our minds off all 
the trouble I'd attracted. “I don't know, but you need all the luck you 
can get right now buster. If I were you, I'd make a wish on that 
buckeye a yours right now, before it's too late.” “That's a good idea 
Mary. I would, but it's in my right pocket and I can't reach it with my 
hand cuffed to the chair like this. Think you can help me out?” “Oh... 
do I have'ta do everything around here?” she said, reaching her hand 
into my pocket. “It's not there. I can't find it. Where'd you put it?” 
“I don't know. I can't remember.” “Well try. Sooner or later they'll be 
back and I've got better things ta do with my time then visit you in 
the slammer. Where is it? Try and remember.” “I can't.” “What about the 
luggage?” she asked, thinking that I might've packed it in with our 
clothes and belongings. “I don't know. Why don't you look.” I replied, 
as Mary began to search through each and every small compartment of the 
bag I'd packed the fish in, since it was the only piece of luggage 
available to us at the time, anyhow. “There's no sign of it anywhere in 
the bag,” she said to me, disgusted with the whole turn of events. 
“You're on your own now buster. I hope you got a thing for stirr'in 
fudge, ‘cause your gonna get a lotta practice where you're go'in.” 
“Wait, hold on,” I said. “I think I know where it might be. Here... 
It's here in my other pocket all the time.” “Great Einstein. Start 
rubb'in it, or whatever you do ta make your dreams come true. We may 
not have much time left.” “I can remember when you used ta be nice,” I 
said. “Where did the woman I married go?” “She left when you dragged 
her on safari to Africa. Did you make your wish yet?” “I'm doing it 
now,” I said. “All you can really do is rub the top of it like this, 
see? Hopefully, something positive will happen.” Minutes more went by. 
I couldn't even say how much time had elapsed and still, there was no 
change in our situation. Vera was still missing in action, Mary was 
still resentful of the day I'd asked her to marry me and I was 
beginning to wonder if there was any power left in the buckeye at all, 
or could I have used up all of my wishes? I had no idea if there was a 
limit to its effectiveness, or if its energy was without boundary and 
the man who'd given it to me was not at the present time, available for 
consultation. So I waited it out in that little sweatbox of a room as 
best I could, until finally, we heard a knock at the door. “Come in,” 
said my wife and as the door opened, Vera appeared in its threshold, 
tired and disheveled looking, with one of the shoulder straps of her 
dress dangling and with her shoes in her hands, but nevertheless, 
present and accounted for. “What happened ta you?” asked Mary. “Oh, 
don't worry about it,” she replied. “Just my way of saying thanks for 
helping me when I was down on my luck. Besides, it's nothing a dry 
martini wouldn't fix. How are you two do'in?” “What's with your 
shoulder strap?” I asked. “And why are you carrying your shoes? Don't I 
pay you enough?” “I'll tell you later,” she said. “Do we still have 
time ta catch our flight?” “Barely,” said Mary. “Then c'mon, let's get 
the hell outta here,” answered Vera. “What're we waiting for?” “What's 
go'in on?” I asked. “I thought I was in trouble.” “Not any more. You're 
free to go,” replied Vera. “Super,” I replied. “But I'm handcuffed to a 
chair. I can't go anywhere unless I take the chair with me.” “Oh crap, 
I forgot about that. Wait... hold on a minute. I've got the answer 
right here,” she said. Reaching behind her head, Vera pulled a bobby 
pin from its position in her hair, causing the nearly perfect coiffure 
to collapse and unwind, until it finally reached its destination, 
flowing gently to her shoulders. “I used'ta work in a magic act. This 
won't take long,” she said, as she applied the hairpin to the tiny lock 
on my handcuff. “Presto! See, I told you it wouldn't take long. You're 
free as a bird. Do I get a raise for this?” “For all you've done,” 
replied Mary. “You deserve it.” “She does?” I asked. “Yes, she does. 
Now c'mon, we've got no time to waste.” “Can I take my fish?” “Screw 
the damn fish! Get your stuff an lets get outta here,” replied my 
loving wife. “I swear, if anyone knows how ta get themselves in 
trouble, it's you.” “Don't worry about me, my dove,” I answered. “I'll 
just need a minute ta get my suitcase in order. Why don't I meet you at 
the gate.” “Okay, but hurry up,” said Mary. “Last one on board's a 
rotten egg.” “You said it pumpkin,” I replied, and as soon as the door 
closed behind them, I re-packed the Coelacanth in the two large, black 
garbage bags, stuffed it back in my suitcase and slammed the lid 
closed. Grabbing my case and running as quickly as I could, I made my 
way to the proper boarding gate, where our passenger jet and freedom 
both lay waiting patiently for me. After all, I thought as I boarded 
the plane, life's too dull without taking a little risk every now and 
then. 

Chapter 7 

When we got home, the first thing I did was take the Coelacanth to a
good taxidermist. I couldn't wait to see that big monster hanging on my 
wall so I could tell everyone about my great fishing expedition to 
Moroni. I wanted to see the look on people's faces when I showed them 
this beautiful, prehistoric denizen of the deep. Reactions like; 
widening eyes, hanging jaws, and other such facial expressions of 
surprise, along with exclamations like; holy shit! or what the f____ is 
that! Those were the kind of reactions I'd expect. After all, those 
were the kinds of ways I thought I'd react if I were seeing it for the 
first time, so why wouldn't others react similarly? The next thing I 
did when I got back to familiar turf, was go to see Ralph, my 
accountant. I wanted to know what the sales forecast for Berserky Jerky 
was and what I could expect out of it in the long run. I'd never really 
bought Mary a decent ring because I never could afford one, but if 
sales were going to continue, then I thought, why not get her one? I 
also wanted to tell him about the coincidental meeting I'd had with 
Chuck Uppins over the phone. The name was so rare, I thought surely, 
there must be some connection between the two. Arriving at Ralph's 
office, I opened the door and found his pretty secretary, Ima Willing, 
sitting there as usual with her long legs crossed; jaws going a mile a 
minute on a stick of gum she was chewing and nail file in hand, working 
hard on what were already, flawless, red nails. But this was the 
position I expected to find her in, unless of course, Ralph had 
something else for her to do. I must say that it did occur to me from 
time to time that Ima wasn't a rocket scientist, but so what, neither 
was I. Heck, we all have our functions in life, don't we? So what's the 
sense in worrying about it? Where's that gonna get us? “Hi there Ima,” 
I said, without to much delay. “How's it go'in?” “Oh swell. I got 
noth'in ta complain about. Ralph says he's gonna gimme a big raise. I 
can hardly wait.” “I'll bet,” I muttered, as even I could guess what 
new position - or positions for that matter - were in store for her. 
“What?” “Oh nothing,” I answered, trying to cover my tracks. “Is Ralph 
around?” “Sure Mr. Laurence. Go right in. He was on the phone with his 
wife, Martha, but I don't see the harm in you walking in. The way Ralph 
talks about you, it's like you're practically family.” “Gee Ima, that's 
nice to know,” I replied. “It's good ta have friends, isn't it.” “Oh 
yeah. Ralph and I have gotten a lot closer since I was hired. He says 
he has important plans for me. Undercover plans... you know, things I'm 
not supposed ta talk about.” “Sounds good Ima. Catch you later,” I 
said, as I opened the walnut paneled door to Ralph's office and sat 
down in one of the expensive looking leather chairs around his desk. 
“Hold on a second Martha,” said Ralph into his desk phone. “Just gimme 
a minute here Reid,” he continued. “We're winding this up.” “No 
problem,” I replied. “Take your time.” “Yes honey... right honey...” I 
heard Ralph say. “I'll remember honey. Okay, lemme repeat this back, 
tell me if I got it all, okay. Here goes... you want a triple 
cheeseburger loaded; a coney dog and a Reuben, double the sauerkraut, 
on dark rye, with a chocolate shake, double chocolate.” “That's right,” 
answered Martha, in her normally booming voice, loud enough for me to 
hear where I was sitting. “But don't forget the fries. A large order, 
and dear...” “What's that?” asked Ralph. “Make sure you get something 
for yourself. You know how I don't like sharing.” “Yes dear, I'll 
remember. Good-bye my love. Wow,” remarked Ralph, as he set the phone 
back on its cradle. “That woman sure can pack it away, I'll tell ya.” 
“I thought you told me she was on a diet,” I said, recalling a previous 
conversation we'd had. “Yeah, that was awhile back,” he replied. “I 
remember... She just couldn't stick to it. Anyway, what's go'in on? 
What made you come back from Moroni so soon?” “Oh, it's a long story 
Ralph, about five feet long ta be exact.” “Huh? I don't get it? Hey 
wait a minute,” he said, making eye contact with me, jumping out of his 
chair to his feet. “I saw Mary in the newspaper. What the hell was that 
thing she caught anyway? Newspaper said it was prehistoric. I never 
even knew it existed.” “Yep, you got it. I mean... that's why we left. 
She caught a Coelacanth and I ended up getting in trouble. Shit,” I 
remarked. “They wanted ta toss me in jail and throw away the key. Can 
you believe it?” “No kidd'in,” said Ralph. “Over a fish?” “Yep, just a 
fish.” “What's this crazy world com'in to Reid?” asked my accountant. 
“Sometimes I think the world's gone mad, know what I mean?” he added, 
walking around his desk in a thoughtful mood until he'd made one 
complete revolution around it, finally coming to rest once more in the 
desk chair he left. “I know what ya mean,” I answered. “Say, by the way 
Ralph. How's Berserky Jerky do'in. Any change in sales?” “I'm glad you 
asked,” said Ralph. “Allow me to illustrate your companies projected 
sales with a few little graphs I prepared. You see this horizontal line 
here,” he continued, as he pointed to a flat, red line on the graph. 
“That's bad. That's how we started out. Now you see the black line 
here?” he said, pointing to another line which rose to a mountainous 
peak and then ran off the chart into infinite space, I presumed. 
“That's good. In fact, that's real good. What that means is that, 
whatever problems you got, money ain't one of ‘em.” “Geez Ralph. Who 
woulda known. Only yesterday I was walk'in around with one buck ta my 
name practically, an today...” “Taday,” interjected Ralph. “Yer roll' 
in dough. You fell in the toilet, buddy.” “I what?” “You fell in the 
toilet,” he repeated. “That means you're rich, that's all.” “Oh,” I 
said. “It sounded like I had an accident or something.” “Nope, not 
unless you think be'in rich is an accident. I can always take some a 
those pesky greenbacks off your hands if ya want. Miss Willing needs a 
raise you know.” “No that's okay,” I said, as the thought of the ring I 
was going to buy for my wife flashed through my mind. “I have some 
spending plans of my own.” “Well, don't spend too much. Money doesn't 
grow on trees ya know. I mean, there may be a time - I hate ta say - 
when it won't always be there, know what I mean?” “Yes Ralph,” I said. 
“I'll try and be frugal.” “Good Reid,” he said. “Well, does that about 
wrap it up? Was there anything else on yer mind?” “Umm, ya know, there 
was one more thing. There's a lawyer who called me, says he's with the 
organization Greenlove...” “Yes,” asked Ralph. “What about it?” “It's 
his name. I was wondering if you two might be related. He said his name 
was Chuck Uppins and when I heard that, I immediately thought of you. 
Do you think you two might be long lost cousins or something? I mean, 
you have'ta admit, there ain't many Uppins in the world, not that I've 
met anyway. You two are the only ones.” “I really can't say Reid. It's 
possible. Anything's possible.” “Oh well, I was just curious,” I 
replied. “I'll see ya later,” I said, as I got to my feet and headed 
for the door. 

Boy that was good news, I thought, as I got into my car and started up
the engine. I might even buy me a new car, with cash! But wait, I 
realized, after I'd driven a mile or so down the road towards home. 
Since the last vacation was such a bomb, why don't I take Mary and Vera 
on a trip they'll really enjoy? Thinking that I'd just had a great 
idea, I spent the rest of the way home from Ralph's office planning my 
next big move. A trip that Mary and Vera would remember for years to 
come. A trip that would take us some fifty million years into the past 
and then some... I hoped. A trip that would revitalize the trust in my 
relationship with my wife, by reuniting us through a common interest 
and the thrill of the hunt. A fossil hunt, that is, to beautiful 
Dinosaur National Monument, located directly on the border between the 
expansive, breathtaking states of Colorado and Utah. 

When I told the girls about the trip, they were not as exuberant as I
thought they'd be. I supposed that ladies with newfound wealth are more 
interested in places like Paris or Cancun, London or Monaco. The kind 
of chic, fashionable places attracting those who feel the need to be 
seen, or to see others, spending money and having fun in a manner they 
always thought would make them feel better about themselves. But I 
sometimes wonder if being seen and spending cash is all that it's 
cracked up to be. As for myself, I always imagined I'd be rafting down 
the quick and perilous curves of the Colorado River, or backpacking 
through some uncharted territory before I'd ever be seen drinking 
champagne, listening to people chatter away in a language I can't 
understand. Which is what attracted me to Moroni in the first place. 
How was I to know I'd get in so much trouble over a stinking little 
fish? Life is full of strange curves, isn't it? Anyway, when I 
explained that our destination was only a few states away from where we 
lived, talking them into making the trip became an easier task. After 
all, there would be no customs officials going through our bags, or 
shark infested waters, or any of that. And best of all, I suggested 
that we make the trip by car, so that we could see the sights along the 
way. This proved to be a very good sales point when it came to 
persuading Mary and it didn't take me long to convince her that the 
vacation would be both casual, and relaxing. We didn't have to get 
dressed up, and we could see all the major points of interest that our 
great country had to offer those who were fortunate enough to be able 
to see them. So then, in accordance with my plan, the first stop along 
the way to the great dinosaur park would be Kansas City. The land of 
more than two hundred fountains, (which by the way, is a pretty 
accurate number). 

Along the way to KC, we found some interesting places to stop and smell
the roses. We found farmers selling fresh Missouri peaches and apples 
and other such treats and as I recall. I bought five pounds of peaches 
one day and we ate them all, every last one. Not as filling as 
cheeseburgers but then, much better for my cholesterol count - at least 
that's what Mary tells me. I still have trouble believing that anything 
that tastes as good as a burger and fries can be all that bad, but 
then, I never said I was a dietitian or health consultant now did I? 
One hundred and fifty miles later - long after the peaches and apples 
had worn off - we finally drove into town and decided that since we 
hadn't had Chinese food in a while, why not try some in the big city? 
So before looking for a hotel, we stopped at what we thought was a nice 
enough looking little restaurant called; Wun Hung Low's, walked in and 
waited to be seated. Waiting in the vestibule of the vibrantly colored 
eatery, I looked around to see if anyone was watching me, stuck my hand 
in a dish full of fortune cookies - being as hungry as I was - and 
proceeded to pull out five or six of the tasty treats to eat while we 
were waiting and who knows, to snack on at a later time if I so 
desired. Opening the first one, I gobbled down the half without the 
fortune in it, and pulled the harmless looking piece of paper from the 
other, as I munched down on this crunchy, ethnic delight. “What's it 
say?” asked Vera. “Anything interesting?” “Yeah, read it to us,” 
replied my wife. “Let's hear it...” “Ahh... lemme see,” I said, as I 
unfolded the tiny scroll and held it up to read aloud. “It says...Have 
a nice trip, it's better then a fall!” “Your kidding,” said Vera. “Is 
that really what it says?” “Yep,” I answered. “Would I lie? Here,” I 
offered. “Why don't you girls take one and tell me what yours say, 
okay?” “Alright,” said Mary. “Don't mind if I do. Hmm...” she muttered, 
as she broke the cookie in two and pulled the fortune from within it. 
“It says...Exercise caution; The past will reveal itself to you! Do you 
believe that?” she said, looking up from the small, unpretentious piece 
of paper. What past? What the hell? I hate riddles. What's yours say 
Vera?” “I think I ate mine,” said Vera, yanking the little scroll from 
between her two, top front teeth. “Ahh, okay, here we go... It says... 
Your underwear is up your crack! Do believe that shit? Honestly,” she 
continued, as she suddenly realized the coincidental truth of the 
fortune and reached around to pull the string of her thong free of her 
butt crack in one momentous motion. “But the fortune...” said Mary. “It 
was true, wasn't it? Your underwear really was up your crack, wasn't 
it?” “Oh so,” replied Vera. “It usually is. I just don't notice it 
anymore, but when I read that thing, it just made me aware of it, 
that's all.” “Yeah but, it was true,” insisted Mary. “Spooky isn't it?” 
“It is spooky Mare,” I answered, addressing my wife by her nickname. “I 
wonder if there was any truth in yours, about the past and all that.” 
“I don't know about her fortune, but here comes the hostess,” said 
Vera, as a pretty, slightly built young Chinese girl in a beautiful red 
silk dress approached us to lead us to our table. “That's a pretty hot 
dish right there,” I said under my breath. “You keep your mind on 
dinner, putz,” said my lovely wife. “If ya know what's good for you.” 
“Yes, my dove. Of course,” I replied, as the Asian beauty in front of 
us, led us to a secluded booth and smiling, handed us our dinner menus. 
As we perused the dinner menus in our hands, our waitress for the 
evening arrived at our table and we ordered a round of drinks to start 
off with. On her way back, as she delivered the order, I couldn't help 
noticing the red nametag she wore that stood out against the background 
of her stark, white blouse. It said; Suk Uppins, and as I read it, it 
occurred to me that she might be some distant relative of my 
accountant; Ralph Uppins, or the lawyer from the organization 
Greenlove; Chuck Uppins. Even though she was obviously oriental, who 
knows, I thought. She might've married one of Chuck's cousins. So 
without further delay, I closed my menu and diplomatically, introduced 
myself. “Hi there,” I said, as suavely as the situation would permit, 
since I was already in the presence of the two lovely ladies I'd 
arrived with. “My name's Reid... Reid Laurence. And your name is Suck, 
I presume.” Flushing with red, her face suddenly gave away the color of 
her mood, but unbeknownst to me - as I couldn't understand what set her 
off - she regained her composure and began, in a scolding tone of 
voice... “My name is not Suck, it's Suk! Pronounced S-o-o-k, Sook!” 
“I'm sorry,” I said humbly. “I didn't mean to hurt your feelings,” I 
added, as Mary and Vera took turns giving me long looks of indignation. 
“I was just going to ask you, if your any relation to a Ralph Uppins. I 
didn't mean any harm. He's my accountant back in Springfield.” “No,” 
she said, seeming to have calmed down a bit after the blunt faux pax 
I'd made. “I don't know any Ralph. Are you ready to order now, or do 
you want me to come back in a few minutes?” “Are you sure?” I 
continued, thinking that since there were so few people named Uppins, 
then surely she must be related. “Sure of what?” “Sure that you're not 
a relative of some sort. I'm just curious to know.” “Yes,” she said 
curtly. “I'm sure I don't know any Ralph Uppins. Would you like to 
order now?” “Reid!” Interjected my wife, in her own brief way. “Would 
you leave her alone? Can't you see she doesn't know Ralph. Would you 
just order dinner already, we're hungry.” “Okay, okay. I get it,” I 
said, surrendering to my own substantially growing, pangs of hunger. 
“You don't have'ta tell me twice. There's just one more thing I've 
gotta know...” “What's that?” asked Vera, equally as anxious as my wife 
to get on with our dinner. “I've just gotta know...” I muttered, 
looking up into our waitresses captivating, brown eyes. “Do you think 
you might be related to a Chuck Uppins? He's a lawyer I met over the 
phone.” “No,” remarked Suk in perfect English. “I can safely say that 
I've never heard of a Ralph, or a Chuck Uppins. Now, are there any 
other people on your mind you'd like to bring up with dinner, or would 
you care to order?” “Reid!” said my wife, who's own face was flushing 
red with anger. Exactly why though, I couldn't say, as I truly believed 
my questions were innocent and my intentions good. “Will you leave her 
alone? You are really making me angry!” “Yes Mary,” I replied. “I only 
wanted to know...” “I know what you wanted to know and you're annoying 
her, can't you see? Just Order!” “Alright, okay,” I answered, always 
willing to oblige. “Hmm...” I muttered to myself. “I think I'll have 
the... almond press chuck... or duck, that is,” I said, after 
correcting myself from what was, I presumed, having Chuck on my mind. 
“...And,” said Suk. “Is that all?” “Ahh, no Suk... soup. That is,” I 
said. “I'll have some soup, Suk.” “What kind?” asked Suk, reticently. 
“Oh God,” blurted Mary, suddenly. “I'm going to kill you. Will you 
please, just order?” “Hmm, that's a good question,” I said, returning 
my full attention to Suk. “How about the hot sour soup, Suk? That 
sounds good, yeah.” “Anything else?” replied our waitress, with more 
then a bit of annoyance to her voice, but just why, I couldn't say. 
“Not for me,” I said decisively. “I'm done.” “Well thank God for small 
favors,” replied my wife with odd impatience, or to me it seemed odd 
anyway. “Aren't you gonna order desert?” she went on to ask me, but 
soon followed up with... “No, never-mind, I shouldn't have said that. 
Vera, are you ready to order?” “Hours ago,” answered our lovely 
employee. And as the two girls at my table rattled off their dinner 
orders, I slowly sipped my tea and watched as the exotic and beautiful 
hostess who'd seated us floated by every now and then in her shimmering 
smooth, silk gown, passing menus to patrons and smiling brightly. A 
magnificent Asian centerpiece, capturing light and radiating her own in 
a display of ancient tradition mixed with a knowing, casual flare of 
the modern world around her. She easily dominated the scene, and 
emanated this confidence, all without having transpired, a word. 

