by Ed Robinson
I gave up trying to solve the riddle and nestled in to get some sleep. Maybe Pop would come to me in a dream and tell me what to do. If not, I had a nice, if not a long, day. It was time to rest. I extinguished the oil lamp, and the total darkness overwhelmed me. I could hold my hand inches from my face and still not see it. It was disconcerting at first, but I gave in to it. I put my head down and relaxed, in spite of the chill.
Pop didn’t come to me in a dream that night. Instead, I pictured him telling me he had no advice. He knew this mountain. He knew how to survive the cold and loneliness of Blue Ridge winters. He didn’t know shit about the drama of local soap opera politics.
Thanks anyway, Pop.
The dark and the chill made it hard to concentrate on the problem I’d come to think through. I gave up trying and lay there ruminating on life’s habit of throwing me curve balls. No matter how hard I tried to separate myself from society, it always found a way to worm its way into my life. People suck, except for Brody, of course. Maybe it was me. Maybe I was the one who sucked. I wouldn’t conform to acceptable behavior. I constantly bucked the norms that society demanded of me. Occasionally, it found a way to punish me for not toeing the line.
I chuckled at the thought of sleeping in a hobbit hole on the side of a mountain while wishing that the rest of the world would leave me alone. I was completely and totally alone. The world could not reach me that night. It waited for me down the mountain though. I needed to figure out my next move before exposing myself again. Brody could handle herself without me for a day or two.
I managed to fall asleep eventually. My body heat had warmed the sleeping bag and even some of the cave. I could barely make out the babbling of the creek. I let it carry me into unconsciousness. My burdens disappeared, and a pillow became my piece of mind.
Voices woke me at first light. Who could be out there? I had slept fully clothed, so all I had to do was crawl out of my bedroll and wake the hell up. The barrier at the cave entrance muffled the voices. I crawled over and poked my head through to better pick up the sounds outside. It was coming from down below the ledge, on the plateau where the pot crop once grew. It was the Chief and another man, probably one of his officers. I backed up and retrieved my pistol. I rubbed my eyes and shook my head, trying to shake off the cobwebs. I could stay safely hidden or take a chance and try to see what they were doing.
I chose to take the risk, crawling along the ledge until I could see the men below. I stayed flat on the rock under me, concealed behind some evergreens. I saw the third person. It was a smaller man carrying a satchel. He was concentrating on the ground, eyeing footprints.
“Get plenty of pictures,” the Chief said. “We’ll match them with Breeze and his woman. Make a circumstantial case.”
“Most of them are degraded beyond usefulness,” the evidence tech said. “But there is one set of fresh prints.”
“Got to be him,” said the Chief. “Do they look like they match any of those where the weed was?”
“Give it time,” the tech said. “Let me do my job.”
“You think you can make a case with nothing but footprints?” the third man asked. “The dude is up here hiking and hunting all the time. Doesn’t mean much that he left prints.”
“We get that drug dog back and do a wider search of his property,” said the Chief. “The pot was too much to put in his cabin. He had to stash it somewhere nearby though.”
“Seems like Shook’s death would have been easier to pin on him,” the officer said.
“I’ve got no pull with those ballistics people,” he said. “They declared that it was Shook’s weapon that killed him. Breeze’s pistol hadn’t been fired. Nothing else I could do, but the State’s Attorney will play ball with me on this one. Trust me.”
“If you say so, Chief,” he said. “How do we prove the plants were up here in the first place?”
“Our suspect took pictures of them and gave them to us,” he said. “He thought he could frame Banner. It looks like that plan is going to backfire on him.”
“You’re using his evidence against him. That’s brilliant.”
“I didn’t get to be Chief because I’m a dumbass,” he said. “You keep that in mind.”
I’d heard enough. I slinked backward to the cave and ducked inside. I needed to get back down the mountain and dispose of my shoes, Brody’s too. I’d have to search the spot I’d stacked the pot for stray leaves or branches. The burlap bags we’d carried it in likely contained most of it, but I couldn’t be sure that some trace didn’t remain. I didn’t have much of an escape route. The way out was through the plateau. The ledge ran into a steep rock face to the west. I’d never tried to climb above the cave. There’d never been a reason, until now. I took a quick peek at the terrain over the entrance. It was rugged but doable, except for the weight of my pack. If I left the pack in the cave, there was always the chance that it would be found. The Chief would find a way to use it as evidence against me. I knew it would hinder me though, so I decided to leave it under the bedding. My rifle would be a pain in the ass too, but there was no way I was leaving that behind. I slung it over my shoulder and eased back out onto the ledge.
I scrambled over some four-foot boulders and used tree roots to pull myself up to the next level. The mountain above me was scattered with more boulders and plenty of trees. It was tough going, but I found just enough foot and handholds to reach the peak. I was certain that I hadn’t been spotted from below. The effort had tired me considerably. I’d had nothing to eat or drink since I’d been so rudely awakened. I crawled under the cover of low-hanging evergreen branches to hide and rest. I missed the bottled water and energy bars in my pack. I wasn’t sure what I’d find on my way down. This was all new ground for me.
