Starvation Mountain

by Robert Gilberg

  “You’ve been getting a blood transfusion—from me.”

  Without a sound, Jim shook his head from side to side, trying to find something to say. At last he whispered, “Jesus, Penny, you’re giving me your blood . . . to save my life. That’s . . . that’s the most wonderful thing I can imagine.” After another silence, trying to find the right words, he continued, “I can’t . . . I can’t begin to tell you how it makes me feel that your blood is in . . . .” But he couldn’t finish the sentence as tears rolled down his face from all four corners of his eyes, so he stopped trying, rolling his head from side to side.

  Penny’s eyes flooded at the sight of Jim’s tears. The thought of strong, motorcycle riding Jim, crying his heart out made her love him more than she thought she could love a man again. The nurse who’d been patiently sitting and watching the two broke down in tears and excused herself, saying she needed to check in with the doctor.

  After gathering her composure, Penny asked, “When you were first coming around a few minutes ago, you said something like, ‘I’m coming, Penny. I’m coming back. He told me to go back.’ What was that about? Who was telling you to go back? Do you remember that?”

  Jim stared at Penny as though he were looking right through her, searching for an answer. “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but you asked, so I’ll tell you.”

  Jim hesitated, organizing his thoughts, “I believed I was dying, or even dead. You know those stories people tell of near-death experiences . . . and how they see an all-white space . . . with maybe a parent or some loved one, waiting for them there?”

  “Yes, I’ve heard of those.”

  “Well . . . I think I was there, or in one of those. The white space was fading in the center, like—you know—receding in places like a fog will do when you’re driving? As that happened I could see myself standing on a gravel road in farm country somewhere—it looked like the farm country back around my home in Indiana. A little way down that gravel road, there was a guy leaning across the seat of a motorcycle parked sideways across the road. He was smoking a cigarette and wearing a leather jacket with the collar turned up.”

  Jim stopped for a moment, as though doing a reality check on what he was about to say. He went on: “The guy was James Dean. He waved at me, like he was saying ‘Hi’. I waved back and started walking toward him when he held up both hands, palms toward me like a ‘stop’ signal. So I slowed, but didn’t stop. He pushed his hands towards me and was saying something I couldn’t make out. Then I realized there was no sound—his lips were moving, but I couldn’t hear anything. He kept doing it and I kept on trying to make out what he was trying to say. So I watched his lips to see if I could understand him that way. Then it was easy; he was saying ‘Stop, go back to her,’ and he pointed back behind me, like ‘turn around’. And that’s when I heard you saying, ‘Jim, honey, can you hear me?’”

  “Is that when you said, ‘I’m coming, Penny?’”

  “I guess so. Jesus, I was about to let myself step over the edge when I heard you calling me.”

  “I . . . I don’t know what to say, Jim. I don’t believe in the afterlife and all of that, but this is weird.”

  “Yeah, I know. I feel—used to feel—the same way,” Jim answered.

  “Yes . . . used to . . . . It’s like someone—something—put James Dean in your dream.”

  “I’m not sure it was a dream, Penny.”

  The ER surgeon, who’d silently slipped through the curtains and listened to the conversation said, “Hi, you two. I’m a fairly agnostic person when it comes to things like this, but it’s an amazing story and I know you’re not making it up because I’ve heard it as you told it.”

  Both, still grappling with their mysterious experience, looked with surprise at the doctor and said, ‘Hi’ nearly in the same breath.

  “But I have to suggest that this was all happening at about the same time the new blood would have been kicking in and bringing Jim back around. This could have been a hallucination that was a purely physical response—or it might have been something more than that,” the doctor continued.

  “Thanks doc, remind me to tell you about James Dean and me some time . . . .” Jim said.

  “I don’t want to try telling you what to believe, though. Could have been one or the other—or both.

  “I like both: Penny’s blood starting to kick in, and James Dean talking to me, telling me to listen to her.”