After dinner, we looked around for the nearest hotel we could find that
would take us in on such short notice and settled on the Regal 69. A 
regal enough looking place, I thought. Adorned with castle-like 
ornamentation around every facade and enough dark woods and red velvet 
furniture to make any blue blooded person feel natural and at home. So 
as Mary and Vera found a space for the car, I strode up to the front 
desk to investigate the possibility of our stay. “Hello young man,” I 
said to the clerk. “I would like two adjoining rooms, if that's 
possible.” “Yes sir, I'll check,” he replied, as he turned to his 
computer monitor to look at a list of available suites. “I can get you 
two rooms on the same floor,” he answered, “if that will suffice.” “I 
guess that'll have ta do,” I responded, with a down-turned grin and a 
debonair tilt of my head. “I'll just wait here for a minute for my wife 
and our employee if you don't mind,” I said. “By the way,” I remarked 
casually. “I can tell why you call this place Regal. Any dolt could 
tell you that. But what's got me are the numbers; 69. What's up with 
that?” “I'm not quite sure, sir,” responded the clerk, whose name tag I 
could see read simply; Sun. “It may be because we're in 69 cities, or 
that we have 69 members on the board of directors. You know,” he 
replied, quite knowledgeably but unsure. “That sort of thing.” “You 
sure it isn't all about some sexual position or something like that,” I 
replied, lecherously. “I bet people come here to meet in secret all the 
time, Sun.” “Well, sir, they're really not supposed to. If they do, we 
don't know about it and also, it's very difficult for us to control 
that issue, but let me just say that we do the best we can to run as 
morally perfect an establishment as possible. It's very important to 
the chairman of Regal 69 that we don't run the risk of having a bad 
reputation follow us around. I'm sure you can appreciate that, sir.” 
“Why yes Sun, I can appreciate that. You're right. And by the way,” I 
added. “Can I get a room with mirrors on the ceiling? I think that's 
really cool, don't you?” “I see your point sir,” he answered. Once 
again referring to his computer to find an appropriate match between 
room and patron. “I have a room on the fourth floor with a mirrored 
ceiling,” said Sun. “Will that suffice?” “I think so,” I said. “As long 
as it has a jetted tub, big enough for four people. That outta do.” 
“Hmm... that could be a tough nut to crack,” replied the clerk, as Mary 
and Vera returned from parking the car. “But I'll see what I can do...” 
“Can we get a room,” asked my wife, as she approached the front desk. 
“I'm beat. I gotta lay down.” “Ditto,” said Vera. “At least when we 
went to Moroni I got ta sleep on the plane, but this has been one long 
day.” “You said it,” answered Mary. “So how about it Reid? What's the 
situation here?” “The situation's good,” I replied. “Just leave this ta 
me.” “It just so happens,” interjected the desk clerk, “that I have two 
adjoining suites with mirrored ceilings and a large jetted tub.” “What 
did he say?” replied Mary. “Did I hear right? Did he say mirrored 
ceilings?” “Yes pumpkin, that's what he said. Isn't it great! You can 
look up an see yourself. Cool huh.” “Oh God, what did I marry?” “But 
lambchop, I thought you'd like it.” “Never mind. Whatever. I just wanna 
get in bed. I don't care anymore.” “Will that do then sir?” asked Sun. 
“Yes,” I responded with a casual nod. “Very nicely. Thank you Sun.” 
“Very well,” he replied. “Here are the key cards to the rooms, and may 
I say that I hope your stay here is an enjoyable one.” “I don't see how 
it can miss,” answered Vera. “Does the bed vibrate?” “Damn!” I said. “I 
forgot ta ask.” “Would you like a room with a vibrating bed sir?” 
replied Sun. “I think I can arrange one for you.” “Thank you Sun,” I 
remarked. “But I think we'll just go with what we've got. The girls are 
tired and they just wanna lay down. You know how that goes.” “Yes sir,” 
replied our helpful clerk. “If you need anything, don't hesitate to 
call the desk.” “Thanks again Sun,” I said, as I grabbed our bags and 
headed for the elevator. “You've been most helpful.” 

Later that night, after we'd become situated in our rooms and I'd
finally grown tired of staring at my sleeping wife in our ceiling 
mirror, I decided to bust loose and go for an evening swim in the hotel 
pool. Following a bunch of arrows directing me to my destination, I 
found the outdoor swimming hole in pretty good time. Taking a look 
around, I couldn't help but notice that there were enough pieces of 
statuary around it as would make any Roman emperor jealous. But then, 
something else had attracted my keen sense of perception and walking 
closer to the pool, I strained my eyes and tried to focus them on a 
moving object I saw in the water. It was a girl, I thought, as I came 
closer. She was swimming continuous laps in the pool and as far as I 
knew, never took notice of me, even though I was by now, close enough 
to put my hand in the pool and touch the warm, clear, blue looking 
water. I suppose I didn't notice her at first because she barely made a 
splash in the water as she delicately glided through it. She swam as if 
her body were one big cutting tool, parting the fluids surface as any 
knife would have and the sun darkened skin of her well-tuned physique 
only made every motion seem more natural. She belonged in the water, 
and her athletic presence was even more exemplified by the jet-black 
hair which followed her, like the amorphous rudder of a ship, flowing 
behind her head and marking her trail as she went. Just watching her in 
the pool made me wonder what it would be like to actually be in the 
same water with this beautiful, mysterious female and so, without 
further hesitation and with a running start that would've made Jessie 
Owens gape in awe, I threw myself into the pool in cannonball position, 
creating as huge a splash as possible and along with it - or so I hoped 
- as much in the way of making my presence known as was humanly 
possible. Upon taking notice of my athletic entry, this wondrous woman 
suddenly stopped in her tracks, removed the goggles she was wearing and 
gave me a look that could have killed any lesser of a man, but why, I 
just couldn't say. Thinking this might be as good a time as any to 
start up a conversation - not of any intimacy of course, as I've been 
happily married for many years now - I quickly swam to her side and 
asked her a question which I thought might break the ice and reveal my 
good intentions... “Do you know what time it is?” I asked, eager for 
her reply, but then, none came. So thinking that she just didn't hear 
what I said, I asked her again, but this time, just a shade louder then 
the last... “Can you tell me what time it is?” I delicately yelled, 
burbling half of my words into the watery depths and half above the 
surface. But still, no answer came. In fact, I was about to come to the 
conclusion that the poor thing must be deaf when suddenly, and without 
warning, she stopped swimming, stood up in the water, removed her 
goggles and said... “What the hell do you want? Are you nuts?” At last, 
I thought, I'd scratched the surface and had succeeded in getting her 
to reply. “I hope not,” I said, thinking that I just may have stirred 
her emotions, being the man that I was. “I'm Reid Laurence.” “So? Am I 
supposed ta be impressed?” “Haven't you heard of Berserky Jerky?” I 
asked. “I'm the guy who started it all. That's my company. Berserky 
Jerky.” “Do I bow now or what? Look mister,” she continued. “I don't 
know who you are and I don't care. I just wanna finish my laps, so if 
you'll excuse me, I'll get back to what I was doing.” “Don't mind me,” 
I replied. “I just saw you swimming and...” But even as I spoke, a 
familiar voice rang out in the warm night air like nails on a 
chalkboard, and brought with it the shocking conclusion to what I 
always thought would have been a most memorable and exciting 
conversation. “Are you bothering that girl Reid!” yelled my wife from 
the open window of our room. “You get your ass in here an go to bed! 
Now!” “Right Mary,” I said, returning what I could see was my wife's 
glowing interest in my general welfare and happiness, with a wave of my 
hand. After all, I thought, she just wants me to get as much sleep as I 
can. Tomorrow's another long leg in our journey and I'll be needing 
plenty of rest. So reluctantly, I said good-bye to the mystery swimmer 
I felt I'd almost met, picked up the bath towel I'd brought with and 
walked back to the room. But for some reason, the memory of the girl in 
the pool that night burned deeply to the recesses of my mind and I will 
probably, never forget her. 

The next day, we awoke to the sound of someone knocking on our door.
“Who is it?” asked Mary, still half asleep, but inquisitive 
nonetheless. “Maid service,” came a voice from the hallway. “That's 
weird,” replied my wife, turning to me, politely lowering her voice so 
that whoever was in the hallway couldn't hear. “Sounds like a man out 
there, doesn't it?” “Yeah,” I said. “I thought that voice was a little 
low too. Can you give us a minute here?” I said, loudly enough for the 
person on the other side of the door to hear, and putting on our robes, 
I unlocked the dead bolt on our door and opened it. “Hi there,” I said, 
wondering where I'd seen this person before, as he looked all too 
familiar. Then, I took notice of the nametag he wore on his shirt and 
called him by name. “Moon,” I remarked. “Is that your name... Moon?” 
“Yes sir,” he answered. “That's my name, don't wear it out,” he added, 
softly laughing. “You look like someone I know,” I said. “I just can't 
think of ‘im right now.” “Could it be the guy downstairs?” replied 
Moon. “He's my twin.” “You're kidd'in me,” I said. “Ya mean Sun is yer 
twin brother? The guy who works the desk downstairs?” “Yep, none other. 
Why mister? What's wrong with that? Ain'tcha never seen twins before?” 
“No... it's not that... I mean, yeah, I've seen twins before, I guess I 
just didn't expect it.” “Would you leave him alone Reid?” said Mary, 
abruptly. “Yeah, quit pick'in on ‘im,” said Vera, walking into the room 
dressed in nothing but sheer lace panties and a halter top. “I'm not 
picking on him,” I replied. “And by the way... look at you Vera,” I 
added. “You're half naked. Don't you have any clothes you can put on?” 
“I just got outta bed. Whaddaya want? An ya know what? You're not my 
father, either. I'll wear whatever I feel like wearing.” “So you 
switched from picking on this poor man here to Vera,” interjected my 
wife. “Why did I marry a bully? Don't you get tired of picking on 
people?” “Should I come back later?” asked Moon. “Did I show up at a 
bad time?” “Could you give us just a few minutes Moon?” I requested. “I 
just wanna take a shower an get dressed.” “That's fine Moon,” agreed 
Mary. “Just stay close ta the door in case we need you. I can't trust 
my bully husband anymore.” “Good idea,” added Vera. “You've gotta be 
kidding,” I said. And tired of the losing battle I'd been fighting over 
practically nothing, I retired to the bathroom where I showered up and 
braced myself for what was to be, a very long day ahead. 

