Novel Treatments / Lou Tanner & the Farewell Party (Chapter ii)

-2-

Lou was on the road before 7:30 the next morning. He=d stopped at a Burger King and had gotten a coffee and ham and egg sandwich from the drive-through and now he was cruising down Highway 101 south away from town. The scenery changed from coastal to primeval forest in a matter of minutes. This was the big forest, the California redwoods forest, and he loved it. The trees were one of the reasons he=d moved there after he got out of the Merchant. The sky was gray and overcast and a light rain was blowing from the northwest in off the ocean. He loved the rain, too. He loved everything that made a man feel like he was alive.
He drove for about 25 miles before pulling off the highway into Scotia. Scotia was a whole town that had been built by the logging companies back in the >20s. The stores, the bowling alley, the city hall, the logging company had built it all along with about 200 boxy little houses that the mill workers used to live in. Nowadays, the mill ran one shift with about 35 men working it. The rest of the town had been turned over to the local authorities years before and now regular people, mostly retirees and old hippies, lived in the houses. Lou passed along the main road, ABusiness 101,@ and snaked along the little river filled with logs headed into the processing barn. Men walked across the logs on the river, armed with long spiked poles, curved on the end to grab at the logs, wearing high-top work boots and jeans, plaid shirts and scuffed up hard hats. Lou waved as he went by since he knew some of the guys. He followed the main road for a mile and then turned up a hill onto an asphalt road pocked with potholes. He slowed the old red Ford truck down and after about a hundred yards the road was gravel but fairly smooth, except when the road went uphill again and then it was crisscrossed with deep ridges in the road foundation where the logging trucks had slowed down to make the curves. The bumps were their calling cards.

There were hardly any homes that far off the beaten path. The gigantic redwoods and ponderosa pines came right up to the edge of the gravel road and blocked the daylight. Lou liked this stretch. He had been there many times over the years. The road went on for about 25 miles until it hit the rocky Pacific Ocean coast about 30 miles above Fort Bragg. It was wild country. The logging outfits never touched it because it was where they lived. They went further away in the old days and now it was part of the National Forest. Old timers remembered when it was legal to own land there, but as time went by the old cabins were bought up and the old leases had run out and never been renewed. About halfway to the coast Lou turned off onto an old utility line road that had been hacked out of the forest when the main power lines went across forty years before. The grass grew through into the dirt road which wasn=t maintained but he didn=t have far to go. He got to the bottom of a hill and crossed a small washed out stream bed and went up the hill on the other side. At the top was a clearing, a natural meadow, and Lou pulled the truck over to the side and parked, shutting off the engine. The quiet enveloped him like a glove. He had noticed that when tourists came to see the redwoods they almost immediately lowered their voices, as if realizing how pitifully small their little lives were compared to the giants of the forest. Even the rain couldn=t penetrate through the majestic overhanging boughs and just a foggy mist covered the red dirt road. He listened reverently. The sound of the wind, birds in the trees and the water rushing past the rocks in the stream; that was all he could hear. Very faintly, in the distance, he could make out the big rigs on 101 as they downshifted to make the corner into Scotia. But that was the only sound of civilization. Lou could imagine what it must have been like a million years ago.

He looked to his left and there was his marker, a giant granite slab that rose 30 feet into the air, a monument to the ages. How it ever got there he=d never know; maybe it was moved by a glacier coming down what became the California coast. He walked past the monolith, slapping it with his hand for good luck. On the other side he counted down seven trees on his left, each a good 20-30 feet in circumference at their bases, all lined up perfectly where the sun set to the west in the Winter Solstice, and then stopped. He went behind the last tree in line and crouched down to enter a blackberry thicket tunnel that hollowed in the middle. He picked some of the blackberries and ate them. They were sweet and juicy and left his fingertips purple. In the center, he bent down, put on a pair of work gloves, and began removing about six inches of leaves and dirt until he got to a steel lid about four feet across with a large combination lock. He pulled the key out of his pocket and opened the lock and then threw the lid open. The insulated, waterproof steel box was just the way he=d left it five years ago. That was the last time he=d been there, when he got out of the Merchants. But he had been coming there for 20 years before that ever since he started going to sea. He sat down on the mossy ground and reached into the box, pulling out two thick packets of money. Each packet was bound in a wide red paper band and then shrink-wrapped in cellophane. Each packet contained $10,000. There were 46 packets. When his kids went to hear the will read they would be given a treasure map that led to this place. He thought they=d get a kick out of that. He had given specific instructions that they had to be together and that nobody else could go with them. He was sure they would have no trouble finding the big rock and then the treasure. He felt he would be with them in spirit, watching when they found it.
He took out 10 packets and stuffed three in each side pocket and two each in the inside pockets, zipped the zippers shut, closed the locker lid and clicked the lock. Then he covered it again with the leaves and dirt and branches. Standing up, he gave it a critical once over. It blended in with everything else. Besides, nobody ever came there through the thorny blackberry thicket. The whole forest bed around that area was nothing but prickly bushes; even the deer didn=t like going through it.

