by Bobby Akart
Jake didn’t remember much from his high school history classes but there was one quote from Benjamin Franklin that always stuck in his head.
Those who would give up essential liberty, who would trade privacy for a bit of security, deserve neither privacy or security.
“Good morning, everyone,” greeted Joe cheerily as a crowd of twenty people moved a little closer and stopped talking among themselves. Joe was flanked by his wife, Paulette and other members of the executive committee including Ken and Stephanie Kennedy.
A few of the attendees responded in kind, while several others stood with their arms defiantly crossed and glum looks on their faces. Jake presumed the neighborhood still had its share of disbelievers in the program. Jake and Ashby were undoubtedly in that group.
“Before we get started,” continued Joe. “I’d like to take a moment to introduce the two newest members of our community — Jake Wheeler and Ashby Donovan. Jake was raised in the Wheeler home just through the trees over there and has returned home from Yellowstone where he was a law enforcement officer. Ashby is a scientist with NASA. Afterwards, I hope you’ll take a moment and make them feel welcome.”
A few of the residents in attendance nodded at them and smiled, but others were not quite as receptive. Jake was certain he heard one man’s voice grumble as he said, great, more mouths to feed. Jake nonchalantly attempted to identify the man who made the statement but couldn’t.
Joe stepped back and Paulette took over the meeting. “As you all know, our cable television programming ceased several days ago and with it, our internet access did as well. The cell phone lines continue to be inoperable and sadly, the land lines are down as well.”
A woman shouted from the back of the pack. “How are we supposed to get information?”
Paulette responded. “For those of us with portable radios, both AM and FM stations in the Bay Area continue to broadcast news reports almost exclusively. One small AM station must have an absentee owner because he plays a continuous loop of nostalgic oldies. It’s not very useful for our purposes, but it does offer a break once in a while. In any event, because so many of you don’t have access to a portable radio, we keep abreast of news from around the world and do our best to advise you at these meetings.”
“When’s it gonna be over?” an elderly man shouted his question.
“We don’t know,” responded Paulette.
Ashby furrowed her brow and leaned over to whisper to Jake. “Do we tell them the truth?”
Jake shook his head. “No. It’s not our job. Besides, somehow this HOA has a firm grip on the residents which is to our benefit right now. We don’t need to be distracted by a mass panic.”
Ashby looked puzzled. “Distract us from what?”
“We’ll talk later.”
Paulette continued. “I can report to you that more Californians are opting to head south to South and Central America where our government has established agreements to house our citizens during the crisis. We can’t tell you whether this is in your best interest or not. I’m only here to report that many have made that choice.”
“Do they have food for us?”
“Yeah, more than the measly portions you people are doling out!” hollered a man.
Jake’s heads snapped toward the heavy-set man in his fifties. It was the same voice he’d heard earlier.
Paulette responded. “Now, Claude, we’ve discussed this with you several times before. We’re doing the best we can under the circumstances. We have to marshal our assets, both food and medical, in order to persevere during this crisis. It’s my understanding that Ken has sought you out to assist in our procurement operations and you’ve refused to help.”
“I’m fifty-six years old, pre-diabetic, and an accountant. I’d be absolutely no help to Ken and his band of merry men.”
Ashby leaned over to Jake again. “What’s that guy talking about?”
“I don’t know, but that sounded like a Robin Hood reference. I suspect I’ll learn about it tomorrow.”
“Claude, I’m sorry you feel that is the case,” said Paulette. “We are a solutions-based community and Ken assured me you could’ve played a role in his operation. I’m sorry you disagreed.”
“What about my Metformin,” Claude shouted back. “I’m supposed to take two-thousand milligrams a day to control my type 2 diabetes. I’m only getting five hundred now. My blood sugar is out of control according to my tester.”
Ken stepped forward. “Look at it this way, the diet that’s been prescribed for you by the committee will put you on a path to weight loss. You’ll need less medication and then you might also be able to help procure more food.”
“I have another question!” a woman shouted from the group.
“Yes, Jane,” said Paulette.
“I’ve been asking for days about the approval of my nephew’s application for entry. Now, I see two new people have been admitted. What gives?”
Joe took that question. “Jane, as I’ve explained, the committee’s decision regarding your nephew is complicated. First, your nephew is not immediate—.”
“Yeah, I get it. He’s my nephew and not my son.” The woman pointed at Ashby. “She’s not a Wheeler. So, do girlfriend’s get in and nephews don’t?”
“Am I girlfriend, Jake?” asked Ashby with a giggle as she hooked her arm through his.
“Jane, please don’t make me go there.” Joe tried to calm her down.
“Yeah, yeah. Just because my nephew had a drug bust years ago, he’s a potential liability. Well, how do you know that woman isn’t a druggie, or a hooker, or something.”
Ashby released Jake’s arm and started toward the woman. Her fists were balled up and Jake quickly restrained her.
“Now. Now. Enough of that!” yelled Ken, the former city councilman. “Jane, you can take up your personal issue with the committee following the briefing. For now, let’s move it along.”