  “My money’s on her,” the doctor said before going on to tell them about what he needed to do to repair Jim’s damaged popliteal artery and fix up his knee enough to get him back to San Diego. “An hour ago I didn’t know if I would need to do any of that.”

  “Don’t remind me, please. I wondered about it too. Can you make it good enough so I can be in our wedding up in Aztec on Wednesday? I don’t want Penny to have to go alone . . . .”

  Penny kicked the bed leg, “There won’t be a wedding if you’re not there, James!”

  “Don’t worry. You can make it in a wheelchair,” the doctor added.

  “Put a Harley Davidson decal on the seat back and I’ll be fine, Doc.”

  “Good Lord, Jim, I think you are back,” Penny said. “Did the police tell you I shot a man out there?” Penny asked, looking at the doctor.

  “Yes, they did. And they told me there was a second man killed too. Sounds like you were in a war out there.”

  “God, it was awful, doctor. They came up from behind us with the car window down and a shotgun aimed out through it. It was us or them.”

  “I believe you, but what I believe doesn’t make any difference. They’ll want to talk to you about it when I tell them it’s okay.”

  “I’m not looking forward to it. When do you think you’ll okay it?” Penny asked.

  “Couple of hours, maybe three or four. Jim needs to be completely lucid. You don’t want him to make any mistakes.”

  “No kidding! Thank you. We can use the time.”

  “Look, take your time with your answers. And remember, you have the right to have an attorney present.”

  “Where would we get an attorney out here, in Shiprock? Are there any?”

  “Mostly Indian Law attorneys; the kind that fight the government for Indian rights.”

  “I guess we’ll try to answer their questions as best and honestly as we can. If it looks like they’re trying to trap us, though, we may stop and demand an attorney,” Jim said.

  “Good luck. We’ll stitch that artery up a little better now. And I’ll have a technician from Orthopedics come in to fit you for a splint he’ll make up and have for you in an hour or two. We’ll let the police talk to you after that, if you’re still getting better.”

  “Okay, thanks for all you help doctor. I don’t need to tell you I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

  “Thanks, but by the way, you have shotgun pellets scattered all around in your knee. We’ve removed the ones that were in your fatty tissue and muscle, but there are still more in the knee bones and cartilage. You’ll need to go to an orthopedist in San Diego as soon as you can to get a plan to fix that. A total knee replacement may be the best solution.”

  “Uuuughhh,” Jim replied. I hear the rehab for that is months.”

  “It is. Good thing you have this wonderful lady to help you through this!”

  Penny smiled, and said, “I’m going to take good care of him; I want to make sure he can ride motorcycles again so we can finish this trip someday.”

  Twenty-Four - Vindication

  The next morning, New Mexico’s San Juan County Sheriff stood next to Jim’s hospital bed. “Detective Morton in the SDPD confirms your story. He mentioned Mack Allen’s arrest, the cabin raid, the murder in Ramona, and your trip here to New Mexico. But there are other probable associated crimes you may not know about. The owner of Needles Van and Truck Rentals was found dead, badly beaten, and floating in the Colorado ten miles downstream from Needles.”

  “Oh Jesus, they killed Fred over
this, too?” Penny said in anguish.

  “I’m sure they would have killed us, too, after they got whatever they were looking for. And even if they didn’t . . . .” Jim added.

  “Here are a few documents we need you to sign. They are admissions of killing the men in self-defense. There’s one for you, Penny, and another for you, Jim. There’s a statement in each saying that there will be no charges pressed against either of you now, or in the future, signed by our District Attorney.”

  “Do you mind if I call a friend who knows about these things, just to make sure we’re fully absolved by these documents. We don’t have an attorney, but this person is the next best thing.”

  “No, go ahead.”

  Jim called Paul Daggett and read him the documents.

  “The wording sounds fine, Jim. I’d go ahead and sign them and get back here to California as fast as possible. California laws will protect you in case the wording isn’t perfect. There isn’t likely to be an extradition over wording. And, I don’t think they’re trying to set you up. Do you want me to talk to them?”

