I sat still inside the idling Bronco, my mind twisting and turning about the call that had come in and the mission Gularte and I had just finished, except we hadn’t finished it. The call was beyond strange, as Chiefs of Staff for presidents of the country were about as likely to make an appointment with someone as low as I was on the totem pole as with the man in the moon, and, without thinking about it, I’d returned the Marauder to the police lot without washing and waxing it.
“Back,” I said, “we’ve got to go back, get Gates’ car and take it to the headquarters for washing and waxing, and also collect the special wax from my car, and we’ve got to do it fast because his shift will be ending and he’s going to be looking for his Marauder.”
“That’s it?” Gularte replied, his tone one of wonder. “All you can think about is waxing a car when we’re about to be executed, or something, for dumping Mardian’s son’s Porsche into the Dana Point toilet?”
“There’s no ‘we’ involved in this,” I said, turning the Bronco’s wheel and heading back for the headquarters building. “They know something about you but that’s it, they can’t really know you were with me on the mission, and, in fact, if they knew anything at all about what we did we’d both be talking to federal, state, and quite possibly our own local police detectives. No, that strange meeting is about something else entirely but meanwhile, we follow the Marine Corps way.”
“What way is that?” Gularte asked.
“If you don’t take care of the little stuff then the big stuff goes to hell.”
“I thought it was ‘if it can go wrong, it will go wrong’,” Gularte replied.
“Can we stay about as positive as circumstances will allow about all this?” I asked, about to push the button on the railroad fence gate remote. “The Blue Coral wax is in the back seat of my Volks which is in the parking lot.”
“What about Bob Elwell?” Gularte said,
I hesitated in pushing the button. Gularte was right and I was making one small mistake after another. We needed a place to do the wax job, a water source, and Bob’s help or we’d never get the Marauder done in time.
I backed the Bronco up to the building, climbed out, and went through the small door cut within the big one. Bob was working, once more, on his surfboard, the sander making a soft whine as he shaped the thing. I tapped him on the shoulder and explained what we needed.
“I’m all in, and I’ll call Bro, as he’d be happy to help too,” Bob said, after shutting the little sander off. I thought for a few quick seconds. Bob wasn’t making Bro’s inclusion a requirement but I knew he was adding him because Bro and I weren’t exactly hitting it off, and Bro was Bob’s best friend and partner as a lifeguard.
“Okay, but please don’t tell him about what we’ve been up to,” I said, turning to get back to the Bronco.
“I don’t know anything about what you were doing while you were gone, except that two mystery men appeared to check and, apparently, to make sure you weren’t sitting somewhere dead.”
“Thanks,” I replied and then stopped. “Bob, you’re a class act and I never expected that you’d become this key person and friend to me like this. Thanks for that.”
“Bro and I didn’t go to Vietnam because we didn’t believe in it,” Bob, replied, the statement coming out of nowhere, and leaving me to stand speechless before him. We stood for a moment looking at one another.
I noticed the dust from his sanding still settling out of the air, like one of the weird fine mists that a hundred degrees and hundred percent humidity can cause like it often had done at the bottom of the A Shau Valley. I realized, after a bit, that Bob was waiting for some comment on my part. I wasn’t sure that the answer I wanted to give him was anything someone who hadn’t gone through what I’d gone through and was still going through, would believe. His conduct so far, however, deserved as much of the truth as I could give him.
“You’re here,” I said, staring into his eyes, my own unblinking and direct. “You’re here and talking to me. If you’d gone with me, I’d likely be talking to your headstone and that’d be a poor substitute. I can’t absolve, forgive or even define what your reasons were, but I can say that both you and Bro have all the foundations that would have made you fine Marines to serve with.”
“I’ll call Bro,” Elwell said as if that was any kind of rational response to what I’d said.
I turned and went out through the door, and found Gularte on his hands and knees, looking under the Bronco’s right front fender well.
“Found it,” he said, his flashlight extended out in his right hand, “so now’s the hard question.”
“What question?” I asked, amazed that I’d forgotten about the search I’d requested.
“Do we remove it and give away the fact that we know they are tracking our vehicle’s every move or leave it there and think about the fact that they know where we are, or at least the Bronco is, at any given time?”
“They sent two guys to check on us,” I replied. “They now know that we know, and evidently don’t care that we know. Leave it. With this one rather rare exception, why should we care? I doubt if they would ever do anything other than help us if we needed such help.”
Gularte got up and turned his flashlight off.
We got in the Bronco, crossed the tracks, and were half way to the station before Bobby’s voice came out of the Motorola speaker.
“The new restaurant owner’s Yellow Porsche has been stolen from the Dana Point Marina, and all departments within the vicinity are being notified to set up Code Alex positions to interdict. The vehicle is a 1972 Porsche Targa and the theft likely took place only minutes ago.”
“That’s the longest radio message Bobby’s ever given,” Gularte said, laughing.
“It means that tomorrow’s meeting has nothing to do with the mission, as they, or at least local departments, believe the car was stolen and that the ‘theft’ occurred only minutes ago instead of hours.”
“Roger that,” Gularte said, grabbing the transmitter with his left hand and responding. “We’ll keep our eyes peeled on the sand down here.”
There was no response from Bobby.
The Marauder was right where I’d parked it earlier, as was my own vehicle. Gularte got the wax and then got into the Bronco to take it down to the beach. I realized, only at that point, that I’d placed the Marauder keys in a hollow space inside the leather handcuff container on my belt. How would Gates have driven his car if I still had the keys? It was my fourth misstep in a night seemingly filled with them.
When I followed the Bronco through the gates and into the headquarters parking lot, I saw Metzger’s red truck. Gularte parked the Bronco and got out to open the garage door. Seconds later it began to rise. I eased the Marauder inside, as all the surfboard stuff and tools were once again cleared from the space.
Tom Metzger, Steve Bro, and Elwell stood waiting, Elwell with a bundle of folded towels stacked on a nearby stool and Steve Bro holding a bottle of the new miracle spray called Armor All GT10.
I turned the Marauder’s engine off. Elwell immediately handed out the rags and began giving orders.
“Steve, you’re on the interior. Tom, you get the grill, bumpers, and wheels while Beachboy, Gularte, and I’ll take care of waxing the paint, although you two might think about changing into some of the spare swimsuits in the locker room as your uniforms probably won’t hold up against the sweat and wax residue.”
Bob’s point about our uniforms was valid, but rather than change into swimsuits we decided to get back into our tactical gear. My wife could toss that stuff straight into our washing machine and dryer.
