As soon as Bob was done talking the meeting turned into bedlam.
“What kind of conclusion is that to come to?” Hoodoo asked into the maelstrom of everyone talking at the same time. “You have no basis in fact for any of your conclusions leading to that. We don’t know that LBJ had anything to do with the assassination of Kennedy, much less his brother. The Secret Service, probably without a doubt, and even maybe the intelligence agencies that would have the opportunity to have the Service aboard. But we’ve got only a bunch of conjecture.”
“We have three dead Marines,” I said, as things quieted. “There is only one likely conclusion to that mystery. “Those three either did something or failed to do something they were required to do…and their failure could not be recorded anywhere.”
“Once again,” Hoodoo said, this time in a calmer tone. “We are speculating, which is part of any investigative process but we’re also talking about the people running the entire United States Government, now and back then.”
“Nixon’s in deep trouble,” Pat replied, changing slightly the dead-end direction Hoodoo seemed to be pursuing. “There’s no question about that. What’s happening in Washington will cascade right out to this seemingly lonely outpost of minor political activity.”
“He’s the one who’s interested in who really killed Kennedy,” Gularte said, “there seems to be general agreement about that or we wouldn’t be here, and being here are allowed to remain here, meeting again and again over a subject that anyone would think would somehow be stopped.”
“Being in trouble, as almost all of us believe,” Richard said, speaking for the first time. “He’s worried that his current weakness will put him exactly where Kennedy was when he was taken out.”
“Apparently, without evidence we have any real knowledge of,” Hoodoo said, his voice soft but still commanding, “Kennedy was going straight into the U.S. Mints printing the country’s money again, and thereby diminishing the need and power of the Federal Reserve, not to mention wanting to visit Area 51 to see for himself if there was anything to the UFO reports generated out of that base.”
“Maybe,” Richard replied. “Kissinger’s a Jew, in fact he was basically rescued from the holocaust, but Nixon hates Jews…and it’s also Jews that mostly control the Federal Reserve.”
“Yes,” but Kissinger’s Nixon biggest ally,” Pat added, making me wonder what else she might know.
“Kissinger makes derogatory jokes about Jews all the time, but why is his name even mentioned here?” I asked, in wonderment.
“It would take somebody of tremendous power and intellect, and someone close to the president, to pull off his early departure,” Richard replied, his voice cold and flat, like he was somehow involved and giving the Dwarfs special knowledge.
“How did we ever get here in this small town?” Steed asked, out of nowhere.
“What do you mean?” Pat asked him back.
“We’re talking about actually investigating the leaders of our country here in San Clemente, as well as the assassination of a former president. How is that possible?”
I felt that the Dwarfs were running out of wiggle room when it came to the group having a justified reason to meet. Some of the material we were covering was simply beyond the ability to work with reasonably without vastly more resources than any of us could possibly assemble. My own personal feeling was one of a low level but ever-growing fear that the part of the Western White House leadership I was now regularly dealing with held an expectation that I was some sort of potential hit man. I knew that Mardian had left the door completely open to the use of violence in handling the Butch situation, and that situation wasn’t completely closed yet either. Bob’s comment hit me harder than I was willing to let on. I hadn’t considered Nixon’s interest in the Kennedy assassinations as being something that was causal or real, much less logically grounded in such a specific way. It was difficult to conceive of someone as powerful as a president being afraid of anything. And where was the Agnew proposition likely to go, and would I somehow be snaked into helping to get rid of the man?
“That’s it,” I finally said, “let’s meet again on Monday or Tuesday night. Pat will call you.”
“What were you up to in Dana Point?” Hoodoo asked.
I looked at the Dwarfs as I paused. Half the group had been involved, but obviously, and for good reason, the San Clemente police force had been left out of the loop, which also reminded me that I was going to have to sit through a tough session with Gates real soon.
“Next week that situation will come to closure, and I’ll be happy to talk about it then.”
