Chapter Ten

Ah, good. DEA Agent Darryl Watkins was glad to find that the coffee pot that was brought in to the meeting room was fresh, and likely very strong. He liked his coffee strong and black. After all, if you wanted a cup of cream and sugar then why were you getting coffee? He need a boost this evening to get through a long day that started with a briefing and was ending with an entirely different level of briefing. He didn't know all of the participants in this group, which worried him a little bit. But, at least he didn't have to speak at this one tonight, so he could just relax. He heard that somebody had just arrived from Washington DC at the Peoria airport in Bartonville and would be here shortly, but he wasn't sure who. He did not much like surprises and definitely not after hours. He took a slice of Hawaiian pizza with the most pineapple on it and took a seat at the small conference table in the center of the old classroom.

Information was still coming in from his boss in the Chicago office about the activities that he had spoken about to the law enforcement group. He had worked with Chief Halsey and his officers before during the many phases of Operation Snakebit. They were a professional bunch for a mid-size town downstate, with impressive facilities in their new Justice Center. They were up to the task of taking down their own bad apples in the county that were engaged in the small time of Meth cooking. It was basic leg work following tips and knocking on doors. It could be dangerous, he knew, and he gave them big props for knocking on the doors that they did where there could be armed bad guys behind them. It wasn't a glamorous job and it didn't pay what he and his colleagues got for the federal gig that they did every day. Of course, they got to go home to a nice house with warm clean beds while his small team was holed up low-key in the weekend vacancies in the Coal Miner's motel. He would get substantial grief from his team for that one. But, it was functional and didn't attract much attention from the locals and that was critical to their success in stopping the dope dealers that were the underbelly of this nice town.

I guess that is the reason for meeting in this old boarded up builded, Watkins thought as he looked around the classroom. The original furnishings had been taken out already, in preparation for tearing the whole thing down some day. He heard from Sheriff when they had driven by it today that the town was getting close to just tearing it down finally. A citizen's committee had formed to try to save the school, like they had saved the park across the street that a store had wanted to build on. This building was unsaveable, though. Insurmountable odds, given the laws and regulations and codes of 2013. Was that truly progress? Bulldozing a town's history was progress? Well, that was not his problem. He was in and out of this town over the years, and not totally invested in its history like Chief Halsey was. He counted the Chief as a friend, though, and could see the pain that it caused him.

Watkins slid his aircard into the slot on his laptop and started the application from the desktop icon. He checked the signal strength and was pleased to see several bars. He hadn't been sure that he would get a signal inside this massive brick structure, but there was a repeater tower at the stadium up the road and it was doing the job. He synced his email and read a few messages from his boss in Chicago, including several that had been forwarded on from headquarters in Washington. The DEA was facing cuts from the last budget impasse in the Capitol, and was under pressure to do more with less. The bad guys weren't facing budget cuts, and were expanding operations in his territory. How was he supposed to cut into that growth with the staff reductions that he had and resources dwindling? Maybe whoever was coming out tonight from Washington had news on that front. He could use some good news to give to his team.

Emails answered, Watkins took the opportunity to surf the internet a bit. Nothing inappropriate. He was an all business guy, and he knew that his laptop had keystroke monitoring software on it. It was an accountability feature of a government owned device issued to a leader in the field. He could be compromised in his line of work, and his bosses wanted to know about that sooner rather than later. There was big money floating around in the drug trade and agents in his position were not immune to temptation. More than one had flipped and begun providing cover for the importation of drugs into the USA. It could be lucrative to look the other way. But not Watkins. At least not yet.

Some web surfing was allowable though, as long as it was job related. Keeping abreast of news stories from the standard news aggregators was allowable. Darryl browsed his way through the top headlines of the day. There was more Congressional infighting over the budget and the debt limit. Default on the debt seemed to be a real possibility, the stories said, and that would certainly be a bad thing though he didn't think that would actually happen. There was a celebrity in drug trouble that was making a fool of herself, but when wasn't there. He saw a story about China meeting with the BRICS nations to discuss America's debt and the possibility of establishing a new currency between them. He read down the article to see who BRICS was. Oh, yeah. Brazil, Russia, India, China, and South Africa. Well, that was a formidable group of adversaries. If they got some traction against us, that would be trouble certainly. But, they weren't the major players in the drug war, and not on his radar screen, so he moved on. There was an article about what court cases the Supreme Court might take up when they resumed deliberations next month in October. Four more service men had been killed in Afghanistan by an Afghan police officer they had trained that had turned on them. Why did we still have men in Afghanistan, he wondered? That war would never be “won” in the traditional sense, and they would return to savagery five minutes after our troops left. What had we gained there? The stories from the MidEast were not positive, as the Arab Spring had seemed to turn to a radical Winter.

That's enough bad news for now, he thought, and Watkins was shutting down his laptop when he heard voices coming down the hall. Late, but at least they could get started now. He was surprised to see two military officers walk in the door ahead of taller man in a dark suit. “Stay seated”, said the suit – who seemed to be in charge of the group. The three of them followed suit on getting coffee and a slices of the cooling pizza, and shook hands with Watkins as they found places at the table. They wouldn't need a projector or a whiteboard for a presentation, and there would be no PowerPoint slides tonight. This was an informal meeting of a small influential group. There would be no records of the meeting either, as there was no one inclined to take notes.

“Well, alright then. I guess I'll set the agenda for our discussion here tonight”, said the man in the suit. “I'm Colonel Skip Breen, US Army retired. I wish that I was actually retired on a late night like this and on the road at that. My present role is with the Department of Homeland Security. I work for the Undersecretary of Domestic Terrorism Preparedness and I am here tonight in Pekin, Illinois in that capacity. I will let the two uniformed gentlemen here introduce themselves, and then I can lay out for you why I am here.”

“I am General Jesse Rogers, and I have been the Commander of the Air National Guard units in Peoria and Springfield – recently appointed by the Governor of our fine state of Illinois. This is my temporary Executive Officer Major Brad Long, who is just back from our unit's deployment to provide airlift capacity in Afghanistan. We were requested to meet the Colonel here on his arrival at the airport and accompany him here tonight. I must say that we are most eager to hear what our possible involvement might be in a domestic criminal investigation. Unless we are called out by the Governor in a statewide emergency, I believe our role is confined to military applications as deployed overseas. Tell me that I am wrong.”

Three sets of eyes looked over at the agent in the windbreaker. “I am agent Darryl Watkins of the DEA. I have worked here in Pekin on several occasions assisting the local constabulary in their attempts to take down the Meth trade that is based here in service to the Peoria market through what they call Operation Snakebit. I met with the Sheriff a few hours ago to brief them on an escalation of operations in light of recent activities of the Porta Cinca Cartel in establishing a Chicago base. Our informants have tipped us that the cartel, which deals in Meth in addition to cocaine, has decided to see if their business model – if I can call it that – will “Play in Peoria” as the old saying goes. We need to jack up our efforts into the big leagues if the cartel is coming here as I think that they are.”

“Agent Watkins, you are on to something there and I commend you for being out in front of it. But they didn't tell you the whole story, and that is why I am here.” Colonel Breen slid a package of photos across the desk for agent Watkins to look at and to pass on to the National Guard officers. Eyebrows were going up. “The National Security Agency has presented evidence to our office based on cell phone intercepts from the Chicago area that indicate that the cartel did not come to Chicago alone. Oh no. They have even badder guys in tow. In addition to cocaine and Meth, the Porta Cinca Cartel is now trafficking in al-Qaida operatives into the MidWest. And they are coming here too. We have a credible threat of a terrorist attack in Illinois to be executed within the next week. I'm afraid that I know how that will “Play in Peoria”, as you aptly put it, and we are as the tip of a spear that is coming to stop it. We will need airlift capacity in support of that effort, General Rogers, and the Governor is being briefed as we speak and will provide the necessary orders for you to participate legally. Now, let's get to the plan.”

**********

Gus eyed the fading sun as he drove into Peoria after leaving Carlo at the gun range. Man, he thought, that had been a disturbing conversation with Carlo back there, though it was good to spend time with him and fun to shoot his guns again. How did Carlo get from where he knew him in school to the point where he was so pessimistic about the future of the country? Wow. He was really taking those things seriously. Too seriously. It was unhealthy to have those obsessions.

If he hurried, Gus had about a half hour left of Golden Hour sun, so he hurried down to the Warehouse District for an aspenglow shot of the low sun off of the red brick of these well-crafted buildings. He had a new photo editing app on his Droid phone, and was getting addicted to the quick post-shot editing that he could do from his phone, and then post them in the app. He had a growing gallery on InstaPic, and took a few shots with his phone that he would process later back in the motel. He also had his Canon T3i SLR camera slung around his neck and was looking forward to getting to work with it more extensively this week than he usually had a chance to. He wasn't as proficient with this camera, but he immediately appreciated the sharpness of image that the glass of the Canon lens was giving him.

Gus was playing with his polarizer filter on the end of the lens, rotating it to cut glare off of the windows to catch the sun's reflection just right in the lower windows of the building across the street as the light was fading. He was too close, he realized for the lens that he had on the camera, and did not have time to change the lens on the bayonet mount. He stepped up into the doorway of the building behind him and framed the whole building with room to crop it, and clicked his last frame as the sun dipped down below the horizon and glow faded from the building. Done, he thought. Most people would have kept shooting, but Gus had been doing this long enough to know that the interesting shot, if he had gotten one, was already gotten. The light was gone. Walk away.