He went out through the tunnel and walked a little ways down the ridge until he reached a point where he could look down and out over the ocean. The forest gradually thinned for about ten miles on that side of the ridge and the ocean stretched for thousands of miles after that. The forest green, then the azure Pacific and as he looked up into the sky he saw the sun poke through a cloud bank creating a rainbow with one end in the ocean and one end on the beach, magnificent purple and yellow and red and green and blue, a sign, he was sure, that somehow everything would work out alright. He had seen so many wonderful scenes like that in his life and each time he had tried to burn them into his memory so that he would never forget what they looked like. He wanted to be able to remember everything he had seen and done in his life so that sometime he could look back and see it all again. He stood silently, watching mother nature=s work, feeling privileged to have had the opportunity to see what he was seeing, then turned and walked back through the woods listening to the crows and hooting owls. His shoes were soaked from walking through the dense ferns by the time he returned to the truck.
He got in and started the engine and the heater blower to defog the windows, turned on the wipers once and backed the truck around. He pressed up the volume control on the radio and KHUM, the local college station, came in loud and clear. When the station wasn=t playing jazz or alternative music it played a lot of old stuff that he liked and just then the sounds of Quicksilver Messenger Service came out of the speakers: A...ooooohooooh, have another hit, of fresh air. Ooooohooooh, have another hit...@ Dino, the singer crooned. As he drove back to town he remembered how it had all started way back in 1967. That song had been playing then, too, that summer, his first year at sea.
He had gotten his AAB,@ his Able Bodied Seaman=s license, when he and his father drove the family station wagon up to Cleveland on a Saturday so he could take the test at the Seaman=s Hall. That was where all the union men waited when they shipped out with the iron ore freighters that plied the Great Lakes. Lou had passed the test the first time because he had studied the training manual until he knew it backward and forward. But he wasn=t going to be satisfied with the little old Great Lakes; he wanted to see the world and he made plans to leave for the West Coast.

His father shook his hand proudly when he left and told him to make something of himself. His mother cried, but she knew he would never be happy in that small town. His friends saw him off at the bus station and four days later he was standing in San Francisco. He had the strange experience of walking through the Haight Asbury district on his way to the docks. There was a ALove-In@ going on in Golden Gate Park and Lou knew his friends would never believe it. There he was, literally right out of the sticks, standing in the middle of thousands of people half-naked and high on LSD listening to a live performance by the Grateful Dead. He sat down for a while just to watch and listen and before he knew it a beautiful woman with long black hair and a flimsy halter top made him get up and dance with her, right there in front of God and everyone. He was a little self-conscious until she passed him a joint and told him to take a hit. After a while she left and he sat back down and somebody else passed him a big jug of red wine. He spent the rest of the afternoon just lying there in the sunshine staring up at the sky and listening to the music. He felt like the music was alive, like it had a body and soul. He had never felt so free. There was something going on in the crowd and everyone seemed to feel it and was aware that they were all feeling it at the same time; as if a communal group consciousness was rising into the air above the park and joining all their thoughts together in one place; as if they could rise above their mere mortal lives and catch a glimpse of something bigger than any one of them. People smiled at each other and Lou felt like there was an aura of love emanating peacefully from each person. They were all connected, and as long as he wasn=t afraid of it he could ride that feeling. When he began to think about other thoughts he lost the connection and became afraid. He found a group of people sitting in a big circle in the trees near the back of the long green meadow. They were all banging on pots and pans, tin cans, buckets, anything they could grab, and they were all beating the same rhythm. AWhoaaaaaaaa, whoa, whoa, whoa,@ they would chant during the beginning of each section of the rhythm before finishing up with three more bars of beating. Over and over and over they kept it up, never slowing down or speeding up. Nobody seemed to be in charge, nobody was leading the group, yet everyone seemed to know what to do. One large black man was expertly filling in between the beats with short riffs of leading parts played on a timbale drum. A girl with beautiful long blonde hair sat trance-like picking up every other beat on a one pound Folgers coffee tin. Lou joined in when someone handed him an empty wine jug made of thick glass. He quickly found his place in the group by adding his high-pitched ping four times right after the singing. It was a counter point to the drum sounds and it fit perfectly. They played like that, some people leaving and other people joining in, for hours. Lou felt that the sounds of the group would rise and fall, slowing slightly or speeding up, depending on the group consciousness. Once again, they were connecting with a communal power that was greater than any one of them, and it was a thrilling and mind-altering experience to know that they weren=t alone, to know that there was something greater than a singularly lonely existence that life seemed to saddle on each human being. To realize that they were not alone made Lou feel love in a way he had never thought possible. When he felt that he had given everything he could to the group he stood up to go and several people looked him in the eye without speaking and said, AYes, we felt it, too. We love you, too.@
As the sun set he took off walking and found a small hotel near the piers and got a room. On his way he stopped at a delicatessen and gorged himself on pickles and corned beef sandwiches before he went to bed. He slept like a rock.
The next morning he showed up bright and early at the union hall and signed up for the first ship bound for the Far East. It was a freighter which had already taken on a full load of wood chips in Portland. The Japanese used the chips for plywood. He made his way down to the pier where the ship, President McKinley, was berthed and went aboard. The bowswain=s mate signed him on and showed him his cabin, a space just big enough for a berth and a locker. He laid down on the bunk and it was only about twelve inches from the overhead, slightly claustrophobic, but there was a porthole he could look through three-inch thick glass, and that made it seem a little less confining. Then they went down to the fo=csle where he was promptly put to work repairing hawser lines. There he stayed until the whistle piped to make ready for sea, and he followed the mate who showed him which water tight hatches to shut in which order. That was critical. If the ship was ever to start taking on water at sea the hatches would stop the progression and limit the damage to one or two section bulkheads, or walls as the landlubbers called them.