For the next ten minutes, the group asked several questions, most of which had been addressed the day before, and most likely the day before that. Jake and Ashby kept their head down and elected to go along to get along.
Afterwards, Jake sought out Ken and Ashby sought out his wife. The Kennedys were the key to Jake and Ashby being accepted within the inner circle. They’d have to be on top of their game as they swam through the shark infested waters of Fruitvale West.
Chapter 30
Fruitvale West
Front Gate
Saratoga, California
Jake arrived just before eight that morning to report for his day of work under the expert tutelage of attorney and former city councilman Kendall Kennedy. The two men had a brief conversation following yesterday’s HOA briefing and Ken’s attitude hadn’t improved since the first time the two butted heads. Jake could find no redeeming qualities in the man and certainly had no respect for Ken’s ability to oversee the security of such a large community. In fact, Jake thought Fruitvale West was too large to effectively protect anyway.
He’d learned from Ken that they deployed a dozen men within the perimeter of the neighborhood at any given time with none patrolling the outside. Fruitvale West had a north and a south entrance, which was used for all traffic in and out.
The northern entrance, which was adjacent to the Novakovich Orchards, a family owned fruit and vegetable operation known for its apricot orchard, was permanently blocked and guarded. The Novakovich family had abandoned the small inner-city location for their larger farm outside of San Jose after mobs of people descended upon them and stole their bushel baskets of produce.
Jake asked Ken about his reasoning for not patrolling outside the walls and was immediately put in his place. Ken argued that they didn’t have the manpower to patrol the streets of Saratoga, only their part. When Jake countered that outsiders could stage an attack undetected without the patrols keeping them in check, Ken left in a huff stating he had more important things to do than educate the new guy.
Jake let it go and le
arned his lesson. He was going to go through the motions, admonishing himself to simply listen, and learn. When he arrived, Ken was not in sight but the three men who worked the gate the day of Jake’s arrival were.
“Good morning,” greeted Jake as he walked up to the men who were casually watching the entrance from behind the secondary vehicle barrier. “I hope it was a quiet night.”
A man identifying himself as Mike addressed Jake. “Yeah, nothing going on. Tonight, will be different, though.”
“What happens tonight?” asked Jake.
“Ken will fill you in later. Today, you’re going to do a little bit of everything. Kinda like an orientation. Then, I’m supposed to send you home to get some rest so you can report back to the Swimming Club at midnight.”
“Ah, the graveyard shift,” Jake said with a chuckle, hoping to lighten the serious mood.
“Yeah, something like that,” Mike said. He turned to his two fellow guards. “You got this? Let me take Jake around and show him our day-to-day security responsibilities. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
The other two men nodded and turned back toward the gates. If Jake’s memory served him, around eight to nine in the morning, they’d allow vehicles to come and go through the gate. He wasn’t sure where the residents would go as everyone he spoke to indicated businesses and professional offices were shut down. The Bay Area had closed for business, except at night when the criminal element ramped up, he was told. Maybe that was the mysterious reference Mike made. Perhaps, the need for security picked up at night.
*****
Jake returned to the house by two that afternoon and found it empty. Ashby left him a note stating she went over to the Kennedy’s to meet with Stephanie about her new duties on the medication disbursement team. Rather than resting as instructed, Jake began a methodical search of the home looking for surveillance devices and his father’s unique way of hiding things of value.
After two hours of thorough searching, Jake was satisfied they weren’t being monitored. However, he was unsuccessful in finding a safe or other compartment containing valuables. Jake knew it was there somewhere. If his father had a hiding place at the Mad House, he surely would have one at their home. Plus, he was still unable to locate the keys to the Mustang. He vowed to keep looking the next day.
There was a gentle knock at the door and Jake hustled from the guest bedrooms where he’d been searching to answer it. All he found was another ration of provisions. The box of meager food items was similar to the quantity they received the prior day. He now understood why the man was complaining at yesterday’s HOA briefing. The calories doled out were insufficient to meet most adult’s daily requirements.
He lined up the food on the kitchen island and set the empty box on the front porch as requested. He walked out into the yard and took a moment to look around, then he thought of the Carriage House, the original part of the Blaney Estate. It was one of the first structures built in the early 1900s used to house horse-drawn carriages and related tack.
Jake made his way through the backyard to the stone and block building. The swinging doors had been replaced with more stone and a solid wood door reminiscent of a middle ages castle entryway.
Inside, the space had been updated and decorated in a California wine country motif. Plaster walls had been reclaimed and an artist commissioned to paint grape vines, orchard trees, and migrant workers picking the fruits of their labor.
The original, arched fireplace had been converted into a book case but the wrought iron door underneath which hid the area where coals and ash fell through the gates, remained. Jake dropped to a knee and attempted to turn the handle of the door, but it was locked. It was the original door which required a skeleton key to unlock it, most likely to keep young children from inadvertently getting into the hot coals or someone accidently spilling them onto the hay covered floors, thus causing a fire.