The job took the most part of an hour, finally ending with all five of us working very hard to rub the stone-hard wax from the vehicle’s paint. We stood back when we were done. The Marauder shined like a black patent shoe and I knew Gates would be pleased. Once done we all stood around for a few minutes to discuss almost nothing at all. Just as Gularte and I completed our change back into uniform and moved to leave Tom Metzger spoke.
“I didn’t go to Vietnam either,” he said, although none of us had talked about the war at all up until that point.
“Where did you go?” Gularte asked, and from his tone, I knew he was poking some barbed fun at Tom. Tom didn’t seem to notice.
“Nowhere,” he replied, matter-of-factly. “I took speed for both draft physicals and that sped up my heart so much they didn’t want me.”
I looked over at Bro, the only one of the three to remain completely silent about his military service, or lack of it. I caught some subtle movement from Gularte before he made a comment. There was no question that the single word was directed at Bro.
“Claymore,” he said, his voice low and flat.
Bro didn’t respond, only looking back at us both with a frown so sincere that I didn’t think he understood the word, but he remained silent.
“Thanks for letting us know that,” I said to Tom, not knowing what else to say. I pushed Gularte through the door before he could cause any more damage that might prove to be irreparable.
I helped him load the gear into the back of the Bronco and then went back inside to get the Marauder. Nobody had followed us out, so the three guards were right where we left them. The guards stood by and said nothing and neither did I, figuring the subject of Vietnam was, and likely would be on into the future, not one that engendered either much discussion or any good feelings at all for anyone involved. I eased out of the garage. The big door slid down behind me, as I turned to follow Gularte out across the tracks. The trip back to the station was quick and uneventful.
I placed the Marauder carefully into the exact center of the white-outlined parking spot reserved for Lieutenant Gates with Gularte guiding the Bronco just behind and a little off to the passenger side. I climbed out of the car and checked my Seiko. We’d finished the job and returned the car well before the end of Gates’ shift. I closed the door and stood to admire how the vehicle shone brightly under the parking lot lights. The Marauder was truly a rolling automotive piece of specialized art.
“Well, well, well,” a voice said from behind me.
I jerked around, caught totally off-guard and completely by surprise. Gularte started to walk my way as I recognized the man the words had come from. Sergeant Chastney emerged, once again, out from behind the bushes, no doubt hanging around the station while waiting to start his own shift. A cigarette hung from the left side of his mouth, giving a poor comparative nod to the Marlboro Man, or maybe Marlin Brando, but in a more indolent classless way.
“I presume you’ve heard the APB by now?” he asked, pulling the half-smoked cigarette from his mouth and tossing it fully lit and carelessly behind him.
Gularte stepped around the back of the Marauder and joined me.
“You and your dusky reserve companion,” the sergeant said, without waiting for an answer to his question.
Neither Gualarte nor I said anything, as Chastney gave every indication of being modified in his behavior by some substance other than, and much more powerful than, the nicotine in his cigarettes.
“The Porsche,” he finally said, shaking his head, while turning to go back through the department’s single back door.
“You stole a Porsche wheel, making a fool out of me, and then you stole a whole Porsche, making a fool out of the whole department; in fact, several departments. What’s next, a Ferrari?”
Neither Gularte nor I moved or responded.
Chastney let out a snort of disgust and went through the door. It would have slammed except it was only allowed to move slowly by the shock absorber screwed to its top.
“Why does he keep the Porsche wheel next to his desk, with his ashtray on top of it, if he hates it and you so much?” Gularte asked.
“He’s a nasty guy but a good cop,” I replied.
“What does that mean?” Gularte said, with a tone of surprise in his voice.
“He knows I took the wheel and put it there,” I explained. “He knows I took, or did something to the Porsche, as well, and that makes him a good cop.”
“Good cop or not, it’s weird, and I understand why you took the wheel back then, but I can’t figure out the car. The insult wasn’t serious enough, the character not important enough, and the risk pretty extreme for both of us…and then there’s the Doors tape.”
“I didn’t say that Chastney was the sharpest knife in the drawer, only that he was a good cop and could and did certainly put two and two together. There’s something you don’t know about the Porsche but I won’t explain it yet. I can’t believe that everyone, absolutely everyone, is buying the idea that the thing was stolen and not sitting down more than twenty or twenty-five feet below the water at the ramp.”
“Jesus Christ, you wanted it to be found!” Gularte whispered the words like somebody might be trying to listen in.
“I didn’t foresee that it wouldn’t be,” I replied, but going no further.
“The Porsche, Little Mardian, Mardian senior, Cobb, Richard, Butch,” Gularte continued whispering, as his mind worked away. “It’s all tied together in a way that only you’ve figured out. I get that. But what are you doing with all that information, if I’m right?”
That Gularte’s last sentence didn’t seem to make much sense made no difference to me. What he’d meant to ask was the question that I’d already refused to answer, and I wasn’t going to take the issue any further despite how much I’d come to trust Gularte.
“What about the Volks?” he asked, catching me off guard.
“If they bugged the Bronco then why wouldn’t they bug the Volks?” he asked.
I realized instantly that his question illustrated the sixth mistake I’d made in conducting the mission. It hadn’t occurred to me to check either the Bronco nor my own vehicle for a tracking device once we’d found the one attached to the Bronco.
“I’ll check it when I get home,” I replied, shaking off the small spear of fear that had gone through me in simply contemplating such aggressive surveillance behavior being conducted on me.
Gularte and I got into the Bronco and headed back down to finish out our shift. He drove.
“Why didn’t our mission have a name, like I heard you got famous for doing in Vietnam?” Gularte asked, catching me by surprise. I hadn’t mentioned that tidbit of information to him, I was almost sure, although on late-night beach patrol runs up and down an empty beach partners talked about all manner of things, many not remembered.
“Yellow Submarine,” I replied.
“That’s a great name and a great Beatles song,” Gularte answered, letting out a loud whoop and Marine Corps ‘uuuuhhhrahhhh’ yell.
“Think about it, Jim, I said, after a few seconds had gone by. “Only you knew or know anything about the mission. In Vietnam, I needed to motivate a lot of Marines to go along with me. That wasn’t the case here. Secondly, and the major point here, is that the name I selected and never mentioned might just reveal where the hell the Porsche really is instead of the way it is.”
“That’s right,” Gularte replied, his tone having softened considerably. That’s also why you’re the company commander because you think of stuff like that. So, when is the Porsche supposed to surface or be found? Don’t tell me that’s not part of your diabolical plan.”
I was more than surprised by his conclusion. I was shocked. How could this seemingly simple yet expressively brilliant personality rolling along atop the shoulders of a great-looking man have come to that conclusion?