As he started to step back out on the sidewalk, he heard a loud rumble echo off of the building across the street and stopped where he was in the doorway. Peering out, he saw three low-slung vehicles in military camoflauge paint rolling slowly in formation up Washington Street toward Peoria. Instinctively, he wanted to get a shot of them. He knew that the Canon would protrude out from the doorway stoop and he might be seen, so he surreptitiously grabbed his Droid out it's holster. It was still on, and in camera mode, and he hit the shutter button on the touchscreen to catch a quick picture. Dang, it was blurry. Right then the vehicle group stopped, and four military troops jumped out. They ran into an abandoned building and dragged out two guys in cuffs, threw them into the Humvees, and went on their way. Gus had kept snapping from his hidden perch, but didn't stay there to find out what he had captured.

Once safely back at the motel, Gus scrolled through his phone gallery to see what he had gotten. Most of it was un-useable in that low light, and he deleted them as he scrolled. Ah, there is one clear image. It showed the three vehicles, with some kind of decal that he couldn't read, and the four men stuffing the handcuffed men into the vehicles. Gus was startled. He had shot a lot of pictures in downtown Peoria, and had never seen anything like that. What should he do with this image? Would it get him in trouble? It was late, and he did the only thing that he could think of to do. He booted up his laptop, downloaded the image from his phone to the computer, opened Facebook, and attached the photo to a short Direct Message to his old Air Force buddy Robert Ellison – who was a thirty year man still serving and stationed in Southern California.

Had Robert seen vehicles like that in the Air Force, Gus wondered? He was too tired to think about it any further. He looked at his swollen tattoo in the motel room mirror, read the verse banner and sighed, and laid down on the thin mattress to get some sleep.

Chapter Nine

Bang! Gus's Ford Taurus bottomed out on a rut on the gravel road just off of the highway that went back in to the gun range where Carlo had a membership. Carlo's truck bounced on up the road ahead of him, unaffected by the rough round. Slow down, man! It was hard to keep up, but Gus could see up ahead and could see that they were almost there. Now that he saw it, he thought he might have been here before with another friend. One of these days, he thought, he should join up and pay the dues and get the code to the gate that Carlo was unlocking for him to pull through. There were several ranges of varying yardage for them to choose from, with a nice shelter at each for them to keep out of the weather. A light September drizzle of rain was falling, but it might let up soon.

Backing into the space in front of their chosen shelter seemed the right move. It was convenient to get a gun case out of the truck and onto the picnic tables under the shelter with minimum fuss, and to keep ammunition dry as long as you could. Gus backed in to his space but didn't get out of the car right away. While Carlo was manhandling a large canvas bag out of his truck bed, Gus retrieved his blood sugar test kit from his briefcase. It had been a couple of hours since they had eaten the big meal at the diner, and he wanted to see if he was still as slammed as he was feeling. He hated the multiple sticks a day in his fingertips even as he knew it was a lifelong burden for him now. Just do it. Pick a finger. Stick it. Dang, not enough blood on that attempt to register on the strip and he got the error code. He hated that worse. He pressed the end of the sticker against the tip of his thumb and pressed the button. There! He got a good flow with that stick and waited the ten seconds for a reading. 238. High, but he had certainly been higher. He retrieved the Novolog pen, dialed in the units, pressed it against the other side of his belly this time, and pressed the plunger – hearing the clicks as the insulin coursed into his fat layer. It was quick acting, and would help him feel better in no time. It was the price to pay for the mashed potatoes and gravy.

Carlo came around and tapped on Gus's window. “Hey man, are you still feeling bad from your bender last night? That must have been a lot of hooch that you imbibed. I would have liked to have been around to watch that. That is so not like you, my friend.”

Gus waved him off with an “I'm fine” and got his two firearms out of his car. He laid them on the end of the picnic table next to to Carlo's collection of weaponry. It seemed unimpressive in comparison.

“That's quite an arsenal you've got there Carlo! What exactly are you planning to do with all of that firepower?”

“Planning is right. A man has got to be prepared. That's one of the fundamental duties that a man carries. Protecting himself and his family. I take that responsibility seriously.”

Carlo yelled “Weapons down!”, and headed down range with several paper targets and a stapler. He stopped at the 25, 50, and 100 berms and stapled two targets at each to the large plywood target stations. The left one would be his and the right one would be Gus's at each distance. He came back behind the firing line and yelled again, “Range is clear!” in no particular direction.

“Carlo, who are you yelling at?”

“The range master, if he's around, and anyone who might stumble over here. I follow range safety protocols to the letter so that there are no accidents. It wouldn't do to get injured out here away from help. Might not make it. So, let's act safely. I don't know how you guys did it in the Air Force, but we're going to practice range safety. I bet you wusses didn't have live fire excercises like we did. I'll tell you what, you never forget crawling on your belly under the wire with crazed drill instructors screaming at you and firing live rounds over your head! Stay down! There's always the story of the one guy who panicked and stood up and got his head blown clean off. Let's not have any of that today, what say?”

“I'm with you there.” Gus looked over the assemblage of handguns and long guns laid out side by side on the table as Carlo was pulling various calibers of ammunition boxes out of the canvas bag. “What exactly are you preparing for? Are we going to war?”

“Whatever man. Whatever is about to go down. There are fifty different scenarios that could make life suddenly dangerous to walk around in. Get this: I was listening to a new Eric Church song on the country station on the way up here. It's called “The Outsiders”. Pretty good rockin' song for a country station. Anyway, it's got lyrics in the middle that go like this:

'When it hits the fan

And it all goes down

and the gloves come off

you're gonna find out

who we are'

“Keep your day job, Carlo. Country singing isn't your thing. No offense.”

Since Gus only brought two firearms, they decided to start light and shoot 9mm pistols at the 25 yard targets. They each loaded up a clip, put on the hearing protectors and safety glasses that Carlo laid out for both of them, and stood side by side on the firing line. Carlo yelled again “Range unsafe!”, and they started plinking at the targets, trying to punch holes in the concentric circles in some semblance of a pattern. Gus was suprised by the kick of his little single-stack 9mm pistol. He had bought it for concealed carry training, now that Illinois was considering that option by court order. He hadn't shot it yet, though, and wasn't sure what to expect. He took his time getting used to the feel of the gun in his hand. It didn't quite fill his hand and that was a concern for how it might kick back. His first shot wasn't even on the target at all, and he adjusted his stance and steadied his arm with his left hand. He took his time looking down the sight picture and fired a few more rounds until he scored a hit in the seven ring. Better. He was remembering how shooting went, and getting the hang of it. He looked over, and saw that Carlo had finished firing his clip and had a nice tight grouping on the border of the nine and ten rings. Nice.

“So”, Gus asked, “that is what your bugout bag – your 'SHTF' bag - is for again. When it hits the fan? When what hits the fan?”

“Whatever Gus! Don't you watch the news.”

“I watch a bit. I watch the evening news on the networks when I get home. I watch the headlines on the internet search engines. I listen to NPR when I drive. I'm as informed as most people, I think. Is there something that I'm missing? If it's something big, I think that I would have heard about it.”

“Gus, if that's all that your hearing then you are not tuned in. Speaking of tuned in, let's dial in that 7mm rifle of yours. I'll spot for you.” Carlo set up a spotting scope on the picnic table, and offered Gus a small sandbag to rest the barrel of his rifle on. “Here, shoot from a sitting position first and steady your barrel on that and we'll dial you in.” Gus sat down and laid the rifle down on the table between them. He opened the new box of 7mm cartridges that they had picked up at the 'death mart' as Carlo had called it, and set out five rounds. He carefully pointed the barrel down range, slid open the breech, and inserted a round in the chamber. He looked to remind himself where the safety was, and then settled in behind the scope. It had been at least twenty years since he had fired this rifle up in Alaska, and he was savoring it. He put the butt of the rifle firmly into his shoulder, and gently sqeezed off the round. SNAP. It made a clean report as it thumped back into his shoulder. He hadn't seated it quite right. That would leave a bruise.

“That one was high and to the right. Not bad for a first shot in a while. Not bad at all. You've got promise. Now, do that a couple of more times consistently, and then we'll start making small adjustments on that scope until you are dead center. Just remember to breathe.”

“Carlo, you are much better at this than I am. That's for sure. But, this is fun. Thanks for bringing me up here. This might just be the stress relief that I am needing today to unwind for my vacation. Last night wasn't the right kind of relief, I know that. Alright. Let's see if I can do that again. While I am shooting, you can tell me what I am missing on the news that has you preparing like this.”

“Man, where do I even start. You have some holes in your understanding of how things are in what we still call America in 2013, but may not for long. There are so many ways that we could collapse or that civil society could come apart at the seams. So many ways, it is not even funny. Let's start with the national debt, which now stands around sixteen trillion dollars and change. Do you even know how much money that is that we owe? No, you don't. Nobody can really fathom that much money, really. And it is actually more than that. With all of our undfunded liabilities and IOUs in the till we actually owe about eighty trillion dollars. That is more money than all of the currency in print in the entire world! We can never ever ever pay that much money back. Some people think that we don't really have to and that it is a problem that is manageable forever. Do you think so? I don't. We can't go on forever with an ever increasing debt of that magnitude and stay together as a country. The founders, man, the founders knew. They knew that when we learned that we could vote ourselves the treasury that we would do so until we were insolvent. And we've done just that. We are technically broke.

“Wow.”

“Wow, is right. That last shot was closer, but still to the right. Make another adjustment.”

“But, we're not actually broke or we couldn't pay our bills. Right? We're still paying our bills.”

Carlo was looking around, monitoring the new arrivals on an increasingly busy Saturday at the range. A family had arrived at the shelter on their left, and they were busy blasting away at filled milk jugs with pistols, rifles, and shotguns. Two good ole boys were settling in at the shelter on their right. They were unpacking what looked like a .50 cal rig and an AK-47. They were serious shooters and were not a threat. The family, on the other hand, looked reckless and risky.

