by Warren Esby
“That’s right. What I thought would be fun would be to insure that every strike ended up being a negative score. That sure would raise hell with that contest.”
Wyatt said, “I’m was never that good with math, but if I’m right you’d have to kill at least three buzzards for each prairie dog they killed and I don’t see that happening.”
“It’d happen if there were three of us on that ridge taking out buzzards before the drones came back to take a count with their cameras. We’d have to be quick and good, but I bet we could do it, unless you guys aren’t as good as I think you are. And buzzards are a lot bigger target than prairie dogs.” I could tell they were intrigued and then Raffy said,
“That may be a tall order for my Marlin. I could probably do it, but not every time.”
“Well, I’ve got something to show you when we get back to Wyatt’s that may change the odds.”
When we got back, we went into the house and I brought in the three rifle cases and gave one to each of them.
“Think this would make a difference?”
They unzipped the bags and looked at what was inside. Then they picked them up lovingly and handled them and took off the scope covers and sighted through them. They were practically mesmerized as most good hunters are when they finally get a hold of a really good hunting rifle.
“Those are presents.” And then turning to Raffy I said kiddingly, “Unless you’re too much of a wimp to think that you can’t kill a buzzard or two at three or four hundred yards.”
He looked up at me and guffawed. I use that word because, although I had never heard a guffaw before, I knew one when I heard one. He then came over and gave me a bear hug that almost cracked my ribs. Wyatt looked just as happy but was just enjoying quietly holding that gun and admiring his new toy.
We took those toys with some targets out to the cactus field and set those targets up at three hundred yards and sighted the guns in with some of the ammunition I bought. I asked if we could use Wyatt’s Jeep since I didn’t want the Tahoe to move from its location in downtown Flagstaff since they had a homing device on it. I definitely didn’t want them to know I was anywhere near the target site twenty five miles east of Flagstaff considering what we were about to do. There was no argument, and I guess they thought that I just didn’t want to get the new Tahoe dirty. We decided to go out to the desert the next morning before sunrise and park the Jeep at the farm belonging to the farmer who wanted Raffy to keep the prairie dogs from settling in. It was only a half hour hike from there to the ridge where we could take up our positions to look down into the target area. The farmer was up then anyway and told us that they did those drone strikes at regular intervals starting at about 9:30 in the morning. Then they would return every two hours until the last one at 3:30 in the afternoon. They were typical government workers and never stayed after 4:30. We took the two big camouflage tarps I had bought, one to lay on the ground and the other one to spread over the scrub brush under which we would settle down for the day. With the tarp over us, we should not be spotted, especially since those drones would be concentrating on the target area. We also brought plenty of water, since we expected to be there all day, and a picnic lunch.
For the next three days, we had a blast, both figuratively and literally. At first, we were barely able to get two or three buzzards at each drone strike, but as the days wore on, we were able to routinely get three and occasionally a fourth if we were good. On the last day, at the 1:30 strike, when the drone took a long time circling before coming back to score the hits, we hit our record of six buzzards. Don’t feel bad about those buzzards. By this time word had gotten out to the whole buzzard world that there was a buzzard buffet being served and there were dozens flying around all day long. And the top tarp was covered with so much buzzard droppings that we had to leave it buried out there Thursday afternoon when we left for good. It wasn’t all just lying there either. After that first day, when we saw how regular their schedule was, we started coming later and taking breaks in between to stretch our legs. All in all, it was a really fun time. And the evenings were fun too. I took both of them and their two wives out every evening. We went out for dinner and then we went to clubs, drank beer and listened to country music. I didn’t have a date of my own and didn’t care. I was too tired anyhow and just enjoyed not being under a death threat for the first time in weeks. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end and Friday morning I was back in the Tahoe and heading back to San Diego.
Chapter 22
Ben and Jerry showed up at the usual time on Saturday morning. Still no sign of Olga, Igor or Vladimir, but I knew that wouldn’t last too much longer and I was right. They decided they were in the mood for pancakes and we went to a pancake restaurant that was in the same shopping center as the pastry restaurant we had gone to the second weekend. I realized that Ben and Jerry liked variety in their dining, sort of like a culinary adventure made possible by a government expense account. On the way over I asked them how the drone range east of Flagstaff was doing. I told them that I had meant to check it out but had never left Flagstaff. They thought I was telling the truth because they knew the Tahoe had never moved once it got to Flagstaff except at night in the downtown area. Ben said,
“Not too well. The place has been overrun by buzzards going after all those dead prairie dogs. They keep hitting them and now they’re racking up negative scores all the time. They’re really disgusted.”
“But surely if they’re as good as you said they were, they should’ve been able to avoid the buzzards.”
Jerry responded, “You would think so, wouldn’t you? And they said they were very careful only to aim at prairie dogs that didn’t have any buzzards nearby. But whenever the drones come back to photograph the kill site, there’d always seem to be three of four buzzards lying there dead and they swear there were none around before they fired. One time they killed six buzzards. They were just lying there next to the single prairie dog they had killed. So they’re closing up shop. And those two operators, who they are convinced were really not trying, are being demoted to the fueling staff.”