Chapter 8 

How best does one describe the town of Kansas City? One big Mardi Gras?
A carnival of people and a smorgasbord of food, or merely a rest stop 
for young, aspiring alcoholics? Whatever the case may be, no one seemed 
to care, I thought, as we strolled along one of the busier main streets 
of town, deciding on what shops to visit or what restaurants to eat at. 
The city itself definitely did not suffer from a lack of inhibition 
free tourists and residents of all shapes and sizes; yelling for cabs; 
tripping over their own shoes and high heels; hanging on lamp-posts, or 
just plain greeting each other. In brief, I would have to conclude that 
Kansas City is not a boring place to be and if it's barbecue you 
desire, then hold on to your hat and get ready for some of the nations 
finest, which is what we finally ended up doing, in a strange, 
circuitous way... As we walked along observing the crowds of alfresco 
diners wondering where to go, we chanced to meet a young man who 
suddenly stopped to talk to us. Observing that although his clothes 
were slightly disheveled, he was still well dressed and neatly groomed 
and as he began to talk, he slurred his words in a way that made him 
difficult to understand, but nevertheless, helpful and informative. 
“Hey,” he said, not one to mince words. “Ya got two girlsh an I got 
none. Kin ya loan me one? Howsh about it babe?” he continued, feasting 
his eyes on Vera as if she were a main course at an all you can eat 
buffet. “Wanna giff it a whirl?” But as luck would have it, his own did 
not hold out, and just as he'd finished speaking, he began to cough and 
didn't stop until he finally grabbed his mouth and... you guessed it, 
puked all over the sidewalk. That in itself wouldn't have been so bad 
if it were not for some of the passing strangers who were unfortunate 
enough to get some on their feet. Sometimes, it just doesn't pay to get 
dressed up and put good shoes on. You never know what drunk is going to 
let loose on them. “Are you okay?” asked my wife. Always there to offer 
a hand to the sick or infirm. It's just that at the time, offering a 
helping hand was not a highly recommended plan of action, considering 
the barf on his own. “Oh, yeah. Wow,” he said. “I guess I shoulda 
shtopped drink'in before that lasht kamikaze.” “Can you walk?” 
questioned my wife. “Babe, I kin walk a tightrope if I wanna. I jus 
don't like show'in off.” “Alright then,” I added. “It was very nice 
meeting you. We'll see you around. Bye now.” “Wait a minute Reid. We 
can't just leave him here like this,” replied my wife, as I tried in 
vain to leave the scene. “He can hardly stand up.” “Yeah, hold on a 
second,” said Vera. “He looks like he could use some help.” “He was 
fine before he met us, wasn't he?” I argued. “He'll be fine after we 
leave, too.” “I'm hungry,” mumbled the barely standing boozer. “I'm 
hungry an I think I'm gonna be sick again.” “Just don't barf on me,” I 
said brazenly, and spying a narrow walkway between buildings, I took 
him by the shoulders and gently guided him to it, hoping to avoid any 
further torrent of used kamikazes. After our new found friend relieved 
himself once more, Mary and Vera still insisted that we not let him 
wander off on his own and considering the shape he was in, I gradually 
got used to the idea of letting him come along with us and join us for 
lunch. In fact, his presence paid off when - after sobering up some - 
he proved to have a very fine working knowledge of the restaurants in 
town and led us to one of the better known places called; Reidy's Rib 
House, widely known for their delicious barbequed spareribs, as the 
name would imply. Once seated at a table for four in one of the three 
large dining rooms of the restaurant, we learned that, oddly enough, 
our new friend's name was Nova Star. When I asked him about it, he told 
me that his parents were movie stars and had given him an odd name 
because they wanted him to ‘stand out from the rest, in a world filled 
with peons' and make him feel good about himself. But in the long run, 
all it had succeeded in doing was make him feel uncomfortable and 
different, when all he really wanted was to mix in and become one of 
the crowd. But as Nova explained himself to us, I couldn't help but 
wonder about the last three people we'd met with first names describing 
either stars, or moons or such. It made me wonder if there might be 
some connection between the Buckeye I persistently carried with me and 
the stars, or the astrological representations of them. Why not? I 
thought. What else could have been responsible for the many strange 
things that had been happening since I'd won the lottery and what else 
was responsible for these odd chance meetings? It seemed that by 
deduction, careful reasoning and of course, who could forget... the 
process of elimination, there was only one conclusion left to draw, and 
that was that the Buckeye in my pocket had been leading me all along 
and that it, and only it, was responsible for all that had recently 
happened in my life. But then, what of it? I thought. So what. Should I 
take the Buckeye from my pocket, insisting that I won't be led around 
or influenced by anything or anyone more powerful than I, and dash it 
to the ground, or do I merely go on as I have been... rich; happy and 
content with myself and the world around me? I ask you, what would you 
have done? For the time being, I settled for the latter plan of action, 
since again by deduction and thoughtful reasoning I thought the better 
of destroying my good-luck charm and along with it, my happiness and 
wealth. I believed, as most men would have, in not rocking the boat and 
so, as Nova talked on about his life and how his parents drove him to 
desperation and alcohol, I fiddled with the Buckeye, brought it out 
into the open and rubbed the top of it, in an effort to try to make 
this poor lads life better then it was and to hopefully get him on an 
improved path over the one he'd been on. After getting to know him, we 
exchanged phone numbers, and for the rest of the time we spent with him 
that day, made small talk and in the end, wished him all the best. Even 
though I have to say that at first I did not think very highly of him, 
considering the way he tried to pick up Vera, but he did impress on me 
the fact that I was really not much different then he, and that I also 
had been broke and miserable only some weeks before, so who was I to 
kick a man when he was so obviously, already down. Regretfully, we left 
Kansas City for other such places of interest, but I always thought 
that one day soon I would return to dine outdoors in the summertime; 
banter with the residents, or meet up with other sons of movie stars 
who'd generally lost their way in the world. So, without further delay, 
or rather, without delaying too much more then we thought necessary to 
say farewell, we got back in the car and got on the Kansas Turnpike 
headed west, for the great city of Topeka, located on the Kansas River 
and home to the notable Menninger Neuropsychiatric Clinic and museum, 
which boasts a large stash of documents written by the famous, Doctor 
Sigmund Freud. When we arrived, the first thing I had in mind to do was 
visit the clinic, since my own state of nagging neurosis spurred me on 
to discover the root or roots of what bugged me and what continues to 
bug me, so without ever having picked up a book by Freud, I couldn't 
wait to open the literal door of the clinic to hopefully, shed a bit of 
light on what made me and others like me, tick. When I got there, I 
began to read about what he'd done and the things he achieved, even as 
he faced an awful opposition of other doctors and people, dedicated to 
not believing in, or listening to him. I think it was his stalwart 
determination and driving force to stick to what he knew was right that 
impressed me most about him. Secondly, his discoveries which led to the 
whole new field of psychoanalysis which he founded, also helped to 
impress me. It seems that a lot of people consider him to be one of the 
great, creative minds of the modern world and who am I to say 
otherwise? When I read about what he'd written on Hysteria, I firstly, 
couldn't believe he knew all this at a time in which crazy cowboys were 
still gunning each other down in the street, and secondly, it made me 
think of my own hysteric mother, who could scream the day away with 
ease at the drop of a pin. Where was Freud when I needed him? Where was 
he when my brother and I walked into the house with mud or dog crap on 
our shoes and had all hell to pay for it. It's not like we planned it, 
you know. We just didn't realize what we'd stepped in. Honest, it 
wasn't our fault. I suppose the field of psychoanalysis leaves me a 
bitter man because like cops, a good head shrinker is never there when 
you need him. They're either hypnotizing some rapist to find out what 
happened in his early childhood or writing about their findings. In 
other words, a summation of what the rapist told them. Hell, I could 
tell them all about my past too, but nobody cares because I haven't 
raped anybody. It's a vicious circle isn't it. The rest of us just have 
to take a back seat to rapists and killers and learn to wait our turn, 
if there comes a turn at all. Nowadays, psychiatrists will see you, but 
if you dare talk about something you feel is constructive - like the 
reason you're there - they tell you they don't have time and refer you 
to a psychologist. Don't that beat all? Then you might ask yourself, 
why bother with the whole damn thing? Which is the conclusion I arrived 
at many years ago, but still, Freud is an interesting man who opened an 
entire pathway of science to a bunch of lazy old men who like to sit 
forever at their desks, make huge wads of money for doing so and refer 
needy nuts to other sources of help like dizzy psychologists so that 
they, are saved of any further aggravation you might have caused them 
by talking too much about your past. I swear, it's a wonderful life 
isn't it? But that's the awful truth. Unfortunately, psychiatrists have 
created a niche for themselves as a type of class of modern day 
untouchable. A microcosm of society of people who we are not supposed 
to get too close to and will therefore, never end up performing the job 
task they were presumably educated to do. The real outpour of our 
emotional problems is just as well spent bending the ear of a person 
about as qualified as a personable spouse with a talent for coping 
skills. A sad day indeed, for the field of psychotherapy. Anyway, 
enough said about the upsurge in the lack of talented approachable 
professionals in the field, and after staying the night in Topeka, Mary 
and Vera were unable to find very many other points of interest about 
the place, so when complete boredom struck and our fast food snacks 
were gone, we got in the car again and continued to head west, to 
Wichita. It seems that Wichita - a famous cow town - was one of the 
cities in which the Chisholm Trail passed through. The trail was a 
major cattle-driving route in the early eighteen-seventies and because 
of that and the railroad, Wichita boomed. Anxious to see the sights, 
but hungry enough to eat road kill, we drove around the city and 
decided to stop at a quaint looking little café on Woodlawn Avenue. 
Walking in, we decided to take seats at the counter and noticed that 
there weren't many other patrons there that day besides two grisly 
looking characters seated at the opposite end of the shiny, long, 
Formica counter. Sipping coffee, and speaking in low tones to each 
other, they appeared to be looking us over, carefully scrutinizing us 
as if we'd become part of something they'd been long considering, or 
yet, part of some greater plan. In turn, it made me feel considerably 
uncomfortable to think that our presence had caused this odd dissection 
of persona and I wondered to myself if it was just my paranoia getting 
the better of me, or if what I suspected all along, was really 
happening. As we ordered and even as we ate, this strange surveillance 
continued and when we were done, a great feeling of relief came over 
me. I couldn't wait to pay the check and leave, get in the car and go 
someplace, anyplace, as long as we got away from that strange pair who, 
by my estimation, could have been capable of anything and everything. 
Who knows, I thought. They could just be waiting for some unsuspecting 
out-of-towners like us. Find some hapless, naive tourists to pounce on, 
then take their money and ditch their bodies in the woods. I sure 
wasn't going to hang around anymore then I had to and as soon as the 
waitress came over to us with our check, I put down a tip and walked 
immediately to the cash register, waiting to pay. Unfortunately, I 
didn't have long to wait until the two characters who'd been watching 
us got up to do the same, and came up from behind me as I stood there 
nervously waiting. How best should I defend myself? I thought, as the 
bigger of the two stood close enough to nearly touch the coat I was 
wearing. Then I remembered the knife in my pocket. I always kept a 
knife on me, ever since I left Chicago. It wasn't a very big one, but 
scary enough, I thought, to keep someone from attacking me, especially 
if I put it to their gut and started screaming. So, that was my plan 
and as the hostess finally arrived at the register, I put my hand in my 
pocket and fumbled around, looking for the weapon. To my dismay, the 
only thing I found in my right pants pocket was my Buckeye and as a 
subconscious reaction to the looming danger I felt, I rubbed the top of 
it and continued to search for the knife. “That'll be... thirty-three 
dollars and seventy four cents,” said the hostess, as I finally found 
what I'd been looking for in the inside pocket of my coat. “Fine,” I 
said, handing her a credit card from my wallet. “I hope you enjoyed 
your meal,” she said, running the card through the register's 
peripheral hardware. “It was great,” I replied, removing the lock on 
the blade in my coat pocket and transferring it to another pocket where 
I could easily get to it if I needed it. “It was just great,” I 
repeated, smiling to try to assure her that everything was fine, in 
case I had to take sudden action to defend myself. “You come back an 
see us now, you're always welcome,” she added, smiling back at me. “I 
just might do that sometime,” I answered, finalizing our conversation 
with a nervous wink of my eye and in turning to walk away from the 
counter to join my wife and Vera, I was unexpectedly stopped by one of 
the waiting men behind me, who calmly began to speak... “Hey buddy,” he 
said, in a low, gravel pitched voice. “You ain't go'in nowhere.” “Oh 
yeah?” I replied, all the while trying to hide my shaky voice as I 
shifted my right hand to my coat pocket and felt the smooth lightweight 
plastic sheath of the knife, now grasped firmly in the palm of my hand. 
He'll never knock it outta my hand, I thought. It's just him and me 
right here and we're gonna finish this right now. Maybe if I can scare 
‘im enough, he'll leave us alone. If I have to, I'll just explain 
myself to the cops, cause I'm sure not gonna be some bastard's prey. 
“An why is that?” I answered. “Well... nobody's stopp'in ya, but yer 
forgett'in your credit card right there on the counter,” he remarked, 
pointing a long index finger at the card I'd left behind in my haste. 
“Don'tcha want it?” he continued. “There's a lotta thieves around ya 
know, just ach'in ta get their hands on a card like that. Hell, they'll 
wreck yer credit sure as I'm a stand'in here.” “Ah... yeah. Sure, I 
want my card. Thanks for telling me,” I answered, dropping my guard for 
a moment, but still holding onto the knife in my pocket for dear life. 
“Say,” he muttered in the same low voice. “You look like someone I 
know. My buddy here an me, we're sure we seen you before.” “Yeah, you 
look real familiar,” added his friend. “A lotta people look alike,” I 
replied. “You've probably just mistaken me for someone else. A face you 
remember, but a name long forgotten. You know, that type a thing. 
Happens to us all.” “Oh... I remember ‘im alright,” said the same man. 
“Name was Fess.” “Well...” I answered, more nervous then ever, as my 
eyes darted back and forth from Mary and Vera to the two thugs standing 
behind me, who were now blocking any escape I could have made to the 
front entrance. Even as I spoke, I wondered all the while what evil 
plan these two had hatched in their corrupt, depraved minds. “I can 
tell ya right now, that's not my name. My name's Reid. Reid Laurence.” 
“Well then,” replied the other to his friend. “Ah guess that settles 
it, don't it. I told ‘im you weren't Fess, but he didn't wanna believe 
me. Now ya know, dont'cha,” he said, turning to his friend. “Now why 
dont'cha let the poor guy go on his way. We bothered ‘im enough fer one 
day. We're sorry mister. It's just that you really did look a lot like 
Fess, an he was sure you was.” “Yes sir,” said the other man. “You look 
jus like ‘im. You could even pass fer his brother, I bet.” “What was 
his last name?” I asked, as my curiosity piqued to a high point. “It's 
possible I might know ‘im.” “Uppins,” said the man who'd first 
approached me. “His name is Fess Uppins. Ya know ‘im?” “No, but that's 
odd,” I replied. “I do know a Chuck Uppins; a Ralph and I swear, I just 
recently met a Suk Uppins in Kansas City. Small world, isn't it?” “You 
bet it is mister,” replied the same man, still standing closest to me. 
“I wonder if old Fess had a sister or a cousin er someth'in. How'd she 
spell that anyway? Was it S-u-c or S-u-c-k or what?” “No,” I answered. 
“Wow, she got really mad at me when I pronounced it like that too. It's 
Suk, pronounced S-o-o-k. Man, she really got mad at me. Makes ya wonder 
about some people don't it? All I did was mispronounce her name a 
little, an she was all over me like flies on... well, you know.” “Ah 
know what ya mean, mister. The slightest thing ticks some people off. 
Ya jus never know when some people are gonna blow their stacks over 
nuth'in. Hey,” he said. “You have yerself a good day now, we gotta get 
mov'in on. That's our rig out there in the park'in lot. She's a dousy 
ain't she? Ya seen her when ya come in? Got a sleeper cab; nine speaker 
stereo; microwave, the works.” “Yeah, wow. That is a cool truck,” I 
remarked, straining my eyes to get a better look out the big restaurant 
picture window. “Well, I'll be see'in ya,” I added, gesturing to Mary 
and Vera with a wave of my hand to let them know I was ready to go. 

“What was that all about?” asked my wife on our way to the car. “Yeah,”
asked Vera. “If I'd known how long you were gonna take, I'd a ordered 
dinner too.” “Oh, nothing,” I said. “He just thought I looked like 
someone he knew. Some guy named Fess Uppins. Gee,” I said, thinking out 
loud. “You think he might be related to Ralph? I'll have'ta ask ‘im 
when we get back.” “Yeah,” answered my wife, opening the car doors for 
herself and Vera. “You do that.” 

Chapter 9 

With the fine city of Wichita in our rear view mirror, we looked forward
to a new destination on the map of our travel plan and settled on Dodge 
City; home to the famous Boot Hill Cemetery and the lawmen who helped 
fill it... Wyatt Earp and Bat Masterson. It took us a whole day to get 
there from Wichita, but I thought that it would be worth it, 
considering that Mary has always been infatuated with graves; spirits; 
cemeteries; ghosts and the great beyond, or another dimension. Whatever 
you choose to call it, the idea always sparked her interest and this 
visit promised the special opportunity no ghost chaser could afford to 
pass up... the opportunity to inspect the graves of those real life 
trouble makers and cowboy's, who'd purposely and sometimes 
inadvertently, carved a whole town out of mean trail dust and sweat. 
The sweat of themselves, others like them and the cattle they drove. 
But who can forget the wheat farmers in the area, who fed the settlers; 
cowboys; cattle rustlers and others off the fruit of their labors. How 
does a person get along without a simple staple food like the bread 
we've become so accustomed to? Try making a sandwich sometime without 
it. 

When we arrived in Dodge, the first thing we did was shake the trail
dust off our clothes and head for the nearest saloon, where we handed 
in our six-guns and made ourselves comfortable at the most hospitable 
empty table. (Had you going there, didn't I! Even though we had no 
six-guns, the mood and history of the place inspired me at the time and 
made me wonder about what it must've been like to carry one, like a 
clothing accessory; a handbag; a wallet or a watch on a chain. I 
suppose it made some people feel well protected, but at the same time, 
it was a death trap and a deadly way to settle an argument.) After a 
few drinks, we hit the road stumbling and meandered our way to Boot 
Hill where Mary's dreams and thoughts often took her, inspiring wonder 
of those aforementioned arguments that in her mind, were never really 
resolved. The whole point of a spirit that cannot rest, is that they 
are presumably unhappy in the way they passed on and are therefore, 
walking this eternal path of frustration and sometimes, anger. But, 
never having come face to face with any departed soul, I could never 
say that my wife was either in the right, or wrong. That is, the 
situation never had presented itself, until our trip to Boot Hill, 
where in fact, some very difficult things to explain actually did 
happen and the paths that we were on - between the living and the dead 
- suddenly seemed to cross and join... 

“Who's this Wild Bill guy?” asked Mary, as we stood on the hill of the
cemetery, taking note of its many well known residents who now lay 
forever in eternal, silent slumber. “What'd he do? Was he bad, or 
good?” “He was some a both, ah reckon,” replied Vera. “Suffice it to 
say, you didn't wanna cross him. Ain't that right Reid?” “That's right. 
I've seen the movie about his life, so I should know. He had some kinda 
eye problem too... cataracts I think. He was slowly going blind.” “So 
how could he see who he was shooting?” asked Vera. “Oh, he was well 
known for his marksmanship,” I replied. “I heard he shot a man in 
Springfield Missouri, not far from where we live, in the town square.” 
“What for?” inquired Mary, slowly gaining interest in the nature of the 
man - who despite the great amount of pride he had while still alive, 
now lay before us at our feet like any of the other muted deceased. 
“The guy won his watch in a poker game,” I answered. “And had the nerve 
to wear it after Wild Bill told him not to.” “And... So? Why did he 
shoot ‘im?” asked my wife. “Well... because, the guy wore his watch. 
It's like I said.” “That's it?” questioned Mary in disbelief. “He was 
killed for wearing a watch?” “Yep. Wild Bill had a lotta pride, but it 
didn't get ‘im very far. Hmm...” I muttered, as I mulled over what I'd 
just said. “Let me rephrase that, because when you think about it, his 
macho pride was a big motivating factor to the embodiment of his 
personality, driving him to perform many of the brave actions that 
constituted the achievements of his life.” “You might wanna rephrase 
that again,” answered my wife. “He was only thirty-nine when he died. 
Look here,” she continued, pointing to the gravestone. “Born 1837 - 
Died 1876. He didn't die from natural causes did he?” “No, he didn't. 
He was shot in the back during a card game.” “Then where did his pride 
get him?” said Vera, as she adjusted her chest in the sports bra she 
was wearing with both of her small, feminine hands. “Never mind, I'll 
tell ya,” she added. “Six feet under, that's were.” “Right Vera,” 
agreed my wife. “Men, humph. Have you ever heard of a woman who died 
out of girlish pride? Men are so silly.” “I have to agree with you 
Mary,” I said. “But at the same time, it was people like him who helped 
the Union win the Civil War. He was a spy for the North you know.” “So, 
maybe men have their place in this mess,” she murmured, staring down at 
the gravestone. “But if you ask me, it's a mess they helped to create 
in the first place.” “Say Mary, that reminds me,” I remarked. “You 
think you could find a place for me? I've been meaning to talk to you 
about it.” “Not in front of Vera, I told you. Lets talk about it 
later.” “Hey, come over here,” shouted Vera unexpectedly, attracting 
our attention to a different section of the cemetery. “Look! I found 
Wyatt Earp's grave!” “Cool!” exclaimed Mary. “Can you read what it 
says? The stone is so worn away I can't make it out.” “Hmm... if you 
put your fingers over the letters,” said Vera. “You'll get a better 
idea of what's written here. Just give me a minute...” she continued. 
“It says he was born in eighteen forty-eight...” “And...” asked Mary, 
anxious to know anything else of interest about the grave. “And he died 
in nineteen twenty-nine.” “Wow! He lived a long time didn't he,” I 
said. “It's a wonder nobody ever succeeded in killing him. He must've 
made his share of enemies. I guess he just got lucky. Eighty-one is 
pretty old.” “It is, isn't it. You know, there's more written here if 
you're interested,” added Vera. “Let's hear it,” said my wife and I, 
nearly simultaneously. “Okay,” answered Vera. “Just give me a second. 
The stone is so worn out and old, it's hard to tell, but here goes... 

Here lies old badass Wyatt Some would shoot ‘im but didn't try it. If
you knew ‘im you'd understand He was the baddest in the land.” 

“Gee,” I said. “That's the best epitaph I've ever heard. I wonder who
wrote it?” “Quite possibly 
the-lecherous-old-boozing-type-of-guy-who-has-the 
-nerve-to-call-himself-a-writer-who's-standing -here-next-to-me-now, 
type of guy, perhaps?” asked Mary, forever eager to solve any question 
left open to discussion. “Now whatever gave you that idea? Never mind,” 
I continued. “I'm sorry I asked. Look... It's getting late,” I 
remarked, observing the bright orange sun in the western sky, slowly 
dropping from sight. “I say we find ourselves a hotel, get some dinner, 
an turn in. Whaddaya say?” “Best idea you've had all day,” agreed my 
wife. “How about the hotel we passed on the way here?” asked Vera. 
“We're pretty close to it from where we are.” “It's a deal then,” I 
said. “Lets see if we can get a room.” But even as we departed from the 
cemetery, the eerie feeling that we'd not left - or somehow taken some 
of it with us - seemed to permeate our very souls and the talk at 
dinnertime was more about our visit to the cemetery then anything else, 
as each of us had easily let on. 

The hotel we stayed at, called; The Deadman's Hand was indeed close to
the cemetery - maybe a little too close, in my mind - sitting on the 
outskirts of town, only a few blocks away from the grave sites we'd 
visited earlier that day. During dinner - at a downstairs café in the 
hotel - Mary asked me if there was any specific meaning to the name of 
the establishment and it just so happens, the answer was within my 
computer-like memory bank of trivia connected information and in 
seconds, I was able to deliver proper output on the subject at hand... 
“I don't know,” I said, but after a brief pause of some thirty minutes, 
I felt I had the answer... “You remember,” I began, “when I told you 
that Wild Bill died playing cards?” “Yeah,” replied Vera. “Just spill 
the beans already. What's the story?” “Well, it just so happens that 
the hand he held at the time - a pair of eights and a pair of aces, all 
black cards by the way - became famous and well known as, need I 
say?...The Deadman's Hand.” “Gives me the creeps,” replied Vera, as she 
cut into the polish sausage on her plate. “I'll tell ya what gives me 
the creeps,” I said. “The way you cut into that like you mean it. You 
remember that girl who cut off her husbands member and threw it into a 
field?” “Member of what?” asked Mary. “C'mon, you know who I'm talking 
about. It didn't happen that long ago.” “If I say her name, do I win a 
prize?” replied Vera, mocking the very nature of my question and 
applying pressure to a nerve of a very sensitive matter. “Don't 
bother,” answered my wife. “Just mind your p's and q's and it won't 
happen to you,” she said, turning to look at me. “Besides, the last I 
heard, a surgeon stitched his cocktail wiener back on and it works, so 
what are you afraid of?” “An angry lady with a knife, that's all.” “So 
don't piss me off,” added my lovely wife, as she picked up her steak 
knife with a smile to illustrate her intent and drove it, point first, 
into the blood red meat on her plate. 