I listened for the creek. I knew I could get a drink there. It was well below me and not yet visible. I was hidden from any possible pursuit on this side of the mountain, so I gave up stealth for speed. I found the creek soon enough and knelt to scoop water with my hands. It was clear, cold and refreshing. I repeated the process several times and regained some strength. I rock-hopped to the other side and picked up a deer trail heading east. I jogged a little before settling into a fast walk. The brush on either side of the trail was thick and impassable, so I continued following the deer tracks until I came into a small clearing.
For a split second, I saw Pop sitting on a stump on the other side of the clearing. Then he was gone, like smoke. I knew it couldn’t have really been him. My subconscious mind was trying to tell me something. I walked over to the stump and realized that I was lost. I knew that I could follow the creek until it wound its way to my cabin, but it had so many twists and turns I might walk all day. I sat down on the stump to rest. At my feet was a small arrow made of stones. It pointed east. The Pop mirage had left me a sign.
I hiked east through a section of the woods that was completely unfamiliar to me. I let my senses tell me what was going on in the woods. A stiff wind had started to rattle the bare treetops, though I didn’t feel it at ground level. Behind me, the sky had turned gray. I could hear the creek, but I was moving away from it. The only birds in evidence were crows. The groundhogs had burrowed in for the winter. The bears were probably hibernating too. Squirrels and chipmunks still foraged for acorns and seeds. Down at the cabin, the apples were all gone, but the deer still came to nibble the shrubs and what was left of any greenery. The air smelled like snow, even though the temperature was in the forties. I guessed it would get cold later that night. I wanted to go home and build a fire. I wanted to sit next to Brody and read a good book.
I kept walking, listening and smelling the earth. I felt like the last man on the planet, lost in a mountain wilderness. I sat on a downed log to rest and found another stone arrow. It pointed north. I looked around for Pop’s ghost but didn’t see it. Maybe the mountain was making me crazy, but I followed the arrow’s advice nonetheless. I found it ironic to be traveling north but going downhill. In Florida, north is alwa
ys up.
Within an hour I recognized my surroundings. The route I’d taken was a drastic shortcut. It was too rugged and difficult for a viable track up the mountain, but going downhill made it workable. I made a mental note for future reference and breathed a sigh of relief. I knew where I was now. I was almost home.
Seven
I’d forgotten all about trying to formulate a plan to deal with the Chief. He’d forced me to take more immediate action. I didn’t get to spend a few peaceful days on the mountain clearing my head. Finding him up there plotting my destruction was more than an intrusion. He was now a threat to my freedom. I hustled the last few hundred yards down to the cabin to alert Brody.
“Grab your coat,” I said. “We’ve got to get going.”
“Where?”
“To buy some new shoes,” I said. “We’ve got to get rid of the ones we’ve been wearing.”
“That’s a fine how do you do,” she said. “What’s going on?”
I told her about spying on the Chief up at the plateau. I mentioned that we could expect another visit from the drug dog.
“New shoes is easy enough,” she said. “But what about the place we piled up all that dope? Will it still have the scent?”
“Maybe, I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not sure there’s much we can do about it.”
“What about covering it with another scent?” she asked. “Something pungent.”
“Won’t work,” I told her. “Dogs don’t smell like people do. They can differentiate between individual aromas. We smell beef stew. They smell meat, potatoes, carrots, broth.”
“You know this how?”
I told her the story about how the Cuban Army had taken me into custody and searched my boat. Their dog had alerted for drugs even though there were no drugs aboard. There had been weed in the hold in the recent past, and the residual smell was enough for the dog to detect. Later, after I’d gained my freedom, I’d researched how to hide that smell. There was no way to do it effectively. Smugglers had ways to wrap it up to keep the scent concealed, but once it was let loose, it was detectable. No amount of coffee or ammonia could hide it from a decent dog.
“So we throw them off,” she said. “Give the dog something to hit on that isn’t weed.”
“You mean like a big, juicy steak or something?”
“What did you do with that groundhog you shot the other day?”
“I threw him down by the creek on the other side of the driveway,” I said.
“Scoop him up and dump him where the weed was,” she said. “The dog will find it. He can alert all he wants. His handler will figure it’s the carcass.”
“I love how smart you are,” I said. “A regular damn genius sometimes.”
“I try to do my part,” she said.
“Grab some cash for new shoes,” I said. “I’ll go get our whistle pig.”
I put on some gloves and grabbed a rake out of the garage. The groundhog was right where I’d left it. I’d tossed him into some tall dead weeds. I guess buzzards couldn’t get to him. He was a bit bloated and stiff as a board. I grabbed him by the tail and carried him to the spot where we’d staged the weed for pickup. I used the rake to poke around looking for stray pot leaves. I didn’t find any. We’d had some rain and even a dusting of snow since the plants had been there. I doubted the scent of marijuana still lingered, but the dead groundhog would serve as insurance.