“We're only still paying our bills because we can print money, and we're doing that that by the truckload. And because we borrow money from China – who owns us more than you know. They've got their hooks into us deep. We're the biggest debtor nation in the history of the earth. Our interest payments on the debt are cash payments straight into their coffers to fund their military expansion so they can take us on some day. We already gave them most of our manufacturing base. How foolish was that. The only one that owns our government more than China is the FED, who is pumping eighty-five billion a month straight into the market by buying our bonds.”

“The FED is the government. How can they own the government?”

“Well, most people think that. But, they are not. The FED is a central bank, but it is a private bank. Make no mistake on that. They are doing what they do to benefit bankers and to own more and more of us. You need to read some Ron Paul on that topic. It's an eye-opener. Add to that the cartels coming up from Mexico into the United States with their carnage and corruption, and the chaos in the MidEast with al-Qaida and radical Islam rising. Add cities and states that are bankrupt and need bailed out, with what money? Add fracking for oil, which could destabilize our geography and cause earthquakes and environmental disasters. And then add the biggest threat of all: that the dollar could collapse as the world's reserve currency and then everything suddenly costs much much more. We are not going to survive that one. We're talking social unrest. We're talking America breaking up into the FEMA regions. We're talking a new civil war. Seriously.

“Wow. No offense, Carlo, but that's pretty gloomy. I can't live with that much gloom in my life. I don't think most people can. It seems pretty far-fetched. So why prepare for it?”

“Oh, it's coming. Some version of what I've laid out for you is going to happen. Sooner or later. Probably sooner than later, I'm thinking. You have to be prepared with solutions.”

“Solutions? What kind of solutions.”

“Well, these are solutions here. I have a military rifle for a long-range solution. A carbine for medium range. I have a shotgun and handguns for short range. Solutions for whatever threat comes at me.”

“Carlo, you are talking about shooting people in a crisis. Who are you going to shoot? Are you going to shoot your neighbors in an emergency? Have you thought that out?”

“Well, no. Yes? Maybe? I try not to think about that part, actually. I just think that it is coming and it's too late to prepare for it when it happens. You have to prepare before hand.”

“How about the police. I mean, really Carlo, are you thinking that you are going to shoot at the police or military if it hits the fan or social unrest or civil war comes? It's more likely that they are going to come for your guns before you're going to use them the way that you are imagining. Are you going to shoot at law enforcement?”

“Nobody knows what they're going to do when it hits the fan. I don't. You don't. The difference is that I am prepared. That's all that I'm saying, Gus. There is a Group of us that are prepared. You should be too. But, that's enough about all of that. Do you want to shoot some of the more fun stuff that I brought out here? I've got plenty of ammo. We can blast away. It's truly cathartic for what ails you, and there is some serious stuff weighing on you, my friend. Speaking of that, you're starting to bleed through your shirt there.”

Gus looked down and saw that his new tattoo was bleeding through. He had probably overdone it a bit. “No, Carlo, I'll stop here. It's almost the Golden Hour, and I want to get back down the road and in position to get some Aspenglow shots with my new lens. I'll help you pack up.”

Chapter Eight

Gus turned his laptop back toward him as he began searching through his pictures library for a favorite old picture of himself, Carlo, and Marshall Velder taken at a basketball game when they were all freshmen in High School.

“I remember a lot of our history, although there is some that I would rather forget”, Gus said as he swiveled the laptop back toward Carlo. “Do you remember these 'Bleacher Bum' T-shirts that you and Marshall used to wear?”

Carlo beamed in delight seeing that old picture. “Where did you get that picture? That is awesome. Did you scan it in, and can you get it to me on a flash drive?”

“I can email it to you, Carlo.”

“I don't have email anymore, Gus. You shouldn't either. The National Security Agency reads all of that stuff now, and I don't trust that. But, I would like to have a copy of that picture. Just put it on a stick drive, and we can print out a hardcopy over at Walgreen's tomorrow. Hey, check you out in that 'Pekin Chinks' T-Shirt.”

“Yeah, that was unfortunate. That is part of what I am trying to forget ever happened.” Gus wasn't the only one who wore a Chinks shirt back in 1974. Everyone did. That was the name of the athletic teams at Pekin High School back when they were in school. It was a legacy of the town founder Major Nathan Cromwell – the guy that had owned the indentured servant Black Nance, come to think about it – who let his wife name the town. She had a particular fascination with the Orient, and with China, and she named the town after the capitol of China – Peking. She dropped the 'G' for some reason, and named the new city Pekin. Gus remembered the various Oriental influences that he grew up with in the 'Celestial City' of Pekin. He learned to love movies at the downtown Pekin Theater, which had an oriental theme and statues of the Buddha adorning the walls. Good times. He had no idea when in the history of the town the sports teams became known as the Chinks, but there it was on the bottom of the scoreboard each time he went to a football game – Home of the Chinks. Gus remembered vividly back in 1974 when the Chinese American society came to Pekin and asked the high school to change the name. The school board put it to a student vote and the vote was no. What did kids know? It was just the word that came after Pekin, and outsiders were asking them to change it. No. It wasn't until the 1980's when a new Superintendent looked at the big red dragon adorning the gym floor and said 'we're the Dragons'.

“You know, there are still a lot of diehards in town that will always be the Chinks, right”, Carlo said – reading Gus's mind.

“Yeah. That's not me. The change was the decent thing to do, and I am glad that someone did it. Did you know that you can find our school if you do a Google search for 'worst high school mascots'? Is that what you want our town to be known for?”

“There are worse things to be known for. I have to think that our founders didn't mean ill will by it. But who knows? Yeah, I'm with you on changing it.”

“But that's not what you were asking me if I remember. You were asking if I remember the great coal mine adventure that the three of us inadvertently embarked on. Yes, I do. That little stunt scared the daylights out of me – not that there was any daylight in the coal mine. Do you remember if it was you or Marshall who found the opening to the coal mine?”

Carlo flipped over an empty Coleman ice cooler that Gus had left in the empty house and pulled it up over by the breakfast counter where Gus was now surfing the internet again. There were stories to tell. “Oh, I found it there at the base of the hill that I walked up to the high school one day. I was throwing a ball as I walked, and threw it over by some trees. When I went over to get it, I saw the mine opening - which wasn't as big as I would have thought it was. I was curious, of course, and I went down into it for a little way. But, there wasn't any light in there and I didn't know what was down there, so I left. I sneaked a flashlight out of my dad's toolbox the next day, and talked you and Marshall into going down there with me. That was before Marshall got on the basketball team and started hanging out with your brother Dieter more than with us. I lost track of him after he went off to Chicago after high school. I didn't see him at any reunions, I don't think anyway, and lost track of him until he called me last year to hire me for some work leading to building his new-microbrewery next too your motel, which is near where that mine opening was.”

“The micro-brewery will be an interesting tie-in to the brewery history on the river. I don't drink much, last night's foolishness notwithstanding, so I won't be there much. But, there's a market for that sort of thing, I think, as long as it's not too upscale and pricey. The recession is still going and people aren't exactly flush with cash.”

“Believe me, Gus” Carlo offered, “Marshall knows that big time and has plans for hooch all across the price points. There will be prime brand names on tap, and some of his homebrew beer coming out of the kettles. Don't tell anyone that I told you, but there might even be some shine coming out of the back door at bottom dollar. Mass produced even. For the recession-hit market, let's say.”

“Is that what the kettles in customs are for?”, Gus asked?

“Ah, I've said too much already. Hey, do you remember Marshall freaking out when we got to the main chamber and it sounded like it was going to be a cave-in? He ran shrieking out of the mine.”

Gus was almost falling off of the breakfast counter laughing his kiester off now. “I was wanting to run out right behind him. I know that I saw some dirt falling in your flashlight beam. I thought that mine was coming in right on top of us for sure. If it had been one of those shaft mines, I would have never gone down there. No way. But you talked me into going down the slope into those rooms off of the main passage. I wonder how much coal they pulled out of that mine over the years to make all of those rooms. A lot, I'm guessing. That was my German ancestors hauling that stuff out of there. I could feel them in there in the dark with us. Spirits anyway. Can you imagine how claustrophobic it must have felt riding those cars down that slope with just the light on your helmet? I can't. I would have freaked out. Did you ever tell anybody what we found?”

“No, I didn't. I don't know if anyone else ever found it. I know that they closed up the entrance at some point after then, but I don't know when.”

“Maybe we could go look for the opening again while I have the week off.”

“Not possible”, Carlo said, “or a good idea, I think. But, hey that is not the only crazy adventures that we had back in high school. Do you remember any of the other things that we got into after Marshall forgot all about us? I remember one. How about when we broke into the West Campus and went through the utility tunnels and ran around through the halls on a Saturday?”

“I do indeed. Of course that would be easier now that the West Campus building is closed boarded up. We could run around in there to our hearts content and no one would ever see us.” Gus thought about the magnificent old building near James Field that was a sore spot in the town. It served as the sole high school in a growing town until the baby boom overwhelmed it's size. Instead of having two competing high schools in town, a two-campus system was devised. The new building became the East Campus, housing the Juniors and Seniors, while the West Campus served the freshmen and sophomores. Gus had come in the “Boys Entrance” in 1974 and done his two years there before going up the hill to finish his high school experience. Every time that he drove past the boarded-up West Campus, he marveled at the ornate craftsmanship of the building – compared to the functional concrete box that served as the design for the East Campus. How did they build them so much better back in that time period? Were they better builders? Were bricks that much cheaper? His children had gone to a much lesser experience at just one boring campus. “Did you hear that they are getting close to tearing down the West Campus building altogether, Carlo? Sad, really. How do they have buildings in Europe that are hundreds of years old, and we can't even save one that is less than a hundred years old? It's probably not save-able with the asbestos laws and lawsuits, but still. It's just sad.”

