When It Rains

by Joel Shaw

  Buddha’s anxiety was causing him to sweat like a downspout in a downpour, soaking his shirt and pants. He pulled the chain on the ceiling fan, bumping the speed up a notch and wiped his brow with the tail of the dirty bar rag which he kept tucked in the back pocket of his size 48 Wrangler jeans.

  Buddha looked at Ethan and raised his arms in frustration. “I won’t be able to get all those boys out my place until closing time and I’ll have to carry ‘em out by then.”

  Ethan knew Buddha’s concerns were justified. He had worked with the Vazquez brothers on a couple of jobs and was aware of their penchant for making serious trouble if they were left holding the shitty end of the stick.

  William finished his beer with one swallow, smacking his lips and belching for emphasis. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do, boys...we’ll fake a power outage. You get on back to the bar Buddha. In a few minutes, Ethan here will switch a couple of circuit breakers off and on and off again, then he’ll flip the main breaker off. If those fellers are as thirsty as I think they are, the only thing they’ll care about is more beer. You move em’ outside and I’ll be waiting with a couple of kegs. I'll tell ‘em we’re moving the party to whathisname’s house.”

  “John,” Ehtan interjected.

  “Yeah, John’s house. Ethan here and I will ride herd on them all the way to Key Ranch, dangling those kegs in front of them like big aluminum carrots. How’s that sound?” William was pleased with his plan. Simple solutions for simple minds.

  “Sounds good to me.” Buddha waddled like a sumo wrestler through the kitchen doors toward his domain behind the bar.

  Ethan and William rolled two empty beer kegs out the back door, hoisted them into the bed of Ethan’s pickup and used a hose to fill them with precious water. Ethan returned to the rear of the bar and opened the door of the electric panel and began to manipulate the breakers.

  The juke box failed to utter the next verse. The lights flickered. Moments later the lights went out in Chaps. Instantly, the proprietor was derided for being a piss poor business man and for not paying his ‘lectric bill. After all was said and done, however, the black out continued. As the patrons became a bit more subdued they began stumbling out the door of the man cave and into the waning sunlight.

  William was waiting for them, sitting on top of one of the two sweating kegs of cold water in the bed of Ethan's pickup.

  The men were attracted immediately to the glistening kegs like camels to an oasis, requiring no effort on William’s part to gain their full attention. “Look here y'all, I got some free beer here. We’re taking the party to Johnny Robison’s house over to Key Ranch. Y’all are invited to follow us over there. Listen up. I said follow us; I didn’t say race us over there. You boys behave yourself. We don’t need Johnny law trailing along."

  A good bit of grumbling ensued before the herd dispersed to find their rides.Ethan steered his pickup out of the parking lot while William, waving his gigantic, black Stetson in the air, encouraged the four-wheeled strays to follow them to Key Ranch Estates.

  William was smiling. He was more than happy to spend the evening monitoring the pulse of the local low life. He might get a sense of what type of resistance the government would be facing from smaller communities. Communities that he hoped would soon be deserted due to the cataclysmic, equity sucking whirlpool of a declining economy that continued to drain the Walmart wallets of the already poor and destitute, forcing them to break open their children’s piggy banks — the last of the life preservers — soon to be drowned in the undertow of corporate greed.

  If the drought persisted, he was positioning himself with new-found determination to capitalize on the misfortunes of these peasants in an effort to re-gain his father’s respect and meet the challenge carved on the limestone lintel over the front door of his father's Kansas City mansion, Futurum Edificamus — We Construct the Future. He would cheerfully wave his hat and herd the cattle to slaughterhouses until the pastures where emptied and ready for the plow...his plow.

  #

  The cowboy convoy arrived at the Robison’s house without incident and dutifully assembled in the back yard, some standing, some sprawled on the ground. some sipping iced tea others sipping moonshine from personal flasks, all talking quietly.

  William stepped to the front of the assembly and called the meeting to order.

  “Hey, boys, let me have your attention for a few minutes. I know y’all are pretty worked up about the letter you got today and I’ve heard a lot of foolish talk in the past couple of hours about who's going to do what and how and when. I think its time for some rational discussion about these new cards we've been dealt. You with me?"

  The majority of the men settled down, turning their attention to William. A few of the troublemakers, including the Vaszquez brothers, didn't care to hear what he had to say and distanced themselves from the group.

  “All right. First of all this letter spells out new laws that may seem unfair to y'all. I'm not happy about it either, but we have to do what's right here. We know this much; as of Monday, February 3, we will no longer be drawing water from our water taps at home.”

  He grinned openly, knowing that these boys would be looking for containers; big ones. He had to bite his lip to prevent his glee from spreading across his face like ice cream on a hot afternoon. He had the storage market sewed up.Most liquid storage tanks used in agriculture were manufactured by Investa, a subsidiary of Koke Industries. Investa LLC had (thanks to a fine piece of cut-throat business practices provided by William) recently bought out their competitors and had raised the price of all polymer based products suitable for storing water in anticipation of water rationing and the ensuing run on storage containers. This was the beginning. His pulse quickened, then slowed when suddenly he realized that the men and women before him could not afford large containers. Some could, they, like cattle, would need prodding.