I didn’t answer, instead changing the subject and keeping our discussions away from anything more about the mission until we were done for the night.
The next morning, I headed over to Straight Ahead once I was finished having coffee with Mike Manning on Del Mar. Starting the day talking to Mike over coffee and having Lorraine move around us as if caring for two favorite puppy dogs was comforting in a way I’d never really thought of trying to experience in the past.
Paul was in, even as early as it was, his own VW, a powder blue Karmann Ghia sat out next to the main entrance to the Straight Ahead facility. I pulled my own car to its usual spot on the far side. I stepped through the door to his office, noting that there were now two chairs in front of his desk instead of one. I took the one on the right allowing most of my back to be exposed to the closed door. I’d heard that many vets didn’t want to have their back to doors when sitting in offices or restaurants but I would not succumb to that tendency. In Vietnam, I’d been exposed all the time, but I was home and not exposed to almost any danger at all. Drinking coffee with cream and sugar back home was a requirement because I couldn’t get those fixings over there. I knew I was trying to run in direct opposition to what I’d experienced but doing so made me feel that I was ‘getting better’ or adapting. Paul was on the phone so I looked around his office.
There’d been no bug planted on or under the Volks. For some reason the Bronco, possibly because it was owned by the federal government, was fair game but not my personal vehicle. I had no way of knowing, but I also knew that the bugging could very possibly extend to Paul’s office as I had no idea who owned the Straight Ahead complex and I also remained unsure of just how much I could or should trust Paul.
Paul hung up the phone and looked across the desk at me.
“Two chairs instead of one,” I commented, “you coming up in the world?”
“One for your wife who I want to see as soon as you can get her to come in,” Paul replied.
I wasn’t at all sure that my wife would agree to talk to my ‘shrink’ as she had her very own ideas about such things. I was also not sure that Paul was at all ready to deal with what my wife was, so I didn’t make any response. I was uncertain about even asking her to see him, although I knew she’d do just about anything to help me.
“I heard the rumor,’ Paul said, letting my wife’s future appearance go. “It would seem that the Wind and Sea restaurant owner has lost his beloved and brand new Porsche.”
“Seems like a rumor that traveled awfully fast, in spite of the fact that the new place under construction is right down the cliff from here,” I replied, wanting to give away nothing at that point.
“Robert C. Mardian Junior, the owner of the Porsche in question, attends Straight Ahead as an outpatient upon occasion,” Paul said, surprising me, as I’d assumed that anyone taking part in the organization’s drug rehabilitation program would have some sort of confidentiality protection, which also didn’t say much for the secretiveness of my own communications with Paul.
Drugs might explain, however, why Little Mardian had been so aggressively nasty toward me, without much cause, when we’d met. That thought added a bit to my being uncomfortable with the whole Mardian situation. I wasn’t expecting to meet with Haldeman in the morning. He didn’t make appointments with people at my gerbil level, but Mardian was in and out all the time and would more likely need a dependable date and time.
“What’s on your mind?” Paul asked, leaning forward, cradling his chin with his hands while his elbows spread out on the desktop before him.
From his expression and his position, I knew he was interested in whatever it was that I might have to say. The Watergate investigation was at the top of television news, even though that situation hadn’t seemed to change the behavior of anyone at the Western White House complex, at least so far.
“I feel like I’m on a ship sailing into a distant shore where there are only rocks and cliffs to crash down upon,” I said, surprising myself. It was the blatant truth, and I’d already learned in life that blabbing out the blatant truth generally surrendered the blabberer down into an identity of prey.
“You’re afraid,” Paul replied, not putting it to me as a question.
“I don’t know if that’s really it, not like it was, the terror down in the valley,” I replied.
“If you’re not afraid, then ought you to be afraid since the valley you speak of may well have deadened you completely to experiencing a quite necessary emotion in facing lesser threats. The missing Porsche isn’t a small thing in this culture, and although I know you know that, still, does the potential of such a thing’s true import reach anymore than a shallow trench laid out before you in life?”
I stared across the desk at the man, impressed by the man’s ability to go right to the heart of things but also disturbed by the fact that answering such a question might be considered an admission under the law, which wasn’t something I was ready or willing to do. I didn’t reply, taking as much time as I could to think.
“Don’t answer,” Paul finally said, with a sigh. “It’s not a fair question and the data I’m running with is flawed, as well as unconfirmed. The real question is about your options. You can either run up upon those not-so-distant rocks to a potentially life-changing effect, or you can bail off and recover what you can from the coming wreckage…that is, if you’re allowed to bail off.”
“That’s not a question,” I shot back, knowing it was a wise ass comment to make to one’s therapist.
“Yes, actually, without the verbal punctuation, it is,” Paul replied, sitting back in his chair as if to await my response with infinite patience.
“I believe I won’t know the answer to that question, which really isn’t a question, until tomorrow morning,” I replied, sighing all on my own. I reached into my pocket for my wallet.”
“I’ll be here all day,” Paul said, motioning my hand away from my wallet with his right arm. “Pay me tomorrow, but the charge will only be for one session because I think we’re done here for now… and talk to your wife. You have a special relationship with her that’s uncommon in my experience and speaking with her may help me.”
I pushed my wallet back into my pocket and then stood up. The tone of his last sentence had been strange, even for him. Was my wife to be interviewed for him to help me or for him to help himself?
“We’re pair bonded,” I said, not really knowing why I said it.
“What?” Paul replied, his head coming up as we looked into each other’s eyes.
“Like beavers, wolves, or bald eagles,” I said, bringing up a few of the very rare animal species that mate for life, as I’d studied in anthropology.
Paul shook his head with a frown but said nothing more as I departed.
I went home, changed, and went to the beach near the south side of the pier, where my wife and Julie hung out when I wasn’t around. The day passed as I body surfed, built sand castles with Julie, and shared as much as I could in discussion with my wife, the next day’s meeting or the mission not being two of those things. After dinner, we watched Mary Tyler Moore and then Hawaii Five-O before retiring for the night. I tossed and turned, but that wasn’t uncommon for me although I never wrote it off to nightmares from Vietnam with my wife. She had enough worries about what I’d come home as from that war.
In the morning I took special care in getting ready for the meeting, not heading over to Galloway’s as had become my custom following a quick cup of coffee with my wife. Over that coffee, she asked a question.
“So, you going to tell me or do I just worry on through the day until you get home, if you’re coming home?” she asked.
I leaned back in my chair and rubbed one hand up and down over my freshly shaved cheeks and chin. Of course, she’d figured out that something was up.