Everyone got up at once, which surprised me. I held no real or even imagined leadership role with the Dwarfs but, as had happened in the A Shau over time, the participants in my little outfit seemed to accept me as their leader.
Hoodoo walked toward me and commented in passing, “Watch yourself with Gates, he’s on the hunt.”
I nodded at the taciturn but significantly intelligent detective. Gates was on the hunt, and I knew it was my position on the force that was being hunted. Would the Chief intervene if Gates made a move to fire me? I was pretty sure he would but was by no means certain.
I headed home, walking with Steed, Elwell and Herberich, as Gularte drove the Bronco very slowly behind us along the entire length of the pier.
We talked of nothing along the way, as if the Dwarf’s meetings were nothing to be considered of real consequence.
I drove the Volks to the station, having made my decision to confront Gates at my own time and place of choosing. The Marauder was in its proper reserved slot. Pat was not back yet so the only person I saw at all was Bobby Scruggs, toying with his dispatcher’s radio. I said hello but he just nodded and said, “He’s in his office.”
I breathed in deeply and headed down the long hall. Gates’ door was open, so I walked in without knocking.
“Sit,” he ordered, and then began clearing the top of his desk. “We’re going to settle something right here and right now.”
I sat in the only chair, placed close and in the center of the desk area.
Gates pulled his hefty powerful body in toward the desk, extending his left arm forward and then bending it at the elbow while extending his hand upward.
“Let’s have a go at it hot shot,” he said, with a nasty smile on his face.
“Arm wrestle?” I asked, in disbelief.
“That’s right, tough guy with all the medals,” he replied. “Let’s see what you got, but I’ll leave your right hand intact in case you have to shoot someone.”
I looked at the man across the desk. A man of very powerful build and a man who had no personal reason to dislike me, but obviously did so, intensely.
I knew there was no way I was going to beat him. His hand alone was almost twice the size of mine. But there was no choice in the matter, and we both knew that.
I gripped his big hand with my own.
“Okay, whenever you’re ready,” he said, his smile getting even bigger and nastier than before.”
I put every bit of strength I had in pushing into his hand, barely keeping my left elbow on the surface of the table.
Gates’ hand slammed my own almost instantly onto the surface of the table. I was hurt but not badly so, as I pulled my slightly damaged hand back to hug it into my chest. The hand didn’t hurt much but my left side did. I squeezed my elbow inward to ease that pain. In the heat of the moment I’d forgotten about my wounds, all healed over but still sensitive to the touch, or to the effects of arm wrestling, as I was discovering.
“That all?” I asked, wanting to get out of his office and back home as fast as I could. “You won.”
I stood up as the man sat back in his own chair, a pleased smile having replaced the nasty one across his face.
His face suddenly turned serious. “You have blood on your shirt,” he said, pointing at the center of my chest.
I looked down. A quarter-sized spot of dark blood, slowly growing, was forming on the front of my shirt where it covered my main abdominal incision, which had been scarred over only a few months before.
I backed through the door of his office, pulling my elbow in to cover and put pressure on the wound.
“I’ve got to get home,” I said.
The wound didn’t hurt, my hand did, but I also knew I had to get some four-by-fours to cover the opening before worse might happen. I had hundreds of the bandages stored at home, as well as the kind of adhesive tape that would stick but not tear my skin when I had to pull it off to change bandages.
I turned, once back in the hall, and rushed through the building to my car. The drive home was short but problematic as I didn’t want to take the pressure off the wound or use my hurting left hand. I drove with my right hand, having to shift very quickly with the same hand. I made it through both stop lights on green between the station and my apartment, wondering what kind of lie to tell my wife because the truth was simply too stupid to relate. I also wondered what I’d tell Gates when I saw him again. I didn’t want the department to know that I was quite as fragile as I really was. The department didn’t tolerate much fragility in its officers, and with good reason.
