The other thing I have been considering… is giving the right buyers a lower price if they let me live here with them and take care of old Roscoe when I am gone. I’d like to be buried on the property I grew up on, with my parents and kin.”
“I mean, what are you thinking?” Leah asked him.
“I figure the cash price here is probably worth 1.35 million, not including crops, livestock and the equipment. Some of that equipment would cost you another million, easy.” Everyone let out a gasp. “But like I said, I don’t have anybody to leave it to, and if I die a rich man, the blasted government will take what I have. I would rather sell it now and have a little bit of money to play with. Maybe go on a vacation.”
“Soooo...” Steven said, drawing the word out, “what are you thinking price-wise if we go with option two?”
“I’ll throw in everything—the farm, the house, all the equipment and critters, for say, half a million?”
Anna nearly fainted, but both Steven and Dante had seen her knees buckling. Catching her, Steven propped her up until she was steady on her feet again. Everyone, including Dewey, was looking at her, concerned.
“Unless anybody disagrees, I think we’ll take it.” Anna’s voice came out in a squeak.
Curt and Andrea talked things over as everybody headed to the lawyer’s office in town. Being a Saturday, they were under no illusion they could get the banking set up that early, but they wanted a deal drawn up. Curt could have done it, and had offered to, but using a third party made everyone feel better.
“You’re quiet,” Andrea said.
“I know. This deal … half a million? That’s like $133,000 each, right? I can do math, but I’m having a hard time believing that we just bought a fully functioning farm, our portion, for $133,000. It’s like…”
“It comes with a cranky and stinky old farmer to boot,” Andrea said, putting her hand on his leg as she drove.
“Don’t forget about Roscoe,” Curt teased.
“That dog’s a menace. What does he feed him? Bush’s baked beans?”
“Something,” Curt said, smiling.
“So, this is town?” Andrea asked nobody in particular when the GPS told her to turn right.
There was a general store, a small post office, a bar, some other building that had motorcycles parked in the front, and half a dozen other small buildings clustered together like in the old 1900s style.
You have arrived at your destination on the right.
“This is it?” they both asked.
“That’s what it says.” Andrea tapped it, seeing the rest of the group pull in behind them.
Dante just grinned as they pulled in behind Curt and Andrea. The small town was so small, it had bragging rights. They had passed half a dozen houses clustered together before making the turn onto Main Street.
“Looks like an old Wild West town, but in the middle of Arkansas,” Dante said softly.
“I know,” Leah said. “I wonder what the others are talking about?”
“Probably the same thing we are,” Dante said, grinning as Steven and Anna hustled up, grins plastered to their faces.
An old blue Ford pickup that had been new in the late sixties pulled up in front of Curt’s, blocking him in. Dewey got out, and Roscoe hopped out of the front seat behind him. Pushing the door closed, he saw the three couples waiting, smiles on their faces.
“You ready?” he asked.
They were. They followed him into the building between an old courthouse and a shuttered antique shop that looked like it hadn’t been open since Nixon was in office. The buildings resembled ones from old Westerns that Steven liked to watch. A bell rang as Dewey opened the door, letting Roscoe ahead of him. The dog started barking good naturedly.
“This is kind of cool,” Leah said, looking at the old trim work, covered with layers of peeling paint.
“Kind of like the Crypt Keeper was cool?” Andrea asked, making the ladies giggle.
“Ready for this?” Steven asked the guys.
“I’m so ready. Monday we’re going to transfer money to the corporation and do the purchase, right?
“Pretty sure,” Steven said, “but I’ll have to talk with Anna about…”
“I won three competitions this month, as well as four modeling gigs. We’re good, baby,” she said without looking.
“Phew,” Steven said, wiping his brow, “The spec home we’re building has most of my liquid assets tied up, but I have all but 5k of it. If Anna is good, then…”
“Dude,” Dante said quietly, “Ixnay on the oneymay alktay.”
“Got it,” he said, red in the face.
The lawyer was a piece of work. William Lashley LeBaron, or Baron to his friends, he had said at least a dozen times. He listened as Dewayne told them the deal he was giving the group. Baron’s eyes went from wide to nearly touching his eyebrows when he was done, scribbling the whole time.
“Dewey, as your lawyer… I gotta talk to you. Alone, perhaps?” he asked, his Southern accent different, something with Cajun flavor in it.
“Naw, you’re safe talking in front of these folk,” he said, waving one hand and petting old Roscoe with the other.
“I… It’s just… You’re leaving a lot of money on the table. You’re asking for less than a third of what this is actually worth, and you don’t know these people from Adam; no offense,” he said, realizing what he’d said.
“No offense taken,” Curt told him.
“Well, let’s see here…” Dewey said, scratching the stubble on his chin, “Curt owns a real estate company, has about two dozen rentals all around the state, but mostly in the cities. His wife, Andrea, is an ER doc. The big guy, Dante there, is a Cardiologist, and his wife, Leah, is another ER doc, who wants to get into general medicine after she has some babies…”
“How’s he know that?” Leah hissed to Dante, who shrugged.