She almost always did, many times not bringing up her conclusions although I knew they were often there.
I told her the story of the message and how the formality and future appointments might portend bad things. I did not mention either the Porsche or anything about the mission. When I finished I just stared across the table and waited.
“It’s not about you,” she said staring at me with her most serious facial expression. “It almost never is, but you always feel like it’s going to be all about you, like that Naval Board of Inquiry back at the Yokosuka Hospital. I understand that it’s hard, doing whatever it is you’re doing for them since I found that other uniform stuff you left in the Volkswagen. It’s in the washing machine, by the way, if you need to wear it soon again.”
Bozo leaped up on the table but made no other move, sitting facing me not a foot away, taking up his dead-still statue pose. Mrs. Beasley, her recording device going bad once again, just kept saying “honorable man,” to me, time after time into the silence that followed my wife’s response and revelation. That she remembered the Board of Inquiry was surprising but not unlike some of the other stuff that she kept deposited inside her big brain.
I checked my Seiko, finished my coffee, and told her it was time to go, and that I’d be back to ‘report in.’
What I most remembered, as I drove toward the compound, was the expression “honorable man” that kept playing time after time through my mind.
The gate was open, and the corporal and the staff sergeant stood saluting as I stopped, smiled, and waved before driving through. After I parked near the big wall gates, I walked toward them and one opened, like it was part of a movie set with secret operators unseen watching my every move, which had to be close to the truth. Everything was as it had come to be for one of my ‘see the man’ visits.
The door in the wall leading to the path that would take me to the residence pool was open. I stopped at the opening and looked at my single Secret Service escort. He nodded, then spoke into a small walkie-talkie: “Subject 4358 is en route on the ground,” he said, as I stepped through the door. Four three five eight were the last four numbers of my Marine Corps identification number. I walked the path, with no dogs present this time. Mardian was sitting on the side of a chaise lounge like he always did, with a cardboard box atop the table next to him where his cigar sat smoking on its ashtray.
Before I could take a seat on the lounge next to him he began to speak.
“Two things,” he said, needlessly holding up two fingers on his right hand. “First, a question”, he went on, dropping his fingers to pick up his cigar.
I sat down beginning to relax just a small bit. I’d not been attacked or accused of anything, at least not yet, and I knew I wasn’t dealing with a man who was shy about such things.
“Did they teach you the one-time pad communications system in RPS School?”
“No, sir, “ I replied, wondering why Mardian, as his level wasn’t better informed.
“Do you know what it is?” he asked.
“The one-time pad is a system of written communication that goes back to the 1800’s,” I replied. “Either a machine or manual scrambled set of numbers are assembled and the numbers are reproduced from the original on a single pad given to the recipient awaiting a message. A book or other piece of literature may be used as a random numbers generator simply because only a person who knows what the book of the origination numbers is and what page the letters are being translated into numbers then the code is considered unbreakable to this day.”
“Figures,” Mardian said.
“I want you to take these books and put them in your library at home, and I know you have one. Do you speak French?”
“No,” I answered, slightly mystified.
“Good, these three books are in French so it’s not likely anybody might guess that one or more of them is being used as a code generator. Things are happening fast and it will be important to have a way to communicate that is unbreakable. Should someone send you a request to send them a book then buy two identical books and send them one. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, not understanding at all. I understood the process but not one whit of what kind of communications would be necessary and why I would be trusted to be the encryption and decryption agent for them. I’d never sent or received a one-time pad communication and I’d have to do what I could to better understand the complexity of it.
“Good, there will be somebody you know to help you with that at the Marina, and that brings us to the second request I have for you,” Mardian went on. “My son’s Porsche was taken at the marina and I’m willing to bet the man you convinced to let the project go on is the culprit. I want you to find out and then recover the Porsche if you can.”
My relief was complete. Evidently, although the compound was keeping track of my whereabouts using bugs that entity had no interest in following Mardian’s son.
I asked, immediately having no idea why I asked, “What will he replace it with?”
“He’s getting a Ferrari,” Mardian said, putting his cigar down in the ashtray and picking up the small heavy box. “There are some books inside this, so get to work.”
I stood and accepted the package, my mind racing however in thinking about Sergeant Chastney. The man knew I’d stolen the wheel from the doctor, and guessed that I had something to do with Little Mardian’s Targa and now would find out that his prediction of the kid driving a Ferrari was coming true. I wondered how much the tightly wound-smoking chimney of a sergeant could take.
I quickly exited the residence yard, passed through the compound hallway, and made it to my car. The staff sergeant didn’t approach me, and I made no effort to reach out to him. I wanted the books home at the soonest possible time, with nobody knowing or guessing anything about any of it. I drove slowly and carefully. When I reached home I took the box inside but didn’t open it until I was in our small downstairs bedroom converted into my quasi-office and library. Mardian had been correct about our library. I’d neglected to tell him that my wife spoke French, but only the kind of French she’d taken in college. We’d never traveled outside of the United States.
I was more than amazed to examine the three volumes of Le Comte de Monte-Cristo, printed in Paris and beautifully bound in leather. That Mardian, or someone, had three exactly like them was a bit hard to believe, and that I’d bought my own copy, in a cheaper mass market edition, to read on the plane riding back and forth to D.C. was even more amazing. It just couldn’t be a coincidence. The feeling that I was under almost continuous surveillance was pervading everything I thought and did. The books looked very expensive and very rare. The publishing date read ‘1849 Paris.’ I had no idea when the first edition in French had come out but I knew that the three volumes I possessed were very close to that date.
My wife handled the books like they were made of 24-carat gold but asked no questions. “What a wonderful gift,” was all that she said, mounting the three on a top shelf to be out of Julie and Bozo’s notice or handling. In handling the books as gingerly and carefully as she did, a folded slip of paper fell out, wafting to the floor.
“What’s this?” Mary asked, unfolding the piece of paper.
“What does it say?” I asked since it was too late to stop her from reading whatever was on the note.
“Just one word,” she replied, “Cobb.”
“Wonder what that means?” I asked her, truthfully, although Cobb and Hunt were always the money, if not more when it came to the Porsche. My wife let it go and I was relieved.
The next morning, I first went for coffee, as Mary and Julie slept in. After about an hour I left and went to Gularte’s to fill him in. I owed him the same feeling of relief I’d received when Mardian assigned me to find the Porsche.
Gularte accepted the information but then returned to his bedroom to sleep, no doubt after a night of bachelor drinking and cavorting in the Laguna Beach bars, as none of the members of the local police department would drink at local haunts.