  “It would make us feel a lot better.”

  There was a short, intense conversation between Daggett and the sheriff, ending with each giving the other best regards and wishes of good luck. Daggett then called Jim’s cell phone and said, “Sign them, you’ll be okay. But what about your leg?”

  “I think it’ll be fine when I can get back to San Diego and have an orthopedic specialist look at it and decide what to do.”

  “So, are you heading right back here, then?”

  “No, we’re still getting married by a shaman in a traditional ceremony out here, first.”

  “When’s the wedding?”

  “Day after tomorrow. Want to come? You can fly out with Steve and Ali.”

  “I’d love to, but I’ll pass and see you when you’re back.”

  “Glad you’ve been around to help me out—again. See you back in San Diego.”

  As they were signing the documents, the chief detective asked them, each in turn, a final question. “Jim, were you sure there were no alternatives to shooting that man?”

  “I’m going sixty miles an hour and a man I don’t know is alongside me in a car, yelling something I can’t understand because of wind and road noises, and he’s making threatening motions at me with a shotgun. We’ve had indications of being tracked, our houses raided, and people we’ve dealt with in jail or dead. I had a split second to think about it and decided it was him or me. Hell yes—it was self-defense, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

  “Okay, I believe you. You can add that statement at the bottom of the page if you want.”

  As Jim wrote the statement in a blank space at the bottom of the page, the detective said, “But you do understand I’ve got to write you up for carrying a concealed weapon without a permit. That carry permit you have from California isn’t valid here in New Mexico. Do you want to plead guilty to that? The DA said she’d be considerate of what you’ve been through.”

  “I guess I don’t have a choice. Yes.”

  “Okay, sign this plea.”

  Nervously Jim signed the guilty plea document. What is this going to cost me?

  “In view of your clean record in California and on the recommendation of the SDPD, the DA is dropping the misdemeanor charge, and issuing you a warning to never carry a gun again in New Mexico without proper permits. But we are keeping your gun.”

  “I thought you would. I’ll miss it, I’ve had a Colt .45 since I was in the Marines. But, what the hell, thanks, Sheriff. You’ve been great.”

  “Penny, what about you? Are you convinced there was no alternative to shooting that man?”

  “He was a clear danger: a man who was threatening me, and then charged at me with a handgun. I had a fiancé gushing blood who would soon be dead if I didn’t get him out of the way, and I had one or two seconds to think about it. As Jim says, hell yes—it was in self-defense, not to mention saving the life of my dying fiancé! I’d do it again in a heartbeat, too.”

  “Thanks, no further questions. You can add that statement on your sheet too if you want. You’re both free to go.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff. The hospital wants to keep me around for another day, so I’ll be here tomorrow, and then over in Aztec on Wednesday. We’ll be out of New Mexico by Thursday if I can figure out what to do with our motorcycles.”

  “I forgot to tell you: I can help you with that. We had them both hauled to the Harley dealer in Farmington. They’ve been looking at ways to get the bikes shipped to San Diego. I’m sure you can work something out with them.”

  “You’re telling me you knew how this was all going to end hours ago?” Jim asked.

  “You never did look like the guilty parties from the minute I laid eyes on you. But, we had to do the investigation and the paperwork. Good luck to you both, and best wishes in your marriage.”

  Penny couldn’t resist; she stepped over to the sheriff and hugged him, “Thank you, sir, thank you so much.”

  “Welcome ma’am.”

  As they sat on their side-by-side hospital beds, now in a real hospital room, eating the cafeteria’s tuna casserole, Penny asked, “How are we going to get home? You can’t ride with me on my motorcycle and I don’t think you’d be comfortable in a rented car for a two-day drive. And I don’t think you can get in an airplane seat with that leg sticking straight out.”

  “I know, I’ve been thinking about that. I’m going to call Steve to see if he can bring a plane that has the two rows of facing back seats arrangement. I think I can stretch out in one of those comfortably enough for three or four hours. But that’s using the term comfortable very loosely . . . .”