Later that evening, as we retired to our room and became bored with
television, we decided to turn in and get some much-needed rest. 
Hitting the light on my nightstand, I turned to say goodnight to Vera 
who occupied the double bed next to ours, only two feet away from us. I 
then kissed my lovely wife and slowly but surely, fell asleep, only to 
be awakened some hours later by what sounded very much like, a man in 
great pain... “Owwwww!” came the voice - as plain as day - sounding as 
if it were coming from inside the closet. “W-w-what the hell is 
t-that?” asked Vera, trembling with fear in the bed next to ours. 
“Owwwwwwww!” came the voice again, even louder and longer then before. 
“Oh shit,” said Mary. “What's in the closet? You hung the clothes up 
didn't you?” “Y-y-yes, I did. N-nothing's in the closet,” I replied, as 
best I could. “Nothing... I'm sure.” “T-t-then, what's with the noise?” 
asked Mary. “Is the h-h-hotel h-h-haunted? Shhhhit,” she continued. “My 
f-f-first meeting with a g-g-ghost and I'm t-t-too s-s-scared to talk.” 
Pulling the blanket up over her head, Mary lay next to me, shaking and 
scared out of her wits. “T-t-talk to it Reid. Ask it w-w-what it 
wants.” “Ok-k-kay,” I answered. “Here g-goes nuth'in. S-s-say, mmmister 
ghost. Whhho are you?” I asked, scared but very much interested in 
communicating with whoever, or whatever, was making the horrible racket 
in our closet. But to our dismay, the only reply was the same high 
pitched, “Owwwww!” that we'd already become all too familiar with. “Ask 
it again,” said Vera. “Okay,” I said and again, I tried my hand at 
communicating with whatever it was that had succeeded so well in 
frightening three, full-grown adults. “Who are you?” I asked again, but 
this time, to my surprise - and wether it was luck or not I did not 
know - I received a deliberate answer, to my innocuous question... “Who 
do you think?” came the reply, spoken in the kind of drawl that had 
helped make the old west as popular and legendary as it is. “H-h-hold 
mmmy hand,” whispered Vera and reaching out, I felt the cold, clammy 
touch of her normally smooth, warm skin but had only to assume that her 
touch had changed in response to the fear she felt. “D-d-don't let go,” 
she added, too scared to say much more. “I don't know who you are,” I 
replied to the spirit, as firmly as my voice would allow. “All I can do 
is guess.” “Then do so!” replied the same voice, loudly booming from 
wall to ceiling in anger and frustration. “Okay, okay,” I said. “Just 
don't hurt us... Lemme see here... Oscar Wilde?” “Noooooo!” he replied, 
in a terrible tone of pain and lament. “Ahhhh, okay... Rod Serling?” 
“Noooooo, you idiot!” he replied again. “Look, I'll give ya'll a 
hint... whose grave did'ja visit taday?” “Wyatt Earp's! You're Wyatt 
ain'tcha!” I shouted, thinking surely I'd guessed correctly this time 
around. “Noooooo! And since you are wrong on every score, I can see 
that I must tell you. I am the ghost of James Butler Hickok.” “You're 
kidd'in,” I replied. “Whose that?” “Does the name Wild Bill ring a 
bell?” answered the spirit. “Do I have' ta spell it out for ya?” “Oh my 
God!” said Mary. “We're in the same room with the real Wild Bill 
Hickok. Why have you contacted us Mr. Hickok?” asked my wife. “What can 
we do for you, and why were you yelling ‘owwwww'?” “I was shot in the 
back,” answered Bill. “It hurts.” “After all these years?” asked Vera, 
always the skeptic. “Yes,” said Bill. “But I'd rather not go into that. 
There's some'thin I want'cha ta do fer me. Some'thin far more important 
then the way I died.” “What?” asked Vera. “What can we do for you?” “I 
want ya'll ta write mah epitaph, an it's gotta be a better one then's 
on Wyatt's grave.” “But why us?” I questioned, wondering what, if 
anything, made the three of us different then any other living souls on 
the planet. “Neva mind all that,” replied Wild Bill. “Ah decided on 
ya'll an that's that. Besides,” he said, suddenly and dramatically 
appearing to us in the dark room as if he were almost alive, as he 
turned to face me. “You the Berserky Jerky man ain'tcha? Hell, any man 
makes jerky can't be all bad. Ah ate a bunch a that stuff in mah day. 
Now, if you would be so kind, ah sure would appreciate you gett'in ta 
work on mah epitaph. Ah could rest a whole lot better if you would.” 
And then, with as little warning as he appeared with, he vanished into 
thin air, leaving no trace or clue that he'd ever been in the room at 
all, except for the fact that our beds, which were only some two feet 
apart at the start of the evening, were clear across the room by 
morning light and whose hand Vera and I held onto that night, is a 
question left unanswered to this day. 

The next morning found us weary and unsure of everything but one very
unscientific fact - that we'd been contacted by a spirit to do his 
bidding and in order that his soul might rest in eternal peace, we had 
but one thing to do, that being, to carry out his last request and 
create an epitaph the likes of which would not only rival, but surpass 
the quality of his friend's, Wyatt Earp. And so, at breakfast that day, 
we sat down and with pencils and paper napkins supplied generously by 
the hotel cafeteria, we labored and began to construct the theme of the 
inscription as best we could and as I recall, by lunch we had finished 
the task, and our completed poem went exactly like this... 

Though words have escaped me, at times in my life I swore to old Bill
I'd see past my strife, So I wrote this here down, in an hour or two An 
relate it this day, in this way, ta you... Wild Bill was all man, 
that's easy ta see With balls made a steel, it was sure tough ta pee. 
So he killed some bad dudes, who cares about that? An died ‘fore his 
time, from some little known rat. 

“So that's it then?” asked Mary. “It's done?” “Yep,” I answered. “That's
the best damn poem I ever wrote. I can't imagine anything better, can 
you?” “So what's next?” questioned Vera. “Why don't we look in the 
phone book for someone who does gravestone inscriptions and let's blow 
this town. I don't think I slept a wink last night. I'm so tired I 
could fall asleep standing up.” “Tell me about it,” said Mary. “I'll 
never walk through a cemetery again as long as I live.” “You mean, 
you're never gonna drag me through another morbid graveyard?” I asked, 
finding my wife's admission too hard to believe and too good to be 
true. “Yes,” she said, as she looked down at the ground for something 
to focus on as she spoke. “Well... that is, maybe. I don't know. Lets 
just go. For now, I don't wanna meet any other spirits. It was all very 
emotional. That poor man's still in pain. I really feel bad for him.” 
“Alright,” I said. “It was pretty scary at that, wasn't it, but I bet 
he'll rest now, knowing what a great epitaph we wrote for him.” And as 
we closed the figurative book on the life and times of Wild Bill Hickok 
and opened the literal phone book to locate an engraving artist, the 
three of us began to feel as if our task was completed, but most 
importantly, as if we'd done poor Wild Bill's soul a good turn, 
allowing him to rest, as all dearly departed should, in eternal peace. 

Chapter 10 

Gitt'in outta town by sundown was foremost on our minds as we decided to
ditch our car in Dodge City and take a small plane to the Dinosaur 
National Monument - our original destination. The only part that 
worried me was getting over the Rocky Mountains in a little piper cub, 
but sometimes, I thought, you've just gotta take a chance. Naturally, 
you can't live your life curled up in bed forever, or going merely from 
point ‘A' to point ‘B' for the duration of your time here. Sometimes, 
you've just gotta break free of those mundane worries, throw caution to 
the wind and go for it. So in summation, that's exactly what we did, we 
went for it and rented a plane and a pilot, as neither one of us knew 
up from down when it came to flying. At the airport, I couldn't help 
thinking how much our pilot looked like one of the characters from the 
movie; The Family Jewels staring Jerry Lewis, with his coke bottle 
glasses; jet black hair and pencil thin mustache. The only thing 
missing, I thought, were white socks with dress shoes, but when I 
looked down at his feet, what do you think I saw? Yep, you guessed it. 
So when I put all this together, I started to wonder about his flying 
skills and as I boarded the plane, I took the buckeye out of my pocket 
and began rubbing the top of it, as if there were no tomorrow, just in 
case, there was no tomorrow. As we put our seat belts on, I looked over 
to find Mary and Vera laughing to each other over the same thing, but 
they obviously didn't seem to be as worried about it as I was... “Did 
you see that guy?” asked my wife. “He looks exactly like Jerry Lewis. 
Oh, my God... what was that movie he was in were he played like, eight 
different parts?” “Family Jewels!” replied Vera. “It was hilarious! The 
scene were he played ‘Bugs' the gangster was my favorite. Remember when 
tons of weapons fell out of his coat when he bent over! It was sooo 
funny, I laughed my head off!” “Aren't you a little worried about this 
guy's flying skills?” I asked, as I continued to rub the buckeye in my 
hand. “I mean... look at him. Is he trying to worry people or what? If 
you ask me, he's doing an excellent job of it. I'd feel a lot more 
comfortable if he looked more like Robert Stack from the movie, 
Airplane. At least he gave you the impression he could fly.” “Oh, don't 
worry about it,” said Mary. “You're such a worrier.” “Yeah,” replied 
Vera. “And while you're at it, answer your phone, it's ringing.” “Oh, 
damn. I didn't hear it. Thanks,” I said and reaching into the inside 
pocket of my coat to retrieve the tiny contraption, I answered with a 
nervous sounding... “h-hello?” “Hey Reid,” said a familiar sounding 
voice - a voice I knew I'd heard before but couldn't, for the life of 
me, place just then. “Hi,” I answered. “Who is it?” “It's Nova, man. 
Nova Star. You remember me, don'tcha? We met in Kansas City.” “Oh yeah, 
Nova. Sure, I remember you. Hey, it's good to hear from you,” I said, a 
little surprised that he'd called, but nevertheless, glad that he did. 
My only reservation was that he'd called just as we were about to take 
off. “What's go'in on? How's life treat'in ya?” “That's what I wanted 
to talk to you about,” he said. “Things have never been better! All of 
a sudden, after you left, I met this girl...” “That's great Nova. I'm 
really glad you met someone,” I replied sincerely. “Are you seeing a 
lot of her?” “We're together all the time. We got married!” “You're 
kidding me. You got married already? We practically just left Kansas 
City. You really work fast.” “Well,” said Nova, gathering his thoughts 
before he spoke. “It's like, as soon as you left, all this stuff just 
started to happen. All this positive stuff that's rarely ever happened 
to me before. That's why I called. I wanted to say thanks. It all 
seemed so coincidental, I thought that somehow, you or your wife or 
something must've helped make this happen.” “That's real nice of you to 
say Nova, but I didn't do anything much besides...” “Anyway,” he 
interjected. “You're not gonna believe the rest.” “There's more?” 
“Yeah, there's more! This long lost cousin of mine, a cousin I think I 
met once or twice in my whole life...” “Yes?” I said, wondering what 
else could have happened in so brief a time frame. “He kicked the 
bucket an left me a small fortune! Can you believe it? I bought a house 
and a car and paid in cash!” “Wow Nova, that is cool,” I said, trying 
to keep my composure as the nose of the small plane began to lift off 
the runway. But as trees in the distance gradually became not so 
distant, I started to wonder if we'd be lucky enough to clear them, or 
wind up wrapped around their branches like a child's misguided kite. 
“Ahh, Nova,” I continued, practically rubbing the top off my buckeye as 
I spoke, still doing the best I could to remain calm. “I'm really glad 
things are going well for you, but I really have'ta go now.” “Anything 
wrong?” “You might say that... ahhh, yes. In fact,” I blurted out, as 
the treetops drew nearer and nearer. “It wouldn't hurt to say a quick 
prayer for me if you could. I gotta go now, bye.” Powerless to do 
anything much but sit in our seats with our fingernails dug deeply into 
padded armrests, we scraped the tree tops with the fuselage of the 
plane and as we did, hundreds of crows flew screaming and complaining 
in a massive exodus of confusion and feathers. “Wow,” said Mary. “We 
made it. Had me worried there for a minute.” “Holy shit! Had you 
worried for a minute? We almost died back there!” I said. “This guy 
doesn't know what he's doing. Our chances might be better if I flew 
this rig and I don't know a thing about flying.” “Remember, be careful 
what you wish for,” said my wife. “Yeah, it just might happen,” added 
Vera. “Look... do you see what I see, or is it just my imagination?” 
“Nope, it's not your imagination,” replied Mary, as she unbuckled her 
seat belt to help our fallen Captain up off the floor where he'd 
stumbled, emerging from the cockpit of the plane. “Walk much?” I 
whispered to Vera. “I think he flies more then he walks, if ya know 
what I mean,” she muttered, pointing to a bottle of brandy still 
rolling around on the floor of the cockpit. “Oh crap,” I said. “He's 
drunk. We're dead. We're never gonna make it off this plane alive. 
Dammit, why couldn't we just drive to Colorado? Whose lame idea was it 
to fly?” “Yours,” answered Mary. “Why don't you and Vera grab the 
controls while I help him up off the floor. Someone's gotta fly this 
thing.” “Don't worry about it,” said the captain very confidently. 
“She's on automatic pilot. There's nuth'in ta worry about.” “But you're 
stewed,” I replied. “Says who?” “What about the bottle on the floor?” I 
answered. “It didn't empty itself, did it?” “Oh that. I just take a 
little ta steady my nerves, that's all that is. Now, how's ‘bout 
help'in me back to the controls.” So, without further hesitation, I 
lifted him up by wrapping my arms under his and plopped him back down 
into the pilot's seat, where he sat for a few moments with a puzzled 
look on his face, observing the control panel as if it were all new and 
bewildering. Wondering what was on his mind, I broke the silence and 
asked him - in so many words - what the problem was... “Is something 
wrong? It's the same control panel you left just a few minutes ago 
isn't it?” “I suppose.” “Then, what's wrong?” “I don't know, I can't 
remember.” “You can't remember what?” “I can't remember why I'm here.” 
“You what! Whadda you mean ‘you can't remember why you're here?' You're 
the pilot! This is your plane. We're your passengers. Of course you 
remember. Don't fool around like that, you're stressing me out. I can't 
take this.” “What's going on?” asked my wife, joining us in the cockpit 
to find out what we were arguing about. “He says he can't remember 
anything.” “He what?” “That's what I said.” “Aphasia,” muttered the 
Captain. “The doctor says I have aphasia.” “Great,” I said. “What the 
hell is that? First he almost kills us on those trees back at the 
airport and now he can't remember who he is. Why is the FAA letting you 
fly, anyway?” “Don't get snippy with me buddy and for your information, 
the doctor wasn't sure what I had.” “And why is that?” I asked 
summarily. “He couldn't remember.” “I don't get it,” asked Mary. “Why 
couldn't he remember?” “He's got Alzheimer's,” replied our pilot. “He 
does the best he can though for a guy with Alzheimer's. That's why I 
keep go'in to him. Ya gotta give'im credit.” “This is insane!” I said. 
“A guy who can't remember going to a doctor who can't remember. 
Couldn't the two of them just forget who they are on their own time? 
Who's gonna fly the plane?” “Better quit gabb'in an grab them controls 
sonny, I don't like the looks a that mountain ahead.” “Whoa! Looks like 
I better take the bull by the horns,” said Vera, who'd been watching 
the cockpit windows from the aisle of the plane and noticed the 
mountain in our path. “Can you fly?” I asked, hoping and praying I'd 
hear her say, yes. “I've been up a few times before with a boyfriend 
who flew, but its been awhile.” “Please do!” exclaimed Mary. “You don't 
have memory lapse's too, do you?” “No,” replied Vera, taking the 
controls in her hands and pulling back on the wheel to point the nose 
up. “My memory's fine, it's just that I never had very many lessons 
and...” “And what?” asked my wife and I in unison. “And I've never 
landed before.” “Oh shit. Now what? Can he help?” I asked, in regard to 
our disadvantaged Captain. “The name's Rolf. Rolf Uppins and I been 
fly'in since you were shit'in yellow turds, so let's have a little 
respect, an gimme them controls.” “I thought you forgot what you were 
doing?” asked Vera, as she slowly released her hands from the flight 
controls. “It comes an goes. I'm okay now. Don't worry ‘bout a thing. I 
got more fly'in time then all yer ages put together. You just go sit 
yerselves down an take it easy. I'll get ya where yer go'in, relax. 
There's just one thing I wanna know...” “What's that?” I asked, feeling 
relieved that we had our pilot back at his controls, functioning as he 
should be. “Could ya just tell me where it is we're go'in? It seems ta 
have slipped my mind.” 

I was never so happy to get out of an airplane, as when we landed that
day in Grand Junction, Colorado. Still a little shaky from our flight, 
I thanked the pilot profusely for sparing our lives and landing the 
plane safely, but he thought little of the whole ordeal, telling me I 
was too high strung to ever become a pilot...” Look at me sonny,” he 
said, holding both hands out in front of himself, watching them shake 
steadily like leaves in the wind. “Nerves a steel.” Anyway, it was nice 
to know he thought so highly of himself and our complaining did little 
to damage his ego, and with a memory like his, I thought he'd more then 
likely forget the whole thing anyway. So after saying good-bye, we 
walked directly to a car rental agency, found something nice with four 
wheels that ran safely on the ground and headed north from Walker Field 
Airport to our destination - the Dinosaur National Monument. 