“Hey, do you remember when we used to cut across the railroad tracks down by the grain plants and party at that fire-pit in that stretch of woods between the tracks and the river? There was a beach there that the boaters used. I remember passing out on that beach at least one Friday night after Dieter got us some beer. Of course, the drinking age was 18 back then and Dieter could get it. I'm surprised that he gave you any though, Gus. But you Germans love beer, and I got the benefit of that. I wonder if that fire-pit in the woods is still there, or if it got washed out when the river went out of it's banks last month. I know that FEMA was evacuating some folks up the tracks from there.”

“Man, Carlo, those are some good memories. We sure found some trouble back then. It's a good thing that more trouble didn't find us. I hope Marshall comes back this week for the class reunion. I'd like to see him and hear how he remembers that coal mine story. I wonder if we're telling it right after all of these years. When is he coming to town?”

“Mid-week some time. He's not sure yet. It depends on when he can get away from his business dealings there, I guess.”

“Have you got all of the measurements that you need for the repair work, Carlo?”

“I do, I think. I've got enough that we can go buy the material tomorrow. Let's get out of here today and go shoot at the range. I could use some fun poking holes in paper with hot lead.”

“Let's go do it then.” Gus closed up the house and followed Carlo out of town toward the gun range.

Chapter Seven

Gus turned into his driveway and up along the side of his house, and pulled to a stop in front of the garage. Carlo parked out at the curb and met him up on the porch. “Man, I forgot you live four houses down from where you grew up. I thought you would be living out in Country Club Estates with all of that big salesman money.”

“This house came on the market right when we were getting married, and I wasn't exactly making the big bucks yet. Or still, for that matter. It was a buyer's market then, and a bargain, and we were glad to get it and not have to live in an apartment starting out. Mark was born soon after that, and the bills started coming. I was just glad that we hung onto it. Besides”, Gus said as he looked up and down the street, “I like this neighborhood. Good people on this street. Working folk. Retired couples. Nobody is too noisy and they leave me alone for the most part.”

“That's a good thing, I guess.”

Gus pointed down at the street in front of the house as he fished around for the front door key. “We still have brick streets in this part of town. Can you believe it? That's history right there. I drive on it every day. They all used to be brick here. I was reading in a historical account that the bricks were made right here in Pekin at a brick factory that was a big part of early development of the city. They used them in buildings downtown, on sidewalks, and on streets. But, we're losing a lot of that history, and I think it is sad. Some of those streets have been paved over. I like living here rather than out on the newer neighborhoods. I sacrifice some comforts, probably, but I gain more. I like being able to walk downtown to events like the Marigold Festival Lip Sync contest with a lawn chair and be a part of a town gathering. I can walk to the river from here. I can walk to the library on the weekends and browse the books like my father and I did when I was growing up. I feel tied to the city, and our history, living here in this part of town.”

“I didn't figure you for a history buff, Gus. You sound like you really get into it.”

Gus hopped up on to the breakfast counter and started fishing through his briefcase for the paperwork that his realtor had given to him about the failed inspection report. It was buried in there somewhere with his sales brochure handouts and his customer files. He really should organize this better, he thought. Clutter slowed him down during his appointments. He should probably get these files scanned in and have them as electronic files on his laptop. Probably. That could wait until he got back to the office next week, though. First things first. Get the closing done on the house, without fail. He had promised Jocelyn that he would take care of that, and with Carlo's help he would. Where was that inspection report?

“Actually, I love history. That was one of my favorite classes in high school and at college. But really, I like local history the most. More so even since I got into photography as a hobby. I'm not really a people photographer, like a lot of people are – especially in the digital age now where everybody has a camera strapped on their hip and photography apps on their smartphone to help them capture the family moments or document their lives and look like professionals doing it. Photography is mass market now and almost everyone can do it. But I didn't start that way back in the day. I started with black and white film, believe it or not, which we developed ourselves in the dark room the hard way. I started with landscape scenes that I took during my Air Force days, and that I take on my sales travel. Eventually, that lead me into architectural detail photography. I find myself looking closely at the amazing craftsmanship of old buildings and wondering why a gargoyle would be on a school or whatever I see. Then I look it up to find the answer.”

Carlo was poking around the empty house while Gus was looking for the inspection report. He could see some things that he would fix up if there was time and money, but there wasn't at least time. His carpenter eye was finding all of the faults in the old construction. Some were cosmetic and were just from the wear of time. Some were the results of a myriad little projects done by the various owners as their families expanded or contracted in this house. Some were possibly structural, and he wondered if he would be tearing into the floor and replacing joists or anything that detailed. He looked around this first floor and found a dining room adjacent to the kitchen that Gus was in, a pantry, and a sitting area back further. It was a narrow house, but long. There would be a small utility room downstairs for the washer and dryer. Bedrooms would be upstairs. There was a small fenced in yard out back that he could see through the back door.

“Found it!”, Gus yelled, and Carlo came back to look over the report with him.

“Oh, that's not so bad”, Carlo said after he had finished reading. “Really, not bad at all. You need an access ramp out back and some railings in the front. Some fire detectors. And there's some termite damage that will need to be shored up. We can do all of that in a couple of days. You buy the wood and detectors – won't cost much. I'll get a guy that I know to come help us. He owes me one. Between the three of us, we can get this done. You bet. Don't you worry, Gus. Let me get my tools out of the truck and take some measurements today, and then we can go shooting at the range. Won't take long today at all.”

Gus took his laptop out of his briefcase and set it on the breakfast counter while Carlo went out to his truck. He checked his Droid phone for a message from Jocelyn, and sighed in relief when he didn't see one. He gave here a quick call to check in, and left here a voicemail. “Hi babe. Yeah, I'm doing fine. Had a tough night, which I'll tell you about later. Hey, you'll never guess who I ran into at the motel. Carlo Antonetti. I went to school with him back in the day. You probably know him from church. Anyway, we're at the house and Carlo's going to be able to help me get it fixed up in time for the closing. Turns out he is a carpenter now, but you probably knew that. Well get it done, and I can still get some photography in. I'll call you later. Hope everything is well with you and Mark. Love ya. Bye.”

Gus turned on the mobile hotspot feature on his smartphone, which was an essential feature for a salesman with a route, and was able to connect to the internet. He squelched the impulse to check his email to see if there were any emails from customers or from the office. It's Saturday! Stephanie would understand if he didn't email her during his vacation time. At least he hoped that she would. He absentmindedly surfed through his social media accounts instead. He used Facebook, of course, to keep track of family and his customer's birthdays, but he didn't use it for much else. Gus wasn't in to the games on the site because they seemed such a waste of time. He “Liked” some of the business pages and liked to get sales tips from their sites, even though he had been in the game for a very long time. He didn't follow politics very much, and couldn't keep track of who was mad at who, or whose fault whatever mess that was happening this week was. He had started a Twitter account and had followed a few celebrities and sports icons, but hadn't sent very many tweets since then. He pulled Yahoo News to see what was going on in the world on a Saturday. The stock market had gone up, but there was some news about a problem with currency related to our foreign debt. It didn't seem to be anything serious though. Hopefully they weren't hinting at another crash like what we went through back in 2008 again. We probably couldn't survive another one so close to that awful time.

“Do you need me to help?”, Gus asked half-heartedly.

“No, I've got it. I'm really just taking measurements. I'll need you when they ask for a credit card at Menard's, man.”

“Alright. Just keep it reasonable, my friend. Just what we have to do to get a good report, and no more okay?”

“Okay. That's what I'm doing.” Carlo had a retracting scale out, and was marking out locations for smoke detectors. “So, tell me more about history. I can see where you would find stuff like that while you're out living the glamorous business travel life. But, here in Pekin?”

“There's more history here in Pekin than you would believe, Carlo. I've been doing a lot of reading about it to prepare for this vacation week. I've got some time alone, and I really want to spend it photographing as much of our history that I can that is still here. There is so much to choose from.”

“Like what?”

“There is the river history, to start with. That goes all the way back to the first settlers of the town, and their interactions with the Indian tribes that were already here using the river. Not always a peaceful interaction, at that. Here's a fact for you. There was a young Army Captain who fought upstate in the Blackhawk war. When he got done with his service in that war, he bought a canoe and paddled it down the Illinois River until he beached it here in Pekin. He had dinner here, and then went on down to Havana and then back home. Any idea who that Army Captain was?”

“I have no earthly idea, Gus. Tell me.”

“That would be one Abraham Lincoln of Springfield. Lincoln did a lot of work in Pekin as a lawyer on a circuit. He even had a role in a civil suit at that freed the slave Black Nance. That was well before the Civil War and the Emancipation proclamation. Nance was an indentured servant to Major Nathan Cromwell, who was one of the founders of Pekin. She was sold, and eventually declared herself free. Lincoln argued the case on her behalf at the Supreme Court of Illinois and got a ruling that upheld her freedom. Kudos to Mr. Lincoln. It was a precursor to his later actions, I have to think.”

“Wow, I did not know any of that. You've been doing your homework, I see. So, our town founders had slaves?”

“Some of the early founders came from the South and had slaves or sympathy for slavery. By the civil war, the town was divided pro-slavery versus pro-Union. There was a group called Knights of the Golden Circle that was aggressively pro-slavery. There was another group of 11 guys that met and formed a group called the Union League around 1862 to support Lincoln after some early losses left the war's outcome in doubt. That group formed in Pekin, but spread nationwide and had millions of members. Basically, the conflict was between the early Southern founders and the German immigrants who poured into town to work and who supported the Union. I recall reading that so many of the Germans left to fight for the Union that the pro-slavery group had a lot of influence in town for a while. The KKK even owned the newspaper in the 1920's. And of course, we were known as a “Sundown Town”, for the signs that warned black people not to be in town after sundown. Not a bright spot in our history.”

“Wow. I'm glad that all of that nonsense is in our past. What else do you know about Pekin?”
 