Brody and I drove down the mountain to Valle Crucis and stopped at Mast General Store. I wore Merrell hiking shoes, and she wore boots. We each picked out something completely different and paid in cash. On the way back we pulled into the Episcopal Church parking lot. From there we could access the trail to Crab Orchard Falls. We put on our new shoes and made the half-mile uphill hike to the base of the falls. We carried our old shoes with us. After climbing some big rocks to the top, we tossed them over the falls and into the river below. By the time we made it back to the car, our new shoes were sufficiently dirty to look less than brand new. We scuffed them up further on the pavement of the parking lot.
There was nothing else to do to prepare for the Chief’s arrival. We went back home to face the inevitable. Brody started dinner while I started a fire. We wanted the place to look natural. We didn’t want the Chief to think we knew what he was up to in advance. We put our shoes in the boot tray by the door and burned the shoeboxes in the fireplace. After dinner, we settled in for the night. The Chief didn’t show up.
He came the next day before noon. Two patrol cars and a pickup came down the drive. The other man who’d been on the mountain was Officer McDowell. The K-9 cop was named Johnston. The evidence tech was accompanied by an apparent civilian. No introductions were made.
“You do realize that this property is outside of city limits?” I asked the Chief. “You’ve got no right to be here.”
“If someone is selling dope in my town I have every right,” he replied. “I brought the department’s legal advisor along if you’d like to hear the case law.”
“Warrant?” I asked.
McDowell handed me the warrant. It authorized a K-9 sweep of not only my land but adjacent properties excluding built upon lots. I handed it back to him.
“Be my guest,” I said. “You’re just wasting your time.”
The Chief nodded to the K-9 cop, and he let his dog out of the patrol car. They walked a wide circle around the cabin first. Then they made a wider circle and continued the pattern, getting further and further from the house with each pass. Eventually, their circle hit the edge of the woods and ran into the creek. The officer walked his dog along the creek’s edge until we couldn’t see him. He came back on the opposite side. The dog seemed eager to please, but his handler had gotten nowhere near the groundhog. This process went on for over an hour until the Chief asked him to probe into the weeds where the pot once was.
The dog was quick to come to attention. He was clearly agitated.
“I think we may have something,” the handler said.
The rest of the Chief’s crew converged on the spot. The dog strained at his leash trying to get to the source of what he smelled. It went straight for the groundhog and proceeded to roll around on the dead animal. The handler had a hard time pulling him back. The carcass didn’t smell pleasant at all.
“False alarm,” said the handler, as he struggled to maintain control of his dog.
They were all quick to put some distance between themselves and the smelly, bloated groundhog. Brody and I shared an imperceptible glance. The K-9 team wandered off in another direction. The rest of the officers sat in their cars. We went inside the cabin to get warm. The excitement was over. The dog wouldn’t find anything if it looked all day.
Within minutes the evidence tech knocked on our door. He wanted to see our shoes. We took them off and left them in the boot tray. We watched as he examined the soles and compared them to pictures on his phone.
“Do you have other shoes in the house?” he asked.
“No we do not,” I said. “You’re welcome to take a quick look around, but if you want to do an extensive search, you’ll need another warrant. This is our home. You’re disturbing our peace.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just trying to do my job. The Chief can be over-exuberant sometimes.”
“The Chief is abusing his power to harass innocent citizens,” I said. “He’s also wasting manpower and resources on a wild goose chase.”
“That’s not my call,” he said. “I’m just following orders.”
“Poke around in the closets if you want,” I said. “Make it quick. I’m running out of patience.”
“Yes, sir,” he said.
He didn’t waste any time. His quick scan didn’t reveal any more shoes. I gathered he thought that odd.
“Can’t you just show me your other shoes?” he asked. “Save me some trouble?”
“He told you we don’t have any more shoes,” Brody said. “We’re sort of minimal as far as belongings go.”
&
nbsp; “Look around you, man,” I said. “See a TV? See a computer? We don’t own a bunch of stuff.”
“I see what you mean,” he said. “This cabin is fairly sparse.”
“We’ve got all we need,” Brody said. “Except for being left alone.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Most people have more stuff. Especially shoes.”
“We’re not most people,” said Brody.
“And you can leave now,” I said. “No offense, but we’d like you all to leave us alone.”
He gave up and went back outside. The Chief was exhorting the K-9 officer to keep trying, but his dog stank like a dead animal and was distracted. The groundhog ploy had worked better than expected. The Chief had come to find evidence of marijuana possession and to match our shoes to the prints from the plateau. He’d failed on both counts. I watched him from the bedroom window. He stood with his hands on his hips staring up at the cabin for five minutes. Finally, he threw his hands up in the air and called off the search. He didn’t bother coming to our door. He just got in his car and drove back up the drive: Breeze one, Chief zero.
It wasn’t my fault this time that I was on the wrong side of law enforcement. The Watauga County Sheriff hated me too. I’d taken him the evidence of Pop’s murder, including the weed, but he chose not to follow up. After I’d done his job for him, the FBI showed up and took command. I’d broken the golden rule of the high country. As an outsider, I’d meddled in local affairs in spite of strong warnings to mind my own business. I was warned not to interfere, but those warnings had been ignored. Now I was paying the price.
