Remembering
- 4 years ago
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RedemptionChapter 8 free porn video
cabin tents rented for $25 a day summer.$30 a night winter rate trailer rentals: larger $75 mid size $60 small $50 John Boyd 28yrs old Gabby Boyd 25 yrs old. Alice Boyd current owner of the Gatehouse Edwardo world famous catfish chef (according to mom) Joy and Jen wait staff for Alice Boyd’s catering Jasper Amos hunter, guide, knife make Sylvia Amos sheriff’s detective lieutenant deputy Angie Davenport Marion davenport Angie’s mom Clyde Summers suicide victim Edward Gaines suicide victim while serving time with John Max Bork Gabby’s fancy man Willow computer geek Tom Jasper’s cousin and half ass builder Martin cameraman Vanessa producer Walter Pickering Vanessa’s boss Lamar the mechanic and junkyard owner Everette mom’s new bf Greta a camera person for cctv
The little faded red Metro was delivered by Jasper’s friend. The gas tank was almost empty of course, I had expected it to be. I drove it to the middle eastern immigrant’s convenience store. It was the closest to my home. It was also the one where they hated Uncle Keith, but I didn’t see any reason to continue the feud.
When I returned home, I parked in the rear beside the Circus Tent. I noticed that the campground was filled with cars. There seemed to be a dozen cars. That was more than one per trailer and cabin/tent. I wasn’t at all surprised.
I wore the Bowie knife and sheath on a belt. I didn’t want anyone to think that an argument with me would be easy to win. I intended for them all know that my word was law in the campground. It was too small a space for arguments to break out. I needed to maintain order for everyone’s protection.
These guys were away from their families, so a lot of them went a little wild. Too much alcohol was consumed and lately even pot was used. I tried not to make an issue of the booze and I looked the other way when I saw a guest smoking pot. I made an exception when a smoker or a drunk was outside of his cabin. I didn’t want pot used openly, or drinking in the common area. I still acted like a man on parole, because I was on parole for another month.
Still I didn’t plan to let some high bastard take a shot at me. I was not stupid enough to take on a Navy Seal in a knife fight, but I could hold my own with some accountant. I mean a camouflage outfit doesn’t make you Rambo. Usually just the talking convinced a pretend tough guy to move in a different direction. I made it easy for them to walk away and not lose face. From the joint I knew that saving face to a bully was everything. I tried to find them away out, before it came to blood letting.
That night I didn’t have a problem. Everyone was behaving themselves. I just introduced myself so they all knew who to call in case of trouble in the campground. I also planned to leave the outside lights, and the camera on all night. I wanted a well lit recording, just in case any shit went down. After all, it was the first full house of the season. The hunters usually got bored after a couple of days, but since I had a well publicized no refund policy, I didn’t give a crap.
I reviewed the video surveillance footage before I turned in after midnight. I saw the light go on in the two trailers. It looked like the Country Channel employees were my last guests to arrive. Since everything appeared to be quiet, I went to bed.
Since I didn’t have any checkouts, the only trash I had was in the outdoor cans. Those were usually used for things the guests didn’t want to spend the night with. Furry little animal remains topped the list. I pulled the truck into the yard, where I loaded the black plastic bags filled with the guest’s discards.
Since the weather had turned cold, I didn’t attach the trailer first. I didn’t want to go up the river until noon or later. I took the two hours before noon to take a look at the Metro. I noticed that the seat covers were all in terrible shape. It looked as though I had a five hundred dollar piece of shit.
I took the tiny car into the Circus Tent. I used Keith’s tools to remove the rear seat. I had in effect turned the micro station wagon into a micro van. The Metro had small dents and rust spots. I decided to do what I could do myself. I also decided any repairs I couldn’t do would have to wait.
I removed the front seat from the passenger side. The cushions on that seat looked pretty good, but I didn’t know what I could do to make them fit on the driver’s side. I didn’t spend much time worrying about it. Instead I oiled all the moving parts with WD40. All the door hinges worked a hundred percent better with just that first treatment. I even adjusted the fit of the hood.
My time was up before I got anywhere near a stopping place. I switch gears and put myself into fisherman mode. I headed to the river with the boat trailer and three large black bags of trash. I off loaded the trash, then drove straight to the river. I didn’t rush, but I also didn’t dilly dally in the cold. I worked the line for two miserable hours, before rushing to finish.
I just pulled into check limb hooks that were moving. That movement indicated a fish on the line. Unless there was some other indication of line tampering, I just bypassed the hook. I decided that the fishing could wait until the next day. When I would come back with at least one more layer of clothing. I had been caught unprepared that day, but I wouldn’t be the next one.
I arrived home with another hour before sundown. I went to work on processing the catch of the day. After finishing the skinning and then cutting of the catfish, the sun had disappeared along with most of the light. The lack of daylight made walking difficult around the Circus Tent.
In the poor light I tried to assess the work necessary on the Metro. There wasn’t much I could do except to assess the inner condition of the little micro van’s shell. I rechecked the doors after a day of oil soaking into the hinges. They opened and closed smoothly. The rear lift door of the station wagon shaped shell even worked easily in spite of the dents along the bottom of it. Of course I had no idea how they had gotten there. I started the engine, which was quiet enough, though not new car smooth.
Then I put the car in gear and released the clutch. The little beast moved slowly forward. I drove it past the Pakistani convenience store and over the river bridge. I was moving down the road when I noticed for the first time that the heater didn’t work. I had checked the coolant in the radiator, so I knew that wasn’t the problem. I made a note to check the thermostat the next day. It was too late and I was too cold to work on the beast that night.