“ Well, there is the history of the distilleries along the river from here to Peoria. I think that I read that there wre something like eighty-three hard liquor distilleries along the bank of the river at the peak of production. That doesn't even count the breweries that the German immigrants started too. I remember the big Hiram Walker distillery when we were a kid at what is the ADM plant now. Peoria had that wild period of vice and the booze helped fuel it, I'm sure. That was back in the days of the the vaudeville theaters where troupes would stop between opening shows in Saint Louis and Chicago to see if their show “will play in Peoria.” Pekin had it's share of whiskey distilleries. And it's share of moonshine makers too, for that matter.”

“Are you sure that is past tense, Gus? That moonshine part? It wouldn't surprise me if there was some of that still going on today.”

“You might be right. I haven't heard of any shine makers in the news. Maybe there are some up in the hills north of town. Maybe the Meth cookers are getting tired of getting busted and are branching out. Why? Do you know something about moonshiners around these parts, Carlo?”
“Man, you don't want to know all that I know about a lot of stuff. I haven't always been on the up and up in my life, my friend. I hear things from my crews, you know. Nothing I'd want to bet on. But, you would be surprised what all goes on in the underside of life. Hey, I'm learning some things from you today. I had no inkling that our little cornfield of a town had such interesting. Is that what your photography project this week will be about? Booze and boats and brick streets?”

“Probably all of that over the course of the week, if I get to put in the time that I want to. I'll spend a day down in the Warehouse District looking for evidence of the distillery history. I am fascinated by the craftsmanship of those old brick buildings with their ornate door way arches. I'll spend some time along the river, of course. I've always loved living in a river town, and the river has it's scenic value – and history. Did you know that the riverboat Columbia capsized just upriver in Wesley City while it was paddling back to Pekin? It had 496 folks on board, and 87 of them drowned when the boat hit a stump after midnight. It's the worst inland maritime disaster in United States history. Right here in Pekin. Wesley City, if you didn't know, is what we call Creve Couer now. I may spend some time looking at Fort Creve Coeur, where the explorer de La Salle set up a trading post for the French back in the day.”

“Wow again. You are a fountain of information today. How long have you been soaking all of this up? French. Germans. Some Irish. I'm Italian. I guess that I didn't realize how much the MidWest was old country Europe as we settled. I just thought we were Americans that came west from the East Coast towns. Which heritage is Jocelyn?”

“Jocelyn is French heritage. And, I thought that too, Carlo, about our growth history. I read somewhere, though, that the growth of Pekin at some points was more influenced by what Bismark was doing in Germany that chased people out to escape various wars than by what the President of the United States was doing. It started with a guy named Teis Smith, who came here to build a wagon shop. He invented an improved axle for wagons and built the first factory in Pekin. He was successful, and he brought many more from the old country. Brothers came over, and made their mark. They even had a German-language newspaper in town and German was the dominant language in town for about fifty years in the 1800s. I didn't know much about my own German heritage in town here until I started looking at our town through my lens, but I am now and I'm proud of my ancestors contributions here to town.”

“Man you've got your work cut out for you to get all of that photographed. Where are you going to start, do you think?”

Gus thought about that for a minute, and pulled up a page on his laptop of a picture of a coal mine car. “Here is either where I am going to start or where I am going to finish. I haven't decided yet. I want to do some photo sleuthing about the coal mine history of Pekin. This whole area was flush with coal mines. That's what the bulk of the German immigrants who came into town ended up doing. Coal mining. It was a dangerous job. I can't imagine doing it. But they did it. I've been reading about the different style of mines that were prevalent in this region, and about the different companies that operated here. I'm hoping to find someone to talk to who might still remember where the entrances to the mines were, and if I'm lucky I might find an entrance to get a picture of. That would be unique, that's for sure.”

Carlo laughed out loud at Gus. “Man, that's not just history of Pekin. That's our history. Don't you remember?”

Chapter Six

“Am I keeping you from an appointment today, Carlo. You can just drop me back at the motel if you need to be somewhere.”

“What? Oh no.” Carlo stopped scrolling through his phone, set the volume control to vibrate, and clipped it back into the holster on his belt. “Sorry about that, Gus. I know I am not supposed to be on the phone while I am driving. It's probably against the law now. Heck, everything is against the law now. What happened to being freeborn citizens of these great United States, my friend. What happened? Is this the country that it was back in the seventies when we were in school? Did you think you would ever live to see what we've become now. I'd swear it's becoming a police state.”

“It's no problem, Carlo. Just watch where you're going. Carlo hit a speed bump a little too fast, and his bugout bag in the toolspace slammed into the back of Gus's seat. Carlo didn't notice. “Were you looking for a message from work just now? Maybe they need you back at the worksite.”

“No, we are done for the day. I sent my crew home for the week until those kettles get past customs. They've probably checked out of your motel by now. You should have a quiet night with no neighbors partying. No, I was looking for a message from D.J. I asked him to go a task for me last night and report back in. I thought I would have heard from him by now. A voicemail. A text. A tweet on Twitter. A Facebook post. Something. It is not like him to be out of touch like that for a day. He's a pretty reliable member of the Group, and I just thought I would have heard from him by now. He probably cashed his paycheck for the week and went over to the gambling boat instead. He used to have a problem with that, and I hope he didn't fall back into it. You know how people lose track of time in a casino. They don't even have clocks in there. I'll probably have to go over to the boat and drag him out of there before the weekend is over, but I hope not.”

“Who is DJ?”, Gus asked.

“Donny Joe. You know him, I think. Donny Joe May. Diane May's little brother. He was about three years behind us in school. He was a track star or something back in the day. I thought for a while that you were going to ask Diane out, but you never did. Turns out you had a thing for Jocelyn.”

“Okay, yeah. Donny May. Used to drive that Trans Am with the T-tops that his dad gave him when he got his license. Man, I was so jealous of that car. They were from money. I was definitely not.”

“Yeah, that's him. We call him DJ for short now.”

“What is the Group?”

“What?”

“You said he was a member of the Group with you. Sounds like a cult.”

“Nah, we're just a bunch of guys that hang out and have fun. Play cards. Go shooting at the range. Fish a little. You know. You should hang out with us this week while you have a week off, if we get your house sold that is.”

“We'll see.”

“Hey, there's an idea.”

“What?”

“Do you target shoot? We could go to the gun range up the river after we are done at your place.”

“I haven't shot much since Basic Training at the Air Force. Funny story there. The range instructor asked how many of us recruits had never shot a gun before. I raised my hand with a few others. Good, he said. You guys are the ones that will shoot marksman today and get your ribbon. You don't have any bad habits like these other chuckleheads do, and you will listen to us on how to shoot and adjust your sights. They won't. And I did. Shoot marksman that day. I got the ribbon and everything even though I didn't feel particularly proficient.”

“Man, you Zoomies had it easy. You went to Basic Training at the Holiday Inn. Nothing like we went through in the Army, I'll tell you. Do you want to go? I've got a range pass, and can bring one visitor. It shouldn't be too crowded today.”

“I've got a 7mm magnum rifle that I bought up in Alaska for hunting. I haven't shot it since I've been back, and that's been what, twenty years or more. But, I didn't want to sell it. It's pretty nice. Carved stock and a blued barrel. I keep it maintained so that it doesn't rust, but that's about it. And I've got a Kel-Tec 9mm semi-auto concealed carry pistol with a waistband holster that I keep in the glove compartment when I travel in some rough areas on my sales route. Jocelyn doesn't know about that one.”

“Does Jocelyn have them up at the college this week? Or are they at the house.”

Gus didn't answer for a minute. “Well, don't tell any of you're crew, but the rifle is in the trunk of my car in a locked case under some blankets. The pistol is in my briefcase in my room. I didn't want to leave them at the empty house, and I didn't want to trust them in the storage unit shed. Anyone could cut that padlock off of there and they'd be gone. That rifle means something to me.”

“So”, Carlo asked again, “are you up for going shooting today. Live life man. It's big fun.”

“I was hoping to do some photography today. It depends how early we can get done there. I want to catch the Aspenglow light somewhere today, and every day while I'm off work. I'll go if we can get there before pm, and if I can drive separately and take pics on the way home.”

“That's a deal, man. Let's make it happen.”

Donny threw in a Kenny Chesney CD and sang “No Shirt, No Shoes, No Problem” a little off key as he drove them around town for three quick stops. First to Carlo's house just off of Koch St, where he emerged with another canvas bag that he threw back in the bed of the F150 pickup truck. “I'll bring the fun stuff and gear. I've got us covered.” Second, they stopped in at the gun ship on the Southside for a quick purchase of 7mm magnum ammunition. Then he swung back up Park Avenue and up to the east side to the Coal Miner's motel where Gus retrieved his briefcase and pistol. He hadn't intended to leave them in the room this long. Gus waved at Sam in the office, and then noticed that the pickup trucks in the parking lot had gone and been replaced with fairly new sedans. That's odd, he thought.

“Let's go see what needs done at your place, and then we can go have some fun.” Gus threw his briefcase in the trunk of his blue Ford Taurus, slid behind the wheel, and then backed out to lead the way over to his house over on Capitol Street. Carlo knew where it was, but stayed close on his bumper anyway to not lose him. He had his phone back out of the holster, now that Gus wasn't in the car with him any more, and was scrolling through his text messages and finding nothing. “Dammit Donny. Call me already.”

Chapter Five

“Well Sergeant Hitchens. Nice of you to join us today. I guess your watch must be broken. You are officially the last one in, so you know that means that you are buying the donuts for next Friday's staff meeting. Apple fritters please. Morgan, you were second to last so you get to make the coffee. Hitchens, there's a seat in the back there for you. Take it, so that we can get started please. We've got a lot to cover.”

