by J. L. ROBB
Chad took an instant liking to the young man, noting that Mr. Poe looked like a soldier, polished and fit. He invited Johnny to have lunch at the Goddard Garden Café. There they saw Ms. Debra Gracie; and Chad’s heart was pitter-pattering as he asked her to join them for lunch, and she accepted.
After lunch, Chad was on cloud nine, learning that Debra had dumped the star quarterback. Of course he knew he was probably as old as Debra’s father, but he could dream, couldn’t he?
Returning to the NEO lab, he checked the latest data concerning the mystery object headed Earth’s way and then called Jeff at his home in Duluth. There was no answer, and the recording said that Jeff was at the American Legion Post. Chad left a message that he, The Admiral and Sheryl Lasseter were flying into Atlanta the following week and wanted to go golfing at Sugarloaf.
***
Jeff drove to the American Legion Post 251 in Duluth where he planned to drop off a $ 10,000 check for a new air conditioning system. Jeff entered the basement door that led into the bar area.
Three weeks earlier, Jeff made his very first visit to the Post. Actually it was his first visit to any American Legion Post. While visiting he couldn’t help but notice the heat, a result of undersized air conditioning, not good with the extreme heat that seemed to be affecting every country in the world. Reading the bartender’s nametag, Jeff asked CJ why it was so hot inside.
“AC’s broke man. Supposed to have two units, but only one works. What’ll you have?”
Jeff asked for a house merlot, knowing that Duckhorn probably wouldn’t be available. CJ complied, and Jeff wondered if CJ had been a SEAL or in Special Forces. He just had that look, young and vigorous.
“So why haven’t the Feds taken care of that for you?”
“You must be kidding.” CJ rolled his eyes. “We don’t get any money from the Feds, never have. And this Administration is not pro-military, even though they fake it. We all know that.”
Jeff scanned the bar area, noting that everything was crammed into a very tight space, maybe a thousand square feet, pool table, gaming machines, buffet and seating area.
“So how are you funded?”
“We’re non-profit and are funded through memberships and contributions. I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. What service were you in?” CJ wiped down the counter and served a Bud Light to the gentleman at the end of the bar.
“I haven’t been here before. I was in the Navy, many years ago, last century.” They laughed.
Jeff had driven by the American Legion Post many times but never stopped. It was hard to miss with the Army tank out front, apparently a relic from one of the World Wars.
“A Navy man, like Jimmy Carter?” The statement came from the man drinking Bud Light.
“A Navy man, yes but not like President Carter. I think he was on submarines.”
Jeff didn’t think much of President Carter’s reign. He believed, like so many other ex-military men and women, that the Islamic terrorism of today was a direct result of President Carter’s actions, or inactions would be the better word, during Iran’s revolution.
“That man’s a darn scoundrel if there ever was one. If it wasn’t for that man and how he handled Iran in 1979, there wouldn’t be Muslim bombers blowing up half the world today. He’s a pompous ass who loves the camera. Give me another beer.”
“A lot of people like him, I guess. He’s done a lot to help the homeless.” Jeff found himself defending Carter for the first time he could remember, but he knew the Bud Light man was absolutely correct. Jimmy had blown it in 1979, and we were paying the price for it today.
“How many soldiers you think we done lost ‘cause of that wimp? He sat around on his doggone thumbs and let Khomeini overthrow the Shah. Remember that? The Shah was our biggest ally in the whole region, after Israel that is.”
Jeff knew what the man was talking about. The Shah of Iran, Reza Pahlavi, had been an ally; and Carter hung him out to dry, thought the Shah was corrupt. Jeff knew the Shah was corrupt, because every government in the Middle East was corrupt. He also knew that the corrupt Shah was a lot better than the corrupt Khomeini, especially when it concerned U.S. interests. But that was then and this is now. Nothing could be done about Carter’s unfortunate decisions.
“Plus he hates the Jews. You know that? Loves the Palestinians and hates the Jews. You know why?” Larry Joe, the Bud Light Man, was on a roll, his light gray hair almost glowing from the ceiling light above his head.
“No, but I bet you’re gonna tell us, aren’t you Larry Joe?” CJ knew when Larry Joe got wound up, the conversation would be interesting.
“You bet your bippy. He hates the Jews ‘cause he used to be a preacher. Now don’t get me wrong, I love preachers; but some preachers still blame the Jews for killing Jesus.”
“I thought the Romans killed Jesus,” Jeff replied.
“Yeah, the Romans killed Jesus; but they only did it to pacify the Jews who were calling for his head and threatening riots. It’s kinda like the Romans were the paid assassins. But you know what? The old Jewish prophets from long before Jesus’ time had predicted that the Jews would kill the Messiah when he came, so it had to happen. If it hadn’t happened just like the prophets said, well, then the Bible would be a lie; and it ain’t no lie, I can tell you that.”
The conversation continued through another merlot. Jeff shook hands with CJ, thanked Larry Joe for the interesting and lively discussion, and exited into a dark, moonless, hot night.
Jeff went home that evening and immediately emailed his new state congressman, who he knew personally. He sent the same email to the President, asking why the federal government could fund the arts and pay for abortions in third world countries; but Uncle Sam could not fund the nation’s largest veteran’s service organization, couldn’t even pay to fix the air conditioning, for Pete’s sake.
“How can we, the citizens of the United States, manage to fund artists that can’t make it on their own merit; how can we fund abortions with our tax dollars but not fund the American Legion? American Legion members and the other military men and women have sacrificed, sometimes their very lives, to make it possible for our legislatures to pass such idiotic laws as these. How about a little money to get some new air conditioning?” He hit send, and the email was on the way.
In less than an hour, Congressman Woodell responded to Jeff’s email, agreeing whole-heartedly. Jeff never received a response from the President, other than the courtesy-response anyone would get.
Today was his second visit to Post 251, and Jeff planned on taking care of the air conditioning problem. The thought crossed his mind to build them a whole new building, maybe buy a used M1 Abrams tank to replace the relic out front.
When he entered the bar, a small lunch crowd was leaving. He spotted Emmet with 1st Mechanical Air Conditioning, a long-time friend. They had planned to meet.
“Hey pool shark. Winning any money?”
“Yeah, I’m playing myself, and I keep losing. I only lost about $ 10 so far.” Emmet shook Jeff’s hand. “That’s better than I did on the golf course the other day. I didn’t get any birdies, but I got two geese and a red fox!” Emmet guffawed like he always did when he said something funny.
Jeff gave Emmet the $ 10,000.00 check, the amount that Emmet said would be needed to replace the HVAC, and asked him not to mention Jeff’s name. He wanted to remain anonymous. A noise from the floor above interrupted the conversation.
Jeff and Emmet heard the ruckus upstairs. They looked over at CJ who was coming from behind the bar and heading toward the stairs to the first floor to see what was going on. That was when they heard automatic weapons fire, the easily recognizable sound of a Russian AK-47, the rifle of choice for the Islamic Jihadists.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The AK-47 assault rifle has a distinct sound, making it easily recognizable to almost anyone who has spent time in a war zone. Developed in 1946, the AK-46 was upgraded in 1947 to the AK-47.
Invented by
Mikhail Kalashnikov in the former Soviet Union, the assault rifle is known for its simplicity, durability under harsh conditions, low price and easy availability. The AK-47 is used by the militaries in virtually every third-world country and is the weapon of choice for Islamic terrorists, Christian extremists and other radical groups around the world.
As the AK-47 rounds slammed through the upstairs walls of American Legion Post 251 on Duluth Highway, CJ exited the bar, grabbed the 3-wood from his golf bag in the corner and tried to remember who had been upstairs. He hit the main power switch on the gunmetal gray breaker panel, shoving the Post into darkness, at least the downstairs area that had no windows, and wished he had his Glock 33 Pocket Rocket with him.
Jeff, though he was much closer to senior citizenship than CJ or Emmet, moved into action, his Navy SEAL training rushing back from the depths of his mind; and he grabbed the hi-intensity LED mini-flashlight from his trousers pocket and a twenty ounce pool cue. He moved to the base of the stairwell, just out of sight.
Larry Joe continued sitting at the bar as though nothing was happening. He calmly sipped his Bud Light, the other still sitting unopened on the bar beside him. There were no sounds coming from the bar, everyone calm and quiet.
The stairwell door opened, the squeaky hinge now coming in handy; and CJ was glad he hadn’t WD-40’d the hinge the day before, as had been his intention.
“Come out and live. If not, you die.”
The Farsi accent gave the gunman away, probably Iranian-American. Farsi was the language of the Persians, and those who served in Iraq along the Iranian border, like CJ, had a particular distaste for it or even just the implication of the language, as was now the case with the stair-dwelling intruder.
The downstairs was pitch black, no sounds making their way up the stairs; and the intruder thought the basement area might be deserted. He did not know the basement was the bar and hardly ever totally empty. He fired down the stairs, nearly emptying the recently inserted clip of thirty rounds, blowing the unlit jukebox into shattered CDs and plastic shards.
Jeff, Emmet and CJ made no sound, waiting patiently for an opportune time to act. Larry Joe remained at the bar counter, cool as a cucumber, sipping his beer. The intruder slowly descended the stairs, CJ gripping the 3-wood as though he was teeing off on a 240 yard Par 3 at Sugarloaf.
Larry Joe had served during both the Korean War and Vietnam. After Vietnam, he pitched in a semi-pro baseball league and today, often hung out with the Gwinnett Braves at the new stadium, when he wasn’t hanging out at Post 251.
The sound of the intruder’s steps indicated he was nearly at the bottom of the stairwell; and Jeff thrust his left hand into the opening, switching the hi-intensity LED flashlight on and directly into the intruder’s eyes. The LED light temporarily blinded the gunman; and as he fired the remaining rounds into the now deceased jukebox, Larry Joe turned around and landed a perfectly thrown pitch right between the eyes of Mr. AK-47, the unopened Bud Light drawing immediate blood. The intruder fell to the floor, knocked out cold, laying in the midst of cracked jukebox plastic and a CD by Sharon Akins and the Disco Queens, If My Friends Could See Me Now.
“Damn, man. I wanted to hit him with my 3-wood. I need the practice. How did you learn to throw like that?” CJ flipped the main power back on.
“I used to pitch,” was Larry Joe’s only comment; and he ordered another beer.
Chief Belker was the police chief of Duluth and was driving by Post 251 when he heard the familiar sound of the AK-47 and noticed the front door of the American Legion hall was open, something unusual for the middle of the day. He called for backup, and made his way around the left side of the building to the back entry of the bar.
However, by the time the Chief was in position and backup had arrived, the jihadist was bound and bagged for the police, a victim of a Larry Joe fast beer.
***
After the police workups, Jeff bid Emmet goodbye, shook CJ’s hand and bought Larry Joe a six-pack, congratulating him on the perfect pitch.
Driving back to his Sugarloaf home, he was still somewhat awed by Larry Joe’s beer ball. He called Melissa to see how his ex-wife was coping. The memorial service for Robert Jeremias, her missing and assumed dead husband of three months, was to be the following day at Perimeter Church on Old Alabama Road.
“Hello?” She answered with a question rather than a statement; and Jeff thought her voice was a voice of distress, and stress. His heart ached for her. As much as he still loved her, this was not what he would have ever wanted to happen to her new husband.
“Hey Melissa, just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing. Will the kids be going to the memorial service tomorrow?”
“Jenni and Jami are going, but Audry is staying in Raleigh with Sheri and Bennett for another couple of weeks. That’s best, don’t you think?”
Audry had not been informed of her missing stepfather and was still dealing with the wreck of Chuck Hutz and his subsequent hospitalization, the first car wreck young Audry had ever seen. Chuck’s body lying in the middle of Creedmoor Road left quite an impression on Audry, and she had insisted she be allowed to visit the gravely injured man in the hospital with Sheri.
“I agree. Melissa, I am sorry about Rob, it seems unbelievable to me. I will be at the service, and you know I will do anything I can to help.”
“I know Jeffrey, you’ve always been there when I needed you. I don’t know if Rob was raptured, as so many are saying about all the disappearances. I just believe that God doesn’t give us more than we can handle, so I know there’s a reason? Have you heard about all the people who have disappeared?” Melissa sounded a little more upbeat, considering the circumstances.
“Yeah, I’ve been hearing on the news. Almost 100,000 so far? Is that right?”
Jeff thought about the rapture again, as he had been for the last few days. It was hard to believe that two weeks earlier he had never heard the term, at least as it was being used today. The rapture was surely wishful thinking, more mythology, but if that made Melissa feel better, so what.
“Yep, that’s what I’ve been hearing on the news.”
“We had a break-in at the American Legion Post today. Some guy named Abdul, at least that’s what he told Chief Belker. He shot up the place, but no one was hurt.”
“Were you there?” Melissa wasn’t surprised that Jeff would have been at the Post. Jeffrey sometimes seemed to find himself in dangerous situations, too often she thought.
“I was there but some guy named Larry Joe took care of the matter. Hit ‘Abdul’ in the head with a perfectly thrown Bud Light. Knocked him out cold.
“By the way, have you heard anything from Jack Russell? I haven’t heard much about Samarra.”
“I talked to him yesterday. You won’t believe this! Someone dropped their son, Thomas, off at the emergency room at Rex Hospital in Raleigh. His finger had been severed. He’s now home, but there’s been no sign of the nanny. I haven’t heard the details yet.
“Samarra is still in a coma, as is the security guard, Russ-something; but Jack did say an indictment had been issued for Samarra, in case she recovers. Apparently something to do with Spanish Flu virus but CDC and Emory are keeping it hush-hush.
“Jeffrey, do you think this could have anything to do with all the people coming down with that ‘mysterious illness’ that’s going around?”
“I don’t know Hon. Sorry, that’s a habit. I heard on the radio that Europe is having a possible smallpox outbreak. Seems like some really strange stuff is happening.” And he recalled Samarra’s earlier news about the disappearance of the smallpox cultures from USAMRID.
“Well, if you would ever take the time to read the Bible, you would know what’s happening.”
“Yeah, Abe said the same thing. Said it was the end. Do you believe that?”
“I think I might Jeffrey. There were ‘signs’ predicted before the end, and they are happening everywhere. Scorching heat, disease, earthquakes, hailstorms, terrori
sm. I think it’s evident, and scary.”
“Want to meet for dinner tonight? I’m available.” Jeff hoped Melissa would say “yes,” but she didn’t.
“Maybe next week Jeffrey. Just let me get the memorial service behind me and a few other things. Call Audry. She said she hadn’t spoken to you in a couple of days.”
“I will.” Jeff knew he had been negligent about that, but he also knew Audry was in good hands with Sheri and Bennett. “I did talk to Jenni and Jami yesterday. I think Jami has a new honey in her life.”
When Jeff arrived back home, he called Audry. Sheri answered the phone and explained all that was going on in their lives in Raleigh, the wreck and its aftermath. She had a way with words and sometimes talked even more than Jeff.
“You just wouldn’t believe what happened Jeff.”
Sheri ran through the story about Chuck, explaining that she and Audry had visited him in the hospital every day since the wreck on Creedmoor Road. There they met Ophelia, Chuck’s next door neighbor. Ophelia had stayed by Chuck’s side and explained that Chuck had few friends.
“How’s he doing?” Jeff feigned interest, and he found his mind wandering. He knew it was only a matter of time until Homeland Security contacted him about the events at Post 251 earlier in the day. That would be a hassle he hadn’t planned for.
“Well, he’s vastly improving. He appears to have a great doctor, a neurosurgeon named Dr. Arthur Waaland. He is the department head; and Dr. Waaland said Chuck’s recovery was just this side of miraculous, though he is still in-and-out of consciousness. Said he shoulda been dead on arrival.
“We were there yesterday when he woke up, but he couldn’t speak. Dr. Waaland said that was not abnormal and that Chuck may not remember what happened. I hope to God that he doesn’t.”
“Well, I hope he has a good recovery, Sheri. Is Audry handy?”
Sheri called Audry in from the living room where she was glued to the History Channel, as usual. She ran to the phone.
“Hey Daddy! Are you coming to get me? You wouldn’t believe what happened.”