Finding a hotel wasn't to difficult a problem, but considering our last
stay, we had determined that it would be a good idea to find one that 
wasn't haunted. We were going to need a good, peaceful night's sleep to 
do what we'd planned, so when we arrived in the nearby town of Blue 
Mountain, the first thing we did was to ask the proprietor if there 
were any angry spirits hanging around, fond of waking the guests in the 
middle of the night... “You're kidd'in me, right?” he replied. “Just 
asking,” I said. “Doesn't hurt to make sure. You just never know these 
days...who's haunted an who's not.” “Yeah, sure. Look, you want a room 
or what? It just so happens you're the first person in twenty years 
that's ever asked me anything like that.” “Yes, I do,” I responded. “Of 
course. I want a room.” And after I'd obtained our key - having endured 
what I would call a kind of unnecessary roughness on behalf of our 
clerk - we bedded down and got ready for what was about to become, a 
very long day ahead. Sleeping soundly through the night, we rose, found 
a fast food joint for breakfast, and took off for the fossil park. I 
couldn't agree with Vera on her selection of what to wear that day, 
considering that most people don't hunt for fossils in string bikinis, 
but then that's Vera for you - a woman of good intentions, who doesn't 
mind a few people gawking from time to time. When we arrived, we went 
straight to the main office and acquired a few basic sets of tools used 
for digging in areas set aside for tourists and went about the task of 
looking for those fossils that had so far, eluded me. As far as 
appropriate dress is concerned, Mary looked like a professional 
archaeologist, decked out in a wide brim sunhat to repel glare and 
harmful rays; a surgical mask, as a barrier to airborne dust 
contaminates and dirt - a definite requirement - tall black boots, 
laced to the top for the extra support one might need during a 
strenuous day of digging; and beige dungarees, the likes of which would 
have made Jane Goodall jealous. But as for myself, I wore what I always 
wear at times like this...my old army fatigues, complete with matching 
hat, boots and dark, air force style sunglasses. Dress to meet the 
occasion, I always say and prepare yourself for any possible dangers in 
the field. Even if you don't expect any, it never hurts to be prepared. 
At long last, it seemed, I had finally made it to a place where I could 
explore, as Sir Isaac Newton so aptly put it... “the great ocean of 
truth” which “lay all undiscovered before me.” You can bet, I was ready 
for action at this point, but never so negligent as to begin any 
excavation without first having consulted my trusty buckeye. And so, as 
Mary and Vera took up their respective positions in the park, I removed 
the good luck piece from my pocket and made a wish so sincere in its 
appeal, that Zeus himself, ruler of the gods high on Mt. Olympus, would 
undoubtedly have granted without hesitation. Then, and only then, did I 
choose a spot for myself and begin in earnest, to dig and I didn't stop 
until three hours time had elapsed. But it seemed to me, that on that 
day, the gods - in all their infinite wisdom - had forsaken me, as I 
had nothing to show at the end of that time but much sweat and very 
sore hands. “Hey Vera,” I said dejectedly, approaching her to find out 
what luck, if any, she'd had. “How's it go'in?” “Alright I suppose. 
Found a few things you might be interested in,” she said, as she showed 
me the bounty of her labor which consisted of a wide assortment of 
small bones; ancient shells and fragments of long departed Jurassic 
beasts. “Not bad,” I replied, impressed with some of the more complete 
impressions of sandstone Crinoids - left behind as ancient seas 
retreated - and other bones of small fish that had died and settled to 
the bottom of the same, long forgotten waters. “You're good,” I 
admitted. “Those guys over there staring at you probably feel that way 
too,” I said, pointing to a group of three men who were standing 
around, watching Vera's every move. “Oh, them,” she said. “Who cares. 
Hey, if they got a problem with what I'm wear'in, they can kiss my...” 
“That's about what they'd like to do, Vera. But hey, don't mind me. 
Don't say I didn't warn you.” “I can take care a myself,” she remarked. 
“Don't worry about it. Anyways, whadda you got to show for yourself?” 
“Besides a terrific headache from this blazing sun... nuth'in,” I 
confessed. “Better luck next time,” said Vera, standing erect to 
stretch her shapely legs and torso, which only succeeded in making her 
audience gawk all the more. “Ya think Mary's found anything worth 
talk'in about?” “Who knows. I've just about given up on this place, but 
I guess it doesn't hurt to ask. Why don't you pick up your stuff and 
lets go see,” I replied, bending down to help pack the many fragments 
she'd uncovered, into a backpack we'd brought for the occasion. “Yo, 
Mary!” I exclaimed, as we neared my wife's position on the gently 
sloping hillside she'd settled on. Surrounded by low vegetation and 
some prominent outcroppings of light beige sandstone, she waved, still 
crouched and deeply focused on what she was doing. “Still go'in at it, 
huh?” I asked, as we got within range. “Well sure,” she replied. “Why 
not? Isn't that what we came for?” “I rectum,” I answered, as any 
casual observer might. “I just haven't had much luck here, that's all. 
How ‘bout you? Got anything worth talk'in about?” “Yeah, here... hold 
on,” she answered, picking her backpack up and opening the flap to 
expose several whole, small fish skeletons and some very long, jagged 
teeth, probably belonging to some prehistoric shark who at the present 
time, had no further use for them. “Wow Mare, you're the wiener and 
still champion. I think you did better then Vera. You must have a knack 
for this kinda thing,” I said, as I searched in vain for a smooth, 
flat, outcropping of rock to sit on and rest. Finally, I settled for a 
tiny cliff-like formation that appeared to have been dusted off and 
cleared of rubble, by my inquisitive better half. Taking a seat, I 
couldn't help but notice how uncomfortable my makeshift chair was and 
decided to go back to standing. Something, it seemed, had poked me so 
hard, it'd nearly gone through my pants and as I rose, I turned around 
to find out just what it was that had caused such a rude interruption 
of my reverie. “Damn! That hurt like hell,” I said, rubbing the side of 
my rear end in reaction to the pain. “What the heck did I sit on?” 
“Don't know,” answered Mary. “I started working there, but nothing 
seemed to pan out. All I could find were the teeth I showed you.” 
“Feels like I sat on a spike,” I said. “Did'ja like it?” asked Vera. 
“I've had better dates,” I replied, running my hands over the bumpy 
ridges of rock and finding, what I believed was responsible for the 
stabbing pain I'd felt. “Look here,” I continued. “These ridges you dug 
up... they look like more teeth, don't they? Humor me,” I said. “Help 
me dig up this little area. I got a feel'in Mary found something here.” 
With the three of us focusing our effort on the same spot, it wasn't 
long before we'd found something of interest, but with so much debris 
and rock in the way, it was still difficult to draw any conclusions as 
to exactly, what it was. In time, large depressions - roughly three 
inches in diameter - began to show themselves, but we were still left 
to our own unskilled guesswork to determine what they may, or may not 
have been. “Whaddaya think?” I asked. “Any ideas?” “When I find out,” 
answered Vera. “You'll be the first ta know.” “How ‘bout you Mary? 
Whaddaya think it is? Is it anything at all, or did the rock just 
dissolve in those places, leaving holes behind?” “Do you really wanna 
know what I think?” “Yeah, Mary. Why else would I ask?” “And you're not 
gonna laugh?” “Now why would I laugh? C'mon, tell me. Whaddaya think it 
is?” “Well... I think, what we got here, is nothing less then a big ass 
skull. An I bet,” she added, feeling over some of the more prominent 
ridges with her hand. “That if we dig up here, we'll find two more big 
holes.” “Ya mean eye sockets!” blurted Vera. “Eye sockets?” I mumbled 
out loud. “Then you think these other holes here could be nostrils?” 
“Yep, wouldn't ya say so?” answered Mary. “What else?” “I don't know,” 
I admitted. “I'm a virgin dinosaur hunter, so go easy on me. All this 
is new ta me.” “Don't be afraid,” said Vera. “It won't hurt, just keep 
digging.” And in several hours more time - well into the late afternoon 
- we'd begun to unearth one of the greatest things I could ever have 
imagined finding... the enormous skull of what appeared to be the 
terrible thunder lizard... Tyrannosaurus Rex! (Of course, it could have 
been a cousin like Giganotosaurus or another distant relative like 
Carcharodontosaurus but then, when faced with important scientific 
decisions like this to make, amateur paleontologists like myself tend 
to settle on the best categoric description they can muster at the 
time. It just so happens, my first guess was correct and in fact, we 
had found, a Tyrannosaurus Rex.) Before leaving the park at sundown 
late that afternoon, we stopped off at the main headquarters to tell 
them what we'd found, and all this talk about discovering a new 
important fossilized skull created quite an uproar. Although we 
believed we'd found only the head, closer observation revealed much 
more. In fact, the next day's dig revealed the entire fossilized 
skeleton of a fully-grown, sixteen-foot tall, forty-foot long specimen, 
the likes of which the park administration had never seen. 
Photographers from nationwide newspapers and magazines soon flooded the 
park, asking to take pictures of the newly exposed dinosaur frame, but 
their interest and curiosity didn't end there. They were just as much 
interested in the one who'd found the remains as they were the dinosaur 
itself and since we'd first given credit to Mary for initially clearing 
the area of rock and debris, I thought it only fitting to say that she 
was the one solely responsible for finding it. And so for hours, Vera 
and I sat and watched as an endless sea of media crowded around my 
wife, asking questions, taking pictures and requesting her, above all, 
to pose silent and smiling, next to her discovery. It wasn't long 
before the newspapers began calling the huge cluster of bones by my own 
dear wife's first name and soon, everyone was calling this ancient 
fallen beast, Mary, on her behalf. I suppose that alone would have been 
enough to give some of us a big head, but it seems to me that some 
people are just prone to excessive pride while others are not. To quote 
the great Isaac Newton once more, when he said, “I do not know what 
others may think of me, but to myself I seem to have been only like a 
boy playing on the seashore, and diverting myself in now and then, 
finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the 
great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.” That, in itself 
seems a good lesson in modesty to learn, considering all that he did 
for science and math, while still, he wished to remain humble to the 
public and his peers. My point is, that Mary remained herself 
throughout the entire ordeal and when her picture appeared in many of 
the nations important newspapers, all she really wanted to know was, 
“what's for dinner?” I suppose what I really mean to say is, that some 
people never do change, even though they may grow and get wiser, or 
find something really significant. You might even expect them to 
change, but Mary just stayed Mary. No better, and no worse for what 
she'd done. Back at our hotel room, I suddenly recalled the fortune 
cookies we'd opened at the restaurant; Wun Hung Low's when we arrived 
in Kansas City. Mary had opened the one that read; Exercise caution, 
the past will reveal itself to you! And little did we know at the time, 
what an incredible portent that proved to be. “Remember your fortune 
Mary?” I asked, as we packed our bags and got ready to leave. “What 
fortune?” “You know, the cookies we opened in KC, remember? Yours said 
the past would reveal itself and it really did. It musta been talking 
about the T-rex.” “Gee, I didn't think a that,” mused Vera. “I guess it 
didn't dawn on me because the cookie I got was just a big pain in the 
ass, remember? Your underwear is up your crack! Now what kinda thing is 
that ta tell someone, I ask you?” “But it was true, wasn't it?” I said. 
“It's spooky when you think about it. Mary's fortune really came to 
pass. You know, I never had any kind of luck before someone gave me 
this buckeye,” I added, removing it from my pocket to show the girls. 
“I really think that this is what's responsible for everything that's 
happened to us.” “What about Wild Bill's ghost?” asked Mary. “What was 
so great about that? He damn near took ten years off my life!” “I dunno 
exactly,” I admitted. “I just feel some kinda connection ta things with 
this in my pocket. I'm thinking it just lets events happen that 
normally would never have happened.” “Like a genie in a bottle?” said 
Vera. “I guess you could say that, but this thing never stopped at just 
three wishes. I'm thinking it was the luck behind this buckeye that 
made me rich. It totally changed my life.” “You mean, Berserky Jerky?” 
asked Mary. “Yes! And winning the lotto too. All of it. Hell,” I 
continued. “I never had any business sense and now look at me... I 
could buy my own island.” “It rubbed off on Nova too,” said Mary. “You 
know what I'm thinking?” “What's that,” I asked. “All this makes me 
feel like you're not so bad after all. Like maybe after all the bad 
luck you had, you were destined to find some good, because...” “Because 
what?” “Because it was just your turn to have some good things happen 
to you and someone, or something, believes you're worthy enough. That's 
one way of explaining it anyway.” “So... does it ever come to an end?” 
I asked both Mary and Vera, worried now that I'd be left on my own to 
flounder as before, wandering around the streets of Springfield with my 
last two dollars in my pocket. “Who knows?” replied Mary. “Do you 
really wanna know though? That's kinda like knowing when your life will 
come to an end, isn't it? Why don'tcha just relax an treat this like a 
train ride. Take it to the end of the line and find out where it goes. 
Don't worry about it, you'll find out when you get there.” “You always 
did have a way of reducing things to their simplest forms,” I answered. 
“What about all the hidden meanings here and the strange forces at 
work? Doesn't all that intrigue you?” “Sure, but why bother over 
analyzing it or worrying about it? Whatever happens, happens. Remember 
what that girl in the movie; The Wild One said to Marlon Brando?” “That 
was the one about the motorcycle gang that takes over a town. What?” I 
asked, readying myself for my wife's own, grand finale. “What did she 
say? Tell me.” “She asked him; What do you do when you get on your 
motorcycle? Where do you go? And his answer was; Don't be square. You 
gotta wail. You just go.” 

Chapter 11 

It was about this time I suppose, soon after we got back from our trip,
that I commissioned a local artist I met in Eureka Springs, Arkansas, 
to paint a self portrait of me. I knew of other wealthy people around 
town who'd done similar things, so I figured why not? And at the risk 
of seeming pompous or conceited to visitors, I placed the cheerful 
looking masterpiece on my office wall next to the Coelacanth we'd 
brought back from Moroni. Then one day, as I sat at my desk, watching 
my stock shares in Berserky Jerky rise in value for the umpteenth time, 
I chanced to look out my window to find Vera, sunning herself on the 
deck as usual, complete with the vodka gimlet in hand which so often 
accompanied her. It was then I think, that I began to wonder what it 
would be like to stay young forever. Not just young though, but young 
and happy. To be young at heart is great but then, what about the old 
hairy body I'll be forced to drag around with me everywhere I go? What 
about that? I wondered. Is there any way out? I thought, as I fixed my 
gaze on the image of myself which hung on the wall before me. Hardly, I 
reasoned, but at the same time, I found myself inadvertently rubbing 
the top of the buckeye in my pocket, as I toyed with the idea of 
remaining young and high-spirited forever. After a week or so of 
swimming around in the pool and trying to walk off some of the extra 
pounds I'd been packing on out of sheer laziness and fine food, I got 
the idea in my head that it would be fun to throw a party for our 
friends and neighbors and not to have to worry about how much we spent 
for a change. In the recent past, any extra expense was always of 
grievous importance but lately, since our finances had changed so 
drastically, I thought it would be fun to utilize this new found 
financial freedom and spread around some good cheer. In the meantime, I 
could think of no other better way to spread good cheer around my own 
place than to buy myself a present, so I did and a sizeable present it 
was, too. We should remember though, the wise words of the notable 
architect, Daniel Burnham who once said, “Make no small plans; they 
have no magic to stir men's blood and probably themselves will not be 
realized.” So I followed his advice and purchased a yacht - the likes 
of which had never been seen in the Ozark region -at the risk of being 
slated as ostentatious by some, if not all of my neighbors and friends 
in the area. Delivery of this new and expensive toy was set for the day 
before our party and when it arrived, even I was in awe of its 
enormity, glamour and appeal. Parked in the yard behind the pool, I can 
best describe it as a totally separate entity, but a most attractive 
one. Something like the Taj Mahal or the Space Shuttle; things built by 
man which stand out from their surroundings because they were meant to 
and because they are unique. That's the way this new ship appeared to 
me, and so because it made such a dramatic impression on those who came 
into contact with it, I christened it; Ralph, after my accountant, who 
I believed was at least partially responsible for making it all 
possible. Climbing the ship's ladder; Mary, Vera and myself were 
anxious to get on board and witness for ourselves what this impeccable, 
maritime luxury cruiser had to offer. With enough room to sleep six 
people, its rich dark wood wall paneling, plush carpeting and lush 
furnishings all gave one the impression that we had never left home, 
and indeed, in some ways it was even better than home. The bathroom, 
for instance, was built for a king and on a cold day, you could turn up 
the heat and never have to deal with the harsh outside air. Marble 
walls, and black slate floors embellished the space, accented with gold 
door handles and lavish plumbing fixtures, which all combined to make 
me feel as though I never wanted to leave. “I'll just sleep here,” I 
said to Mary, as I watched her and Vera walk along inside the vessel, 
touching the smooth surfaces of the walls and furnishings with their 
hands the way a person might get to know their lover in the dark. “In 
the bathroom?” asked Vera. “Sure, I'll just deck out in the tub with a 
blanket and a pillow.” “Not tonight,” replied Mary. “We've gotta get 
costumes for the party tomorrow night. It's a masquerade party isn't 
it?” “Ahhh... the whole thing's a masquerade if you ask me,” I said, 
feeling just a bit out of step with some of the wealthy older families 
that were going to be there the next evening. “Yeah, but you don't have 
ta be yourself tomorrow,” said Vera. “You can be anyone you wanna be. 
Best of all, you don't even have to act yourself. It's like being 
buzzed without actually getting high, you get me?” “I think so,” I 
answered, not wanting to appear thick headed for a lack of 
understanding. “You mean I can barf on someone's shoe an not have'ta 
get all apologetic an upset over it?” “Yeah, I guess you could say 
that,” replied Vera, and doing her best to keep from being rude - a 
task in itself for Vera - she turned away with a slightly worried look 
on her face, scratching her head, caught up in a rare moment in which 
other more important things seemed to occupy her mind other than 
berating me, as was usually her way. 

It's funny how some of your true personality can show through the
superficial concealment of a costume, even when you're trying hard to 
maintain anonymity behind your mask. Mary looked so natural in the Jane 
Goodall uniform she wore at the dinosaur park that she decided to put 
it on again for the party. The only thing different about what she had 
on this time, was a change in hats... from the wide brim sun hat she 
wore when she found Mary, her T-rex counterpart, to a safari hat, which 
I believed to be the better choice, considering how well it went with 
the beige shirt and matching shorts she wore. After seeing her dressed 
in it, the three of us decided it would be a good idea to walk around 
in our costumes and get used to them, avoiding some of the awkward 
feelings that sometimes accompany a fully grown adult who parades 
around in a Halloween-like atmosphere. Vera - as brazen as she was - 
felt most comfortable in her string bikini, so that's exactly what she 
wore. Just to add a bit of charm and dignity to this ensemble, she 
bought a shiny, glamorous gold mask which went very well with the six 
inch, gold, spiked high heels she put on and when she announced, “Look 
at me! I'm going as a stripper!” I replied by saying, “I never would've 
known.” As for myself, I had decided to attend the party dressed as a 
pig and when Mary and Vera both asked me why, all I could really 
respond with was a simple, “I don't know. I just feel like dressing up 
like a pig. You think people will think it's funny?” “I reckon,” 
answered my wife, but you better run if someone thinks of barbecuing. 
“Don't worry ‘bout me,” I said. “Vera's the hot dish I'm worried about. 
What if one a the neighbors gets fresh? What then? She's practically 
naked.” “Imma big girl now an I can take care a myself,” responded 
Vera. “So lay off or I'll smoke your ears an give ‘em to the neighbors 
dog.” “My, my,” I replied. “Touchy, aren't we?” 

