     Magdvin Cszgarna was born in a Gypsy caravan somewhere in Eastern Europe not too long before World War II. He is not sure exactly where or when. He survived the Holocaust in hiding and entered the United States in 1946. He learned to speak English with native fluency while attending public schools in New York City. He traveled widely in the United States. He was in San Francisco in the mid-1960s, and he studied creative writing in Florida in the late 1960s before returning to San Francisco where he lived off and on for the next 20 years. With the fall of the Soviet Union he returned to Eastern Europe where he currently lives.
     The One That Got Away was written in 1981 and 1982 long before Forrest Gump or The Silence of the Lambs. It was revised slightly in 1989 to reflect the collapse of the Soviet Union. What is interesting about attempts to publish it is not that it was rejected by every major publisher but the nature of the rejection letters it received. Typical of these was one by Bob Guccioni of Penthouse who wrote, "This is really well written, but it's too weird for me. I wouldn't touch it with a ten foot pole."
     It really does seem to violate a lot of boundaries.

The One That Got Away
by
Magdvin Cszgarna

An
esspc-ebook

Dedication

For J. who calls herself the rapist's worst nightmare: It does my heart good to know that every night you're out there somewhere in America, with your gun and your knife and your seven years of martial arts, looking for bad guys.
     What is it, eight so far?
     Good hunting, precious.

Prolog"That one... That one's Jewish,"

sid the fascist chief of the Greek secret police to his underling as they examined the photographs taken the previous evening at a democratic socialist rally.
      "Only half Jewish," replied the aide.
      "They're the worst," said the chief of police with disgust. "They think they're better than everybody."
      From Z by Costa Gavras

Chapter I

Born in 1910, John Marlowe was a second generation, Irish American son of a New York City police sergeant.
      Somewhere in the past one of his ancestors had married an Englishman, but neither his father nor his mother nor his seven brothers and sisters, four of whom eventually took holy orders, ever doubted their faith in the Roman Catholic Church. They were straight and narrow people who were stern but affectionate with John, their sixth child and a favorite, who throughout his childhood followed his family tradition of Catholicism, though eventually as a young adult he did so mostly on the surface to maintain pleasant relations with his family.
      As a small child John had few problems, was obedient and even devout, but upon reaching puberty he discovered, with the assistance of a neighbor boy a year older than himself, that he was possessed of terribly intense sexual desires. He rarely masturbated less than three times a day, often more, and walked around filled with fear of eternal hellfire, but he was unable to control his right hand whenever he was alone.
      "Lord, Jesus, forgive me. I can't help myself," he thought over and over as his hand stroked up and down. He was tormented both because he believed he sinned and because he soon came to lie to his confessors about the frequency of his sinning. It is doubtful anyone ever was as relieved upon discovering St. Paul's admonition, "Better to marry been to burn in hell," as John Marlowe was.
      Born in 1912, Tessie Cohen was the third and last daughter of immigrant, intellectual, Russian Jews who had not married until reaching their early thirties. If the Marlowe family questioned nothing their religion taught them, the Cohens went to the opposite extreme.
      They made no attempt to hide their Jewish origins but rejected their religious heritage. The urged their daughters to accept the world as a place without black or white but with only shades of gray, a place where it was essential to adapt to the omnipresence of ambiguity. Tessie's two older sisters managed to do this.
      Tessie was a different story.
      At the age of six after a funeral Tessie had asked, "What happens when you die?"
      She had been told, "Nobody knows.
      Some people think they know, but they don't. Don't bother about what happens after you die. Think about what happens before you die." For Tessie this just was not a satisfactory answer, and she spent the rest of her life looking for one she could live with more comfortably.
      Tessie discovered masturbation all by herself at the age of eight when she rubbed something, it felt good, and she kept rubbing it. As it was in John Marlowe, the sex drive in Tessie was very strong, but far from being a terrible source of fear and guilt for her, Tessie found it the only relief she had from the outside world which she saw as a frightening place filled with news of wars, famines and murders.
      "Oh, God, if you're really there the way they say you are," prayed Tessie during most of her childhood orgasms, "I swear I'll be a good girl if you'll just let Heaven be like this." Accordingly she was an obedient, docile child but never told her parents or sisters why for fear they would make her ask permission each time she wanted to "make myself happy," as she called it, the way she had to ask if she wanted a cookie, or they might tell her to clean the living room or peel potatoes first, or worse still tell her "no" because she had not finished all her vegetables at dinner.
      What is the point of opening a book with an account of the childhood masturbatory habits of two people who died no less than eighty years ago? A series of their choices placed them in nearby bungalows during the summer of 1932 at Lake George, New York. They met, and driven both by their physical passions and their emotional needs and limitations, they fell in love, and the point is that their love produced a son who grew up to be the one that got away.

Chapter II

In 1931 John's father called in a favor with an upstate police buddy to get his son a job with a game warden in the Lake George area. John disliked the city and had wanted to live in the country ever since the age of eight when he had visited a relative on a farm in New Jersey.
      In the summer of 1932 Tessie's parents sent her on a vacation to Lake George with her older, married sister.
      The elder Cohens hoped the relaxed, rural surroundings would have a positive effect on Tessie whose increasingly withdrawn and psychotic behavior was something they were unable to acknowledge as more than severe shyness.
      Every afternoon when he came home from work, John passed Tessie sitting on the on the rocker on her porch, and finally he got up the nerve to tip his hat and say, "Nice day, isn't it?"
      For a moment the fog in which Tessie had immersed herself drifted apart, and she saw her tall, well-built, blond neighbor for the first time. The sultry, languid tone with which she said, "Yes, isn't it?" set John Marlowe's body on fire. He had been fantasizing about Tessie for weeks, and the sound of her voice seemed to confirm everything he had imagined. Tessie, who had been very sheltered by her parents and never been even remotely courted, promptly fell in love with John, who was the first man outside her family to whom she had spoken in several months.
      Tessie's sister, Rosa, only left Tessie alone late in the afternoon when she took the mile a half walk to the Post Office to pick up her daily letter from her husband back in the city. Rosa knew even the small number of people in town made Tessie uneasy and assumed she was unlikely to get into trouble if left alone on the porch for an hour.
      John began picking small bouquets of wildflowers for Tessie who smiled and said little more than "Thank you," when she received them. She hid these tokens from her sister but held them to her cheek at night in bed.
      John had been raised with brothers and sisters who never had dated, and he had no idea of what to do next in his courtship of this mysteriously silent woman whose name he had learned by checking with the owner who had rented them their bungalow. He was mildly troubled by the discovery she was a Jew but pushed consideration of this into the back of his mind.
      Tessie eyed John carefully several times and recognized his attraction to her was serious. On some levels she knew she was different from most people, needed to be taken care of, and she knew her only hope of marriage, something she equated with at least some semblance of normalcy and something she earnestly desired, was to find a man who accepted this.
      One afternoon as he handed her a few flowers, Tessie looked John straight in the eye and said, " I'm terribly shy. I can't stand to be around people at all. I never go out. Would that bother you?"
      "Er... No. I don't care for crowds myself," replied John not sure where this, their first conversation, might be leading but trying to be agreeable.
      "But you can work and earn money and go shopping and things like that, can't you?"
      "Well... Yes."
      "Okay, I'll marry you," said Tessie.
      "Ah... Er... Ah," stammered John blushing bright red and causing Tessie to giggle.
      John stood there his mind completely blank until Tessie said, "You'd better go now before my sister gets home. I'll come over to your cabin tonight after she's asleep. Bye now." John wandered off in a state of total confusion with no idea of what to make of what just had happened. He was sure she was joking but had no idea how to deal with it. He hardly noticed her promise to visit him that night At about 11:30 PM he was sound asleep when Tessie enter his room, took off her clothes and got into bed with him. Neither knew much about sex, but they made love eleven times in the next six hours.
      Neither spoke. For John it was all his fantasies come true. Even while they were not making love, he held her tightly in his arms and felt an almost electric sensation of warmth from her whole body as he strove to get as much of his skin in contact with as much of hers as possible. For Tessie the line between fantasy and reality already was sufficiently blurred that much of this night was no different for her from any number of nights which had preceded it.
      Not long after the sun rose, Tessie got out of bed and said, "I have to go now. We're going to go back to the city in a few days. Stay away for me until then. I'll comeback as soon as I can, and we'll get married."
      John looked up from the bed drowsily unsure of what to make of what had happened but with St. Paul's admonition uppermost in his mind. At first he said nothing, but then he glanced down and noticed a small, red stain on the sheet. "You were a virgin," he said immediately unsure of whether or not he had said the right thing.
      "Of course I was a virgin. The Beautiful Princess always is a virgin," said Tessie as she walked quietly out the door never imagining in her gentle dream world that there ever could be one like the one that got away.

Chapter III

Tessie assumed, correctly of course, that her family would try to prevent her marriage to this stranger who she was certain was not Jewish, so she decided to keep all her plans to herself. Since the underage marriage of a high school classmate had been annulled and she was unsure what could be done to her legally after her marriage, Tessie also decided not to tell her family anything even after the wedding. She would just disappear.
      With this in mind Tessie was attentive to everything on her trip home; where they got on the bus, what landmarks they passed, where the terminal in the city was, which subway train they took and what stop they get off at on their way to their apartment building. All this was a terrible strain on her because it forced her out of her inner world which she loved dearly, but she promised herself that once this awful ordeal of contact with outsiders was over, she never would subject herself to such torture again. She resolved to be a good housewife and exactly that, a wife who stayed in the house.
      She was not alone at home until her older, unmarried sister's vacation was over a few days later, but as soon as she was, she called the city clerk's office and found out what documents were necessary to obtain a marriage license. Then she called the bus terminal to find out the bus schedule and the cost of the ticket. After that she went to the bathroom and threw up for half an hour.
      Tessie found the strain of talking to strangers traumatic, and she was tempted to abandon her goal, particularly when she remembered she would have to wait in line to buy her bus ticket and then have to tell the clerk where she was going, but at last she thought, "I want this a lot, more than anything else in the world, and this is the only way I'll ever get it. I used to be able to force myself to talk to people, and I can do it again now. If I do this, the whole rest of my life will be all right, and I'll be the Beautiful Princess for always."
      Tessie went to the cigar box at the back of her father's dresser drawer, the box were all her family's important papers were kept, and found her birth certificate. She also took $20.00 from the hiding place behind the loose panel in her mother's closet where her mother kept the family's emergency money. "There's still $65.00 left," she thought. "They never touch this money anyway. They'll be all right without it for while. I'll have John send it back to them before they even miss it."
      Tessie filled a large cardboard box with everything she thought she might need, mostly warm clothes to survive the upstate winter which she knew was much colder than winter in the city. She also packed her two dolls and teddy bear as well as "Woolie," her security blanket.
      She tied all this neatly with twine from the large ball the Cohens saved in a kitchen drawer.
      It was still before 10:00 AM and the bus did not leave until a few minutes before noon. Everything was going perfectly. Her parents were working in their cigar store. Her sister, Ruth, was back at her secretarial job, and no one would notice she was gone until they came home for dinner.
      One last thing was necessary to make her escape perfect, a false lead about where she had gone. She carefully wrote the following note and left it on the kitchen table:"Dear Mamma and Poppa and Ruthie and Rosa,William and I have eloped to Florida in his car. I'll send you a postcard from Miami.
      Love,Tessie."
      The strain involved in going out the apartment door alone was staggering for Tessie. She swayed dizzily as she made her way down the three flights of stairs to the street, but she had enough presence of mind to wait on the landing between floors until a woman who had been in the second floor hall returned to her apartment. No one on the block recognized her as she made her way to the subway. On the train she sat looking out the window so she would not have to acknowledge any of her fellow passengers, and since it was late morning, there were few.
      The bus station stop came, and Tessie grabbed the box with her possessions and went straight to the terminal only looking up from the concrete a few times to insure she was going in the right direction. Strangely enough the crowds in the street bothered her less than she had expected because she found her ability to completely deny their existence, to pretend she was totally alone, increased with the number of people around her.
      First there were three people in the line ahead of her, then two, then only one. "This is it," she thought. "This is the worst part of it. If I can hold myself together through this, I'll make it."
      Tessie's stomach churned. Twice she tasted acid at the back of her throat and swallowed hard. Her heart beat as if it was about to burst, and her head felt as if someone had stabbed a huge knife through the top of her skull, but she managed to thrust her $20.00 bill through the grate and blurt out, "Lake George, one-way," while staring at her hands on the counter.
      Tessie never knew if the clerk noticed her distress or even looked at her. All she saw were his hands as he pushed her ticket and her change at her. "Gate four. 12:06. Twenty minutes.
      Baggage check over there," was all he said.
      Tessie went to the baggage door and with immense difficulty managed to write, " Tess Marlowe, Lake George, N. Y." on her box at the clerk's instruction. After that she immediately ran the ladies room, and for the second time in as many hours suffered severe stomach convulsions. This time because her stomach was already empty, they were quite painful, but at last they subsided and finding herself alone in the restroom, she quickly washed her face.
      "Tess Marlowe," she thought looking in the mirror. "That sounds good. I never cared much for 'Tessie.' I like the name of the lady in the novel much better. She died such a romantic death, too.
      'Tess' never would go with 'Cohen,' but it sounds fine with 'Marlowe.' From now on I'm ' Tess.'"
      From the restroom she went directly to the bus which was already boarding and handed her ticket to the driver. She found an empty pair of seats near the back of the bus, took off her jacket and placed it on one to make it look as if both were taken. Then she sat down with her face toward the window.
      For the next ten hours Tess did not move. Fortunately the bus was half empty, and no one spoke to her. She listened carefully as the driver called out the town names whenever they stopped, and over and over she told herself, "Only a few more miles... Only a few more miles and I'll never have to go through anything like this again... I'll be able to live happily ever after."
      Finally Tess recognize the gas station she had taken note out on the trip south, and this time when the bus stopped, she knew it would be time to get off. She had become quite relaxed, but now she would have to deal with another person again. She would have to talk to the driver to get her carton. She trembled slightly, took a few deep breaths and was a bit dizzy, but it passed.
      Tess had watched the driver unload baggage for other passengers at earlier stops, and she had figured out how she wanted to handle the situation. She would wait for the driver to be right next to luggage, walk over quickly at the last instant and say, "That box with the string on it," just as she had managed, "Lake George, one-way."
      She practiced saying, "That box with the string on it," several times until she felt as sure of herself as she could, and then just as the driver was becoming impatient, she when over to him and pointed to her box. It was all by itself, and it was on the ground at her feet before Tess could say a word. Whatever may have been the cause of the driver's haste, Tess was grateful for it as well as for the fact that no one else had gotten off at Lake George. She relieved to self in the darkness behind a tree, picked up her carton and began walking up the deserted street.
      Just as the last time she had come to John Marlowe's cabin, she let herself in quietly, undressed and climbed into bed with her sleeping Prince Charming,. They made love all night blissfully unaware of the what that usually led to... or what it only once led to... the one that got away.

Chapter IV

Surprisingly enough Tess had little difficulty on the day she and John got married. This was partially due to the fact that John was there to do everything for her except sign her name and say her "I do," but mainly it was because her fantasy of the Beautiful Fairly Princess included a wedding to the Handsome Prince. As she went on her way to the county courthouse and the judge who would perform the ceremony, she saw herself surrounded by throngs of her cheering subjects. It was a day on which she had no need to fear the evil courtiers and their assassins who generally pursued her because for once it was they who were afraid, afraid of what her loyal people would do to them if they tried to harm her on this, the most significant day of her life.
      John Marlowe told the one person he knew at all well in Lake George, his landlord, that he had gotten married. He also made up an almost plausible story about how his wife was terribly shy and he would introduce her to him after she had settled into the town. Since the landlord was not a friendly fellow, he never even asked after Mrs. Marlowe despite living only two cabins away. Prominent people in the town showed little interest in John's life because he was an outsider, and as soon as it was learned he was not living in sin with the young woman who occasionally sat on the cabin porch, the matter was closed. No one called on them or invited them over for dinner, and this was what John wanted, solitude for himself and his odd but pleasant wife. When it became too cold to stay in their summer cottage, they moved their few belongings into a larger, better insulated house to serve as caretakers for the elderly, wealthy, local owner who had taken to going south for the winter.
      And what of the actual relationship between Tess and John? It was quite ordinary and happy. Tess fell upon her chosen role of housewife with great zeal. She cooked, washed, ironed, dusted, swept etc. with such care and frequency that their house was always spotless.
      All John had to do which was outside the usual male sphere in the 1930s was marketing. He was never too clear on how Tess resolved the conflict between being a fairy princess and doing housework, but he learned quickly never to ask her questions about things like that because they would make her sit motionless for hours. The answer actually was quite simple. Tess still had enough grasp on reality to know that as the ordinary wife of an ordinary game warden there were numerous tasks which reasonably could be expected of her. Furthermore she loved her husband dutifully and deeply wished to please him, and she saw the performance of these chores as away to show her love.
      They spent the long winter evenings telling each other about the mundane events of their days, listening to the radio, and sometimes playing card games they had learned as children. They retired early and made love several times almost every night. Often they spent whole weekends in bed. When they slept, they slept wrapped in each other's arms.
      The intense loneliness each had known before meeting the other was gone, but there was always the fear it could return, a fear which only could be assuaged by constantly clinging to the beloved, the source of all emotional and physical gratification.
      It might be noted in passing at this point that within a few days of her departure from New York City the thought of her parents and sisters ceased to cross Tess' mind. They never had had a significant part in her fantasy life, and although she did not dislike them or have much friction with them, they simply were not very real for her; real in the sense that the phantoms she had created were the basic realities of her life and John corresponded to one of these phantoms while they did not, real and the sense that her not yet even conceived son was already "The Beloved Heir Apparent," a kind hearted, gentle child who would grow up to be all that was good in the world, surely not like the one that got away.

Chapter V

It was over a year before Tess became pregnant, but since she kept little track of the passage of time in general or her menstrual cycle in particular, she was over five months pregnant before she finally became aware she was expecting a child. John wanted her to go to a doctor, but Tess adamantly refused insisting he should deliver their child.
      Since John had assisted a local veterinarian in several animal births, he was not unversed in the birthing process, and he reluctantly consented to Tess' decision.
      Tess was quite healthy physically, and her pregnancy was uneventful. James Sean Christopher Marlowe, probably the most totally unknown figure of any importance in modern history, entered this world at 6:08 AM on November 8, 1934. His delivery was quick and easy. It seemed that even this early in life James knew his mother was psychologically fragile and that he did not wish to place any more strain on her than absolutely necessary.
      John Marlowe took his infant son to a doctor to be examined and then registered his birth. James appeared to be a normal, healthy baby, and despite his mother's mental condition, his infancy was ordinary. Tess breast fed him and held him in her arms for hours a time particularly in the afternoon when the housework was done. John was fascinated by his son and relieved to find he rarely cried. He played with him constantly.
      One important fact that John Marlowe perceived was that this additional strain was about all Tess could handle. She carried James on long walks in the woods but still had no contact with other people. Furthermore she spent even more time than before rocking quietly in her chair looking dazed and lost in her dream world. John realized there were people who entered such worlds and stayed in them permanently, and he wanted to keep Tess from doing this. Even an ideally easy child like James took a major portion of his wife's limited energies. He assumed, probably correctly, that another one would push her irretrievably over the brink into total insanity. John both loved his wife and wanted what was best for her emotional stability as well as feared how awful his life would become without the continuous physical gratification he derived from her strong sexual appetite. Accordingly John introduced Tess to several forms of sexual relations which could not result in pregnancy.
      John had written his parents of his marriage not long after it taken place, but he had lied that Tess was a Catholic. Neither of his parents liked to travel, and he made repeated excuses about work so he and Tess would not have to go to New York City for her to be introduced to his family. Two of his brothers and two of his sisters could not easily travel because they were members of holy orders of the Catholic Church, and the other three felt in one degree or another that if John would not come to them out of respect for their parents, they would not go to him. John knew a lot more pressure would be brought to bear on him and Tess to go to New York City if his family knew they had had a child, the elder Marlowe's first grandchild, so since John had no idea how he could resist such coercion from his somewhat domineering parents, he simply neglected to notify them of James' birth. John initially had conflicted feelings about not having James baptized, but when he thought about all the questions a priest might ask if he were to seek to have the rite performed, he decided against it.
      The first five years of James' life were uneventful, quite nearly normal. He idolized his father and adored his mother. He was neither timid nor adventurous. He preferred to stay near whichever parent he was with at the time, but if they walked away from him either in a store or in the woods, he did not become alarmed. His father occasionally took him shopping on weekends, but although he did see other children, he never really played with them. Accordingly the only realistic information he received about the outside world in this crucial stage of development was from his father. Since this influence, however much James managed to distort it later, formed much of the basis of his adult personality, it might be worthwhile to devote a paragraph or two to what it was and how it had arisen.
      John Marlowe had been a small child who initially had been picked on by larger children. Having been a sheltered favorite before reaching school age, at first he had not known how to defend himself, and for long time he had suffered grievously from the cruelty of other children. Eventually he had begun to defend himself with a genuinely suicidal fury, not hoping so much to prevent future attacks which he considered inevitable as intending to make his tormentors experience at least some of the pain he did himself. He had fought brutally and without regard for notions of what then was judged "dirty" fighting. He had clawed, bit, kicked and gouged like the cornered animal he often had been. To his amazement the attacks had stopped. That he became an outcast for these actions meant little to him because he already had been one to some degree for being a weakling. John Marlowe did not want his son to undergo the agony he had as a child so he devoted a great deal of time and energy to teaching is son that anything one did to defend oneself was right as long as it was effective and to training his son that he should literally go berserk if he was attacked. The only restraint put on this was the warning never to direct this violence toward someone with whom he merely disagreed or from whom he could walk away.
      John Marlowe also had come to the conclusion that other than for willingness to defend oneself with all possible vigor it was very bad to stand out for any reason either good or bad because a person was more free to act if he or she was not noticed. Long before being sent to school James was taught, for example, to master lessons completely and then deliberately make an error or two so he would do well in school but never attract attention as the best or worst of anything. James wished deeply to please his parents who were, after all, his only source of human warmth, so he followed his father's instructions assiduously and unquestioningly. John Marlowe also consciously decided that he had endured great torment because of the fears instilled in him by his Catholic upbringing, so he avoided giving his son any religious training, however, this latter probably was not as great a factor as was the indoctrination with the dual values of violence and inobtrusiveness in leading James toward becoming the one that got away.

Chapter VI

Whether it arose from interest in cowboy movies, from being the son of a law enforcement officer, from the notion of the "great equalizer" in the mind of a small, often bullied boy or from some other factor or combination of factors, John Marlowe was fascinated by guns, all sorts of guns; rifles, shotguns, pistols, revolvers. If it went bang and launched projectiles, John Marlowe was an authority on it. From childhood he had read extensively about firearms, and when he had moved to Lake George and had begun working with the game warden, he had started collecting and shooting them, mostly at inanimate targets; clay pigeons, tin cans and paper bulls eyes but occasionally at animals, usually for food. Although his salary was not munificent, his wife spent virtually no money, and even after marriage he was able to continue acquiring low-cost, good-quality guns. He practiced frequently, reloaded his own ammunition to save money and was an excellent shot.
      As might be expected of a small boy who I idolized his father, James wanted to be involved in whatever his father was doing. James was barely four when his father showed him how he rolled the fired cartridge cases across the lubricating pad before placing them in the shell holder and forcing them in and out of the resizing die by pulling down and up on the reloading press handle, after which he carefully wiped off all the lubricant from the cases with a rag.
      At first James was unsure why his father spent so much time so many evenings sitting at the little table which was bolted to the floor, but he recognized both that it was a great privilege to assist his father in this chore and that it was extremely important to be meticulous in following his father's instructions or someone might be hurt badly. Fully intent on never letting down his father, James saw to it that not the slightest smear of grease remained on a shell case when he put it back in its place in the cartridge box.
      John Marlowe first took James up to the meadow where he practiced shooting when James was five. He had bought a used .22 caliber rifle with a cut down stock which was not too big for his son. The elder Marlowe spent more than half an hour repeating to his son an extensive lecture on gun safety before letting him shoot. At this most impressionable age James was deeply imbued with the rules that one never, never, never pointed a gun at something which one did not intend to shoot and one treated all guns as if they were loaded. John Marlowe made it clear to his son that most fathers either never taught their sons to shoot or did not do so until they were much older. James saw his father was placing a great trust in him and understood even the most minor infraction of any of the numerous rules his father had made him learn by heart meant it would be another year before he got a second chance to shoot. In spite of the great temptation to let his mind wander during this long, dull, and repetitive lecture, James focused his mind completely on everything his father said, not so much because he wanted to be permitted to shoot the gun now instead of a year later but because he could sense his father was counting on him to prove his judgment was correct, that even though he was only five years old, he was mature enough to behave properly. He knew that however disappointed he himself might be if he failed and had to wait an entire year to try again, his father would be even more disappointed that his only son had failed to prove trustworthy in spite of his father's best efforts to instruct him, and James knew he would not fail his father, not now, not ever.
      Finally the safety lecture was over.
      Then James partially disassembled his rifle and named all its parts. At last his father asked him if he remembered the little drawing of how to align the front and rear sights with the target, and James nodded that he understood. It was the last moment his father could consider his son an ordinary child, the last moment before the first signs of James strange and phenomenal gifts were to become apparent.
      John Marlowe placed a row of empty tin cans on a log about fifteen feet from his son, handed him the rifle and a cartridge and carefully watched to see if he handled them correctly. He did. The elder Marlowe had no expectation his son would hit one of the targets and was quite surprised when he saw that can jump straight back off the log. For a moment he was confused when his son looked up and asked him, "Did I do it right, Daddy?" because it was obvious the target had been hit, and that was right, but then he realized what his son meant, and he had the first of what eventually would prove to be several insights into the odd workings of his son's mind when he realized his son was only peripherally interested in hitting the target because his speech had implied that success involved handling the gun safely.
      Wanting to make sure his son did not waver in his devotion to safety, John Marlowe made a show of looking to see that his son had kept the muzzle of the rifle pointing away from him even though James had turned only his body toward him to speak. He saw the barrel was still pointed at the row of cans and said, "Yes, son, that's how you do it. If you want to talk between shots, you keep it pointed at the targets just like your doing now. Think you can hit another one?"
      "Yes, sir," said James as his father handed him another cartridge,. A second can was promptly knocked off the log, then a third, and a fourth. By this time the elder Marlowe had noticed his son was able to hold the rifle almost perfectly steady, so he knew the four hits were clearly not luck as he first had thought they might be.
      "Let's move back a bit."
      "Yes, sir," was all his son replied, which in recent months John Marlowe had come to recognize was all his son was likely to reply to almost anything he said.
      In fairly quick succession John watched as his son shot down four or five cans at fifteen yards, then thirty yards and finally fifty yards. No longer merely surprised at his son's ability, he was even somewhat dazed as he explained to his son how bullets did not fly in a straight line but were pulled toward the earth by gravity in an arc called a trajectory and one had to move the sight up to compensate for this if one moved back more than fifty yards from a target, information he had not expected to try giving his son for a long time.
      "Yes, sir," said James as they walked to the far edge of the meadow, over a eighty yards from the row of cans.
      Here James finally missed but only once out of ten shots.
      As father and son strolled back from the meadow, John Marlowe was silent while he pondered what he had seen. He did not know the remarkable extent of James strange gifts, but he knew what he believed about standing out, so eventually he asked, "Son, do you remember what I told you about drawing attention to yourself?"
      "Yes, Daddy, you told me never to do anything which'd make people notice me or tell anyone anything they don't have to know."
      "Well, James, shooting is no different than anything else. In fact in shooting its even more important not to stand out. Most little boys couldn't've hit the first can at fifteen feet. I don't know why you did so well, and I'm proud of you, but don't tell anybody about it. Shooting isn't like tennis or golf. People who don't play golf don't care one way or another about golf clubs, but a lot of people hate guns and'd dislike you if they knew you're good with them. That's especially true about New York City if you ever go there."
      "Yes, sir, don't worry. I won't let you down... Some of it has to do with Mom, doesn't it? She really would stand out if people saw her, wouldn't she?" asked James finally getting around to a question which had been on his mind for several weeks.
      "You're very observant, young man, and that's good. What's more you're wise enough to know not to ask a question like that with anyone around but you and me."
      "Yes, sir," replied James, pleased his father had praised them but still waiting for an answer to his question.
      "You're right, James. Your mother is a little out of the ordinary. I don't understand it much, and you know how nice she is to us, but she never wants to go out. She's very frightened of people so she counts on you and me to take care of things for her, and I'm going to work with you starting real soon so you'll know how to deal with people and take care of everything that comes up in case I'm busy."
      "It's more than that. Sometimes she acts like we're not there."
      "There're things in her mind we'll never understand. She sees things that aren't there and makes up stories that aren't true, but it's all right. She isn't lying because she thinks they're true. It's mostly fairy tales like the ones I've read to you before putting you to bed. She makes them up and then believes they're true. She thinks she's a Queen and I'm a King and we're living happily ever after in our palace after I rescued her from and evil witch. You're the Crown Prince and, the Heir Apparent to the throne... Just go along with her on things like that. She's happy, and she's nice to us, isn't she?"
      "Yes, very nice."
      "Then just figure out as well as you can what'll please her, and do it."
      "Yes, sir."
      "She's sort of weak in some ways, and we have to look out for her, protect her."
      "I'll do my best, Daddy."
      "I'm sure you will. I have confidence in you... She cooks great, too. Are you hungry?"
      "Yes, sir."
      Conversations like this when John Marlowe exhorted James to do whatever he possibly could to watch out for his mother were infrequent, but from the stern tone of his father's voice James could tell they were important, and they made a deep and lasting impression on him, so deep and lasting that one of fate's strange quirks caused them to be instrumental in leading James to becoming the one that got away.