My next stop was to Straight Ahead, as I’d promised the day before. I’d have to encounter Cobb once again, but I wanted to do so after visiting Paul.
Paul’s car was parked out front as I passed to park along the side of the building. The side door was unlocked so I let myself in.
He was at his desk as I eased through the open door, closed it, and sat down. I pulled the cash I owed him from my pocket and placed it on the desk.
“When you came in yesterday, I failed to ask you why you’d come in, since we only meet twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Paul said, and I noted that he was wearing exactly the same outfit he’d been wearing the day before, something my wife would never let me do, and more than the Marine Corps had.
A shirt could only be worn once without laundering, trousers twice, underwear and socks once, and then there were two showers and a shave also required.
Paul usually asked the questions that I tried to answer, so I remained unaware if he was married or not, but knew by instinct he’d never served in the Marines.
I told him about how I’d confronted three of my closest associates in the lifeguard department about their deliberate avoidance of serving in Vietnam, and how I accepted that avoidance even though I didn’t understand why they felt it necessary to discuss their lack of service with me.
“Absolution,” Paul replied. “like with Mike Manning, the motor transport officer,” he went on. “Your voluntary presence in their lives without criticism or question is a form of your acceptance and provides them a measure of absolution they can find nowhere else. Your own service was exemplary enough to raise you up to a position, in that regard, than you understand, or probably care about.”
I sat and considered for a short time, while Paul moved some papers about his desktop.
“The driver’s side windshield wiper sprayer on my Karmann Ghia doesn’t work,” he finally said. “Know anything about those since they’ve got to be the same as the ones on your model?”
“Get a spray bottle from the grocery store and stick your hand out the window with the wipers on,” I replied, having had the same problem once, “then get into Fred’s on El Camino Real and tell him you’re a friend of ours.”
“Ours?” Paul asked. “Which group, the police, the compound, the insurance guys…or am I missing some other outfit you work for or with?”
“Police,” I came back, not showing any response to what I considered his humor-related question.
“What about your ship, sailing along toward rough waters?” Paul asked.
“I won’t be abandoning ship,” if that’s what you mean,” I replied and then waited.
“So, you have to either die when the ship goes on the rocks or find a way to take advantage of surviving the wreck,” he replied, surprising me once again by hinting that maybe going down with the ship, any ship, might be some kind of sane alternative to living on into the future. What kind of therapist said or hinted at something like that?
I thanked Paul and headed on down to the harbor construction area and the already occupied yacht slips. I drove by the ramp but there was nothing at all going on so I kept going until I was close to where Cobb’s boat was docked. She was already up I could see as I approached on foot. She was sitting on a bench by the side of her slip with Richard sitting beside her. They were both drinking either coffee or tea from paper cups they’d gotten from somewhere. I walked up and stood before them.
“Good morning,” I said, knowing from the expressions on their faces that good was probably not part of their day so far.
“You want to tell us about it,” Cobb asked, holding out her free hand which held one of Mardian’s blank white envelopes.
I took the envelope, guessing that if it held hundreds then there was a tidy sum inside. Instead of ignoring Cobb’s question and departing with the money I took a seat on the other side of her from where Richard sat. I slipped the envelope into my right front pocket without unsealing it. I knew full well that I wasn’t dealing with normal people in any sense of the word. Either one of them, or both together, could probably make my life a living hell in very short order. I had to think my way through what I was about to say and then do.
I have read every word of this story going back to the First 30 Days, and yet to this day, I can’t wait for the next chapter. A great story Lt.
Thanks Michael, means a lot to me to have such a small group of readers like you who’ve been in it for the long haul.
Nothing like loyalty and such great interest to keep me going. On into chapter XLIX!
Semper fi,
Jim
Mr. Strauss, sir,
Holy Cow!
I mean just holy cow! I was just thinking about how old you must have been at this time, and how much you had experienced to that point in your life (and how immature were my concerns when I was that age). I would not have thought it possible, but my respect for you continues to grow and grow and grow as I continue to follow your amazing life experiences.
Thank you.
I was twenty-six, going on a hundred! Although my written work when I edit and work through it reads like I knew what I was doing at almost every twist and turn, I was really a lot more uncertain about much of it…proceeding ahead by stepping here and there gingerly to avoid life’s land mines
I wasn’t really for…and occasionally stomping here and there in abandon, without, thankfully, setting off any monster explosions that might do me in. Thanks for following the odyssey of my earlier adventures.
The long lens of life experience allows us to look back at our earlier days, but that lens is at times cloud, dim or distorted in presenting the reality of that time. I try to reflect on that to as I proceed…helped along a great deal by readers like you…Thank you.
Semper fi,
Jim
Most butterbars were great but green officers! Only until they got the blood transfusion that made the a$$ hats from sr 1st lts and suck a$$ captains. I wasn’t referring to you as a butter bar, but the ones I served with. As I stated earlier, I would have loved to have served with you! You make me proud to call you my brother!
I did not take offense. I was a butterbar until I landed in the valley and had the Gunny and pending death change everything in my life, including
my very appearance. You have to begin somewhere but taking fire isn’t any way to learn much of anything except you never want to take it again.
Would have been proud to have you…and am proud that you are here with me now as we travel ahead into this seemingly never-ending adventure together.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Great chapter! I’m looking forward to the next one
Another coming in a couple days
Thank you for your loyal support.
Please share this story with friends.
Cowardly Lion, Book Two
I appreciate you
Jim
Thank you again for such a great and very interesting chapter, I am waiting anxiously for your next chapter.
I really appreciate your enthusiasm and support, Robert
Thank you. Share these chapter with your friends
Cowardly Lion, Book Two
what a ride! I am not the hero you wanted. I am the monster you needed. Absolution. didn’t you ounce experience a priest who refused you absolution?
Used metaphorically to mean the act of forgiving or pardoning someone for their mistakes or sins, even in non-religious contexts. It implies letting go of blame or resentment and granting forgiveness or pardon to someone who has committed an offense. thus ends our portion of the guys who did not go.
You and Paul have a fascinating dialogue- he opens your emotional and mental pores. Very necessary for you actually all of us.
Seems like some of your Marine training and experience is coming to create a paradox. Mine did. While we are taught to act instantly and instinctually, we also must learn to think. Slow down, be two steps ahead,Lets remember you are 2-3 years removed from the hell of the ASHAU?
You haven’t even begun to process it in you head, let alone you heart or in soul and emotions.
With out Mary’s moral compass you would have been dead or in jail or worse!
We , Marines, men in general don’t feel like most people. Add a war and you are emotionally damaged for a long time , if not for ever.