Later that night - as the party was set to begin - I decided to play
doorman, mainly to find out what kind of reactions my costume would 
get. I have to admit, there were some pretty strange costumes, but mine 
was definitely one of the strangest. It didn't always get laughs, but 
there was a certain shock value to it and in general, responses ranged 
from, “Oh my God! Where did you get that?” To... “You finally found 
yourself, old boy!” So if wild reactions were what I was looking for, I 
suppose I succeeded, but there was another more involved reason that I 
had for wearing the costume, a reason that even I couldn't quite put my 
finger on. A reason that lingered in the back of my mind like 
somebody's dinner that wasn't quite ready to eat yet. Although it 
steadily cooked, it was still anyone's guess as to what exactly was in 
the pot. Oh well, I thought to myself, as I opened the door for our 
guests. Whatever it is that's bugging me will surface sooner or later. 
It's probably no big deal anyway. And so, after I determined to stifle 
any remaining deep thoughts with the proper amounts of alcohol, I found 
it much easier to forget any and all of those things that might even be 
loosely described as a problem, and started to really enjoy myself. I 
ran around the house, inside and out, showing off my new yacht and 
reveled in the superficial humor behind my costume. After all, it did 
get some laughs and to a party animal like myself, that was the whole 
point... or was it? As the party livened up, a few of the ladies took 
liberties with me and either honked my snout, yanked on my curly tail 
or played with my ears, but I thought that was only to be expected and 
besides, I really didn't mind. In fact, I was enjoying the attention I 
was getting when I realized I had lost track of both Mary and Vera. 
Walking with my scotch in hand, on my way to the kitchen, I passed some 
of the more notable costumes that were present that evening. Along the 
way, I met a most voluptuous devil, who was a lady who would have 
looked good no matter what she wore, or didn't wear; another lady 
dressed as Cinderella; the Wookie from Star Wars; the carnivorous plant 
from the movie, Little Shop Of Horrors and the list goes on... but in 
the condition I was in, I'm lucky to have remembered as much as I have. 
When I finally did get to the kitchen, I found my wife engaged in a 
lively conversation concerning her last paleontological dig with the 
robot, C3PO and a nineteen-twenties version gangster, complete with 
pinstripe suit, spats and Thompson sub-machine gun. “I can't believe 
you found a T-rex!” I overheard the robot say from a short distance 
away. “Well... my husband helped,” replied my wife. “You might say 
he... came through in a pinch.” “How in the world did he know it was 
there?” inquired the gangster, interested in how we'd come across such 
a discovery in the first place. “It's funny,” said Mary. “You see, when 
he came over to where I was digging, he sat down on this ledge that I'd 
cleared off and when he did, he got a tooth right in the...” “Hey, 
Mary!” I shouted from the threshold of the kitchen door, just as she 
was about to relate the most embarrassing part of the story - 
embarrassing for me, anyway. “How ya do'in?” I asked, unintentionally 
letting my Chicago dialect show through. “I lost track of you somewhere 
between this scotch and my last Cosmo-politan. What's go'in on?” “Oh 
nothing,” she answered with a smile. “I was just talking about how we 
discovered Mary and how we both kind of shared in finding it.” “Sounds 
like a real pain in the rump, don't it porky!” quipped the gangster, 
suddenly and without warning. “Yeah,” added C3PO. “You are what you eat 
buddy! Haw, haw, haw...” he continued, laughing hysterically while 
bending stiffly at the waist, barely moving his thin robotic arms as 
the real robot might have done. “Well Mary,” I said to my charming 
wife, trying to ignore the grilling I'd just received. “I just wanted 
to know how you were doing. I guess three's a party an I'm just a nosey 
piggy.” “Oh, they're just having fun,” answered my wife. “Why don't you 
show everyone your new boat? You're not tired of it already, are you?” 
“No, I'm not tired of it,” I replied. “That's a good idea. I'll go back 
to the boat an hang out. Who knows,” I added. “I may find someone who 
appreciates me more for who I am, rather than what I represent.” And 
off I went, walking aimlessly around the house, until I remembered that 
I still didn't know where Vera was, and mainly out of curiosity mixed 
with a pinch of jealousy, I continued my search. After I couldn't find 
Vera in the house, I went outside to the pool area to have a look for 
her, but there was still no sign of her anywhere. At last, I got the 
idea that she might be on the boat, since that was the only place left 
that I hadn't looked for her and I climbed the ships ladder to see what 
I could see. When I boarded Ralph, I could hear voices coming from 
below deck but I couldn't see anything, as all the lights had been 
turned off, so I turned them back on as I went and followed a trail of 
hastily removed clothing until I found the source of the matter. There 
in the master suite, wrapped around each other like two sex-crazed 
snakes was Vera and someone else I'd never seen before. Slightly 
startled by the bright ceiling light I'd switched on, but nowhere near 
enough to have caused them to stop what they were doing, I sat down in 
a nearby chair - probably driven out of jealousy - and calmly took a 
sip from the drink I'd been holding. Looking up from his topside 
position, momentarily taking notice of me, Vera's new found friend 
suddenly spoke and gave me what little he could spare of his mind - or 
a piece, as they say... “Get lost piggy,” he muttered, and swiftly 
resumed fondling and kissing my shameless maid. “Whadda you mean, ‘get 
lost piggy'? You're on my boat, in my bedroom, on my bed, with my maid, 
and you're telling me to get lost? Somehow, I don't see the logic in 
that.” But in the heat of passion, my unwelcome guest proved reluctant 
to observe my reasoning and once more, tried to drive me out of my own 
room. “You still don't get it, do ya porkchop? Can't ya see, we're 
busy?” I have to say, all that these last insistent remarks had done 
was make me even angrier and I had reached the limit of my patients 
necessary to seek restitution. It was then that I decided it was time 
to break out the big guns... figuratively speaking of course and 
replied by asking. “How would you like ta be escorted out of here by 
two of the meanest bastards you ever met, an tossed out into the street 
the same way you came into this world... naked an stupid? I could 
arrange that for you if you like. Believe me, it's no problem.” Getting 
up from the bed, Vera's unrepentant boyfriend finally began to gather 
his clothes by following the trail they'd made in reverse and without 
further sarcasm, left the premises and was never heard from again - as 
far as I know, anyway. But Vera, more than a little frustrated at 
having been interrupted in the middle of one her favorite natural 
pastimes, proved to be another problem to me of a type I hadn't 
anticipated... “Do you always barge in on people like that? Couldn't 
you at least knock? Don't I have any privacy here?” “I, I... I don't 
know what to say, Vera,” I stammered, caught off guard by Vera's sudden 
argument. “I was just looking for you. Just making sure you were all 
right. Then I found this trail of clothes on the boat and ended up 
following them. One thing just led to another, I swear, I didn't plan 
this out. I didn't know this would happen, really.” “Yeah sure,” she 
continued, while fastening the tiny top of her swimsuit around her 
large, natural breasts, stuffing them into their respective, confining 
spaces and exhaling with relief at having successfully contained them. 
“I'll never see him again,” she muttered. “Thanks ta you.” “Did you 
really want to?” I asked her. “I mean, considering his demeanor, I 
think you could do better. He didn't seem to be very nice.” “I wasn't 
gonna marry the bum,” she replied. “Oh, c'mon. Let's get back ta the 
party. All's well that ends well, right?” “No hard feelings then?” I 
said, in an effort to maintain our friendship. “Yeah, sure,” she said. 
“Lets get back ta the party. We're miss'in it stand'in here gabbing.” 
And when we got back to the house, we spent the rest of the evening 
trying to guess who the real people were behind their masks, conferring 
with each other from time to time as to who's guess was the better; 
swimming in the moonlit pool - as Vera was already conveniently dressed 
for it - and swimming in alcohol, of all types and mixes, which made 
the party all that much more memorable, or difficult to remember, I 
can't remember which. 

One thing I do remember, is that while sitting in my study the morning
after the party, I glanced up at my self-portrait just to have a look 
at it as I sometimes do, and the strangest, most eerie thing occurred. 
Looking away in disbelief, I thought that surely what I'm witnessing 
must be a visual hallucination brought on by insufficient sleep and all 
the alcohol I'd consumed the night before. So I walked to the kitchen, 
made myself a very strong cup of coffee, stretched to get my blood 
circulating and came back to my desk, only to find that what I'd 
thought I imagined previously, wasn't illusory at all, but real. 
Walking to my painting, I lifted it up and off it's hook to get a 
closer look. Bringing it to the window, I let the natural light of the 
sun illuminate the portrait as if to add a visual and literal clarity 
to the subject, but as the bright rays of light poured down into the 
colors and carefully delineated lines of the painting, they only served 
to show more clearly what I feared had come true... that the painting 
had actually changed from what the artist had originally created. But 
how could this be? I wondered. Paintings don't change by themselves, 
yet this one had, and to make matters worse, it'd changed in the most 
embarrassing ways. All that I was left to think, was that someone who'd 
attended the party had played some nasty joke on me and altered the 
portrait, but who? And if so, when? As I was present in the house for 
most of the party, I couldn't imagine how anyone, even an expert, could 
have made these additions - as unflattering as they were, or in any 
case - in such a brief time frame. Then what was I left to think? That 
the painting had altered itself? And again, I was forced by simple 
deduction to draw the same conclusion as I had before. But how so? How 
could this be possible? My thoughts ran in circles and I sat back down 
in my desk chair, as if to gain a new, different perspective on the 
matter. Finally, I resolved to put the painting in the attic, until I 
could think of something better to do with it. The way it looked now, I 
didn't want to let Mary and Vera see it, or anyone else for that 
matter. So when I brought it to the attic, I placed an old sheet over 
it and stuffed it away in a far corner facing the wall, where I could 
be sure, no one would see it. And just to make doubly sure, I locked 
the door behind me and put the key safely out of sight in my desk 
drawer, where I could be that much more confident, that no one would 
ever find it. 

Determined to at least try to get the problem of my unusual painting off
my mind, I decided that what I needed to do was to buy myself a 
present. But then I thought, why stop at just one gift to myself, when 
two such expensive toys might have twice the power of anti-anxiety over 
me. So I immediately thought of calling my accountant to ask him if he 
knew where I could go to buy what I had in mind. Picking up the phone, 
I eagerly typed out the numbers for Ralph's toll free hotline. An easy 
to remember; 1-800-BIG-MONY. After a few rings, Ralph's secretary 
picked up and answered... “Good afternoon, Ralph Uppins accounting. How 
may I help you?” “Hi Ima, it's Reid. How're you do'in? Long time no 
see.” “Oh, hello Mr. Laurence. Good to hear from you. How was your 
vacation? I saw Mary in the paper! You must be very proud of her.” “Oh 
yeah, I am,” I said. “She's always been the one to find stuff like 
that. Anything from little fossils an cool pieces of quartz to 
dinosaurs. You name it, she's found it. You know, once we took a walk 
an she found an old tin cup dating from the civil war. Who knows what 
she'll find next? Maybe a new husband.” “Not if she has to dig him up, 
Mr. Laurence!” “Touché Miss Willing. Ya got me there. Hey, is Ralph 
around? I need ta ask ‘im a quick question.” “Hold on, I'll get ‘im for 
you,” she replied. And sitting there at my desk with my cell phone to 
my ear, I listened to the radio station that Ralph used to fill time 
gaps for clients who called in and ended up waiting. Just then, the 
radio disc jockey started talking about the most expensive restaurant 
that Springfield Missouri had to offer... the extremely well known; 
Chez What. I have to say, he made the place sound so good, I thought 
I'd surprise Mary and Vera and take them there that night. What the 
heck, it didn't matter to me what I spent anyway, and to me, going to a 
French restaurant is like being on a diet; the portions are so tiny. So 
how could I gain more weight from it? I'd probably lose a couple 
pounds. But just as I was thinking of what to order, Ralph got on the 
phone and interrupted my reverie... “Hey buddy, ya caught me at lunch,” 
he said, munching on something in my ear as he spoke. “What kin I do 
for ya? You'll have'ta talk fast, my steak's gett'in cold. Damn!” I 
heard him say, suddenly disgusted with something. “Excuse me Reid, 
could'ya hold on a second...” Then I heard him put the phone down hard 
on his desk, as he started yelling for Miss Willing to come in. “Ima! 
My potato's cold, could'ya warm it up a bit?” “Right away Mr. Uppins,” 
she answered. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” “Yes,” he 
replied. “We'll talk about that later. By the way, has my wife called?” 
“She did, but I told her you were busy. That's what you wanted me to 
say, wasn't it?” “You got it,” he said in reply to her. “Sorry about 
that interruption Reid,” he continued, as he returned his attention to 
me. “I hate cold food don't you? Anyway, what can I do you for?” “Well, 
it's like this Ralph,” I began. “I'm gett'in tired a the same old car I 
been driv'in, an I was thinking about buying something just a little 
more special. That's why I came to you, I thought you might know what's 
go'in on in the car business.” “Just what did'ja have in mind?” 
answered Ralph, suddenly gaining interest in a conversation that 
included cars, as the absence of any loud chewing noise was a dead 
giveaway. “Oh... I don't know. Something expensive.” “Like?” “Well, I 
don't know exactly Ralph, that's why I called.” “Sounds kinda vague 
Reid, but as far as I know, the priciest car you can get in Springfield 
right now is probably... a Mercedes-Benz. Does that ring your bell?” 
“Tell you the truth, Ralph. I was looking for some-thing in a little 
higher price range. Is there anything like that around here?” “Not in 
this town, buddy. You'd have'ta special order it. You're talk'in big 
money. You mind my ask'in how much you're fix'in ta spend?” “Sky's the 
limit Ralph. You're only on this earth for a short while. I'm just 
look'in to make myself happy, you know? Some odd things have been going 
on lately.” “Well, if that's the way you feel about it, why don'cha buy 
a Saleen. It'll set ya back some though.” “How much?” “More than half a 
mil. I hear it's a rocket on wheels too. Damn thing's got 600 horses 
under the hood. You better be careful in it, or it'll get away from 
you. Still want it?” “Yeah Ralph, I do. Can you order one up in silver 
for me?” “Sure thing, if I get ta drive it when it arrives!” “That's 
fine,” I replied. “I'll drive it over to your office when it gets here. 
You know my address right?” “Yep, unless ya went an bought a new house 
on me! Later buddy,” he added, with a touch of urgency in his voice. 
“Gotta run now. I'm meet'in some fella's for lunch.” “But I thought you 
just ate?” I asked. “Oh that was nuth'in. Just an appetizer. Catch ya 
later.” But when Ralph hung up, I couldn't help but to continue 
thinking over what he said about his steak being ‘just an appetizer'. 
Wow, I thought. He sure can pack it away. Sounds a little piggish to me 
but then, who am I to judge? After all, I had just finished putting an 
order in for the most expensive new car in the world... the Saleen S7. 
More expensive than the Porsche Carrera GT, or even the grandiose 
Mercedes-Benz SLR Mclaren. 

It wasn't difficult for me to talk my wife and employee into going out
to dinner. In fact, I can't imagine anyone who wouldn't want to go, 
since it beats slaving over a hot stove by a long shot and anyway, we 
were steadily running out of canned convenience foods for Vera to open 
up, so I figured the idea had occurred to me at a very good time, 
considering the alternative. Everything about the Chez What was fancy 
and pricey. From the moment we pulled up, we were surrounded by people 
whose job it was to make us feel special. All I had to do was pull up 
to the door and let the valet whisk my car away to a waiting space in 
the lot. From there, we were ushered to a pleasant corner table in the 
dimly lit eatery, where the ambience was perfect for the quiet dining 
experience one was led to believe awaited them. Seated there, 
captivated by the attention we were given, we hadn't long to wait 
before a neatly dressed waiter arrived at our table to give us menus 
and ask us if we'd prefer a drink before dinner. “Sure thing,” I 
answered and automatically, I ordered a scotch on the rocks, but not 
just any scotch. It had to be the best the restaurant had to offer. 
Turning to my wife, I asked her if she'd like some wine with her 
dinner, which was kind of like asking Jethro from the Beverly 
Hillbilly's if he'd like another serving of granny's dee-luxe ‘Possum 
Pie. “Ohhh, of course,” she cooed and without hesitation, I calmly 
asked the waiter to see the wine list, but almost as quickly as I'd 
asked, I retracted my decision, thinking instead to make the order as 
plain and simple as possible, while at once, letting it be known that 
the money we were spending was truly, of no consequence. “Just bring us 
the most expensive red wine in the place. We'll take a bottle, please.” 
“But sir,” replied our waiter. “I think it only wise of me to inform 
you that the cost of the bottle may be somewhat... prohibitive.” “Oh 
really,” I remarked. “Just how much are we talk'in?” “Our best Cabernet 
Sauvignon is a nineteen-seventy Chateau Lafite Rothchild, direct from 
the vineyards of Southern France and sells for six-hundred dollars a 
bottle.” “Hmm,” I muttered, and after a few seconds of pause, I said, 
“tell you what. Why don'tcha bring us two, ‘cause who knows, one might 
not be enough. And here,” I added. “Let this serve as an example of my 
good intentions,” and handed him a neatly folded fifty dollar bill 
because after all, I couldn't have him thinking we were just common 
riffraff, who intended to look for a back door to the place and run out 
on their bill. “Very good sir,” he replied, and went off to the cellar 
of the restaurant to search for the bottles of our choice. 

While the waiter was gone, we opened up our menus to get a feel for what
the place had to offer. They had just about everything that you could 
imagine, but being the creature of habit that I was, I decided to order 
something that looked familiar to me and settled on the smoked salmon. 
“It outta taste like lox an bagels, right Mary?” I said. “You think I 
can get some cream cheese with it?” “I have no idea,” she replied. “You 
know, I bet you could get a Brie that you could use as a spread. That 
should do it.” “Okay, so that's it for me,” I answered. “What're you 
gonna have Vera? The menu's huge, ain't it?” “Oh, I think I'll go with 
a cheeseburger, fries, an a coke.” “That's it?” I said in amazement. 
“We come all the way out here to the Chez What, the fanciest place in 
southwest Missouri, an you're gonna order a burger an fries? Are you 
kidd'in me?” But just as Mary was about to admonish me, or tell me to 
mind my own business - whichever came to mind first I suppose - the 
waiter arrived back at our table with the wine that we'd ordered, 
popped open one of the bottles and poured out a sample from the dust 
covered relic. Offering it to me, I couldn't help but remark that the 
bottle looked so old, it could've passed for something my wife might've 
dug up on one of her fossil hunts, but I'd finally reached the limit of 
Mary's patients and she responded with a sharp, well placed pinch to my 
right thigh. “Ouch!” I remarked unsurprisingly. “What'ja do that for?” 
“Mind yer manners buster,” she said softly. “This isn't a place to 
appear uncouth.” “Okay, okay,” I said and after nodding my head in 
accordance, accompanied by a smile to the waiter to show that the wine 
was indeed, well beyond my expectations, I held up my glass and 
proposed a toast. “To Mary and Vera,” I said, as we clinked each of our 
lead crystal glasses together,” and to the new car I just bought.” “The 
what?” asked Mary. “What' did you say? Did you buy a car?” “Yeah, I 
guess I did Mary. I wanted it to be a surprise, but I opened up my big 
mouth anyway, didn't I,” I said, gulping down the contents of the 
glass. “Damn nice one too. You'll love it.” “What kind of car?” asked 
Vera. “Those new fuel saving cars are cool. They run on practically 
nothing.” “Well, this isn't exactly a fuel saving type of car. It's a 
Saleen S7!” I said. “Isn't that exciting!” “I wet my pants,” replied 
Mary, facetiously. “Some-thing tells me it doesn't sound like something 
we can take on vacation.” “Oh, you'll love it, I'm sure Mary.” 
“Saleen?” Questioned Vera. “Sounds like a kinda boob job ta me.” But as 
the interest in my new car began to wane and thoughts again drifted to 
visions of burgers and lox, Vera and I - largely out of curiosity - 
began questioning my wife to find out what it was she had in mind to 
order. “Oh, I think I'll start off with the Tomates farcies a la 
languedocienne and move on to the Sucettes de Volaille and finish up 
with the Bavarois au Cassis et aux Framboises. That's all, nothing 
special really.” “Huh?” I muttered. “What?” “Go for it,” replied Vera. 
“Here's to good friends,” she added, raising her glass in appreciation 
of our company. 

Chapter 12 

Dinner was very good and I might add, I recommend the place highly to
anyone visiting Springfield. The only thing that caused concern in my 
mind, was the weird portrait I'd stashed away in our attic and how it'd 
appeared to change in such a strange way. So when we got home from 
dinner that night, I left Mary and Vera alone in our home entertainment 
room watching the movie Rocky XV - complete with tortilla chips, salsa 
and freshly made popcorn - found the flashlight and attic key I kept in 
my desk and walked carefully up the steps to the attic, like a ghost 
hunter in the dark. Wondering what to expect, I removed the door key 
from my pocket and slowly turned it in the lock until the soft click of 
the mechanism rang out in my imagination with all the resounding force 
of a gong. Walking through the threshold of the door, I trained my 
flashlight on a path before my feet and made my way to the dark corner 
of the attic where my self-portrait sat, covered by a sheet, facing the 
wall. Do I really need to know? I thought, as I got nearer. I could 
just leave it the way it is, covered and turned to the wall. In time, 
I'd forget it was there and simply go on with my life, frivolously 
spending my time and money in ways that I believed made me a happier, 
more content person because, when I thought about it, I deserved it. 
Before I won the lottery, I didn't have a pocket to piss in, but 
afterward, I had pockets galore. In fact, if I were to continue in that 
vein, I'd be soaked through with pee, but that is only a mere 
technicality, and a metaphor at that, I think. My curiosity growing and 
getting the better of me, I pulled the artwork from its corner location 
and slowly removed the white sheet that concealed it. Then, as I shined 
the flashlight directly on it, I realized once again that my worst 
fears had come to pass and that the painting - although locked away, 
covered and hidden in the dark - had changed once more. Clearly, what 
were once plainly my ears in the portrait, had by some peculiar 
metamorphosis, changed to something that more so resembled... how best 
do I explain this atrocity? This abomination to man and to God... but 
the ears of some beast. Yes, beast. Not human at all, but the ears of 
some animal, I knew not what. But that wasn't all by a long shot. The 
nose in the portrait and even my facial bone structure had changed so 
dramatically, that it was becoming difficult to tell that the painting 
had ever been a portrait of myself at all! Gathering the sheet in my 
shaking hand, I covered the painting and turned it to face the wall as 
I'd found it and doing my best to bury its memory in my mind, I left 
the attic and locked the door behind me, vowing to keep this awful 
event in my life a secret for as long as I was able. No one would 
believe me anyway, I thought. Mary would say that I must've changed it 
myself, and that this was just some strange prank of mine, but I knew 
better. Only I knew the frightening truth, and I also knew that I must 
keep this secret to myself, for as long as I possibly could, or people 
might think me insane. 