Chapter VII

That night John Marlowe reflected deeply on what he had seen in his son do earlier in the day. He finally decided that since his son seemed to recognize all the responsibilities of gun handling for a small child under constant adult supervision, he would give James the opportunity to develop the inmate talent he seemed to possess in amazing quantity. From then on almost every day, weather permitting, when he came home from work, John took James up to the meadow and coached him in shooting, first at smaller and smaller stationary targets but before long at moving targets like beer cans John threw over his son's head or shoulders from behind his son at a wide variety of angles. Later in the summer he began to include in James training the use of his own high-quality . 22 Long Rifle semiautomatic pistol.
      Since James' hand was quite small, it was necessary for him to hold this gun with both hands, so partly because of the inherently superior steadiness of a two handed hold and partly because of his inborn abilities, James rapidly became extremely accurate with small caliber handguns as well as rifles.
      Going on the notion that the earlier in life one learned to do something well the more a part of one's second nature it became, the elder Marlowe began assigning his son intensive exercise regimens as preparation for teaching him to shoot larger caliber revolvers and pistols.
      Most of these exercises, such as squeezing tennis balls, focused on developing the hand and finger muscles necessary for performing the longer, much heavier trigger pull of double action revolvers, but James also did a wide variety of calisthenics with his father every day before dinner.
      Not long after coming to Lake George, John Marlowe began to aspire to be a small town law enforcement officer, first a deputy and later a sheriff. Besides becoming friendly with the current officials as well as a few influential year-round residents they introduced him to, John had done two other things which he thought might help him toward his goal. The first was development of his shooting skills. The second was learning everything he could about scientific law enforcement. Just as he bought and read every magazine and book he could find on firearms and their use, so, too, did he read extensively in the criminological literature of the period from about 1900 to 1940. He pored over books on subjects like interrogation techniques, laboratory analysis of evidence and criminal psychology and took copious notes on what he considered the most important points of each topic. More than a little of his motivation in teaching his son to shoot could be found in the notion that his son, too, someday would want to be a smalltown sheriff, and his firearms training eventually might save his life.
      Often John would spend long winter evenings telling his son stories of famous criminals and the mistakes they had made which had led to their capture or death. It would be hard to say why young James came to believe that the only difference between these law breakers and the law enforcement personnel pursuing them was that the officers of the law were somehow a bit smarter, that the only reason criminals ever were caught was that they eventually made some slip which the police noticed and used to gain the advantage, but this was the case. The elder Marlowe occasionally did mention the concept of good and evil, but this idea did not seem to "take" with James in the way an innoculation against smallpox can fail to "take."
      It was not that James felt drawn to crime. He was not. He scrupulously obeyed his father's admonitions to be honest with him and, for example, never stole small change from his pockets the way most children do at least once, but he saw the outside world as something different, something which was arrayed against him and to which he owed no such allegiance as might be suggested by honesty with outsiders. Since it since never occurred to John Marlowe that his lectures on being honest with him and loyal to his family would strengthen his small son's view that all was fair in dealing with the outside world, he never talked to him about it. He thought all the examples he gave James about the awful fates of criminals would point out the futility of a life of crime and the inevitable triumph of good over evil, but all that evolved in James' mind was a respect for the generally superior intelligence of highly trained officers of agencies like the F. B. I. and disgust for the stupidity of those criminals who were caught. He rooted for the officers while his father recounted their deeds but only because he liked rooting for the winner, not because he wanted to see good defeat evil. If James' father had lived longer and noticed this tendency in his son, he probably would have been able to modify his son's attitudes into ones more socially acceptable, but he did not, and the rest became history, until now unrecorded history but history nevertheless.
      During the winter of 1940-1941 John Marlowe explained the complete workings of his reloading press, scale, powder measure and other reloading tools to his son and watched several times as the boy set up everything from scratch and reloaded fifty rounds of first .38 Special, then .45 ACP, and finally .357 Magnum ammunition. He was so impressed with his son's diligence and caution that from then on he had James do all his reloading, a chore James undertook with great satisfaction since he knew it meant his father had placed a trust in him second only to giving him a gun of his own to shoot when he wished. He even showed James how to operate the cauldron, ladle and molds he used to cast his own lead bullets, but he did not permit him to use them.
      Since one of the quirks of Tess' insanity had caused her to begin teaching James to read not long after he was three, by this time he was quite capable of reading and understanding his father's reloading manuals. Tess' intention had had to do with James being able to comprehend without assistance the international treaties and royal legal documents he would be faced with if some accident brought him to the throne at an early age. She did not want any son of hers to be cheated by some tricky foreign minister or domestic legislator, but the actual result was that James began reading in his father's library, mostly books by or about famous shootists. He was especially fascinated by and twice read Fast and Fancy Revolver Shooting by Ed McGivern. First published in 1938, this intricate and sometimes tedious book is, among other things, a manual of the techniques of the greatest rapid fire handgun shootist who had ever lived. McGivern's phenomenal accomplishments with factory stock revolvers fascinated the child who incorporated most of McGivern's practice regimen into his own daily exercises.
      Since the elder Marlowe, too, had been awed by the carefully documented accounts of McGivern's speed and accuracy with revolvers and since he felt McGivern, who was a shooting instructor for several law enforcement departments including the Montana Highway Patrol, was an excellent idol for his son, he encouraged James in these additional exercises.
      Something else significant which took place at this time was that John Marlowe made a concerted effort to stockpile a large quantity of the components necessary for making cartridges. He believed the war in Europe would lead to shortages of these materials, and he wished to continue his own training. He did not believe Americans would become involved in the war, so he made no real attempt to train his son to care for his mother in the event he was drafted.
      The spring of 1941 arrived, and as the weather improved, John began taking his son up to the meadow to practice shooting, only this time James' training included large caliber revolvers, a Smith & Wesson . 38 Special police model and a Colt 45 ACP army model revolver, both with five inch barrels. The elder Marlowe started his son on cartridges with reduced powder charges because James was too small to handle full recoil. In fact his hand was so small he was unable to both hold the handle of the gun and reach the trigger with the same hand. Since he already was accustomed to using both hands on his father's .22 semiautomatic, James only had a slight step to go to holding the handle of the larger gun with his left hand while wrapping his right hand over and in front so his right index finger could squeeze the trigger. His hand was still not quite strong enough to pull the trigger consistently the full distance required to move the hammer using the trigger alone so he could not yet fire double action, but he developed the technique of rapidly raising his right thumb, which was higher on the handle already because his right hand was over and partly higher than his left to reach the trigger, cocking the hammer with his thumb and firing single action.
      Although this undoubtedly slowed him down, by the middle of summer he was able to do this quickly and accurately enough to shoot a tin can thrown in the air at least twice and often three times before it struck the ground.
      Later in the spring John also introduced his son to the use of his snub-nosed detective model Colt .38 Special which James soon could fire from wide variety of positions. James also fired his father's .45 ACP model 1911A Colt semiautomatic a few times, but since he was totally unable to pull the slide back to cock the gun or undo the barrel bushing to field strip and clean the gun without assistance, his father decided he should wait another year or two until he spent much time teaching his son the use of this gun. By the time he reached his seventh birthday, James was well on his way to becoming a great shootist, but the hand of fate had not yet rung the hour that would irrevocably announced the time of his becoming the one that got away.

Chapter VIII

From the perspective of our times it is hard to see why people were so fond of saying, "World War II changed everything." It is true it altered life for many people but not nearly so drastically or widely as more recent events disrupted the lives of people two generations later. Be that as it may, the entry of the United States of America into World War II on the side of the Allies had a substantial and direct effect on the life of young James Marlowe.
      After the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor John Marlowe recognized that because he would be drafted, he would no longer be in a position to care for his wife. Immediately he called his older brother, Robert, the only financially successful member of his family. Robert Marlowe was an attorney who had amassed a fortune in real estate by anticipating the Depression, hoarding gold and cash from 1923 on and then buying apartment buildings at very low prices. His initial wealth had arisen from partnership in bootlegging interests during Prohibition, but by 1941 his money all had been neatly laundered and was in legitimate investments, but he still retained his habit of hoarding gold and cash. He was ruthless in business, bad-tempered and fanatical in his Catholicism. He was also quite angry with his younger brother for what he saw as John's total disrespect for their parents which was evidenced by John's refusal to come to New York City for any reason, even major family gatherings.
      John Marlowe knew this call would provoke a tirade of abuse and an endless description of how their parents, particularly their own dear mother who loved them all also much and to whom they owed everything, had suffered interminable anguish because of his selfishness.
      He also knew he could not leave his delusional wife and seven-year-old son alone in a small town where they knew almost no one, so he made to call.
      James was on the other side of the living room when his father called his older brother. James had been thinking about his recent hunting experience when the call went through, reflecting upon his father's teaching of how to remain almost totally still, breathing slowly and deliberately for hours at a time if necessary, while waiting for his prey.
      James remembered how strange it had seemed last weekend when the first few minutes in their hiding place had seemed like forever but after that the next two hours had passed as if in a flash, and it had seemed only a moment later that a rabbit had peered into the far end of the meadow eighty-five yards away.
      James had taken careful aim and squeezed off a shot from his .22 rifle which had killed the rabbit instantly.
      The call brought James back to the present. He listened as the voice of the man on the other end of the line grew louder and louder and his father was silent in the face of some awful onslaught.
      Occasionally his father said, "Yes, Robert," and once even, "Yes, sir." James did not yet know the word "humiliated," but it struck him as very wrong that anyone would talk in such a way to a man as good and wise as his father. James recognized that sometimes a father had to reprimand to child, but his father was not a child, and James could not conceive of any action his father might have done which would have legitimately provoked such a response as this.
      "I don't know who Daddy is listening to," thought James, "but I hate him."
      From John Marlowe's point of view the call had been worthwhile. Robert had agreed to find a relatively low-priced apartment for him in a good neighborhood, and a week later they packed all their possessions and moved to an apartment in the Bronx. The area was about fifteen or twenty blocks north of Yankee Stadium and a little east of the Grand Concourse, the apartment a small, two-bedroom one for thirty-five dollars per month on the third-floor of an older, walk up building owned by a former bootlegging crony of Robert Marlowe.
      The following day, a Saturday, John Marlowe, with his son in tow, walked slowly up Burnside Avenue toward the luxurious University Avenue apartment of his older brother. James was full of wonder at all the huge apartment buildings, some as tall as ten stories, and he observed as much about them as he could. Unfortunately this distracted him from the lecture his father was giving him on how to deal with the uncle and aunt he was about to meet.
      "We owe my brother a lot," said John. "He's really not a bed fellow. He found an apartment for us on very short notice, and apartments are scarce."
      "But why did we have to move anyway?" said James absently having been told the answer several times and now not even listening as he thought to himself, "Sure can't do any shooting and hunting here, too many people all over the place. I'll bet there's no woods for miles. This stinks."
      "You know it's because there's a war going on," said his father. "I have to go and fight some very bad men so you and your mom can be safe."
      "Why can't somebody else do it?"
      "Because at a time like this all men have to go except young ones like you and ones who're very old."
      "Why?" asked James, his child's mind seeing no war about him, and having never really watched the newsreels on the few occasions he had gone to the movies, unable even to conceive of what the ward "war" meant.
      "James, you're going to have to stop asking so many questions and start doing as I say. Young man, I'm going away soon, and you're going to have to take care of your mother. You're going to have to do a lot of things boys your age usually aren't called on to do, but I'm counting on you."
      With the first mention of the idea that his father was relying on him, needed his help, James became still. His father did so much for him, trusted him so much farther than other boys' fathers did that he knew he never would let his father down. "Yes, Dad, I'll do everything you tell me. I promise I will," said James gravely.
      "All right. Now about your uncle...
      He has a very bad temper, and we don't want to get him angry. When you talk to him, be sure you answer him with 'Yes, sir' and 'No, sir' like I taught you.'"
      "Yes, sir," said James his mind again totally distracted as he watched the Jerome Avenue elevated train rumble overhead.
      John did try to prepare his son for his encounter with his Uncle Robert, but he knew it was futile. There would be the inevitable outbursts, and he only hoped his son would be able to withstand them.
      James took his first ride in an elevator in awed silence but observed carefully the procedure of waiting for the door to close and pushing the button for the floor you wanted. When the door to his uncle's apartment opened, he found himself looking slightly up at a short, heavy man with a pasty complexion and a large, reddish nose. He was wearing a shiny, brown robe belted only loosely around his large potbelly. Behind him on an easychair in the living room was a very large woman wearing a housecoat.
      This, he assumed, was his Aunt Marie, about whom he had been told only that she was an ideal mate for his uncle.
      "And who, pray tell, is this?" asked Robert Marlowe obviously unpleasantly surprised.
      "This is your nephew, James. James, say 'Hello' to your Uncle Robert."
      "Yes, sir. I'm pleased to meet you, sir," lied James as best he could while extending his hand.
      Robert Marlowe shook his nephew's hand without looking away from his brother and said, "What kind of nonsense is this? How come you never told us about this child?"
      "I'm not sure..." stammered John fully aware of exactly why he had not. "I've had some problems, and I thought..."
      "That's just it, you idiot. You never think. How do you think Mother and Father are going to take this?..."
      James listened with increasing trepidation as this stranger repeatedly insulted the father he loved and respected. At first James was tempted to run at this horrible man and kick him in the shins as hard as he could, but he observed his father's demeanor and decided there must be some good reason why his father did not respond to this attack, so he chose to follow his father's example.
      "Look, Robert," his father finally put in when there was a pause in the long stream of vituperation, "I just wanted to come over and thank you for getting us a place."
      "Speaking of us," said Robert Marlowe, "where's you're Mrs.?"
      "She's not feeling well."
      At this point James' Uncle Robert finally took notice of him. "Come here, boy," he said in an ominous tone which frightened James considerably. "How old are you?"
      "Seven, sir," said James standing in front of his uncle.
      "Who made you, boy?"
      "Excuse me, sir?" asked James not even remotely recognizing the first question of the Baltimore Catechism because he never had been given the slightest hint of religious training, Catholic or otherwise.
      "You heard me. Who made you,?"
      Reiterated James' uncle obviously about to redirect his wrath, this time upon his nephew.
      James looked at his father for guidance but read only anxiety in his countenance. "I don't understand, sir,"
      said James.
      Robert Marlowe grasped James' ear and turned it sharply causing him to cry out in pain. Dimly through his agony James heard his uncle repeat the incomprehensible question a third time, and summoning all his powers of restraint in obedience to his father's wishes whether stated or implied, James again answered, "I don't understand, sir."
      Robert Marlowe continued twisting James' ear while he looked at his brother and said, "What kind of father are you? What kind of heathen do you want to raise? What did you marry, a Jew? Seven years old and he doesn't even know Who made him. Get out of my house, and don't come back until you've seen to it that this heathen brat has had some proper religious education."
      James uncle released him, and James felt his father grip his arm and pull him out the apartment door. Somewhere on the periphery of his pain James heard any incredibly harsh woman's voice saying, "You've never been any good, John Marlowe, and you never will be. After all we've done for you, you do this. Your brother should rip your ear off for the awful thing you're doing to that child. How do you think your parents are going to feel about..." The voice drifted off into the distance as he ran down the stairs with his father.
      "Hypocrite," muttered his father.
      "What's that?" asked James.
      "A person who pretends to be good but really isn't," said John. "My brother wants people to think he's moral and decent, but he started out selling alcohol when it was against the law, and all his fortune grew out of his speakeasy money. He breaks the law whenever it suits him. He has no right to act like that with me."
      James saw his father's eyes turn inward raging to himself about something in their encounter with his aunt and uncle. James never had understood the word "hate" before, but he did now, and it was the awakening of this feeling which was another step toward his becoming the one that got away.

Chapter IX

John Marlowe's spent the next few days taking his son into the local stores teaching him how to shop for everything he could imagine he would ever have to purchase alone. James was told what to look for buying not only meat, fish and vegetables but everything from light bulbs -- shake them to make sure nothing inside tinkles -- to tissuemake sure the box is full. The elder Marlowe explained to his son about shopping for bargains and repeatedly drilled into his son the importance of always counting his change carefully before leaving the cash register and made sure he understood his right to protest immediately if he was shortchanged. In the event he was given too much, he was told to say nothing and add the extra to the family bankroll.
      John took James to a local bank, and after explaining his wife was severely disabled, opened an account which was arranged so that James could come in alone and withdraw funds by himself. John bought James a large, black ledger in which he was specifically instructed to enter all income his father sent him and exactly how it was spent. James seven-year-old mind swam with such details as where to put receipts for this item and that, but he could tell this was all desperately important to his father, not just a test of his growth but the real thing, the rainy day his father had warned him might come when he actually had to count on James to take care of everything, and, as always, James vowed to himself he would not let his father down. The notion of failing his father never even entered his mind because he knew he would do anything necessary to take care of both business and his mother whom he continued to adore in response to the unceasing affection and devotion she showed him. Following his father's advice, he simply considered all the elaborate stories she told him to be fairy tales she made up because she liked creating them herself better than listening to the radio, watching movies or reading books.
      John enrolled his son in the local public school and then enlisted in the Army. Fearful of the possible reception and the questions he would be asked, he never went to see his parents. Soon, very soon, he left for basic training, and Tess Marlowe and her son were alone together.
      Entering second grade in midyear, James was subjected to a certain amount of hazing, but it was rather limited after he followed his father's instructions and went berserk against the boy who had been the toughest in the class. Although this boy was a bit larger and more than a bit stronger than James, he was totally unprepared for what happened to him that afternoon in the schoolyard after dismissal when, after knocking James books from under his arm, he found himself set upon by a veritable wild animal.
      Cries of "dirty fighter" were to no avail, and the kicking, clawing, biting onslaught only ended when the other boy broke loose and ran.
      This little boy recently had seen a prison/gangster movie in which a squealer had been ostracized and eventually had been driven insane as a result of his solitary confinement in the midst of his fellow prisoners. He decided that the way to get revenge on James was to organize a similar isolation. Little did he imagine James neither noticed it nor would have asked for more if he had. James was already developing into a loner, partly because he knew he could never bring another little boy home because of his mother but also because the energy he otherwise might have directed toward friendship with someone his own age was bound up in devotion to his father.
      Academically James did quite well, but he was always sure to make one or two mistakes so he would neither be perfect nor best. As noted earlier, Tess had taught him to read and write and do arithmetic beginning at the age of three so that he could protect himself against unscrupulous ministers of state who might attempt to get him to approve legislation not in his interest. This made most school work very simple for him.
      He did, however, have some initial difficulties with history as he learned that all of what is mother had told him about the thousand in year history of their kingdom bore no relationship to American History.
      And Tess, what about Tess? She merely incorporated John's departure for military training into the events of her fantasy life. Her husband, no longer the Handsome Prince but now the Great King, had had to go off to war at the head of his great army to do battle with the legions of evil which had been besieging their land for many years. Often as she masturbated, she saw visions of him dressed in a sky blue uniform sitting astride a beautiful white horse amidst his generals as he guided his troops to victory from a hilltop overlooking the carnage his army wrecked upon the enemies who had been plaguing her since she was a young girl.
      She maintained their home quite carefully against the day of his return; cooked, cleaned, bathed and usually talked quite rationally to James about what he was doing in school, what the weather outside was like and when he thought his father might return. On the other hand she also warned him of the signs to watch out for in order to detect the approach of a dragon, which since he was not yet the big, strong, grown-up dragon slaying prince he someday would be, he would do well to avoid. As long as he lived, James could see himself standing before his mother who was seated on the couch with an anxious look on her face. She had just listened to something such as a multiplication table which was part of the coming day's school work.
      Before she sent him off to school instead of admonishing him to look both ways before crossing and then only when the light was green, she made him recite, "A good sign that a dragon is nearby is finding fresh, thin, bright gold scales about the size of a fingernail. If they're darker, almost brown, it means they were scraped off the dragon's belly days or even weeks ago, but bright gold means he was there hours or maybe even only minutes ago, and it would be wise to go by another route. You can always tell a dragon is coming toward you if you hear four quick clicking sounds on the concrete because even when a dragon makes himself invisible, he must let each one of his claws down individually as he walks..."
      Tess had no idea of what had happened to her parents. In her fantasies she was now the Queen, and order of succession been what it was, this more lest required her to consider her parents dead. Accordingly she prayed for their departed souls, but she did not do this often.
      James spent most of his afternoons after school exploring first his own block in the neighborhood and then the adjacent ones for about half a mile in every direction. In Lake George he had known every path and clearing in the several square miles of woods where he had hunted, and he studied and remembered this portion of the central Bronx with equal diligence. Soon he knew which buildings were locked and which were open, where their rear doors were, what their roofs and fire escapes looked like, how tall and easily climbed their rear fences were, which alleys were cul-de-sacs and which could be followed through to the next street, etc. He also carefully reconnoitered the area surrounding the apartment building where his Uncle Robert and Aunt Marie lived. A few times he fantasized about attacking it with great siege engines as if it were the medieval fortress of an evil king and queen both of whom he had to slay in hand to hand combat before he could triumphantly free his mother and father from their musty dungeon.
      While he usually was happy on his return from these little adventures, the ones in the neighborhood of his aunt and uncle were very unsatisfying because he knew the scenarios he had made up were unreal. He was a child, and his aunt and uncle were grown-ups who at any moment could exercise awful power over him. Maybe even now they were contemplating coming over and checking up on him and his mother. James was very frightened of the possibility that while his father was away, they might come and take him from his mother leaving her helpless and sending him to a Catholic school where, he had heard, the nuns regularly beat the pupils with large sticks for even the slightest infractions. Once to see what it might be like, he slapped his knuckles fairly hard with a wooden ruler. As might be expected he found it very painful. He vowed to himself never to go without struggling as hard as he could either to resist if it was possible or to flee if it was not.
      He envisioned living in the streets surviving by fishing money out of gratings the way he had seen a hobo do it, with a long string which had a flat weight tied to one end. On the bottom of this vasoline was smeared so that when it was let down through to a grating to just above the coin and then released to fall the last few inches onto the coin, it stuck and made it possible to reel the coin back up. James even carried a string with a weight and retrieved pennies, nickels, dimes and even an occasional quarter, especially from the subway grates along the Grand Concourse.
      Winter passed with James taking care of his responsibilities quite successfully. He never appropriated a nickel for a candy bar that was not entered into the ledger. He went to the bank and deposited his father's checks, went to the stores and shopped, went to the landlord and got rent receipts and went to school and studied, all without incident and all without a great deal of contact with other children.
      When spring came, one thing changed which led to an event of major if not the highest significance in James life.
      When the weather improved and the days grew longer, the neighborhood children begin playing in the streets. Most of them ignored James because he ignored them, but one was different from the others.
      Daniel Cooper was worse than the ordinary bully. He was fourteen years old, large for his age and possessed of a genuinely sadistic mentality. He was the oldest of five children whose father was dead and whose mother had little time out from her work as a seamstress to mind her children who were growing up almost wild in the streets. The Cooper family lived in an apartment building directly across the street from James'.
      James had explored this building as he had many others, but by some stroke of good fortune he had not encountered Danny, as he liked to be called, but eventually the inevitable occurred. James was a few doors from home looking right in front of himself as he walked, making no eye contact with anyone, when he passed Danny on the sidewalk going in the opposite direction.
      Suddenly James felt his arm grasped very hard and heard a harsh, adult like voice demand, "Who're you, little punk?"
      At first James struggled to break loose, but the hand held him fast. Instant terror coursed through his heart. He knew he had no one to fall back upon, no one to save him, but summoning all the courage he could, he flew at his assailant with all the force he could muster.
      Unfortunately for Danny in the long run this defense proved totally ineffectual.
      Danny held James at arm's-length while he flailed away with both his arms and legs which were too short to reach the body of his tormentor. Danny never had seen a small child whom he could not cow by the sheer force of his large size and brutal presence, and he was becoming enraged at the pain, however minor, he was experiencing from the little fists striking his forearm.
      "What's your name, you little prick?" Danny snarled as a crowd of children begin to gather. James only vaguely heard this repetition of the question. When James did not respond, Danny spun him around and began twisting James arm behind his back. "Tell me your name, or I'll break your fucking arm," yelled Danny right into James ear. James screamed in pain but said nothing. Then Danny reached into James' pockets with his free hand and searched until he found his money, forty-seven cents to be exact. " I'm gonna to keep this dough if you don't tell me your name, you little bastard,"
      said Danny.
      In spite of the pain, pain worse than he ever had known, James continued trying to wriggle free, and fearing he would lose his prey, Danny pulled him close and put his hand over James' face to hold him firmly against his chest while still twisting James' arm behind his back. Danny held him this way for several seconds during which James could not move at all. Then James suddenly wrenched his head to the side and sank his teeth into Danny's wrist with all the adrenaline enhanced strength he had. His small, sharp teeth broke Danny's skin and sank in clear to the bone. James tasted the salty, sweet sensation of Danny's blood as it flowed into his mouth through the gash he had made. It was now Danny's turn to cry out in pain. He could tell he could break this little animal's arm and he would still not release his jaws, so Danny let go of James intending to hit him with a rabbit punch on the back of his neck hard enough to knock him unconscious, but as soon as he felt his arm freed James eased his bite and ran toward his house. It was only an instant that Danny was too dazed to act, but it was long enough for James to open the front door of his building with the key strung around his neck, enter and shut the door behind him.
      Bleeding profusely, Danny ran after him only to find the heavy glass and wooden door shut. His rage was all consuming. Not only had he been humiliated in the presence of at least a dozen of the neighborhood children whom he had regularly terrorized, robbed and for the last year sexually molested, he had suffered this mortification at the hands, or rather the teeth, of someone barely two-thirds his height and one-half his weight. "I'll get you for this, motherfucker. I'll get you for this," Danny yelled as he impotently watched James scurrying up the stairs toward his apartment.
      James sat down near the top of the second flight of steps leading to the roof door. It was unlikely anyone would come up that far in the next few minutes, and James wanted to compose himself before seeing his mother. As both the pain in his arm and the taste of blood in his mouth began to subside, fear gripped his heart. He knew he was all alone, had no one to protect him from this awful bully who clearly intended to beat him very badly if he ever got the opportunity, and it was almost inevitable he would. Then an even greater horror enveloped him. What if this bully were to attack him right after he had cashed one of his father's checks? If he stole all his money, he and his mother would go hungry, even might be unable to pay the rent and be thrown into the street. His father had told him how hard it was to find an apartment now that the war was going on, and he knew he would be in terrible trouble if they lost their apartment on account of him.
      James knew he had to do something, but he was not sure what. He was tempted to get his father's snub nosed .38 Special revolver and shoot his tormentor, but he recognized that although the gun would neutralize the bigger boy's advantage in size it would be very difficult for him to get away with shooting him in a street full of people, and even if no one was around, he had read enough about ballistics to know an expert could identify which gun a bullet had been fired from, so since he could neither explain the disappearance of one of his father's guns nor keep a murder weapon, he ruled out shooting Danny.
      James straightened his clothing, combed his hair and went down to his apartment. He sat quietly as his mother related her day of dealing with assorted ministers and subjects. He ate dinner, listened to a few radio programs and went to bed. Although he was distracted from his fear during the afternoon and evening, his night was full of horrible dreams of being caught and beaten by Danny. One of these which was particularly vivid involved Danny pulling off his leg and beginning to eat him alive.
      For the next two days James was filled with fright on his way to and from school. He left his apartment building by the back door and climbed over a fence at the rear so he could emerge a block away in case Danny was guarding the front of his house. As he was coming home from school on Friday, a little blond girl his own age passed him in the street and tauntingly said, "I'd hate to be in your shoes. When Danny catches you, he's gonna kill you. He's sitting on his roof watching the whole neighborhood for you."
      Having had little contact with other children, James did not understand this was an exaggeration. He genuinely believed Danny intended to take his life. He imagined how painful it would be to die being kicked and punched to death and dreaded how disappointed his father would be when he learned he had failed to care for his mother. He sneaked in the back away, went to a front staircase window and peeked out the side. Sure enough, there was Danny sitting on the edge of the roof looking up and down the street with a small telescope. James went to his apartment more scared then ever. How could he escape the vengeance of this maniacally vigilant older boy?
      He could think of nothing. It was only with the greatest difficulty that he dissimulated his anguish in his mother's presence, and when he went to bed, he could not sleep at all. His little body trembled, and his mind was paralyzed by fear of imminent pain and death.
      At last around midnight his thoughts cleared briefly, and he said to himself, "This can't go on. I've got to do something. I've got to kill him before he kills me. I can't shoot him, but there are other ways to kill somebody... Maybe I could stab him with a knife... No, he's too big for me even with a knife. He could take it away from me and use it on me... There has to be something..." James mind grew more and more calm as he became confirmed in his decision to kill Danny. All it was now was a matter of devising an effective means.
      At last James visualized Danny sitting on top of the wall around his roof, and an instant later he knew what the answer was. He would hide on Danny's roof behind some crates next to the chimney, and as soon as Danny sat down over the edge, he would run at him from behind and push him off. "Now I've got you, you creep," thought James as he set his alarm for six o'clock.
      That night as he slept when Danny ran toward him in his dreams, James waited until Danny was about to pounce on him and then reached out and pulled a large lever which suddenly had materialized next to him. Abruptly a small area of sidewalk fell away from under Danny, and James looked down into a pit to watch as alligators thrashed and devoured Danny who screamed in agony. After the alligators were done, James pushed the lever back in place, and it and the pit vanished. James slept soundly for the rest of the night.
      James arose quickly at the sound of his alarm clock and shut off the buzzer immediately. In the dark he dressed in his usual street clothes except for one detail. He put on his sneakers so he could move silently across the roof without alerting Danny or giving away his presence to the tenants of the top floor apartments. By 6:15 AM he had made his way across the street, through the side alley and back door and up the stairs to the roof. The old fruit crates he had seen near the chimney when he had explored the building two months ago were still there along with some new ones. Silently he set them up to form a structure which though it maintained the randomness of the previous pile would not only conceal him and permit him to see the entire roof it would also allow him to emerge from its cover rapidly and noiselessly.
      Wadding some papers for a cushion, James got down on one knee on the cracked, old roofing tar and rested his forearms on a box.
      Just in case his hunting blind, and that is was what James called it, did not work and Danny spotted him, James had concealed his mother's seven inch carving knife along the inside of his left sneaker. He thought for a while about how best to employ this if he had to and then decided that at the first sign Danny had discovered him, he would draw his knife with his right hand, hold it behind his back to hide it and charge Danny with his left fist out. When Danny grabbed his left hand, he would stab him as near to the heart as he could get, several times if possible. He also intended to pierce his throat if the got a chance because he knew from butchering game with his father that the throat was the most vulnerable place to drain blood from a body.
      His plan made and twice visualized, both his attack plan if all went well and his defense if something went wrong, James’ mind entered the state of timeless alertness he had experienced while hunting for game. The James he knew ceased to exist and was replaced by the serenely confident predator. He could have waited motionless in this position for the entire day, but it was only two hours later James heard steps coming up the staircase to the roof. The door opened, and as soon as it closed, James saw it was Danny. His heart did not beat faster from fear or his mind cloud with hatred. Rather he simply continued in the transcendental waiting/hunting state breathing deeply and evenly as his father had taught him. He was, however, completely ready for action just as he had been the entire two hours he had waited.
      Danny looked around the roof and appeared to notice the rearrangement of the boxes. He stared at them for what seemed to James like hours, and James thought, "If he takes one step towards me, I'll have to charge, or I'll be stuck back here where I can't move around. It's too bad I had to change the boxes, but before there was just no way to hide behind them and still see out." At last Danny turned and walked to the front of the building. He reached into his jacket pocket and drew out his telescope.
      First he leaned over the edge which was about chest high. Resting on his elbows, he surveyed the street below. James eyed his back patiently. A few moments passed, and James began to wonder if Danny was going to sit on the wall the way he had the previous day. James concentrated hard on the image of Danny climbing up on the wall just as he would have focused his visualization on a rabbit coming into the clearing, a hunting technique his father had taught him, and finally Danny lifted his body up onto the wall and began dangling his feet over the edge.
      James did not hesitate an instant.
      Soundleesly he emerged from behind the crates, and keeping low to avoid being seen from the buildings next door and across the street, he ran straight at Danny's back with his fists out and shoved with all his might. Danny's precariously balanced body was easily dislodged from its perch. As soon as he saw Danny was off the roof and heard him begin to scream, James ran to the door and started down the stairs. Listening carefully for people in the halls, he heard no one. As he had expected, everyone living in the front of the building probably rushed to their windows to see what had happened. James raced unobserved to the basement, entered the alley to the rear yard, and crossed by the garbage cans into the basement of the building facing the next street before anyone had entered the hallway in Danny's building. He hid next to the coal bin as two women emptied their trash and spoke in a language he did not understand.
      Soon they were gone, and James made his way out into the street a block away from his own. He circled around two blocks and entered his apartment building from the rear. Looking out the front staircase window, he saw the blanket covered body, the weeping woman and the small crowd which had gathered. Then he saw the police car pull up.
      "The creep is dead," thought James.
      "He'll never hurt anyone again. I did the right thing, but there's no point in worrying mom. I'll keep this to myself... I guess what I did was murder even if I had to do it... The way murderers get caught is talking too much. It happens all the time in the movies. I'll never tell anyone... It was real smart to push with my fists. That way I didn't leave fingerprints." James went into his apartment well before his mother got up to make breakfast and well on his way to being the one that got away.