“What about your idea about using hang gliders instead? Maybe if they were right there floating around, they could avoid the buzzards better.” I hadn’t seen any and I knew there must be a reason.
Ben answered, “Nah. They decided it was too risky after all. They said the lift was not that reliable and they couldn’t be sure the hang glider would remain above the blast site. Now they did toy with the idea of using animals on hang gliders. Some wanted to use some of the dogs that had been in the Canine Corp in Afghanistan since they were coming back without too much to do. And those dogs were really smart. They said they also had keen eyesight, especially when it came to small animals like squirrels, rabbits and prairie dogs. They said some of them really got distracted in their duties of sniffing out bombs whenever a rat was nearby, and that was a real problem in Kabul. There are a lot of rats in Kabul. Anyway, they thought the dogs could be put in the hang gliders and taught to seek out the prairie dogs and be taught to push a button with their nose to release the ordnance. The upper echelon was all in favor of it. You know the Army has the Canine Corp and the Air Force wanted its own canine operation. They were planning to call them the Dogfighters. But then they realized they’d have the same problem as they had with the humans if there wasn’t enough lift. They certainly didn’t want any dogs to get hurt. That would be worse than a human getting hurt because then you’d have PETA all over you.”
“Yeah,” continued Jerry. “If there are three groups you just don’t want to rile up if you’re the government, it’s the NAACP, the NRA and PETA.”
“Not to mention the ACLU,” added Ben.
“Oh right. And Planned Parenthood,” said Jerry.
“Or the Gay and Lesbian Society,” said Ben.
“Or Greenpeace,” countered Jerry.
“Not to mention the Tea Party and Occupy Wall Streeters,” Ben said not to be outdone.
“And their cohorts, the Humane Society and the SPCA,” Ben added.
“Yup, there are a lot of animal rights groups so we don’t want to mess with them,” Jerry opined.
“Especially since those last two have aligned themselves with Planned Parenthood,” Ben added.
“How’s that?” I interjected. I had never heard of that alliance.
Jerry said, “Because they always make sure the animals are neutered before they’re adopted.”
Stupid me. Of course they were aligned. I hadn’t remembered.
We got to the pancake restaurant and put in our orders. Ben ordered chocolate chip pancakes and Jerry ordered strawberry pie pancakes which consisted of pancakes covered by strawberries with a whole mound of whipped cream and strawberry sauce on top. The chocolate chip pancakes came with fudge sauce and an even bigger mound of whipped cream. At least Jerry thought so and complained that he had ordered the wrong thing. I often wondered how these two could have maintained such a reasonable weight eating the way they did since I would categorize them as being merely fat and not obese. I surmised that they must have extremely high metabolisms or else they only ate breakfast and were the kind of people who always say breakfast is the most important meal, and I had only eaten breakfast with them. So I asked,
“What do you think is the most important meal of the day?”
Almost in unison they both responded, “All four.”
Now I’m not a particularly big breakfast eater as you may have surmised, especially not on a Saturday morning for sure, but I decided I was hungry that morning since I only had fast food while driving back from Flagstaff the day before and did not get in until late. So I looked for pancakes that I could possibly eat that they might not want. Stupid me again. I only got to eat one of the five Original Bisquick pancakes I ordered before they polished off the other four. They told me they noticed that I never ate much and each took two so as not to waste them. They told me they thought the Bisquick pancakes were the perfect thing with which to “wash down” their own pancakes.
Then we started to discuss business. They told me I was expected in Mexico in the early afternoon and I should go directly to the police station and not wait to be arrested. They said the Mexicans would load up the Tahoe and I would be on my way back in no time. They expected heavier than normal traffic so I had better start out before lunch. I asked if this would be the only trip I had to make, and they said there would probably be one more since the Corolla hadn’t held too much and there was a growing demand. When I got back to the parking lot where the Tahoe was parked, I said goodbye, got in and without wasting any more time drove directly to a car wash that was nearby. The Tahoe was pretty dirty after the trip to Flagstaff and back. Since it was the first new vehicle I had ever owned, I wanted to keep it looking nice. The car wash was only a few exits away on I-5, but it was busy being Labor Day weekend and it took a while, but it was worth it. When I got it back, it had gone from looking almost new to looking practically new which was a big improvement in my eyes, but it was also a mistake as I was to find out.
I got into Mexico with no problem and drove directly to the police station near Rosarito Beach in my shiny, practically new Chevrolet Tahoe Hybrid. There were two other SUVs parked in front. Both were different than the ones that had followed me back the last time, but they both had California plates on them. I parked the Tahoe and went inside. The same Mexican policeman was inside with several others including the American in the cowboy hat. He said, “Buenos Dias, Senor,” to me and the American just nodded. Then we all went outside to start loading the Tahoe and that’s when the problem began. Senor Straw Hat Policeman looked at the Tahoe long and hard and then turned to me and said,
“The deal is off for today. We will have to impound your vehicle. If you would be so kind, Senor, as to hand me the keys.”
