Greed
Page 30
“Sounds great! I'll get some.”
Joe retrieved a bottle of wine from storage. A rather delicious Cabernet Sauvignon from Napa Valley, he smacked his lips as he poured two glasses. He placed the glasses on the coffee table, saying “we ought to let these sit and breathe for a bit.”
“Come here.” Jane beckoned with a smile.
Joe sat down next to her, and their lips met in a long tender kiss.
They separated slowly, gazing into each others’ eyes; both were smiling and breathing heavily.
Joe reached for the wine glasses and handed a glass to Jane. He said, “A toast – to jobs that pay the bills.”
They sipped. And then they kissed again.
“So now that you've been there a few days,” Jane said, “how do you like your new job?”
Joe shrugged. “It's a job. You know – it's different when you're a contractor – they treat you different, and you treat them different. I’d say the politics are a big change – much easier. But at the same time, the company can drop you on a moments’ notice.”
Jane looked down at her glass, thoughtfully. “You know. I sure am glad you got that contract. I didn't tell you this before, but sales have been slowing down lately. I guess that businesses have been laying off a lot of people and it’s starting to have an effect on the housing market.”
“I'm glad I got it too.” Joe nuzzled up to her and they kissed again. Slowly.
They separated and sipped their wine.
And then Joe paused, holding up his hand. “Hey! I want to show you something. C'mon!”
Joe got up from the sofa and walked toward the den with Jane following. They walked into the den. And then Jane saw it. Standing against the wall was a spanking new flat screen television.
Jane stood and looked at it, and her jaw dropped.
“Well,” Joe looked at her with excitement, “what do you think?”
Jane was speechless. Then she blurted out, “Where’d this come from?”
“I bought it. They delivered it today.”
Jane turned and looked at him with her jaw agape. “You bought this?”
“Well, yes. I wanted it to be a surprise.”
Jane put her hand to her forehead. “Shit, Joe, we have no money for this. What are you thinking!” She paused to collect herself. “Look. You were out of work for almost two years. We've drawn down our retirement fund. We're just getting by on two paychecks. And now you go out and buy a damn television!”
“Joe!” She whispered. “What are you thinking?”
Under her glare, Joe just stood there.
* * * * *
A year later . . .
Joe guided his new pickup truck through the late evening Sacramento traffic toward home. He had a gleam in his eye, anticipating that Jane would be taken by his newest purchase. Wait until she sees this! Joe mentally chortled.
He enjoyed the smooth power of the V-8 as he drove along U.S. 50. He turned it easily as he exited the freeway and then headed south on Sunrise Blvd. I sure am glad we live south of 50 rather than north – it's a zoo up there. He turned into his subdivision. Winding through the residential streets, he drove up to the house and pulled into the driveway.
“Ja-ane,” he called as he walked into their home.
“I'm in here,” he heard her call from the kitchen.
Joe walked into the kitchen and found Jane leaning over the counter reading a newspaper. He walked up behind her and began massaging her shoulders. “Hi, lover. How was your day?”
Jane started to moan and roll her neck under his touch. “Oh wow. Don't stop.”
He massaged her for a few minutes, and then bent down to kiss the back of her neck. “Ooooo,” she squealed softly.
She turned around and their eyes met. “So, how was your day?”
“Great!,” Joe replied. “Work's going well. They talked with me about an extension today.”
“Super,” Jane nodded.
“And,” Joe continued – happiness in his voice, “I went and bought that new truck we talked about.”
Jane became serious. “I thought we agreed to talk about it, didn't we?”
“But honey, we did talk about it.”
“No, Joe. I wanted to talk about it some more.”
“But I thought we agreed! Hell. Everything's been going so good for us.”
Jane paused and bit on her lip. And then she put her hands on his chest. “Joe.”
“Yes?”
“I needed to tell you. Things have not been going so well at work lately.”
“What? What do you mean?” Joe stammered.
“What I mean,” she replied, “is that houses are not selling as fast as they were.”