The First Mate, an old man to Lou although he was only about 40, took a liking to him since they were both from Ohio and invited him up to the bridge to see the ship get underway. Lou watched in amazement as the Captain, who was bigger than Lou, barked orders to the helmsman and rang bells for the engine room at the same time, telling each what to do. Lou heard the Captain order the Mate to Abring in the bow line,@ which was relayed through a kind of telephone to a man wearing headphones in front of the ship. He repeated the order which was relayed to the pier and the huge hawser rope was slipped off the concrete cleat and the men at the bow heaved it in. ARelease the stern line,@ said the captain shortly, and the procedure was repeated again amidships. The massive Caterpillar diesel engines started churning the water in reverse and slowly the ship began to back away from the pier. Lou was on cloud nine. He was finally going to see where the rivers went! The Captain ordered three short blasts on the horn to warn other ships that the President McKinley was backing out, and when the Mate pulled the cord the sound of the ship=s horn was deafening. AAll hands make ready for sea. Batten all remaining hatches. Tie down or stow all remaining gear,@ said the Mate into the shipboard address system.
As soon as they were far enough away from the pier the Captain gave a series of signals to the engine room and then they were underway headed toward the Golden Gate Bridge. Lou stood on the port side feeling the strong wind blowing his hair, watching the city of San Francisco fall away as the ship passed the marina district. A book he had read, Two Years Before the Mast, had described the exact scene he was looking at when there were only a few houses in San Francisco in the early 1800=s. Sailors lived hard lives in those days with few creature comforts. If they could do it, so can I, he promised himself.
He gazed at the shining white walls of the Army Presidio on the hill and watched in awe as they actually passed beneath the mammoth bridge, the gateway to the West Coast of the United States. He could look up and see the cars and trucks zooming along. Then they were leaving the safety of the harbor and heading for the open sea and the Farallon Islands, the last land they would see for quite some time until they got to Hawaii. Lou looked straight down at the rushing water, already topped with whitecaps, and thought it must be at least a 200 foot drop. Dolphins swam alongside, leaping in and out of the water higher and higher into the air escorting the ship out to sea. A bull seal with a face full of bushy whiskers was sitting atop the water holding a fish in his flippers, munching away on the head. Now that the ship was safely at sea, the normal routines would begin. The bowswain took him below deck when it was time for chow.

The mess hall was a small room with green Formica tables and round stools with everything bolted to the deck. Each table had an aluminum rim about two inches high to stop sliding dishes when the weather got rough. There were only about 25 total in the crew and Lou got to meet most of the rest of the men that weren’t on watch. Those men in the engine room and on the bridge would eat later when the watch changed. The food was good, cooked by two Pilipino who dressed all in white and wore tall chef=s hats. They constantly gestured and spoke to each other in their own language and nobody else ever knew what they were talking about but they seemed to argue a lot.
Lou drew the worst watch, midnight to 4 a.m., because he was the greenhorn, and after they ate the bowswain showed him what his duties were. The engine room ran their own watch with a fireman, a sort of seaman-mechanic, working the early morning shift when things were usually the quietest. Lou made his rounds every half hour and had to note in his log book what he had done each round, which was basically just making sure everything was shut tight and nothing was amiss. He tested the lashings on the small boats, checked the watertight hatches and looked over the holds. He reported to the bridge once an hour and made his report to the Officer on Deck, which was usually a first or second mate. He was still running on pure adrenalin that first night and was not tired in the least. Everything was new and fascinating to him. He had been a little worried that he might get seasick but the rolling and rocking ship didn’t faze him.
The ship itself, the President McKinley, has been built in 1947, just after World War II. What had been modern at that time was fairly ancient 20 years later. The superstructure sat amidships, unlike the more modern ships with their bridges and stacks in the stern of the vessel. The centered alignment tended to make the ship ride rougher and tilt more in heavy seas. The holds were numerous and separated, again unlike the modern ships with long continuous holds. Heavy-duty booms, some taller and some shorter, were spaced about every 40 feet along both sides of the ship for loading material. The entire ship was 550 feet long and weighed approximately 760 tons when fully loaded. Lou memorized everything he could about the proud ship and her sisters, every ship was a she, and also read up on the Merchant Marine itself. The Merchants had played a key role in World War II and many men had gone down with all hands lost. He was a part of that tradition now.