You’re little search and destroy with Gularte set off you emotional system without u knowing intellectually. that is why it is called a gut feeling.
Amen, you are healing me.
You, my friend, don’t seem to give any indications that you need healing at all, in the times I’ve been able to encounter you in person. The Marine Ball in
November will be another of those occasions, not to mention seeing your extraordinary wife once more. Thanks for the varied depths of the degrees of
thought and reason in your comment, and of course for the compliment of your making those thoughts on this site.
Semper fi, your friend,
Jim
“You’re here,” I said, staring into his eyes, my own unblinking and direct. “You’re here and talking to me. If you’d gone with me, I’d likely be talking to your headstone and that’d be a poor substitute. I can’t absolve, forgive or even define what your reasons were, but I can say that both you and Bro have all the foundations that would have made you fine Marines to serve with.”
Such a classy cool answer .
I enjoy your writting
Thanks Sean. Sometimes telling the truth is seemingly so easy, when many times it is certaiainly not. I have to live with the living, not the dead.
Much appreciate your comments and your selection that part of the chapter to illustrate.
Semper fi,
Jim
I just finished the previous chapter and left the response about checking my email daily for the next chapter. I opened my Email and there it was!!! Keep it up LT! I wish that I’d had the privilege of serving with you! I met a couple butter bars that were great Marines and enlisted friendly but they got transferred for being too troop friendly. That wasn’t the reason given to us be we knew the real reason. We would have followed either one of them to hell and back! I wouldn’t have followed the CO or XO to the outhouse!!!
Thank you Johnny, in identifying me with the ‘butter bars’ that were decent. The leadership of almost all military commands is not made up
of combat vets or those who’ve been out in the field or ‘down in the valley.’ They are made up of those who do not have to and don’t go into those places or have that life experience. Those leaders come to believe the mythology of war driven by media, movies, television shows and more. They act and look tough. In so many cases that means that they abuse those below them to demonstrate their ‘toughness.’ They are not tough. A small fragment of an exploded artillery shell, moving across the surface of the earth at about 22,000 feet per second through its course of travel, when it strikes a human being…is tough. Thanks for the depth of your comment and your loyalty and support at writing it on this site. The other readers, I just know, will love reading the reality of it.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks for coming back on your other comment Joseph. The compliment is much appreciated and I particularly like the use of the word ‘hungry.’ Not too many readers left in the world the tare ‘hungry’ to read anything anymore…so, I’m tickled to be so mentioned.
Semper fi,
Jim
Chuck Bartok, one of the principal players form back in the day, as you read in this story…and still with me through all these years. Not often readers get to see his comments, as he is the operational force in charge of getting the work successfully published. Here’s a comment from him which I copied and pasted from Facebook since he never comments here on the site.
Thanks Chuck doesn’t quite get it as a descriptive phrase…like with DanC…
Semper fi,
Jim
No typos found this time, good deal !!
It just couldn’t be a coincidence – I believe you’re right with that thought James !!
Great chapter as usual but with more unanswered questions, and will you take your wife to meet with Paul ?? Hmmm….
Yes, SgtBob, as you will read, I did take my wife to meet Paul and what a meeting it was, indeed.
Anyway, thanks for the continued support and the editing report.
Semper fi,
Jim
Gee James, I’m waiting for the finished product. You are making me feel like a virgin in waiting.
Thanks Mark for waiting patiently, as I figure out in finality how I want to present this book. Actually, since I’ve hit it so hard I probably have to break the book into II and iii since
as book II it would over 900 pages long!
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow LT, you covered much ground in this Chapter, a real barn burner! I can’t imagine, and am waiting with bated breath to see the outcome! Thank you, Semper Fi!
Yes, indeed, Joe, it was a barnburner. Just could not end it, and then went on writing into the next chapter as it’s coming fast and hard.
Semper fi, and thanks for being so enthusiastic and patiently waiting.
Semper fi,
Jim
I have written you before. I will tell you a bit about myself but will use KISS i doing so. I am prior Air Force, 33 years total. Active duty 2 year in RVN one as SOS gunner on hueys. Then in AFRES as a gunner on AC130’s and a radio operator on the MC-130E Combat Talon. I have been in combat in each of the planes I flew on. Although I have earned 14 air medals over the years, I will tell you that the bravest thing I have ever done was simply getting on board for each mission.
I have enjoyed your books since the beginning Now after all that time reading your books, I still have to wonder how much is “story” and how much is memories. Either way, I will keep reading each chapter.
Thanks again for coming on and repeating your own experiences, especially about the difficulties nobody talks about, in going into combat, surviving it, and then having to go back in.
The story of 30 Days, the three book series is ninety percent real while The Cowardly Lion is about eigthy percent. Sometimes only the segues holding the elements together are the ficition, as it
is difficult to remember some things that don’t seem to have merit or impact but in reality are vitally important.
Semper fi, and thanks for the great comment.
And the compliment, of course.
Jim
I have followed your journal since the first 10 days, but felt I had not much to add to your esteemed collogues in the comments section. I served in the AF as a medic from 1962 -1966 a 1 yr tour in Korea. I was 17 when I enlisted. My dad was a 25 yr pilot in the AF, so we moved around a lot. My Dad and 7 yrs younger brother served in Vietnam, as a pilot and Marine aircraft mechanic respectively.
When I was in collage, I had a roommate that was a disillusioned combat Marine who was virulently anti-war and a local Vets Against the War leader. Ironically, he later reenlisted 10 years later. He is currently dying at a vets hospital secondary to Agent Orange.
Since you have been asking for comments, I felt a need to contribute something. I continue to look forward to each chapter, and wonder how this is going to playout in the known history. The references to the cars and local color remind me of both fond and not so fond events at that time. Keep up the good work.
Thanks most sincerely for your addition to our experience on this site. Yes, I do ask for comments, not necessarily to bask in the ‘sunshine’ radiated down by nice comments, but also to receive direct assistance in editing and also in adding to the story, like you just have here. I’m sure everyone reading on here liked what your wrote, as I did. Thanks for the compliment and having an understanding about why I’m writing…as it sure as hell isn’t for the money!
Semper fi,
Jim
Again, I’m blown away! It gets more and more mysterious. You have me hooked and are having fun reeling me in, I assume. Batman
What a great pleasure to have one of the real characters in the story come alive and write comments on this site. Thanks Tom, or Batman, I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your contributions and reading what you have to say. You were a gift back in those days and all the way through time to right now. I’m certain that other regular readers enjoy the fact that most of what is written, that is being read, is based on factual stuff that really happened. Your coming forward is proof of that from an independent involved source.