Chapter X

The memory of what he had done that Saturday morning and what led up to it left James conscious mind quickly. It was not that James was squeamish about having killed someone and was repressing it.
      He forgot about it because he was indifferent to that fact and considered it unimportant. He had had a problem, and he had solved it. On a deeper level his mind was somewhat altered because he had been faced with a dilemma and had handled it successfully by killing someone, and successful solutions have a way of evolving into behavior patterns. This is not to say James had enjoyed taking Danny's life. He had not, but now he was more predisposed to this response to a difficult situation than he had been before. Of course, since James was still only seven years old, none of this was on a particular verbal or conscious level. If it had been, his words and thoughts would be recorded here.
      Furthermore James was not even remotely inclined to the notion that every time a bigger child knocked his books out from under his arm that he ought to hunt down and slay this child. For cases of this sort he had his father's advice to go berserk, something which almost always would work with a slightly larger child, particularly a cowardly bully James had almost completely forgotten Danny by the following Wednesday when he was walking home from an errand a few blocks from his home. Abruptly a little girl about a year younger than himself fell into step with him. Her clothes seemed somewhat messy, her long, auburn hair only partially brushed and her skin a bit dirty, but what was most immediately apparent was the sad, lonely look in her eyes. "You must be glad Danny's dead," said the little girl with a slight lisp.
      Who's Danny?" asked James who never had heard the name of his assailant.
      "Daniel Brian Cooper," said the little girl. "Don't you know, the bully who twisted your arm the other day, the one who fell off the roof. I was there when he did it to you. I thought you were so brave not giving into him. It must've hurt something awful."
      James carefully recorded the name "Daniel Brian Cooper" before noncommittally shrugging his shoulders. "People who talk too much get caught," he thought.
      "Well, I'm glad he's dead," said the little girl with unconcealed hatred. "He did bad things to me."
      "Like what?" asked James his child's curiosity aroused.
      "I can't talk about it. He said he'd killed me if I told."
      "But he's dead. He can't hurt you."
      "I guess... If you really want to know and you'll be my friend and promise not to tell anybody else, you can come in my house, and I'll tell you. My money works in a factry till late. I'm home alone till midnight. I go to bed all by myself."
      "Okay," said James, and she led him into an apartment building across the street from where they had been walking.
      She took the key around her neck out from under her dress and used it to let them into a third-floor, rear, walk up apartment. James noticed right away it was a lot different from his own. Clothes were strewn everywhere and not just children's clothes but also adult clothes, and the sink was full of dirty pots and dishes. The place smelled funny, too.
      "Do you want a glass of milk and some cookies? My mom leaves lots for me. I'll share them with you 'cause you're my friend."
      "Sure," said James and, "thanks,"
      when she placed them in front of him on the table.
      James glanced silently around the kitchen and the other parts of the apartment which could be seen through the kitchen door. Chaos was everywhere; an unmade bed with newspapers on it, two adults dresses thrown on the couch, a little girl's dress on an easy chair and dirty underwear all over the place. James was not so fastidious as to be repulsed by what he saw, but he was glad his own home was not like this.
      "My name's Kathy, Kathleen Delaney.
      What's yours?"
      James Marlowe."
      "Do your friends call you 'Jimmy?'"
      "No," said James who never had been called "Jimmy."
      After a few moments of eating quietly Kathleen said, "I'm glad you're going to be my friend. None of the other kids play with me. They make fun of me all the time."
      "Why?" Asked James wondering if he should go near Kathleen if no other child would.
      "I shouldn't tell you. You won't play with me, and you'll tease me like everybody else."
      "I thought you said you'd tell me everything if I was your friend," said James remembering Kathleen's remark offering to tell him all about Danny.
      A pained look crossed Kathleen's face as if she had been betrayed before in this area. "Promise you won't tell anybody and still be my friend and not tease me if I tell you everything?"
      "Yes," said James knowing he would not be even remotely inclined to poke fun at her in no matter what she told him because he hated all the teasing he saw children giving each other every day in school. In spite of the fact that he had killed in cold blood, in many ways he was gentle for a child his age and had no desire to hurt someone who was no threat to him. He was also aware he would avoid Kathleen completely if he did not like anything she told him.
      "I have a problem," said Kathleen pausing a long time during which James looked across the table at her patiently but impassively. She clearly was searching her limited vocabulary for a discreet way of stating her difficulty and at last went on ambiguously, "Sometimes I have accidents," hoping this would be all she would have to say.
      Unfortunately James' response was no help to her six-year-old sensibilities. "Accidents, what kind of accidents?"
      Finally after another long pause Kathleen blurted out, "Sometimes I pee my pants. I can't help it. I get scared, and I can't hold it in. I did it a bunch of times in kindergarten. I wasn't the only one, but I did it more than anybody else, and I'm the only one in first grade who's done it. They call me 'Kathy Pee Pants' and won't play with me.
      Please be my friend anyway. It's not such a bad thing to do. I'll be real nice to you and do anything you want."
      A number of considerations passed through James mind. His father had taught him to weigh things carefully and estimate their consequences before making decisions, and James thought this was a good time to think about what he had heard. Oddly enough in spite of the fact that he had been toilet trained well before the age of two and never had had any difficulties since then, he found her bladder problem a matter of indifference.
      No large amount of attention had been focused on this aspect of his development.
      Since both his parents had bad memories of their early years, he had been taught to find bodily functions normal and ordinary, not dirty. He even had been told that if he had an accident, he would not be punished, just that he should try not to, and since Kathleen seemed to be trying, nothing more could be asked of her. On the other hand James clearly recognized she was an outcast, and his father's warning about standing out immediately came into his mind.
      "I've never seen you in my school.
      Where you go?" He asked.
      "P. S. 119. Where do you go?"
      "P. S. 26. I think the street I live on is the border," said James thinking, "She's a little dirty, but she seems nice. She goes to another school so if I come to her house, no one's going to find out and tease me... And I don't have to take her to my house to play...
      It's too bad my mom's the way she is, but she is. I can't have anybody over...
      Her mother works. She'll never have to know about me, so she'll never want to call my mom about anything. She's pretty, too, nice long, red hair. I like her nose. It turns up funny."
      While James was deliberating, he did not noticed Kathleen becoming increasingly agitated. At this point he did not recognize the importance of his decision for her. Unlike him she was desperately lonely, and this opportunity for a friend, a friend who was older and braver, meant more to her then James could imagine. At last James said, "Okay, if you'll do what I say, I'll be your friend," and to give him his due, he did not mean this in any tyrannical sense. He merely wanted to prevent Kathleen from saying or doing anything which would draw attention on himself and his mother, because by this point he vaguely understood both that certain people who were called "crazy" were locked up and that his mother, however nice she might be, was one of those "crazy" people.
      The relief on Kathleen's face could not have been greater if she had been spared from a firing squad. She jumped up, ran around the table and hugged James quite hard. "I will, I will, cross my heart and hope to die... Ooh, I've got to pee... Wanna, watch?" asked Kathleen the excitement of the moment having proved too much for her.
      James was not especially eager to accept this offer but heard in her voice a tone which indicated she thought she was suggesting a substantial treat so rather than turning down her gift, he followed her into the bathroom where, to his surprise, she quickly undressed and squatted in the bathtub. "Can I let go? I can't hold it much longer. It's starting to hurt."
      "Sure, go ahead," said James indifferently. He did notice for the first time in his life the basic external distinction between boys and girls but felt only minor interest in watching Kathleen urinate. She avoided her feet as well as she could in the narrow tub but seemed disappointed at James' inattention.
      "Why don't you pee in the toilet like everybody else?" asked James hiding his increasing confusion.
      "I usually do, silly. I did it so you could watch it come out of me. Danny made me do it this way. I hated doing it for him, but I thought you'd like it. I wouldn't mind doing it for you," said Kathleen distressed her gift had gone unappreciated.
      "No big thing to me one way or the other. What else did Danny do?"
      "While I peed, he'd rub his cock up and down till it squirted baby stuff on me. I hated it when he did that. I only did it cause he said he'd twist my arm till I did, and it hurt something awful.
      It was all sticky and slimy... But if you want to, I'll let you. You're my boyfriend, and I'll let you do anything you want 'cause you're nice to me."
      "What's'baby stuff' and 'cock?'"
      "'Cock' is what you've got between your legs where I've got my pussy," she said pointing at her vagina. "When grown-ups want to make a baby, the man puts his cock in the woman's pussy, and he squirts baby stuff in her. Danny told me about it. He stole a book about it.
      You can't do it till you're grown-up... I'm so glad he's dead. Last week he told me he was going to put his cock in my pussy 'cause it'd make him feel good. I'm still real little down there. It'd hurt horrible... You won't do that to me, will you?"
      "No," said James firmly. The account of Danny watching Kathleen was merely silly to him, and the "squirting" business both incomprehensible and mildly distasteful, but the notion of hurting, apparently very badly, a lonely, frightened little girl who seemed quite nice was utterly repugnant to James whose only training about causing pain had been that it was very wrong not to kill an animal as quickly and cleanly as possible or to cause it needless suffering. "I'm glad I killed him, really glad," thought James. He was tempted, very, very tempted, to reveal to Kathleen that he had killed Danny both because of the gratitude he anticipated and the bond a common secret would allow them to share, but he resisted with all the self-discipline his father had taught him, and he recalled one of the maxims his father had made him learn, "It's not a secret if two people know."
      "Put your clothes on, Kathy. I won't hurt you. Friends don't do things like that to each other."
      He noticed his little playmate's relief as she quickly dressed, ran some water in the tub and asked, "Do you have to pee?"
      "Yes," said James realizing he did.
      "Can I watch... Please?" pleaded Kathleen.
      "If you want," said James unbuttoning his fly and relieving himself.
      "Did Danny do anything else to you?"
      "Sometimes he punched me and twisted my arm, but that's all."
      "How long'd he do this to you?"
      "'Bout five times, ever since I told him my mom wasn't home afternoons a month ago."
      "Did you tell anybody else?"
      "No, just him and you."
      "Well, from now on don't tell anybody else. You got into a lot of trouble and almost got hurt real bad. That ought to teach you to keep your mouth shut. You can tell me everything 'cause I'm your friend, but if I'm gonna be your friend, I don't want you getting in more trouble so promise me you won't tell anybody anything from now on," said James trying to sound like a much older, wiser big brother, and also trying to ensure that no one would know anything about any relationship he might have with Kathleen.
      "I promise."
      "Don't tell anybody I come here either, not even your mother."
      "I promise."
      "Okay," said James bored with bathroom topics and confident Kathleen would keep silent. "Have you got any games? Do you know how to play rummy?"
      "Yeah, my mom showed me. I've got a deck. Wanna play?"
      "Sure," said James glad to be back on familiar ground, and the two children went back to the kitchen table for an hour. Eventually James said he had to go because his mother would worry about him.
      Kathleen asked when he would see her again, and James said he did not know. "Just come home after school, and if I can make it, I will."
      "Okay," said Kathleen happier than she ever had been.
      James, too, was elated as he walked home. Here at last was a little playmate with whom he could share his afternoons, play cards and board games, draw pictures, make believe, listen to the radio and generally do the things he had seen other children do but which he had missed out on until now. That she was a girl made no difference to him. He was only interested in her eagerness to be his friend and her willingness to please him. Intuitively he recognized this gave him an upper hand, but he did not envisaged exploiting this in any way because it seemed she was genuinely satisfied by the same innocent pastimes he enjoyed. As for her display of sexual precocity he considered it Danny's fault and assumed she would be happy going to the bathroom alone now that she realized he was not interested in the same things Danny was. His lack of interest in sexual matters, which was not surprising for that time at his age, was furthered by the fact that what she had said did little more than repeat an answer his parents had given him when he had asked where he had come from, "When a mommy and a daddy want to make a baby, it grows in the mommy's belly till it's big enough, and then a doctor takes it out," a very advanced answer for 1940. He also had been told not to reveal this information to other children because most parents lied to their children and got very angry if they learned the truth. Since James already had accepted several parental injunctions regarding secrecy, he had had little difficulty adding this to the growing list of things he had to keep to himself.
      The spring of 1942 wore on, and James continued his daily life of going to school, running errands and playing with Kathleen . He also regularly performed a series of exercises prescribed by his father most of which were intended to enhance his shooting abilities. By temperament he was a cheerful child, but as the weeks passed, his anticipation of the long-awaited return of his father, however brief he knew it would be, led him to a fever pitch of excitement.
      At last the day arrived, and PFC, he had made PFC, John Marlowe came home from basic training. Like almost everyone else in the U.S.A. he had been convinced of the righteousness of the Allied cause before enlisting, and during boot camp James' father had been thoroughly indoctrinated with the belief that this war was, indeed, a conflict between the forces of light and forces of darkness, unquestionably a matter of black and white wholly without gray areas.
      The first three days of John Marlowe's leave were school days allowing John and Tess ample time to drink deeply from the cup of their flesh, but each afternoon when he came home, James found his father fully dressed in his uniform prepared to regale his son with stories of what he had learned in basic training; the weapons he had learned to use, the rigorous discipline he had been taught to accept and the honor and glory he intended to bring to his family and country by performing deeds of great valor in defense of good against evil.
      John made it clear to his son over and over, " If we fail, if we lose, nothing good will remain in the world.
      Tyrants will rule the earth and kill anyone who disagrees with them about anything. We are a country ruled by laws. Even the President must obey the laws.
      In their countries their rulers don't have to follow laws. They can do anything they want, and their people're no better. They do whatever they want because they're stronger than the people they've defeated up till now, and they think that's right just like bank robbers think it's okay to rob banks. They kill and steal and take their pleasure however they want. They're whole nations of outlaws led by madman," he concluded trying to explain the state of the world in terms a seven-year-old could comprehend, and James took his father's words into his mind as well has he could and saw the situation as a battle against armies of bullies like Danny seeking to conquer the small, weak children like himself and Kathleen and then to make them squat in a bathtub to pee before hurting them very badly in ways he was not exactly sure about, ways he knew would be excruciating for him and her but which they in their evil nature would find pleasurable."
      To some extent James saw his father as the only thing standing between himself and these horrible tortures. If James had loved his father before for the love he had given him, now James also looked upon his father as a bulwark against the collapse of morality and order in the world. James was not certain what "morality" and "order" meant, but he knew they were important because his father repeated the words several times and expected James to understand them. The best James could come up with was the notion that his father was going to try to prevent the evil people from hurting him and his mother and other nice, weaker people like Kathleen and that if he failed, only the brutally strong, violent and ruthless would survive. Since James did not want to disappoint his father, he acted as if he understood everything his father said.
      One very important thing which ought to be noted here is that at this time James did think he understood the difference between good and evil being the governing principles in the world.
      For him "good" simply implied a world where people were nice to each other, and "evil" implied a world where people could do to each other whatever hurtful things their personal and/or national strength might enable them to get away with. James saw it as a toss up over who might win and thought it possible his father, who symbolized all good things for him, could make a difference. James still had in his mind traces of his mother's teachings that his father was a great king who stood for all the goodness in the world and who actually could lead the forces of good to victory.
      James saw himself as good but weak because of his size, and he fervently hoped good would win because he himself had no desire to harm another person in any way and had never grasped how or why other children, or adults for that matter, since his father clearly had indicated this possibility, could derive pleasure from another's fears and pain.
      Furthermore he dreaded what life would be like into world ruled by armies of Danny's, a world in which he might have to deal with everyone the ways he had Danny himself, an idea he did not relish at all.
      The fourth day of John Marlowe's leave was a warm, sunny Saturday, and late morning found James and his father strolling down the Grand Concourse the mile to the Yankee Stadium. John told his son stories of baseball greats he had seen play. James listened in awe as his father talked about Babe Ruth's home runs. James was ecstatic with pride about being seen with his handsome father in uniform and with expectation of his first major league baseball game as he now skipped, now hopped, now ran down the street, but he still listened carefully to the things his father told him, one of which was soon to give James greater knowledge about himself.
      "It's wartime, so a lot of the best players are in the service," said John, "but it should be a good game anyway...
      I sure do wish I could see Ted Williams play. Last year he batted .406. He's the first player in a while to hit over .400. He must be something to see. He came to the big leagues after we moved to Lake George, so I've never seen him. I read in the paper he has eyes so good only one man in ten thousand has 'em as keen.
      They say even when Bob Feller throws his hundred mile an hour fast ball, Ted Williams can stand there at the plate watching the seams on the baseball turning as it comes toward him..."
      John bought them tickets for lower deck seats about ten rows behind home plate near the first base side of the screen. James listened attentively as his father explained the mysteries of keeping box score. His own child's initial response was that it would be quite adequate to follow the scoreboard in center field, but if his father thought this devotion to detail was necessary, he would accept his father's wisdom.
      "It's very important," his father said. "You have to keep exact records of what you've seen, or you won't be able to use any new facts you've learned to build your understanding... Like I always keep records of what loads I shoot, which ones work better and how different factors effect performance... Baseball isn't quite that precise. You have to be meticulous with guns, but it helps to have box scores of games youve seen."
      "What's 'meticulous?'" James asked.
      "Very, very careful," John Marlowe stressed realizing he had inadvertently touched on the subject to which he had to refer with the utmost caution in the presence of his small son.
      The game began, and John Marlowe's soon noticed his son was observing each pitch with an intensity which surprised him. When the Yankees came to bat and the third inning, James asked, "Can I go down to the screen and watch a few from there? I'll come right back."
      "Okay," answered his father, "but only a couple. People don't want you blocking their view."
      James ran down to the screen and watched four pitches before returning to his seat saying triumphantly, "I can see 'em, too. I wasn't sure I could back here, but down there I can."
      "You can see what?" replied John only partially focused on his son.
      "The seams on the baseball turning after the pitcher throws it to the batter like you said about Ted Williams."
      "I don't think so, son," said John vaguely aware that where his son had stood at the edge of the backstop screen was over fifty feet behind home plate.
      "Honest Dad, I really can. On the slow ones I can even see a few from up here, but down there I can see 'em all."
      Knowing his son was scrupulously honest with him, John took his mind away from the game long enough to put together such facts as his son's phenomenal abilities as a shootist and game spotter and asked himself, "Maybe he can... How can I check?" but could devise no immediate test, so he said only said, "We'll talk about it later. Pay attention to the game."
      James had no difficulty doing as he was told and watched the remainder of the game with fascination. As they walked back up toward Burnside Avenue after the game and James bubbled over repeatedly with, "Wow, did you see..." His father was a bit distracted. The fact that his son might have very acute vision intrigued him, but he could think of no way to verify his son's claim of being able to see the baseball seams turning as the ball came toward the batter. "It could just be a child's fantasy," John thought.
      "He may believe he sees them without being able to, but what if he can? I suppose I'll just have to settle for some kind of check on his regular sight and figure if that's unusual, he has the speed vision, too."
      "James," he said as he looked east across the Grand Concourse and down Tremont Avenue at the row of store signs, "read me the smallest sign you can see."
      James looked down the street, but instead of picking something like the second line of the delicatessen sign midway down the block which was the smallest one his father could read with his own 20/20 vision, he said, "Anthony Avenue, the one on the light pole by the traffic light."
      "You mean you can see the little street sign over a block away? I can barely make out there is a sign there much less read it."
      "It's easy for me, Dad. I could read one twice that far, but the street goes downhill there, so the rest're behind the hill."
      After a long pause John said to his son, " If it takes the eyes of one man in ten thousand to see the seams turning from the plate and you can see 'em from back at the screen, you must have one in a million eyes... I don't know what to say about this right away, but remember what I've told you about standing out. This is just the sort of thing you don't want other people to know... No wonder you can shoot so well... See the second line on the delicatessen sign?"
      "Yes, sir."
      "That's about the best a normal man with good eyes like mine can see. Remember what that looks like, and from now on never let anybody know you can see better than that, and when they check your eyes in school, never read below the third line from the bottom. That's the normal line."
      "Yes, sir."
      James always had thought of himself as rather ordinary, like other boys except for the fact that his mother was "a little unusual" -- that was how he put it to himself -- and that did not make him uncommon, just her, but this changed everything. Like most children he had assumed most people saw what he saw and could, for example, read the date on a dime from the other side of a room twelve or fifteen feet away, but at this point he began to see himself as different, even unique, because of this strange gift, the discovery of which was another step, a rather large one at that, on James' path toward becoming the one that got away.

