“Sorry, I forgot that I didn’t have any in here.”
Still in shock, I remained speechless with my eyes wide with terror.
“You OK?” she asked, looking concerned.
“Fine—it’s just that…”
“Oh yeah, your bathroom thing. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out.”
“It’s more than that. You see, every time my morning dump get’s interrupted, something terrible happens.”
“Every time?”
“Pretty much.”
“And you really believe this?”
“I do.”
“They have drugs for this kind of thing.”
“I’m serious. You’ve inadvertently just set some incredibly bad mojo in motion.”
“Yeah, I guess we’ll see,” she said, as she threw me the toilet paper before turning and walking out of the bathroom.
Women—why was it so hard for them to understand how their actions could interact with the unseen forces of interconnectedness that existed between my dumps and fate. With a great deal of trepidation, I wiped and flushed yet again before heading back to Violet’s bathroom, where I found her in the shower. I joined her and lathered up my hair, and I think she could see that I was still rattled by her intrusion, so she set about trying to mend my heart with a kiss before grabbing the soap and washing me from head to toe. It was a nice distraction and helped ease my feelings of foreboding, and even more so when she took special care to wash my favorite appendage particularly vigorously. We both entered the stream of water and were soon ready to towel off and get dressed.
I went with my same shorts, though Violet loaned me a clean T-shirt, which I feared belonged to her ex. It had an image of Princess Leia with her hand in Han Solo’s pants, and the caption below the graphic read Han Job. Oh well, I was a Star Wars fan, and, least of all, I was in Hawaii, where clothing was all about simplicity. Anything more than shorts, T-shirt, and thongs and you were grossly overdressed. We brushed our teeth one last time and headed out to the Suburban, where I now had the difficult task of backing it out of her precariously thin driveway. We reached the street without losing so much as a side mirror, and I turned the hulking beast around and headed down the hill. We drove west, then turned north onto H2, where we reached the North Shore about thirty minutes later. The road wound along the ocean, and soon we were turning right onto Pupukea Rd until eventually reaching the entrance to Walther’s Ranch.
All appeared quiet as we drove up and parked beside the same green Land Cruiser. The tractor and pickup truck were still there as well, so Walther was likely nearby. We knocked on the door and waited for some time but got no response. If he were working on a gun he might be wearing ear protection, but then he would also be firing it as well. Currently, the valley was as quiet as could be, and it caused Violet and me to exchange a nervous glance.
“Let’s go around back and see if we can find him,” I said.
“Yeah, good idea.”
We walked around the house and found the back workshop was closed up tight, and there wasn’t a soul in sight.
“Shit, I’m getting a bad feeling.”
“Me too.”
We walked back to the front and banged on the door but again got no response. I tried the doorknob and was surprised to find it unlocked, and I opened it, and Violet immediately drew her gun as we moved inside. We moved through the living room and passed through each area of the house before walking through the corridor and taking a quick glance in Walther’s workshop to find it empty.
“Do you think they killed him too?” Violet asked.
“I sure hope not.”
We headed back through the main house, then exited and walked out to the Suburban, where we paused and took a minute to look out at the farm and surrounding hills. I was hoping that Walther was somewhere out there tending to his animals or doing whatever farmers did, but it seemed doubtful. Suddenly, a shot rang out in the distance, and my immediate thought was that it was Walther testing a weapon. That is, until the bullet tore into the ground two feet from where Violet and I were standing. We dove for cover behind the Suburban as more shots rang out, and the entire area became engulfed by bullet impacts. I crawled to edge of the Suburban and tried to triangulate where our shooter was and soon realized that there was more than one and very likely at least three. Shooter one was directly across from us, high on the mountain, camouflaged in the lush greenery, and I made a mental note of his rough location by sighting in on a large palm tree before turning my attention to shooter two and three. They were spread out somewhere to the left and right, and both were equally well-hidden. Suddenly, a shot came from behind, and I realized that there was a forth sniper, and we were totally encircled and more or less completely fucked.
Violet had her pistol in her hand, and she was more than ready to return fire, but it would be mostly useless at this range. I therefore decided to pull out my phone and call for help, but, as luck would have it, I had no service. Violet also checked her phone but had the same provider and therefore the same lack of coverage. Wonderful. Now, we needed a landline or a miracle, and, as I didn’t happen to notice Jesus lurking anywhere nearby, that left option one, which of course meant that we needed to go into Walther’s house.
“Violet, I need you to fire a shot at each of our shooters, then we’re going to run like hell for the house.”
“Are you crazy? I can’t hit shit at this range.”
“I know, it’s just a distraction to allow us a little time to get back inside the house.”
Violet took a moment to gather her courage then leaned out and fired once in the general direction of each of our shooters. Right after the last shot, we ran like hell, and our covering fire was apparently ineffective, as bullets came raining down on us. Still, we made it into the house unscathed, and I went directly to Walther’s landline to see if it had a dial tone. Of course, it was as dead as a doornail.
“Fuck! They obviously cut the line.”