Semper fi, my old friend,
Jim
This should be made into a movie or TV series. It really is fascinating…
From your lips to God’s ears Tony! I would be very surprised to hear from either Hollywood or New York. Those places in publishing and producing usually only handle controversial combat stuff that follows a rigid mythical course of total fiction. Of vets coming home they go toward the agony of the vet and not the causality of the social order. Anyway, I thank your for the compliment and your lucid intelligent recommendation.
Semper fi,
Jim
How do you keep all the sub-plots straight? Great writing, but dang, I think your paranoia would kill you.
Thanks Robert for the compliment of thinking that I have the kind of mind that can dream up all this stuff and then keep it straight, rather than the truth. I recall it from long term memory. I was given that as a gift by God, although with the curse of it. There are a lot of things I’d like to forget but don’t get to. Paranoia doesn’t kill you, in fact, many times, it keeps you alive…even if there’s nobody out there. Ennui and nothing is the enemy. Being alone is the enemy.
I write on here not to be alone, experience ennui or have nothing in my life. Thanks for the great comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow!!! Reading this is as stressful as going into a known hot LZ to pick up wounded soldiers.
DUSTOFF medic 70-71
Cary! Wow! Hopefully, it’s not nearly as dangerous to read my stuff than it is to go into to a hot LZ for any reason. But I much enjoy reading the comparison and the compliment of your writing it, especially on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
One small typo
Your own service was exemplary enough to raise you up to a position, in that regard, than you understand, or probably care about
more than you understand
Always a good read, keep it up.
Thanks for the help and the compliment Matt!
Semper fi,
Jim
And more should be any more than the Marine corps had
There might be a miss print check out the paragraph dealing withe the shrink visit
Thanks Jim, checkking now. Don’t know what I’d do without DanC and the rest of you guys who provide a helping hand. It was a long and pretty complex chapter to lay down.
Semper fi,
Jim
I think we all know from experience, that when the wife gets involved, things start happening…… I look forward to the meeting of the brain trust, AND the Cobb response !
Cobb was an enigma as was Richard. I was dealing with some world class players of
mystery back then, and went on to meet more, of course. The start of everything that lead to the rest of my life is right in these earlier chapters, however.
Thanks for the comment and the compliment of your waiting for more.
Semper fi,
Jim
Have followed your story from the beginning, your insertion, Chapter 1 of 30 Days! Intriguing, interesting and well written! It.grabs you by the collar and takes you for a ride! Thanks for sharing! No
Thanks for the well written compliment Junior. Like my old nickname. I feel like I should know you.
Are you back there in my rather complex series of mysteries comprising my life? Thanks for the very well written compliment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Each chapter pulls me in and leaves me anticipating the next. It was ’73 or ’74 when the question of our oath of enlistment was raised by a clearly disturbed CWO. How would we react if Nixon declared a state of emergency, suspended Congress, and implemented martial law? I don’t know who raised the question but the Chief asked it of us minutes after attending an emergency meeting at SAC Hq.
Thanks for that great and interesting comment Ken. It’s almost like the conundrum one might get involved in should you be a pilot and ordered to shoot down a civilian airliner. At what point does the greater good become an evaluative response and responsibility of the actual actor on the scene? Tough one, when taking a sort of deep but anonymous oath.
Semper fi,
Jim
Good morning Jim,
I am enjoying your writing, and in today’s chapter regarding the three that didn’t go to Vietnam needing absolution makes me think of an attitude I developed while reading the September books. I have encountered a lot of people that did serve, but never went to Vietnam, and were almost apologetic. I tell them, “Don’t apologize, take it from me, you didn’t want to to go. The Army (Air Force, Navy, Marines….take your pick), assigned you a job and a place to do it. If you had said, “I’m not doing that, I am going to Vietnam, you would have been dragged back to your duty station and disciplined.” When you serve, you go where you are told, and do what you are assigned to do. Not going to Vietnam wan’t you fault. This seems to have helped several people.
Those of us who went. Yes, there’s a certain exposure to continued conundrums in communication and applied philosophy and behavior when coming home and spending the rest of a life wherein most around either have no clue or didn’t go if they might have been called upon. Thanks for the depth of your comment and your conclusions.
Semper fi,
Jim
You never fail to impress me. I look forward to every chapter.
As I look forward to comments like your very own here. Can’t thank you enough.
Semper fi,
Jim
Very interesting…were Cobb & Richard observing the burial at sea? Why does Senior need to know where the car is if replacing with a Ferrari? Why does it make any different if the books are in French…still have the books?
I don’t remember being upset by those who figured a way out of RVN, especially those who were real outliers. I guess who just thought they were better than the war upset me…same today with those who don’t consider service. I was pissed on my worse than degree job prospects on return to the world.
Again interesting issues….
The Beale papers. Great fortune mystery of times gone by. All about the one time pad code. One third o the code was broken by a sleuth who matched the code numbers to the Declaration of Independence. The other two parts, one of which held the location of the buried fortune, have never been discovered no matter how many documents and books have been entered into computers over the years. The car mystery is not resolved yet but will soon be and you may be surprised once again. I realize that I seem to be foolish in the eyes of some war veterans in my reaction to those not going or avoiding service. It’ not a good thing but then such decisions are often made at such early ages where mental development is a long way from complete. I have never truly forgiven myself for the three times I acted cowardly under fire, although the Gunny helped my better understand why I acted that way and why he was okay with it. I made up for it in his eyes…but not really my own. Maybe it’s just another reason I don’t like to have my decorations on the wall or wear them at Marine balls. Thanks for the ‘bare bones’ compliment, too, my great friend.
Semper fi,
Jim
Whew! I don’t know where to start! Again a gripping tale, like being in a cavern and having to decide which tunnel to take. Cobb, Richard and especially Gularte are great characters. Gularte is a great friend and person. I’m wondering how he knows so much about your time in the valley? Cobb is definitely no joke! As they say follow the money. Richard has not yet displayed his real character, but I’d be on high alert around the man. As always love your writing James! Looking forward to the next chapter my friend!
Jack Samson, intellect and investigator extraordinaire! You look inside, that’s for sure Jack. What a combination of characters that I really didn’t see as such at the time I was so deeply involved with them. Chuck Bartok and Tom Thorkelson, from that time have commented on here, and more, but so far none of the others. Gularte is still alive as is Elwell, who calls me, but won’t comment, after every chapter is published…to critique his place in the story! Most of the players back then are now among the dead so I won’t be hearing from them until such time as I myself cross over. Bro and Metzger are still around but won’t read the stuff. Little Mardian is also still around but I don’t suppose I’ll be hearing from him anytime soon. Thanks for how deeply you pull back the covers to look inside. And your support and loyalty, of course.
Semper fi,
Jim
Hmmm, this is getting deeper and deeper into that rabbit hole, seems like you have to go for it!! But this time you have lots of backup going in with you…Great chapter Lt, don’t stop now!!
Thanks Bob. Yes, I was somehow able to build a backup team, although I’m not sure how all that happened, other than serendipity having a good deal to do with it. Maybe I was able to get others to come to understand that I knew what I was doing when many times I did not. I’m not sure. Thanks for pushing me ever forward. I am deep into XLVIII right as this is written, although life comes at me like it does you, making staying at it all the time impossible.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
James, “Absolution” In the 1990s within a two week period two people who knew I was a Vietnam vet told me about their resistance to the war. That they did not really care about what they said then; but their real motivation was fear of going to Vietnam and dying. Their words to me were almost word for word the same. Nothing precipitated the exchanges. It was completely out of the blue. They were asking for absolution; but there
may have been some apology there as well. I acknowledged that I heard them. I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying, “Do you think those who did go were not scared?”
Envelope(money?) from Cobb. To purchase books? or payoff to find the Targa? Maybe haul a large sailboat up the ramp and its keel will catch the Porsche. We shall see.
Some minor editing suggestions follow:
get Gate’s car
because Gate’s shift will be ending
Since name is Gates then possessive is apostrophe after “s”
get Gates’ car
because Gates’ shift will be ending
“I thought it was ‘if it can go wrong, it will go wrong,” Gularte replied.
Maybe single quote after second “wrong”
“I thought it was ‘if it can go wrong, it will go wrong’,” Gularte replied.
vehicle’s every move or leave it that and think about the fact
Maybe “there” instead of “that”
vehicle’s every move or leave it there and think about the fact
all departments within the facility are being notified
Maybe “vicinity” rather than “facility”
all departments within the vicinity are being notified
How would Gates have driven his car if I still had the keys?
/Not sure how this fits as you just said “The Marauder was right where I’d parked it earlier” What evidence is there that Gates drove it?/
bottle of the new miracle spray called Armorall GT10
Armor All GT-10
bottle of the new miracle spray called Armor All GT-10
“Nowhere,” he replied, matter-of-factually
Matter-of-factly seems better
“Nowhere,” he replied, matter-of-factly
The big door slid down before me
Maybe “behind” instead of “before”
The big door slid down behind me
I didn’t say that Chastney was the sharpest knife
Open quotes
“I didn’t say that Chastney was the sharpest knife
It hadn’t occurred to me to check either the Bronco nor my own vehicle for a bug once we’d found the one attached to the Bronco.
/ bug = listening device? Item found on Bronco = tracking device?/
Change wording or entire sentence.
either / or. Change “nor” to “or”
It hadn’t occurred to me to check either the Bronco or my own vehicle for a bug once we’d found the tracking device attached to the Bronco.
/If bug = tracking device then reword sentence /
It hadn’t occurred to me to check my own vehicle for a bug once we’d found the one attached to the Bronco.
Bronco and headed back down to finish our shift out.
Maybe change word order. Move “out” to after “finish”
Bronco and headed back down to finish out our shift.
his own VW, a powder blue Karmen Ghia
Karmann Ghia
his own VW, a powder blue Karmann Ghia
their back to doors when sitting in officers or restaurants
Maybe “offices” rather than “officers”
their back to doors when sitting in offices or restaurants
that situation hadn’t seemed to change either the behavior of anyone
“either” is extra.
that situation hadn’t seemed to change the behavior of anyone
surrendered the blabber down into an identity of prey.
/Interesting “blabber” as a noun means one who talks foolishly…
I’m used to “blabberer” as a noun which is also valid.
You choose./
surrendered the blabberer down into an identity of prey.
which wasn’t something I wasn’t ready or willing to do.
Second “wasn’t” should be “was”
which wasn’t something I was ready or willing to do.
we’re done here for now and talk to your wife.
Two thoughts expressed – so maybe a pause between
we’re done here for now…and talk to your wife.
that I’d be back in to ‘report in.’
“in” after “back” seems extra
that I’d be back to ‘report in.’
wall leading to the patch that would take me to the residence pool
Maybe “path” instead of “patch”
wall leading to the path that would take me to the residence pool
I sat down begging to relax just a small bit.
Maybe “beginning” instead of “begging”
I sat down beginning to relax just a small bit.
“Do you know what it is?” asked.
Add “he” before “asked”
“Do you know what it is?” he asked.
recover the Porsche if you can.
Close quotes
recover the Porsche if you can.”
” I asked, immediately having no idea why I asked.
/Your question is missing/
Maybe something like “What is he driving now?”
OR “What will he replace it with?”
I wanted the books and money home at the soonest
/No mention of money with Mardian – maybe drop it/
/Money? later comes from Cobb/
I wanted the books home at the soonest
slip of paper fell out, wafting the floor.
Maybe add “to” after “wafting”
slip of paper fell out, wafting to the floor.
cash I owed him from my pocket and placed it on the desk
Add period
cash I owed him from my pocket and placed it on the desk.
sprayer on my Karmen Ghia doesn’t work
Karmann Ghia
sprayer on my Karmann Ghia doesn’t work
Blessings & Be Well
Your reading, analysis and corrective reactions are such that you make pretty great predictions about what’s coming even before it comes. Thanks for your words about the chapter and also, of course, the corrections you make that I follow like they are religion. You are the man!
Semper fi,
Jim
Another cliffhanger…running up on the rocks indeed!
What does the following mean? <> What did you ask?
I’m not sure I understand the question Mike. Try it again.
thanks for asking it though.
Semper fi,
Jim
Oh, Jim!
So much action and activity going on in this chapter!
LOTS transpiring here…
Delightful and intriguing chapter to read.
And re-read.
Thanks bunches for this new chapter.
Commenter Dan C. does a wonderful and priceless job of editing for you, but one paragraph you wrote is confusing to me. What did you ask?
Is there some content missing?
******************************
” [“?] My relief was complete. Evidently, although the compound was keeping track of my whereabouts using bugs that entity had no interest in following Mardian’s son.” I asked, immediately having no idea why I asked.
Ah, Walter, thanks for reproducing the paragraph. Bob asked me that and I didn’t get it. I was taking of myself! I failed to make that clear and so the readers, like you and Bob, were lost along the way. Thanks for helping me here and, of course, putting the question here where everyone else who probably had the same reaction, is reading.
Semper fi,
Jim