Chapter XI

The remainder of John Marlowe's leave passed as if in the proverbial twinkling of an eye. One morning James knocked at the door of his parents bedroom, and, as they often had when he had been younger, they allowed him to get into bed between them and snuggle for half an hour, something he now did on weekends with his mother alone. Another afternoon his father watched carefully as he practiced dry firing his smallest .38 Special revolver from a variety of positions simulating combat. On the third day in the early evening James and his father walked up the Grand Concourse to Fordham Road to a large store specializing in all kinds of nuts and candies.
      Knowing it would be quite a while before he had another opportunity like this, John indulged his son with all manner of treats including his first ice cream sundae. He noticed many of his favorite items were either much increased in price or missing entirely, and he promised his son, "After this war's over and we can get things like we used to, I'll treat you to some real goodies, things you'll think're ten times better'n these."
      "Thanks, Dad... After the war we'll be able to go back to the country, won't we?"
      "You don't like the city, do you?"
      "It's okay, Dad. I understand we all have to make sacrifices for the war effort, and I promise I won't ever let you down about taking care of Mom, but I don't like it here. It's much nicer in Lake George."
      "James, you're a good boy, the best son a man ever had," said John deeply moved by the fervor of his son's vow about his mother. "I promise you, Son, I'll fight as bravely as I can in this awful war, so you can be proud of me the way I'm proud of you, and when it's all over, you and your mom and me'll all move back to Lake George. We'll spend as much time as we can in the woods. That's what you want, isn't it, to be in the woods?"
      "Yes, sir," said James thinking how much less likely it would be for him to encounter a Danny in his meadow in the Adirondacks than it was on the streets of the Bronx. This conversation was etched indelibly into James' memory, and he was able to recall it many years later with total clarity down to the specific candy counter they were standing before when it took place. He was tempted to mention Danny to his father at this time but decided his father had enough to worry about already, so he did not.
      A few days later John Marlowe was shipped overseas.
      Soon it was summer, and school was out. James continued to take care of everything he had before, but now he had far more free time. He chose to spend this time with Kathleen whom he met after her mother left for work around noon. Together they roamed the Bronx for distances well over a mile from home. On these treks they always hunted for change which had fallen down gratings and afterwards spent what they had retrieved on the usual childish treats like candy and small toys. These they almost always divided evenly. If they wanted different things, they would wait until they had enough money to buy both items. They developed an elaborate ritual of what they thought was correct, polite, adult behavior, and each vied with the other to offer him or her the best choices or the better halves. Both developed a genuine sense of pleasure at seeing the other happy. Kathleen was largely motivated by the societal training that a woman should yield to her husband in all things, but this was counterbalanced by James being predominantly motivated by the notion that a good man provided his wife with everything she wanted. They shared everything which came their way including lots of "treasures" they found in the garbage they picked through on their excursions, for example, a soap box racer they made from the wheels of a baby carriage they found in a trash can on Webster Avenue.
      It ought to be noted that it was not long before they agreed they would marry when they grew up, and as an extension of this they decided, "Since we know we're gonna get married when we're old enough, it's just like we're married now." This had no sexual overtones at all for them. It simply meant they would share everything equally and be as nice to each other as possible. They virtually never discussed their parents because that would have intruded on their pretense that they were self-supporting and free to do whatever they liked. In fact in many ways they were totally independent of adult authority.
      Since neither child ever played with any besides the other and since neither was a belligerent or uncompromising child, a strange effect took place over the summer. Since James spent a substantial amount of his time at make believe tea parties and playing house with dolls, he developed a distinct sense of pleasure about evincing what both adults and children at that time would have judged deeply feminine traits of gentleness, nurturing and domesticity. He greatly enjoyed not having to be on guard to prove his toughness the way boys usually do amongst their peers.
      Although he did not lose his capacity to go berserk the way his father had taught him, it receded to a deeper corner of his consciousness, however, he only associated this show of gentleness with Kathleen and his mother. It never would have entered his mind to deal with a stranger in this manner.
      Kathleen on the other hand played lots of stoop ball and Cowboys and Indians and became more aggressively self-confident because she learned to compete hard and did win occasionally even though she lost far more times than she won. On a deeper level she was completely submissive and docile before James' wishes, but he clearly indicated he wanted her to play her best at whatever they did, be it box ball or checkers, so she did. He always praised her when she won saying things like, "See, you really can do it well. You're as good as me, and I'm really good," and if a long time went by without her winning, he would let her win a game or two.
      The day came in the middle of August when Kathleen's father came home on leave, and this proved to be a very lonely time for James. There was no one with whom to share the remarkably lucky find of a grating with a half dollar at the bottom and no one to talk with about the pennant race or the correct dress for this or that doll. James now understood why Kathleen had grabbed him and hugged him very tightly and said over and over, "I missed you so much," when she had seen him for the first time after his father's leave.
      If his own father's leave had seemed to have lasted but an instant, Kathleen's father's seemed to James to drag on forever, but at last he, too, was shipped overseas, and the children were reunited. They returned to their play and even increased their range of exploration through the added mobility of roller skates. Kathleen had gotten a pair from her father, and James already had had a pair which they had shared in the past. One day the even got as far away as the George Washington Bridge and another Tibbets Brook Park in Yonkers. They were not often approached in any way, but they did learn to keep moving and not draw any more attention on themselves than necessary. They were particularly careful to be quiet and swift when they fished money from gratings because this often caused both adults and children to look at them. As soon as they were done at a grating, they moved off quickly, knowing most children their own age or a year or two older were expressly forbidden to cross streets and could not follow them to harass them physically about being so poor they had to collect money in this way. They were indifferent to verbal taunts because as James once said to Kathleen, "Who cares what they think? We don't know 'em 'n we'll probly never see 'em again."
      Kathleen answered, "Yeah, 'n they have to beg money from their parents. My mom's a pain when I ask her for anythin', even a nickel for a candy bar. We don't have to ask for anythin'. We can do anythin' we want,' and no grown-ups can do nothin' about it."
      James never let Kathleen mention him to her mother and never told his mother about her. He intuited that no parent was likely to prohibit what they did not even suspect was going on. As time passed, they developed a contempt for adult authority and felt totally a law unto themselves. More than once they had encounters like the following one with the superintendent of an old apartment house under the Third Avenue elevated train tracks.
      "I got to pee," said Kathleen as they skated down the street.
      "Me, too. How 'bout that alley over there?" said James as they crossed the street and waited until no one was by the covered alley to the rear of the building. They entered the alley and relieved themselves. Just as they finished but before they had a chance to straighten their clothes, James saw an older man in work clothes enter the alley from the rear. "Run. It's the super," James cried out as the man yelled, "Whatta you kids doin'? I break you necks."
      They ran up the concrete steps to the street and fled, Kathleen with most of her dress caught in her underpants which she had pulled up hurriedly so her legs would be free. As soon as they were far enough away from the man who was too obese to pursue them, they turned and thumbed their noses at him and laughed about their close escape. "We better stay away from here for a while," James said.
      "I bet he'd a hit us if he caught us," said Kathleen fixing her dress.
      "He'd didn't catch us," said James.
      "May be we shun't take chances like that."
      "Gotta pee someplace. We'll look for someplace safer next time... You know I don't like to take chances. That's why we never steal nothin' and don't do nothin' 'round cops."
      "I know, but I was scared."
      "I was too. Wasn't it fun?"
      "Yeah... I almost peed on my underpants. Boys're lucky they don't have to squat."
      "Well, girls can't get caught in their zipper. I almost did."
      "My under pants showed all the way up the block. My mom'd be angry if she knew."
      "Are you gonna tell her?"
      "No."
      "Then how'll she ever know they showed?" said James picking up Kathleen's dress and adding, "They show again."
      "Don't do that in the street," said Kathleen. "You know I'll take my clothes off for you if you ask me nice back it my house."
      "I'm sorry. I shun't've. I won't do it again."
      "You're forgiven. D'you want me to undress for you? I will if you want, tomorrow after my mom's gone."
      "It's no big thing," said James casually but beginning to wonder if he might not be wrong and changing the topic by saying he wanted to take off his skates and play Cowboys and Indians in a nearby park on Tremont Avenue. Since they had no toy guns with them, they simply pointed their index fingers and yelled "Bang! Bang!" while quickly lowering their thumbs to simulate revolver hammers. James had showed Kathleen how to do it, but he never had discussed real firearms with her. He trusted her with little secrets like where in the neighborhood he hid possessions he could not take home, but larger secrets he long since had decided to keep entirely to himself. It was not that he distrusted her or felt she would betray him deliberately. He simply reasoned she could not accidentally reveal what she did not know. This sensation that he had several very large secrets made him feel quite special and self important, but he realized this condition of feeling different and somehow better than others, craftier and slier than others, depended on it being totally his own, completely unknown to others, so he no longer was even tempted to disclose any of it. He just continued to bask in an inner glow of superiority while attempting to disguise this attitude by acting as if he felt himself to be the same as everybody else. This latter element obviously had its origin in his father's admonition to be inobtrusive.
      Summer ended and third grade began for James. His life went on in a rather stable manner which if it was out of the ordinary nevertheless provided him with a feeling of love and security.
      Afternoons he ran errands or played with Kathleen. Evenings he played cards with his mother and listened to her stories or the radio. When his father's letters came, they read them aloud over and over is if they were parcels of his living flesh. In spite of his father's descriptions of the perils of war it never even remotely occurred to James that his father might die, so when he came home in the early darkness one Friday evening in December, 1942, the official looking envelope on the table held no terror for him. His mother pointed at the letter, and she began shrieking, "Aaaah... Aaaah... Aaaah..." James was petrified and only his eyes moved as he followed his mother's twitching contortions in the small space between the stove and the refrigerator where she had been standing.
      His mind was blank with horror. His mother, however different she might have been from other women he had seen, always had been calmly poised and gently and lovingly sweet in his presence, often distracted but never anything even remotely like this keening fury who stood before him completely oblivious of his existence.
      After screaming his mother began to look heavenward intoning, "Oh, God, the King is dead. The good King is dead...
      How will we ever survive? How will we ever prevail over the forces of darkness without the good, good King to lead us..."
      As she rambled on, James managed to pick up the letter. Somewhere in his heart he already knew what the letter would say, so he only sounded out snatches of phrases. "Regrets to inform you" and "in action" were the only words he actually saw. He sat back down on his chair and began to sob softly to himself.
      After a while his mother came over in a daze and said, "In other times the ambassador who brought evil news was slain by the King because he often had had a hand in the evil. I don't suspect a courier of conspiring against us and the kingdom... This travesty of justice could only be the work of some great Judas because only some very powerful, very evil force could have destroyed one as great as your father, the King."
      James knew vaguely of the story of Jesus' betrayal by Judas Iscariot whom he had heard another child call the greatest villain in history, and although he was aware his father was not a great king or general, he found it difficult to comprehend how such a good marksman and soldier as his father could be killed in battle by an enemy of ordinary human proportions. This led him to believe the Axis enemies were a larger than life force of giants who towered above normal American men the way Danny had stood above him. A fear gripped his heart that soon America would be overrun by an army of evil titans who would deal with grown-up American women as Danny had his beloved Kathleen. He remembered his vows to his father to protect his mother and was steeled in his resolve to practice even harder and longer with his father's guns so that when the enemy soldiers came, he could slay as many as possible before perishing in battle as his father had. "I'm a kid. They won't suspect me. I'll be able to slip around killing "em one by one... Killing 'em like I killed Danny, picking 'em off 'cause I'm smarter 'n they are... Mom's sure a mess... I've never seen her like this. What'll I do?"
      James watched without much reaction as his mother walked to the stove and burned the letter. Her back was to him, so he could not see her expression, but he could see her shoulders trembling and hear her sobbing. He got up and went over to her. He put his arms around her waist and stroked her back. He felt her tears falling on his head. "I'll take care of you," he said, but the word "How?" reverberated in his mind as he, too, cried. For a long time he and Tess stood in their grieving embrace, but eventually she took her arms from his shoulders and told him she was going to lie down. He nodded, and after she went to her bedroom, he undressed and went to bed. He did not even attempt to stop sobbing but finally fell asleep.
      When he awoke the next morning, he recalled a nightmare of giants pulling the clothes off his mother. He almost began weeping again but said to himself, "I've cried already. Now I've got to figure out how to take care of my mother. I swore to Dad I'd never let anything happened to her. Now I've got to keep my promise." He began to think of ways a child could earn money like carrying women's packages home from the newly opened supermarket on Burnside Avenue, something he knew other boys did for nickels and dimes. He would have to work many hours after school and on weekends to make enough money to pay the rent and feed them, but he would do it. He would have to see much less of Kathleen, but he would do it. He would have to give up all play, but he would do it. "I'll do whatever it takes," he repeated to himself each time he thought of a new obstacle.
      Around 9:00 AM, long after he usually rose, he got up, dressed and went to the kitchen. His mother's door was still closed, and he decided it would be a bad idea to disturb her. He ate some dry cereal and drank a glass of milk. Then he went to sit on the living room couch to plan their future. Since he had run all his family's financial errands for several months, he had a realistic idea of how much money it took to operate a household, and he felt it might be possible to obtain this if he worked hard enough.
      About an hour later Tess emerged from her bedroom. She was not dressed but instead wore an old bathrobe. In contrast to her usually neat appearance she was quite dishevelled. In particular James noted her long, wavy, brown hair seemed matted, as if she had spent much of the night winding it around her fingers. She acted oblivious to James' existence when he said, "Good morning, Mother," another thing which he took to be a bad sign because in the past she always had peered through the fog in which she had immersed herself long enough to say, "Good morning, my little Prince,"
      and kiss him on the cheek.
      She went to the kitchen and began preparing breakfast. James could smell eggs and bacon cooking and could tell from the sounds coming from the kitchen that the eggs were not being scrambled, which was the way both he and his mother preferred them. He walked to the kitchen and saw his mother had set three places at the table and made his father's favorite breakfast, three eggs sunnyside up, pancakes and bacon. He watched as she put these at his father's place at the table and said, "Your father will be in in a minute. Wash your hands, and get ready for breakfast."
      Before James could respond there was a loud knock at the apartment door. Since they never had visitors, James was alarmed at this intrusion, but following his father's directive, he went to the door with a chair and stood on it to look through the peephole. Terror gripped him as he saw the last two faces in the world he would have chosen to find on the other side of the door. It was his Uncle Robert and Aunt Marie. "Oh, what'll I do? What'll I do?" He asked himself. "If I let them in, they'll hurt me. I know they will. Without my father to protect me who knows what they'll do?... If I don't open the door, they can't get in. Mom'll never open the door. Sooner or later they'll go away... I'm gonna hide." He ran to the living room and crawled behind the sofa.
      There was a second, louder knock at the door. James realized he had made too much noise moving the chair to the peephole, so his aunt and uncle knew someone was home. After a third pounding at the door James looked out from under one of the end tables alongside the sofa and to his horror saw his mother was about to do the unthinkable. She walked slowly into the vestibule where James could not see the door, but he clearly heard the click of the opening deadbolt. An instant later the massive figures of his Aunt Marie and Uncle Robert were in the foyer between the kitchen and the living room in easy line of sight for James who held himself perfectly still and hoped they would not look directly at the small area under the end table where his left eye and cheek might have been visible.
      "What took you so long to answer the door?" demanded Robert Marlowe already agitated and obviously put off both by Tess' appearance and having had to wait so long for the door to be opened.
      "Whaaat?" drawled Tess in confusion.
      "Go easy," said Marie Marlow. "She's just been told her husband's dead. You can't blame her for being upset."
      "You're right," he said to his wife easing his tone somewhat. Then he looked back at Tess and went on, "I'm your husband's older brother, Robert Marlowe, and this is my wife, Marie. Before he went into combat, John wrote and told me he'd added my name to yours on his list of next of kin to be notified in case anything happened to him. He asked me to help you." He paused to take from his coat pocket an official looking letter like the one Tess had burned the night before. "I'm terribly sorry about your husband's death. My wife and I always loved him. He was my favorite little brother."
      James listened to this speech carefully, and something in his uncle's oily tone made him cringe. "He wants something," James thought.
      James watched with growing trepidation as his mother looked back and forth between her brother-in-law and the letter in his hand. Even from far away under the couch he could see her eyes burning with a strange, distant glow he had never seen before. He was unsure whether or not she would speak at all, but finally she said loudly and indignantly, "My husband, the good King, the great General, is not dead. He has foiled your plots against him, you ambassadors of the forces of evil and darkness. He is in the bedroom dressing this very moment, and as soon as he comes in here, he will put you to flight. Your lies will be blown away as the chaff is separated from the grain."
      Robert and Marie Marlowe clearly were taken aback by Tess' brief tirade. James could see confusion on their faces, as if they were unsure whether John Marlowe might in fact be alive and the notice a mistake. As they stood there, Tess grabbed the letter from him and ran into the kitchen with it. Although James could not see what she was doing with it, his Aunt Marie's scream confirmed his guess that she had burned this letter as she had the last. Tess strode regally back into the foyer, and looking down the hallway at the closed bedroom door declaimed, " Thus I deny your lies.
      Come forth, my husband, my lord and master. Come forth, and rout these heathen enemies of our realm."
      Marie Marlowe faced her husband, placed her right index finger to the side of her head and rotated her wrist a quarter turn.
      Tess shrieked, "You think me mad, you infidels. I'll show you who is mad. John, come out here and save me."
      Robert Marlowe walked resolutely down the hallway and opened the bedroom door. An instant later he was back in the foyer looking Tess straight in the eye saying, " Madam, your husband is dead, and you'd better get through that through your thick skull, you crazy kike."
      James watched helplessly as his mother began screaming, " Murderers! Murderers! They've slain the good King..."
      and Marie Marlowe suddenly slapped her across the face very hard several times.
      Tess stopped yelling, and in a low, menacing tone said, "You will die for this. You hear me. You will die for this."
      Then she walked into the hallway, and James heard the bedroom door slam. Even from the living room he could hear his mother sobbing. He wanted to go to her immediately to comfort her, but he was paralyzed by fear of what his aunt and uncle might do to him.
      "The woman's insane," said Robert Marlowe in a tone of voice so low James could barely hear him.
      "Something's gotta be done,"
      whispered his wife.
      "But what?"
      "You can start by calling that awful Jew psychiatrist tenant of yours,. Get him to say she's cracked. Then you get a court order committing her to the loony bin where she belongs."
      "And then," her husband interjected, "we can get custody of her son... What's his name... Jerry..."
      "You're right. This is the last chance we'll ever get to have a child of our own."
      "Can you believe it, Marie? That woman called good Catholics like us 'heathens.' It'll serve her right to spend the rest of her life locked up in the booby hatch with the rest of the nuts."
      "D'you think it'll be safe to leave her here till Monday?" asked Marie.
      "Those kind of people talk a lot, but they never do anything. Besides I can't get the legal business started till Monday morning, and I want everything to the letter perfect. I don't want her popping out of bedlam in five years trying to get Jerry back."
      "Now I can see why John never brought her over. I'm glad we didn't say anything to our families about him having a son. I just knew it was the right thing for us to keep our mouths shut."
      "We'll have to make up something good to tell the family... And the kid, too... But we won't say anything until it's all settled legally. It shouldn't take too long. It's obviously an emergency... I know just the right judge to handle it for me. Soon we'll have the little boy we've always wanted."
      As they finished this whispered conversation, James saw them leave the foyer and heard them close the door behind them. For a long time, a long, long time, he remained behind the couch.
      His mind was filled with horrible images of his mother alone in a small room without windows and himself living with his aunt and uncle who beat him constantly and never let him out to see either his mother or Kathleen. At last James crawled out from his hiding place. The question, "What can I do?"
      reverberated in his mind, but no solutions occurred to him. He saw there was no point in pleading with his aunt and uncle. Both their tones of voice and his visit to their home told him these were cruel, deceitful people from whom he could expect no mercy. He walked over to the table and began nibbling at the cold food in front of him.
      "I've got to get the fear out of mind mind, so I can't think clearly like I did when I was scared of Danny."
      Instinctively he breathed deeply and rhythmically the way his father had taught him to do while awaiting game in a hunting blind. He recalled his vow to his father to take care of his mother. "I'll think of something, Dad. I know I won't let you down... But what?"
      Toward the end of breakfast his mind drew a connection between the threat is aunt and uncle posed and the threat Danny had posed. An instant later he realized a similar solution was the only answer. "But they're my relatives," he thought. His next thought was, "They're trying to harm Mom and me. They want to steal me... If the evil countries were able to kill my Dad, they're gonna win the war, and the only way we're gonna be able to hold out even a little while is to be real tough. I've got to be able to do whatever it takes to protect Mom and me. I'll just have to do the only thing I can even if they wind up like Danny... This world sure is a bad place if a kid like me has to kill all the time to survive, but if that's the way it is, I'd better get used to it... Get good at it. I don't like it, but I'm no coward. I killed Danny, and I'll kill them... and anybody else I have to... I remember them saying they never told anybody about me. That'll help cover might tracks, but they also said they'd start the legal stuff Monday. That doesn't leave much time... It'll be enough. I know their neighborhood and their building like the palm of my hand."
      As James sat at the kitchen table, he heard his mother go into the bathroom She took of a bath and soon afterward entered the kitchen. To James surprise she was her usual neatly dressed, well combed self and looked as if nothing was wrong. "Here we are at last, my Son,"
      she said. "We've had a rough time in the year and a half since your father was slain in battle -- may his memory sustain us in our hour of need, and may his soul rest in peace forever -- and I know I have wept a lot and not paid much attention to you. We've had to run and hide and then run some more, but at last all that is over. We're here safely concealed in exile. No one here has the slightest idea who we are, and no one in our own kingdom has the faintest notion we're still alive much less where we are. I've brought with us enough of the family treasure to support us comfortably until you are a grown man. We may not be able to live in great luxury as we did in the palace, but we'll be secure here until you're old enough and the time is right for us to emerge and reclaim your throne no matter what usurper sits on it, but for now secrecy is of the utmost importance. You know that, don't you? No one must know our true identities."
      James marveled at the swiftness with which his mother's insanity had assimilated such a shock as his father's death along with their encounter with his aunt and uncle, but he only said, "Yes, Mother, I understand," the way he always did. As she cleaned off the table, James went to his room to make his plans.
      By the middle of the afternoon James had figured out what he intended to do, arranged everything he needed and run his course of action through his mind at least half a dozen times visualizing himself performing each step in its turn. Knowing he would have to be up late that night, he took a two hour nap. After dinner Tess played gin rummy with James, and by nine she had tucked him into bed. From his bed he listened patiently until he heard her go to her room. A half hour later he arose and dressed warmly for the December night; long underwear, double pairs of socks, heavy navy pea coat and matching knit sailor hat and scarf his mother had made for him. "I'll need them tonight... I remember all the time she spent making them. She's so nice to me. She deserves anything I can do for her," he thought as he first listened at her door to hear her breathing evenly and then assembled his equipment and left the apartment.
      It was a cold but relatively clear night as he quickly walked west on Burnside Avenue toward the apartment of his aunt and uncle. There were still people on the street, and although 10:00 PM was a bit late for a small child to be out alone, no one seemed to notice him. As he usually did, he followed his father's advice and avoided eye contact with anyone because he knew this greatly reduced his chances of being stopped or questioned by anyone but someone very determined to accost him. He turned south at University Avenue where there were fewer people. He constantly watched for police officers, but there were none. From the east side of the street he looked across to the building where his aunt and uncle lived and saw the lights in their top floor living room were lit. As he passed a building almost directly opposite theirs, he turned into an alley, entered the back door and climbed six flights of stairs to the roof. He deliberately avoided the elevator because it gave him no warning when it might stop and expose him to an inquisitive stranger. On a staircase he could hear someone a flight or two away and hide, in this building inside the door to the incinerator chute. Once on the roof he moved quietly to the front of the building and began his first cold vigil of the night. He reasoned it was unlikely anyone would come up to the roof late on a wintry Saturday night, and he was right.
      James gazed across the street. Their drapes were partially drawn, but occasionally he could see either his aunt or uncle walk from one side of the room to the other. James entered his hunting/waiting frame of mind, so although the time passed swiftly for him, he took careful note of everything around him including traffic in the street, lights in neighboring apartments and sounds like the wind. He was unsure of the exact layout of their apartment, but he knew from his visit that there was all hallway parallel to the street and that three doors off it opened into rooms facing the street. The one currently lit was nearest the center of the building and had the fire escape attached to it. It was clearly the living room. Two more windows faced the street, each presumably corresponding to a door he had seen on his visit to their apartment. Both were quite large, so he concluded neither was the bathroom.
      An hour and a half later his aunt and uncle turned out the living room light. A moment after that a light in the corner room went on, but James could seen nothing in that room because the venetian blinds were down and curtains drawn. Not long afterward the corner room light was turned off, and the entire apartment was dark.
      James waited an additional half hour, saw no lights come back on and his made his way down from the roof. He peered out of the alley, saw the street was deserted and walked quickly to the building next door to the one where his aunt and uncle lived. At the entrance of the alley to the rear of their building had was iron grate which was locked from the inside, but James knew the fence between the rear yards of the buildings was only as high as his head and easily scaled. The basement door to their building was unlocked as it had been on all his exploratory trips. In the dim light he noted all the usual items stored in the cellars of buildings with wealthy tenants such as expensive baby carriages and a new, red "Flyer" wagon. Again he went up the stairs and onto the roof. Careful to walk only over the common hallway of the building until he reached the front edge of the roof, he went to the fire escape ladder and climbed down. In his mind he did little more than observe himself just as he had visualized his plan earlier in the day. Once down to the landing he noticed the living room window was locked. He had recognized this was a likely possibility and without hesitation climbed out onto the two inch wide decorative concrete ledge which ran the entire length of the top floor of the building. Holding tightly to the raised brick ledge which was at his shoulder height, he moved toward the center window because he had previously examined this window from across the street and knew it had no lock on it. In his fantasy assaults on the castle of the evil baron he had been on this ledge many times while inching along a similarly narrow rock projection in Echo Park.
      As it turned out, the decorative ledge was even wider than the one on which he had practiced, and neither the height nor the cold nor the wind caused him to be afraid. While he was aware of the danger, he was not conscious of the sting of the wind or the icy cold of the bricks. Another time they would have hurt his hands through the thin cotton gloves he had chosen because they would leave him with a high degree of his sense of touch intact and still leave no fingerprints, but now his goal of protecting himself and his mother and the steps of his plan for doing so were his only conscious thoughts, and he was prepared to die fighting bravely for her just as his father had died defending his family and country.
      He reached the window and slid it upward. From here on he was entering the unknown. The drapes and blinds of this room always had been drawn shut, so he had no idea of its contents. He clasped his right hand over the inside of the sill, lifted his right leg so it was securely inside and took a small flashlight from his coat pocket to survey the area immediately inside the window. Finding both a large glass ashtray and a five foot tall floor lamp, he had to be extremely careful not to knock them over while moving the blinds and drapes aside to enter, but soon he was on the floor of a large room filled with books and papers. After closing the window, he located the door to the hall and moved straight across the thick rug to it.
      Knowing there were no rugs in the hallway, he removed his shoes so he would make no sound. He also took off his coat, so he would have more freedom of motion when he needed it.
      Slowly he opened the door and noted the hinges did not squeak. He moved into the totally darkened hall on his hands and knees. Feeling his way with his hands, he reached the bedroom door and placed his ear to the crack between the door and the floor. He heard only a low snoring but no second deep breathing sound. Again his mind entered the transcendental/timeless, waiting/hunting state listening for the second breathing sound which would indicate both his aunt and uncle were asleep, awaiting the sound the way he would have awaited the appearance of a rabbit on the far edge of a meadow, his mind blank of thought but alert for the first sign of his prey. Soon he perceived the sound of a second sleeping person, and his hand sought the doorknob. So slowly did he turn the knob that it took a full minute before it had gone as far as it could. He opened the door an inch and just as slowly allowed the knob to turn back. Where a small child found patience of this sort is difficult to say, but James clearly did possess an extraordinary capacity to see a goal and then subordinate everything to achieving it. This probably was a major source of his ability to move as calmly and deliberately as he did, this and all the hours he had spent hunting with his father, observing the example of his father's patience and listening to his descriptions of the timeless hunting/waiting state of mind he had encouraged his son to develop.
      James heard the two breathing sounds and was satisfied they still slept. He rolled up his sleeves and opened the door far enough to enter their bedroom. Fortunately for him the layout of this room was partially familiar to him from his summer explorations when the curtains had been open, and he knew the big double bed was against the wall to his left.
      Moving his hands in front of himself to make sure there was nothing in his path, he crept to the nearest side of the bed. It was only a few feet so it did not take very long. He smelled the odor of much worn shoes under the bed. He turned his head slightly to the left and then the right to listen for the exact positions of the sleepers.
      James reached into his left shirt sleeve under which he had taped to his arm a homemade, corrugated cardboard sheath. In it was the razor sharp knife his mother used to dice things like garlic. As James stood up, he drew the six inch blade and poised it in the air pointing downward. With his left hand he reached out to the exact place he hoped to find a sleeping head and found his hand on his aunt's jaw and chin. Quickly he moved to her mouth, covered it as best he could with his little hand and thrust the knife into her neck precisely where his father had showed him was the place to kill with the greatest speed and the least pain. James both heard and felt a rushing of blood from his aunt's throat. Marie Marlowe gave a gasp which James' hand muffled almost completely. As she twitched in her death spasms, James withdrew the knife, leaped across the bed, found his uncle's head and pierced his throat as deftly and accurately as he had his aunt's. Robert Marlowe, too, gasped, twitched and was still.
      James sat down on the floor next to the bed and sighed. "It's done. It's done," he thought. After a few minutes James stood up and shined his flashlight to find the light switch. After he had turned it on, he glanced around the room, looked indifferently at the pools of blood on the bed and headed for the bathroom to urinate. After that he flushed his bloody gloves down the toilet. He put on his mothers dish washing gloves and began going through the dressers in the bedroom dumping everything on the floor to make the crime look like a burglary. There were a number of expensive looking furs in the closet, but James intended to take only small items and any cash he might find. He did not expect to find much more than what was in their pockets and purse because he assumed most people kept most of their money in banks away his family did.
      At first he ignored and almost failed to examine a large, messy pile of shoes in shoeboxes, but then he realized their disorder was out of character with the rest of the apartment, and he began burrowing into it. Near the top he only uncovered more shoes, but near the bottom he found a shoebox which did not feel the way the others did. He opened it, and his eyes bugged out. The box was full of neatly bound packets of money, mostly ten and twenty dollar bills but more than a few fifties and hundreds, too. The full of import of this came to him only slowly. Here was enough money to support the modest lifestyle he and his mother preferred until he was old enough to work. There would be no need for him to carry packages home for women leaving the supermarket, no need for him to run deliveries for the drugstore across the street from his school. He would be able to purchase treats for his mother and Kathleen and have plenty left for himself. The thought of that staggered him.
      "I'd better get out of here quick with this... I ought to finish what's left in this heap. There's a bunch more.
      Oh, I can't believe it, another box of money... And another... These here on the bottom're something different. I can hardly lift them, a bunch of cigar boxes.
      They're taped shut. I ought to open one. This... I know what this is. Dad showed me one from the year he was born. There're gold. All the big ones say, 'Twenty Dollar's,' and the others say, 'Ten Dollars.' I don't know what to do. How'll I get all this stuff home? I'll never have to work in my life, never ever. I can't believe it. I'm rich. I'm rich. They wanted to steal me and raise me. Now they're gonna raise me and take care of Mom... Who knows what other treasures I'll find in the rest of this place... Wait a minute... It's going to be quite a trick to get all this stuff out of here. I can't even lift it. I can't just keep making trips back and forth to my house. I remember how it works in the movies, and Dad said it was true. Crooks get caught because they get greedy. If they just did something only once, they might get away with it. That and they spend all the money like crazy, so people notice them. Not me. I'm not going to be greedy or spend it like crazy. I'm going to settle for what's right here. I said it myself. It's enough to live on for the rest of our lives. I'll bet most little kids, adults, too, wouldn't be able to stop. They'd get greedy and search the whole place and get caught. Not me. I'm smarter than that. I'm going to get out of here with what's in front of me, and that's that... But how'm I going to get all this out of here?"
      An instant later James remembered the "Flyer" wagon in the basement and got it. He packed the shoeboxes and cigar boxes in market bags he found under the sink, so they would look like groceries and even added some items from the refrigerator for a touch of realism. Then it suddenly occurred to him it was after 2:00 AM. "Children don't pull wagons full of groceries home at two in the morning. I might be able to carry one bag and dodge anybody in the streets, but I've got to get all this home. There's got to be a way... I could stay here till it's light... No, I couldn't. If I wait till then to leave, I'm bound to run into someone in the building, and I'd stand out like a sore thumb with this load. When they find the bodies and the cops question the neighbors, they'll hear about a kid with a wagon full of heavy stuff... I know. I'll move it outside and hide in the yard across the street till it's light. Then I'll pull it home."
      James loaded the wagon, checked the hallway and risked the elevator. Luck was with him. Once in the basement he rolled the wagon out the door and up the alley to the iron grate. He opened the lock, pulled the wagon outside, closed the grate and moved the wagon across the street where he hid it behind the low hedge of a private house. The yard was pitch dark behind the bushes even though they were bare, and he was invisible either to someone in the house or to someone walking right next to him. Once there he entered his hunting/waiting state and alertly awaited sunrise. He was tempted to let his mind entertain thoughts of things he would do with his treasure but resisted admonishing himself, "I've got to watch out. If I don't, I'll fall asleep and get caught in the morning, and it it'll be my own fault.
      I'll have lots of time to think about what I'll do with it when I get home."
      Even with his mind relaxed and his body in long underwear, the cold night air made him shiver. He never had liked cold days, and the night dragged on and on. Once the image of his aunt and uncle on their blood soaked bed entered his mind, but he experienced no revulsion or other response. He felt no more for them then he had for the bloody carcasses of the deer he had helped his father butcher. His aunt and uncle had been a threat to him, and he had protected himself in the only way he could imagine. It was all quite simple, just protection against danger. His mind thought in uncomplicated terms not because he was a child but because that was the way his mind always would work. He had taken no pleasure in the killings themselves, and, for example, had had only a minimal desire to cause his uncle pain to get back at him for twisting his ear. His father had told him, "Whenever you kill, do it as quickly and painlessly as you can. You owe it to the animal not to make it suffer needlessly," and this had filtered into his attitude toward killing people, too.
      Long before it was light, he was passed by people on their way to early Mass at the church nearby, but he did not emerge until he was afraid he could be seen by someone looking out of the house.
      Sunday morning on Burnside Avenue found a small boy doing his best to keep a heavy wagon from rolling away from him as he walked down toward Jerome Avenue.
      Since it was too heavy for him to pick up at the curbs, he had to go in the street. He was prepared to pull in between parked cars if he saw a police car, but none appeared, and he did not encounter a patrolman on foot. Going up the hill east of Jerome Avenue was another matter entirely. The few blocks to the Grand Concourse were among the longest in his life. His little body strained to its limit with every step. By the last and steepest block his every muscle quivered with exhaustion. He was afraid to be conspicuous, and with each rattle of the wagon on the cobblestones he knew he was. He stared at the ground and saw only the few feet in front of himself. He was afraid to look up and see how much he had remaining. He chanted, "We'll be set for life. We'll be set for life," to keep himself going. He did not pause to rest on the bus stop bench because he was frightened older, larger children would come along and start prying in the bags and he would be too weakened from his exertions to stop them. Also it was still early, and no children were out yet, so he was driven by the idea of getting home before they came out.
      At last he reached the top and crossed the Grand Concourse. His heart beat fast with hope he would be safe soon. A bit north, a block downhill to the east, and he was carrying the bags into the locked foyer of his apartment building. After that he carried them one at a time to the alcove under the first floor stairwell. In his exhausted state carrying each bag to the third-floor was yet another forever, but this time he did not feel the sense of peril he had in the street. Finally he carried each bag to his bedroom closet. His mother was still asleep. He started to remove his shoes, but then he realized, "I left the wagon in the street. If I leave it there, I'll get caught. I've got to see to every detail." He tied his shoes back on and went out for the wagon. He carried it in and up to his room. After putting it in the closet, he undressed and got into bed. "I did it," he thought before falling asleep. "I did it. I got away. Others don't, but I did. I'm the one that got away."