My wife was her usual wonderful self, having my wound stripped, cleaned and bandaged in what seemed like minutes. Her expression while she worked told me that she also didn’t believe one word of my explanation for either the re-opened wound or the injury to my hand. I crawled into bed and called it a day, with Julie playing on the floor next to the bed, making believe she played there all the time, when she really never did. Bozo sat nearby, his statuesque body upright, making him look like a really well-formed work of animal art. He never sat there either I thought, just before relieving sleep overcame me.
Gularte was at my door the following morning. His gentle knock belied the potentially violent internal wrestling he was constantly involved in fighting back.
I answered the door in my robe and furry slippers, my wife was awake but not up, while Julie, long awake and up, rode her agonizingly annoying electric cycle along the walls of the entire downstairs.
“I’ll put on the coffee,” I said, leading Jim in toward the kitchen. One of Bart Abrate’s brilliant, good taste in leather bar stool seats drew Gularte in like it was made to look like some sinuously beautiful woman.
I worked getting the top off of the Maxwell House coffee can, pouring water from the tap into the pot, and then scooping five large spoonsful of grounds into the percolator cup set atop the long stem. My hurt hand wasn’t helping but Gularte was too involved in his own stuff to notice.
“I finally got it,” Gularte said, “so, I just had to get over here and let you know.”
“Know what,” I asked, plugging the pot’s cord into a wall socket.
“The song you played in the Bronco while we were taking Butch out to Trestles Beach,” Gularte replied, his voice excited but clear.
“Yes, Rider’s in the Storm,” I said, mystified by Gularte’s obvious excitement about having gotten something that maybe I’d missed.
“I looked that song up,” Gularte went on, “it’s a song by the group called the Doors.”
“True,” I confirmed.
“The doors!” Gularte exclaimed, a great smile appearing across his facial features.
I waited, not changing my expression at all. The coffee pot began to gurgle as the first small amounts of water boiled up through the stem and into the glass knob that served as the very top of the small but brilliantly designed machine.
“The doors, the Airstream doors were taken and then put back,” You chose that song because of the group’s name, not the lyrics I was trying to make sense of.”
“Yes,” I finally replied, adding nothing more.
The percolator began to burble more and more often, until the sounds dominating the kitchen, even over and above the constant but changing whine of Julie’s obnoxious electric cycle.
“I know how you think now,” Gularte concluded, obviously proud of himself for coming to the conclusion he had. “That’s why you’re alive and everybody else from over there with you is dead.”
I made a stop at the Dana Point Marina. I wanted to check and make sure that everything was going smoothly with Butch, and also to visit Cobb who was supposed to hve the $1500 for the insurance premium.
I parked the Volks not far from where Richard’s yacht was, which was also only a few slips from where Cobb’s boat was tied up. Richard’s comments at the Dwarf’s meeting had disturbed me, and Cobb’s presence at the scene bothered me even more. The woman had had something to do with the Kennedy assassination. I just felt it at my core, and now here she was again, right at the scene of another potential nightmare. I walked over to her yacht.
The cabin door was closed and all the little portholes on the starboard side were covered from the inside.
I leaped the short distance onto the flat deck and stepped down into the cockpit, walked across it and knocked.
The door opened instantly, as if she’d been standing and waiting for my knock. I was taken a bit aback, not just by her promptness in answering but also by the fact that she was dressed to the nines. Most sailors don’t wear cocktail dresses and heels inside their own boats, not unless there’s that kind of social event about to take place aboard. But there was nobody around at all. I wasn’t even sure that Richard was in his yacht.
“Hello,” I said, very hesitantly.
“Come on in,” she replied. “I’ve been expecting you, or maybe that Staff Sergeant instead.” She stepped to a port side counter and poured herself a glass of red wine.
“You want one?” she asked, but stepped toward me before I could answer.
“You probably don’t drink,” she went on, not waiting for an answer, her voice welcoming and warm in spite of her attire and out of place presence.
“You had something to do with the Kennedy nightmare and now you’re here, which seems terribly coincidental,” I said, knowing I was risking everything on one play.
“Who are you? Charon? The dragoman welcoming departing souls crossing the river Styx?” she replied, stunning me.