“How about his internet?” Violet asked.
“Good idea!”
We went to a computer that was nestled in a nearby hutch and tapped the keyboard. It came out of sleep mode, and I brought up Firefox and got the error message server not found. I looked under the desk and saw that he had DSL, which came in on the same line as the phone, so it was completely useless.
“Let me guess—he has DSL,” Violet said.
“Yeah, so we need a new plan.”
“I thought a moment and realized I was forgetting the obvious fact that we were in a gunsmith’s house, and what did gunsmiths have in their houses? Fucking guns! If we were properly armed, we might stand a chance of making it out alive.
“Let’s go to the workshop!” I said.
Violet obviously knew what I was thinking, as she followed me through the house to Walther’s workshop, where I went to the wall that held all of his various gun projects. There, exactly where he’d placed it the day before, was Walther’s baby—his beloved brand new sniper rifle. I pulled it out and smiled at Violet.
“The equalizer,” I said.
“I suppose that Walther’s probably dead isn’t he,” Violet said, sadly.
“Maybe,” I said, as I checked the action and suddenly smiled as I spied something unusual.
“Or maybe not. It seems he left a note folded up in the breach.”
I unfolded it and read it aloud.
“Dear Tag and Violet. I really enjoyed our time together yesterday and decided to heed your warning after I spotted strangers moving around the periphery of my property early this morning. I therefore slipped out the back and went for a little jog to visit the friend I mentioned. Hopefully you won’t need this rifle, but please enjoy it should the need arise. Merry Christmas, Walther.”
“Finally a little good news,” Violet said.
“Yeah, and if we can just stay alive, we’ll have our first day without some kind of tragedy.”
The sniper rifle had four clips, and each one held ten ro
unds. That meant we had forty chances to turn the tables on our attackers and get the fuck off the farm. Even if I could just get some shots close, they would likely change their firing positions, and it would give us the time we needed to drive the Suburban until we had enough cell signal to call in the Cavalry. I hit the switch for the garage door, and, after it was only a foot or so off the ground, I hit the stop button. I slid a clip into the rifle, chambered a round, and dropped onto the floor and slithered outside. There, I moved slowly and purposefully across the fifteen feet of open space then crawled under the table and began methodically searching the hill for the bad guys. Right now, they would be doing the same thing as me—looking for targets, so my goal was to beat them to the punch, or, more accurately, the shot. I started with shooter number two, the one on the far left, and began meticulously searching for any kind of anomaly. Unfortunately, modern camouflage was designed using computers to create disruption patterns that our brains couldn’t recognize, and that meant I was looking for a veritable needle in a haystack.
I continued to scan in a grid pattern, looking for anything out of the ordinary, when luck gave me my first opportunity. The shooter moved. It was subtle, but through my sniper scope it was as plane as day, and now that I had a target, it was time for a little payback. I used the built-in laser range finder to determine the distance then adjusted the scope accordingly. Next, I tried to do a little wind calculation, which was my weakest link because my target was at a higher elevation and therefore, likely in a windier area than my own. I watched a tree sway in the breeze then estimated there to be about a ten mile per hour crosswind. Now, all I had to do was set my eyes on the target and adjust my aim accordingly. Close was all I needed.
I slowed my breathing until I could feel each individual heartbeat, and soon I could see the slow constant tremor of each one as it passed from my body to the weapon and into the scope. At last I found my rhythm and waited until I was between beats, then squeezed off my first shot. It impacted two feet left of my target, as it was indeed windier up on the mountain. The next shot would be better, and, as I adjusted my aim, the guy picked up his gear and scampered into the surrounding trees. I had one out of the way—at least temporarily.
I moved my aim right to search for the guy I had designated as shooter number one, or, unofficially, the middle man. Every second was critical, as I knew that the longer it took to find him, the higher the odds were that he or one of his friends might find me. When the fucker first fired at us, I had used a particularly tall palm tree on the far side of the ranch to mark shooter one’s general location. I found the tree, then moved up the hill and scanned the mountainside but didn’t get any movement. Obviously, this guy was better at holding tight to his position, so I therefore used landmarks to make a mental grid then started again but thought about where I would have chosen to hole up. There was a large lava rock outcrop with a dense thicket of trees, and I was pretty sure that’s where I’d be, as it offered plenty of cover and a nice flat firing position. I visually scoured the area but still couldn’t see the shooter, so I decided to wing it and put one in the center. Again, I slowed my breathing and waited until I was between heartbeats before squeezing off a shot. It impacted within six inches of where I was aiming, and suddenly a figure sprang up and ran into the cover of the nearby trees. Two down, or, more accurately, two on the run.