The next day, I awoke and walked to the nearest mirror to assure myself
that in reality, my physical appearance hadn't changed and as I stared 
into my reflection and ran the fingers of my right hand over my 
bristly, morning beard, I relaxed at the sight of my own true self. A 
self, or identity that I'd been familiar with for a very long time, and 
a self that I'd learned to come to grips with through the years. What 
was this monstrosity in the attic above? I asked myself, standing 
before the mirror. A little known impostor? A figment of my 
imagination? A reflection of a troubled mind? But what problem or 
problems had I? Were there things that even I didn't understand about 
myself which haunted me, making me mistake a thing which could not have 
been real for something that was? Only time would tell, I thought. But 
for now, I had only enough time to try to make myself happy. To make 
myself forget and to cheer myself up beyond reproach. Whether this 
misfortune be self-imposed, or a violation by some paranormal source, 
whatever the case may be, I felt I had only one life to live, so I 
decided then and there to get on with it. I had an idea in mind. An 
idea that might cause a stir with the neighbors, but nevertheless, one 
that I felt I had to pursue and I got on the phone with a sculptor from 
Kansas City. What I wanted to do, was to place statuary around my pool, 
but no ordinary sculpture would do. I wanted to make my house the envy 
of all, and to do that, I borrowed ideas from none other then the 
ancient Roman emperor; Hadrian. I commissioned a sculptor by the name 
of Frank Nero to design seven statues, representing each of the seven 
major gods and goddesses of old Rome and whether or not they were 
depicted with clothes on, or partially clothed, or completely naked was 
of no concern to me. My whole point was to make myself as comfortable 
as I possibly could and if borrowing from the past proved a vehicle to 
this, than so be it. If my neighbors thought it odd or ostentatious of 
me, then that was something I'd come to grips with at the proper time. 
For now, I thought, Zeus - or Jupiter as the Romans called him - would 
help me rule over my palace (as it was fast becoming), and all of those 
people who didn't like what I was doing just didn't matter worth a darn 
because, as I sincerely thought, Reid Laurence had more important 
matters to think about. More urgent dinner engagements, and more lavish 
presents to buy! 

When Mr. Nero came out to look at my pool, he wasn't entirely impressed.
I still hadn't moved The Ralph, my boat, to its proper mooring at Table 
Rock Lake and even I knew that it was sticking out like a sore thumb. 
“That thing out there...” he said to me, groping for words and in his 
own strange way, trying not to offend me. “You mean, my boat? Isn't it 
great! Imported wood paneling, beautiful furniture, the works.” “Yes, 
that thing,” he answered, pointing to one of the most expensive yachts 
that anyone had ever laid eyes on in the Ozark region. “It won't be 
staying, will it? I mean...it's not a permanent lawn fixture, is it?” 
“Oh, no,” I answered reassuringly. “That boat's go'in ta Table Rock 
Lake just as soon as I get around to it.” “Well, if you ask me,” 
replied Mr. Nero. “The sooner, the better. I can hardly imagine what 
the pool area will look like with that thing looming there like a 
giant...” “A giant what?” I asked naively. “Penis,” he remarked. “It 
looks like a giant penis. I was trying not to offend you, but my 
patience is wearing very thin. I need room to work to get a better idea 
of what my design will look like in its finished form and I can't work 
around obstructions.” “That's fine. Frank,” I answered. “Can I call you 
Frank? Is that okay?” “Yes, you may.” “Don't worry about the boat. If 
it bothers you that much, I'll move it tomorrow. How's that?” 
“Excellent,” replied Mr. Nero. “Here is my card,” he said, as he handed 
me a business card from his wallet which for all practical purposes, 
looked very much like a penis. Not wanting to offend him, I took the 
card and politely put it in my wallet. “Call me once you've moved it, 
will you? And now that you know how I prefer to work,” he added 
quickly. “There should be no difficulties between us.” “Great Frank,” I 
answered. “I'll call you around noon sometime. Is that okay?” “That 
will do nicely,” he said and embarked on the trip back to his car, 
leaving me wondering to myself about the shape of the card in my 
wallet. Was it just my imagination, I thought. Or is this card just a 
wallet-sized wiener? After the sculptor left, I started looking through 
the yellow pages for someone who would come out and get The Ralph and 
move it safely to its dock for me. But the pages of movers were endless 
and confusing and after a while, I began calling numbers willy-nilly. 
Finally, I came to a place called; Bowl Movers, whose motto was simply; 
If it just won't budge, call Bowl...For all your movement needs! Quick! 
Fast! Painless! And I settled on them. After all, anyone with a big 
enough truck could move the darn thing, so I didn't see what the big 
deal was and decided to give it a try... “Good afternoon, Bowl Movers. 
How may I direct your call?” came a lady's voice over the phone. “Uh, 
I'm not sure,” I replied. “I'm looking for someone to help me move my 
boat to its dock. Do you do that kind of thing?” “A boat?” she asked 
incredulously. “What kind of boat?” “Well...it's, it's a kind of a...” 
“Is it bigger than a John Boat?” she asked, interrupting me before I 
could get the words out to describe it to any great length. “Ah, yes. 
Yes it is,” I replied. “It's definitely bigger then a John Boat.” “Is 
it bigger than a Bass Boat?” she asked in the same vein. “Yes, it's 
bigger than a Bass Boat. It's about the size of a...” “Hold on one 
minute please, I'll get my supervisor,” she interjected, cutting me off 
just as I was about to tell her how big the thing actually was, which 
was really starting to frustrate me. Slowly but surely, I got the 
feeling that she was just one of those people who regularly talked over 
others, never letting them say what it was they had on their minds to 
say and those are some aggravating people, to say the very least. 
Hanging on the phone, listening to the office radio play the old rock 
song; Crystal Ship by The Doors, I waited for the supervisor to answer 
and began trancing out, mesmerized by the droning, melodramatic effect 
of Jim Morrison's lyrics... 

The Crystal ship, is being filled A thousand girls, a thousand thrills A
million ways to spend your time, When we get back, I'll drop a line... 

Boy, I thought, a bunch of girls and thrills sure sounded good to me at
the time, but just as I had successfully envisioned myself on board 
such a vessel of dreams and wishes-come-true, I was shocked back to 
this world by a sudden and curt, “This is Miss Otis, how may I help 
you?” “It's about my boat,” I began. “As I was telling the last person 
on the phone...” “That would be Miss Figsby.” “Alright then,” I said. 
“Miss Figsby, whatever.” “Who am I speaking with?” she asked, with a 
note of irritation to her voice. “My name's Reid, Reid Laurence. But 
I...” “Here at Bowl Movers, Mr. Laurence, we do not refer to our 
employees as ‘whatever'. We maintain the utmost respect to employees 
and clientele alike, and do you know which of those is the most 
important to Bowl Movers, Mr. Laurence?” “Huh, which? Which of what?” 
“Which is the most important to us? Our employees, or our clients?” 
“Uh, if I had to guess... I'd say, the customers, right?” “Wrong. 
Because without happy employees, Mr. Laurence, there would be no Bowl 
Movers. Do you understand?” “Uh, yes, I think so. I just wanted to know 
if you could move my boat Miss Otis. Honest, I meant no disrespect.” “A 
boat, really. And just how big is this boat?” “Well, it's...” “I'm very 
busy, Mr. Laurence. Do you have length and width dimensions? Is there 
something we can go by? We need numbers. Numbers are very important to 
us.” “All I know for sure is, that it's a really big boat,” I said. 
“You'll need a big semi to move it. That's the way it was delivered, 
anyway.” “Alright Mr. Laurence. I can send a mover out next week to 
evaluate the situation. Will someone be home next Tuesday?” “Oh gosh 
no, Miss Otis. I mean, yes, I'll be home, but next Tuesday will be way 
too late. I need someone to move it right away, by tomorrow morning, at 
the very latest.” “Oh my,” she said softly into the phone. “Tomorrow 
morning... that doesn't give us much time does it? I suppose we could 
make it a rush order, but we charge twenty percent more for such short 
notice.” “Whatever, I mean... whatever the cost, I don't care. When can 
I expect him?” “Mmm, lets see...” she said, checking over appoint-ment 
details on her computer. “How about ten a.m., will that do?” “That's 
great,” I answered, and hung up my phone, but no sooner had I laid it 
down on my desk, then another call came in requiring my careful 
attention. “Hello,” I answered, in one of those obnoxious moods I get 
into when things are going right. “You've reached the law offices of 
attorneys; We, Cheatum and How. If you're using a touch tone phone, 
press “1” for English, or “2” para Espanol.” “Huh?” I heard over the 
phone. “Is this 417-878-REID or isn't it?” “Oh, sorry,” I said. “Yeah, 
that's me.” “Well ah got a car for a Mr. Reid Laurence. Is that you?” 
“Yes sir!,” I replied, anxious to hear the news. “What can I do you 
for?” “Would you like us to deliver it tomorrow? Are you gonna be 
home?” “You know it!” I said, as I imagined myself behind the wheel of 
my new Saleen S7. “I'm ready whenever you are!” “Alright, tell you 
what. We're on the road now, but we can make it there by tomorrow at 
about ten in the morning. Will that do?” “Oh that's tremendous!” I 
said. “Just bring it in, I can't wait.” “See you then,” replied the 
caller, and hung up the phone, leaving me in new car heaven. And as I 
imagined the beautiful lines of the Saleen's exterior, the look and 
feel of the car's smooth leather seats and richly appointed interior, I 
sat down at my desk in a heap of bliss and joy. All at once though, I 
realized that I had two things going on at the same time on the very 
next day. That shouldn't pose a problem, I thought. Just a pick up and 
a drop off. These are professionals, I reasoned. They know what they're 
doing. Tomorrow will move like clockwork. 

The next day, my new car arrived as promised on the back of a trailer
pulled by a big pick-up truck. It was covered in beige, protective 
canvas and I couldn't tell exactly what it looked like until the driver 
brought me over to it and revealed it, as a waiter might have proudly 
and dramatically revealed a perfect pheasant under glass. It was 
awesome. My jaw dropped as the driver opened the door of the car and 
started it up for the first time. The sound of the perfectly tuned 
seven-liter engine, coupled to twin turbos, sent a cold chill running 
down my spine and I watched, as he carefully backed it down the 
trailer's ramp. Finally, having descended to the ground, I walked up 
and stood close to the car for the first time and ran my hand over its 
perfect silver coat and magnificently styled lines and curves. This 
really was the car of my dreams, I thought. Opening the driver side 
door, I got in and gently pressed down on the accelerator. Listening to 
the engine come to life, taking in the oxygen around it through a 
specially designed port in its roof, turning this commonly regarded 
element into an internal rage of fire and brimstone and letting it out 
as if to say, let's go... if you've got the nerve. It was just about at 
that time - just as I was ready to put it in reverse and take it for a 
test drive, when who should appear but two drivers from Bowl Movers, 
ready to take my boat to its dock at Table Rock Lake. “So that's it, 
huh?” asked the short, heavy-set driver named Ted. His name, clearly 
stitched into the front of the dark blue work shirt he had on was 
easily readable, and when he turned his back to me to get a better look 
at the boat, I could read off the company name complete with motto, in 
large, white letters; Bowl Movers, If it just won't budge, call Bowl... 
For all your movement needs! Quick! Fast! Painless! “That's some boat 
mister,” he added. “Oh, here, before I forget...Yo, Jed!” he yelled at 
the top of his lungs to his co-worker. “Bring out that paperwork fer 
mister Laurence here, an step on it!” “What is all this stuff?” I 
asked, as Jed laid a stack of papers in my outstretched arms that 
must've measured an inch in thickness. “Just routine paperwork we need 
ta get yer John Hancock on. Nuth'in much. Insurance forms, waivers, 
same old thing again an again. Waste a time if ya ask me. We ain't 
never had an accident at Bowl, ever. But there's always that chance, I 
guess.” “Well...” I said, hesitating slightly as I thought over the 
amount of time all this signing would take me. “I guess I'll get busy 
on these in my office,” I replied. “Your welcome ta come inside if you 
like. I can offer you some hot coffee.” “Sounds good ta me,” answered 
Ted. But just as the three of us turned to walk inside, the other 
driver who'd delivered my car came running up to us with a clipboard in 
his hands. “Mr. Laurence,” he said, huffing and puffing from his jog. 
“I almost forgot to give you this.” “What is it?” I asked, as if I 
didn't know. “Insurance forms, waivers, documents that declare you 
received the car in good condition, a lotta routine stuff. I just need 
you ta sign it all before I go.” “Wow,” I remarked, taking a look at 
the new stack of paperwork I had to sign off on, easily as big, if not 
bigger than the previous. “How'd you like ta come in an have some 
coffee with us? It looks like I'm gonna be busy for awhile.” “Yeah, I 
guess that'd be okay,” he answered, shifting his gaze to the ground as 
he thought. “‘Bout how long you think this'll take?” “Well, if my pen 
don't run outta ink and I don't get Carpal Tunnel Syndrome... about an 
hour an a half to two hours.” “Ya got any computer games?” asked Jed. 
“I'll see what I can do,” I said, as I opened one of the sets of 
sliding glass doors to the house and walked diligently to my office, 
preparing myself for the long haul ahead. 

Having completed what felt like a lifetimes worth of paperwork, I bid
farewell to the men from Bowl and then to the driver who brought me my 
car. I was anxious to drive the shiny new mechanical monster which 
stood idle in my driveway, and as I got in and lowered myself down into 
its leather-racing seat, I remembered that Ralph had asked me to pick 
him up. So, as I started the car and revved its mighty engine, I 
planned the quickest pathway to my accountant's office and set off down 
the road. Naively, I pressed down on the accelerator as I would have in 
any other car, but since the Saleen S7 was not like any other car - 
familiar to me at least - I ended up smashing the back of my head into 
the drivers headrest, nearly giving myself whiplash. Recovering from 
this duel of man versus machine, I decided it would be a better idea to 
tread more lightly on this so far, unpredictable gas pedal, before I 
ran the car off the road and into a ditch, or worse. So, gathering my 
shaken wits, I headed for Ralph's office and proceeded with the utmost 
caution. Having arrived, I opened the door only to find Miss Willing in 
a most compromising position, with her back facing the door putting 
files away in the lowest possible cabinet Ralph could find. He was most 
subtle when it came to such things, and Miss Willing really believed 
she was working. I guess it pays to go to college after all. You get to 
think through some of the most compensating and gratifying problems 
imaginable. “Why hello Ima,” I said. “Fancy meeting you here. Is Ralph 
around?” “Oh, Mr. Laurence. Yes, he's here,” she answered, rising to 
her feet and adjusting her skirt. “I'll tell him you're here. What's 
new?” she added. “I haven't seen you in a while.” “Things are just 
swell Ima. I got my new car taday an I was just keeping my end of a 
bargain I made with Ralph. He said he wanted ta test drive it when I 
got it, so here I be. Why don't you come along,” I said. “It'll break 
up the monotony in the day. Whaddaya say?” “I'd be delighted,” replied 
Miss Willing. “What kind of car is it?” “It's a Saleen,” I answered 
proudly. “You don't see many of ‘em on the street.” “A what?” she 
asked. But just as I was about to explain myself, Ralph came out of his 
office with a napkin tucked into the collar of his shirt and barbeque 
sauce smeared on his face and chin. “Reid!” he said, still chewing 
whatever it was he'd been eating for lunch that day. “How's it going 
old boy? What can I do you for?” “I'm here as promised buddy! My car 
came in today! It's a stoned gas, I swear. I've never driven anything 
like it. I almost broke my own neck getting here. Damn thing's a rocket 
on wheels.” “I told you so, didn't I?” answered Ralph, removing the 
napkin from his shirt to wipe off some of the sauce he somehow knew he 
was wearing. “Just gimme a minute ta get my hat,” he shouted, and 
seconds later, he emerged wearing one of the biggest, black cowboy hats 
I'd ever seen, but I had to admit, it was stylish. “C'mon!” he said. 
“What're we wait'in for. Fork over those keys!” “Is it okay with you if 
Ima comes along?” I asked, as I put the car keys in Ralph's 
outstretched hand. “Course it is,” he answered. “Put them files down 
Ima. Nuth'ins wrong with a little excitement every now an then. Let's 
go! Times a wast'in.” Getting into the car was a task for Ralph - being 
as large a man as he was. It was like trying to stuff a great big foot 
into a new shoe that was one size too small, but in time, we worked 
through the problem. After a few minutes of tucking and squeezing here 
and there, Ralph finally sat properly in place behind the wheel, 
contentedly gliding his hand over the smooth surfaces of the dash and 
interior, acquainting himself with the car and its controls. Starting 
the engine, I could tell that Ralph was just as impressed as I was with 
its roar as it came to life. “Sounds like an angry animal,” he 
remarked, and rightly so I thought. “Lets see what this baby'll do,” he 
added. And off we went into the heavy lunchtime traffic of Springfield, 
Missouri, narrowly missing a bus; a truck, and a pedestrian, in that 
sequential order. “Ralph,” I said, as I held onto my seat for dear 
life. “Don'tcha think we outta slow down a little?” “Nonsense ol' boy,” 
he replied. “This car was made ta be driven fast.” But as the telephone 
poles to the side of the road started to look like a picket fence, I 
began to worry even more about the speed we were traveling at, and 
peered over Ralph's right arm to get a look at the speedometer. “We're 
do'in seventy in a forty-five zone Ralph! Humor me an slow down a 
little, will ya?” But before my crazed financial advisor had time to 
answer, I searched my pocket for the buckeye I carried with me and 
brought it out into the open. Putting my thumb over the natural 
impression on its top surface, I rubbed it this time not just for luck, 
but for its life saving properties as well, if in fact, any such wish 
was within its power to grant. “Okay, okay,” answered Ralph, annoyed 
with me as if I were unnecessarily nagging him. “How ‘bout I slow down 
when we get closer ta the light up ahead. There's a tailgater behind me 
I wanna shake.” But when I turned to look over my shoulder to see what 
he was talking about, all I saw was Ima holding on to the back of my 
seat with a terrible look of fear on her face. There was no other car 
behind us for what must've been at least two city blocks. Probably 
because no other car could catch up to the Saleen and because of the 
way Ralph was driving it. But I didn't have time to complain about the 
fictitious tailgater of Ralph's imagination, as the looming danger of a 
slow moving garbage truck in front of us proved to be much more of a 
threat at the time. “You're gonna hit that truck!” I yelled, as I 
wondered how long it would take my body to die after being decapitated 
by the monstrous vehicle in our path. “No problem,” replied my out of 
control accountant. “The car's got brakes, am I right? Boy, if I knew 
you were gonna be this nervous...” “He's right Mr. Uppins,” said Ima, 
from where she sat in the tiny back seat. “Your driving is scaring me 
too. Can't you slow down a bit?” “You're a couple a killjoys if ya ask 
me,” replied Ralph, mashing the pedal of the powerful four-wheel disc 
brakes of the car, causing smoke to rise as we came to a screeching 
halt, barely a foot from imminent disaster. “I gotta good mind ta get 
outta this car right here an have you drive, you know that?” he 
finished saying, as he looked at me squarely in the eye. “That's the 
best idea I've heard so far,” I answered, opening the door on my side 
of the car, allowing us to switch positions. “There are a few more 
things I wanna do with my life before I walk through those pearly gates 
people talk about. There ain't no sense in speeding things up ta get 
there... get my drift?” “Yeah,” said Ralph. “I thought I smelled 
someth'in funny.” “Amen,” said Ima. “I'm with you Mr. Laurence.” 
“Traitor,” replied Ralph. 