Chapter XII

James slept until late in the afternoon and then awoke to find his body ached all over. The task of pulling such a heavy load up a long hill had strained him to the limit physically, and he got up only with difficulty. His mother was in her room with the door closed, so he made himself a sandwich. As he sat eating at the kitchen table, he thought, "The world sure is a mess if a nice kid like me has to go around killing people all the time just to stay alive and take care of his mother. The world stinks. Maybe there're of few nice people out there besides Mom and me...
      and Kathleen, but I'll bet there aren't many. From now on I'm gonna have to be tough. If somebody gets in my way and I have to kill them, I will... Wanting to hurt a kid and his poor mother, how rotten can you get? Serves them right and anybody else I have to kill, too... If I'm going to do stuff against the law, I don't want to get caught. I've got to be smart not to get caught. I'm going to start reading all my father's books on crime. Every night after I finish my homework, I'll read half an hour of his crime books, so I'll know what I've got to know."
      Many years later James read a popularized psychology book entitled "I'm OK, You're OK." He thought back and saw that it was this moment when his mind took on the rare and antisocial outlook of "I'm OK, you're not OK," which stayed with him the rest of his life and enabled him to commit the most brutal and violent acts without any hesitation or guilt. It was not that he took pleasure in hurting others in his crimes, just that if he saw some personal gain might be achieved from a particular act, and the gain was great enough to justify the risk involved, its consequences in the lives of others were irrelevant to him.
      For the next three afternoons after school James sorted and counted the boxes of money. With his mother lying in her room her eyes closed and her vision turned inward, James sat at his work table neatly marking IIII's on a pad. If his mother had entered, he had planned to tell her it was the money his father had salvaged from the royal treasury and sent to them while on his death bed, so they could survive in hiding until he grew up and could regain his throne. This corresponded to some of what his mother already had told him, and he was inclined to think she would believe him if she saw the money. Even if she did not believe him, there would be nothing she could do if he stuck to his story. The possibility of Tess connecting him or all the money to the murder of his uncle and aunt was nil because she never read newspapers which, by the way, James began doing at this time, a habit he systematically kept for as long as they were available.
      The bodies were discovered on Tuesday after Robert Marlowe failed to appear at two important meetings. A worried secretary, unable to reach him by phone, went over to his apartment and finding the door unlocked, entered to find the carnage James had left in the bedroom. The Daily News gave it quite a bit of space for two days because Robert Marlowe had been a prominent attorney and a friend of several powerful people, but then they let it drop. Their stories seemed to accept the police suggestion that these were gang related killings probably involving several highly efficient, cold-blooded, professional mob hit men with some connection to Marlowe's questionable past. James felt flattered that the police mistook the work of one wily eight-year-old boy for that of at least two or three grown-up killers and was a bit sorry prudence forbade his keeping copies of these articles.
      The final total was $367,845.00, $74,220.00 of it in gold which James knew was valuable but which he found was illegal to own or spend when he inquired about it at the bank. "We've got lots of other money," thought James, "and I've got to be sure not to draw attention to myself, so I'll just leave it in the closet till I can figure out some way to get rid of it. It's a grown-up thing, so it might have to wait till I grow up...
      There's no rush."
      After three days of counting money and running errands James had time to see Kathleen. He found her as he usually did, sitting in her disordered living room hoping for his knock on the door. It had been a full week since he had seen her, far longer than any previous separation they had experienced other than during their fathers' leaves, and she had become worried he might have chosen to abandon her. She did not know where he lived, so she had had no alternative but to do what he had told her, to go home after school and wait for him.
      "Hi," she welcomed him overjoyed at his return and filled with elation and wonder that a boy as nice and handsome as James could be interested in her. As soon as she shut the door behind him, she reached out to hug him, a greeting ritual which they had begun in emulation of adult couples they had seen but which they continued because they enjoyed it.
      "Hi," he said hugging her only halfheartedly.
      Immediately perceiving the almost inescapably obvious, she said, "You look sad. What's the matter?"
      "My father get killed in the war. We got a letter Friday," he said. Quickly the restraints he had put upon himself for the last six days melted away, and he stood there with tears pouring down his cheeks. Kathleen took his hand and led him over to the couch. She sat down and gently pulled him to her. As he buried his face in her lap and felt her hand stroking his hair and the back up his neck, he sensed that he was free to give vent to all the emotions he had been suppressing, that he never would be teased by her about been a weakling or crybaby for expressing his grief in spite of what was then an overwhelming societal prohibition against boys, even younger ones, crying and that she would never reveal what took place between them, then or ever.
      "It'll be all right," he heard her whisper. "I'm here. I'll never leave you, never ever. I'll love you so much you won't need anybody else." Her voice and presence were very soothing for him.
      A long time passed. At last James felt the sobs which had racked his body slowly subside. He rose up and blew his nose. He saw the lap of her dress was wet with his tears. "You're so good to me," he said. "My father always told me what was important was loyalty, to stick by the few people who stick by you and never let them down even when things get rough. You're one of them for me, just you and my mom. You're sticking by me now when its bad for me. I won't ever forget it. I'll never leave you either, never ever."
      Kathleen smiled. Even in the depths of her insecurity and fear of her own worthlessness as a person, lessened though it might have been by her contact with James, was the belief that James, who represented all that was good in the world for her, could not lie to her, and here was his word that in spite of the fact that, in her own eyes at any rate, she was neither pretty nor smart, he would remain hers. They each thought, "I'll never do anything to make him/her unhappy."
      "You don't want to play, do you?"
      asked Kathleen unsure of what to do to please James. "We can do anything you want."
      "No," said James putting his head on Kathleen's shoulder and hugging her. They embraced for some time. After a while James became aware of the warmth and softness of Kathleen's little body, and his mind drifted to memories of the joyous warmth he had experienced cuddled between his parents during his father's leave. "What I wish I could do now is... I remember this time when my father was home and I snuggled with them one morning for so long. It was so nice."
      "I wish mine let me do that. They lock the bedroom door and don't let me in till they're dressed... My mommy doesn't like me, but my daddy does."
      "Really, how do you know?" asked James the very notion of a mother not loving a child being incomprehensible to him because he had no experience of any parent/child relationship other than his own. Since he had never discussed his mother with Kathleen, she had never talked about hers, particularly because this topic was such a sore point for her.
      "She tells me she hates me all the time. She says she wishes I never got born. She says if I hadn't got born, she wouldn't had to marry my daddy, so she could go out with other men. She'd don't like my daddy either, but she says if I tell him, she'll beat me real bad...
      Sometimes she even calls me that awful name."
      "What name?"
      "The one I told you and you promised you'd never call me. I love you so much 'cause you never call me that."
      "What?" asked James having completely forgotten even the existence of the dreaded epithet.
      "Pee Pants," said Kathleen increasingly upset. "I haven't done it in school all year, and I hardly ever do it in bed anymore either. If I remember to pee before I go to bed, it don't happen. I almost never forget, but still if I ask for anything, a new dressed or a toy or anything, she looks at me real nasty and says, 'Pee Pants, you're a selfish little brat. You don't think of nothin' but yourself. You know we don't have no money.' She always has money when she wants a new dress or somethin.' I swore to myself I wouldn't ask her for nothin' no more, and I haven't for months 'n months... James, we could get into my bed and snuggle now if you want to."
      "I don't have pajamas here," replied James hestitatingly somewhat taken aback but not repelled by her suggestion.
      "We don't have to have nothin' on.
      Don't you sleep naked when it's hot in the summer? I looked through the keyhole one night last summer 'cause the light was on, and my daddy and mommy were hugging naked. They just lied there. It seemed so peaceful, not the way they usually are, fighting all the time. I wanted so much to go in and cuddle with them, but my mom told me to go away when I knocked at the door. She beat me real bad the next day when I asked if I could cuddle with them naked like that. She called me a lot of names I never heard of. I asked what they meant. All she said was, 'They mean what you are,' 'n beat me some more. She said if I told daddy she'd beat me or I asked about cuddling naked with them she'd kill me soon as he went back to the Army and wasn't there two look out for me... Now I stay away from her as much as I can... They seemed so happy lying there. If grown-ups can do it, why can't we?"
      "Sounds like your mom's horrible.
      Mine's nice... Don't worry. You've got me. I'll stand by you... We can do it if you want," said James continuing to feel the wondrous sensual pleasure of Kathleen's little body against his own but not in any way bothered by the presence of their clothes between them.
      Kathleen took James hand and led him to the bedroom. Quickly she pulled her sweater and undershirt over her head and stepped out of her skirt and panties. She had all her clothing off before James even had his shirt unbuttoned. "Hurry up," she said. "It's cold." James fumbled with his shirt and had difficulty undoing his pants. He was distracted because he thought she was the most beautiful little girl in the world, and she was, in fact, very pretty. He gazed with fascination at the little cleft which marked the difference between them.
      Slightly embarrassed that he was staring, he looked up and sheepishly and said, "I'm sorry I stared."
      "I don't mind. You are my boyfriend.
      I told you before I'll take off my clothes and let you look at me naked anytime you want," replied Kathleen who actually was visibly pleased James at last had accepted from her a gift which she considered quite precious. "Do you want to watch me pee?" She ask when James finally was undressed.
      "Yes, please," replied James realizing something subtle had changed in his attitude toward this offer of childish intimacy since she last had made it. Kathleen smiled and led him to the bathroom where she again squatted in the bathtub and waited for him to say he was ready.
      Recognizing he was free to satisfy his curiosity in any way he wished, James got on his knees on the bathroom floor and bent his head into the tub in order to get the best view possible. His attentiveness was not lost on Kathleen who grinned and asked, "Okay?" James nodded and watched virtually hypnotized as Kathleen urinated, dabbed herself with toilet paper and ran some water in the tub. James could not have said why, but he knew this private place of Kathleen's was now of great interest and value to him, and he loved her very much for showing it to him so freely, something he realized she would not have done had she not loved him, too. "Can I watch you now?" she asked, and James proceeded to raise the toilet seat and relieve himself. He fell no little pleasure at seeing Kathleen staring with curiosity at him.
      When he was done, Kathleen shivered and ran back to her bedroom. By the time James got there, she was already under the covers. She lifted them up for him, and as soon as he was in bed with her, she wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly. "I love you more than anyone in the world," she whispered in his ear.
      "I love you, too, more than anyone in the world," whispered James in return. Slowly the heat of their bodies warmed the bed and themselves, and they entered a relaxed, blissful state of embrace.
      Since neither knew what orgasm felt like, they were both fully satisfied to snuggle in this manner, cheek to cheek, chest to chest and thighs to thighs, for almost an hour, but eventually James decided his curiosity about Kathleen's vagina had not been thoroughly satisfied by merely looking at it. Now he wanted very much to touch it but was afraid to ask lest he might offend her. He waited a long time but finally managed to get up his courage and blurted out, "Can I touch you... there?"
      "You mean my pussy?"
      "Yes."
      "Sure, can I touch your cock?"
      "Okay."
      James and Kathleen moved their hips far enough apart to place a hand between each other's thighs. James slowly slid his fingertips across and along Kathleen's vagina as she first cupped her hand on his penis and then felt its different parts with her fingertips. Neither of them experienced much sexual arousal from this delicate exploration, but both satisfied an intense desire to investigate that which made them different.
      When James noticed it was dark and said he had to leave or his mother would worry, both he and Kathleen were keenly disappointed by the interruption, but they knew they had to stop. James dressed and went home feeling very warm, very satisfied and very happy. He had forgotten completely about the death of his father and did not recall it until the next day. Thereafter James and Kathleen "cuddled," as they called it, at least one afternoon a week, sometimes touching each other's genitals but more often simply hugging and reveling in the warmth and sensuality of their bodies.
      One day not long after their first cuddling session James announced his allowance had been increased sufficiently for them to go to the movies every Saturday. Up till then they only had been able to do this monthly because school had severely limited the time they could spend hunting money from gratings as well as reduced the distance they could cover on these expeditions forcing them to frequently cover gratings they had already "fished" in recent weeks. From then on every Saturday after her mother had left for work, Kathleen would wait for James who would arrive with not only enough money for admission to the theater but extra for popcorn and a shared ice cream sundae afterward. They did not merely settle for the local movie house, the Avalon, which was around the corner on Burnside Avenue. They walked the far longer distance up the Grand Concourse to the lavish Loew's Paradise. They were enchanted by the elaborate brass doors and lush decor, but most of all they were delighted by the many tiny lights embedded in the ceiling which twinkled to simulate nighttime sky.
      When the matinee was over, they crossed the Concourse and went to Krum's. Spoiling dinner was no problem since Kathleen's mother never got home before midnight and often later on Saturdays, so Kathleen could eat the sandwich she left whenever she liked. Tess thought it was all right for a young prince to eat dinner out on his own once a week.
      They always held hands in the theater and soon learned to kiss on the lips in emulation of both couples on the screen as well as those sitting next to them. After a while Kathleen began to apologize for her shabby clothes, and James took her to a children's clothing store in a distant neighborhood where he bought her half a dozen dresses which she selected as well as two more which he picked. They charmed the saleswoman with the story of how their mother had broken a leg and they had to take care of themselves. James kept the dresses neatly folded in a shopping bag in his closet and brought them to her one at a time. The extent to which sensuality/sexuality had allure for them can be estimated from the fact that although Kathleen always undressed in front of James before putting on the dress he had brought, never once did they abandon the movies for an afternoon of "cuddling." This period of idyllic and innocent friendship/love continued unchanged for almost a year during which neither had more than the slightest contact with any other child.
      It was more than seven months before much of anything was altered in James life. The summer came and went. The summer of 1943, too, was filled with explorations, but this year with far more money at their disposal James and Kathleen discovered the New York City transit system, both trains and buses. They wandered unaccompanied through everything from the Aquarium in Manhattan to the Zoological Gardens in the Bronx. By the end of the summer they knew what many of the neighborhoods in the five boroughs looked like, and some, like the areas around Central Park and Times Square, they knew in great detail. Still they kept one eye down gratings, but now they would not stop to pick up pennies. Since their main goal now was to learn about the city rather than to collect money, this allowed them to cover far more territory. The freedom to which they grew accustomed was simply to be law unto themselves until it was nearly dark when they would head home in order to be there early enough that James' mother would not worry. Although they experienced everything they did as play, much of this turned out to be highly educational, particularly their visits to the Museum of Natural History and Planetarium near Central Park.
      They carefully read the plaques in front of almost every exhibit they passed, and gradually they developed questioning minds filled with knowledge they never would have acquired in school.
      Late in August, 1943 Kathleen's mother, too, received notice that her husband had died in combat. Her response was a great deal different than Tess.' She told Kathleen she was glad to be rid of him, so she did not have to worry about getting caught dating other men.
      Needless to say Kathleen was devastated and clung to James in total desperation.
      She cried for days as James held her close. They did not go out for over a week.
      James devoted himself to her completely, and at last she began to recover.
      When the fall came, James entered the fourth grade. As chance would have it, one day his teacher discussed the origins of the names of the days of the week. James was enchanted by her tales of Norse mythology and intrigued by the thought that there were other religions than Christianity and Judaism, neither of which seemed to speak much to him. On on a Sunday when Kathleen was with her mother, James made a trip to the library.
      He long since had abandoned the children's library as inadequate because his primary area of reading was criminological works beyond the ones in his late father's library which he already had studied diligently. He headed for the adult card catalog and then requested a serious, scholarly work on pagan religions of Northern Europe.
      This was far from the collection of anecdotes about thunder being the sound of Thor's hammer which one might have encouraged a child of formative age to read. With great interest James read of peoples who believed war was noble, aggression the prerogative of the strong and death in battle the most wondrous experience to which a man could aspire. Even though he was fascinated by the image of giant maidens in armor swooping down to a field of battle on winged horses to carry off fallen warriors to a palace in the sky, and even though his fertile imagination had no difficulty imagining the Valkyrie descending to the desert plains of North Africa to retrieve his fallen father, M-1 in hand, and bring him to a grand welcome at Valhalla, especially since his mother often had played a photograph recording of Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyrie," and he had chosen it as his favorite piece of music without ever knowing it was associated with a particular story, despite all of these things, these Norse myths did not touch him more deeply then had the idea of a man nailed to a cross to die for his sins or that of a man standing on a mountaintop listening to a God giving him a list of do's and don'ts carved in stone.
      What did, however, reach into the very depths of James' soul were the dark gods of the north, the notion of Die Gotterdammerung, the Twilight of the Gods, and most of all the battle of Ragnarok, the Norse Armageddon, which ended with an entirely different outcome than that foreseen by Christians. Here was a world ruled only briefly and ever so precariously by the forces of good who knew that someday, someday soon, the dark gods would come to do battle with them one last time, and they would be slain, and evil would prevail. Here was a view of the world which corresponded to what James saw about himself every day, a religion which truly seemed to encompass the world James encountered on the radio and in the daily newspapers, a system of values which stated unequivocally that anything one did to survive was right if it worked. James finally had come upon a written expression, a societal manifestation, of the primary philosophy which he was to live by the rest of his life. If he did not accept the myths themselves as factual, he certainly did take to heart what he saw as the lessons they taught, and it was not very long before he became involved in activities upon which they clearly had an effect.
      In the meanwhile Tess grew to understand she would not see John again in this life, and she responded to this loss in the only way she could imagine. She turned to James. He became the basis of all her fantasies, ones concerning castles and dragons, ones involving human plots and intrigues and ones dealing with her sexual desires. She encouraged him to sleep in her bed, and he readily agreed. At first she masturbated herself to blissful sleep with him wrapped in her arms, but then there came the Sunday morning when his mother whispered in his ear, " Mommy has a beautiful, wonderful secret to share with you, a grown-up secret which'll bring us even closer together that anything you've ever imagined. It'll make us more than just mother and son. Now we can be husband and wife, too, but don't forget, what happens between us is a secret. You're not to talk about it with anyone else."
      "I understand," said James.
      "While I do this for you, think beautiful thoughts of how much Mommy loves you, now and always," said Tess, and James felt his mother's hands under the covers taking off his pajamas. She began kissing him gently just below the waist, and he felt her fingertips slide slowly along the insides of his thighs as they glided first toward his penis, then away. James did as his mother had bade him and thought of all the many ways his mother showed her love for him. As both her lips descending from above and her hand ascending from below drew near to his penis, he felt a did delicate tingling begin. He noticed his cock seemed to be swelling up, standing up in the air by itself. It was a nice feeling, and he thought of how sweet it was of his mother to make him feel good like this. He had thought all she would do was touch him the way Kathleen sometimes did, but then suddenly his mother took his penis in her mouth and licked it first around and around and then up and down just beneath the tip.
      As he felt it grow to full erection, he murmured, "Oh, Mommy, that feels so good."
      Tess took her mouth off James' penis long enough to croon, " Mommy loves you," and then began sucking on the head of his penis.
      "I love you, too," replied James thinking, "This is so beautiful. It feels like my heart is beating in my cock.
      With each beat it feels better than better. I hope Mommy keeps this up for a long, long, time." At last when his mother begin to slide her hand up and down the saliva moistened shaft of his penis while alternately licking around the head and then squeezing it between her tongue and the roof of her mouth, he felt the great throbbing of his first orgasm, and his mind went blank with ecstasy.
      After a bit he thought, "Oh, this is so wonderful. I hope Mommy will do this for me a lot. She loves me so much if she'll give me such a beautiful feeling. I swear I'll always do everything I can to protect her and make her happy."
      "I love you, Mommy," he said sensing his passion subsiding into drowsiness. His mother moved upward from where she had been and embraced him. He felt warm and peaceful. Fleetingly he thought, "Maybe the world isn't such a bad place after all."
      "James," his mother whispered a little while later, "would you like to learn how to make Mommy feel good, too?"
      "Yes... sure," he replied as it dawned on him that his mother must have a similar capacity for pleasure and that the best way to insure her willingness to give this wonderful gift to him was to reciprocate.
      Tess moved the covers away and exposed her nakedness to her son. "What makes Mommy feel nice is a little more complicated than what does it for you, my sweet Little Prince. I hope you won't mind."
      "Oh, no, Mommy. You made me feel so good. It's only fair for me to do it for you."
      "Well, first you suck my nipples just like you did when you were a baby. Mommy's nipples're very sensitive, almost like the top of your penis," and James did as he was told. He heard his mother sigh contentedly and continued to fondle and suck on her breasts as she ran her fingers through his hair. "Stroke me on my belly and between my thighs like I did for you," he heard her say, as he caressed her smooth, firm flesh but avoided the dark triangle of her pubic hair. He had seen his mother unclothed many times and often experienced the the same intense curiosity about the secret place between her thighs which he had about Kathleen's little cleft, but only now did he dare satisfy this interest.
      Soon Tess spread her legs and opened her vagina with her fingers. "This is my pussy. I want you to learn all about it," she said in a voice straining to hold back her passion for a lover which had gone unsatisfied for over a year. "When I want to have the beautiful feelings, my pussy gets all moist and dewy like your cock swells up hard the way it did before. When a man and a woman want to make a baby, the man puts his penis inside her vagina and slides it in and out until his sperm squirts into her vagina, but we don't want a baby, so we have to do it with our mouths."
      "Yes, Mommy," replied James who never even remotely had wanted a brother or sister.
      "Put your fingers inside my pussy and explore it awhile. Be very gentle. Ladies're very delicate there. If you're too rough, you could hurt me."
      James slipped his fingers inside his mother's vagina and felt the different textures of the various areas. He also looked at it between glances at his mother face to see if he was pleasing her.
      At last she placed a pillow beneath her buttocks. Again she spread in the lips of her vagina and said, "See that little bump sort of place, my precious? That's where Mommy feels good. It's sort of like the head of your cock. If you lick me there around and around with your tongue first real light and then a little harder, you'll make Mommy very happy." James began licking Tess as she had instructed him and was delighted to hear her sigh almost immediately. "It tastes funny," he thought, "but I guess it doesn't taste bad... I hope she's feeling as nice as I did... She seems to be taking a lot longer than I did. Oh, well, that's okay... Every now and then her hips twitch. Mine did, too, I think. I guess it's important not to slip off the good place in the middle when she twitches... She's pushing my head away. That must mean she's done." James wiped his chin on his pajamas and rose up to see his mother smiling contentedly.
      After a while she opened her eyes, and he asked, "Did I do it good?"
      "Oh, yes, marvelously," she cooed.
      "I've missed it so much since the evil ones slew your father, the King. Take a nap with me now."
      Later when they awoke, he asked, "Do most moms do this with their sons?"
      "Oh, no," said Tess. "You're a very special and wonderful little boy and so grown-up. Remember how your daddy trusted you with guns because you were so grown-up and you'd follow all the rules?"
      "Yes."
      "This is like that. I'm trusting you because you're so grown-up and'll follow all the rules."
      Oh, I will. I will."
      "Don't forget now. One rule is never to tell anybody I showed you this because adults get very angry about mommies and their little boys doing it. They think little boys shouldn't know about this till they're much older."
      "How old?"
      "Twenty-one."
      "That's awful. It feels so beautiful. It's terrible kids have to wait till there all grown-up to learn about it. Think of all the times they could've felt good but didn't and how sad they'll be when they finally find out how much they've missed. Why is it like that?"
      "I don't know, but the people who rule all the countries in the world, even America, don't want people to be free to do it whenever they want, so they make all these laws about it. It's really very evil... but that's the way it is. Even America isn't free like they tell you, so you have to keep it a secret."
      "I will."
      "Another rule when you're a bit older is you have to be very, very careful never, never, never to get even one little drop of your sperm near my pussy because if I got pregnant and had a baby, people would know I'd shown you, and we'd get in a lot of trouble."
      "I promise I'll be very careful."
      "Another rule is for a couple of days every month my pussy bleeds. It doesn't mean I'm sick. It's just some extra blood my body doesn't need, but you wouldn't want to kiss my pussy then, so then we do it for each other with our hands. Sometimes it's sore, and then we can't do it at all. You mustn't ever get angry with me if I can't do it because it's sore or I can tell I won't have the beautiful feelings. You just have to wait a day or two till I can. That's part of being grown-up, knowing you can't have everything you want right away when you want it. We only can do it when we both can feel good."
      "That sounds fair."
      "I knew you'd understand. You're the sweetest little boy in the whole world... Would you like some breakfast?"
      "Yes, ma'am," said James wondering why people who ruled countries could be so evil as to deny such pleasures to their subjects. "Everything in the world seems so bad," thought James, "everything except me and Mom and Kathleen. I guess we just have to do whatever we want to survive and feel good and just be real careful not to get caught. It sure would be nice if it was different, but it isn't. Just about everything in this world is bad except us."
      James probably never covered the distance between his school and Kathleen's apartment faster than he did the following afternoon. "Hi," he said pecking her on the cheek in emulation of a husband in a movie they had seen recently.
      "Want some milk and cookies?" Asked Kathleen.
      "No thanks... Can we go cuddle?"
      James asked a good deal more eagerly than he ever head before.
      "Sure, " said Kathleen a bit surprised but as usual willing to comply with James' every wish. In fact she was quite pleased because she felt James asked very little of her and gave her a lot more in return, so she was delighted to have an opportunity to do something for him. Quickly her little dress and panties were on the floor, and she stood there posed like a bathing beauty she had seen in another movie. "Boys make fun of dresses," said Kathleen, but I can take my clothes off a bunch quicker 'n you can any day."
      James mind was not in a state to contemplate a quick repartee, and he simply led her to her bed. Once in they embraced the way they always did and shivered a bit from the cold bedclothes.
      Soon they were warm, and James said the words he had been rehearsing all day at school, "I have a really, really beautiful secret to share with you, but you have to promise not to tell anyone about it, ever, ever, or we'll get in a lot of trouble, go to jail even."
      "You're the only friend I have in the whole world, James," said Kathleen. "I don't even have nobody I could tell... And I don't want nobody else, just you."
      "I know. You're the only friend I have, too. I trust you, but you have to promise. That way we'll be sure 'cause this's real important."
      "Okay, I won't ever tell no one about what you tell me, cross my heart and hope to die..." and then after a pause she went on firmly believing what she said, "stick a needle in my eye."
      "That last part is so scary," said James who slowly was coming to recognize the awesome scope of how different his eyes were from normal ones.
      "I know it's scary, but it's true.
      I'll never hurt you, never, ever. You're the only one in the world for me.
      Before I met you, I was so unhappy. Kids teased me about you know what, and Danny did bad things to me. I wanted to die, but now you're my friend, and I'm so happy. If anything happened to you like you got runned over by a car, I'd kill myself. I'd go up on the roof and jump off right away, so I could go to heaven and be with you. I don't ever want to be away from you."
      James shuddered at the depth of Kathleen's devotion to him but did not consider it unwarranted. He knew he would risk his life or kill to protect her just as he had for himself and his mother.
      James leaned over and began kissing Kathleen's nipples. "Jay-ames, that feels funny. What're you doing?" She said stretching his name into two syllables to indicate she thought he was silly.
      "Doesn't it feel nice?" He asked disappointed.
      "It feels funny. I saw a woman give a baby milk that way once, but you're not a baby, and I won't have milk till I grow up."
      "It's supposed to feel good,"
      persisted James halfheartedly."
      "Well, it tickles."
      "All right, I'll do the other thing, the one that's really nice... While I do it, I want you to think beautiful thoughts of how much I love you... and be patient. The beautiful feelings won't happen right away."
      James began kissing Kathleen lightly below her waist and stroked her thighs as his mother had instructed him.
      Kathleen could tell this was important to him, so she moved her legs apart in compliance to his gesture and prepared to lie quietly for as long as he wished to do whatever he was going to do. Soon his tongue reached her little cleft.
      James found its smooth simplicity infinitely more attractive than his mother's adult genitalia. He fell into a rhythm of around and around several times followed by one stroke up the middle when he tried to penetrate her as deeply as his tongue would go. A few minutes went by, and Kathleen remained almost perfectly still. James began to wonder if perhaps he was doing something wrong, but the patience he had learned from his father took over, and he almost fell into a trance. Then he felt one of Kathleen's thighs twitch slightly, and he heard her sigh softly. He continued now alertly confident of her impending introduction to ecstasy. She sighed several more times but did not move until she began to thrust her hips down while pushing James' head away. At first he thought it was the same moment as when his mother had moved almost violently and he had had to struggle to keep his tongue near her clitoris, but then it became clear she wanted him to stop.
      Unhappily he rested his head on her thigh thinking he had failed and she would be angry with him, but after a bit she said, "What you wanted to happen... I think it happened."
      "Did you like it?"
      "Oh, yes, it was beautiful.
      Everything felt... I don't know how to say it... I tingled all over, and my pussy felt like it had ginger ale inside it... Or ... I don't know... Can we do this a lot? I'll let you do it anytime you want."
      "I guess it's hard to put the beautiful feelings into words... I'd like to do it for you all the time, but there's a bunch of rules."
      "What?"
      "Most of the rules we can talk about later, but one is you have to do it for me whenever I do it for you."
      "Sure... How do I do it?"
      James took Kathleen's hand and began demonstrating on her index finger the finer points of cock sucking as performed by his mother. "You do that to my cock till I feel good. If it ever makes some baby stuff squirt out, you suck it into your mouth and swallow it. You have to be real careful to swallow it all 'cause if you don't, you might get a baby."
      "You're sure I won't get a baby if I do what you said?"
      "Positive."
      "Okay, I'll be real careful. My mom said she hates me because she got me when she didn't want me, and I ruined her life. She had to marry my dad. She didn't want to. I don't want that to happen to us."
      "Then be careful to suck it all out and swallow it 'cause to get a baby it has to get on your pussy, and if you swallow it all, it can't get on your pussy."
      "Okay."
      James watched Kathleen fondle his penis to erection and begin sucking it. As he felt it stand up stiffly in her mouth, he thought, "Even in this evil, nasty world I'm so lucky. I have both my mom and Kathleen to love me and make my penis feel good. I'll be able to do this lots and lots, whenever I want. Even if one of them doesn't feel like it, the other will... I'm so lucky... I won't ever forget its fair for them to feel good, too, whenever they want... I'll always protect them no matter what... Oh, it's starting to happen..."
      Kathleen eventually looked up at him anxiously and asked, "Did I do it good?"
      "Oh, yes, it was wonderful. I love you so much," he said pulling her up to embrace her.
      "I love you, too. You're the only one in the world I'll ever love," she said very grateful for his unreserved approval.
      James went on to explain that they both could go to jail if anyone found out what they were doing because only married adults who wanted to make a baby were allowed to do what they had done.
      Kathleen was as confused by this description of law as James had been, but being accustomed to keeping secrets with him, she simply resolved never to tell anyone anything without first asking James' permission. Needless to say, this shared secret, fraught as it was with both danger and ecstasy, brought the two children even closer.
      The beauty and goodness James found in these two relationships, both on the levels of companionship and sexuality, were the only sources of true joy in his childhood. They were almost, almost but not quite enough to shift him from believing the world was inherently evil to considering it naturally good... Almost but not quite enough to prevent his becoming the one that got away.

Chapter XIII

In spite of all that had gone on up to this point, it is probable James reclusive nature would have caused him to lead a life which brought no significant harm to the world if it had not been for the next major event in his childhood. It was early twilight on an April day in 1944, and James was alone because Kathleen's entire class was being kept after school as punishment for a commotion which had taken place during an air raid drill. James had skated to a small park south of Tremont Avenue not far from Webster Avenue. It was far enough south of where he lived to be out of his school district, so he was unlikely to encounter any of his classmates yet it was close enough that it would take him only half an hour to get home.
      In this park was a rocky area edged by a low stone and concrete wall. On warm afternoons many people sat on this wall, and a few adventurous children climbed on the rocks, but this evening it was chilly, and no one was sitting on the wall or walking on the asphalt pavement alongside it. James was playing "sniper" hidden behind a rock right next to the wall. It was a war game he had made up himself and liked because it was played alone. In it he surveyed a battlefield from slightly above and to one side and picked off advancing enemy soldiers when they got too close to his own troops in the trenches below. He frequently had to change positions with great stealth in order to prevent his own coming under heavy enemy fire.
      James was about to run to another rock when he noticed the approach of two tough looking men in their late thirties or early forties. He decided to remain behind the rock until they had passed because he made a habit of not encountering anyone unless it was necessary. To his dismay they stopped and sat on the wall less than five feet from him. Thinking they were alone, they continued talking. They spoke English but with just a trace of an Italian accent.
      "... Motherfuckin' bastard," said one of them finishing a sentence the beginning of which James had not heard.
      "I'd pay a grand to see the son of a bitch in the ground," said the other.
      "What stinks is he's all that's in our way. If he wasn't around, we could take over this neighborhood, maybe the whole Bronx."
      "We've done our share of work and waiting. We ought to be rich. Why's this guy any better'n us?... But he won't pick us to run it up here. He goes and picks that bastard, Vinnie. Why should he make the bucks, not us? He's younger 'n both of us."
      "My wife's sick of living like we do. She wants more, and so do I. I busted my ass."
      "Mine, too, and my kids. As sure as you're my brother, I'd kill him myself if I could."
      "Fat chance. He's got at least two guys guarding him all the time, sometimes more, and they're the best. If one of us came near him, they'd shoot on sight, and nobody'd take a contract to rub him out. The risk's too great. Nobody could pull it off and get away. If we even tried to pay somebody, word'd get back to him, and we'd be dead. He's got all the cards, and we're fucked."
      James listened to the great hatred in the voices of these men and thought while they were silent. He knew he had a large amount of money but was afraid it would not last until he was old enough to work because he had read in the newspaper about inflation and how the currency in Germany once had become worthless. Here was an opportunity to make a lot of money. James assumed these men were gangsters, and their kind always needed someone killed. At one thousand dollars per contract James always would have lots of money coming in, would not have to spend any of his aunt and uncle's money and would be able to raise his price if inflation became a problem. He would have to be careful, but already he had read as much about criminology as some experts and felt he knew what to watch out for. Lastly he had the incredible advantage of his size and age. Who would expect a nine-year old to be an excellent shot much less a hit man?
      James emerged from behind the rock and said, "I might be able to help you. In fact we might be able to make a long-term agreement which would be very good for all of us."
      "Get outta here before I break your ass, you little punk," said the taller of the two men both of whom were of medium-height but heavily built and darkly complected.
      "Things aren't always what they seem," said James standing his ground in spite of the man's gesture to run at him. "I'm a crack shot, and I don't mind killing someone if I get paid enough."
      "And I'm the King of England. Are you going to scram or not, punk?" said the shorter man.
      "Why don't you check out what I'm saying before you chase me? Have you got a gun with you?"
      "Yeah," said the first man slowly absorbing the fact that this was no ordinary child.
      "See the heart carved on that tree?"
      Asked James indicating a five inch design on the tree about twenty feet from where they stood."
      "Yeah."
      "Gimme your gun."
      "Are you crazy?" said the shorter man seeing his brother reach into his coat and withdraw a snub-nosed Smith & Wesson .38 Special.
      "A stroke of luck," thought James.
      "He's got a good gun. This's going to be easy."
      "What we got to lose?" asked the taller man handing his gun to James who pushed the crane release and swung out the cylinder to establish that the gun was loaded. He stuck the gun in his belt, put his hands at his sides and said, "Tell me when you're ready."
      "You're cracked," said the shorter one.
      "It's just a joke," said the taller one.
      "No, it isn't," said James. "When you say 'go,' you'll see what I can do."
      "You can't shoot a gun in the middle of a city park"
      "Why not? There's no one around.
      After I'm done, we'll leave. We'll meet back here tomorrow same time to discuss business."
      "All right... Go."
      Instantly James drew the revolver which was similar to one of his father's with which he had practiced regularly.
      He sighted and fired in one smooth motion, then waited a fraction of the second to see where the shot had struck. He saw the bullet hole just touching the upper left corner of the heart. He held his point of aim slightly lower and to the right and fired four shots in about a second and a half. To their astonishment that two men ran to the tree to find four holes less than two inches apart near the center of the heart.
      While the men looked at the tree, James quickly strapped on his skates. "Here's your gun," he said his ears ringing from the gunfire. "See you here tomorrow, five - thirty." James skated off to the north leaving two open mouthed hoodlums running south.
      By four o'clock the next afternoon James was on the roof of a building almost a block east of the park looking down on the area where he was to meet the two men. He carefully scrutinized the entire location to ensure no trap was being laid for him, but by five that part of the park was deserted except for an elderly couple sitting more than forty yards from their intended meeting place. At five-twenty-five he spied them entering the park from the south. James was satisfied they were alone, so he came down from the roof and headed for the south entrance to the park.
      "Let's get down to business right away," said James as soon as he had seated himself on the bench with the two men on the same side of him, so he could observe them both at once, one of the many precautions he had learned to take from his late father's criminological library. "I thought about how I'd be willing to work for you, and these're my terms,. I get paid a thousand dollars each time I take care of something like this for you, doesn't matter if it's somebody big like this guy or somebody small. The price's the same, one thousand dollars. I get five hundred dollars in advance and five hundred dollars when it's done. For each job you give me a new gun. It has to be a small .38 Special, and it has to be a quality gun, no garbage. I get rid of it the way I want. All you know is it's destroyed, nothing to trace, nothing to do ballistics tests on. Understand?" The two men who had come prepared to give orders to James nodded and listened as if mesmerized as James went on, "How I do it is my business. You give me the information I want, and I decide how to do it. No rush jobs either. I take as long as I need. I'm not taking any chances I don't have to. Got it?"
      "You're up picky little brat, aren't you?" said the taller man.
      "Want to take another look at the holes in the tree?" asked James.
      "You almost missed one," said the shorter man thinking he had won some minor triumph.
      "Wrong," said James. "The sights on the gun were a little off. That was the first shot. I looked where it went before I shot the others. I held low and right on the next four. Look, you wouldn't be here if you didn't think I was good, real good. You know as well as I do nobody's gonna be looking out for a nine-year-old hit man. I'll be able to pull off stuff for you nobody else could. You've probably got a bunch of guys in your way. If they weren't there, you could be big time, right?" asked James consciously emulating both the speech and mannerisms of movie tough guys he had seen.
      "The kid's right, Tony," said the taller one.
      "Yeah, Johnny, you're always right,"
      said the shorter one.
      "Then all you've got to do is what I say. How you take care of your business is your business. How I do my job is mine."
      "Right, kid," said Tony with a touch of disgust mixed with enough respect to satisfy James.
      "Next, the only way you meet me is here in the park five-thirty Friday afternoons. If you aren't on this bench by five-thirty-five, I figure you haven't got work for me that week. You never try to follow me, try to find out who I am or where I live, understand?" Again the men nodded. "I live far from here, and my mom doesn't like it when I'm late for dinner, so be on time, or I'll leave."
      The men could not help laughing at that remark nor could James who recognized its absurdity. He grinned and said, "I suppose I'm the only hit man in the Bronx who's afraid his mother'll get angry if he's late for dinner, but that doesn't mean I'm not the best. Just do what I say, and we'll both do okay."
      "What else do you say, kid?" asked Tony.
      "Who d'you want me to take care of?"
      "This guy," said Johnny withdrawing a newspaper clipping from his shirt pocket and handing it to James.
      Although the caption had been removed from beneath the picture, James recognized the man as one whose face he had seen in the newspapers. "You sure don't want some small time punk rubbed out, do you? That's Anastasio Albertini. He's supposed to be one of the biggest guys in the mafia."
      "The biggest, that's why he's in our way. Look, kid, if it's too tough for you, forget it," said Tony clearly daring James to live up to the image he was projecting.
      "It ain't too tough," said James who actually had not expected his target to be someone as famous and well guarded as this man whose picture James actually had seen in the papers several times in only a year. "It's just that a hit like that should be worth a lot more dough.
      Remember that in the future when you want me to rub out some small time punk and I still want a grand."
      "Don't worry about it. You'll get paid. You take care of this and a few more, and we'll all be doing okay...
      Jesus, it's weird talking about shit like this with a kid. You're the weirdest kid I ever saw. Where'd you learn to shoot like that?"
      "Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies," said James quoting a response popular among New York City children at that time.
      "How d'we know we can trust you?"
      asked Tony apparently more out of continuing disagreement with his older brother than any urge to challenge James.
      "Because my dad got killed in the war and my mom can't work. It's this or run deliveries for drugstores... Look, I don't want to do just one job for you. It ain't worth it to me to screw you guys for five hundred dollars. I figure if I do this right, you'll have enough work for me to support my family."
      "Yeah, we will. Don't worry about it kid,. If you can shoot people like you shoot trees, we'll see your family's never broke," said Johnny.
      "Where do I find this guy, Albertini?" asked James.
      "Every two or three weeks early Saturday morning he gets his hair cut at this barbershop in Brooklyn. It belongs to a guy he went to school with. We know 'cause we used to work for him,"
      replied Johnny "The barbershop, is it near a subway station?"
      "Flatbush Express stop at Nostrand Avenue. There's a United Cigar Store on the corner. You walk down Nostrand past the cigar store. Same side, halfway down the block. He's got at least two guys guarding him. They got guns and know how to use 'em, but somebody fast like you, kid, you got surprise going for you. You can do it."
      "Will he be there this Saturday?"
      "Can't say."
      "Gimme the gun and the money, and I'll start working on it."
      "I can't believe we're going through with this," said Tony as Johnny took out his revolver, the one with which James had shot the tree, and handed it to James. Then he counted five hundred dollars in tens and twenties off a wad of crumpled bills.
      "You got any better ideas?" said Johnny after he had given James the money.
      "I know it's strange," said James trying to reassure Tony, "but it'll work out. Give me a chance. You'll see...
      I'll meet you hear five-thirty the Friday after it's done."
      The next day, Friday, after school James took the "D" train downtown and then changed to the Flatbush Express. He had no difficulty locating Angelo's Barber Shop which he studied carefully from across the street. After that he explored the entire neighborhood for several blocks. He paid special attention to the alley behind the barbershop when he discovered its back door was open and, therefore, might be on Saturday providing him with an easy escape route through an open apartment building diagonally across the alley.
      On the train back to the Bronx he saw a boy carrying a New York Journal American newspaper bag, and he had a sudden inspiration. The boy was delighted to sell the bag and its few remaining papers to James for two dollars because having "lost" it would cost him less than half a dollar.
      Early Saturday morning James was back on Nostrand Avenue. Since the weather was clear and warm, he did not use a rooftop to wait for his intended victim lest someone coming up to the roof to hang laundry might encounter and remember him. He strolled about the neighborhood by various routes returning to pass near the barbershop every fifteen minutes. When he turned the corner of Newkirk and Nostrand for the third time, he saw a long, black 1939 Buick Limited limousine parked in front of Angelo's. A very large, dark man with coarse features was sitting on a folding chair in front of the door.
      "This is it," thought James just before his mind entered its blank "hunting" state. He walked down the far side of the street and established that no one was still sitting in the car. With a quick glance between parked cars he saw that in addition to the two barbers there were two other men in the shop. One was a small, thin man sitting in the barber chair nearest the door. With his keen vision James was able to determine that the profile of the obese man in the middle of the three chairs was that of Anastasio Albertini. James crossed the street at the far corner, and three doors from the barbershop he began dropping folded papers in the entrances to the stores. When he reached the barbershop, he calmly stepped around the large man on the folding chair and entered the shop. From the breeze flowing through the front door, he deduced the rear door was opened.
      James walked to within five feet of the thin man. He glanced obliquely in the mirror to see that the man outside the door was still facing the other way, and as the barber said, "We don't get that paper," James drew his gun from the delivery bag and shot the smaller of Albertini's two bodyguards between the eyes. Quickly he wheeled and shot the guard outside the shop in the back of his head. His initial plan to eliminate the guards fulfilled, James swung back to Albertini himself. The big man, encumbered by the barber's apron, had not had time to move in the chair and still had his back to him. As if in slow motion James saw both of the barbers had begun to move toward the back door and possible escape. On some nonverbal level he swiftly thought, "I'll have plenty of time to get them after Albertini," whom he shot at very close range at the base of the skull, so the bullet would travel slightly upward and forward killing him instantly. Then he turned to the two barbers and unhesitatingly shot them both in the back of the head. In spite of their being in motion, the distance was only nine or ten feet and the shots were well-placed to insure certain death.
      James quickly surveyed the carnage he had wrought. Through the front door he saw the large man sprawled face down on the sidewalk with a bullet hole in the back of his head. "Dead... All dead...
      Okay, time to get outta here," thought James who had brought his own ammunition with him with which to reload if it had been necessary. His ears still ringing with the sound of gunfire, James took off his windbreaker and New York Yankees baseball cap and stuffed them and the newspaper bag into a large, brown, paper grocery sack he had brought in the newspaper bag. His appearance substantially changed, he exited by the rear door, crossed the alley diagonally, passed through to the next street by the path he had previously explored and chosen as his primary escape route and a few moments later was back on the Flatbush Express bound for Manhattan.
      He took the "A" train to the George Washington Bridge, walked to the center and after wiping the gun carefully, threw it into the Hudson River. By twelve-thirty he had taken the crosstown bus to the Grand Concourse and was in front of Loew's Paradise in time to meet Kathleen with whom he spent a very pleasant afternoon during which he did not once think about the fact that he had just murdered five men in cold blood for money.
      The next day he read the lurid, front page, New York Daily News story headlined "Brutal Brooklyn Killings" from which he learned that if the police had any leads or witnesses, they were nevertheless publicly stating they had no information on "one of the most violent gang murders in recent years."
      Friday at five-twenty-five James was seated on the park bench with one of his father's snub nosed .38 Specials in his hand in his coat pocket. If the brothers who had hired him tried to kill him, he would only have to draw and shoot. He also had on his roller skates which would make it possible for him to move faster than an adult could run at least once he got moving, but James considered it unlikely he would be assaulted at that time because there were still quite a few people in the park enjoying the end of a warm, sunny day.
      Johnny and Tony were on time. James could tell from the looks on their faces that their attitudes toward him had changed substantially. From now on there would be no debates between the brothers. There was no doubt James could carry out his end of a bargain.
      Johnny handed James an envelope and, making no attempt to keep his voice from being heard by the people next to them, said, "Give this to your mom. Tell her we hope it helps."
      "Thanks, Uncle Tommy," said James without missing a beat. "I know she'll be real happy."
      "Why'd you have to kill the two barbers? We don't work that way," whispered Tony.
      "I do," whispered James. "No witnesses. I'd've done it that way if it was twenty barbers. If you don't like how I work, don't hire me."
      "Take it easy. We're happy. You work anyway you want so long as you get the job done," said Tony with a shudder has James rose to leave. He glanced in the envelope, saw it was a lot of money and was satisfied.
      "Looks like we'll have more for you next week," called out Johnny thinking, "We'll get rid of this kid when the time comes," but he was unaware it was not he but James who would live to be the one that got away.