Great, Valerie thought as she worked her way past the assembly of Pekin's finest to get to the open seat in the back corner. Now I am on Chief Halsey's bad list. Damn. She had such a good month last month, and was angling to get that newly open day shift slot. Getting on the Chief's list wasn't going to help with that. This was a setback, no doubt. She stayed too long at the diner. She stayed past the point when she knew that she would be cutting it too close in getting to the Justice Center. But, she needed to talk to Carlo Antonetti as he paid for lunch with Gus. Strike that. She wanted to talk to Carlo more than needed to. He was looking particularly good in his work clothes, she thought. Rugged. Manly. Employed! She squelched that thought as she felt the heat of color coming in to her cheek. People might notice. Hopefully they would chalk it up to embarrassment for being late. She allowed herself one last thought about Carlo. Strange, it seemed, that Gus had shown no sign when they came in that he remembered her but did when they were leaving. Had Carlo talked to Gus about her? There she was blushing again...

Valerie looked around at the unusually crowded room and realized that there were a lot of people standing around the perimeter of the room looking serious and official. A lot of out of towners, by the look of them. She looked again at the big center clock behind the chief at his podium. There were new clocks mounted on either side of the regular clock. One was marked “Los Angeles” and the other was marked “Washington D.C”, she saw. It made sense, given the nature of the joint task force that there little department had become a player in a few years ago. This meeting had the feel of a serious escalation of that activity, which was bad news for her. She was called in early on a Saturday specially for this meeting and still had to start her regular shift at three o'clock. She had been hoping for some time in between to get her annual qualification done at the range downstairs, but that was now looking unlikely. Too bad. She enjoyed getting a few rounds downrange. She was known to shoot a pretty tight group, and often dead center in the ten ring. Some bragging rights there would offset being late in the Chief's eyes. “Not bad, for a girl”, he would say. But he would be impressed behind the gruffness.

Chief Halsey was doing a recap for the group on the history and successes of the joint task forces that were focused on eradicating the Meth problem in the Pekin area. For some reason yet fully explained, Pekin had become a hub of meth labs in the poorer part of town and in trailers out in the outskirts in the country. Production here served the hungry Peoria market upriver. Pekin did not want to be known for that. Let Peoria have it's own vice. God knows it had a history of vice, back in the day of booze and brothels and vaudeville. Well, as she knew, Pekin had it's own reputation as a tough and gritty town. Not surprising that the meth cookers had put down roots here. It had wreaked havoc on their town when they first came in, wasted a lot of promising lives, and it was their department's job to stop it. She had relatives affected by this latest scourge, ruined in fact, and she was glad to be part of the effort to stop it before it went any deeper. But the department needed help.

“Operation Snakebit”, Chief Halsey said as he pointed at the bar chart up on the projection screen, “was thought of as a success. We tamped it down for a while, no doubt. We had no illusion that we had it completely beaten, but definitely degraded.” Valerie knew the details about Operation Snakebit by heart, and could have stood up there and briefed them herself. The Operation was cross-functional activity to bring all of the resources to bear on the emergency that Meth presented. All of the police functions were involved, of course. City police. County Sherriff. State Police even. The District Attorney similarly had resources to draw on statewide to prosecute those that fell into the dragnet and to roll them to go higher up the chain as they could. The Operation had wiretap and intelligence functions listening in on phone calls, and subpoena power to get at phone records if they needed them. But, the Operation went outside of law enforcement to enlist the community in the fight. Pharmacies had cooperated in notifying the cops when someone bought too much of the precursor ingredients in one purchase. A lot of arrests had been made in the parking lots of the big box stores based on tips from the pharmacy inside. Farmers were even involved, calling when they spotted one of the cookers tapping their ammonia tanks and filling five gallon buckets. Sometimes the buckets weren't airtight, and they had made at least one arrest because of the visible white fumes pouring out of a car speeding back to the trailer. Remembering that made her laugh, apparently out loud, and the Chief paused his talk and looked back at her. “Something you want to add here Sgt. Hitchens?” Now she was blushing again. The Chief looked irritated as he continued on with his part of the briefing.

Valerie acted alert and attentive for as long as she could, but this part was dull. She shifted quietly in her seat so that she could see the group standing against the long wall better. Plain clothes, she noted, for the most part. They were sporting various shades of blue windbreakers with an alphabet soup of initials on the back of each one. They must be getting hot in this crowded room, she thought. Sucks to be them. There were a couple of guys in full tactical gear that stood out from the others. “DEA” it said on one chest protector. Operation Snakebit had worked with DEA before, of course. But these guys looked different to her. She surrepticiously looked over their gear from head to toe and marveled at how military the civilian branches were getting. There was no telling these two apart from any soldier in the field. Was that a good development, she wondered? We're just here in little ole Pekin – Home of the Dragons, not Afghanistan.

Valerie tuned back in to the briefing as Chief Halsey was wrapping up the details and announcing the cessation of Operation Snakebit. It was being suspended in lieu of a bigger operation, and Agent Darryl Watkins of the regional DEA office took over the podium to sketch out the details of the newly emerging threat. A new Power Point graphic went up on the screen on a DEA logo template. The title page announced “The Two 'C' Threat to Central Illinois”, with appropriately ominous graphic details highlighting the C's. C-words started flashing though Valerie's mind. Cocaine? Columbians? Carp? They were starting to see those aggressive flying Asian carp in the river now that jump out and slap boater in the face unexpectedly. She had gone to the Redneck Fishing Tournament down in Bath and had watched the boaters catching the flying carp with their hands and nets. It was funny, but not everyone was laughing. The boaters in town were complaining and it was becoming a big problem, but she doubted that the DEA honcho was here because of carp.

“Cartels”, said Agent XXX. He let that word settle in on the room, and then said it again. “Cartels now constitute a lot of DEA's time around the country and around the world where we operate. We as a nation are in war against some very bad people. The “War on Drugs” was a euphemism when we were burning down pot fields and seizing bales of marijuana. A lot of people are not on board with that “war”, across all generations. It's a policy decision, of course, among our politicians as to whether or job is to combat the importation of marijuana into our country to corrupt our kids. My generation smoked our share, and have grown up to be voters voting to legalize pot in the more liberal states across the country. Hell, it's getting so legit that it's going to get taxed now and “pay for schools” - if you believe that one. But, there are harder drugs that do more visible damage. You folks here in Pekin know that, and you took your Meth problem head on. I want to commend Chief Halsey for the successful operations that you just detailed for us. Your community can be proud of all of you.” Hearty applause ensued.

“The whole country is now much more aware of the deep damage that Meth leaves in it's wake because of the success of the television program 'Breaking Bad' on AMC network. How many of you in this room watched that program?” About half of the people in the room raised their hand, including the muscle-head with the DEA military gear and the mirrored sunglasses on indoors. “Our team all watched it because a main character was a DEA agent. About time we got some good media, even if it is fiction. But trust me, our guys live that story every day in our day jobs. It's not glamorous. It's just flat out hard and dangerous work. It's work made harder and more dangerous by the growing presence of cartels trafficking cocaine inside the borders of the United States of America. They are here folks, and they are bad bad guys. They are ruthless and lawless, and they think nothing of killing their competition and anyone that gets in their way for that matter in the most gruesome ways imaginable. I've seen it up close and personal, and trust me you do not want to see the aftermath of where they've been. We're a civilian agency and, up to now, they have often outgunned us. I've been to more funerals for my team than I want to for my agents. That stops now, guys and gals. It's war, and we are up to the war. And that brings me our second 'C' of this briefing.

The Power Point presentation indexed one slide and the second 'C' was a surprise. “Let's talk about Chicago.”

Valerie shifted in her seat again, and noted that the room was now in rapt attention to the DEA agent at the podium. She had a love-hate relationship with Chicago, as did most of her coworkers in the room. Pekin was almost exactly halfway between Saint Louis and Chicago, and she was a Cardinals fan and not a Cubs fan. But Chicago was an Illinois city, and it dominates the state in a powerful way. Pekinites would suffer through many seasons of Cubs losses, and ride the waves of inconsistent seasons of 'Da Bears”. It was just a three hour ride up the interstate highway to enjoy the Lakefront and Navy Pier and the shopping downtown. Valerie was planning a trip there to hit the Woodfield Mall before Christmas and hopefully get her shopping done in one trip. But there was a downside to being in the gravitational pull of the Windy City. Oh yes, there was. The State Assembly was dominated by Chicago, and a lot of Central Illinois tax revenue went to prop up the failing corrupt-ocracy of the Chicago Way. It wasn't lost on the rest of the state that Chicago looked down on the rural cities “Downstate” even as they were siphoning in their money. Every now and then, secession moves got some traction with the more activist of party officials. Maybe Downstate could some day be it's own state called “not Chicago” or something.

“I don't know if you are all familiar with this latest development. Next slide, please.” The next slide was a map of metropolitan Chicago all the way out to the West Burbs, with a few of the downtown squares in Cook County marked in to indicate gang involvement. The slides indexed quickly now, frame by frame like a movie in motion, and the blacked-out squares spread outward like an ink stain spilling. “The Porta Cinca Cartel, one of the newest and nastiest in all of Mexico, is moving north and has chosen Chicago as it's new home base for United States operations. Corporate Headquarters for the Cartel USA, if you will. It's centrally located on the continent, and has major air traffic and highway systems headed east and west. It makes total sense, and it keeps them out of the gang wars in Los Angeles and the southwest. From there, they can reach the East Coast in a short period of time using trucking fleets that they have violently taken over.”

“Did you know that?”, Valerie whispered to the sheriff's deputy sitting next to her. “Me neither.” Now they had her full attention.