  He continued, “That means ya’ll have thirty-six hours to fill every container you own with water. Whatever you have, bathtubs, stock tanks, canning jars, coolers, whatever." He paused to see what the reaction would be to this bit of advice. They would have to make do with whatever containers they could find around the house.

  William knew the most challenging task would be persuading the well owners to seal their wells. Undoubtedly, some long-abandoned wells still held water. No one knew how many or where exactly they were. He had to somehow convince these folks reveal the status of their wells and follow the rules. He grinned as he said it, ‘the rules.’ He had to speak to the souls of these god-fearing men. He must enlist the help of God.

  “I have a question for you boys. How many of you have working water wells?” Several hands were raised and just as quickly withdrawn.

  An anonymous voice broke the silence, “It ain’t none of your damn business who got wells and who ain’t.”

  “Alright, alright, don’t get your undies in a knot. I’m just curious, friends. According to the governor’s letter, all water wells have to be sealed. If you continue to use those wells, you'll be stealing water from your friends and neighbors and your children and your neighbors children. The good book says in Deuteronomy 11:11 and I quote: 'God promises rain to those who keep his commandments in the promised land.' Y'all need to do what's right." He cleared his throat of the chicanery and was about to continue when another voice in the crowd challenged him.

  “I’ll quote you another verse, brother. Proverbs Chapter 5 verse 15 reads as follows: 'Drink waters out of thine own cistern and running waters out of thine own well.' It sure don’t sound like God wants us to plug our wells now does it?”

  William could see the speaker. He was clutching a Bible in his hands, holding it above his head like a torch. William was stumped. He had memorized only one verse. He had hoped that would be adequate. He chose to ignore the rebuttal and continued.

  “I encourage you to obey the rules and regulations regarding water rationing. Remember; this drought will end. In the meantime let’s stick together
and we’ll make it through this deal. I suggest that ya’ll get on back to your families, gather containers and fill them in case there is a glitch in the distribution of the rationing cards.

  "What do you mean by a glitch? You mean we might not get them cards?

  “That’s not what I said. Sometimes things get fouled up, that’s all I meant. Y’all’s water rationing cards should be coming in tomorrow's mail. Local Federal Water Dispensers have been constructed where the marinas once were. If you don't know where those are, ask. All right?”

  Another anonymous voice called out. "How is it that you know all that? That ain't in the letter."

  William realized he had volunteered too much information. He wasn’t given time to reply.

  "You got enough water, don't you Mr. Koke? Yer’ driving that brand new Preeus out there. Your’re livin’ in TexMed. What say we come to your house for water? How about that Mr. Koke?"

  William held up his hands as if invoking a higher power. His poise silenced the outbursts, momentarily.Before he could offer a defense, another voice erupted from the crowd. “How about tappin’ one o’ them kegs?”

  William was cornered, now, caught in a puddle of deceit. Clearly it was time to leave...but first.

  “Before I go, I have a confession to make."

  He paused for effect.

  “These here kegs here are full of water.” He fought to hide his satisfaction with the ruse.

  “Listen, I apologize for the deception, but I wanted to make sure y'all were sober enough to understand what I came here to say. I’ve said my peace. I’m finished and I thank all yall for hearing me out, good luck and God Bless."

  The man with the Bible was again on his feet.

  "You think we been blessed? This here ain't no blessing. This here action is a curse. This here law takes us one step closer to hell."

  William sensed it was past time for him to leave. “I gotta run Ethan, let me know how y'all are doing in a week or two, OK?”

  “You bet, William. Thanks for stopping by. Sorry about Roger...he means well.”

  “He the guy with the Bible?” William asked.

  “Yup.”

  “Guess I’ll have to brush up on Proverbs,” William said with a smile.

  “Bye y'all.” William shook Ethan's hand, waved again to the assembly then quickly departed.

  The now sober men sat quietly for a few minutes, contemplating the raw facts of water rationing and no beer. Ethan noticed that the Vazquez brothers were absent. He thought they had likely gone to get something stronger than beer. Good riddance to them.

  Johnny Hodges, a single man who had just bought the fixer-upper near the cemetery approached Ethan.

  “I got a question. How do we know when our wells were drilled? I heard that most wells have some kind of monitoring device on them. Anybody know if that's true?"

  A man leaning against the house spoke up, “I can answer that. For those of you who don't know me, my name is Bobby Stevens. My family has been drilling wells in this county for over a hundred and fifty years. Some of you might have wells on your property thats been covered up before you bought the land. You might want to check that out. We have records going back to 1990. I don’t have those records on no computer; I have them in plastic totes out in the shed. If you have questions about your wells, come and see me. I’ll let you look through my records as long as you don’t make a mess out of them. I know a lot of you never did register your wells. That might work to your advantage if you've a mind to ignore the rules. I ain't saying what's right and what's wrong. I'm just saying that the county has copies of my records, so they know who registered their wells and who didn’t. Any one with a well drilled before 1990 don't have to worry none.”

  "Thanks Bobby." John stepped in front of the crowd, "Y'all need to get on home, now. I need to take care of a few things around the house. I suggest you do the same. Take care, now. Y'all have a good night."

  #

  CHAPTER 3 William's World

  William slid behind the steering wheel, shoved the smart key into the slot and powered up the 2030 Prius Model Eight’s air conditioner before checking his messages. He immediately read a text message from the governor informing him that the surveying phase for the Dallas County Security Fence was complete and he, The Governor, was soon to put spade to earth in a ground breaking ceremony which would signal the unleashing of the powers of eminent domain beginning with the condemnation of properties bordering the I-635 beltway that surrounds Dallas and Fort Worth. The newly acquired properties would provide a buffer zone or no-man’s-land on the ‘wrong-side’ of the fence.

  The Governor liked to say that the fence would keep the riffraff out. William knew better. They needed some of the riffraff inside to take care of the wealthy. The fences would would do double-duty of keeping the most productive riffraff inside.

  Modes of communication outside the fence would be incrementally severed to prevent organized resistance against the Plutocracies being simultaneously established across the country. The base of the societal pyramid was being squeezed in a corporate trash compactor until only the ultra-wealthy remained, save for a few hundred thousand peasants still needed for menial tasks and services..

  William expected to live on the right side of the fence and had recently hired an ex-military recruiting officer to oversee the interviewing and hiring of personnel willing to join his new security business. His sole criteria for qualified candidates was that they must have been dishonorably discharged from military service for some variation of ethical misconduct.

  He thumbed the number of his recruiter as he silently cruised away from the sorry scenario. In the morning, at the behest of the governor and after memorizing some additional bible verses, he would drive to Athens, TX to hold a town-hall meeting and repeat his performance, making sure this time not to divulge too much information.

  William embraced the theorem of economist Kenneth Boulding, one of the few concepts he retained from his college career, The Dismal Theorem which reads as follows:

  If the only ultimate check on the growth of populations is misery,

  then the population will grow until it is miserable enough

  to stop its growth.

  His role, as he saw it, was to perpetuate misery.

  CHAPTER 4 - St. cloud, Minnesota

  A wide smile punctuated Harold’s sunburnt face as he dropped his phone into his shirt pocket and spun around in his chair to face his sole employee at Stearn’s County Quarry Park.

  "Good news Milt. I just finished talking to the County Clerk. He told me that we submitted the one and only bid for the all the salvaged steel from the old First Street Bridge, so it’s ours.”

  “Ain’t that great.” Milton mumbled. He was not as pleased as his boss about the so-called good news. The fact that the huge pieces of scrap metal were now their responsibility meant nothing more than long hours and hard work to achieve Harold's questionable goal of covering Quarry Number Eight with a steel dome.

  “If you ask me, the news would be better if your bid wasn’t accepted." Milton muttered. He thought the idea of covering the quarry was a waste of time. Not to mention the fact that neither one of them had ever built a dome out of steel. They weren’t civil engineers and he thought they had no business designing and building a steel structure on such a grand scale. Moreover, purchasing materials for the project had required embezzlement of county funds. That was something he couldn’t dismiss, knowing he was party to the crime. He was an honorable man with a strong sense of what was right and what was wrong. On the other hand, however, it meant he would have steady work for several years and would be able to buy the Snap-On Epique 84 inch Wide rolling tool storage cabinet that he had been lusting after for several years. He turned his back to Harold and smiled at the thought the brilliant red cabinet sitting in the spot he had reserved for it at the front of the machine shed. The Snap-On logo would be visible from outside through the overhead doors, standing as a testament to his mechanical
skills as well as a badge of honor.

  "Tell you what, Milt. If you don't want to take on this project, I'm sure I can find a couple of welders to take your place.”

  “Ha, I doubt that.” Milton fired back. "You won't find any welders around here, they’ve all gone to Duluth to work. Besides, if you want to keep the city council in the dark about what you are really doing out here, you have to keep me on the payroll. I'm the only one you can trust and you know it."

  "If you want the job, show it. That's all I’m saying Milt. I don't need your constant complaining. I need your full cooperation from start to finish and today is the start.” Harold paused for a moment, letting his blood pressure settle. He didn't like confrontations with anyone, especially with his friend and maintenance man without whom he had no hope of making his vision a reality.

  "You with me on this, Milt? I need to know, now."

  "I'm with you Harold. I hope you know what you are getting us into, man. This scheme of yours is risky. If the truth comes out, we will be chained to a bench in the state prison."

  “We’ll be fine. Thanks to the testimony from Professor, the council is convinced that Quarry Eight is contaminated with Giardiasis and, for public health and safety reasons, needs to be isolated from the public. Whithers assured the council that the university will use the quarry as a laboratory to study water-borne diseases. That locked it in.”

  “Just what I want to swim in...a pool loaded with diseases. What are you gonna’ call it? Harold’s Cesspool?” Milton muttered.