On the up side, the radio was fine. It blasted tunes at me as I returned the car to it’s new home outside the Circus Tent. I moved my half frozen ass into the Gatehouse, where I turned the computer to the surveillance camera. Since nothing jumped out at me, I moved on to the Pro/Con website.
I found that one of the cons I followed had lost his job. He had lost it because he never learned how to handle his anger. He had been one of those inmates who had been passive aggressive. He just refused to do as he was told. He tried to tell us and himself that it gave him some control. The truth is that it was simply a waste of time. I had learned early ‘to go along was to get along’. It was also the secret to success in society. Make no mistake, prison was a society in and of itself. However some of the basics were the same everywhere.
I wrote a quick note to Milo 13. ‘Learn to embrace the system. Ride that mother into the ground. Take what it will give you and give it as little as possible. Don’t make your days about resistance, make them about learning how to cope, while maintaining who you are. Just my opinion’. I said it before signing off as the invisible con.
I used Google to trouble shoot the Metro. I found out where to look for the thermostat. I did it so that I could go right to it the next day. After finding what I needed to do to maybe repair the Metro’s heater, I left the Gatehouse to make my presence known in the campground. I walked around and found only one guest had gone during the day. A dentist no doubt. I expected that sitting in a tree stand, hoping to see a boar, had not been nearly as much fun as it looked on the Country Channel.
I took that information back to Gatehouse for the evening. I was heavy into a macaroni and cheese dinner with real bacon bits, when a knock sounded at the door. I carried the plastic bowl with me to the hook where my Bowie knife hung. I know the common thought about taking a knife to a gun fight, but the Bowie knife was better than a pair of nail clippers. It turned out I didn’t need either.
“Yes,” I said to the teenage looking girl standing on my porch.
“Hi I’m Greta,” she said.
I just nodded. That meant nothing to me. I waited while she took a deep breath.
“I’m a camera person working for the CCTV show,” she added.
“Okay, what can I do for you?” I asked.
“I’m supposed to be rooming with Van, but she has company. She told me to get lost. There is no more free space in either of the trailers we rented. So I was wondering if I could stay in the small travel trailer. I noticed no one was staying there,” she said finally winding down.
“That trailer rents for fifty bucks a night, in advance,” I explained. “You could stay with the guys in the big black trailer. It can easily sleep three or four.”
“I really don’t like sleeping with those guys,” she said. “Could I throw my sleeping bag on your couch platform?”
“I’m not involved in the homeless shelter business,” I said. She looked about ready to cry. She also looked harmless.
“Just for tonight?” she begged.
“You sleep in your clothes and you do not shower here. Got that?” I asked. “You are also gone at first light.”
“Yes sir,” she said.
I gave her a cup of coffee then went back to my computer. She was asleep before I finished with my plans for the next day. I went to bed with most of my clothes on. I did trade my jeans for a pair of jersey workout pants. I changed in the closet sized bathroom. It was a tight squeeze, but I managed it.”
Just so you know I like women a lot. I just don’t like being setup. I felt there was a very good chance that I was being used. Vanessa and I were going to have words the next day for sure.
I was awakened before 6AM by Greta leaving the Gatehouse. I rolled out of bed and reheated the day old coffee. I brushed my teeth while the microwave did it’s thing. After a breakfast of a bran muffin with a handful of fruit inside. Mom had left half a dozen of them on my dining room counter/table. She often made them for Uncle Keith so I didn’t mind. Truth was they were great with peanut butter smeared on top. The also stuck with me until after lunchtime.
First productive thing I did that morning was to empty the trash in the campground and replace the black trash bags. I checked to be sure no one else had left. Since all the other cabin/tents all looked like they were occupied, I moved to the Circus Tent to remove the thermostat from the Metro. The first problem came when I tried to removed the housing of the thermostat. The two bolts were rusted solid. I shot it was oil and let it sit while I went to the dump.
Since it was too cold to go up river, I returned to use a hammer on the wrench. I beat on the wrench but I did it carefully. Both of the bolts finally moved. I put them inside a peanut butter jar with a couple of ounces of thirty weight motor oil. I left them to soak while I worked the housing free of the crap holding it in place.
The cardboard gasket disintegrated as it came loose. Half of it adhered to the housing and the other half adhered to the engine block. The one thing I did not find in either the housing or the block was a thermostat. I quickly went to a handy man website. There I found the picture of what should have been there. It was easy to find the information that any auto parts store would have one. I searched then found a half stiff wire brush. It was the right tool for cleaning the engine block and thermostat housing.
When I went to the county dumpster dump site, I swung by a strip mall near the highway. There I purchased, for an under ten bucks, a thermostat and new gasket. When I got home the replacement went reasonably smoothly.
The temperature warmed up some, so by noon I was headed for the river. On the way out I saw Vanessa’s red head getting into a Land Rover. I blocked the entrance to the campground until I confronted her.
“Get your girl Greta a place to sleep. That is your responsibility not mine,” I said angrily.
“I told her she could sleep with us but she refused,” Vanessa said.
“I don’t give a shit about all that. Just find her a place or I’ll throw you all out of here,” I said. “And I’ll send a message to your boss. Do you understand me?”
“Yeah I got it,” she said equally angry.
I walked back to my truck for the trip to the public access ramp. I spent three hours on the river before I returned home to process the catch. I smelled something in the air as I got close to the private farm road, which ran between the campground and the Gatehouse. It smelled like something burning, but it wasn’t wood.
Where the Gatehouse once stood, there was a pile of melted plastic laying on a concrete pad. It was a terrible mess. There was a single county volunteer fire truck complete with four firemen.
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