“I really must be going,” I said to Ralph and Ima as I turned the car
around and headed back toward his office near the intersection of 
Battlefield Avenue and National. “I promised a designer I hired that 
I'd call him and it's getting late.” Stuffing the buckeye back into my 
pocket as I spoke, I noticed how sweaty my palms had become from the 
scare Ralph had put us through. I never expected him to turn an 
innocent afternoon drive into a wild rodeo-like adventure, but then I 
supposed there were other things I didn't know about Ralph as well. 
Things that I thought might be better left undisclosed. Then, in the 
car, it suddenly occurred to me that although Ralph and I were two 
different animals, we were still very much alike. Although he liked to 
drive as if he were the only one on the road, I myself had developed 
such an alarming penchant for buying myself such presents in the first 
place, that it was hard for me to blame him for getting carried away, 
before first faulting myself. “You take care now,” I said to them both, 
as I pulled the car up to Ralph's office building. Still shaken, Ima 
climbed out of the cramped back seat and nodded her head in 
acknowledgement. But as Ralph worked to pry himself from the confining 
space of the passenger seat, he only looked at me as if he were about 
to give me an important piece of advice, straightened his oversized 
cowboy hat, pointed his finger at me and said, “Now don't you do 
nuth'in I wouldn't do.” Gazing back at him and after thinking over his 
words, allowing them to fully register in my mind, I answered with, 
“that gives me plenty a room ta move, dont'cha think?” Pushing back the 
sides of his suit coat, allowing his hands to rest on his hips for 
emphasis, Ralph grumbled... “wise-ass!” 

Chapter 13 

“Hi Frank, it's me Reid,” I said into my cell phone. “You can come over
now, the boat's gone.” “Are you sure?” he asked. “Of course I'm sure. 
The movers pulled away hours ago. Believe me, it's gone.” “Alright. I 
trust that you're telling me the truth. I'm bringing two statues with 
me that I know you'll just adore.” “Great!” I answered. “Are they your 
work?” “Of course they are. Who's else would they be? I'll see you in 
an hour,” he said, and hung up the phone. Oh boy, I thought. I'll soon 
be the proud owner of two original works of monumental sculpture. I'll 
be the envy of everyone. Just wait till Mary and Vera see them, I 
pondered, as I leaned back in my chair and looked out my office window 
to the pool area and beyond. I didn't have long to wait before Frank 
showed up in a great big pick-up truck with two big, brawny helpers he 
brought along to do the heavy lifting part of the job. These two guys 
both looked like they lived in a weight room, but when I saw the size 
of the statues they'd brought along, I realized what we were up 
against. They were colossal! At least eight feet tall even without the 
pedestals they rested on. If Michelangelo were alive today, I'm sure 
he'd have been jealous. But as I stood in my driveway, gazing at the 
two stone gods in the back of Frank's truck, he began shouting orders 
to his helpers and stirred me from my reverie. “Mario! Luigi! Lets go 
you two! We don't have all day.” “Where're they go'in?” asked one of 
the men, as he pulled on one of the statues from its base while the 
other pushed from its head. “Just bring them out to the pool deck for 
now okay?... and whatever you do, don't drop them!” “Right Mr. Frank,” 
replied the other mover. “...And don't be sarcastic,” answered Frank. 
“Remember? We've been through this before. And don't handle either 
statue by its neck, the granite's too thin there.” “Looks like your 
helpers got their work cut out for them,” I remarked, as Frank took a 
very brightly colored handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his 
forehead with it. “Maybe I should lend a hand?” I added. “Oh, my God,” 
said Frank, with one hand positioned on his waist and the other tightly 
pressed to his head, still grasping the handkerchief in a manner of 
great distaste. “Getting them to do anything right is nearly 
impossible. Would you mind? A third man in the middle might be a good 
idea. The statues are very heavy.” “Not at all,” I said. And as the 
first of the granite gods began sliding out from the bed of the truck, 
I ran around it and positioned both of my arms underneath, trying to 
provide support. I proved to be about as helpful to the two men as tits 
on a boar, as the head of the great monolithic figure flew past me 
while its pedestal found its mark with a thud on the driveway, landing 
with near perfect precision before the mover's feet. “‘X' marks the 
spot,” I said, impressed with the movers agility at handling such great 
weight. “Nu'thin to it,” replied the man who'd pulled the statue from 
its pedestal. “Ya jus get used to it. Know what I mean?” “I suppose,” I 
answered. “Given enough growth hormones and steroids. Anyway, are you 
Mario or Luigi?” I asked. “What's it to ya?” “Oh, just so I know what 
to call you I suppose. I won't sell your information over the Internet, 
I promise.” “Wise guy, huh?” But just as I began to wonder where this 
little tête-à-tête would lead - probably, I thought, with me taking a 
swim in my own pool in a concrete overcoat - who should come to my 
rescue, but our man Frank. “What is taking so long?” he asked, in a 
whiny voice I knew I could never get used to. “Get the second statue 
off the truck! C'mon, lets go, chop, chop!” “I'll giv'em a chop, chop,” 
muttered one of the men, as he began pushing the next great mass of 
stone from its place in the truck. “Yeah,” said his co-worker, just out 
of Frank's listening range. “Only problem is... whadda we do with'im 
after we chop ‘im?” 

“Less talk people and more work!” shouted Mr. Nero. “We need to get the
statuary to the pool a.s.a.p.!” But Frank and I didn't have long to 
wait before the second giant came hurtling from the truck as the first 
one had, landing in the same precise manner, right in front of the 
movers feet. In no time at all, Mario and Luigi had carried both 
exemplary pieces of Frank's work from the driveway to the pool deck and 
set them down in two spontaneous, but likely positions, symmetrically 
opposed to each other about the long axis of the pool. “What do you 
think?” asked Frank. “Aren't they magnificent?” “They're great,” I 
answered, “...but.” “Never mind,” replied Frank. “I know what you're 
thinking. Boy's!” he shouted. “Don't get too comfortable now! Reverse 
them, pronto. I want Zeus where Apollo is and visa versa, got it!” 
“Yeah, yeah,” muttered a mover. “A little less complaining, please! 
Remember, we talked about that?” “Sure thing Mr. Frank,” answered the 
other, drawing attention to Frank's feminine side by referring to him 
as, Mr. Frank. “Honestly, you just can't get good help,” said Frank, 
momentarily taking his attention away from his workers to let me know 
how he felt about the matter. “Nobody cares about their work anymore 
and nobody gives respect. They just wanna get paid.” “I know what you 
mean,” I answered, finding some truth in what Frank had said. “Now 
then,” he continued saying, as the statues took on their opposite 
positions on the concrete deck. “What do you think now?” “I think 
they're terrific, but...” “Wait. Hold on. I know what you're thinking,” 
said Frank. “We need them turned just a little boys, just tangent to 
the curve of the pool edge.” But as the two men stared at each other, 
wondering what Frank wanted them to do, the master sculptor lost his 
patients and, walking over to the statues, gave them each a brief 
twist, adjusting them as he'd instructed. Looking back at the two 
bewildered men in disgust, he shook his head, rolled his eyes and 
walked back to where I was standing to observe the new, slightly 
corrected positions. “There now,” he remarked. “That was more difficult 
then it should've been, but we're done. What do you think now?” “Ahh, 
do you want my honest opinion,” I said. “Of course I do. What in 
heavens name is it! Tell me.” “Well... it's just that.” “Don't be shy 
man, spit it out! What is it?” “Well... it's like this Frank. I feel I 
really must tell you. I don't want to insult your ability, Frank. The 
statues look terrific. It's just that I've never seen genitals that 
huge in my life. They're bigger than horses Frank. Is that really 
humanly possible?” “Alright,” replied Frank. “Boys! He doesn't like 
them. We're taking them back. Load them up, lets go, pronto.” “No 
please,” I said. “I didn't mean it that way. They're fine Frank. Just 
leave them in place where they are.” “And?...” asked the sculptor. “And 
what, Frank.” “What about the other three we spoke of? You do want me 
to finish, don't you? Or does my stark yet truthful representation of 
human anatomy make you jealous enough to cancel our contract?” “No 
Frank. I'm not jealous and I don't wanna cancel. Please finish the 
other three and deliver them to me when they're ready.” “Alright then, 
I shall,” answered Frank, as he and his helpers left, noticeably 
angered by my remarks, but what was I to do. He asked me what I 
thought, so I told him the truth. I guess the whole thing really didn't 
matter that much, it's just that the statues appeared to me to be just 
a wee bit bigger then life, in more ways then one. But I wasn't worried 
about what people thought. To me, the statues were a bold statement I 
wanted to make and the fact that Frank had endowed them each with 
larger then life genitalia didn't make a heck of a lot of difference. 
After all, they were gods, weren't they? 

When I went inside to tell Mary and Vera to come out and look at our new
artwork, they seemed anxious to see it. It just took awhile for them to 
drop what they were doing and join me poolside. But thirty minutes 
later - after they'd finished watching the end of whatever important 
t.v. show it was that Mary had on, and after Vera had slipped into her 
new designer swimsuit - we were finally all ready to look at, and give 
opinions on, the new statuary. Normally, with their sunglasses and wide 
brim sunhats on, hiding a good deal of their faces, it would have been 
difficult to judge their thoughts through facial expressions, but as 
both women stood gazing at the two enormous stone gods, any child could 
have interpreted the looks on their faces. It's just that with no 
children around to help clue me in, I really had no idea at all what 
they were thinking, so I was forced out of necessity to do the obvious 
thing, and ask. “Whaddaya think girls? Aren't they great? Reminds you 
of a Roman villa, doesn't it? Just picture yourself, two thousand years 
ago, swimming around in a pool like this in the lap of luxury. 
Striking, isn't it?” “More like shocking,” blurted my wife. “You can't 
be serious Reid. This is embarrassing. Look at them. That's not a 
penis, it's a fire hose.” “I don't know...” said Vera. “I don't mind 
the looks of ‘em. I've just got two questions on my mind.” “What's 
that?” I asked. “Where can I find a man who's built like that; and is 
he married?” 

Chapter 14 

It'd been awhile since I'd checked on the painting I stuffed away in the
attic, and to tell you the truth, I was a little scared to do it, for 
fear of what I might find. The way it had changed by itself was 
shocking enough, but what I feared it might be becoming was enough to 
frighten even the most brave of men. But what was I to do? How could I 
ignore a situation like this that was going on right under my own nose? 
Or worse yet, in the attic of my own new house? So one day, when Mary 
and Vera were out food shopping; clothes shopping; furniture shopping 
or shopping for shoes... one or the other or all of the above, I got my 
nerve up and went to my desk drawer for the attic key I'd hidden away, 
walked slowly up the stairs to the door I'd been keeping locked and 
ever so cautiously, opened it. As if in a dream, I moved to the corner 
of the room where I'd hidden the self-portrait - covered by a sheet - 
and turned on the ceiling light so that I could be sure that what I was 
seeing was indeed, the truth and not some visual hallucination, fed by 
imagination and aided by lack of light. Sliding the painting from its 
position, I leaned it against the wall and carefully removed the sheet. 
Astonished at what I saw, my sudden and instantaneous reaction was to 
destroy the awful monstrosity and winding up my arm, I put my fist 
right through the canvas, causing a huge tear through its rough center. 
Then, as I walked backwards, taking in the terrible incident like the 
scene of a crime or some horrible accident, I tripped over my own two 
feet, hitting my head on the floor of the attic and knocking myself out 
cold, for exactly what length of time, I cannot say. 

When I came to, I found Mary and Vera standing over me with their hands
over their faces in tears, doing their best not to look me in the eye 
and acting as if I'd been hurt much more then I could ever know. “I 
fell,” I said, “but I'm okay now, really.” “Oh no,” muttered my wife. 
“He doesn't know.” “Doesn't know what?” I asked. “What are you talking 
about?” “Look,” replied Vera, handing me a mirror from a make-up kit in 
her purse. “Look at your face... You've changed. I don't know how or 
why, but your face has changed horribly.” “Oh my God!” I gasped in 
astonishment. “My face! My face!” I screamed. “I've become a creature, 
an animal, a... a... pig! I've got the face of a pig! Do something 
Mary! What happened to me! This must be a dream. Tell me I'm dreaming.” 
“What can I do Reid? There's nothing I can do about it!” exclaimed my 
wife, nearly as upset as I was to see me in such an awful way. “I 
know!” remarked Vera. “There's plastic surgery, right. I know an 
excellent surgeon in Beverly Hills. In a few years, he'll have you 
looking just like your old self, you'll see.” “A few years!” I blurted 
out. “Just a few years of painful surgery? Is that all? Oooh nooo... 
what did I do to deserve this. Tell me God. What did I do?” “I'll tell 
you what you did,” answered Vera. “No, let me,” replied Mary. “I'll 
tell him what he did.” “Somebody please tell me. What'd I do? What's 
going on?” “First, stand up. I can't talk to you while your laying 
there blubbering like a baby.” “But look at me Mary! I'm a pig now! I 
changed into a damn pig! I'll tell you why, too. It's that painting. 
That awful painting. I never should've commissioned it in the first 
place. It ruined me. I never told you two, but the painting slowly 
changed into a pig. That's why I hid it away up here, so you wouldn't 
see what it was becoming. Then when I wrecked it, I somehow took on all 
the changes in it. I became the painting! Just like the old story by 
Oscar Wilde; The Portrait Of Dorian Gray!” “Do tell,” said Mary, acting 
as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all. “What're you 
talking about?” I replied. “My life is wrecked and you're mocking me. 
This is no time to be putting me down. You should be helping me.” “I 
can't bear ta watch this anymore Mary. If you don't tell ‘im, I will.” 
“Okay, okay,” replied Mary. “You can't blame me for having fun though.” 
“What is it? Tell me,” I insisted. “What can be so important at a time 
like this?” “Here, look...” replied Mary, grasping the huge snout I'd 
grown since I'd lost consciousness and regained it. “This outta solve 
your problems. Presto-chango. Ta-da!” “You mean...” I muttered, 
surprised and embar-rassed. “That's right, it's a mask. Nothing more 
then a mask,” said Vera, as the entire daytime nightmare came sliding 
off my face with barely any effort from my reproving wife. “It's the 
pig mask you wore to the costume party we had. Don't you remember?” 
explained Mary. “Of course I remember,” I said. “But the painting. The 
painting really changed. How in the world did it change?” “I thought 
you'd never ask,” answered Vera. “You mean, you did it?” I asked. “You 
altered it?” “None other! You like my work? Pretty good, huh?” “But 
why?” I asked. “Why all this? What the hell did I do, anyway?” “What 
the hell didn't you do?” asked Mary. “Where do I begin? Let's see 
now... You hired Vera and fell all over her naked for one thing.” “That 
was a mistake, I couldn't see in all the mist. I didn't plan that out.” 
“Then you built a house big enough for four families and surrounded it 
with expensive, tacky sculpture no one needed.” “I decorated the pool 
Mary, that's all.” “You bought a boat too big for any lake in the 
entire, Ozark region.” “I thought we'd have a little fun, that's all.” 
“You didn't just buy a car. Oh no. It had to be the most expensive car 
you could possibly find. A Saleen, for God's sake. Have I left anything 
out, Vera? It seems to me there must be something I haven't mentioned. 
I know I should've made a list, I'm getting so forgetful.” “Alright 
so,” I remarked, interrupting her before she had time to recall more of 
the atrocities I'd committed. “You made your point. The point is, you 
think I turned into a pig. But couldn't you just have told me? Did you 
have'ta scare me half to death?” “Would you have listened? I really 
doubt it. Someone had to give you a wake up call. I waited as long as I 
could, really. You got way out of hand.” “I guess you've got a point 
there Mary. I did lose my head a little, didn't I?” “Just a wee bit,” 
agreed Vera. “So what happens next? I mean, whadda you wanna do with 
everything?” “That's up to you, isn't it? It's your money and it's your 
life. I just wanted you to see the error of your ways, that's all.” 
“Well heck,” I said, thinking over the recent past and how my new 
lifestyle had gotten its start in the first place. “The whole thing 
really began when we met that guy back in Wilson's Creek, didn't it? 
Remember when he gave me the Buckeye?” “Of course I do,” replied my 
wife. “And if you don't mind my saying so, I think the best thing you 
could do for yourself is to get rid of it.” “Now wait a minute here. I 
thought you just said this was up to me? Didn't you just say you were 
gonna let me decide what to do and all. What happened to, ‘it's your 
money and it's your life'?” “I changed my mind. I'm entitled to aren't 
I? Now, let's see you throw that thing out. Here,” continued Mary. 
“Give it to me. I know what to do with it. You've got more money then 
you know what to do with now. I want you to give some to charity and 
stop buying junk you don't need. Give me that thing.” “Alright, 
alright,” I answered, giving in to her prodding. “Here,” I said, taking 
it from my pocket and grudgingly, handing it over. “Take it. See if I 
care.” “What're you gonna do with it?” asked Vera. “You'll see,” said 
Mary. “Let this be an end to your gluttonous behavior,” she added, as 
she marched to the front door of our house with purpose to her step, 
aided and abetted by our traitorous, so-called housekeeper. “In a few 
seconds,” she said, opening the door and walking out to the front lawn. 
“You'll be a new man. The man I used to know, before this whole mess 
got started!” Then, without pity or remorse, she threw my lucky Buckeye 
out into an open field, where the grass and weeds grew so long, no man 
would ever dare to go - at least not without a good insect repellent. 
“Satisfied?” I asked, after all had been said and done, feeling as 
though the last shot had been fired and this metaphoric war, now over. 
“Yes, I am. In fact, I'm feeling much better already. I'm feeling so 
good I think I'll get an early start on dinner and make something 
really special, how's that? You deserve it after what we put you 
through.” “That's great,” I struggled to say, doing my best to hide the 
way I really felt about the whole thing. But who wouldn't feel bad, I 
thought. That Buckeye was the key to everything. It was responsible for 
my winning the lottery, my success with Berserky Jerky... everything. I 
felt so bad, I knew that there was only one thing left for me to do. 
One thing only now occupied my thoughts and ran rampant in my mind. I 
knew what I had to do. “I'm going to my office Mary,” I said solemnly. 
“Please don't disturb me.” “Okay,” I remember her saying, “I'll call 
you when dinner's ready!” And with that, I turned away, walked down the 
hall, opened the door to my private office, sat down in my chair and 
grieved for a considerable length of time, exactly how long though, I 
really can't say. Then, as I sat in my chair with a kind of stolid 
determination, I knew what must be done. I knew what I had to go 
through with. It was the only way out. Slowly, I unlocked a drawer of 
my desk which I hadn't opened in a very long time. Reaching inside, I 
removed its contents. I brought what I believed to be the answer to all 
of my problems out into the open and watched as rays of sunlight 
enhanced its smooth, shiny surface. So this is it, I thought to myself. 
After all this time, I finally realize what it is I have to do. Oh 
well, isn't there an old saying that goes... all's well that ends 
well?” And I rubbed that darn Buckeye just as hard as I could, just for 
the hell of it. Boy, was I glad that nice guy gave me two of ‘em!


Tweet