new writings from Brothers

Billy felt a nudge to his shoulder.  He ignored it.  The nudge became a push, and his eyes sprang open.  Angus was bent over him, hand still on his shoulder.

“You said five am, Billy.”  He lay motionless for moment, head still pounding as badly as he knew it would.

“You got some ibuprofen?”  

Angus smiled.  “I never run outta that stuff,” laughing as he strode off to get it.  Billy knew why.  The two of them got drunk a lot.  It was their go-to medication.  He pushed himself up into a sitting position and stretched his arms upward.  Several moments later, Angus re-entered the living space and gave four ibuprofens to Billy.

Billy turned his head up, looked at Angus crookedly and said, “nothing to drink with this?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, I’ll get you something.”  He came back holding a bottle of Surly Darkness, a beer made in Brooklyn Center.  Billy downed the pills while taking a full swig of the beer.  He belched, and then downed the rest.

“So much for breakfast.   We’d better get doing,” Billy said as he pulled a short sleeved T-shirt over his head.  They readied the canoe and enough gear to last for a few days.

They had been driving for about thirty minutes when Angus said, “We don’t even know where they are right now.  How we gonna catch up to them in this rain?” Angus asked the question while finishing off one of the two-day old donuts they had just picked up at the gas station on their way out of Ely.  

“We know they’re going to Agnes Lake.  You know the launch is off the Echo Trail, right?” Billy asked.

“Yeah, you put in at the Nina Moose River.”

“Well, I’m betting with this rain that they stayed at Nina Moose Lake last night.  They got off to a late start yesterday and it would have been stupid to go all the way to Agnes.  And they didn’t seem like the stupid kind.”

“Yeah, so when do we catch ‘em?”

“We don’t, we get ahead of ‘em.”

“How we gonna do that?  We can’t catch ‘em in the canoes.”

Billy Bobtail smiled thickly.  “We’ll take the old logging road and head ‘em off, wait for ‘em, and then, bam,” he took his hands off the wheel and slammed them together.  “Then we got ‘em.”

Angus gazed over at Billy in amazement.  “I never would have thought of that, Billy.  Most people don’t give that old logging road a lick of thought and here we are, using it to catch them dumb nut grabbers.”

“You know I don’t appreciate you bringing up unpleasant stuff like that, especially since I was the victim of that turd whacker.”

Angus laughed.  “You calling yourself a turd?  You said turd whacker, so that must make you a turd.”  He laughed again.

This was exactly what Billy didn’t like about Angus.  The guy was an idiot with a child’s sense of humor, but a useful idiot who bought drinks and allowed Billy to crash at his place on a fairly regular basis.  He glanced over at Angus and allowed him a smile accompanied by a slight chuckle, as if to say, ‘you got me there, Angus’.

The Echo Trail started out as a paved road, but quickly turned into a serpentine, gravel surface that contained many jump-off points for various lakes in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area.  Billy guided the 2004 Jeep well past the Nina Moose River parking area and continued on for several miles before turning off on a little used logging road that would take them past Ramshead Lake.  He knew the river was much higher than normal, and he knew by experience that the waterslide portage would be impassable.  

Billy was banking on the portage area to hold the brothers up just enough for Angus and him to get ahead and lay in wait for them on the other side.  He hadn’t counted on the logging road being quite as rough and wet as it was, but thank the lucky stars for the four-wheel drive on his Jeep.  

The Jeep dived into a deep rut, causing Angus’s coffee to spill over his leg.  Angus cried out in expectant pain that never came from the now cooled coffee.

“What’d ya think it would still be hot after an hour of driving out here?” Billy asked in disgust.

“I, uh,uh, don’t know what I was thinking.”  

The road devolved into something more resembling a moose trail, rather than something loggers had last used thirty years ago.

“I think we’re where we need to be.”  Billy peered through an area where the trees appeared to be thinning.  Opening his door and then slamming it with a vengeance, Billy began to unstrap the canoe.

“Get the gear and paddles out.  I’ll get the canoe off the rack and take it to the river.”  Angus did as he was told.

“Bring the rifle, too.”  

“I can only carry so much.  I’ll come back for it,” Angus said in a whiney voice.

“Whatever,” Billy said as he hoisted the canoe onto his broad shoulders and carted it to the river bank. 

The rifle was a Remington bolt-action 700, a favorite of hunters in the area.  It had a Kwik Klip magazine conversion clip that Billy had bought two years ago.  The clip held ten rounds, which seemed inadequate to Billy, but he took what he could get at the time.  It certainly would be enough for what he was planning over the next few days.  

He stopped before he came to the river bank and set the canoe down and waited for Angus.  A minute later, Angus arrived with a pack containing sleeping bags, tent, and some edibles.  He then went back to the Jeep for the rifle.

book club meeting in Montana

I had a fantastic time interacting with  thirteen members of a book club in Billings, Mt.  They had read my last book, The Book Club Murders.
I began my presentation by explaining how and why I began writing and they responded with dozens of questions and comments.  They were a delightful group of present and former educators.  It was clear they enjoyed reading and they had many, many questions about the characters and their motivations in my book.
We began with my presentation, questions, discussion, and then dinner at the country club.  The entire experience was extremely enjoyable with a wonderful group of people who are intelligent, caring, and kind.
The next week, my family and I went to Red Lodge and stayed at the Pollard Hotel where we enjoyed a fantastic Thanksgiving Day buffet, overnight stay playing games and experiencing the new pub.  The next day we did some Black Friday shopping in town and left.
It was a great mini vacation!!

My older brother fought for three years in Vietnam and I have used him as a source of information, however, the following is completely fabricated.

Chapter 18, Gabe’s Lament

Kellan and Jack turned in about midnight.  Gabe stayed up for another hour poking at the fire, gazing at the stars, and remembering a friend who had died in Vietnam.  Bill Poulan had been killed in Pleiku Province, and it was Gabe’s fault, or at least he thought it was.

It was 1968 near the Song Xan River.  Gabe was leading a night patrol through the jungle, one of the things that he loved doing.  In a way, it reminded him of exploring the woods back home in southern Minnesota, only here, his life was in danger every minute, and the feeling enthralled him.

Bill was the Shakespeare quoting buddy who Gabe took an immediate liking to.  Gabe was two years younger, but ostensibly, wiser in the ways of killing because he had already been in Vietnam for two and a half years.

   Bill had joined the marines after graduating Summa cum laude from the University of Iowa.  He could have gone to officer school but insisted upon being a grunt and earning his way.  Gabe always liked him for that, in fact, he loved him in a way that only brothers could.  Most of their free time was spent together, Bill quoting Shakespeare, non-threateningly displaying his knowledge, and telling about his college conquests; Gabe, teaching poker games and bragging about his high school adventures.  They became brothers in every sense of the word, maybe even more.  

The jungle was hushed that night and everyone just had a feeling nothing was going to happen.  The boys were a little carefree and made  more noise than Gabe was comfortable with.  He was using more hand signals and verbals than usual to rein the men in as they patrolled their sector. 

As always, Gabe never relaxed when he was in charge.  The strange, delightful mixture of danger and the unknown kept him on point.  The men in the unit, including Bill, relied upon Gabe to crack down and get serious when it was necessary, but tonight seemed almost otherworldly.  Everyone just sensed this was a worthless patrol so their M16s were held loosely at their sides and they strolled, rather than sneaked, over the pathways of the jungle. 

Bill joined him in the lead, speaking low, but casually, as Gabe tried to remain alert to any movements ahead.  Normally, strict silence was observed as they stole through the moonlit pathways.  Charlie was always near they were told, and most of the time they believed it.

As Bill and Gabe prowled ahead, they whispered, Gabe’s eyes constantly straining to see any movement in advance of their continually changing position.  A snapped twig, a brush of leaves, the sound of a small animal parting the grasses as it escaped from the patrol’s onslaught, fed Gabe and Bill’s imagination.  

Leading a patrol was always the most dangerous position, because of the Vietcong’s penchant for laying booby traps.  Gabe always figured he couldn’t risk other men’s lives with a duty he himself should perform, so he always placed himself in the lead.  Bill often joined him.  Gabe appreciated the fact that Bill thought enough of him to share the burden, duty, and the fear that accompanied the lead.

Tonight, mostly Bill and Gabe seemed to be aware of the possible dangers, mainly because they were taking most of the risks.  As they approached an opening in the jungle, back home Gabe would refer to it as a meadow, he held his arm up, signaling the patrol to halt.  The boys milled about, although they were as noiseless as a nonchalant group of young men sensing no danger could be, the dull commotion of their movements alerted a small group of Vietcong.

They were thirteen and fourteen year old boys with AK47’s, dressed in pajamas; farmer’s children by day, guerrilla warriors by night.  Alerted by the unusual night sounds, the Vietcong tensed as they struggled to see what they assumed was an American patrol.  

Gabe hurried back to his boys, warning them of what possibly lay ahead.  While he did, Bill Poulan stealthily crept forward to the mouth of the meadow, carelessly exposing himself to the antsy group of teenaged Vietcong.  

The sons of farmers by day were without an older member of their Vietcong unit tonight, placing a virginal amount of stress upon them.  Usually, at least one member of the unit was an older, experienced veteran of guerrilla warfare.  There was no such luck for them tonight.

Bill Poulan’s last moments of life were painful and chaotic as he was nearly torn in half by the automatic fire from a frightened thirteen year old kid.  Gabe found himself screaming epithets as he and all his boys slammed themselves flat on the ground and began returning fire in every direction.  He knew it was too late for Bill, who had been in the lead. The only truth he didn’t know was how badly he had been injured.  In a few minutes, as the automatic fire lessened and then ceased completely, he found Bill still alive, but obviously dying, nearly sliced in half by the AK47 slugs that had invaded his body.  

Propping his head on his elbow, Gabe stroked Bill’s short hair, feeling his own tears tumble over his eyelids and alight upon Bill’s reddened cheeks.  

Two soldiers died that evening; one, who’s physical, emotional, and mental being was completely destroyed, and Gabe who left his emotional well-being in a jungle, in the depths of Vietnam.  

Gabe completed his tour in another few months in a different capacity.  It was clear to his commanding officer that he would not, or should not resume his regular combat duties.  He spent the few remaining months of his deployment in Saigon, procuring and filling orders for fighting units.  

When he returned to the states, he tried to be the same old Gabe, and he succeeded for more than two decades, until it all slithered back into his life, unwillingly and unwanted.  His descent into a netherworld was total and unrelenting.

At the Moose Bell Saloon

 Kellan lifted his glass of Pepsi and clinked it against Jack’s tumbler of whiskey sour.

“To Jack, and his amazing ability to withstand a fall from ten feet off the ground onto the back of his head, without breaking his neck or back.”

Gabe became pensive for a moment, his mind seemingly on the painting of a naked lady behind the bar, before he said, “That fall on the head does explain a lot about you, Jack.  In retrospect, it probably turned out to be a good thing for you.  Might have made you smarter.  Up till that point in your life, Sydney and I doubted whether you would be able to uphold the Hula legacy we had set of intelligent, clear thinking individuals, but you appeared to be aroused into a better state of mind after that fall and gave rise to our hopes for you.”

Not rising to the challenge, Jack held his glass securely on the bar and stared at the naked woman in the painting.  As he was about to take a sip of his whiskey, a burly man in his forties drew closer to Kellan and swiped the hat off his head.

A surprised Kellan, turned to the ill-mannered bar patron and said, “Hey, buddy.  Let’s have my hat back.”  He held out his hand, fully expecting him to turn it over.  As Kellan held his hand in front of him,the guy held the hat out and then flipped it to his friend behind Kellan.  

Jack moaned and dropped his chin to his chest. Kellan stood up and again, asked for his hat back.  Each time, when the hat was held tantalizingly in front of him and he reached for it, one of the men flipped it to the other.

Gabe turned his barstool slightly to get a better view of the back and forth action playing out in front of him.  He appeared to be amused while Jack and Kellan were clearly annoyed.  Jack began to stand up and intervene when he felt Gabe’s hand on his shoulder.  He looked over and Gabe winked.  

“I’ll take care of this.”  Gabe pushed down on Jack’s shoulder to brace himself as he stood.  He stepped in front of the burly one and intercepted the hat as it came flying through the air.  

“Gentlemen, we’re all adults here and this seems like a childish game to play at my brother’s expense.  Shall we cease and desist?”

The two neanderthals stood motionless for a moment and didn’t utter a word.  Gabe returned the hat to Kellan and sat back down.  The bigger one of the two dimwits sidled next to Gabe and smiled as he said, “You know we were just having a little fun.  Not much happens on the range and we know you guys aren’t from around here.  So we thought we’d get acquainted.”

Gabe raised his glass, winked at the man and downed a healthy gulp of his rum and coke.  “We appreciate the thought,” he said, and then returned his gaze to the naked woman.

After a pause, the burly one said, “I see you like the picture.  It’s a good one.  She’s a local gal who’s since moved away.  Hasn’t been back for years.”  And then he changed the subject.  He said with a sigh, “You know, I’m kind of a collector of hats and that’s why I noticed your friend’s hat there.”

“Brother.”

“Sorry?”

“He’s my brother.”

“Well, that helps explain that.  I appreciate a man who’ll step up to protect his brother.  Little brother, I assume?  You seem a bit older than he is.”

Gabe, who had consumed the last of his rum and coke, stood up-all five-foot-six of him.  

“Well, gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure, believe me, but we have to get a move on if we’re going to make it to Agnes Lake on time.”  The brothers quickly finished their drinks and stood up to leave.  

The burly one stood, and blocked Gabe’s path to the doorway.

“Tell you what, stranger.  I’ll give you two bucks for that old hat on top of your head.  Whadda ya say?”  He took two crinkled bills from his pocket and held them out to Gabe.

“I say, thank you very much for your offer, but no.”  He began to step around, but the burly one blocked his way again.  The bar was quiet with everyone watching.

“Make it three bucks then.  It’s my final offer.”  He pulled another bill from his pocket.

“No thanks, I’ve had this hat a long time and it’s not for sale.  Excuse us, we’re going now.”  Gabe began to move around the man again.  This time, the man put a hand on Gabe’s chest to stop him.  It only took a millisecond, but Gabe’s right hand shot to the man’s scrotum and squeezed.  The burly one gasped as his body froze and he rose to his tiptoes.  Gabe squeezed a little harder.

“Now, little twinkletoes, we’re leaving.  Is there a part of that message you don’t understand?”  Blinking through tears, the man shook his head no.  His friend near the bar took a step forward, but the burly one getting his nuts crushed motioned him back.  He stopped.

Jack and Kellan walked in front of Gabe, who was still handling the big man’s sack.  They were an awkward couple as they gracelessly made it outside and stood in front of the van.  Jack started the vehicle as Kellan hopped inside and held the side door open for Gabe.  

Gabe looked up into the big man’s eyes and lamented, “You know I’m not your type anyway, don’t you?”  He then let go and stepped through the open van door.  Jack drove off before the door closed and left the man in a mini dust bowl.