Once a man learned the ropes on a large seagoing vessel he fell into a routine. The only thing that changed was the weather and the latitude and longitude. During the day there was always maintenance work to be done because the salt and the elements never stopped trying to disintegrate what men had created. After a while, Lou found that when the ocean was calm, he felt calm. But when the ocean reared up, he was afraid. Many times, he would gaze through his porthole watching the endless sea and think that God had not meant for men to be there. That if God had meant for them to be there He would have given them fins. When the ocean was rough the ship seemed puny, a tiny cork bobbing around at the whim of Neptune, easily crushed and easily sunk to the bottom with one wrong move. During rough seas the men maintained a kind of death row humor, always laughing after they said something serious. Awe’ll be joining Davy Jones for dinner tonight,@ they would say happily. Lou grew to accept the oceans of the world but he never took them for granted. It was like living with a junkyard dog that one could never forget had a mean, deadly bite even when unprovoked. When it was calm there were dangers, too. Fog, for one, was deadly. He had been stationed right at the bow one night when the fog was so thick that he could not see ten feet in front of him. He stood there his whole watch, intently peering into the swirling mists looking for anything in their path. After about an hour the fog began to take shapes like clouds do floating in the sky. He could see faces, bodies, all manner of objects coming at him before dissolving silently. His mind played tricks on him. It was a spooky night, one that was to be repeated many times over the course of his career.
The ship was large enough that if a man wanted to be alone he could be. If he wanted the company of others there were places for that, too, mainly on the fantail. Lou got to know everyone and was well liked. Because of his size nobody gave him any trouble. When he went to his bunk he always fell asleep hearing the constant hum and throb of the big diesel engines. After a while, he could tell when the engines were laboring or when the sounds were not perfectly in tune. It was usually a lullaby but when the pitch of the waves threw the propellers totally out of the water the free-spinning would sharply increase the rpms of the engine only to quickly slow again when the props hit the water. This was a danger sound to those trying to sleep.

He was shown all the hot spots when they berthed in Honolulu for the night. He got initiated by the older men, meaning he got drunk and was taken to a clandestine whore house outside of town, and a good time was had by all. The Hawaiians had done a pretty good job of cleaning up the prostitute business after World War II, but over the years since then houses of ill repute had found their way back to the Islands. The next morning they were underway again bound for Japan and it was back to the routine.
Lou thought about that first night in Hawaii. God, he had been so young then. When the prostitute had washed his prick with warm, soapy water he had gotten a gigantic erection and he remembered how embarrassed he was. But the prostitute, a pretty young girl with long, silky hair, had only giggled and that made him feel better. He didn=t quite remember but he thought the whole thing must have only lasted about five minutes. He laughed to himself as he merged into the traffic on 101.
After they had off-loaded their cargo in Japan they headed down the East China Sea through the Formosa Strait into the South China Sea and on to Bangkok. That would be their home for one week while they filled the holds with exotic hardwoods. Lou admired the beautiful wood that went for outrageous prices in the >States. Each night the crew took liberty ashore and after the first night with the gang he decided to do a little exploring on his own.
He met a cab driver that spoke good English, Bai Qui Do, a Vietnamese refugee, and they formed a fast friendship. The little fellow was only about five feet tall and maybe 50 years old but he had a smile that took up half of his face. He showed Lou the sights that were off the beaten path that first night and they made an agreement that the cabbie would pick him up the next evening. On the nose at 5:00, Bai was waiting parked on the pier. He greeted Lou enthusiastically and off they went. They were going site-seeing, he explained. Lou didn=t care where they went, he just wanted to see some of the countryside outside of Bangkok.

They drove through the jungle on dirt roads until they came to a small town with most of the huts made of tightly wound bundles of straw. Bai explained that they were going to have a traditional Thai dinner. They walked along a path by a river until they came to some more huts and a large woven mat with a banquet arranged in the center. They ate sitting cross-legged on the mat and the food was wonderful, spicy but delicious. Lou didn=t even ask what it was since he had some suspicions. Beautiful Thai women, petite and attractive, served them and then played music on flutes and what looked like small guitars while they ate. Afterwards, they walked around a little to stretch. Bai showed him a hut full of women who worked on the floor. There were stacks of what Bai explained were Thai marijuana, and the women were deftly winding buds around thin stalks of splintered bamboo. They were called Thai Sticks and it was some of the best marijuana in the world. Lou took a puff off a small pipe that was offered to him by one of the women and promptly started coughing his head off. The women all laughed and thought that was hilarious. He didn=t need to take a second puff before realizing that this was much superior to what they had in the >States. He told Bai he wanted to take some back with him and he was surprised at how cheap it was. He bought ten pounds and was amazed that it fit into a small suitcase. Bai explained that the individual sticks were pressed together with vices when still green and then double wrapped to dry. A two-pound block was just a bit larger than a regular-sized hardbound book. When Bai dropped him off later that night at the ship he simply walked on board and then stashed the suitcase under his bunk. It was that easy.