  “Good idea, we need to update them on everything, anyway.”

  Penny handed Jim his scratched and cracked cell phone with its still-working screen that looked like a jigsaw puzzle, “It’s a little beat up, but it still works. I called myself with it yesterday to check it.”

  “What, no shotgun pellets in it?”

  “Lucky thing it was in your pocket on the other side of your motorcycle.”

  Jim smiled, shaking his head at his wonderful fiancé and punched Steve’s number.

  “How’s it going? Pretty wild, Steve. We were being chased by two creeps all the way over here to Farmington, New Mexico. They caught up with us on the way back from some ruins we were visiting and tried to ambush us.”

  “I guess you escaped, though?”

  “Escaped? That’s one word for it. More like we shot our way out of it.”

  “Shot your way out? Like with guns and bullets?”

  “Yeah, guns and bullets. We won, and they lost.”

  “Doesn’t sound like you wanted to negotiate with them. Are you both okay?”

  “Negotiating is hard, side by side, at sixty miles an hour on a bad road. I’m a little damaged, which is why I called. My cycle is wrecked and because of a knee injury, I can’t ride it back anyway—and I don’t think I’ll be able to handle a two-day car ride. I’m hoping you can bring a plane with the two rows of facing rear seats when you fly out here.”

  “Sure. What happened?”

  “I got shot in the knee with a shotgun. Pellets in the bone and cartilage make it impossible for me to walk until I get a little orthopedic work done. It’s in a splint so I can’t move it—which would be too painful, anyway. They want it immobilized so I don’t screw up the surgical work they did to an artery.”

  “Jesus, man; this sounds bad. Didn’t I tell you we have a Bonanza A36 with that rear seating arrangement? It’s the plane we were going to fly anyway!”

  “Great! No, I didn’t know that. So look, the plan stays the same then: we’re getting married—with me in a wheelchair—at the same time and same place. But we can’t meet you at the airport. If you rent a large SUV, like a Chevy Suburban or something, you can pick us up here at the hospital in Shiprock, and I can ride sidesaddle in the back for the short trips we’ll make. I’ve alrea
dy reserved a room for you two for Wednesday night, and Tuesday night, too, if you want to come tomorrow.”

  “I think we should come tomorrow. We’ll be there Tuesday afternoon or early evening and call your cell when we’ve landed.”

  “Okay, that’s the plan then.”

  “Jim, we didn’t talk about Penny. Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine, Steve. I’m very proud of her, she saved my life—twice.”

  “I want to hear the story, but I want all four of us to be together when you tell it.”

  “You’re right. And Penny should be the one telling it. She’s a terrific lady.”

  “I thought so when we first met her. What about the bad guys, are they in jail?”

  “No, they’re in the morgue in Farmington. I shot one, and Penny shot the other.”

  “Holy Mother, I can’t believe this.”

  “We can tell you the whole story Tuesday night, over dinner and drinks.”

  “Alice won’t believe this. See you tomorrow.”

  Twenty-Five - Ceremony

  The waitress in the quiet steakhouse had just left with their orders when Jim wheeled himself into the dining room to join the others at their table. He needed to update Steve, Ali, and Penny. “I talked to Morton while you all were having a drink in the lounge. He said they picked up the two guys who broke into Penny’s place along with their boss; a guy named Carlos Garcia,” Jim said.

  “What’s the story on them?” Steve asked.

  “Middle guys in a drug ring operating in the Imperial Beach area. The big guys they work for are people SDPD know about and have been watching, but don’t have anything on. Garcia had the notebook in his car when they busted him. It was under the passenger seat along with some other stuff: maps with notes, a cell phone full of photos of street people and street corners with street signs and buildings. It looks like he was trying to verify the information in the notebook by finding the dealers working their territories. He had drug paraphernalia on his person, so they were able to search the car.”