“Then there’s Steven. Owns a construction company his father started. His workers think highly of him, and his second in command thinks the world of the kid. His wife, Anna, is a shooter, but I already knew that because of the magazines…” He blushed.
“Magazines? Nudie magazines?” Baron’s voice was almost shrill.
“No, you old goof,” Anna said, reaching across the table and playfully pushing him so his back hit the back of his chair. “I model for gun magazines. I usually have a bikini or something on. I’ve never done any photography in the nude.”
“She did for me,” Steven hissed to Curt, who slapped him on the chest.
The old guys watched the interplay with open mouths.
“So how did you get the rundown on us?” Curt asked finally.
“Hired a PI to do some digging. Nothing much to it really; just public records and a couple of phone calls on his part. Don’t worry, the folks he called didn’t know why he was asking. He probably posed as a prospective client or headhunter. It’s what he did the last time I tried selling…”
“What happened the last time?” Curt interrupted.
“They didn’t check out,” Dewey said with a grin. “As I was saying…” he turned back to his lawyer, “…these folks did. I figure an old man like me wouldn’t be too much of a burden to them and maybe I can talk the big guy into giving my ticker pictures a look-see? Besides, I gotta teach them how to run a farm.”
“Wait, three of you are doctors?” LeBaron asked.
“Yes, sir,” Andrea said sweetly.
“You going to practice around here?” he asked her quietly, his eyes looking at all of them in a new light.
“Maybe someday,” Leah said. “Right now, we all have contract jobs and mortgages elsewhere. We won’t be moving in right away, but in a year or two…?” Leah said.
“If you do, let me tell ya, you’d be local heroes. Doc Lester passed about a year ago, and his practice just closed. Now it is forty minutes to the nearest doc who has any openings. Forty minutes!”
“LeBaron, the contract?” Dewey reminded him.
“
Oh yeah, right. The contract,” he muttered, then started typing on his computer at a furious pace nobody but Dewayne could believe.
They waited for a good five minutes, then the printer behind the lawyer started humming.
He held up an old fountain pen as pages spat out. “So, who wants to sign first?”
Three
Curt had closed on one other house in the two weeks since they had signed the papers, and assisted Gary and Jacob, another associate, with two deals. Couple that with the three Curt had done two weeks ago, and his bank account was getting some good padding to it for once. He wrote out all the bills for his office and was writing checks out to the IRS when Gary popped into his office.
“You see the TV?” he asked, all nerves and twitches.
“You mean the market stuff?” Curt asked, distracted.
“No, yes, I mean… No, it’s about that new virus from China!”
Curt looked up and reached for the remote in his desk drawer and turned on the TV. He hit a couple of buttons and got the news playing. He read the Chron, and his heart skipped a beat.
Unknown virus has Beijing in lockdown. Wuhan labs feared to be the source again.
“Is this like the one before?” Gary asked Curt.
“Dude, I have no clue. I just turned on the TV.”
They both listened and watched as citizen journalists showed images of the government welding shut apartment doors and securing bars over windows and doors to keep people in.
“Did your wife mention anything about this?” Gary asked Curt after a while.
“Yeah, and about a dozen other outbreaks worldwide. All docs are on the mailing list through the CDC and WHO, one way or another. This one specifically? I don’t know. I’ll have to ask. Why, you worried?”
“Curt, they’re welding shut steel doors so people can’t get out. How are they going to get food? Go to work? They just killed those people without pulling the trigger.”
“I dunno, man. I got some things to do though. Let me know if you need anything else, and Gary, close the door, would you?”
When the door was closed, Curt got up and locked it, then went back to his desk and turned up the volume on the TV. His phone buzzed, and he muted the TV, seeing it was Andrea.
“Hey, Hun,” he said, watching the closed captioning.
“Hey, are you thinking of heading to the farm this weekend?” she asked, and Curt could tell she was distracted.
“I want to; how about you?”
“Yup. Got some things I want to take over. But… I wanted to see if you would give Steven a call and see if he has some ideas on hiring a crew out there. I know he doesn’t want to use his, but…”
“You’re worried about the virus that’s all over the news?” he asked, surprised.
“How did you…?” She laughed for a second. “Yeah, sort of. I mean, it’s silly, but it’s not like I can avoid it anyway. Not if I don’t want to lose my license.”
“I know. You really think it’s something to worry about?”
“I honestly think it’s been over here for a month or two already. They keep saying it’s an unknown virus, but we know it is a coronavirus variety. Not one we’ve seen before, but it is similar. Remember back in December when I caught that bug and was hacking and coughing forever?”
“You thought you might have had pneumonia, but only ran a fever for a day and your lungs were clear?”
“Bingo,” she said. “Listen, I have to go. Call Steven for me, ok? We all need to meet up before the weekend crush hits.”
“Will do,” he said. “Love you.”
“Love you too. Bye.”
Curt dialed Steven’s number. He picked up as the sounds of construction came on in the background. “Hey, Curt, what’s shaking?”
“Nothing much. Wifey wanted to know if you’ve had any luck finding construction crews to work with us yet and if we’re meeting up Wednesday night still.”