When he got back to the >States Lou hooked up with a biker he met later at a Santana concert at the Avalon Ballroom, Buffalo Bob, Buffalo because he was from Buffalo, New York, that rode with the Hells Angels out of Oakland. Lou pegged Bob for a guy he could trust. There was no bullshit about him. Bob bought the pot for $1000 a pound. That was the beginning of a long and prosperous friendship. Bob sold the Thai sticks by the ounce to his biker buddies who paid top dollar. Everybody was happy. When the Viet Nam war starting heating up and all the G.I.=s started bringing pot home with them customs got a little tougher. But Bob and Lou came up with a system that was ingenious. As soon as whatever ship he was on pulled into port, always San Francisco because that was his second home now, Lou would phone Bob and tell him where the ship was berthed. The pot was now wrapped in vulcanized rubber for him by the Thais and, at a pre-arranged hour, Lou simply lowered the bundle to the water=s edge the furthest away from shore, usually late at night, and up would pop Bob in diving gear. He would take the pot and then swim under the docks until he was past customs where he would meet a car and load up. It had worked flawlessly over 5 years, from 1967 to 1972, during which time Lou brought a total of 46 pounds. He only signed on for the ships that stopped in Bangkok on their way home. Since first meeting, Bai had become like family to him and he brought many luxuries as gifts for Bai and his family from the >States. Lou was made an honorary member of the village where the tiny women wove the potent weed around the slivered sticks. He had thought about moving there when he retired, but life in America beckoned, and by that time he had the kids to think about and that=s where the stash had come in.
His first wife was already bleeding him dry with alimony and he had just married for the second time. He couldn’t put the money in a bank account so he started looking around when he was held over in San Francisco. One day, he decided to drive up the coast to see the redwoods and that was all she wrote. He knew that he would retire there someday and he put together his stash box in the woods. Every time he had some money, he=d take the day and drive up the coast and make a deposit in the box in the woods. In all that time he had never seen a single person on the dirt road. Not even one other car or truck. It was better than Bank of America.
Towards the middle of the >70s it all fell apart. The communists were spreading through Cambodia and Bai made the mistake of going to Phnom Penh to see some relatives. He was one of the millions exterminated in the Akilling grounds@ which Cambodia became. Buffalo Bob got busted by an undercover Fed and had to do three years in Soledad. Seeing the signs Lou gave up the business while he was still ahead.
He pulled the old pickup off the highway and parked downtown at the local card club; so many years, so many memories. The years had flown by in the blink of an eye. He went in the club and spotted Buffalo Bob sitting at one of the green felt tables playing lowball with a $7 limit; high stakes when there might be hundreds of bets in the course of a few hours. Bob had moved north when he got out of jail and Lou was still at sea. They had remained close friends over the years. Bob had a few side tricks but was mostly legit’ and ran a successful sign-painting business. He made good money for his work which could be seen on many businesses up and down the coast. Lou walked over to the table, slapping a few people on the back as he went, saying hello.
Bob nodded at him and he stood a few feet from the table watching until the hand finished, then motioned Bob by pointing his finger to meet him at the bar. Bob nodded again and went back to playing. Lou sat down on one of the high stools at the bar and the bartender, Tony, brought him a Molson=s without asking.
AHowya= doin=,@ said Lou.

Tony motioned towards the TV above the bar. AThe A=s are stompin= Detroit,@ he said, laughing. Tony was a big A=s fan. He and Lou had gone down to Oakland a few times to see some games.
AThat=s good,@ said Lou, sipping his beer as Tony moved down the bar to serve another customer. Bob came in and sat down next to him and lit a cigarette. He hadn’t changed over the years. He still wore his black hair long and was covered in tattoos. If a person didn’t know him they would have still figured him for a biker. His face was scarred up from fights and he could look mean, tough when he wanted to. AWhat=s up?@ he asked, one eye watching the game.
ANot much. I just wanted to let you know that I=m going to be taking off for a while; goin= back east to see some folks. Keep an eye on Ryan, will >ya?@
ASure. No problema. You gonna= be gone long?@
Lou thought about the tumor. AI don=t think so, but I might have to stay for a while. It depends on what people are doin=, you know. But just look out for Ryan. He=ll be stayin= at my place.@
ASure, yeah, OK. Send me a postcard, will >ya?@
ARight. I=ll let you know where I=m at. Oh, yeah, there=s somethin= else.@
AWhat=s that?@ asked Bob, raising an eyebrow quizzically.
AYou remember that kid I was helpin= out, friend of Ryan=s a few years back. Name was Clark?@
AYeah, that little kid. I remember him. Didn=t he wind up rippin= you off?@
AYeah. Anyhow, he came by the other day. Seems his mom is out of jail now and they=re living with some guy who=s makin= meth. He needs to leave there before she winds up back in the joint. I=d appreciate it if you=d ask somebody to have a little talk with the guy. He=d probably like it better up in Portland or Seattle. OK?@ Lou took the address and description out of his pocket that Clark had written.
ASure. Looks like everything=s here,@ he said reading over the sheet of paper. AHey, I think I know this guy. He=s an idiot. He likes his own product too much. Maybe I=ll tell him myself.@ Bob had done a lot of speed in his younger days but gave it up when people started dying left and right. Speed freaks either wound up dead or in jail and he=d had enough of jail. The bartender popped open a Budweiser, poured half of it in a glass and set both in front of Bob who took a drink from the glass.
AThanks. I appreciate it,@ said Lou, lighting a cigarette of his own. ASo what you been up to?@ he asked.