“But that'll turn around – it always does,” Joe pleaded.
“Maybe. And maybe not. One thing I do know is that I’m spending more on marketing and promotion than I was before; at least as a percentage of sales.” She paused. “So, I'm not getting the income I was before.”
Jane's shoulders were hunched over as she looked down to the floor.
Joe’s voice was soft. “Well. What do you want me to do about it?”
Jane looked up into Joe's eyes and sighed. “I'm not sure we can do anything about it now.”
Chapter 9
And Back in Idaho ...
“Do you know where you're going?” Trish was nearly abreast of Dwayne as they hurried their way through the crowd.
“Yep. I know this place like the back of my hand,” Dwayne replied.
“Back of your hand, my foot!” Trish yelled. She began to jog alongside him. “So, where're we supposed to meet him?”
“There's a place where all of the gates come together into a single exit. Everyone gets funneled through it,” Dwayne shouted.
Trish was now running to keep up with Dwayne. “Slow down, Dwayne,” Trish yelled. “I can barely keep up.”
Dwayne shouted a reply. “We've got to hurry or we'll miss him at the gate exit.”
They soon reached the airport gate area and watched with bated breath as the passengers filed by. The line seemed endless.
Dwayne was quickly looking back and forth when he heard Trish shouting. “There he is – there he is!”
Dwayne looked at Trish. And then he followed her aim as she pointed into the crowd. Is that really James? He looks so different! Dwayne's thoughts paused while he took a few moments to adjust to James' new appearance.
And then he paused again at the sight of another young man behind James. That must be Stuart, Dwayne thought.
Dwayne stood back and watched as Trish and James embraced. All three talked for a moment and then made their way through the crowd toward Dwayne.
Dwayne's face grew into a broad smile. “Hello, son,” he said simply. They shook hands and then hugged – the kind of bear hug meant only for men. He stepped back from his son. “Boy, have you changed!” And then he acknowledged the other young man and extended his hand. “And you must be Stuart?” They shook hands.
“All right? Oh, ... Ah. Yes sir, I’m Stuart – Stuart Rollins, sir.” Stuart's thick British rolled off his tongue as he met Dwayne's eyes. He nodded to Dwayne in a 'reserved' manner.
“I’m so glad to meet you – James told us all about you,” Dwayne said with a smile.
Stuart quickly rubbed his hand up and down the side of his trousers. “I’m glad to meet you as well, sir. Thanks for letting me come for a visit.”
“Well,” Dwayne motioned toward the baggage claim, “we better go and collect your bags.”
As they walked toward the baggage claim, Dwayne noticed James' long and easy strides. No longer slouching, he now stood and walked like a man – so different from the James who enlisted in the Marines just four years ago. My son has grown up!
They walked at an easy gait as they chatted. “So, have you separated yet? Or are you still their captive?” Dwayne joked.
James smiled. “Oh, I separated when I came through Germany. I'm a free man now – and it f
eels awesome!” And then James paused. “Dad, I really appreciate your letting Stuart stay with us for a while. He's never been to the U.S. He's gonna enjoy it here!”
And then James looked back at Stuart. “Right, Dude?”
“Alright, mate!” Stuart replied with a smile.
They continued their long strides toward the baggage claim, with Trish still struggling to keep pace.
* * *
James peered through the scope as he acquired his target downrange. The butt of the Barrett M107 rifle was pressed snugly against his shoulder, and his hand grasped the pistol grip – his finger wrapping around the front of the trigger. He took up the slack in the trigger, slowly. And almost without warning. Boom! He felt the rifle's butt slam into his shoulder, followed by the odor of freshly fired gunpowder wafting into his nostrils. Still in a firing position, he peered downrange through the scope – confirming the accuracy of his shot.
A semiautomatic rifle, James knew that the rifle operated flawlessly and that the next round was already chambered. James disengaged from the rifle, leaving it in position on the bench rest they used specifically for target practice. He stood up and looked at Stuart with a wry grin. Wiping his hands on his blue jeans, he said, “You wanna try it?”
Stuart smiled as he sat down at the bench rest. “You blokes think this is some kinda special weapon? Two tours in ‘stan, I did – and a bloody lot of time looking down the barrel of one of these.”
Stuart re-positioned his hearing protection and brought the butt of the rifle into the recess of his shoulder. Then he positioned his cheek on the cheek rest and peered downrange through the eyepiece of the mil-spec. Leupold 4.5x14 scope. A skilled sniper for the British Army, Stuart settled into a relaxed shooting posture. James watched on as he exhaled while taking up the slack in the trigger; and at the point where his exhale stopped and his body became still, he squeezed the trigger.
Boom! Standing off to the side of the rifle, James realized that the side-to-side concussion of the weapon was too much for his ears – no matter what kind of hearing protection he was wearing! James picked up his telescope and moved to the table behind Stuart, placing him outside of the rifle's concussion zone.
Over breakfast just that morning, he had seen his Dad's eyes light up.
“C'mon,” he whispered; and the other two followed him into his office. He pulled a long box out of the closet and opened it, picking a rifle out of the box.
“Oh, man!” James' voice was throaty as his face lit up. He held out his hands and said, “Can I see that?”
“Bloody beautiful!” Stuart's eyes too were sparkling.
Eyes still gleaming, Dwayne handed it to James.
“Well?” said Dwayne.
“Awesome!” James said as he turned it over and looked at the different parts. He handed it to Stuart.
“All Right!” Stuart looked up at Dwayne as he was holding it. “This is just like the one I used in ‘stan. It's one bloody great piece!”
Dwayne laughed. “Well, why don't you two try it out today?”
“Oh, wow! Thanks, Dad!” James said.
“Bloody 'ell,” Stuart said
Boom! James came out of his daydream. He watched as Stuart, patient and unfazed, melded his shoulder into the rifle; watched as Stuart exhaled, and relaxed his body. He took up the slack in the trigger.
Boom!
James put the telescope up to his eye and focused in on the target downrange. In just a few rounds, the target was already shredded. Damn, we really do need a more durable target, he thought. They were set up at a shooting table/bench that Dwayne had previously constructed. Located near the house, the shooting lane they used was bordered by native timber and followed a path straight out from the bench. The target was placed in front of a medium sized hill, so there was no danger of a stray bullet. James checked the range at 300 meters – about 325 yards.
James was intent on Stuart's shooting, failing to notice the surrounding mountains – mountains chock full of pine and fir trees, and with snow-covered mountain peaks off in the distance.
Boom!
“Nice shooting,” James said.
James thought back to when he and his Dad first talked about buying the rifle.
“... this is a great rifle, son! Accurate! Extremely accurate! The bullet has a flat trajectory that makes it accurate to more than a mile! Son, this here is what we call an 'interesting weapon'!”
An especially 'interesting' weapon, the Barrett M107 was based on previous incarnations of .50 caliber Barrett rifles. A semi-automatic weapon with a ten-round magazine, the rifle fired the .50 caliber Browning Machine Gun (12.7 x 99 mm NATO); a round large enough to take out an automobile, or a small stationary airplane. James knew that the ballistics of the .50 BMG was especially 'interesting' – that the bullet would travel in a relatively flat trajectory at nearly 3,500 feet per second. This helped to make the rifle highly accurate for up to 2,000 meters – an ideal sniper's weapon. But at 28 pounds, it was not a weapon that your average infantry soldier would carry.
Yes, James reflected with a smile, he was delighted indeed to test his father’s rifle.
Boom! Stuart squeezed off another round. James peered through his telescope seeking the target downrange. Stuart's shooting had ripped out the middle of it!
Awesome! James shouted.
Boom! Yet another round passed on-center through the already shredded target. And once again, the concussion from the rifle rolled out to the side.
Awesome!
* * *
Dwayne carried some rare coin sheets out to the kitchen table. You'd think I'd have better lighting in my office, he thought. Let's see ... 1885-cc. Now that's a good year! Just then he heard some banging on the back porch, and then the two shooters walked in.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Hi, Mr. Jeffrey.”
“So how was the shooting?” Dwayne asked.
“Awesome, Dad. That was so cool!”
Stuart smiled and then chimed in. “Yes, Mr. Jeffrey. That's a nice rifle you've got there. As nice as the rifles they issued us in ‘stan.”
Dwayne smiled. “I'm glad you like it.”
Stuart walked over and looked at the sheet of coins. “Oh, alright! These are bloody awesome. Can I hold it?”
“Go ahead,” Dwayne replied.
Stuart picked up the sheet and held it up to the light – a sheet of 12 Morgan Silver Dollars. “Blimey! Are these shiny, or wot?”
He looked at them a bit more. “So. Why is there such an attraction to these coins? What do people find in gold and silver coins?”
Dwayne paused in thought and then replied. “It's real money. It's substantial. And it can't be printed out of thin air.”
“Huh?”
“Gold has been used as money for 6,000 years.”
Doubt washed over Stuart's face. “Why is that important?”
“Why? Because people know that it will retain its purchasing power. And unlike paper money, you can't just create more of it from nothing.”
Stuart thought for a moment. And then he said, “If gold is so good, then why do we use paper money?”
Dwayne's mouth twisted in cynicism. “We use paper money because it benefits the bankers.”
“Aw c'mon, Mr. Jeffrey. Isn't that a simplistic answer? Doesn't paper money benefit all of us?”
“No, Stuart. Paper money doesn’t benefit us.” He paused, looking at Stuart. “Although at first glance it may appear so.”
Dwayne cleared his throat and continued. “Paper money allows the bankers to print more and more, while at the same time debasing the currency that you and I hold. With their money printing, our money is worth less over time – the loss of purchasing power we experience is transferred to the bankers and the wealthy. In other words, the bankers steal from the poor and the middle class and give it to the rich. And they use paper money to do it.”
“Yeah, but. Isn't paper money good when you want to buy a house?”
“Sure. But
why do you ask?”
“Why? Because I have a dream. A dream that someday I'll find a girl I fancy, buy a home, and settle down with my family.” Stuart looked at Dwayne with a somewhat pleading expression. “It's important to me – my dreams. I want to live them and see them fulfilled.”
Dwayne nodded. “I understand. We all have dreams. And we all want to live ‘em.”
For just a moment, there was an awkward silence. And then Dwayne piped up. “May I say just one more thing?”
“Aye sir, please continue.”
“Well, I didn’t want to spoil the mood, but there’s one other thing that’s important about paper.” Dwayne frowned and then continued. “Paper money gives the banks control over the economy. So they can put us into a depression whenever they choose – just by withdrawing credit from the economy. And if they push us into a depression, people lose their homes – and people starve.”
“So you see,” Dwayne concluded. “when you borrow money from a bank to buy a home, you're putting yourself under their thumb. They get to do with you what they will.”
“Bloody 'ell, Mr. Jeffrey. I'll think about that.”
* * * * *
“Soups on,” Trish shouted. Dwayne walked into their country kitchen and pulled up a chair at the oak kitchen table. The kitchen abounded with a country atmosphere – wallpaper imprinted with hens, oak plank flooring, and country-style furnishings. But Dwayne ignored all of it. Instead, he watched intently as Trish served up a couple of bowls.
Trish brought the bowls to the table, placing one in front of Dwayne.
“Oh man,” Dwayne exclaimed. “I just love your chili.”
“Eat up,” Trish said as she sat down.
Dwayne already had his mouth full.
They were busily eating when Dwayne piped up. “Did you hear about Fed Chairman Greenspan?”
“No,” Trish mumbled with her mouth stuffed. “What about him.”
“He’s retiring.”
Trish’s eyebrows raised as she put her spoon into the bowl. “Really?” She gulped.