I knew something of the Greek mythology, but not that much. Another brilliant student I’d hung around with during my St. Norbert college days had used the Charon character in his poems. When I explained that I didn’t understand the poems he taught me the mythical foundations they were based on. The poems were beyond me but the lesson in mythology had stuck. I wondered how many glasses of wine the woman had consumed before I arrived, or, if not completely under alcoholic influence, why she might think I’d understand a word of what she was saying.
“You’re here because of Spiro Agnew, aren’t you?” I asked, again risking everything, as far as getting any information out of her was concerned.
“The man gets to live, but he’s been playing with fire, so he’s got to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.”
I felt like a student again, in her presence. Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act III, the ‘To be or not to be,’ section her quote was taken from. The woman was treating me as if she knew I understood every word she was saying, but how could she make that assumption.
“What do you really do?” I asked the woman, hoping the answer would not be a long one. Being in her presence was vaguely discomforting, although I had no real good reason for feeling that way.
“The boat crashing on your beach, it being from Mexico filled with diesel fuel drums and my association with some members of the current government probably gives me away anyway,” she said, before taking a sip of her wine. “I’m a changer,” she said, taking another sip and smiling in a strange ‘knowing’ way before placing the empty glass back on the counter.
“Like you, I think, although at least I know it.”
I thought immediately of my conversation with Mardian at Nixon’s poolside. He’d said almost the same thing using different words. Why I was being included by both powerful people I had no idea.
“I’ve got to go,” I said to the strangely attractive but kind of scary woman.
“To visit your new friend, I presume,” she replied. “Try not to hurt him. He only thinks he’s tough, not like you. See, you are changing him.”
“Thanks,” I replied, for no good reason I could think of.
“Money’s on the counter there,” Cobb said, pointing with one of her sharp-pointed red fingernails.
I didn’t bother to open the envelope, instead folding it and placing the seemingly too light package in my front pocket. I exited through the cabin door, and then hopped up from the cockpit to the deck before leaping across the short open expanse between the boat and pier.
My hand hurt and my center-line incision, as well, but in looking down I couldn’t see any blood. My wife had gone back to using the Saran Wrap to make sure nothing got through the four-by-fours to give me away.
Butch was inside his trailer, as I expected, since he usually tried to quit the project around four in the afternoon. Of course, since his Airstream was right inside the construction project, the workers, supervisors and more, constantly came to his door whether he was supposedly working or not.
“You’re back,” he said, opening the door wide.
I handed him the folded envelope, as I stepped through the opening, which he quickly took, glancing quickly over his shoulder. I looked past him to see a young man sitting at what Butch called his business office desk.
“Little Mardian, right here to make your acquaintance,” Butch said, closing the door behind him.
“Hello,” I replied with a smile, holding out my right hand.
“I didn’t ask for and don’t need your help,” Little Mardian said, not holding out his own hand or getting to his feet. “You got sent by my father. I don’t need his help either.”
“I don’t know what help you’re talking about,” I replied, glancing back at Butch, who stood nearby with a slightly guilty look on his face.
“I thought he’d be happy to have some help,” Butch said.
“Just get the hell out,” Mardian yelled at me.
I backed up a few feet, dropping my right hand to my side. I was in no shape for any kind of physical confrontation I knew, but the kid just seemed to be asking for it, what with his white sweater thrown over his back with the arms folded across his chest. He was the picture of a complete spoiled brat coming out of some Ivy League school back east. I hated the look and his phony tough independent kid act even more.
“It’s Butch’s trailer, so it’ll have to be Butch who invites me to leave,” I replied, my voice soft, wondering if I couldn’t make an exception and take the kid on in spite of my wounds.
“You see?” Butch said, his voice almost too soft to hear.
“Yes, I get it now,” I replied, my eyes never leaving the kid’s eyes.
No wonder Butch had worked to deny the Mardian in front of me any kind of help or assistance in getting his restaurant built. But he was Mardian’s son and I also knew that the man was at least as dangerous as Cobb and I wanted no more enemies or threats in my life just then.