AI got the contract on those new steakhouses they=re building. They=re puttin= them all in at once, from Willits all the way up to Crescent City; a total of twelve and a pretty good piece of change. Besides the outside signs, I=m doin= all the inside work, too. You know, overhead menus, rest rooms, things like that.@
ACool. You get mileage, too?@
APer Diem they call it. Anytime I go outta= town. It=s a good gig.@
AWhat are they callin= them?@
AMr. Steak. Catchy, huh?@
AYeah. I like it.@ Lou finished his beer and fished in his wallet. He was going to put two dollars on the bar but thought better and pulled out a ten and slid it on the bar, placing the empty bottle on top.
AGotta= go.@ He shook Bob=s hand and held it for a moment, then gave him a bear hug. They had been through a lot together.
AHey, big spender, what=s your hurry?@ Bob asked, looking at him curiously. Lou wasn=t one to tip too much or hug like that.
AOh, nothin=, I just want to stop by and see some people before I go,@ Lou said, slightly embarrassed.
AAh,@ Bob said smiling. AHey, is everything OK?@
AYeah, great. Oh, there was one other thing. If somethin’ should happen to me on this trip, you know, God forbid I should get in a wreck or somethin’, you know what we talked about before, about goin’ out like the Indians, remember that?@
“The funeral pyre, up in the redwoods? Yeah, I remember.”
“You’d take care of that for me, wouldn’t you? I mean, don’t let anybody put me in the dirt in a box. You know I wouldn’t want that, right?”
“Yeah, sure. Look, nothin’s gonna’ happen to you, so don’t worry about it. OK?”
“You’re right,” Lou said as he crossed the floor and opened the front door. ALater, Bob,” he said quietly. Tony was at the other end of the bar talking to some customers. “See >ya, Tony,@ he yelled to him as he left. Tony waved back and continued with his conversation.
What the hell was that all about? Bob wondered.
Lou drove across town to the taxi garage and walked inside. Two of the day drivers were sitting at a table next to the coffee pot, shooting the shit. AHey Steve, Ron,@ he said as he walked past them into the front office. Ramona, a pretty little Hispanic girl, waved to him from the dispatch office. Late at night he loved to listen to her voice. She could make a call for a cab to the Ramada Inn sound like pillow talk. He walked into the inner office and Mitch Snyder, the big boss, was sitting at his desk eating a sandwich and talking on the phone. Lou sat down at the chair in front of the desk and waited. Mitch nodded at him.
AI don=t care what the coach says, he can=t play. The doctor said he can=t and he can=t, that=s all there is to it,@ Mitch said, listening as the other person spoke.

He wiggled his finger around his head indicating that the guy on the other end of the line was crazy. ANo, he can=t. I know he wants to play and I know the coach wants him to play and I know it=s a big game. But that kid isn=t risking paralysis just so the high school can make the state finals. Understand? Good. I=m glad we=re clear on that. Yeah, goodbye.@
ACan you believe those jerks? That assistant coach was trying to get me to let James play tonight after he busted up his back last week in that win at Fortuna. The kid is 16 and he=s going to end up with a broken back? I don=t think so. So how you been, Lou?@ Mitch asked, calming down.
AGood, Mitch. Yeah, I heard James rushed for 110 yards in that game. He=s a hell of a kid.@
AYeah, he hurt his back in the second quarter and kept right on playing. I chewed his ass out for that.@
AGood for you. Say, I just wanted to stop by and let you know I=m leaving. I=m headin= back east for a while.@
ANothing serious, I hope,@ said Mitch.
ANo, no, nothing like that. I just need a little break, that=s all. I=m not getting any younger, know what I mean.@
ASure, Lou, anything you want. Do you think you=ll be gone for long?@ Mitch liked Lou. He always showed up when he was supposed to and the customers asked for him by name. Nothing like some of the smartass young guys he had to hire. They didn=t know the meaning of the word Awork.@
AI=m not sure. I mean, I can drive a few shifts if you need me to. If not, I was planning on leaving tomorrow.@
ANo, you go, that=s OK, I can have one of the other guys fill in. They=re always looking for more hours, you know how it is. The phone rang. Lou got up while Mitch ignored the phone.
AThanks, Mitch. I=ll see you when I get back.@ If I get back, he thought.
Mitch shook his hand, AHave a safe trip, Lou,@ he said, picking up the phone. AMitch Snyder,@ he answered.