I did. “Am I under arrest or something?” I asked stupidly. He looked at me strangely and said,
“Of course not. It is only this Tahoe that is here illegally and needs to be impounded. You are okay.” And then he laughed at his joke and the rest did also.
Suddenly I understood. It was against the law to arrive in Rosarito Beach in a practically new shiny black SUV. How stupid could I be?
Senor Straw Hat Policeman said, “You’ll have to come back for the merchandise. We can’t ship it back in an SUV that has been impounded. That would get us in trouble.” And he laughed again.
“But how do I get back if I don’t have a vehicle?” I asked.
There was a big discussion in Spanish that went back and forth and then he turned to me and said,
“We will give you a vehicle. We have a Ford Expedition, also black that you can go back in.”
“So why don’t we put the merchandise in that?”
“Because it was stolen from somewhere in San Diego and you could be stopped and we don’t want it filled with merchandise. That’s too risky for us and for you.”
“But driving a stolen car is still risky for me, and what do I do with it?”
“Oh, just abandon it anywhere. That’s how we generally return stolen cars to California Norte. It’s too much trouble and paperwork to turn them over to the police.”
“Won’t they see the license plates from a stolen car going through the check point and arrest me right then?”
“You worry too much Senor. We will put the plates from the Tahoe on it. They are legal. And you shouldn’t have any problems even if they are still temporary.”
He then nodded at another Mexican who walked over and handed me some keys and pointed to the back of the building. And then Senor Straw Hat Policeman said,
“We need to move this merchandise quickly. Come back on Monday. We don’t work tomorrow because it’s Sunday and we’re good Catholics. We avoid sin whenever possible, although sometimes it isn’t possible,” and he laughed. They all did.
“Adios amigo. See you Monday,” he said and turned and went inside followed by the rest of them except for the one who had handed me the keys to the Expedition. He waved at me to follow him and we went around the back of the police station and he pointed to the Expedition. It was really beat up with a cracked windshield, bald tires and what looked like several bullet holes in the side. On closer inspection they were bullet holes. I got in the Ford and headed north worried and nervous the whole way about getting caught and worried about how I was going to find Ben and Jerry because I had no contact number since they always found me when they wanted me. I had no trouble getting through the border. There was a lot of traffic and one more SUV with bullet holes in it did not seem to cause any special attention. I got off I-5 at my exit and thought as I did so that the Ford actually drove better and had better pickup than the Tahoe Hybrid. I pulled into the parking lot next to the Baskin Robbins and saw the Escalade Hybrid parked there, so I went in. No Ben and Jerry. I walked down the street one block to the gelato place and saw another black Cadillac Escalade Hybrid parked next to it. Sure enough, sitting at a table outside in the sun were Ben and Jerry. I sat down and told them what had happened.
“What do I do?”
“First, you’d better call your insurance agent and report it stolen. It isn’t coming back,” said Ben.
That turned out to not be the case. But I did call the insurance company and they told me to file a report with the police as well. Then Jerry got on his cell phone and I could hear him give directions to someone named Sam.
“Come and pick up an Expedition and take it to that place we used before. You know the one. It’s about twenty miles east of Borrego Springs in the middle of the desert. Pick it up now. The keys will be under the floor mat and it will be unlocked. Meet us out in the desert tomorrow afternoon about two. Okay?”
And then he proceeded to tell him where the Expedition was parked and that it would be recognizable by having bullet holes in it and no license plates. He then got on the phone and called someone named Herb and told
him he had a new target for them. It’ll be sitting at the Borrego Springs site at 2:00 PM. It’ll be in the depression where we usually park them, and we’ll be up on the ridge where we usually watch from. Be careful. Remember we’re in an Escalade and the target is an Expedition. He said thanks and ended the call.
He then turned to me and said, “Did you take the license plates off?”
“No.”
“Okay. We’ll go over and get them as soon as we finish here. Have you ever tried the stracciatella? It’s really great. Better than American chocolate chip. You ought to go in and have yourself a big cup. It’ll settle your nerves. You don’t look so good right now.”
I told him, “I have tasted stracciatella, and I agree. I do think it’s better than ordinary chocolate chip. But I don’t want any just now, thanks anyhow.”
After Ben and Jerry finished their gelati, we walked back to the Expedition and I ripped the temporary tags off of it, and I went back to my apartment to throw them in my trash. They said they’d wait for me in the Baskin Robbins. When I got there, they had each ordered a scoop of the Flavor of the Month, which they told me they always did since they were such loyal customers.
“What do I do now? About the shipment, I mean. They’re expecting me down there on Monday and I don’t have a SUV.”
“No problem. You’ll take one of ours. We’ll be by on Monday morning and let you borrow one for the day. Now you better go and call in a police report so you can collect on the Tahoe and buy yourself a new one. Also, be ready around ten tomorrow morning. We’ll pick you up then.”
“What are we doing tomorrow?”
“We’re going to Borrego Springs. Didn’t you hear?”
I went home and called the police to report the Tahoe stolen. They sent a couple of policemen over, and I filled out a report saying I had parked it across the street and it was no longer there. When I told them about it being a new Chevrolet Tahoe Hybrid, they told me not to expect it back. That it was in Mexico.