“Sure. Honestly, I have all kinds of contacts out there now. A lot of them are hungry and ready to roll as soon as we have a plan in place. The farm is so far out in the middle of nowhere that the regulations are pretty relaxed, if they even enforce things at all. Just like we like it. Anyway, if we’re going to keep all of us working our regular jobs, I’d like to have a foreman out there on site.”
“You have anybody in mind?” Curt asked.
“Actually… I’d like to either be out there myself, which would be ideal, or see if the group would approve of my main man, Luis.”
“You trust him enough to let him know where we’re all at?” Curt asked.
“Of all my guys, yeah. I’ve known him my entire life. Worked with my dad forever, so he’s like an uncle to me. Ideally, I had let him handle things here while we get the concrete poured for the basement. Getting those prefab cabins set will be no biggie, and the hall building… Do we want to do a basement there, you think?”
“I think everybody wants underground storage everywhere,” Curt admitted. “We can bring it up Wednesday…”
“We’ll be there. Want to have the group come over to our place?”
“That sounds good to me,” Curt told him. “So, if you think Luis would be a good stand in, let's talk about it then.”
“Cool. Later, bro.”
Curt hung up and decided to do some digging on the virus. Now that it was breaking news, it shouldn’t be that hard to find. Everybody had their own personal stockpiles of PPE and medical, not to mention guns, bullets, Band-Aids, and everything else they could think of. Food storage for the group started at one year per person, but they all had a few times that amount. The farm would be a dream come true for the three couples, and Curt was excited to get moving on things, but the news was beginning to concern him.
Dewayne sat in his recliner watching the news, sipping some corn liquor he had distilled from the barn a few years ago. He wasn’t a fancy man, and on paper he was worth a lot more than he actually was. He had always heard about the prepper movement that had split off from the militia/survivalists after the Oklahoma City Bombings. He always had considered himself a prepper. He had always put away for hard times and had half a basement full of canned foods. Most of it was old, but he probably had six thousand Mason jars and four times as many lids.
That all went without mentioning the two grain silos and the bagged feed he kept for the animals, so he could mix up feed during the cold winters Arkansas sometimes got. The news, though, that was what worried him. He remembered how a drought could disrupt crops, make hayfields so dry an errant spark could set many acres on fire. That would cause feed prices to skyrocket and the price of beef to fall as ranchers thinned their herds to keep their stock healthy. With a glut of meat coming onto the market at once, everybody could afford hamburger. What he was seeing on the news now had him worried about the markets, but for a much different reason.
He could see the panic in the eyes of the news anchors, though their faces did not show it. China was obviously misreporting the facts, and the WHO seemed to be parroting them. Dewey rubbed the left side of his chest. Roscoe poked his nose up, sniffing at the jar he had put on the small table by his recliner, then sneezed and laid back down. Dewayne started thinking about the group of friends who had bought his farm. He figured they were preppers too. Maybe even some of those conspiracy nuts to boot. He didn’t care. They checked out, and they were good people.
The pain in his chest subsiding, Dewayne let out a long, slow breath and looked at the rough sketch that Steven had left for him. It was a top view of the cleared land not being farmed, behind the house toward the chicken barn. It wasn’t a large area, just a few acres, and he had no problem with them building their cabins there. Not that he had a vote anymore. He grinned as he remembered the girls doting on him last weekend, and how that model lady Anna had made him a plate of food. She had even got him to eat a salad. Salad! He noted she was not only polite but demanding and pretty. He had only complained to extend the fight, like old times with his wife.
Looking at the top view sketch, he remembered the trio had been talking about basements, similar to what he had, only made with forms and concrete, not stacked rocks mortared in place. That tickled a memory at the back of his head, one from his childhood. With unsteady legs, he got to his feet and headed downstairs. Roscoe followed, not trying to push ahead of him, but close enough he could feel the dog’s hot, moist breath on the strip of skin between his pants and shirt that was exposed as he moved.
“Don’t you knock me silly, Roscoe. I probably shouldn’t be doing this after getting half loaded but be damned if I’m not going to look.”
Roscoe chuffed behind him, impatient to follow the slow-moving farmer. When they both reached the bottom of the steps, he went to the north west corner of the basement, studying the old wooden shelving his parents had made. Looking closer, he remembered now what he had almost forgotten when he was nearly four years old. The shelves here were a bit different. They had been emptied of Mason jars for years, more resembling a big bookshelf than shelving.
Grunting, and using more muscle power than he had in years, Dewayne was able to slide it almost two feet away from the wall, exposing what had almost gotten him a black and blue backside almost six and a half decades ago.
The hole leading through the floor and part of the wall about four feet up was nothing remarkable. He had been told by his parents that the area around here was lousy with caves, which was why they didn’t ever plant the twenty-acre section that was thick with trees. His father had worried he might run over an area with the tractor that was hollow beneath and go through. Remembering that his grandparents had to fix a spot where the house was settling funny, he wondered if it was because the foundation had been set over part of a cave.
Behind The Curve-The Farm | Book 1 | The Farm Page 2