Chapter XIV

In just same manner that it would serve no valid purpose to describe further the regular and repetitious, almost ritualized, sexual acts between James and Tess and James and Kathleen but rather descend into mere pornography because it would give no additional insight into any of their personalities, it similarly would be without value to detail any of the more than thirty other contract killings James performed for Johnny and Tony over the next two and half years because it would not elucidate his character beyond what already has been shown. Suffice it to say that in carrying out these commissions he murdered in cold blood well over a hundred people including a number of children younger than himself. The newspaper accounts he read indicated police were both appalled and outraged at the scope of this clearly gang related slaughter, but they never had even the slightest inkling of whom they were actually seeking. On over a dozen occasions he employed two revolvers, one fired by each hand, to kill several people at one time, and this led police to conclude at least two men had been involved. He also acquired several wigs, false mustaches and well tailored suits of clothing which enabled him to give the appearance of a very short adult because he learned to use makeup from a theatrical supplies storekeeper whose shop he had found in the Manhattan Telephone Directory.
      This phase of James life came to an end not long before James turned twelve by which time his understanding of the American economy had increased to the point where he realized that the amount of money he possessed was far more than enough to support his and his mother's modest lifestyle long past his reaching adulthood and that it was extremely unlikely a massive inflation like the one in prewar Germany would wipe out the value of their currency. Accordingly two weeks after reaching his decision, on a rainy, fall Friday afternoon, James shot and killed Johnny and Tony with a gun he had saved from a recent hit. The following day he learned from the newspapers that he had been in the employ of the notorious and brutal crimelords, the Mandalo brothers -- he had never known their last name, and they had never known even his first -- who were described as having been suspected of heading a wide variety of Bronx rackets.
      It ought to be noted here that James never contemplated leading a life of crime as an adult. All he did he saw as necessary to protect his mother and survive long enough to grow up and work at an ordinary job. This was especially true after the end of World War II when he again began to consider the possibility of a happy world in which he was married to Kathleen who once had told him she had telephoned the Marriage Licensed Bureau to find out how old they had to be to wed. As his fearful vision of armies of grown-up Dannies making helpless little Kathleens urinate in bathtubs began to fade, he slowly evolved into an almost ordinary child, and as he had a number of positive experiences with adults, teachers who encouraged him and shopkeepers who treated him honestly and kindly, he became glad he was through killing people although he never doubted his actions had been justified or seriously regretted having performed them. He still believed anything he might do to protect himself, his mother and Kathleen was correct, but now no violence seemed necessary for accomplishing this goal, merely the acquisition of skills required for gainful, adult employment at a job he could enjoy.
      Because of his fascination with guns James subscribed to magazines which included articles about them. He considered becoming a gunsmith and read several books on the subject, but because of New York City laws about firearms he was unable to get any actual training. James also saw ads for books on judo and jujitsu. He was drawn to this material because of its promise to enable him to defend himself in any situation against any attacker. Although James did not expect to be assaulted -- other boys still left him to himself because of the stories of now he had gone berserk on several occasions in grammar school -- he thought it wise to be prepared just in case.
      Besides these disciplines offered information on ways to kill silently, and although James still felt guns were the best way to slay someone, he found their loud noise a great drawback. He bought several books on the subject and incorporated the exercises they described into his daily routine of shooting practice which he still performed regularly. From one ad he made contact with an elderly Chinese man in Manhattan's Chinatown to whom he went once a week for over five years for instruction in a variety of martial arts and meditative techniques. As it worked out, the serenity and poise they taught him did not make him more peaceful as the old man thought they had. They simply left him even more dispassionate and psychopathic about taking human life and even more able to appear ordinary and normal.
      He took a correspondence course in locksmithing, but after almost a year of study during which he became quite knowledgeable on the subject, he lost interest and abandoned it. He bought high-quality hobby tools such as small lathes and milling machines and became moderately skilled as a miniature machinist. He produced a number of guns, the earlier ones being rather crude but some of the later ones quite sophisticated.
      Eventually he wound up choosing to be an auto mechanic. When he was fifteen, he went to the owner of the garage near Tremont and Webster Avenues and convinced him to let him work there two afternoons a week at a very low wage on condition that in addition to making him do the dirtiest jobs to start, he would teach him the intricacies of auto repair. He continued working there until he graduated high school by which time he was competent in the trade.
      During the time James was in junior high school and high school, Tess became increasingly withdrawn. It was a slow process with no apparent day to day changes. She spent less and less time telling him how to handle dragons and affairs of state and eventually became almost catatonic. James had no real idea of what went on in Tess' mind and did not know how to deal with this change other than to continue to protect her as he had in the past. He still was careful to do well enough in school, so he never was noticed for bad or good behavior, and no one ever saw fit to call his mother in for a conference.
      James cooked all their meals and brought them to her in her bedroom which she left only to go to the bathroom.
      She remained meticulously clean in her person, but James did the housekeeping.
      She never interrupted their sex life. There were semi lucid moments when she would gaze at James and say things like, "I know what you're doing for me. I love you so much, little Prince. I do the best I can." He slept in her bed every night and was happy she seemed to have joy from their embrace whether it was sexual or not.
      In 1948 Kathleen's mother remarried.
      She stopped working as soon as her new husband moved into her apartment. James then began bringing Kathleen to his room after school. She was uneasy at first but eventually accepted the situation when James put a lock on the door.
      Although he knew Tess would never leave her room to look for him, he never told Kathleen anything more than that she was very shy and kept to herself. She never knew Tess was not of sound mind, never questioned him about her because she sensed he did not want her to and never once saw his mother in three and a half years.
      If Kathleen's mother had had little to do with her before remarrying, she had virtually no contact with her afterward. She felt very threatened by her small but fully developed and beautiful daughter, so she did everything she could to encourage her to spend as little time home as possible. This included placing no restrictions on her freedom and never asking where she had been when she came in and went straight to bed promptly at 9:00 PM which was when James took her home because it was when his mother wanted to go to bed. Kathleen and James did their homework together, made love, ate dinner and then walked to her apartment house. Kathleen never suspected the incestuous nature of James relationship with his mother.
      James was not sure how he would deal with this when he and Kathleen were old enough to marry, but he did not worry about it because that was a long way off.
      When he was in the tenth grade, James decided it might be useful to have several false identities on which to fall back in case of emergency. He thought a lot about now to establish a fictitious identity, and after learning that no cross referencing was done between birth and death records in New York City, he obtained a number of birth certificates for deceased children born not too far from 1934. The first he got was Daniel Brian Cooper's. He knew his birthday from an obituary he looked up, and he learned his mother's maiden name from his younger brother after several seemingly casual, contrived chats with him in the street. He obtained others, including three for Kathleen, in a variety of ways. He told her they might be necessary if they ever had to run away, and she only said, "I don't know about things like that. Do whatever you think's best." He acquired driver's licenses as they became eligible and also bought an inobtrusive 1939 Plymouth sedan which he maintained meticulously.
      On Sundays when the weather was nice, James and Kathleen would go for long rides in the country. They found a number of places where they could picnic undisturbed and then make love on a blanket amidst the mountains and the trees. They engaged in long periods of foreplay, and then he would always kiss and caress her vagina with his tongue until she motioned to him she had had enough. She would rest a bit and then suck his cock. The happiest thought he could imagine was of her fondling him, totally devoted to pleasing him, her eyes smiling up at him as he smiled down at her and sighed with delight. He ran his fingers through her waist length, reddish brown hair and thought, "She is so beautiful, so wonderful. I am so fortunate," and when it was over, he always said, "I love you now and forever."
      She would kiss him with the taste of his semen still in her mouth, a taste he always had enjoyed, and whisper, "I love you, too, now and forever."
      James had heard the men in the garage talk about women who teased, led a man on and then stopped him, and he was confused. "Why didn't they say 'no' to begin with? Why'd they go out with him at all?" He wondered not yet aware of the complexities of most sexual relationships but grateful Kathleen was as she was. Again and again he swore to himself to try to please her always in all things as she did for him, and since most of their interests were identical; movies, drives in the country, picnics, zoos, natural history museums, as well as lovemaking, there literally never was a disagreement between them. If one wanted something, this in and of itself would arouse in the other a desire for whatever it was. It was almost as if each had no separate identity without the other. Once when James asked her how she always knew what to do for him, she replied, "I just figure out what you'd do for me," and he laughed and said, "That's what I try to do for you."
      James was Kathleen's entire world.
      She not only had no other friends than him, she did not even have any acquaintances. She continued very shy, disliked school, talked with no one and only looked forward to the day when they would marry and live together. She assumed Tess would live with them but anticipated no problems since Tess kept to herself all of the time. She studied hard in Home Economics looking forward to relieving James of his cooking, shopping and housecleaning shores.
      The only thing which troubled James during this period was the existence of nuclear weapons. Pictures of the total destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki coupled with continued air raid drills in school and stories about evil communists who also had the bomb led him to think it was foolish to remain in such a prime target as New York City, but at this point James gave no thought to what he might do to survive a nuclear war. He thought it would be best to finish school and move somewhere safer with his mother and Kathleen. He did not think nuclear war was imminent so much as inevitable, so although he worried about it now and then, it was not an obsession for him.
      In spite of what one might expect, James thought of himself as ordinary and his life as fairly peaceful. He did not so much repress the memories of his violent deeds as ignore and forget them the way to a plumber will forget installing specific pipes he worked on many years ago. They simply were unimportant to him and in no way interfered with the surprising degree of tranquility he developed partly but not exclusively because of his meditative studies. He just had a very placid disposition. He even was able to maintain a sense of relative calm when he realized his mother was dying.
      This was not due to indifference or convenience because he truly loved his mother and never minded the increasing difficulties she caused him. Tess began to experience severe abdominal cramps when he was seventeen, and James tried everything he could think of to get her to go to a doctor. Sometimes she explained to him how her enemies poisoned the air when he was not there and how there was nothing which could cure her, and other times she seemed oblivious to the fact that he was speaking to her. She spoke several times of looking forward to being reunited with the good King and made James promise he would bury her bare body himself in the woods near the meadow where she had walked with him as an infant in Lake George. By entering the world of the dead as naked as she had the world of the living she said she expected to become one with nature. James was not sure what to make of such talk, but if it would please his mother, he would do it.
      James decided there was nothing he could do but care for her as well as he could. Before long Tess was in terrible and constant pain. James did the only thing he could think of after aspirin proved useless. He quickly read as much as he could about heroin, went looking for a street dealer in Harlem and had this man take him to his source. He purchased several thousand dollars worth of what he determined was fairly pure heroin as well as hypodermic syringes and related items. He had been prepared to kill them if they made any attempt to cheat, rob or harm him, but they did not, and James went home and showed her her how to inject herself.
      One evening James told Kathleen, "My mother's going to die. She's in bad pain. I'll have to stay with her more, but come over everyday like always."
      "What do the doctors say?" she asked.
      "She won't go, and I won't make her.
      Nothing they can do anyway. I can feel the lump in her belly, so why let them poke her? Let her die in peace."
      Kathleen's response was what it always was with James, "Whatever you think's best."
      James had planned his revelation to her up to this point when he had intended to change the topic to their homework, but suddenly he collapsed in her lap and cried for a long time while she stroked his head and said, "Don't be afraid. We'll still have each other."
      James never forgot how she held him.
      He felt more weak and helpless than any time since his initial confrontation with Danny. Unlike his father's death which he simply had been informed of after the fact. Now he had to live with the knowledge his mother was dying and there was nothing he could do to protect her. He never knew what Kathleen felt about this moment because they never discussed it. He was grateful to her for not bringing it up but far more grateful to her for holding him at a time when he needed it.
      About a month after she began taking heroin, Tess stopped eating. It was the July after James junior year of high school. She seemed intent on ending her life more swiftly than her disease alone would permit, and James could only do as she signed for him to do, to lie next to her and hold her as she now dozed and now swam in the murky ocean of her insanity mixed with the drug induced stupor. Once she said, "I know we'll see you again, little Prince. Goodbye for now," but that was all.
      Other than his time in the garage where they knew nothing of his situation, he was with her almost constantly.
      Kathleen came over early in the morning and stayed till late at night "just in case there's anything I can do." There was nothing, but James appreciated the gesture. Ten days later Tess died. James came home from the garage and went in to find her dead. Even though he had seen and been uneffected by many dead bodies, he nevertheless recoiled from her cold flesh. Then he looked at the body and said, "My mom doesn't live in this thing anymore, so it's no big thing to get rid of it like she wanted. Mom, wherever you are now, I hope you're okay, Dad, too."
      He wrapped her body in two shower curtains and sealed the package with electrical tape. He had told Kathleen of his plans, so she was not surprised when he loaded her body and a pick and shovel in the trunk of the Plymouth and set out for Lake George. Arriving while it was still dark, he hid her body deep in the woods and made his way to a spot which he remembered near a stream where the earth was soft and there was no grass on the forest floor to leave an open spot when he replaced the soil. When it grew light, he began digging and did not stop until he had created a pit two feet wide, four feet long and four feet deep. Although he was unaccustomed to this kind of work, his mind was blank throughout his labor and he was unaware of the pains in his shoulders and back as well as the blisters on his palms. When the pit was deep enough to satisfy him, he got out and rested until just before dark. No one came near him which was fortunate since he was quite prepared to put more than one body in the ground if he was interrupted. As daylight faded, he brought Tess' body to the grave and removed it from the plastic shroud. He placed her in the hole and then paused for a few moments to recall a number of his most pleasant memories of his mother; walks she had taken with him when he was a little boy, fascinating stories she had told him and love making which had been especially warm and emotionally gratifying or passionate and physically pleasing. He said, "Goodbye, Fairy Queen," and shoveled the earth back into the hole stopping frequently to pack the soil down with his feet. Now the mosquitoes bit him, too, but his ability to devote himself single mindedly to a specific task enabled him to finish. As cold as the Adirondack night was, he still collapsed on the ground and slept until well after sunrise. He awoke in pain but managed to clean up the grave site. He washed the shower curtains in the stream and hobbled toward the public beach where he spent the afternoon adding a sunburn to his physical ills all of which were gone in a week.
      After Tess' death James and Kathleen spent even more time together. Eventually Kathleen's mother called her a slut one time too many, and Kathleen moved in with James. They both had yearned to sleep in the same bed for so long that neither could remember a time when they had not. They clung to each other with a tenacity which is known only to people who have put all their eggs in one basket. James missed his mother frequently at first but later much less often. Kathleen's only thought of hers was "good riddance."
      During the winter of James' senior year in high school he asked Kathleen if she would be willing to leave New York.
      He told her he wanted to live someplace where it was much warmer in winter and where he could shoot and work on guns legally. She knew he was interested in firearms and considered them a harmless hobby like her own embroidery. She also disliked the cold northern winters and slush filled Bronx streets, so she readily agreed to move when he graduated. Kathleen disliked school and wanted nothing more than to stay at home and keep house for him, so she dropped out at the end of her junior year.
      In July 1952 James took thirty thousand dollars in cash from the locked box in the back of his closet and drove to South Florida alone. After a week of exploring neighborhoods, he found an area south of Miami and Coral Gables and east of Highway 1 which was somewhat developed but only broken into fairly large parcels of an acre or more. He found a large, rundown, old house on a three acre property covered with palm trees, pines and underbrush. Until he came quite far down the barred driveway, well past another house, he did not even realize the second house existed. James thought it was ideal because it would afford them the type of seclusion they both wanted. James paid $28,900.00 dollars in cash to the estate of the deceased former owner whose heirs were in a hurry to sell and went back for Kathleen.
      They spent months rebuilding the house which they intended to live in for the rest of their lives. All the work they did together brought them even closer as daily they saw their dream home taking shape. James turned the downstairs bedroom into a workshop. He lined the walls, ceiling and sub floor with sound deadening insulation, so his work would not disturb Kathleen, and he built a double walled eight foot long chamber three feet high and three feet wide from three quarter inch plywood so he could test fire guns indoors into a variety of materials such as sand, water, wet or dry newspapers and oil soaked shavings. When the chamber was sealed, insulation between the double walls prevented the escape of anything more than the slightest sound, and that never passed through the room insulation. He also secreted the gold and most of the cash behind a wall and without indicating what was there, let Kathleen know that if anything happened to him she was to open the plaster at a particular point.
      After the remodeling James found a job as an auto mechanic in a recently reopened garage on Southwest Eighth Street near the western edge of Coral Gables. He enjoyed working with his hands and was satisfied with his employer, a former Georgia farm hand who recently had inherited the business, knew little of auto repair and permitted James to run the place. After he found James was scrupulously honest with him, he only came in twice a month to collect his money. He paid James in cash, so James did not have to get a Social Security number or pay taxes, things James preferred since he had not registered for the draft. Fellow employees thought he was 4- F because of severe asthma which she had learned enough about to feign for non-medical personnel.
      Kathleen fell comfortably into the role of housewife. She cooked, cleaned and shopped with a contentedness bordering on bliss. When she was done, she could listen to her favorite soap operas and embroider for hours before preparing their dinner. She had the family she always had wanted. She had a clearly defined role and knew if she filled it she was secure. She did not like going among people alone but was not terrified of it as Tess had been and enjoyed going out with James for dinner and movies.
      She knew James would readily agree to almost anything she suggested, and she almost invariably chose the restaurants where they ate, the movies they saw, the picnic spots they went to, etc..
      She knew she needed only to say, "Would you like to go to Miracle Mile to see a movie tonight?" in order to hear, "Sure, Angel, whatever you want." James gave her all the money he earned including tips except for ten dollars every two weeks. She knew she could spend all of this and buy anything she wanted, and she did purchase some expensive but very modest and subdued clothing for their nights out, but she never was interested in nightclubs, partying or high living, so the amount she had was quite adequate in her eyes. She knew she did not have to save any because she knew James had put aside money for emergencies, but she had no idea how much.
      What he spent on guns, reloading equipment, machinery and the like was of no interest to her, nor did she object to his weekly visits to the city dump where he practiced shooting after work.
      They were so compatible they often said things to each other like, "I'll bet there aren't five couples within ten miles of here happy as us." This extended to their sex life which continued to be exclusively oral/genital. They had tried missionary position intercourse once, not liked it, and abandoned it. As a child Kathleen had earned money babysitting and had hated the demand for total attention children often made, so she was satisfied with the safety of their choice. James never even remotely had considered fatherhood and had been pleased with her hints on the subject.
      It seemed to James Kathleen's very body changed to please him. About the time he developed a liking for large breasted women like the ones drawn by Alberto Vargas which he saw on the calendars on the garage walls, he "discovered" Kathleen had, almost unbeknownst to him, grown to a "D" cup bra size. In the garage he would hear men say things like, "I wish I could find me a woman looks like that one," to which someone would reply, "Ain't one in the world looks like that. Just can't. Big breasts can't stick up 'n out like that. I've seen a whole lot. Just in that guy's mind," and James would think to himself, " Boy, am I ever lucky. All these guys seen all these gals they talk about all the time and never seen one like mine.
      She's one of a kind." Sometimes he even would come home from work, unbutton her blouse and unhook her brassiere just to watch how her unsheathed breasts did not move downward at all but only jiggled. Kathleen thought this was very funny and often would expose herself to him if he did not undress her. The extent of her appeal and her perfection for him were so great that unlike most men who passing a pretty woman in the street would think lustful thoughts, James would think, "Her face isn't as pretty," or, "Her hair isn't as wavy and long," or, "Her butt isn't as round," or, "Her breasts aren't as big," or, "Her legs are fatter,"
      always finding some way in which Kathleen was superior. As for the possibility another woman could love him as well, it was unthinkable.
      James and Kathleen were married privately by a city judge a few days after her eighteenth birthday. He celebrated by doing the most ostentatious thing he ever had done or would do. He bought her a new, bright green 1953 Mercury convertible like one which she had admired a few weeks earlier without the slightest expectation of getting one or any indication that the absence of such a car in her life made her unhappy. She was so overjoyed that when they got home from dinner at their favorite restaurant, she insisted on spending most of the night in the backseat with him alternately making love with him and whispering things like, "I love you forever and always. You're the most wonderful husband a woman ever had. I swear I'll always be the wife you want me to be, the wife you deserve. I'm not just sayin' this 'cause you married me today and it's the happiest day of my life or 'cause you gave me this beautiful car but 'cause in a world full of nasty people you've always been kind and tender and loving to me. When I was little and no one was nice to me and they called me that awful name and I felt so dirty and alone from what you know who did to me, I told you, and you made me feel all clean and loved. You never betrayed my trust, and I'll never do anything to make you sorry you married me..." She babbled on in an ecstasy of emotion even her orgasms, and she had quite a few that night, could not exceed.
      Knowing how James had come to take great pleasure from her breasts, she held his hands or face on them while they were not making love. For the rest of his life he cherished the memory of the delicate, not smooth but not rough texture of her erect nipples against his tongue followed by the sweet taste (It was more than a decade before he learned how few women had vaginal secretions which could be described as "delicious.") of her pussy as he licked slowly around and around her clitoris the way he knew she preferred as she sighed blissfully, followed by her licking around and around the head of his penis while sucking it and sliding her hand up and down the shaft, followed by their repeated words of love and a pause until they again were swept up in their passions. For many, many years James thought of this as the happiest, most wonderful most everything good (That was how he put it.) night of his life.
      Although both James and Kathleen thought there was nothing which could bring them any closer together, something did. One morning in 1956 James awoke feeling dizzy and nauseous. Other than an occasional cold every few years James and Kathleen had been healthy since getting over the usual childhood measles, mumps and chickenpox, so initially James was merely a bit disoriented by this, but when he tried to stand up, he was so weak he collapsed on the floor. Immediately Kathleen was by his side helping him up. He stumbled, and as her hand brushed his forehead, she felt he was very warm. "Bathroom," he said with sudden urgency, and she draped him across one shoulder and took him there where he experienced very painful abdominal spasms and severe diarrhea. He was too sick even to feel embarrassed.
      She helped him back to bed, took his temperature and found it was 105.2 degrees F. She remembered a recent television news segment about a particularly virulent strain of flu which was going around and recalled the symptoms as well as the recommended treatment; bed rest, light diet and sponge baths with hot water to reduce fever. After calling the garage to say he would not be in to work, she began to care for him. He soon discovered he had another of the symptoms which had been mentioned. He could not keep any food down. After vomiting twice, he gave up trying to eat. He lay in bed for four days almost totally helpless while she ministered to his every need. As he began recover, he saw just how much she had done for him from frequently changing his sweat soaked underwear to massaging his neck and knees which had been very tight and painful. On the fifth day he managed to eat a bit and walk around the house. On the sixth day as he sat holding hands with her watching television, he said, "I'm really sorry I put you through all this."
      Deep in his mind he felt a young man's fear of appearing weak in the presence of the woman he loved, and he felt greatly reassured and filled with gratitude when she softly replied, "Don't you remembered the words, 'in sickness and in health?' You don't have to apologize.
      You didn't get sick on purpose, silly... Did you? It could happen to anybody."
      An hour and a half later Kathleen suddenly got up and bolted toward the bathroom. She only had made it as far as the door when she doubled over and experienced the total and violent malfunction of every major orifice of her body except her ears. She defecated, urinated and vomited uncontrollably in the middle of the bathroom floor. James came in to find her crying. "I made a mess,"
      she said deliriously. "I'm supposed to be grown-up, but I made a mess."
      Weak as he was, James undressed Kathleen, washed her as well as he could with a wash cloth and exerting all the strength he could muster, carried her to their bed. He took her temperature. It was 105.8 degrees F. "Gee, you beat me," he said trying to make a joke to make light of her accident but she kept crying and mumbling.
      At last he made out what she was saying over and over through her tears, "Oh, God, I'm still Kathy Pee Pants...
      James'll never love me no more. My mother told me nobody'll ever love me 'cause I pee my pants. I messed them, too. Oh, God, I'm so sick. I'll die if he'd don't love me no more. Oh, God, I'll die."
      James sat on the bed next to her and turned her face gently toward his. "Do you see its me, James?" He asked unsure whether or not she recognized him. When she nodded, he went on, "What happened to you could happen to anybody. You said so your self. I don't care if you shit all over the place. I love you. I don't care if you pee your pants and puke. I love you. Please don't die. I couldn't live without you. You're the only one in the world who means anything to me. You took care of me and didn't complain. Now it's might turn. Just relax."
      Kathleen smiled faintly, turned on her side and was asleep almost instantly. James heated water and spent two hours sponging her. He managed to bring her fever down to 104.4 degrees F. Then he went to the bathroom and mopped the floor, tub, sink, commode and walls. To his surprise he experienced no revulsion at cleaning her excreta. All he thought was, "It's might turn now." He threw out her underpants, but knowing she liked the housedress she had been wearing, he rinsed it and hung it over the shower curtain rod. James went back to their bedroom and saw her lying naked as he had left her in the warm spring night. A breeze blew through the open windows and across the bed. In the dim light from the hall he looked at her face as he drew the sheet up to her neck, and as he kissed her feverish cheek, he thought, "It's true. I don't know how I'd live without her... I'm only twenty-two years old, and in my heart I've already been married to Kathleen for fifteen years."
      It was two weeks before James felt Kathleen was well enough for him to leave her alone and go back to work. He drove home during his lunch hour to check on her for another week. It was a month before they both were fully recovered. The devotion each felt for the other as well as from the other during this episode brought them much closer than they ever had imagined they could be. They both even began to have visions of growing old together.
      Three noteworthy sidelights which appear unimportant here but which will become significant later are: First, in 1957 James learned to fly an airplane and then to skydive. He decided these activities might be fun, and to his amazement Kathleen proved to be a lot more adventurous then he had expected in this area. She told him she always dreamed of flying and was enchanted with the idea of parachuting. Over the next three years they logged over forty jumps together. They also bought their own airplane and often went flying on weekends. Adding this to three cars, a cabin cruiser and a very fast Triumph Bonneville motorcycle, they certainly had enough toys to keep them amused. Second, after reading articles about President Dwight Eisenhower's Secretary of State, John Foster Dulles, and his theories of international diplomacy which involved pushing the USSR to the brink of war in order to obtain concessions, James rented mechanical digging machinery and built a fairly elaborate fall-out shelter under the side yard, no simple or inexpensive task considering the high water table in their area. Third, Kathleen decided they ought to raise their cultural level by learning another language.
      She picked Spanish because many people in the area spoke it, and James spent a great deal of his time and energy becoming proficient in Spanish. He never was able to speak it without an accent, but he was competent. The In spite of all that has happened in the world in the last fifty years, in spite of all the terrorist atrocities, the mass murderers and the holocaust's, the event which comes next in the life of James Sean Christopher Marlowe is so awful that if it possibly could have been left out of this story, it would have been, but it gives clear insight into the darkest passages of one of the darkest minds. It proves incontrovertibly that even if his outward life had been normal for almost seven years when 1960 rolled around, inside, deep inside, he still believed in a deliberately malevolent and evil universe in which there were no moral restraints, no ethical limitations upon humans. The only law was to get away, and James was, after all, the one that got away.