“We've all read about the higher murder rate in Chicago. Five hundred plus deaths in the city with one of the strictest gun laws in the whole country. Hand guns are banned there, so I guess that there aren't any. Ha. Then what explains five hundred mostly unsolved gun deaths in our nation's third largest city? Gang violence is the answer usually given in the press accounts. And I'm not talking about the gangs that you see in movies and television shows – the Bloods and the Crips. Yes, they've come east up I-80 into Illinois. But, you all developed your own home grown gangs in an area rich in history of gangs back since Al Capone and the boys were running city hall in Cicero and beyond. The Gangster Disciples for one are a well-known gang. Plus, the gangs that came out of the infamous Joliet prison system. How many of you now think that many of the five hundred shooting deaths happened because the Gangster Disciples are fighting over turf with the Bloods and the Crips.

A few hands shot up and were withdrawn quickly under Agent Watkins' withering stare. “People, you are not listening to me. You are not yet tuned in. Wake up! The Porta Cinca Cartel is in Chicago and they are quickly taking down the other gangs. Ruthlessly. Deadly. It's a bloodbath in Chicago. You should be glad that you don't work every day in one of those precincts. But, guess what? The Porta Cinca Cartel is not just known for cocaine. They are the biggest cartel in the Meth business. And they are in Chicago. And they know about you, and are coming here any day now. It is our job to stop them, together. Read your briefing packages. Dismissed.”

The room was loudly buzzing now as Valerie stood to leave. Now she understood why all of the out-of-towners were here. It was about to get interesting, and she wanted to be a player.

Chapter Four

Cassie flashed them a big smile as she swung back by the booth. “Did y’all save room for dessert? We’ve got some cobbler special today.”

Gus passed instantly, as he almost always did. His forehead was sweating and he could feel the curtain of lethargy falling, which told him that the mound of mashed potatoes the he had just consumed was spiking his blood sugar.

“Are you sure? My treat”, Carlo offered. “No? Okay. Honey, is it too soon for pumpkin pie? I’d sure like a big slice of that with ice cream on it if you have it.” He looked back over at Gus, who was rolling his shirt sleeve back down, as Cassie went off to put in the order for the pie ala mode. “That is good work, from what I can see. You got a good artist. It doesn’t look like it is bleeding very much, so that’s a good thing.”

“It hurt like hell. There was some guy in the studio that was waiting for his tattoo who didn’t help things. He said that he was an artist himself – oil painting, I think he said, and he wanted to watch. He got right up in my stall and in Jasper’s space and kept asking questions. Where did he study? How did an apprenticeship work if someone was interested in getting into tattoo work? How many needles were in the gun he was using at the time? How deep into the skin was he going, and why was it bleeding like that? You know. All of the questions that I was trying to avoid thinking about. That’s why I was looking away all of the time that he was working.”

“Yeah, you didn’t need that clown in your space. Jasper did good work though. I like the way that the cross stands out and fills your whole upper arm. The banner work is clean and the verse lettering is crisp and readable. Psalm 34:18 huh? I haven’t read that verse before, though I’ve done some studies in Psalms before when I was younger. My son had that book in Bible Quizzing one year, and I helped him practice. That’s a deep book, and a profound verse. Gus, I knew you were having a tough time after Kurt died, but I didn’t want to pry or anything. I can see how you could relate to ‘crushed in spirit’ after what happened to you guys.”

“Apparently, I relate to it enough to pay a guy to carve it into my arm. But, enough about all of that. Thanks for listening to me about it. I do appreciate it. We haven’t gotten together and talked like this in a long time. It’s helpful. But, I’ve got some things that I have to get done at the house today, and I won’t get them done if I’m sitting here all day being literally Gloomy Gus. I am okay. Really. Despite slipping up last night. That’s a one- time failure on my part. Mostly I use photography to cope with the stress. It’s cathartic to drive out in the country or downtown and find something unique to catch a picture of. I enjoy seeing something that maybe everyone else has driven by that day but that I got the unique picture of. It’s just a hobby. It doesn’t make me any extra money or anything, though I wish that it did. I just like taking pictures. I have no idea how to sell them. It occupies my mind, anyway.”

Cassie came back with the heated plate of delicious warm pie, and Carlo picked up a spoon and started savoring the ice cream and Cool Whip on top. “What is going on with your house? I didn’t know that you were selling it. You and Jocelyn have lived there for a long time now.”

“Yeah, we have. We bought it before Mark was born. It’s going to be hard to leave it behind. It’s got pencil marks on the door of the utility room that are not moveable, as much as I wish that they were. I’ll get a picture of the marks, of course. That’s the best that I can do. But, it’s difficult to live there now, and it’s really bigger than the two of us need with Mark gone off to college and Kurt….”

“That has to be tough. I understand. You don't have to say anymore. Have you found a buyer for your house? Are you moving away from Pekin when you sell it?”

“I'll answer those questions, Carlo, if you answer one for me”.

“That depends, Gus. Is it a personal question? Or does it involve math?”

“It may be personal. Who is that woman that you hello to when we came in, and that you've been checking out all the time we've been talking. I saw you, you dog. She looks familiar.”

“Ah.” Carlo smiled sheepishly and looked over at the Sergeant. “You caught me. Whatever. You know her. You just don't remember that you do. That's Valerie Hitchens. She was in our high school class with us. You probably had classes with her. She was smart like you were, dude. You probably had math classes with her or something. Anyway, she was asking me if I was going to the 35^th class reunion that's coming up this weekend. She was one of the class officers, I think, and she's on the planning committee. She's asked me a while back to help her let everyone know about the event. You probably got some notice about it if you're on social media. Are you planning on going Friday night?”

“Yeah, I remember Valerie. Sweet girl, as I recall. I've seen her around town. And the officer that she's eating with over there gave me a speeding ticket a month ago. That was my second, and now I'm driving on two tickets. If I get a third my license is suspended, which will kill me on my sales route. He's no my favorite guy in town, but I digress. I did get a notice about the reunion, and I don't think that I am going. I usually go to those things. I've been to the ones that have had every five years, and have had fun at them. But, it's been a tough year and I am not particularly sociable this year. You know? With Jocelyn out of town, I wasn't planning on going by myself.”

Carlo waved Cassie over and asked her for a coffee to top off the pie and ice cream. He would take check too. “Okay, I answered your question. Back to mine. Have you sold the house?”

“Let me answer your second question first. It's easier. No, we are not moving out of Pekin. It's a good town to raise kids in, and we think a good town to eventually retire in. It's a good sized town. What are we now, around 31,000 people? Yeah? I think that's what the sign says coming into town. It's not too big or too small. I love the park district – the Pavillion and the Lagoon, that kind of thing. Do you remember when I used to work renting paddle boats there on the Lagoon. That was a great job for a high school kid. Anyway, we've got roots here that go way back to the German immigrants that helped grow this place. You said it. 'Gustaf'. Roots. We know a place that is coming up for sale out on the edge of town in a couple of weeks and we plan to buy it before it really goes on the market. Smaller house, but it's on several wooded acres and we would have our privacy. That would be nice.”

“Okay. So what about selling your place?”

“We have a buyer. A young couple with one kid already and one on the way. Our house will be a good fit for them. We've already moved all of our furnishings out into a storage unit out north of town. I just got a month rental on the unit because I am hoping that we can get our place done and move straight into the other place. But, there's a hitch. We were supposed to close on the house yesterday and be done, but an inspection report came back at the last minute with problems on it. Termites, mainly, which caused some structural problems that need repaired and some code violations on access. We never needed the access when we lived there. But, now that we're selling it we have to bring it up to the new codes. I have no earthly idea how to do that. I've got to figure it out and get the work done and re-inspected by the new closing date next Wednesday. I sent Jocelyn off to stay with Mark, and told her I would solve it. That's what I do. Solve things. That's a big part of what sales is about. I'm afraid that I have no idea how to solve this one.”

“The solution is sitting right here in front of you, Gus.”

“What do you mean, Carlo? I couldn't ask you to help me with that. Besides, you are already working on a job. You're working on that project next to the motel, right.”

“I am. Team lead, remember. But, I was originally a carpenter. I did that work for years. I know whatever you need to know to get you up to code. I can go by the house with you today and look at what work is needed. Then we can get the supplies on Monday and get started. I'm sure it's doable by Tuesday and you can close on Wednesday.”

“I could pay you for the work, at whatever your rate is – if it's not too much. It's kind of tight right now. I've got money for the down payment for the new house, but wasn't didn't have this problem in our budget. Can you get off of work Monday and Tuesday?”

“Gus, don't even think about it. Just buy the materials that we need. I'll get a couple of guys from the Men's Ministry group to help us. You are a brother in need. Consider it a ministry. And yes, I can get off of work. Our job site is closed down next week anyway. We're waiting for some kettles to come in before we can start working on the inside. Marshall is trying to get them unstuck from customs. I think they're on a dock in Philadelphia right now.”

“Marshall? Our Marshall?”

“Yeah, Gus. Marshall Velder is my boss. I've worked for him for a year now on this project. He's up in Chicago still making the big bucks. He hasn't forgotten us here in Pekin, though. He owns the business that we're building by the motel. He's giving back to the hometown, his way. He's building a micro-brewery here. That's what the big kettles are for.”

“Marshall Velder? Really? I haven't seen him for years now.”

“You might see him this weekend. He's coming back for the reunion, I think. Let me go pay the check, and we can go look at your place.”

“Are you sure, Carlo? I would be glad to pick this up. I can just put it on my card.”

“Cash, Gus, cash. You shouldn't be using a card anymore the way things are going in America. Trust me.” Carlo fished a couple of twenties out of a wallet stuffed with cash. “Cash only. You'd be surprised how far you can get cash only, and it's not traceable.”

“I can't imagine you can do much that way in 2013, Carlo. Plastic talks. You sound a little paranoid about that.”

“Hey”, Carlo poked him as they were walking up to the cash register. “I just remembered. That's how you should remember Valerie. She dated Marshall for a while Senior year. He was never going to stay in Pekin, though, and she is still here. And I, for one, am glad that she is.”