Jake stood and looked around. Then, he remembered the décor in his father’s study. He bolted out of the carriage house and ran back to the main residence. Inside his father’s study, he made his way to a hat rack in the corner adjacent to a painting of the Wheeler Family Crest, hung in an ornate gold frame to match the green and gold painting.
Next to the frame was a decorative wall hook, formed like a skeleton key, with several hooks dangling from it. None of the keys appeared to be modern, but rather, just a part of the middle age décor which surrounded the family crest painting. Jake pulled all of the skeleton keys off the hook and raced out of the study.
Just as he was about to bolt through the back of the house, Ashby shouted to him from the front door.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll be right back.”
Jake didn’t know why his heart was pounding as he truly didn’t know what to expect when he opened the door. But it made sense to be used. A safe was ideal to protect valuables from more than one threat. Most people think of burglars taking their valuable jewelry, cash, or important legal papers. Fire was another very real threat, especially in a post-apocalyptic world in which first responders may not be on the job or water resources were scarce.
He slid to his knees and began fumbling through the keys. He nervously tried one of the ancient skeleton keys after another. There were two more left, and then it happened. The telltale click of the old, brass locking mechanism allowing entry. Jake opened the door and allowed the dank air to escape.
Inside the burnt-smelling compartment, there were several wooden cigar boxes stacked up of various sizes. Jake dropped to his stomach and began pulling them into the Carriage House one-by-one until he was satisfied the space was emptied.
He slid away from the fireplace and sat with his legs crossed under him as he looked at the seven boxes. He briefly considered the fact that he was violating his father’s privacy. Knowing the relationship his parents had with one another, he was doubtful that his mother was aware of this hidden space. His father was controlling like that.
A shadow appeared in the doorway. It was Ashby. “I know you said to wait, but—.”
“No. No. Come in. I’ve been looking around the house this afternoon for a couple of reasons. First, let me say I’m confident we’re not being bugged or watched.”
Ashby laughed. “Good. Does that mean we can have sex tonight?”
“No.”
“Huh?”
“Well, no for a different reason which I’ll explain in a minute.”
Ashby pouted but sat on the floor across from Jake, keeping the mysterious cigar boxes between them.
“What’s this all about?” she asked.
“My father is notorious for his secret stashes. I’ve been looking all afternoon and figured this one out. I suspect there are more.”
Jake slid the boxes around and tried to place them in some type of order. No two were alike, but that was typical of his father’s attitude toward cigars. While he had his favorites, he was always interested in trying different, rare smokes.
“Are you going to look inside?”
Jake shrugged as he stared at them. “I get the feeling these are personal. Am I invading their privacy by looking?”
“Sort of. Jake, let’s look at it two ways. Is there anything in there that you’d be afraid to see?”
“No, I guess not. Well, maybe if I found out I was adopted or raised by wolves.”
Ashby laughed. “You were raised by wolves, so that eliminates that issue. Second, might there be something in there that you’d be glad that you saw?”
Jake smiled at Ashby. This was why you needed a partner in your life. Someone who loved you unconditionally without an agenda to fulfill. Ashby was helping him through the thought process without urging him to do something to satisfy her curiosity that might not be in his best interest.
He reached for the first box and opened up. Inside were copies of typical legal documents—deeds, birth certificates, insurance papers, and his parent’s living wills. A letter advising that his parents’ living trus
t with kept in a bank safety deposit box and on file with the attorney was also included. Jake surmised his father didn’t want an unexpected set of eyes, like his, from seeing the provisions.
Ashby pushed another one toward Jake. “This one’s next.”
He opened it and there were several bundles of hundred-dollar bills. He looked Ashby and smiled. “Whadya think?”
“You can never have cash,” she replied dryly.
Jake removed the cash and set it to the side before closing the lid of the cigar box. He reached for a particularly heavy box and opened it, certain of what it contained.
“More gold, like at the Mad House,” observed Ashby.
“Gold is good,” said Jake as he set the gold coins next to the cash. He took the first few boxes and put them back into the space behind the cast iron door.
“This one is next,” said Jake as he reached for the box with the Padrón imprint on the lid. He opened it to reveal a series of clipped newspaper articles and internet page printouts. He immediately slid the box toward Ashby and buried his face in his hands.
Ashby thumbed through the articles and printouts. “Jake, these are all about you. They’re from newspapers all over California. The printed pages are from the CBS website, Hollywood Reporter, and the IMDB website. I mean, dozens of different sources concerning your time on Survivor and even afterwards.”
Jake had tears in his eyes as he unburied his hands and looked at the box. He reached in and found several single ticket stubs of movies he’d been in as stunt doubles, or in obscure bit parts.
“My father went to see me in the movies, apparently alone,” said Jake as he sniffled through the emotional moment.
“Jake, he’d followed your career from the moment your name was announced as a contestant on Survivor,” added Jake. “He must’ve searched every newspaper in the state to look for references to you.”
“Ashby, I don’t understand. Was he proud of me?”
Ashby crawled to his side and wrapped her arms around him. She whispered, “Yes. He was obviously very proud of what you accomplished.”