Chapter XV

That Friday afternoon in July 1960 seemed to James no different from the others preceding it. At breakfast Kathleen had told him she was going to buy car wax, so on Saturday they could park her Mercury under the palm trees in their yard and wax her ever shiny treasure. This was a seasonal ritual of theirs which usually ended with the two of them heading for the shower together. James thought of that briefly as he pulled into their yard in his car, a hotrodded but outwardly ordinary appearing 1949 Mercury sedan.
      James closed his car door and started around to the front of the house. Just as he got about ten feet from the front door, he encountered a large, blond man coming out the door. He was at least six feet three inches tall and weighed over 220 pounds. He had a long, blood covered bayonet in his right hand. When he saw James, he hesitated for a split second to decide on a course of action. Then he raised the bayonet to waist level and extended his arm preparing to attack James who was two inches shorter and forty pounds lighter, but James quickly drew the snub-nosed Smith & Wesson .38 Special revolver he regularly carried.
      "Drop it," said James who had no intention of sparing the man's life. He only wanted information. In the adrenaline rush of the moment the implications of the blood on the blade had not yet come to James.
      James had drawn his gun so fast the man jumped back a foot. "You wouldn't shoot a man in cold blood, would you?"
      asked the intruder obviously aware someone who could move that quickly could shoot that quickly, too.
      "Drop it," said James with just a hint of a low, animal growl in his voice. "Drop it."
      "Okay, okay, whatever you say," said the man letting the knife fall to the ground.
      "Hands in the air... Right... Now back up into the house real slow." As James entered his home, he saw the signs of a terrible struggle, chairs and the sofa overturned, a china closet pulled down and blood everywhere. Now he knew what it meant. No one could survive such an assault. "She's dead. Oh, ye gods, this fucking asshole has killed my wife,"
      thought James. "I swear he'll wish he never was born."
      James took two deep breaths and cleared his mind. The rage was gone, and the icy, analytical killer took over.
      "You alone?" James asked, and when the man hesitated, James cocked his revolver.
      "Yeah."
      "Where is she?"
      "Upstairs."
      "Dead?"
      "Yeah," James heard the man say and knew it was true,""If she's dead, I don't have to go look right away," thought James. "First I've got to get a few more facts out of this guy."
      "How'd you get here?"
      "I followed her from the supermarket. She was so beautiful, man, I couldn't help it."
      "Where'd you park?"
      "Three blocks down. I walked back after I saw what driveway she pulled in."
      "Anybody see you?"
      "Fuck, no, I'm no amateur."
      James stood there considering his options. The thought of calling the police never occurred to him. At last when he could not think of any more questions to ask the man, he told him to turn around. James examined the back of his neck carefully for the correct spot before striking him hard with the butt of the revolver. He crumpled to the floor unconscious. James was not sure what he was going to do with his prisoner, but he did know where he was going to do it. He dragged the body to his soundproof workroom, emptied a large pile of newspapers from the shooting chamber, and shoved the body into it.
      "How do I make sure he doesn't overpower me or figure a way out while I'm someplace else?" James asked himself knowing escape artists usually got out of whatever they were put in and not knowing anything of his captive's abilities. Then he had the first inklings of the vengeance he would wreck upon this fool who had crossed the wrong man. James went to his hardware cabinet and got four large spikes and washers. After grinding very sharp points on these nails and putting the washers under the nailheads, he dipped each nail in alcohol to sterilize it and proceeded to nail the unconscious man to the floor of the test chamber by driving one spike into each leg between the tibia and fibula and another into each arm between the radius and ulna. He was careful to avoid arteries and veins and drew little blood.
      James cut off the man's clothing and smelled the distinctive aroma of Kathleen in his undershorts. Blind rage returned, and this time he saw no reason to suppress it. In the same way he knew his mind could go blank into a patient, waiting state, now he discovered his consciousness of himself could be lost completely in wrath. He saw himself pulling the man's body apart tearing entire limbs out, yet in the vision he did not let the man die. He rent the man's living, throbbing flesh into tiny portions which he forced back together, so he could repeat the dismemberment while the man screamed in agony. Eventually James found himself standing next to his lathe. It was time to go upstairs.
      If the downstairs showed signs of struggle, the upstairs bedroom looked like a war zone. James remembered the claw and tooth marks on the man's body. Kathleen had not submitted passively, but all of the training he had given her had not saved her from an assault by someone who, James reasoned from the Marine Corps "U.S.M.C. Korea" tattoo on his left biceps, must be an accomplished killer himself. "Too bad she couldn't make it to one of the guns," thought James. "I never could get her to carry one."
      Then he saw her body. The beloved flesh he had hoped to see grow fat and old was lying spread-eagled across the bed. She was naked, but she was so covered with blood it looked as if she was wearing a red nightgown. Her murderer had stabbed her corpse many times after she had died, but from the slash marks which appeared to have been made while she was still alive, James knew she had suffered horribly and died slowly and in terror. Knowing how shy and modest she had been, James thought of the humiliation and anguish she must have felt at having been stripped naked and forced to submit to the degradation of rape. James fell on the bed weeping uncontrollably, crying out as if she could hear, "My Baby Angel, my poor, sweet, Baby Angel. You never hurt a soul in your life. You never flirted with another man. Only in a world ruled by evil could this happen to one like you... Oh, the pain, the agony you must the felt while this was going on. Why couldn't I have come home sooner and saved you... Why..." James had no idea of the pain time would inflict on him. All he thought of was the torture this must have been for his beloved Kathleen.
      Suddenly he saw a ball of white light hovering above him, and he heard Kathleen's voice inside his head, "I was true to you, James. He kept slashing me saying, ' Fuck me, and I'll let you live,' and I kept saying, ' I'd rather die.' I tried everything to defend myself, but he was too good with the knife. He didn't do it to me till I was dead. I swear it... Why would anybody want to do this to me? I never hurt nobody... 0h, James, darling, it hurt so bad."
      For an instant James felt as if he did not exist, and then he felt sucked out of his body and thrust into Kathleen's mind in her dying body; feeling blood pouring from her wounds, feeling filthy from being forced to be naked in the presence of a man other than her husband, feeling sadness for the horrible loss she knew her death would be to her beloved husband, feeling foolish for not having listened to his advice about carrying a gun which would have saved her and at the last instant of her life feeling an awesome and unspeakable hatred for the man who was committing this atrocity upon her and who soon would do the unnameable to her, that thing her own modest mind never even could refer to as "the F word" but only as "it."
      James/Kathleen lay there in the warm, dead body feeling the man force his penis into her, feeling the man's hands on her breasts, feeling him writhe in disgusting pleasure and feeling him squirt his bit of slime within her. James who had never failed to act could not because he was Kathleen who was dead, and now he knew what she had experienced, all of it.
      Then he was back in his own body, and Kathleen's sweet, pleading voice said, "Take vengeance for me, my darling, James. Make it more horrible than any revenge anybody ever took, something that'll bring my soul to rest 'cause I know I'll never rest till I have vengeance." For the last few words the tone of her voice changed to a powerful snarl unlike anything he ever had heard Kathleen utter, but he knew it was still her voice because she trailed back into a warm sweetness, "I love you, James.
      I'll love you always and forever. I'll come back to you if I can."
      Abruptly James awoke and found himself lying next to his wife's now cold corpse. Although it had been light when he had entered the room, it was now late at night. His clothes were soaked with sweat and congealed blood. It never occurred to him that what he had seen and heard and felt had been a dream, an illusion or a figment of his imagination. As far as he was concerned, it had been real. The soul of his beloved wife who had lived her whole life to please him had come back to ask, no demand, her due from him, and he would not prove unworthy of her. Already a plan was becoming clear in his mind, a plan which he hoped would be monstrous enough to bring peace to Kathleen's tormented spirit.
      James went down to his workshop and found the man still unconscious. He got a mirror, a straight razor he once had tried shaving with, a pliers, a propane torch and a one inch wide plaster patching spatula. After heating the trowel red hot, James opened the man's mouth, pulled his tongue outward with the pliers and sliced off as much as he could with the straight razor. Then he shoved the glowing trowel in his mouth to cauterize the wound. The terrible pain caused the man to regain consciousness.
      He screamed in agony and struggled to move but discovered each motion no matter how slight caused him almost as great a pain in his limbs as the burning did in his mouth. For several minutes the man writhed in blind torment unaware of where he was or what had been done to him. James waited patiently with the man's tongue in his hand.
      At last the man was able to look at his surroundings. Recognition set in as he first saw the nails piercing his arms and legs and then James holding his tongue. He tried to speak but could make only a gagging "Aaaach" sound. James waited until the man's mind was clear enough to understand what was happening and then put the bloody end of the man's tongue in his mouth and chewed it. It was tough and salty tasting, but James persisted in masticating it thoroughly and swallowing it. Horror filled the man's eyes at the realization of what he had seen.
      James held the mirror to the man's face and hissed, "That's what my sweet Angel, Kathleen, must've looked like when she knew she had no hope. I want you to see that look on your own face. I want you to know you have no hope... You're a dead man... You're going to die the worst way I can think of. You're going to watch me eat you alive. I cut out your tongue, so in case you're tricky with words you won't be able to talk me into killing you quick. Think about that while I clean up the mess you made."
      James closed the chamber door and went to take care of Kathleen's body. At first he was unsure what to do with it, but then he decided to destroy it completely along with any evidence of the assault. He set up the small, gas powered furnace he used for bullet casting and slowly but systematically cremated all of Kathleen's body except for one thick tress of her waist length hair. He had no alternative. He never would have been able to explain her body if it had been discovered buried in the side yard five years later, so it had to cease to exist. James spent the next few days attending to everything bloody in the house. The floors were tile, so scrubbing was adequate, but he had to recover the sofa and cut off the mattress cover and padding down to the springs which he took to the dump. A great deal was burned in the fireplace late at night. During this period James’ mind was, more than anything else, numb. The loss of Kathleen still had not sunk in past the surface. He went to the garage Monday morning and told his coworkers Kathleen had filed for divorce and gone back to New York. James quit saying he had to follow her to New York and try to get her back. He never had been close to the other mechanics, so no one questioned him much before he left.
      What he did to the man in the chamber is better left without detailed description. Suffice it to say James kept him alive for almost a week force feeding him through a section of rubber automotive fuel line he shoved down his throat. James hosed out the chamber to keep it clean and regularly amputated parts of the man's body, cooked them on a portable barbecue just outside the chamber, and ate them sitting in the chamber door while his wife's murderer alternately screamed, groaned, raged, wept and moaned. James never talked to him but often spoke to Kathleen as if she was sitting with him.
      "My sweet Baby Angel," he would say, "I hope this is enough to bring you peace. It's the worst I could think of."
      Many years later when recalling these deeds, surely the most extreme of his life, James seemed to have taken pleasure only in the thought that he had freed Kathleen's spirit and given it peace. James used the words "unfortunate but unavoidable" when describing his actions. He felt no guilt or remorse but would have preferred to have killed the man much more quickly, even instantly, if he had felt that would have been appropriate for Kathleen. It is certain he never would have dreamed of torturing anyone even slightly without some overwhelming provocation like the torments Kathleen had undergone, and he never again was even remotely tempted to repeat this or anything like it upon anyone else. The question of what society in that day and age might have judged to have been right or wrong never entered his mind anymore than it did at any other point, which is to say not at all. James long had been a law unto himself, so when the dark portion of his mind had told him to cause as much pain as he could to this man, the law, the system of values within himself, had said it is right to do this thing because you want to. In understanding James it might be useful to add that he was not then and never would be a hot tempered person on a day to day basis. He was calm and without hostilities under almost all circumstances. For example, he regularly had been patient even with very difficult customers in the garage and in general was mild-mannered, but there was deep inside him an element which could commit acts of great violence if it was awakened in response to external circumstances calling forth such things as greed for substantial personal gain, fear for his safety or desire for revenge. Fortunately for the world it never roused of itself because the violence itself was not gratifying for him. If this is a strange distinction to make, it nevertheless is significant because James was a strange man. If it had not been for the fact that he did not enjoy violence, he probably would have spent his entire adult life becoming one of the most prolific random killers in an age filled with them. Certainly if he had felt the desire to rape and murder whenever he was sexually aroused, he would have done so with no compunctions. He simply never felt any such urge because sex for him was bound up not with violence and hatred but with tenderness and love.
      When the man died, James disposed of what was left of his body as he had Kathleen's, and he burned the plywood chamber. He never knew the man's name because he had had no identification with him, and very uncharacteristically for him he made no attempt to read newspapers to see if they mentioned his disappearance.
      James then entered the most desperate time of his life. He never had felt so totally lost. He got into the habit of purchasing enough food for a month in one shopping trip and not opening the door of the house between trips to the market. He no longer had a telephone.
      He lived a marginal, hollow, existence, for example, eating very poorly where in the past he and Kathleen had dined very carefully and nutriciously. He paid little attention to his appearance except on those few occasions when he went out. He sat in an armchair in the darkened living room with the drapes drawn and the hurricane shutters down for hour after hour after hour, He was oblivious to the passage of time and depressed to a state bordering on catatonia. He abandoned his shooting practice and exercises as well as his ballistics experiments. There were times when he did not think a single thought for days and others when Kathleen's memory dominated his consciousness entirely. He recalled the many beautiful times they had had together. One in particular stood out as a symbol for what had happened.
      When they had become advanced parachutists, they had gotten into the habit of holding hands during free fall.
      Several times they had done this until the last possible moment before pushing apart and pulling their rip cords. Their unwillingness to let go of each other in the face of imminent death if they did not do so was a clear definition of how great an unwillingness he would have toward releasing her in death. He would feel their bodies tumbling in space, feel the wind against them, feel the ecstatic elation of flying/falling together, feel the temptation to stay together, so that in case one chute did not open they would die together and neither would have to live without the other even though giving in to this temptation would have meant they would have died together needlessly. Though they had not discussed this in great detail, the topic had come up, and each had known the other had felt the power of this lure because the only thing in life either had dreaded had been the loss of the other. Coupled with the thrill of sky diving had been the fear not of their own death so much as the fear of watching their own chute open as their beloved plummeted to their death. James now felt this was what had happened. He had let her go that fateful morning to leave for work and had returned to find she had crashed to earth.
      The worst moments were waking after certain dreams. He always had had as much sex as he had wanted, so he never had developed the habit of masturbation. Although he had no desire now, his body continued to produce the same fluids it had before only now since they built up without release, he had frequent wet dreams which were vividly real and beautiful for him as he joyfully embraced and caressed his beloved Kathleen only to awaken to find himself alone, hopelessly alone. He would line in bed twitching in an agony of despair, pound his fists or his head against the headboard, then weep for hours. He probably was insane throughout this period.
      James had no friends, no family to turn to, only himself, and inside himself he found only an empty, joyless life.
      He contemplated suicide much of the time asking himself over and over, "What would Kathleen want me to do?" as he sat with the muzzle of a loaded, cocked .357 Magnum pressed to his forehead. "Does she want me to die so we can be reunited, or does the spirit dissolve to nothing or go to another body after you die, so I'd still be alone?" He waited for the glowing light hovering in the air to appear and speak inside his head as it had when she had died, but it never did. Even more frightening was the fear that Kathleen's spirit was alone and suffering the loss of his companionship the way he did hers, that he was somehow letting her down by staying alive, by not killing himself to rejoin her immediately, but he simply did not know, so his torment continued.
      This went on for almost a year until one day James happened to catch his reflection in the mirror and actually saw the revolting, demented looking person he had become. On the right side of his forehead he noticed a large, red welt and realized it was from pressing the barrel of his revolver against his brow. "This is ridiculous," he thought. "This isn't doing Kathleen any good, and it certainly isn't doing any wonders for me either... Shit... Look at me. I'm a mess. Mom always said, 'If in doubt, don't,' and it’s always been right before. I must be in doubt now, or I’d’ve shot myself long ago. It's time to get back to living... I may not be happy, but I'm done been so fucking miserable..."
      James spent three days around the house opening drapes, raising hurricane shutters, cleaning dust devils with dead palmetto bugs caught in them and generally undoing neglect to which the place had been subjected. He rebuilt his test chamber, and he forced himself to shave every day. He got a haircut, did his laundry and started exercising and eating properly again. Throughout these first few weeks "back among the living" as he called it, his mind often was focused blindly, solely on the task he was performing, whether it was vacuuming, painting window trim or fixing a leaky faucet, but it was not a dark and morbid blindness, just a prelude to a return to ordinary thought.
      James was still only twenty-six years old, and the thought of female companionship began to cross his mind. He looked young enough to be a student, so he took to driving over to the University of Miami campus in Coral Gables which was only a short distance from where he lived. He figured out class schedules, bought a few books, read enough of them to pass for a Humanities major, and began sitting in the back of a few large classes. When he found a woman he thought might be attractive -- in his mind he never compared their appearances to Kathleen's because he knew he would never find one who was acceptable if he did -- he would follow her to find out if she ate lunch alone, and if she did, he would say he was an Mr. Borin's Humanities 201 with her and ask if she would like to talk about the class material. They usually said they would, and since he was shy but not unpleasant and actually fairly handsome, several went so far as to date him, but nothing ever came of these relationships.
      Why none of these encounters with coeds evolved into a serious, lasting relationship is difficult to say. James felt a number of these women were nice, ready to settle down and several of them returned his feelings. Over time he developed a genuine liking for literature and read quite a bit, so he was able to discuss the topic intelligently. He definitely was not interested in hasty sex and never pressured a date for it even though on the physical level he did long very much for a woman to share his life including but not limited to its sexual aspect.
      James did find extremely confusing his experiences with women who were initially very passionate and then abruptly said "no" at what seemed to James to be some prearranged point. He had heard about teasing but did not believe it was what he had heard men say it was, a pleasure women relished in and for itself. Now that he encountered it in the flesh, so to speak, he could tell there was no gratification in it for the women, only anxiety and unrelieved tension. He found it incomprehensible that they did not say "no" to the very first kiss. A few times women stopped him at the very last instant before intercourse in spite of his willingness either to use condoms or perform sex in some manner in which they could not possibly become pregnant, and he became increasingly disenchanted and then disgusted with the entire bizarre early 1960s courtship ritual, this despite his sincerely liking the company of several of these women except when sex was involved.
      James never believed a woman could say "no" and mean "yes" even though he had heard other men say it was common. As far as the use of force, even in the case of a fully naked woman in whose vagina he had had his fingers long enough to lubricate her thoroughly, it never occurred to him. For sex to have any beauty or joy or pleasure for him, it had to be not merely consensual but actively sought by both partners, and strangely enough the brutal, ice water in the veins killer deep inside James never even showed the slightest sign of bubbling up into his consciousness during anything to do with love making. Since he found this all very frustrating, he more or less decided not to touch a woman unless she initiated the contact, and none did in the short time remaining before he decided he wanted to leave the Miami area for someplace more rural and mountainous.
      It might be worth noting James did not reject any of the women he dated for being shallow and concerned only with finding a wealthy husband although one or two did seem that way to him. At bottom it probably was that he did not perceived in any of them the potential for the fanatical sense of loyalty and devotion he knew he would bring to anyone whom he chose if she in turn chose him.
      These predominantly unfulfilling encounters with women brought him to serious thoughts of leaving Dade County, of traveling around the country, not to seek a spouse but to see the natural beauties he had heard so much about and seen so little of in South Florida. He did not think he would find women different elsewhere, but rather he intended to stop actively seeking one altogether. While he was contemplating this choice, something took place which precipitated his departure from Miami. A little before the 1:00 AM Saturday night women's dorm curfew he had dropped off someone with whom he had gone to a movie, and he was driving across the campus on his way home. He was driving Kathleen's convertible with the top down because it was a warm spring night. As he was passing through a deserted part of the classroom area, he saw a young man with a whiskey bottle lurching toward the road. It was dark, but James' vision was, as has been noted, quite extraordinary. This man was partly obscured by one of the many large hybiscus bushes which dotted the campus, and someone else probably would have missed him, but he was clear to James who hit his brakes very hard. The man fell directly in front of James' car and would have been hit if James had not stopped. This man immediately got up, darted back into the bushes and ran off. James had been aware there had been another car some way behind him but at a great enough distance that the driver should have had plenty of time to stop for James. James had looked in his rear view mirror just as he had braked to verify how far the second auto was from him, and so he was amazed that he now heard screeching brakes followed by the shock of his car being struck solidly in the rear. James was shaken up, but since it was a complete surprise and he was relaxed, he was uninjured.
      The driver of the other car, a small, bald man about fifty years old, got out of his late model Cadillac and began cursing James. "What the fuck're you doing, you asshole? Look at what you did to my new Caddy. You students're always doing shit like this to me." As the man staggered toward him, James could see and smell he was drunk.
      "Excuse me, sir," said James who almost invariably sought to avoid trouble, "there was a man who fell in front of my car. I'm sorry, but I had to stop quickly to keep from hitting him."
      "You're sorry, you asshole," said the older man poking James in the chest several times with his index finger.
      "You'll see what sorry is. I'm Dr. Dudman, the Dean. I've had enough of the you students with your car pranks. I'm going to have you expelled for reckless driving. Look at what you did to my car... Don't give me any shit about anybody falling in front of your car. There's no one in front of your car."
      James looked around. There was no one in sight. He was tempted to shoot the dean, but then he thought, "You can't kill every idiot you meet. The world's full of fools like him... I know how to handle this..."
      James waited until the man turned to look at the damage to his car and struck him with a light but adequate karate chop to the back of his neck. He crumpled to the ground unconscious. James got into the Cadillac and slammed it into the rear of the only car in a nearby parking lot. James carried Dudman to his car, put him in the driver's seat and emptied the Dean's half full bottle of Scotch in his lap. James drove off laughing to himself, "So you've had enough student pranks, eh? Maybe this one'll be the last one you have to worry about."
      James stopped at a pay phone to report seeing one car which apparently had hit another in the parking lot. After this James stayed away from the campus but closely scanned the University newspaper, the Hurricane, for word of Dean Dudman, and three weeks later he gleefully noted he had retired early for reasons of health. Nothing appeared about the cars, and though James was tempted to call the dean and gloat a bit about having gotten the better of him, he decided to leave well enough alone and thereby insure his remaining the one that got away.