I turned and walked to the door. Over my shoulder I said my last words to Little Mardian.
“We’ll meet one day again,” I said.
“Not too likely,” he replied with a snort, unaware that I’d used a saying common to police officers in the department, when they wanted to say something innocent but held a real threat in secret reserve.
I knew I’d meet the kid again and the next meeting would be entirely different. The only thing I wanted to do was schedule that meeting for as soon as possible.
WOw, I’m blown away by this snippet of story. And the comments as well. I’m new to your work, but looking forward to reading more. Thank you for sharing on LinkedIn, which brought me here.
Thanks a lot Joy and it is a joy to have you reading and commenting here.
Much appreciate hearing from you.
Semper fi,
Jim
Just remember that Chris DeBurgh sang “don’t pay the ferry man, untill he gets you to the other side”
Another spellbinder sir. Thank you.
Tim
There’s that, my friend! Neat lyrical line.
Semper fi and really appreciate the compliment…
Jim
In my opinion, Gularte was wrong about the Doors.
This verse is what Butch should have paid attention to.
There’s a killer on the road
His brain is squirmin’ like a toad
Take a long holiday
Let your children play
If you give this man a ride
Sweet memory will die
Killer on the road, yeah.
Once again, thank you for your work and who you are.
Tim
Butch said he wasn’t afraid of me twice, which indicated that he was. I only want the expression of menace to work under certain
circumstance, as a warning, however subtle, can many times head off potential violence that there’s no coming back from.
Thanks for the rather astute observation.
Semper fi,
Jim
Alas, despite 74 trips around the sun, I still labor M-F and do the necessary to fulfil obligations. Leaves me with scant time to keep abreast of things.
I don’t know if you are familiar at all with Chris DeBurgh, but I find him very lyrical. His album “Spanish Train and Other Stories” contains may gems. Don’t Pay The Ferry Man didn’t come along till his later album “The Getaway”
All the best,
Tim
A Lady in Red. Yes, I do know the work of Chris DeBurgh. Great genius.
Thanks for sharing that. It’d been awhile since I’d heard his stuff but tuned in for a bit this evening because of you….
Semper fi,
Jim
I suspect there are several Doors fans here following The Cowardly Lion. Perhaps not all are aware of lead singer Jim Morrison’s father’s connections to the Vietnam War: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Stephen_Morrison
Wow! Thanks so very much for that link. I knew nothing of the dad nor the estrangement between father and son.
Can read between the lines though. Dad was a harsh task master and his kind of a guy, with rock star as his son…go figure.
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow!!! Reading all this it seems to me like you are fixin to blow the whistle on a bunch of stuff that happened all long time ago. It reads like a mystery novel with a lot of history behind it. I have to wonder though how did they know or find out about all the crap you went through in the A Shau.? My apologies for bein so nosey and not such a good guy at commenting or asking questions about stuff I know nothing about. I look for ward to the next chapters. Thank you
Jay, my battalion commander was the subject of a naval board of inquiry, which occurred when I was in the hospital in Japan. I was frightened to
death the board was about my own conduct. They left, but they continued to investigate and court-martialed the colonel. That investigation went into great detail through
interviews of survivors about my own conduct…whoch the Marines they talked to obviously lied to them and said I was some sort of ungodly teenage war hero. Yes, some of the men
thought I was a teenager! That inquiry result followed me to the hospital in Oakland but those people did not take the report as being heroic at all, must the opposite.
And there you have it. I just write the stuff, and I don’t always know what to think of it or my own conduct. I do live my life daily in redemption, which I learned was the key
for me surviving that level of PTSDD that I was left with.
Thanks for asking.
Semper fi,
Jim
Cobb who was supposed to *hve the $1500 for the insurance premium. (* have)
Wasn’t she a friend of Mrs. H, who died in a plane crash in Chicago with $10K cash in her purse? Hmmm……
Young Mandarin may one day regret his attitude me thinks 😉
Keep ’em coming James, look forward to each chapter !
Semper Fi
You are a class act as a commenter on here and I wanted to recognize that. Thank you so much for your insight, applied intellect
and the amount of care and loyalty to me your regularly display. You are a true friend I’ve never met and not likely to meet, but are vital
to my continuance in recording this long story of my life. I cannot thank you enough.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Speaking of JFK, Area 51, and UFO’s do you have any thoughts on that congressional hearing on UAP’s and the three whistleblowers, specifically David Grusch’s sworn testimony?
The testimony was spot on and the government is full on denial again, even after publishing a report last year
that acknowledged the reverse engineering of UFO material! Don’t know what to make of it all…except
it appears that old and current UFO’s likely were and are with us…whether that’s good or bad news…
Semper fi,
Jim
All I can say is this is getting more and more twisted and turned. Don’t know what to expect next. Keep them coming Lt!!!
Thanks Bob, for hanging with me and the encouragement!
Semper fi,
Jim
LT: Will we ever find out about Gunney and Ngyen? I read all of the trilogy
Alan
The Gunny will be resolved in the future Cowardly. Nguyen made it back to the USA, got married, had three kids and lives now somewhere in California.
Speaks English, like the rest of his Vietnamese family. I have had no contact with them for twenty-five years.
Thanks for asking,
Semper fi,
Jim
Interesting that she mentioned the Staff Sergeant.
Interesting indeed!!!
Thanks for picking that up and reading on…
Semper fi,
Jim
You get it going then leave it hanging , very interesting.e just as it gets going as you always do.
Thanks Hank, appreciate the comment and your expectation of more…
Semper fi,
Jim
Oh, dear, they do not teach hidden meaning at Quantico of which we are both alumni. But Fr. Bak at Weber, Fr. George also at Weber did. Then studying humanities at the U of I, I had a GA who was thirty teach this 20-year-old junior about life and yet the firmness of her bosoms.
So, I think, go outside the box to truly get the meaning of this most intriguing tale. That meant write, edit, re- write, and pray.
“Riders on the Storm” by The Doors is a song that often carries a sense of mystery and contemplation. It is open to interpretation, but the lyrics suggest a metaphorical journey through life’s challenges and uncertainties.
The “riders” could symbolize individuals navigating the storms of life, facing difficulties, and moving forward despite the obstacles. The song’s somber and atmospheric tone, along with Jim Morrison’s vocals, creates an introspective atmosphere, inviting listeners to reflect on their own experiences and journeys.
Overall, the song touches on themes of mortality, introspection, and the idea that life’s path is not always clear. It is a poetic exploration of the human condition and the journey we all undertake, filled with its highs and lows, dangers, and mysteries.
In Greek mythology, Charon is the ferryman of the underworld who transports the souls of the deceased across the river Styx to the afterlife. The relevance of Charon and the river Styx lies in their role as a symbolic representation of the journey from life to death.
The river Styx was believed to be a boundary between the world of the living and the realm of the dead. Crossing the Styx with Charon was a crucial step for souls to reach the afterlife. Those who could not pay the toll to Charon were said to wander the shores as restless spirits.
The concept of Charon and the river Styx has had a lasting impact on culture and literature, often representing the transition from one state to another or the passage from life to death. It has been referenced in various works of art, literature, and even modern interpretations, reflecting themes of mortality, transformation, and the unknown journey beyond death.
Hamlet. This phrase seems to suggest that the man has been taking risks or engaging in risky behavior (playing with fire), and as a result, he will now have to face the consequences or challenges that come his way (suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune). It is reminiscent of the idea that one’s actions can lead to both positive and negative outcomes. The phrase is likely referencing the Shakespearean play “Hamlet.”
A soft voice can sometimes be more intimidating than shouting and pounding on the table due to the element of control, unpredictability, and intensity it can convey. Here is why:
1. **Control**: When someone speaks softly, it suggests that they are in control of their emotions and can maintain their composure even in intense situations. This control can be unsettling, as it implies that the person has a firm grasp of their emotions and actions.
2. **Unpredictability**: A soft-spoken person can catch others off guard. People generally expect aggressive behavior to be accompanied by loudness and force. When someone goes against that expectation and delivers a serious message calmly, it can create a sense of uncertainty and unpredictability, making them wonder about the person’s intentions.
3. **Intensity**: A soft voice can carry an intensity that shouts cannot replicate. It forces listeners to lean in and pay close attention to every word being said. This can amplify the impact of the words and make the message feel more personal and directed at the listener.
4. **Intrigue**: Soft-spoken individuals often make others curious about their motives and thoughts. This curiosity can be intimidating, as people try to understand the underlying reasons behind the soft-spoken person’s demeanor and message.
5. **Subtlety**: Sometimes, a soft voice can hide underlying anger, frustration, or determination. This subtle undercurrent can be more unsettling than overt displays of anger, as it leaves room for interpretation and speculation.
In essence, a soft voice can create a sense of unease because it challenges expectations, maintains control, and holds the potential for hidden intensity. It taps into psychological factors that make people question and analyze the situation more deeply.
Why won’t you just tell us it was Fred Trump who killed Kennedy?
I think this is your record comment by length if not depth. Wow, my friend, but you must have had a few buttons pushed pretty hard.
Your knowledge of Greek Mythology is impressive.
Thanks for the really terrific writing.
Semper fi,
Jim
Into each combat veteran is the knowledge of what each one has done and, under the right circumstances, what they are capable of. On most occasions, we turn and walk away from an altercation, not from fear or moral turpitude but to stay away from that dark place burned into us in mortal combat. To take a moment to put things in perspective and, in passing, give the subject of our ire, not a threat, but a warning, perhaps a promise of things to come if our paths cross again. Unfortunatley many don’t get it and I suspect Mardian will be among that group.The old soldier in me looks forward to that meeting.
Thanks Gordon for such a ‘solid’ comment. You have to be the real deal to think like you do!
Semper fi,
Jim
“The changer” intriguing…reminds me of the feeling of moving through the maze aligning or changing each obstacle in to an asset to support the mission! And the pleasure of possibly changing or erasing the “Gates” or the spoiled brats! The Cowardly Lion or the Frightened Cobra….
I like the way your mind works, Colonel Homan, as always…thanks so much…
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Cliffhanger Jim/Sir/LT,
Enjoyed digesting all the morsels from your latest serving.
Thanks! I appreciate my ‘feeding’.
Lots to ponder about and try to fit together in connecting the various threads and dots.
You do not drop any dates in your narrative as to where all this played out in relation to Watergate and other national political happenings. Obviously, this is before Agnew resigned from the VP slot due to income tax issues. I, for one, am curious as to timeline with other national events transpiring at the time to help me with the time context of your story.
Noticed a few typos that need to be corrected, but Dan C and others do a much better job than I do about that.
–“Bob’s commen hit me harder…” (comment)
–“I answered the door in my robe and furry slippers, my wife awake but not up, while Julie, long awake and upn,…” (upon)
–““What do you really do?” I asked the woman, hoping the answer would nt be a long one. ” (not)
Keep ’em coming!
Always appreciate your input, Walter. Thanks for the edit suggestions, now fixed
“also to visit Cobb who was suppose to hAve the 1500”. You are missing the A
The new copy is edited to take care of that problem. Thanks for pointing it out.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, What a cast of characters.
Cobb a powerful person who (it seems) tragically can never be close to anyone.
Butch seems like a new friend. “You see?”
Little Mardian will receive his comeuppance and his own ego will prevent him from running to daddy.
As suggested below – in chapter 41 Mardian told you to get the $1,500 from Cobb.
Gates must have been told to back off.
We shall see.
Some minor editing suggestions follow:
Kennedy was going straight into the U.S. mints printing the country’s money again
Maybe “Mint” instead of “mints”
Kennedy was going straight into the U.S. Mint printing the country’s money again
but why is his name even mentioned here?’
Close with double quote rather than single quote
but why is his name even mentioned here?”
somehow involved and giving the Dwarf’s special knowledge
“Dwarfs” plural rather than Dwarf’s” possessive
somehow involved and giving the Dwarfs special knowledge
Bob’s commen hit me harder than I was willing to let on
“comment” rather tha “commen”
Bob’s comment hit me harder than I was willing to let on
Next week that situation will come to conclusion
Depending on usage “conclusion” can mean ending or a judgement.
Maybe use a synonym like “closure”
Next week that situation will come to closure
I knew it was my position on the force that the was being hunted
Drop “the” after “that”
I knew it was my position on the force that was being hunted
I went home, walking with Steed
Maybe “headed” rather than “went” since action is ongoing
I headed home, walking with Steed
confront Gates at my own time and place of my choosing
Two instances of “my” Maybe drop second
confront Gates at my own time and place of choosing
Gate’s door was open
Move apostrophe after “s”
Gates’ door was open
OR alternate grammar rules say add apostrophe followed by “s”
Gates’s door was open
I prefer first form
I said in the only chair
“sat” rather than “said”
I sat in the only chair
while Julie, long awake and upn
“up” instead of “upn”
while Julie, long awake and up
I worked getting the top of the Maxwell House coffee can
Maybe “off” rather than “of” after “top”
I worked getting the top off the Maxwell House coffee can
Gularte replied, his voice exited but clear
Seems “excited” instead of “exited”
Gularte replied, his voice excited but clear
Butch, and also to give him the fifteen hundred dollars Mardian had given to me for his first year’s insurance premium
/ In chapter 41 Mardian says, “Tomorrow, the cash will be delivered, not that you haven’t gotten enough of that already. Pick it up at Cobb’s boat slip…”
You could write in picking up the cash from Cobb as a reason for visiting her yacht.
The door opened instantly, as is she’d been standing and waiting
“if” rather than “is”
The door opened instantly, as if she’d been standing and waiting
not just by her promptness in answering but by the fact that she was dressed
Maybe add “also” after “but”
not just by her promptness in answering but also by the fact that she was dressed
The dragoman welcoming departing souls crossing the river Styxx?”
dragoman is an interpreter or guide – so second meaning?
“Styxx” should be “Styx”
The dragoman welcoming departing souls crossing the river Styx?”
hoping the answer would nt be a long one
“not” instead of “nt”
hoping the answer would not be a long one
Being in her presence was vageuy discomforting
“vaguely” instead of “vageuy”
Being in her presence was vaguely discomforting
although I had not real good reason for feeling that way
“no” rather than “not”
although I had no real good reason for feeling that way
from Mexico filled with diesel fuel drum
Maybe plural for “drum” “drums”
from Mexico filled with diesel fuel drums
/ I’m not sure of the following:
“I’m a changer,” “Like you, I think, although at least I know it.”
What is “it”?
That she knows / suspects you are an agent
OR that she knows she is an agent yet she is not sure that you know your actual role?
thinks he’s tough, not like you. See, your changing him.
Seems “you’re” rather than “your”
thinks he’s tough, not like you. See, you’re changing him.
Although I prefer “you are” in this sentence. Emphasizes the “are”
thinks he’s tough, not like you. See, you are changing him.
I didn’t ask and don’t need your help
Maybe add “for” after “ask”
I didn’t ask for and don’t need your help
It’s Butch’s trailer, so it’ll have to be Butch he invites me to leave
“who” instead of “he”
It’s Butch’s trailer, so it’ll have to be Butch who invites me to leave
take the kind on in spite of my wounds
“kid” instead of “kind”
take the kid on in spite of my wounds
saying common to police officer in the department
Maybe “officers”
saying common to police officers in the department
Blessings & Be Well
Thanks again Dan. Much appreciated, as usual. I’m not sure that the A.I> editor I am using can come close to you. I think not.
Thanks a million for what you do, week in and week out.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim