Then he got popped for possession.
He’d gotten an inheritance from his favorite aunt and had a little extra money in the bank.
And he got a good deal on three grams of heroin.
More than his usual buy, but that just meant it would last him for awhile.
He explained to Monica, “It’s no different than you buying one of those packages of toilet paper that’s as big as a car and has like four hundred rolls. You know it’s gonna last us a year, but it’s half the price of buying it a few rolls at a time.
“Same thing.”
Only it wasn’t the same thing.
This heroin was good stuff. The bargain was real.
But it was cheap because it was part of a police sting operation.
The cops figured if they offered it cheap it would mean more arrests.
And that part worked like a charm.
They had plenty of customers who showed up out of nowhere to buy a fix, maybe two.
Ronald, because he had some money in the bank from his inheritance and because he knew it was a bargain price, bought three grams.
It came packaged in six tiny baggies, each containing half a gram.
He intended it for his personal use, but the district attorney didn’t see it that way.
He knew that Ronald just purchased the stuff, and that he didn’t package it.
But the DA was new in the job and trying to make a name for himself.
He made the assertion Ronald bought it for resale at regular prices, hoping to make some money in the deal.
And that made him a drug dealer, not a user.
As proof to support his claim the DA offered up that the drug was packaged for individual sale to six users.
The mayor had implemented a “get tough on drugs” campaign that year and they’d been locking up druggies right and left.
Most of them got popped for simple possession and got probation or a few months in county jail.
Ronald was tagged for life as a convicted drug dealer and sent to state prison for three years.
It could have been worse. He could have gone for ten.
But as a convicted felon and a drug dealer to boot his career in the auto industry was toast.
The automakers had major labor issues related to drug use.
They tended not to give second chances to dealers.
Yes, it was his fault.
But they made it a lot harder than it had to be and he went to prison a very bitter man.
In the joint he was given an “opportunity” to join a prison gang.
He chose not to. It just wasn’t him. He didn’t have anything against anybody, he told them. He just wanted to do his time and get back on the streets.
This particular gang didn’t like being told no.
If he wasn’t one of them, they told him, they considered him the enemy.
They made his life a living hell.
He endured more beatings than he could count. Went to the infirmary seven times that first year alone.
Each time he said he “slipped and fell.”
He never snitched.
Snitching would have made it worse.
Monica, a single mom now with two kids to raise, was having money problems. The prison was on the far side of the state, and her junker of a car was lucky to make it across town before it broke down with this or that.
Her visits were few and far between.
The money she put on his books was spotty.
It wasn’t her fault. She did what she could.
But there wasn’t enough money to go around, and raising the children had to take priority.
Ronald felt unloved.
His depression got worse.
The beatings got worse as time went on.
The gang discovered he had an old back injury and made sure it got more than its share of kicks and punches.
All of it… the back, the beatings, the threats of murder… the loneliness… turned him mean.
By the time he got out of prison he was a changed man.
He cared only for himself.
It almost seemed as though he’d counted the punches he endured in the joint and was intent on giving an equal amount to Monica.
“It’s your own fault,” he’d tell her when she cowered in the corner, beaten bloody.
“You should have come to visit me more often.”
The kids got fewer beatings and they were less severe, but they still got them.
It wasn’t because Ronald loved them more.
It was because they couldn’t spend days at a time in the house while their bruises healed like Monica could.
They had to go to school.
And teachers these days were trained to watch for bruises and limps.
He’d changed. He was no longer a nice man.
That’s why it was so out of character, after he’d awakened Monica and told her he was headed back to their old house to get the book and some other things.
He told her, “If you feel good enough, would you make the kiddos some breakfast? They did a good job last night.”
Then he kissed her on the forehead. It was an act of tenderness he hadn’t displayed in a very long time.
She watched her husband walk away wondering whether the kiss had really happened, or if she’d dreamed it.
Chapter 30
Ronald was convinced that when Dave Spear and his family returned from wherever they went it would be at night.
He’d spent way too much effort to make his house appear vacant to come and go in the daytime and blow it all.
By Ronald’s reckoning it was safe to leave Monica and the kids alone during the day but not at night.
Of course, he’d have to be extra cautious when he departed, and when he returned, for the same reason.
It just wouldn’t do for the neighbors to see him leaving from or returning to a house that was supposedly completely empty.
If he hadn’t needed that damn book so badly he’d have just stayed holed up in the house indefinitely.
But this trip out was a one-time thing.
Once he returned he’d barricade the doors, maybe this time with hammer and nails, and use the book as his guide to find out how everything in the house was intended to work.
And what those dumb bunnies in the back yard were all about.
They say the best of plans go awry.
And that’s often true.
Ronald didn’t know it, but nothing about the day ahead of him would go as planned.
He moved the heavy bookcases and entertainment center away from the front door and cracked it open ever so slightly.
The door was set back from the front of the house, so he didn’t have the panoramic view he’d liked to have had.
He could see a bit down the block to the east, though.
At least he knew that much was clear.
He double checked his gear.
On his waist was a military surplus web belt with his holstered handgun and two spare magazines.
In his leg pockets were two additional magazines, these for the AR-15 rifle he had slung over his back.
It was darned nice of Dave to stockpile so much ammo. This was the first time Ronald had gone out in quite some time without feeling the pressure of having to conserve his bullets; to make each shot count.
Of course, he wasn’t planning on engaging anybody in a gun battle today.
Nor was he planning to shoot anyone for the provisions they carried.
He now had plenty of provisions of his own.
The pack on his back was empty, save two bottles of water.
He expected it to be hot again today, and it was important he stay hydrated.
He held his breath and ducked out the door, making sure it latched behind him.
He’d already instructed Monica to drop the deadbolt as soon as she got up.
He inserted two toothpicks he’d taken from a dispenser on the kitchen counter into each of the door locks, then snapped each of them off.
If he was wrong, if the Spears did choose today of all days to return to their home, their keys would no longer work.
They’d be standing on their porch, scratching their heads and trying to figure out a way in when Ronald would return.
And he’d blow them away.
He peeked around the corner of the house to make sure there was no one on the street to the west, then low-crawled to the huge oak tree in the front yard.
One more check to make sure the street was clear, then he was on the pavement, walking nonchalantly to his own house a couple of blocks away.
It was a beautiful morning.
One which San Antonio was famous for.
A cool breeze carried the chirping of a dozen species of birds, each one singing their unique morning songs.
The smells of flowers of all varieties and colors mixed to make an amazing aroma. And dozens of colorful butterflies and lady bugs joined the bees in their efforts to pollinate anything and everything.
Mornings like this one were just one of the reasons thousands of Americans moved to San Antonio each and every year from other parts of the country.
At least they did before the blackout.
These days long distance travel was treacherous. It was something few people attempted, and seldom without good reason.
Most people these days found a safe place and stayed put, only venturing out when necessary.
Ronald would be that way, after today’s mission.
Ronald foresaw a future for himself and his family when they’d barricade themselves in the Spear house and not come out for months.
They simply wouldn’t have a need to.
Despite the beauty of the morning, few people were out and about yet.
Most of the survivors stayed up at night to guard their homes against looters.
Even though most looters were dead now, it was a habit they’d formed early in the blackout and it had taken hold.
The homeowners stayed up in shifts, keeping close watch all night and then caught up on their sleep the next morning when it was cool.
They typically didn’t get out until late morning or early afternoon to search for food or to replenish their water supply at area lakes or streams.
Ronald made it to his house without seeing a single other soul, and that suited him just fine.
The first thing he went for was the book.
He placed it at the bottom of his backpack, swapping it for a bottle of water.
He downed the water without coming up for air, then cast the bottle aside.
There was no real reason to save it or to refill it.
Not when Dave had hundreds of other such bottles.
While he was here he figured he might as well gather a few things.
At least as many as his backpack would hold.
He picked up a few trinkets for Monica. Some family photos.
A couple of his favorite shirts, and a nightgown he’d bought for Monica just before he went to prison.
He wouldn’t swear to it, but he thought it was the last thing he’d bought for her.
Half an hour later his backpack was stuffed to the brim and he was ready to head back.
He said goodbye to his old house for what would almost certainly be the very last time and closed the door behind him.
Chapter 31
They were so much alike in so many ways, Ronald and Marcus were.
They’d both been blue collar workers for many years; Ronald in the auto industry, Marcus as a diesel mechanic.
They’d both ran afoul of the law; Ronald for his drug charge and Marcus for a series of car burglaries.
They’d both felt they got wronged by the system; Ronald because of the hot-shot district attorney who tried him for dealing instead of possession.
And Marcus because he got a ten year sentence.
A white man, he felt, would have gotten far less.
Now out of prison, both men felt trapped in a world where they were responsible for others.
Others they mostly didn’t even like.
And both coped in ways that were patently unfair to others.
Both took what they wanted by means of force, using guns as their weapons of choice.
And both shot their victims at long distance because they were too cowardly to look a man in his eyes when they took his life.
Neither would give a man a fair chance to fight back.
So their lifestyles were the same.
So were their methods.
Despite the similarities, though, there were some differences.
Ronald chose the rooftops of vacant houses.
Houses that had trees growing close to them; close enough for him to use the trees to climb onto the roof and his sniper’s perch.
He liked the houses because they gave him a commanding view of the street before him. They allowed him to see his victim from a block away or more.
They gave him time to scope out his victims; to decide whether what they were carrying was worth a bullet. Whether they, more than any other people who were out and about that particular day, were the one worthy of his efforts.
He also enjoyed the cover the tree provided, and the shade it gave him, while he waited for the right person to come along.
Marcus, on the other hand, couldn’t climb trees.
He had a bad leg. So bad he had to practically drag it behind him.
He caught a bullet in a shootout between gangs at the tender age of seventeen.
The ironic thing was he wasn’t even one of the shooters.
Neither was his gang. He was just walking through the wrong neighborhood at the wrong time on his way to a girl’s house.
The bullet took a good piece of his thigh bone and pushed it through the other side of the leg and he lost over two pounds of flesh.
The bullet was what the street called a “cop killer.”
The doctor said he was lucky to be able to save the leg at all.
Marcus didn’t see himself as lucky.
Marcus often wondered whether he’d be better off with a prosthesis.
At least it would be lighter than lugging around the useless forty pound hunk of meat that was his left leg.
No, Marcus couldn’t climb trees.
Marcus preferred to find a suitable vehicle and to make his sniper’s nest there.
Brown delivery trucks were his favorite.
Trucks which once delivered packages, but which now could deliver death.
He could sit in the driver’s seat and watch for someone to approach him.
Yes, the trucks were hot.
But that driver’s seat was a lot more comfortable than the asphalt roof Ronald had to lie across during the waiting game.
And one can’t slide off a driver’s seat if he happened to doze off.
Marcus’ habit was to watch out for someone approaching the truck and to size him up, just as Ronald did.
If he seemed to be a suitable target Marcus would move to the back of the truck.
He’d assume the prone position on the floor of the truck and aim his rifle out a back door already opened to allow the air to circulate.
And he’d merely wait for his hapless victim to stroll by.
On this almost perfect day in a suburb of southern San Antonio, Ronald and Marcus were getting ready to meet.
Chapter 32
Ronald was in a good mood.
One of the best moods he’d been in in a very long time. Months, maybe.
It was all because he’d gone to rob Dave Spear and take over his house.
And because the house held way more treasures than he’d dreamed of.
And he didn’t even have to kill anyone to get it.
Oh, he would have, in a heartbeat.
He’d even have murdered Dave’s children if he had to.
But he was glad it didn’t come to that.
He felt his ship had finally come in.
He was in such a good mood he was even having thoughts for
someone other than himself.
A couple of weeks before, when he was roaming the streets around South San Pedro Boulevard looking for a victim, he’d stumbled upon a doctor’s office that was still operational.
He hadn’t seen an actual business in operation in well over a year, and he was curious.
Doctor Sam Rodriguez was a general practitioner and a good one, according to the patients in his waiting room.
A good practitioner who only saw people who had gold or silver in hand to pay, sure.
But at least he was seeing them.
A hand-made sign hung on the door read:
Most medicines are not available. Patients with prescriptions will be responsible for finding their own medications.
It was a crummy way of doing business.
But it was a start, and maybe the first sign the world was getting back to normal.
Actually, Ronald had walked into the doctor’s office not because he needed treatment but because he was curious.
Curious to see if he could use the place to his own advantage.
His first thought was that the patients were suckers, sitting there with precious metals just waiting to be robbed.
The two men standing in opposite corners of the room with semi-automatic weapons, though, convinced him he’d best let the suckers be.
It seemed Dr. Rodriguez had already considered that possibility and took steps to prevent it.
Now Ronald’s mind went back to that office and he thought of it in another way.
Not as a potential source of income, but rather a way to finally get Monica treated for the mysterious ailment that was plaguing her.
It would mean having to leave their sanctuary again, probably for several hours.
But they could leave the kids behind to watch the place. And they’d only be gone during daylight, when there was little chance of Dave returning.
They’d have to use some of the jewelry or silver coins they found in Dave’s house as payment.
That would mean fewer valuables to use for barter later on.
But Ronald was in a rare benevolent mood; one in which he thought his wife might be something more than just property. Perhaps someone worth the cost of medical care.
In any event, the thought of going back to Dr. Rodriguez’ office with Monica, and the logistics of such a trip, occupied Ronald’s mind as he strolled down the center of the street a block away from Dave Spear’s house.
Alone (Book 10): Return To Ely Page 10