Lou walked out of the back of the garage, saw the sun had come out, and stopped to speak with one of the mechanics he knew. Then he was back in the truck heading north out of town towards Trinidad. When he thought about it, he knew a lot of people, not just in town, but all over the >States, hell, all over the world for that matter. But he had always been a loner. He was good with people for a while, but when he wanted to go and be by himself, that was that. When he wanted to read, he wanted to read. When he wanted to go fishing, he went fishing. It wasn=t so much that he wanted to be alone, what he really wanted was time to think, and he couldn=t really let his mind go when he was concentrating on what somebody else was saying.
AYou know what you are, don=t you?@ he said to himself.
AA curmudgeon,@ he answered himself.
AYou know that=s a bad sign when you start answering yourself, don=t you?@ he said to himself.
He passed Patrick=s Point State Park with its= unbelievable views of the coastline and turned inland a few miles and pulled into Rich Hamel RV World. Row after row of shiny, brand spankin= new recreational vehicles stood side by side. Towards the back there were more used vehicles. Lou parked the truck in front of the showroom and got out, stretching in the welcome sunshine. Before he got his arms over his head a salesman was right next to him. Lou knew he was a salesman because his smile was too big. Normal people didn=t smile like that unless they were television news anchors or hookers.
AHey, big guy,@ said the salesman putting his hand into Lou=s and pumping it up and down enthusiastically. AHow about this sunshine, huh? Can you believe the weather we=re having this year? Makes a man want to get up in the morning and take the old RV out for a spin up the coast, doesn=t it? Name=s Moon, Howard Moon, but you can call me Howie; that=s what all my friends call me. What=s yours?@ he asked, waiting expectantly for Lou to answer, watching him like a hawk about to swoop down on a field mouse. The guy was still holding his hand although he=d quit shaking it and Lou gingerly removed it from the grip.
ALou Tanner,@ he said looking the little guy over. He was wearing a toupee, Lou could tell because he was looking down at the top of it and he could see where it met his real hair in the back. Howie had an appropriate last name, he thought, since his face looked just like the Man in the Moon; it was oval and white as chalk with wide Asian eyes and a big mouth. His teeth bucked out in front. He was wearing a faded blue jean jacket and white stretch pants with a blue striped shirt and a silver and turquoise bolo-tie.
ALou Tanner, Lou Tanner,@ said Howie, scrunching his moon face up in concentration. ASounds mighty familiar to me, that name. Say, Lou, do I know you from somewhere? You ever do any fishing down at King Salmon? Maybe that=s where I met you.@
ADon=t think so,@ said Lou flatly.

ALou Tanner just sounds so familiar to me. What do you do, Lou?@ Howie asked, making small talk.
AI drive cab.@
AThat=s where I know you from. I know pret= near everybody in this neck of the woods. You drive my mom up to bingo at the Indian casino sometimes. She just loves you. She said she always asks if they can send you to pick her up. Mrs. Landers? Mabel Landers? 1536 Beech Gum Road? You >member her?@
ASure,@ said Lou, Anice lady. That=s your Mom, huh?@ The old biddy thought she was a big spender when she gave him a dollar tip for a 25 mile ride.
AYep, that=s my dear old Ma,@ Howie said beaming. He always found a way to engage his customers. Loosened >em up. AHey, I=ll tell her you came in today and I showed you around. She=ll get a big kick out of that.@
ASure,@ said Lou.
ASo, Lou, you don=t mind if I call you Lou, do you?@
ANo.@
ALou,@ he said, moving tentatively towards the first row of RV=s, seeing if Lou was going to tag along, Awhat brings you to Rich Hamel=s today. You know, this is a magical place, Lou, this spot you=re standin= on right now. This is where dreams come true. What=s your dream, Lou?@ he asked, moving a little faster as he saw that Lou was following him. He had been taught to say the customer=s name as often as was humanly possible during any sales opportunity. People loved the sound of their own name.
AJust looking for a good used RV, that=s all,@ said Lou.
AUh huh. Well, Lou, you came to the right place, that=s for sure. Somethin= for you and the Mrs., huh?@
ANope. Just me. I=m taking a trip back east.@
AGoin= solo are you? Yesiree, the wide open spaces. Nothin= like a road trip to make a man feel young again. You just take this model here, Lou, this is top of the line, Roadmaster it=s called. Step right up there and have a look, Lou.@
Lou went into the rear of the RV. It was nice. About as big as a one bedroom house, everything all modern with cherry wood cabinets, nice upholstered couch and love seat, queen-sized bed in the rear, two big captains= chairs up front for the driver and passenger. It even had a washer and dryer. AWhat=s something like this go for?@

AThis baby is marked down for quick sale. You can drive it off the lot right now for $29,500. I=ll even throw in a brand new television set. How=s that sound?@ Moon asked.
ALet=s look around a little,@ said Lou.
They spent the next two hours climbing in and out of dozens of models. Moon explained the advantages and disadvantages of the Adiesel pusher@ and AClass A,@ with the motors built in, and the fifth wheels that were towed by a truck or beefed up van. Lou couldn=t make up his mind until he saw a silver one parked in the back of the lot. It looked like a bullet, swept back and sleek.
AWhat about that one?@ Lou asked, pointing to the bullet.
AOh, now that=s a real beauty, that one. They started making those back in the 1920=s. The new ones have a diesel and you don=t tow them anymore. They call that the Silver Ghost. Want to take a look?@
AYeah.@
Lou thought it looked more like a sports car than a boxy RV. But inside it was just as big as some of the other ones. The sleek theme was carried on inside, too, with the furniture and appointments all done in a retro, art deco style. Kind of like he imagined an old cocktail lounge must have looked like in 1929, or maybe the interior of one of those railroad club cars back in the olden days. He really liked it; plush, purple carpeting with all the cabinets in stainless steel. The bedroom was luxurious and all in velvet. He could picture himself falling asleep on the bed.
AHow much you want for this one?@ Lou asked.
Moon was thinking fast. AHow much down?@ he asked.
AForget about down. Tell me how much this one is.@
AWell, it depends.@
AOn what?@
AOn how much you=re willing to put down. I=m sorry, Lou, but that=s how we calculate these deals, how much they go for. We gotta= think about how much we can make in interest rate charges. That=s where they make their real money, in the finance part.@ Moon pulled out a red handkerchief and wiped his sweaty face.
ALet=s go into the office. I want to talk to the finance guy.@