Chapter Three

Parking was hard to find on the street outside of the diner, and even the parking lot across the street was full. Carlo  found a spot on a sidestreet and they joined the small line waiting for a table or a booth. They would take whichever was next available. A few people were waiting at the cash register to pay their check, so maybe the wait wouldn't be too long. The smells coming out of the kitchen area promised a good homestyle meal was in their immediate future.

“Hey, wait here for me and I'll be right back”, Carlo said as Gus sat down on an open stool at the counter to wait for their table. “I see someone that I need to say hello to.”

Gus sighed in relief that Carlo hadn't asked him to go with him and greet the vaguely familiar woman he was talking to. He wasn't feeling back to full form yet, and wondered if his state of inebriation recovery would be evident if he talked to anyone. He realized that he hadn't taken time to brush his teeth before he left the motel, and he reached over to grab a mint out of the bowl next to the cash register to cover up the foul stench he was imagining he was exuding. No one near him was looking at him like he had three heads or anything, but he felt like he was standing out and was grateful when the young waitress came to take him to a booth against the back wall in the back room. This would work to stay low key and keep his head down.

“Man, you still look like death warmed over Gus. What's up with you.”

Gus looked at Carlo to size him up, and tried to decide how honest he wanted to be. It wasn't like they were the closest of friends, or even spoke much anymore. He couldn't remember when the last time that they had a serious talk was. It might have been back when they were in an adult Sunday School class together, and that had to be at least ten years ago at least. Oh, what the heck. Stephanie had mentioned that he needed to find somebody to talk to, and it might as well be v. They had history together, and Carlo would understand him. But, they also had distance lately, and Gus could retreat if it got too close for comfort and difficult.

“You know that song by Eric Church called 'Drank a Little Drank, Smoke a Little Smoke' that came out a couple of years ago or so?”

Carlo smiled wryly. “Yeah, I know it well. I've lived it, unfortunately”

“Yeah? Really? Well, I heard somebody singing it badly at a Karoke night last night while I was doing it myself. I drank a little drank. A little too much drank. Not that it would take much to take me down. I haven't really done that since the early days of my sales travel. I wised up eventually and quit that. Successfully, and for a long time. Until last night. And I am mighty embarrassed about it this morning, let me tell you. Is it still morning? Can I call it that? Whatever. It's a good thing I never learned to smoke a little smoke, or I would still be in bed or in jail. Honestly, I wasn't planning on seeing anybody that I knew, given where I'm staying this week.”

“Yeah”, Carlo said – smiling at him as they gave their drink orders to young miss Cassie. Diet cokes all around. “Tell me again what's up with that? Are you in the doghouse? Did Jocelyn kick you to the curb or what? She was always out of your league.”

“No, we are solid. As far as I know. No, she is out of town and I'm doing the bachelor thing while I close on the sale of our house here in town. Not literally, of course. She is staying with Mark at his college apartment for a couple of weeks or so to help him get settled in. He's moved out of the dorm and into an apartment for his Junior year, which is a big adjustment for him. He had a roommate lined up to help him with the rent, but that guy has withdrawn from school already and never moved in to the apartment. Jocelyn is going to stay in the empty bedroom and help Mark with his living skills. He is struggling with the basic tasks of keeping the place clean and cooking and such. He's just.....well, he's struggling. Jocelyn can help him.” Gus visibly choked up on that last part, and barely got it out.

“Is he struggling because of the accident?”

“Yes, he is. We all are, still. You know about the accident? I wasn't sure how many people at church know about it. I haven't talked to anyone about it much since it happened in May. Reverend Samuels came by the house and talked with us a bit. Jocelyn's been to see him more, and it seems to have helped her. I'm just trying to hold it together and get on with things best I can. That is what we men do, right? Handle it.”

“Well, I don't know about that, Gus. I didn't handle it when I hit bottom a few years ago. I can relate to your hangover that's got you looking haggard today. Man, I had more than my share of those mornings. More than I could “handle”. I wish that I could have quit it like you did. I had to hit way hard and bounce first. I had to lose quit a bit of things. I had to lose Lisa, actually, before I got around to quitting that “drank a little drank” thing. And my job.”

“Carlo, I had forgotten about that. I'm sorry that happened to you and Lisa. I wanted to call you up and get with you when that happened. I don't know why I didn't. I guess that I just got busy. I was traveling something like niety percent on the road back then. That's not a good excuse, though. I still should have called you. I guess that I haven't been much of a friend to you for a very long time. Or to anybody, really. I can't really name anybody right now that I would consider a close friend. I guess that I spend too much time at work and keep to myself.”

“I've noticed that. Since the accident, especially. I haven't been much of a friend to you either, Gus. I kick myself for not going to Kurt's funeral. I was out of town on a construction job, but I probably could have gotten back for that day. I don't even know how old Kurt was when he was killed, or even how it happened. I can't even imagine how it's been on you and Jocelyn since that day.”

Gus didn't answer Carlo's unasked question for a while. He paused while Cassie put his usual down in front of him and refilled his diet Coke. His usual lunch was a heart attack on a plate, but it sure looked and smelled good. Gus's mind drifted as he put a healthy dab of ketchup on the thick slabs of meatloaf and spread it out with a butter knife. He reached across the table in front of Carlo, who was looking over at the lady police sergeant that he had stopped to talk to on the way in, and palmed the salt and pepper shakers. He shook out a generous helping of salt on the whole plate: the ketchup-covered meat loaf, the overly generous helping of mashed potatoes that would necessitate another hit with his insulin pen, and on the yellow corn that was encroaching on the potatoes and floating in the brown gravy spilling over. Corn was a staple in Illinois farm country, and he couldn't get enough of it. He would have a helping of corn with every meal if he could manage it. Breakfast even. He buttered the still warm corn bread to top off the meal, and asked Cassie for more napkins as she passed by the booth.

“Before then. It was hard before the day of the accident.”

“Hey, Gus. I didn't mean to pry there. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to.”

“No, it's alright. I have really talked to anybody about any of this. I've tried to lock it down. I think it's part of my German heritage – being stoic and such.”

“German. Yeah, I had forgotten that too. You took a lot of guff when we were kids for being named Gustaf. I did too. I think I was the only Italian kid at the Lutheran school. But, hey, you were saying...”

“We didn't think we were going to have Kurt. He wasn't planned, at least not in the traditional way. Jocelyn almost died in childbirth when Mark was born and we were going to stop with just one child. My parents, and hers, didn't quite understand that but they didn't go through what we went through. Mark was in the hospital with complications for quite a while. I think he will always a have struggles in his life because of the difficult start that he had. He's got breathing problems that kept him out of sports when he was growing up. And epilesy, with seizures that are fortunately happening less now. It was quite a struggle to get him through school and a bigger struggle to get him into college and succeeding in classes. But, he's a good kid with a good heart and he puts me to shame in memorizing bible verses. Ask him. He'll quote you a couple.”

“I didn't now all of that about Mark. Thanks for sharing that.”

“I don't want to sound like I'm whining about his problems. All parents deal with things. We dealt with it as well as we could. What did we know about his those issues before they came into our life? What does anyone know? You just learn and deal.”

“So”, Carlo asked hesitantly, “did you change your mind about having another kid, and have Kurt? Who changed their mind?”

“There was quite a few years between them. Mark's twenty, almost twenty one, now. It doesn't seem possible. Time goes by, man. Time goes by. Kurt would have been 16 in July. I don't know if you know that we adopted Kurt.”

“I think I remember hearing that at the time. I do remember you and Jocelyn doing a dedication ceremony with him at church, now that I think about it.”

“I remember that day. It's a good memory.” Gus paused to eat for a bit, re-living that day as he finished the meat loaf.

“So, where did you adopt Kurt from? How did you find him?”

“Jocelyn had a cousin that she grew up with, who moved downstate. She was in serious trouble with substance abuse and wasn't able to care for him. It's a long story, but we got licensed as foster parents and then worked with a lawyer to foster Kurt and eventually adopt him when he turned seven. It's a long process, and I wasn't sure that we should do it given Mark's issues. But I'm glad we did. We both wanted to give Kurt a chance in life that he wouldn't have had. His birth mother got mixed up in Meth and went downhill fast. She left the state and we haven't heard from her since.”

“Wow”. Carlo was still picking at his country fried steak plate and didn't know what to say. “But, good for you guys that you gave him a chance in life.”

“I'm not so sure about that.”

“What do you mean. You absolutely rescued him.”

“Did we? I thought so for a long time. Last year it all started coming apart. Kurt started hanging out with the wrong crowd at the high school, and started developing a substance abuse problem. We hadn't really rescued him at all. It was a tough year, with a lot of scares and counseling. He had a tough struggle, and his issues clashed with Mark's issues, and it was tough for the family overall. I don't ever want to have a year like that last twelve months ever again.”

“So, the drugs were the cause of the accident? I didn't think that Kurt was driving yet.”

“Yes, and no. Mark had his driver's license. He was home from college for a weekend, and he drove down to get Kurt out of a party situation. They were driving away from the house when their car was hit by one of Kurt's drunk friends coming to the party. Kurt was killed instantly, and Mark was in the hospital again for two weeks with a ruptured spleen and broken bones.”

“Oh my God, Gus. I will pray extra for you and Jocelyn. I knew it was bad, but didn't know most of that. How are you dealing with all of that?”

“Not well. I'm trying to maintain, and to be strong for Jocelyn. Kurt's death was such a loss. I don't know how long I can keep it together. I guess that's what last night was all about.”

“Getting drunk? Brother, I totally give you a pass on that.”
“Getting drunk, yes”, Gus said. Rolling up his left sleeve, he added “and this”.

Carlo leaned across the table to look at Gus's fresh new tattoo. It was brightly colored, with a tribal version of a christian cross and a banner with a verse reference.

“Psalm 34:18. What does that verse say.”

“Reverend Samuels gave me that verse when he came by to see me. It says:”

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit.