The car rode in the middle lane, occasionally passing slower cars, but always on the right, never into the fast lane. Dupree glanced at the speedometer as they passed a road sign announcing Lodi. The car was sailing along at well over eighty miles an hour.
“You smoke?” Cutter asked.
“No.”
“Good, I hate to share.” Cutter laughed and pulled a small plastic-tipped cigar out of his shirt pocket. “I pack these blunts myself.”
“Blunt?”
“Yeah, I buy Black and Tan cigars, split ’em open long ways, remove the guts and stuff ’em with weed. Then close ’em back up. Makes for a smooth smoke, nobody knows what you got, and they light easy. Greatest invention ever.”
Dupree knew, or figured, that his son was probably a regular user of marijuana. In the last few years, he was around him so little Dupree really didn’t have any firm evidence, but his slovenly ways and total lack of motivation were a pretty good indication. The smell was so far in his past that Dupree really didn’t remember it until Cutter lit up. The car filled quickly with the pungent smoke. Dupree cracked the window. Cutter inhaled so deeply Dupree thought it must reach his toes.
“Sure you don’t want a hit?”
“No, I’m good.”
Cutter continued to smoke, and Dupree noticed a considerable reduction in speed.
“You know anything about The Urantia Book? You look like a pretty smart guy,” Cutter asked as he took another deep lung full of smoke.
“No, can’t say that I do. What is it?”
Cutter raised his index finger, signaling Dupree that he wanted to hold the smoke as long as possible. “Whoa,” he said, finally exhaling. “It’s a book and a place. I’ve been reading it. It is full of all kinds of wisdom, truth, and spiritual guidance.”
“Like a Bible?”
“It is like the fifth revelation. You know, like a sacred handing down of knowledge.”
“Who wrote it?” Dupree inquired.
“Oh, nobody knows, but it is controlled by The Forum, or at least it was until the powerful forces of organized religion tried to destroy the book. They stole the copyright so the sacred leaders couldn’t sell the book to finance the spreading of the word. But there are lots of followers. I mean I’ve only met a couple, but in the east there are lots.”
“Funny, I missed that one. So it is a book and a place?” Dupree was sure this was the stoned babblings of a pothead, but he decided to play along.
“Urantia is located in a universe called Nebadon, it’s in Orvonton universe which is part of Super Universe Number Seven.”
“You seem to have studied it a lot.” Dupree tried to not let his amusement show.
“I think I might be destined to fuse with my divine fragment and become one inseparable entity with it. Becoming a Finaliter is my real goal.”
“A what?”
“A Finaliter. It’s a person who continues their spiritual journey as an ascending citizen of the universe. They like to travel through all kinds of worlds on a long pilgrimage to grow and learn. The thing is, it eventually leads to God and you become one of the Paradise Mortals.
“But I have to find my Thought Adjuster, to guide me toward an increased understanding of him. There are things that aren’t revealed to me yet, like the Isle of Paradise where God lives, right? This is what is kind of blurry to me, Paradise is surrounded by Havona, kind of an eternal universe containing a billion perfect worlds. Now, around them, seven incomplete and evolutionary Super Universes circle. That there is some trippy shit I just can’t get ahold of.
“The Bible stuff is way more clearer. Did you know that Jesus’ crucifixion was the outcome of religious leaders back in the day who thought that Jesus’ teaching was a threat to their being in charge of stuff? See, the church today has got it all wrong, Jesus was actually the human incarnation of Michael of Nebadon, one of more than 700,000 Paradise Sons of God. There is just so much we are never taught.
“Did you know Jimi Hendrix carried the Book of Urantia? He said it was an alternative Bible. He carried it with him everywhere, that and his Bob Dylan songbook. Cool or what? That’s your generation, right? Hendrix and Dylan?”
“So they say,” Dupree shrugged. “How did you come upon this book of Ur…”
“Urantia. A dude that sold my friend Ricky PCP was friends with this girl that was always hooking up with this old guy, kind of a Manson kinda freak, scary as hell. Well, he gave a copy to Ricky’s cousin. Ricky owed me money so he gave me the book. He said it was kind of a Jack and the Beanstalk kinda trade. I was really stoned one night, I mean higher than a moonbat at harvest time, you know, so I started reading it and it was like a window to God opened up. I knew right then I needed to listen to what it was teaching.”
“Wow.”
“Right? You feel me?”
“I think I do,” was the only thing Dupree could think of to say. He was beginning to feel a little funny. Oddly enough, Cutter’s rambling was starting to make sense. The closed space and the incredible amount of smoke in the car might just be affecting him. Is this what it is to get high? he thought. He rolled the window the rest of the way down.
“Okay, Okay, Okay, I got to think now. Hold on, hold on. I always get confused right in here. All these exits and bypasses and signs mess me up. This is Sacramento, right?”
“That’s what the signs say,” Dupree answered.
“Okay, Okay, so Redding sign? You see it?” Cutter was frantic.
“Yeah, there!” Dupree pointed to the far-left lanes.
Cutter didn’t signal or look, he just started to drift in the direction of the lane with Redding overhead. Horns blared, a car swerved and brakes screamed. Cutter didn’t flinch or change expression. He crossed four lanes of the freeway at fifty miles an hour while the cars flew past and around him at seventy or above. Dupree held onto the dashboard and prayed. To whom, he wasn’t sure.
“Okay, we’re cool now,” Cutter said flatly.
A black SUV pulled alongside them and a man screaming, swearing, and half hanging out the window gave Cutter the finger.
“What’s his trip?” Cutter asked indignantly.
“I think you may have cut him off changing lanes,” Dupree offered.
“No way! Really?”
“Could be.”
Cutter flashed a peace sign at the man in the SUV as it sped away. He took another long draw from his blunt and frowned. “You know it is this whole Illuminati thing. They are taking over the world little by little. Sneaky, subtle ways. Creeping into everything.”
“I have to get out more. I have gotten a real education since I got in your car. I have never heard of the Illuminati. Is it part of Urantia?” Dupree was kind of enjoying stringing Cutter along. It certainly made the time go by faster.
“Whoa, I never thought of that. Could be, could be. You are one insightful dude. Are you a searcher too?”
“Not exactly.” Dupree left it at that. “So where is Illuminati? Italy?”
“No, no man, it is a secret society going all the way back to Cain and Abel.
“Here’s what’s up, there really are only two religions in the world. Those who worship God and those who don’t, right? So really, if you think about it, if you’re not on God’s team, you are already on Satan’s. It’s like Dylan said, ‘It might be the devil or it may be the Lord, but you’re gonna have to serve somebody.’
“So, the Illuminati is this secret society that’s way above all organized religion and political parties, its thing is to unite the world in allegiance to the devil. To rule the world for Satan.
“So get this, there are all kinds of presidents going way, way back that are members of the Illuminati. Popes are big-time involved. Entertainers too, man, Jay-Z and Beyoncé are the full-on ambassadors to the young people of the world. And, who’s their best buddy? B-rock O!”
“That is quite a bit to swallow,” Dupree said, in the pause.
“I know, right? But get this, it goes back, man. They l
ove to hide their symbolism in plain sight. It is how they recognize each other. The initiated aren’t afraid to put it right out there because the unenlightened don’t get it anyway.
“Like the pentagram, right? The upside-down star?”
“Yes, I know what a pentagram is,” Dupree confirmed.
“That demonic goat god that the Illuminati idolize? The heavy metal duds stole it, but they aren’t really Illuminati, they’re just poseurs. The real ones are like everywhere once you know where to look, like on money, Catholic churches, all kinds of stuff. Oh, and you know this?” Cutter held up his hand, his index and little fingers extended, his thumb holding down the other two. “Heavy metal, right? Wrong, dude. Ancient symbol for devil horns. Scary, huh? But the really trippy one is this!” He made an A-OK sign and held it up to his eye. “That’s the big one!”
“Alright, I know this one. We did it at summer camp.” Dupree made two of the hand gestures and put them up to his eyes upside down. “Up in the air junior birdmen, up in the air upside down,” he began to sing.
“No, no, no Dude! The three fingers sticking out? 666 the number of the Beast. The thing around the eyes, the third eyes, all-seeing like on the pyramid on the dollar bill. There’s all kinds of famous people in pictures doing it. It is a signal to the devil, kind of a wink and a thank you for the power you’ve given me.”
“Like who?” Dupree asked, skeptically.
“Shit, I don’t know, let’s see. The Pope, Prince Charles, Lady Ga-Ga, all kinds of people. But that ain’t all. Masonic stuff like the ruler and triangle thing, that ain’t got nothin’ to do with bricks, I can tell you that. That’s one.
“There’s a ton of other symbols to show they’re in charge. You know that tower kinda thing, like the Washington Monument with the pyramid on top? Those things are all over the world, man. So are serpents and dragons. Symbols. The All-Seeing Eye, like on the dollar bill. It’s all around too, once you start to look. Even owls show up as Illuminati symbols. Yeah, can you say Harry Potter? I tell you, man, they are everywhere.
“I wish I had a computer to show you all the famous people in the Illuminati. You know who else is into this shit big time? Mormons, man. In Salt Lake City I saw it, all over their big ol’ temple. Cray-zee!” Cutter rolled down the window and threw the last inch of the cigar and the plastic tip out.
“Arbuckle.” Dupree pointed at the road sign. “Did you know one of the biggest scandals of the twentieth century involved a guy named Arbuckle?” Dupree was not much for trivia, but in law school, he was assigned the task of defending Fatty Arbuckle in his famous trial.
“Yeah? What’d they do?” Cutter asked.
“Fatty Arbuckle was just about the most famous movie star in the world in the era of silent movies. Before sound, comedy was king, because it didn’t require dialog, just a lot of physical gags. Slapstick is what they called it. Anyway, Mr. Arbuckle attended a pretty rowdy party at the St. Francis Hotel in San Francisco. A young woman named Virginia Rappe was allegedly sexually assaulted with a champagne bottle. The point is, there was no evidence that Mr. Arbuckle had anything to do with it. He was exonerated, but it ruined his career none the less. A very sad affair.”
“You know what?” Cutter began. “You talk just like a lawyer.”
“I watch a lot of TV.” Dupree tried to deflect the compliment. He certainly didn’t want to tell his driver he was indeed an attorney.
“Yeah, but you sound like you know what you’re talking about. You got a lot of school?”
“I went to college.” Dupree nodded. “You explained the incredibly complicated path of your philosophy pretty well. What college did you go to?”
“No college for me. I didn’t even finish high school. I thought it meant getting high so I graduated with a diploma in weed.” Cutter laughed as if he told the funniest joke in the world. He coughed and sputtered and leaned over the steering wheel. “Oh man, I’m runnin’ out of gas.”
“The sign back there a bit said Williams was fifteen miles,” Dupree offered.
“Ass, grass, or gas. Nobody rides for free. How much money do you have?”
“About forty or fifty bucks. How much do you want?” Dupree saw the driver pull a pistol out from under his right thigh.
“Forty or fifty bucks.”
“Whoa, let’s not get excited.”
“I’m not excited at all. I’m feeling pretty well baked,” Cutter said, pulling over to the side of the road.
“Alright, alright.” Dupree unbuckled his seat belt and tried to get his hand into his pocket.
“What’s in the pack?”
“Dirty underwear, a Bible, and a toy for my grandson.” Dupree huffed trying to lean back far enough to get his hands in his pocket. If he weren’t so scared, he would have grinned at his ability to lie under pressure.
After nearly bending over the seat backward Dupree managed to get the small wad of bills from his pocket. He unfolded them and began to count.
“No need for that. Hand it over.”
“That’s all I have to get me to Washington!” Dupree protested.
In a powerful arc of his arm, Cutter slammed Dupree across the bridge of his nose with the underside of the gun. His vision exploded in a blinding burst of white light, then darkness. Dupree was sure he blacked out because the next thing he knew his door was open and Cutter was sitting sideways in the seat pushing him out with the bottom of his boots. In a last moment of clarity, Dupree clutched the strap of his pack as he fell from the car.
“Later Dude!”
A moment later the car lurched forward throwing dirt and gravel in its wake. Dupree blinked several times and let the heaviness of his eyelids overtake him.
CHAPTER 6
“Hey! Hey, Buddy! You okay?”
The sharp gravel cut into Dupree’s palms and knees but it wasn’t enough to clear his head. He looked around for the owner of the voice. The roar he thought was in his head was, in reality, the mufflerless engine of a three-wheel ATV that pulled up alongside the ditch next to him.
“You need some help?”
“I think so.” Dupree’s voice sounded to him like it was coming out of someone else.
As he lifted his head, he saw two legs clothed in very faded denim and a pair of partially laced work boots. He felt the grip of a strong pair of hands grasp his shoulders and gently begin to lift him.
“Can you make it to your feet?”
“I think so,” Dupree said, struggling to put his weight on the soles of his feet.
As Dupree stood to his feet, he was looking into the weathered, deeply creased face of the owner of the ATV.
“You get hit by a car?”
“No, I believe the term is pistol-whipped.”
“Hell of a blow you took. Can you make it to the trailer?”
“I believe so,” Dupree said, softer than he intended.
“Let’s give it a try. We need to get you some medical attention.”
“My pack.” Dupree’s voice was getting back to normal, but it carried a thick nasal quality. “I need my pack.”
“Alright, I’ll grab it. Let’s get you in the trailer first.”
The man took Dupree by the top of his arm and directed him toward the little green trailer behind the ATV.
“Watch your step,” the man said as they approached the ditch. “There you go. I gotcha.”
Dupree turned and sat on the end of the trailer. He turned his head from side to side and then leaned it way back to look straight up to the sky. His neck popped and crackled, and the short, sharp pain was a relief. He took a deep breath and looked back at the man who was retrieving his backpack.
The man was either much younger than he looked or much more agile than a man his age should be. Obviously a farmer. Dupree wondered what profit there could be in owning a piece of this desolate expanse of dry weeds and rock.
“There you are.” The man handed Dupree his pack. “I’m Chet Weaver. My house is about three-quarters of a mile off. Try to g
et comfy, it’ll be kind of bumpy in spots.”
“Thank you for coming to my rescue.”
“You’re lucky, I usually don’t make it this far out until Wednesday.” Chet gave Dupree a broad smile.
“Lucky must be a two-edged sword. I’m Dupree.”
“Nice to meet you. The circumstances could be better.” Chet took a radio from his belt and keyed the microphone. “Val? You there?”
The radio’s static was thick and hurt Dupree’s head.
“I’m here,” a woman’s voice said on the other end of the radio.
“I just found a fella who’s got a nasty cut across the bridge of his nose. Better get your kit out. I’m at marker 109 so I’ll be a bit.”
“I’ll be ready. You be careful.” The voice was halting and slurred.
“See you in a bit,” Chet replied. “Hang tight.”
The pop, pop, pop of the ATV provided a warning for the hard-jerking start. Dupree held on with a tight grasp as they started off. The little trailer bumped hard, then smoothed a bit as they headed east away from the highway.
Dupree tried several times to close his eyes and relax, but the jolts and bumps of the well-worn dirt path seemed to send sharp pains up his back that exploded out the bridge of his nose. The landscape grew no greener or any more promising as they rode along. There was neither tree nor brush as far as he could see. Riding backward kept Dupree from seeing the approaching farmhouse until they turned and rolled onto the smooth paved driveway.
The house and yard were an oasis in the parched desolation of the surroundings. Broad branched fruitless mulberry trees surrounded the house and their broad leaves offered shade and a protective break from the wind. Grass as thick and green as any golf course wrapped itself around the house. Under the wide front porch were flowerbeds of bright yellow daisies that welcomed you to the front steps.
Chet stopped with Dupree and the trailer right at the front steps. A tall slender woman stood on the porch with her arms folded across her chest. Her face was lovely, olive-complected, and void of the weathered ravages Chet exhibited. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and was dark with broad stripes of white. The dark blue dress she wore clung to her youthful figure. Dupree found her overall appearance quite pleasing.
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