Moon was apprehensive. According to his boss, he wasn=t supposed to bring anyone into the office until he had a firm deal laid out, including the down payment amount. But the customer was always right, right? He decided to take a chance. AOK. If that=s what you want,@ he said meekly. They went back outside and started off towards the office with Lou turning around and walking backwards, taking one last look at the rig. Yes, it looked good. It was the one he wanted.
The interior of the office was divided into several small cubicles with one plain wooden desk and three metal chairs in each cubicle. The sales reps used whatever cubicle was available. Lou and Moon passed the cubicles and came to a door marked ARich Hamel Personnel Only.@ AHave a seat here, Lou, and I=ll talk with the finance manager. Could I get you a cup of coffee?@
ANo, thanks,@ said Lou, sitting down.
APepsi? How about a sparkling water?@
ANo, I=m fine.@
AOK. I=ll be right back,@ said Moon, pushing open the door and leaving Lou alone. It was starting to rain. Lou looked across the fertile flatlands the lot was located on and watched as the clouds began to sweep in from the northwest off the ocean. The sky had turned gray again. A farmer on a tractor was making his way up and down the field across the highway cutting neat, straight rows of hay. This whole area of the coast had been under water at one time, maybe thousands of years ago, and the land was especially productive. Lou walked around the showroom, his hands in his pockets, looking at the brochures that were laid out on the tables. Some of the pictures in the brochures showed healthy looking senior citizens in front of their RVs in picturesque settings having fun, drinking coffee around campfires with new-found friends. Other pictures showed middle-aged RV=ers with teenage children, at the beach, in the mountains, sharing the glories of their RV=ing experience with their families. Moon came back out of the door after a few minutes and asked Lou to follow him.
The inner office was more permanently furnished. They walked into a door which read AFinance@ and Moon introduced him to AJim Cavanaugh, our Finance Manager.@ Lou shook hands with the fat man, who was also short. He was wearing a blue suit and blue tie with a white shirt; more professional looking than Moon. He had a pencil-thin mustache which made his face look even fatter than it was. Dark bags were under his eyes. He had a clammy handshake and looked tired. AWhat can I do for you, Mr. Tanner?@ he asked attempting to be pleasant.

AI=m interested in that silver RV out there,@ said Lou, sitting down in the chair in front of the desk. Moon sat down next to him.
AThat=s what Howard told me. So, how can we help you?@ His office was extremely neat, everything in its= place, Lou noticed.
AI want to buy that RV for $9,999,@ Lou said.
Cavanaugh managed a thin smile. AThe price on that RV is $49,999; it=s a fine model, one of our best. It=s only got 6,000 miles on it. I know the couple that traded it in. They made one extended trip before the husband passed away. We=ve got all the service records and it=s been thoroughly inspected. It=s in A-1 condition. We couldn=t possibly sell it for the price you=ve indicated.@ Cavanaugh was not a salesman.
AI=m sure you=ve done cash deals here before,@ said Lou. They were smack-dab in the middle of marijuana country, some of the best in the world. This was the AGolden Triangle@ composed of Trinity, Humboldt and Mendocino counties north of San Francisco, and Lou knew that some of the dealers bought their RV=s at this lot in the fall after their crops came in.
AYes, we take cash,@ Cavanaugh said, more interested now.
AWell, you=re going to sell me that RV for $9,999, so there won’t need to be any bank reports sent in.@ Any cash transactions over $10,000 had to be reported to the IRS. AI=ll give you $35,000 in cash right now. Do we have a deal?@
Cavanaugh didn=t hesitate. He stood up and so did Lou. They shook hands again. ADeal,@ said Cavanaugh. AHoward, will you bring Mr. Tanner=s new RV around front and have the boys vacuum it out.@ Moon was in shock. AYes, sir,@ he said quickly exiting.
Lou took the four packets out of his pockets and then counted $5,000 out of one, stacked the money and handed it over to Cavanaugh who stared fixated. Lou folded the other $5,000 and put it in his front pocket.
AOh, and I=ll need you to have one of your service people drive my old pick-up over to my condominium later today, alright? Here=s the keys,@ he said, handing them to Cavanaugh.
AGoing on a little trip?@ asked Cavanaugh, friendlier now that the deal was done, almost grinning if that was possible for him.
AHaven=t made up my mind yet,@ said Lou.

Cavanaugh finished up the paperwork and within half an hour Lou was the proud new owner of a used RV. The interior had been quickly cleaned and the fuel tank was topped off. One of the mechanics went over some points with Lou and then he was back on Highway 101 driving away. He wondered how much commission Howie got for a cash deal with a $15,000 discount.
He liked the feel of the RV. He was up in the air even higher than in the pickup and the power steering was responsive. He went to turn the radio on and noticed that it was one of those new satellite jobs. He punched the menu button and a whole list of stations came up categorized by genre. He chose ARock@ and the sub-menu gave him more categories. He chose AClassic Rock@ and another sub-menu came up. He chose A=60s Album Rock@ and within a few seconds he was listening to Grace Slick, Marty Balin and the Jefferson Airplane singing. AIf you feel like china breakin= if you feel like laughing. Break china laughing. Break china laughing, laughing, laughing...@ The sound was rich and full of bass. Must be ten speakers in this thing, he thought happily. He turned it up louder.