I scanned right and looked for lucky number three and didn’t have to go very far before I saw a figure already running deeper into the trees. Apparently, they were in radio contact, and shooter two had just warned number three to bug out and reform in a new location. It was therefore safe to assume that shooter number four on the opposite side would be doing the same, which was both good and bad news. It was good because we had a small window of opportunity but bad because we’d have no idea where they would be until they started shooting at us again. Time to roll. I stood up and ran for the workshop, then Violet and I raced through the house and out to the Suburban. We reached it without incident, and I started it up and slammed it into reverse, and we accelerated backwards down the driveway, though I waited until I was doing at least twenty five miles per hour before I spun the wheel and hit the brakes. This brought the Suburban around a hundred and eighty degrees, and I put the pedal on the floor, and off we went, leaving behind a massive cloud of dust. Now, the race was on, and our goal was to reach cell phone coverage, call in the cavalry, and hopefully survive. Their goal was to reform, take up new firing positions, and kill us. It wasn’t exactly encouraging, but at least it wouldn’t be a boring afternoon.
“So, what do you think about my whole interrupted dump curse now?” I asked.
“I still think it’s bullshit, and this is all a coincidence.”
Violet pulled out her phone, gazed at the screen, and suddenly looked unhappy.
“Fuck!” she said.
“What is it?”
“My battery just died.”
“It’s the curse.”
I looked at my screen and saw that I finally had a signal and was relieved that at least one of our phones was functioning. Just as I brought up my contacts menu, shots started ringing out from somewhere off to our right. Apparently shooter number four had found a new firing position. I varied our speed, and steered in a serpentine pattern, but it wasn't enough to keep a lucky shot from passing through the back right door and imbedding into the seat. They would have all of their fire teams triangulated and ready any second, so it was even more imperative to find cover and call for help.
“When we drive into that low section by the river, I’m going to stop, so we can continue on foot,” I said.
“Isn’t it better to keep going?”
“No, the rest of the road runs straight through the center of the valley, and we’ll be too exposed.”
Violet didn’t look all that convinced, but she was apparently willing to trust my judgement for the moment. The road dipped down as it neared the river, and we were enveloped in a canopy of greenery that would serve as decent temporary cover. We crossed the bridge, and I stopped the Suburban and took out my phone and dialed Frank, who thankfully picked up on the second ring.
“What’s going on, Finn?”
“We’re in a shit ton of trouble and need the cavalry.”
“Where are you?”
“Up at the gunsmith’s ranch.”
“Sweet Jesus. What are you doing back up there?”
“We were hoping to talk to our best lead.”
“Did you find him?”
“No, but we do need help exfiltrating from a hot LZ.”
“Who do you want? National guard, police, or FBI?”
“All of them—and as soon as possible.”
“Got it. Keep your head down. Help is on the way.”
“Thanks,” I said, hitting the end button.
“So, what now?” Violet asked.
“We need to find a safe spot while we wait for the cavalry.”
“Can I see your phone?” Violet asked.
“Sure. You calling the Bureau?
“Of course.”
“OK, but I think Frank’s already doing that.”
“Then we’ll both be calling.”
Violet dialed a number and spoke with an FBI operator and relayed our current predicament. A moment later, her call was transferred to someone else, and her demeanor changed, which gave me the distinct feeling that she was getting chewed out—obviously by her ex.
“Dave, don’t worry, I’m going to be fine, and no, do not come up here. Dave? Dave?”
Apparently he had hung up.
“All right, we need to find better cover. We’re sitting ducks in this Suburban, and, more importantly, I can’t remember if I got the extra insurance coverage, so we should draw their fire away from it,” I said.
“Very funny, but isn’t it safer to remain with the vehicle?”
“No, and instead, I’m going to use it as a decoy to buy us a little time. In the meanwhile, I’m going to need you to wait
here for a minute.”
“You’re not going to take off and leave me here are you?”
“Hell no, I’ll be back in two seconds.”
“One-thousand-one—one-thousand-two,” she counted.
“OK fine, ten seconds.”
“And not a second longer.”
Violet stepped out of the vehicle and watched anxiously as I drove up to edge where the greenery gave way to open pasture land. There, I hit the brake pedal, grabbed the sniper rifle, then released the brake and closed the door behind me to watch as it drove bravely forth unto its inevitable demise. I slipped back down to Violet and led her into a patch of ferns, which would allow us to remain hidden while we tracked the Suburban’s progress. Less than a hundred yards down the road, the sound of bullets impacting steel filled the air, and I said a silent goodbye to yet another rental car. Damn, I was just getting used to that Suburban.
The frequency of shots dramatically increased, which meant that they had gotten their ranges correct, and all four shooters were currently pulverizing my beloved behemoth.
“You were saying?” I said.
“OK, you were right about us ditching the Suburban.”
“Indeed, now let’s get moving. Our lives, and, in turn, our ability to fornicate lie in the balance.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A River Runs Through It
THE RIVER WOUND across then down through the valley and would hopefully provide decent cover while we trekked towards the main highway. We climbed down closer to the waters edge and made our way through the dense foliage until our only option to continue meant slipping into the water. It was about two feet deep in this part, and it made the going a little slow, and I was suddenly reminded of the Humphrey Bogart movie African Queen.
The Poi Predicament Page 28