Chapter XVI

By this point the reader should have a good idea of the nature of the person who perpetrated what is almost certainly the most serious and significant crime committed in the Twentieth Century by a private individual who went unpunished (Government officials, of course, regularly did far worse and, as did Dr. Mengele, escaped retribution.). Everyone who has read the surviving history books knows the outcome. The victim was assassinated. Everyone knows the official story was a cover-up. Another man was also shot dead, but his role was clearly peripheral. The real gunman got away, and you are reading this book because you wish to learn the truth about these matters. Even all these years and disasters later this event continues to pique curiosity like no other, and you have patiently or impatiently read through the mass of background material presented here because this is not an action novel or escapist thriller but a study of the entire life of this gunman, how he got behind the trigger, why he pulled the trigger and what happened afterward since there will be a few more surprises left, one of which an astute reader already may have come to suspect.
      What do we have up to this point? An experienced, cold-blooded killer with phenomenal eyesight and hand/eye coordination, a shrewd, quick thinking mentality, a patient disposition and a no longer depressed but definitely not joyous frame of mind. We have a man who had tasted, no dined at length on, a very fulfilling relationship with a woman but who was now unable to find another mate and was, therefore, quite lonely and without much will to live or fear of death, a man who lately had come to think his only hope might be to acquire a large amount of money to help him purchase a sizable piece of rural, perhaps forested, land where he could live alone the rest of his life. Last but not least we have a man who was an expert in many areas of ballistics, a man who had spent years researching and developing so wide a variety of unusual firearms and sound deadening equipment for them that the extent of his creativity in this area was truly remarkable. It will be one of his more obscure and original projects which will bear the fruit known to all, and when the time comes, this device on which he worked in the late 1950s will be described in adequate detail. There was no point in speaking of it earlier because it was only one of many, most of which were successful but which had no later consequences, so it was just as well to wait until it becomes relevant.
      How did it all happen, and more importantly what was "all" of it? Strangely enough James himself did not know "all" of it either, but here is the event from his point of view.
      James devoted several weeks to preparing his house for his departure. He installed heavy iron grills on the windows and the doors, moved valuables to the fallout shelter, covered the entrance so no one would suspect it was there, and had the utilities turned off.
      He virtually never received mail, and after paying his tax bill for a year in advance, he removed his mailbox and told the letter carrier to return all his mail to its senders. He bought a two-door 1960 Oldsmobile sedan. In his usual secretive manner he had decided not to leave a trail of motel registrations across the country but to sleep in his car and clean up in gas station restrooms. This would have been frowned on by local police, but James had come up with an ingenious solution for keeping his presence in the car unknown. He had noticed the trunk size of General Motors cars that year was so large that a grown man could stretch out comfortably in one diagonally, and no one nearby would be the wiser. He even could do this in the middle of a large city if he wished. James removed the bracing between the trunk and the rear seat and hinged the rear seat, so he could enter and exit the trunk inobtrusively without having to get out and walk around the car. Then he added a small periscope just inside the rear window with which he could look all around the car from inside the trunk. He put a foam pad in the trunk, and his traveling bedroom was complete.
      James drove randomly north and west through the southern states. He stopped to look at rural scenery and towns and cities. While he did not dislike what he saw, neither did much of anything interest him. He moved on to the Great Plains which he did not like at all. He meandered up into the Pacific Northwest and was impressed by the beauty of the land, but he disliked the cold, rainy climate. He more or less had decided he did not find any part of America much more attractive than South Florida when he wandered down Highway 101 into Northern California. He drove down from Oregon late one night and stopped to sleep far into Humboldt County. He awoke to find himself amidst great, steep ridges which struck him as incredibly beautiful.
      With huge redwood trees on one side and golden, rolling hills on the other James stood there thinking, "This must be the promised land."
      James spent the next several weeks exploring much of the Mendocino/Humboldt area stopping in many small towns, talking to local people and methodically studying the various subregions. He bought camping equipment, drove as far as he could up a logging trail in a state forest, hiked in another five miles and experienced the three nicest weeks he had had since Kathleen's death. He sat for hours with binoculars watching hawks and vultures patrolling the skies, and when he grew tired of looking up, he would scan the land and study trees and animals. He was enchanted by what he saw. It was not that he entered his hunting/waiting state of mind because he was not waiting for anything. Observing nature in this way was an end in itself.
      Without trying to he ceased to exist in his own mind and easily transcended into a oneness with nature which later he learned others spent years seeking unsuccessfully. He was as blissful as he had been on his solitary childhood jaunts in the Adirondacks.
      He also learned this area was in the throes of severe economic depression and land values were a lot lower then he had expected. He easily could purchase several hundred acres of isolated land and still have enough money to live on for quite a few years. Besides he intended to live with as little contact with society as possible, providing for most of his needs by gardening, raising animals and hunting which incidentally would keep his expenses low. There was no doubt in his mind he would return to Florida, sell his house and come back to these woods, and it only added to his resolve to do so when he realized this area was more than a hundred miles from the nearest city or other likely nuclear target, and it was on the west coast, so any fallout from a nuclear attack would have to drift all the way around the world before it reached him. As is obvious from this train of thought, James continued to believe there would be a nuclear war in his lifetime, and after the Cuban missile crisis he began to think it would be sooner rather than later. He had every intention of doing everything he could to insure his own survival and would have done so even if he had known he would have been the only human left alive. This may seem paradoxical considering how close he recently had come to taking his own life, but he felt there was no contradiction. He saw his life as belonging to him. It was his prerogative to end it any time he chose, any time his life did not meet his terms, which were the only ones on which he was willing to live, but as far as the possibility of someone else taking it or even interfering in it, it should be obvious by now the utterly ruthless extent to which he would defend and protect himself if he felt threatened, and he extended this to guarding himself against the government killing him in a spasm of collective madness.
      James started back toward Miami intent on seeing the rest of America before selling his house and returning to California. He stopped in San Francisco for a few days and explored it as he had most of the cities on his route. He found it distinctive but no more to his liking than other large cities. One night he went to a North Beach poetry reading, another to a performance by a famous jazz pianist. He went out of curiosity because these were judged local specialties, but he found the poetry unintelligible and the music well performed but alien to his world. He slept in the trunk of his Oldsmobile and was amused by a conversation between two winos about the virtues of different brands of muscatel. They sat on his trunk lid for almost an hour completely unaware anyone might be in the trunk. It was around this time James began to realize his idea of hiding and sleeping in the car trunk was uniquely his own, something which not only was not done by anyone else but something which never even had occurred to anyone but him. That under the right circumstances it might be just the stroke of originality he needed to accomplish the impossible never crossed his mind because the right circumstances were still a few months off and for now this was merely a funny trick to make his travels cheap and untraceable.
      James visited Los Angeles and San Diego as well as the cities of the desert Southwest. By August 1963 he was exploring New Orleans. Late one afternoon as he was walking in the downtown area, he was approached by a small, thin, balding man who aggressively pushed a leaflet in his hand. "Read this. It's important," he said gruffly.
      "Whaat?" drawled James immediately feigning a rural southern speech pattern in order to appear to be a local, not a tourist or outsider.
      "Read it. It's important," repeated the man impatiently.
      James never had been confronted by anyone like this. He remembered a few times he had politely walked around people asking him to purchase religious newspapers, but this man was not asking. He was directing, and since James sensed no danger and had no desire to draw anyone's attention, he did something the man never had seen before. He stopped and read the leaflet.
      "Fair Play for Cuba," was the heading of the paper which purported to document a number of ongoing offenses committed by the United States against Cuba. It also demanded an end to these hostile acts. James was not unaware of events in the world in general or Cuba in particular. He had resumed reading newspapers regularly but only to be prepared for any danger against which they might warn him. He was totally apolitical. As far as he was concerned, all politicians were crooks. This included the right, left and center as well as the domestic and foreign, but he was indifferent to their corruption since he paid little taxes and was not effected by their misdeeds.
      James could not have cared less about problems experienced by people in Cuba no matter what their origins unless they caused him difficulty which these clearly did not, but he had not talked more than briefly with anyone for weeks, so although he had some intuitive feeling this man was unusual and in all probability unpleasant, too, he nevertheless said, "I didn't know about this stuff... Looks like you're almost outta them papers. My name's Bobby Joe. How 'bout I buy you a beer and you tell me all about it?"
      James extended his hand, but the man drew back his intently looking James up and down carefully as if he was trying to decide something. Finally he shook James hand and said, "Mine's Alex, Alex Hidell ."
      "Bobby Joe Randall, pleased to meet you," said James who did not trust this Alex Hidell, if that was his name, but James virtually never felt threatened because he knew he could dodge, draw and shoot so fast he could safely kill almost anyone with a gun already in his hand.
      The two walked to a nearby bar, and James asked Alex, "What d'you drink?"
      "I don't drink much," said Alex obviously conflicted between being none too eager to do something he did not care for and unwilling to offend someone who had expressed an interest in listening to him.
      "A beer now and then won't hurt you.
      I don't drink much myself," said James who was thinking, "I wonder what makes this odd bird tick. If he doesn't drink much and I get him drunk, he'll open up.
      It should be an amusing way to spend an evening even with an obnoxious guy like him."
      James paid for the drinks, and when the two men were seated in a booth near the rear, James looked expectantly across the table at Alex who began, "I been everywhere, seen everything. I been in Japan, Russia, all over Europe, the Far East. You name it. I been there."
      "I ain't been outta the South," said James indicating he was duly impressed.
      Quite pleased with James response, Alex launched into a lengthy and only partially coherent Marxist/Leninest diatribe against capitalism. This only was interrupted by James occasional, "I never knew that... Drink up. I'll get us another round."
      As the evening wore on, the alcohol had a strong effect on Alex, and James begin to suspect he was not enamored of the Soviet communist system either because in spite of his denunciations of capitalism and the U.S.A. he said negative things about life in Russia which James felt came from firsthand experience. James decided Alex was simply a very bitter, maladjusted, misanthropic, malcontent, one who was not especially intelligent at that. By this time James was also a bit inebriated, a very unusual state for him, and so rather than get up and walk out on Alex, whom by now he genuinely disliked, he resolved to see what he would find if he dug under the surface. He was still merely curious and interested in passing time.
      "If I hear you right," said James, "you don't care much for them Rooskies neither. You don't believe in that commie stuff. What d'you really want?"
      He saw Alex groping through his alcohol dimmed mind, confused and conflicted, and James waited. At last Alex said, "You're sharp, a lot sharper 'n you look. You could tell I don't believe that commie bullshit... The whole world's fucked up... Real fucked up.
      Everywhere I been's fucked up. I tried to straighten it out. I tried so hard to help people , but they turned me down. Everywhere the bastards turned me down, thought they were smarter 'n me. 'Fuck you, Lee,' they said. 'Fuck you.'" James immediately noted Alex had called himself by another name, probably his correct one, but let him continue without interruption. "I hate all those motherfuckers.
      They run our lives. I wish I could kill 'em all . I'd show 'em who's the dipshit, and it ain't me."
      "It's too bad they didn't realize who they were dealing with. You strike me as a smart guy," said James continuing to lead Alex on.
      "You know," babbled Alex, "I hate the whole fuckin' world, except you, Bobby Joe. You're the only one ever listened to me. My own mother, my own fuckin' mother never listened to me, never cared 'bout no one but herself. My wife's the same, nothing but, 'I want this. I want that.' she thinks I'm a nobody. She tells me all the time, don't respect me at all. All fuckin' broads're like that... You know what? If there was a button right over there on the wall and I could go push it and blow up the whole world, there's only one reason I wouldn't do it... You know why? Because there'd be nobody left to know I did it."
      "This guy's nuts," thought James.
      "He's given a lot of thought to this blowing up the world crap. He hates everybody. What a waste of energy. It must eat at his guts like a stomach full of rats."
      "Seein's how you can't blow up the whole world even if you want to, what would you really like, something real?"
      asked James.
      "I thought about that a lot..."
      replied Alex. Abruptly his face contorted, and he snarled, "What are you, the Devil? You gonna buy my soul, give me one wish and buy my soul?" James continued to have the feeling Alex's paranoid hostility represented his thoughts about topics he had contemplated at great length.
      "Who knows? Just answer the question," replied James letting the conversation turn ugly but moving his right hand closer to the .38 Special derringer he had made himself.
      "Well, Devil," said Alex as if he seriously might be considering the possibility James was the Prince of Darkness, "what I really want is to do something big, really big... Something people'll never forget... Something'll make people remember my name forever. There just ain't nothin' a little guy like me can do. I wouldn't mind gettin' caught... Or killed long as they'd remember me 'n say, ' Everybody thought he was nobody, but look what he went 'n did. Sure wasn't no nobody. Nobody'll forget that, sort of like Judas when he betrayed Jesus. You should know about that, hunh, Devil?
      Nobody's gonna forget about Judas now will they?"
      "Not likely... I made him a real good deal," said James in a low, icy, but distracted tone as if he was thinking briefly about something long ago and far away.
      "Jesus ain't plannin' comin' again soon, is he? That ain't why you're here, is it?" asked Alex seemingly fully prepared to be a second Judas.
      "Not that I know, but they don't tell me things like that," answered James.
      "Well, what are you gonna offer me, Devil?"
      "What you want is fame, lasting fame, right?"
      "Yeah."
      "Unfortunately I haven't got anything on hand for you right now, but now that I know you're interested, I'll start looking for something for you, something really worth your soul. You know I never short change my customers. I deliver the goods, and I'll have a deal for you soon enough. You don't mind getting caught or killed... Or killing, right?"
      "Right."
      "That's all I wanted to know. It's been a very pleasant evening chatting with you," said James abruptly switching his accent to copy that of the visiting upper class British economics professor he had heard speak at the University of Miami.
      Since by now James was getting bored dealing with this madman and could think of no way to prolong this game, James got up and began walking out of the bar leaving the other man behind at the table. He called out, "Hey, don't you want my address? How'll you find me?"
      "I'm the Devil, Lee. I'll find you when I'm ready."
      "How'd you know my name?" He cried out suddenly looking afraid. "I told you my name was Alex."
      "I'm the Devil. I know whatever I need to know. I'll be seeing you sooner than you might expect," said James thinking, "Shit, I hope I never see this asshole again. I'll bet I gave him something to think about." James zigzagged for several blocks to make sure he was not followed and then returned to the Oldsmobile where he passed out and slept soundly until it grew hot from the morning sun. He headed quickly to the highway east thinking, "I never played with anybody before. That was none too smart... Never know what somebody might do in circumstances like that. He might've killed me thinking he was going to save the world."
      Once back in Florida James began making preparations for his move to California. He also resumed almost daily shooting practice which he had neglected during his travels. He was out of shape, but after a month of several hours a day workout in the city dump and adjacent swamp he was in top form. He went back to work on his original designs of firearms adding solutions to problems he had devised on the road. He was fascinated with the goal of disproving the orthodox notion that a relatively small, concealable weapon could not possibly be either extremely powerful or accurate, which for James meant more accurate than any but the most accurate rifles over long distances, two, three, four and even five hundred meters. James had no intention of resuming his childhood career despite knowing he could make a lot of money as a hit man if he looked for work. In fact, he had resolved to go off into the Northern California hills and keep to himself for the rest of his life, so this research was purely an intellectual exercise for him. Just as he never intended to attract notoriety by proving he was one of the fastest (He never thought of himself as the fastest even though, as will be seen, he may have been.) guns on in the history of shooting, he had no urge to send a gun magazine editor an article about his experiments with a variety of twelve inch long custom made barrels he had chambered for a number of standard and modified rifle cartridges. He had used a home made falling block action which permitted him to change barrels in less than five minutes by unlocking a pair of pins. He did not care to tell anyone that although some did not work, some did, and, for example, using a .300 Savage case narrowed to 7mm/.284, a fairly heavy charge of slightly faster burning powder than one would normally use in a rifle and a barrel with rifling which twisted one turn for every nine inches of barrel, he could stabilize his home made, 156 grain, copper jacketed bullets at velocities around 2,200 feet per second, a bit slower than a rifle but far faster than any handgun then known. It apparently was something no one had tried before, and James found it amusing to put the results of his labors on a sandbag, look through the scope he had specially modified for longer eye relief and shoot a beer can two hundred and ninety yards away, the width of the dump, not just once but almost every time he shot at it, because in 1963 every gun writer in America would have bet a year's wages that no one could take a gun out of a box two inches by seven inches by fourteen inches and shoot beer bottle caps at a hundred and fifty yards or, if the wind was fairly constant, gallon jugs at five hundred yards. The single shot, falling block action was small, simple and strong. As a final touch James had designed a silencer four inches in diameter in fourteen inches long which would virtually eliminate the sound of the gun when used in conjunction with a variety of special light loads of subsonic velocities, it being impossible to silence a supersonic bullet because of the sonic boom it generates continuously after leaving the barrel.
      Challenged by the difficulty of producing a bullet which ballistics experts could not tie to a particular gun, James began testing a steel bullet with a copper jacket which spun in the rifling but dropped off in four pieces once the bullet exited the barrel leaving an accurately spinning projectile with no distinctive groove and land marks to be identified. Since it was steel, it had as a fringe benefit that it was lighter and would travel much faster and penetrate armor plate all of which was purely academic knowledge to James who joked to himself that it would be ideal if anyone ever offered him a contract on someone in a tank. They were not quite as precise as his copper jacketed lead bullets but would hit bottle caps at a hundred yards.
      Then someone hid on James the way he had on Johnny and Tony. James had run some errands downtown and proceeded to make his usual leisurely drive west on Southwest Eighth Street, south on 57th Avenue and then west again to the dump. He had his regular complement of guns and ammunition for a full practice session. When he pulled in at the dump, he scanned the entire area carefully for other cars. There were none, and James knew none of the trash heaps was both large enough to conceal a car and located so one could get behind it. At this time the dump was situated far enough from any inhabited neighborhood that it never occurred to James someone might have come to it by some means other than a motor vehicle, so in spite of his extraordinary vision he did not noticed the young, Hispanic boy and his bicycle behind a mound he was exploring for salvageable treasure. James set out a variety of readily available dump targets; a dozen beer cans with the bottoms facing him at seven yards, another set of twelve similarly placed at twenty yards, a third group placed on their bottoms at forty yards, a row of eight whiskey half pints at a hundred yards, eight whiskey pints on top of two discarded refrigerators at a hundred and ninety yards, and eight gallon jugs atop four stoves at five hundred and ten yards. James returned to his firing point and put his two loaded Smith & Wesson snubnosed .38 Special revolvers in the small, inside the belt holsters he used on occasions when he carried two guns. One was on the right in front to be drawn with the left hand, one on the right in back to be drawn with the right, an easy simultaneous motion without the stretch necessary if both were in back or one getting in the way of the other if both were in front. He loaded a full eight round clip in his accurized, National Match grade M-1 Garand rifle, set it on the sink next to him, put on a sport coat to stimulate street conditions, looked around again to make sure no one was nearby then slipped on his hearing protection earmuffs. He stretched a bit, cracked his knuckles, then suddenly drew both revolvers. He shot the seven yard targets so quickly that all the boy behind the trash heard was just under two seconds of continuous roar. In a motion clearly designed to be totally efficient James holstered the left hand gun, unloaded the right, withdrew from a pouch in his jacket a round, spring loaded, aluminum device he had designed back in junior high school for quickly reloading revolvers, shoved the cartridges into the cylinder, released the spring, dropped the holder and repeated the process with the other gun. It all took less time to do than to read about.
      Immediately he shot all the can bottoms at twenty yards again alternating shots and cans with each gun. He reloaded a third time, and this time shot somewhat more slowly at the cans at forty yards. Here individual shots were recognizable, and twelve rounds took five or six seconds. Then he gently set the two revolvers on the sink, lifted the Garand to his shoulder, shot the eight bottles at a hundred yards, reloaded and shot those at a hundred and ninety yards. Again he shot extremely quickly, but after the second clip he paused to let the barrel cool. Then he shot the farthest eight targets. These he shot much more slowly and deliberately, and he missed one of the wine jugs at five hundred and ten yards. When the gun was empty, he reached in his tackle box for another round, loaded it, estimated a change in the light wind and aimed six inches right of where he had on the others. He squeezed the trigger very carefully and then watched as remaining jug shattered. James took off his hearing protectors and leaned against the fender of his Oldsmobile while deciding what to shoot next.
      He reloaded the revolver he usually carried and holstered it. He was still unaware of the boy watching him from behind the mound thirty yards away on his left side.
      After a few minutes rest he was about to shoot the larger bottle fragments at a hundred and ninety yards with his falling block single shot when the boy accidentally dislodged a bottle from the mound. James was startled but quickly drew and pointed his revolver looking for "bonus targets" as he called the swamp rats, however, it was a small, dark boy that emerged from behind the trash with his hands raised. He had a frightened look on his face as he said in English slightly accented by Spanish, "Don't shoot, Mister, please don't shoot."
      "You alone?" asked James in a flat, even tone he practiced because it gave no clue as to his thoughts.
      "Yes, Mister. I didn't mean to spy on you. I just hid when you came. I was afraid of police."
      James walked over very cautiously and ascertained the boy had no companions. His first thought was to shoot the boy and dispose of his body as he had those of Kathleen and her assailant. James definitely did not want anyone to know of his abilities with firearms, but then he reasoned no adults were likely to believe the boy if he told them what he had seen, and since James was moving away from the Miami area soon anyway, he decided it would the enough if he gave the boy a good scare about going to the dump, so he would keep away at least until James was gone. Besides he had not seen James practicing his deadlier tricks like the one he called his "radar"
      shot. It had taken many hours of work, but he could now shoot targets behind him by feel alone if he had looked at them and then turned around. For example, if he saw up where a gallon jug was and then began walking away from it at close range, he could shoot it without turning back at all, or drawing either for that matter, by using a gun in a shoulder holster pointed rearward.
      "Ain't a good idea for a kid to hang around the dump," said James placing his gun in its holster. "Never know what'll happen to you. You might get hurt."
      "You ain't police, are you? My dad'll get real mad if I get in trouble." "
      "Just stay outta the dump...
      Scram."
      To James surprise the boy stood there still afraid but obviously thinking about something else and sizing up James.
      "You're no police," said the boy.
      "Police always wave badges at you, show you how important they are. You're a bad guy. Only a bad guy or a police could shoot like that, and if you're not a police, you're a bad guy."
      "Oh, shit," thought James. "I'm going to have to shoot him after all. That's how it goes. He's bright. He'll remember my license number, my description, too, and they'll start looking for me."
      "Listen, Mister," the boy continued, "a few days ago I heard my father tell my uncle they need to find somebody who's a good shot. He said he'd pay a lot of money when they did. My dad'll be real proud of me if I find somebody for him, and you'll make lots of money."
      "Why not?" thought James "I might as well check it out."
      "Okay, kid, where'll you're father be at 8:00 tonight?"
      "His office on Douglas Road," said in the boy pleased with himself. He gave James the address and told him to knock loudly because the building would be shut at that hour and his father would have to come down the hall from his office to open the door.
      "Tell him I'll see him at 8:00 PM sharp tonight. Now get outta here. I'm busy," said James in a more pleasant but clearly authoritative tone. The boy left, and as soon as he was out of sight, James did, too. As he drove off, he thought, "That kid's a big risk. He eavesdrops which is bad enough, but he talks too much. He never should have told me his father was looking for someone without asking him first. His father may be very pissed and decide to take it out on me."
      That night at 8:00 PM when he knocked on the building door, James was carrying both his revolvers as well as his two shot derringer on his left ankle. His mind was like a hair trigger set to go off at the slightest provocation. The only thing which had brought him there was knowing that there were Cuban exile groups which might pay very well to be rid of their enemies and might have reasons for wanting an outsider to do the actual dirty work. "I'd never be here now if Kathleen was still alive," he thought, "but now I don't mind taking a few chances. It might even be interesting ... I was going to think, 'it beats fixing cars,' but it doesn't.
      It's just what I feel like doing now."
      The man who answered the door was older than James had expected, well over fifty. He was short, dark and stocky with a thick head of gray hair slicked down straight back. He had a neatly trimmed, narrow gray mustache, and in the Latin fashion of the times wore number three dark green sunglasses in heavy tortoise shell frames even though it was after sundown. Silently he ushered James down the hall into a rear office.
      Behind the desk in the office was a man who looked almost identical to the first except the lines in his face were a bit deeper. James did not recognize their faces from the newspapers, and this was a plus for James. He did not want to work for anyone who kept a high profile. "Sit down. Care for drink?" asked the man behind the desk affably in English distinctly accented by Spanish.
      "I don't drink much, never before business," drawled James politely accepting the chair they offered him.
      "My little Jose tells me you have a skill we might be interested in, Senor… Senor," said the younger brother also speaking English comfortably but with an accent.
      "You don't need my name. We don't get paid by check in this business," said James slowly with just a hint of a relaxed grin at the corner of his mouth.
      "No ... no you don't," said the younger brother, "but we do need to know something about you. We need a professional, an expert. Our goals for our organization are very high, and someone very important stands in our way. We have a great deal of money at our disposal. We wish to use it to insure we employ only the best."
      "That's fair enough," said James.
      "Look, your a little boy must've told you what I can do, or you wouldn't be talking to me. I ain't new to this kind of work. I'm a pro, better than most, good as any."
      "You wouldn't mind if we sent you on a trial run, would you?" asked the older.
      "Not if I'm paid right. No cheap hits, gentlemen. There’s always risks, and I ain’t gonna take ‘em 'less the pay's good."
      "How much do you want to hit a local traitor to our organization? He has at least one, usually two bodyguards with him all the time. They carry guns, and we know from experience they're good with them."
      "Ten grand for a trial like that, five in front, five when it's done. Only one thing, I work alone, and I don't rush. If you want this done quick, get somebody else."
      "This isn't a problem for us, but we don't have forever. The big guy we want out of the way is a great danger to us.
      The longer he lives, the worse things get, but we know we can't act rashly.
      We'll be patient."
      "Fine."
      "What're your politics?" asked the younger.
      "What?"
      "We need to know something about your political beliefs. We can't afford to bring you into something and then have you change your mind because of politics."
      "I ain't got no politics. They're all crooks. I don't care what your politics're either. I don't have to vote for you to work for you," said James unsure where this was leading but not wanting to lose a lucrative contract.
      "Let me be a bit more clear then.
      You wouldn't mind killing an important American for us if that's what we want?"
      "I'd take out the Pope for you if the price was right," said James exhibiting what he hoped was the proper degree of apolitical ruthlessness.
      Apparently this was more than the two had anticipated, and they began talking in Spanish. James listened but gave no sign he understood almost everything they said.
      "Shit, he'd kill his mother if he got enough," said the older amused but unsure whether this might indicate some insanity or other defect on James' part which would mean they should not trust their mission to him.
      "Not mine but yours," thought James as the other brother said, "It's a big risk.
      "Have you got any better ideas? They know all our people. If one of them gets caught, they’ll know we are involved.
      We must find an outsider like this or forget it, and we have our orders."
      This last sentence confused James who never was sure he had heard or understood the word "orders" correctly. He had had the feeling both of these men were accustomed to exercising authority and had not anticipated an additional level of command.
      "Don't worry. When I'm through, he will understand his position. He's definitely a professional. He knows what he is getting into. Besides even if he is not captured, he is a dead man when he comes back to us for the rest of his money."
      "Not me, buddy, you," thought James knowing he was safe for now but would have to kill these men, too, when the job was done. "No big thing. I hit Johnny and Tony when I was done with them ...
      Anybody who's a threat to me dies, but first I'll make some money,"
      "Please pardon my brother and me,"
      said the older looking at James and speaking in English again. "We have to get a few things clear for you about our organization and your position."
      "Fine."
      "If you're caught on the big job we have in mind, you're a dead man. There's no chance you'll live. If you won't tell the government who sent you, you'll be executed. You'll be executed if you do tell them, but just to keep you from getting tempted, let me tell you we have a very large, powerful organization. We have people everywhere. If you ... how do you say ... squeal on us, we will have our people find you in the deepest hole of a federal penitentiary, and they'll cut your balls off and gouge your eyes out. D'you understand? We're not small time. This little office is just a front for something much bigger. We keep a low profile. You'll be taking big risks, and you'll be paid well for those risks, but if you fail, you must accept full responsibility for your failure. Is that clear?"
      "I told you I'm a pro. If this's as big as you say it is, I've got cyanide pills. I'll take one if I have to. If I'm caught, all they'll get is my dead body." James never really had thought about it, but once he had said those words, he knew they were true. He was an extremely private person, and the humiliation of the publicity surrounding a major trial would have been unbearable to him because it would have meant he had failed at the one thing in the world at which he thought he was outstanding. He would rather have died even if it meant these two men went free.
      "You're our guy. We understand each other perfectly," said the older one looking quite satisfied. He went over to a picture on the far wall about sixteen feet from where James was sitting, moved it to expose a wall safe and dialed the combination. Because James was so far away, he made no attempt to keep his body between James and the dial, and James easily read the numbers while pretending he was only looking at the man waiting for him to resume speaking.
      He took out a stack of hundred dollar bills, counted fifty, and handed them to James who put them in his pocket without examining them. He also handed James an 8 1/2" x 1 1 " photograph of a tall, thin, dark man about thirty-five years old walking down a sidewalk with two very large men. "That's him, skinny one, taken with a telephoto lens. It's very recent. Here's his address. We have a man who's a waiter in a restaurant.
      Here's that place, too. He says he comes in two, three times a week, always with his wife, always with these guys. At least one of them's always around the house, too."
      "Anything else?" asked James.
      "No," said the older, and the younger nodded.
      "Thank you, gentlemen," said James getting up and leaving. "You'll hear from me."
      The trial hit went smoothly. James followed his target to the restaurant on the third night of surveillance. He was with his wife and two bodyguards. James had studied the man's house and found all the windows and doors covered with iron latticework. The yard was devoid of trees or shrubs making an ambush on the ground difficult, but the roof was a typical, South Florida flat one, so James climbed up the front porch grating and waited in the darkness on the roof. When they returned not long after 10:00 PM, James let them get directly beneath him at the front door, leaned over the edge and shot first the two bodyguards, then his intended victim and lastly his wife. He used a .22 Long Rifle caliber semiautomatic pistol with a silencer. The range was so close that it was quite easy for him to shoot each one neatly in the forehead at a descending angle, so each died instantly. Quickly he got down from the roof, shot each one a second time in the head to make certain they were dead and walked to his car three blocks away in a small shopping center parking lot. By the time the bodies were discovered the next morning by a neighbor walking his dog, James long since had turned the murder weapon into metal shavings with his milling machine.
      Two other things James did at this time were first to locate the younger brother's son, Jose, at school and follow him home three times using a variety of disguises and cars and second to get a fairly large home water heater core from the dump. He halved this lengthwise with a cutting torch, hinged the halves, added a grill and hooked it up to a gas line. He wanted to be prepared to dispose of bodies if he had to after the second hit, and he had decided cremating them would be easiest.
      James called the brothers' office and made an appointment to see them at 9:00 PM the next evening. He knocked and was admitted to the building as he had been before. When they all were seated, the elder brother said, "We're very pleased with how you handled it. Now everyone knows how we deal with traitors. It's too bad about his wife."
      "I've stayed alive as long as I have in this business because I never leave witnesses, never. That's just how it goes," said James.
      "We understand," said the younger.
      "We were the ones who asked you to act quickly, and we were the ones who told you he was never alone. My brother isn't complaining. The police reports in the newspapers say it was amazing anyone could shoot four people in the dark and hit them all so close to the same place. You must be a really good shot, even better than we thought."
      "It's like anything else. You want to be good, you practice."
      "Here's the rest of the money we owe you. Are you ready to talk about the big one?" asked the older brother, and when James nodded, he slowly and clearly enunciated only four words, "President John Fitzgerald Kennedy."
      There was silence in the room for several minutes as the brothers watched James for his reaction and James strove to keep his face blank while he considered what he had heard.
      "These guys're crazy. No one's ever hit a president and got away with it. The whole plan of the Secret Service is they know they can't keep a skilled assassin from killing a president, but they can make damn sure no one can do it and get away. I doubt I could flee the scene, and even if I did, every cop in the country'd be after me. The only thing to do is take out these two clowns now and split because if I turn them down, they'll be after me... Now just wait a minute. Maybe this isn't what I expected, but it would be the toughest contract anybody ever took. If I succeed, no one but me will ever know about it. That is, after I take care of these guys before they take care of me, but I'm not one of those assholes who needs everybody know what he pulled off..." "Besides it doesn't mean a damn thing as far as the country's concerned. What was that movie with Frank Sinatra where he plays a guy who tries to shoot the President? Suddenly, that's it, Suddenly. What is it he said? Something like, ' It doesn't matter if I shoot the President because if I kill the President at 12:00 Noon, by 12:01 we've got a new President,' and it's true, too. What's the difference to me whether Kennedy's President or Johnrson? They're all crooks. The country changes crooks, and I get rich. I'll figure out a way."
      "A quarter of a million dollars, a hundred grand in front, the rest when it's done," said James assuming the hundred was all he ever would get and asking for what he felt was enough.
      "We were going to offer a hundred total, fifty in advance," said the older brother.
      "For at hit on the President of the United States? No way. You want a senator.? Maybe I'll do him for a hundred grand. The President is more, much more." James breathed deeply several times to control his heart rate which had gone up substantially in spite of his outward calm. He knew this was a crucial moment, and he watched both brothers intently.
      If either had made the slightest suspicious movement, he would have killed them both instantly.
      "How do we know you won't take the money and run?" asked the younger brother.
      "Because I see this as the greatest challenge to my skill. If I'm as good as I think I am, I should be able to pull it off, and there's only one way to find out," answered James truthfully.
      "This's the best chance we'll ever have to get rid of that bastard, Kennedy ... You saw what he did to Gomez, and you heard what Jose saw. I say we pay him what he wants," said they younger brother.
      "We've only got ninety-four thousand dollars in the safe. We'll have plenty more in two weeks, but that's all we've got now," said the older.
      "Done," said James before either brother could continue debating what to do. Both were momentarily stunned by James' manipulation of the circumstances, but they were unwilling to go back to what James obviously considered a closed topic.
      After a pause the older brother said, "We have people watching the President's schedule, whatever they can find in the papers mostly, a few other tips now and then. About two weeks ago The Dallas Morning News reported he's going to visit Texas in late November, the 21st or 22nd. There should be a big motorcade somewhere on the trip. That's our best lead right now.
      It gives you over a month to get ready, go to Texas and wait for the papers to announce what city and what route."
      "Sounds good to me," said James as the older brother went to the safe. Again James watched him from across the room and saw the combination was unchanged. The older brother filled a brown paper grocery bag with money, and James only glanced at it long enough to see a number of the stacks were fifty and hundred dollar bills.
      "I'll be in town about a week before I go. Let's say I'll call everyday at 1 1:00 AM and ask if you have any messages for me. Unless it's an emergency, no changes, okay?"
      "Okay, here's my private office number," said the older brother pointing to the number on one of the telephones on his desk.
      "Assume the line is tapped," said James. "Don't say anything on the phone. Just say 'no message' or 'I need to see you.' Once I'm in Texas, I'll have to fly back, so it better be important."
      The brothers nodded, and James left.
      All he could think of as he walked to his car was, "How the fuck am I going to pull this off?" but eventually he laughed to himself, "I'll think of something.
      I always do."
      James went home to bed and lay awake several hours contemplating numerous possible scenarios for the assassination of President Kennedy, but they all seemed to revolve around what he felt was the inherently flawed plan of shooting him from either a rooftop or window of a distant building. The problems with this involved gaining access to such a roof or window unobserved and remaining there long enough to do the job. This seemed to require killing whoever might be there at the time, something he believed was impractical especially in a large, downtown office building. There was the remote possibility of a deserted building somewhere along the route, but that would be relying on luck, not careful planning. Also such a design necessitated immediate flight, and since the shot would generate a great deal of noise, it would be difficult to leave in haste without drawing attention particularly with a case large enough to carry even a collapsible rifle of sufficient accuracy to be reliable at very long range. James knew the farther away he was from his target, the easier his escape would be, but the farther away he was, the more difficult confidence in a sure kill would be. He considered the perplexities of gauging wind drift in a corridor between tall buildings, one broken by cross streets where he might have to shoot through three or four different, shifting and unknown wind currents over a distance of six or even seven hundred yards, and he concluded it simply could not be done. At that distance an error of estimating wind of only a few miles per hour could mean missing by a foot. There had to be another way. He even studied his memory of the movie Suddenly for ideas but only became more convinced that sort of plan had too high a probability of failure. James drifted off to sleep with a decision not to waste any further time on the option of an ultra long distance rifle shot. He knew it had to be something original, completely original.
      James awoke the next morning and reflexively stretched out rather than up because of the many nights he had slept in the trunk of his car. He laughed to himself at this, and following his humorous mood recalled the two winos in San Francisco who had sat on his trunk lid completely oblivious someone might be inside. A few seconds went by, and the solution came to James.
      He would find some means of firing a shot at close range from the trunk of a car parked along the motorcade route.
      How he would manage this he did not know, but he did know he had solved the problem of flight. He simply would not flee. He would stay where he was and wait however long it took to become safe for him to leave. While the police were scouring the area for someone trying to elude them, no one would suspect the assassin was right under their noses. It was a risky idea to say the least, but it seemed to have a much greater chance of success than anything else.
      James took a bus to Jacksonville, Florida and after disguising himself heavily bought an almost new 1961 Pontiac two-door hard top from a severely myopic old man who had decided to give up driving. He chose this car because it had a trunk similar to the one of his Oldsmobile. He took the car to Georgia and registered it under one of his aliases. He went to a Pontiac dealer and bought all the major replacement parts such as a fuel pump, starter, distributor, carburetor etc., so if anything went wrong while he was on the road, he could repair it himself. Then he returned to Miami.
      After reconsidering his idea of shooting from the trunk of the car, he realized it would not be as easy as he had thought to do this at very close range with a .22 Long Rifle caliber semiautomatic pistol with a silencer. There would be Secret Service agents very close to the President watching the crowd and either an agent or someone in the crowd might get in the way. What he decided would be better was a slightly longer distance, perhaps seventy-five or a hundred yards, where the terrain insured a clear shot from an elevated position, for example, an overpass. He would have to use his 7mm failing block with the silencer to eliminate sound at the point of origin of the shot, and he would hope surrounding buildings would generate confusing echoes of impact sound. If he was lucky, he might even find a place where the area behind the President was grassy and the low velocity but highly penetrative, untraceable stainless-steel bullet could pass completely through his body and embed itself deeply in the earth and either never be found, or if it was found, not be identified for what it was.
      James reasoned the logical way to fire the shot was through the gasoline tank filler pipe door on the side of the trunk, and he modified the filler pipe so he could take it off and on using a rubber section held in place with strap clamps. He also made a plug to use when the pipe and gas cap were not in place, so the trunk would not fill with fumes.
      He cut out most of the area behind the filler pipe door, so the gun could be placed in it, and he mounted a swiveling brace to the trunk floor, so he would have something on which to rest the gun. The scope was attached to the barrel with mounts tall enough that the silencer did not interfere Wth the scope. As a final touch he added a short end section of gasoline filler pipe to the end of the silencer, so if someone looked directly into the open door, it would not appear unusual, just an innocent, gasoline tank filler pipe.
      James also set up his police frequencies radio to work with a hearing aid type ear plug, so he could listen to police communications while he was in the trunk. Lastly he went out to the dump. He checked to see if the cartridge he intended to use produced any visible muzzle flash. It did not. Then he practiced flipping open the trunk lid and shooting targets while jumping out of the trunk. In this way in case he was discovered, he still might escape because he was in excellent physical condition from his regular regimen of running and martial arts exercise.
      On November Ist James drove to Houston and began reading all the major daily newspapers in Texas. He called the two brothers in Miami regularly, but there were no messages. After reading the newspapers, he often went to the movies or wandered around like a tourist. Once he drove out of the city far enough to shoot the gun and insure that travel had not caused the sight to get out of alignment. He always parked the Pontiac late at night in a different neighborhood and always drove away before 7:00 AM. When he thought about it, he was bored, but much of the time his mind was blank, in his hunting/waiting state. When he read the Dallas Times Herald article of 11/8/63 which announced President Kennedy would visit Dallas, he drove there immediately and resumed his vigil. On the nineteenth the motorcade date, time and route were announced, and James carefully walked the entire path searching for every possible vantage point from which he might fire at the President. He took mental notes on several but found them all unacceptable. For a moment he gazed at the ornate, delicately tinted masonry cornices and moldings of the Missouri, Kansas and Texas Railway Co. Building at Market and Commerce.
      "Pretty," he thought and moved on.
      The instant he turned up South Houston Street and got his first glimpse of Dealey Plaza, he knew he had found exactly what he wanted. He sat on a bench on the south side of the pigeon infested, triangular area and memorized every detail he thought might prove significant. He did not have photographic recall, but his ability to record visual data was extensive, and within ten minutes the entire Plaza was indelibly etched into his mind. He got up and walked around the streets facing the central area studying everything. "I couldn't have arranged it better," he thought as he calmly walked across the United States Post Office Terminal Annex Building parking lot. Here was a place to park the car at the edge of a low embankment well under a hundred yards from where the motorcade would pass. No one could inadvertently stand in his way because of the several foot drop right next to which he would park, and no one was likely to be close enough to pinpoint the origin of the shot because of the grassy slope below the embankment leading down to the sidewalk. He would have a clear line of sight beneath the small trees at the bottom of the embankment, and behind the target area was another grass covered slope along the road which led down under a railway overpass. "Perfect,"
      he said to himself as he visualized the event while walking back down Commerce Street to examine potential courses of flight on foot. He spent the rest of the day driving around Dallas in general and the Dealey Plaza area in particular familiarizing himself with the routes out of the city.
      The day before the motorcade James parked his car in the spot he had chosen, crawled into the trunk, and spent two hours dry firing his weapon while aiming just in front of the heads of the drivers following the route the President would take. He developed precise control of the gun on its swivel to the point where he was confident he would not miss even if the President's Lincoln was moving at fifty miles per hour.
      "All the time I spent shooting trap and skeet targets with a .22 rifle are going to pay off," he thought as he slid out of the trunk under the hinged upper section of the rear seat after scanning the immediate vicinity through the tiny periscope which he had installed inside the rear window.
      He got out of the car to stretch and walk around a bit. It was lunch hour, and James had on a neatly pressed business suit, so he fit in quite well with the crowd of office workers. James decided to take one final stroll around the plaza to make sure he had missed nothing of importance. As he walked up South Houston Street, he was certain he had done the best he could in preparing the assassination of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy and was strongly inclined to believe his plan would work.
      James was looking at the layout of the buildings, the arcade, the Memorial, etc. not at the people because the former would be exactly the same the next day and the latter would not. This prevented him from seeing the wide eyed, ashen faced man with whom he almost collided as he was passing the entrance of the Dallas Book Depository Building.
      At first James did not recognized the little, balding man who said, "Oh, my God, you're here... What're you doing here?"
      James maintained a poised, deadpan expression while he sped to recall who this most untimely interruption might be.
      It was three or four seconds before he realized he was face to face with the man who had handed him the leaflet in New Orleans. "Oh, shit," he thought, "not this asshole. Now I've got somebody else I've got to kill. Damn! I've been waiting around Texas for almost a month, and this clown is about to fuck up the best plan I'll ever come up with. Maybe I should walk him into an alley and slit his throat, make it looked like a robbery... Wait a minute. This fool thinks I'm the devil. Maybe I can use him." Swiftly a scheme took shape in James' mind, and with an upper class British accent he said, "Hello, Lee. I told you I would be back to see you soon."
      "But why here? Why me now?"
      stammered the smaller man looking up at James who at just over six feet tall and a hundred and eighty pounds was much the larger of the two.
      "Because I have come to offer you the deal you wanted, people to know your name for generations, to say, 'everybody thought he was nobody, but they were wrong.' That is what you requested, is it not?"
      "Yes... Jesus... Shit... Can you really do this?"
      "I am doing it."
      "It's got to do with the President tomorrow, don't it?"
      "Correct."
      "I'm supposed to kill him."
      "Exactly."
      "How?"
      "You have access to this building,"
      bluffed James figuring the odds were in his favor because he just had walked out of one of its doors.
      "Yeah."
      "You have a rifle, do you not?"
      gambled James knowing if he was correct, he was home free, and if he was not, he could give him the money to buy one.
      "Yeah."
      James restrained a sigh of relief as the other man stood before him as if hypnotized. "Tomorrow when the President's limousine passes here, you will shoot him. You understand of course, that in order in order for you to become famous, you must be captured. Your trial will be on the front page of all the newspapers and on television and radio for weeks. It will be the most sensational trial of the century, and your picture will be everywhere. Your name will be a household word, but do not forget. You must be caught. Do you understand? If you escape, no one will know you did it, and you will remain a nobody."
      "Yeah, I'll go to jail, won't I?"
      "Of course you will. When you are in prison, reporters will flock to interview you. You will be the center of attention for years. You will even get offers to write a book about the story of your life. In that book you will be able to express whatever ideas you like, and many people will read it because of what you accomplished, but you must remember one thing."
      "What?"
      "You are never to say anything about me. If you ever say, 'The devil made me do it,' they will just say you are insane and place you in a mental hospital where no one will pay you any attention at all. Give a political explanation. Say you did it because... What are your politics?"
      "I don't have any. I don't believe in that crap."
      "That is what I thought. Neither do I. Just give them some far left or far right answers, whatever you like. Make it extreme, and stick to it. Political fanatics get lots of news coverage. One even started World War I."
      "Why me? Why he did you pick me?"
      "I did not choose you. I chose John Kennedy. You are merely to be an instrument. He is the one I am actually seeking. I simply am doing you a rather large favor in return for your doing one for me."
      "Why do you want Kennedy?"
      "Oh, shit," thought James. "I talked too much. Now why do I want Kennedy?"
      "At the present time half of the souls of the deceased presidents of the United States reside with me and half with my... opposition. If I get Kennedy now, I will take the lead. I never have been ahead before."
      "That ought to do for his weirdo mind," thought James pleased with the bizarre nature of his spur of the moment answer.
      Lee nodded, and James decided to end their conversation as quickly as possible, so he asked, "What window will you use?"
      "That one, top right," said Lee.
      James looked at it and studied it in relationship to where he himself would be. He had no intention of risking the assassination itself to this incompetent loser who probably would miss. He only meant to use him as a diversion, but it was crucial that the diversion not interfere with the killing, so James said, "You will wait until the automobile of the President turns off South Houston Street. Do you see that tree over there? You will wait until he becomes visible past that tree. Then as he is moving slowly away from you, it will be as if he were motionless, and you will shoot one very careful shot at the back of his head. Is that clear? Then you will shoot two or three more shots rapidly in his general direction. After that you will attempt to flee. Try hard to avoid capture, so it will look good,"
      finished James. Lee nodded again, and James asked him to repeat his instructions regarding when he was to fire his first shot. James was fascinated by the zombie-like look on his face as he answered. James said, "Good luck," turned and walked away. He circled around several blocks to make sure he was not followed before going back to get his car. In his mind he reviewed their conversation several times and was satisfied this pathetic little man would, in all likelihood, do exactly as he had been instructed and create an excellent diversion, but even if he did not shoot at President Kennedy from the window, he would do nothing to jeopardize the plan. After all, what could he do, go to the police and say, "The devil wants me to shoot the President?" James drove to a suburb and went to the movies.
      He returned to the Postal Annex lot by 11 00 PM and slept in the trunk. He awoke around 6:00 AM, dozed, thought about pleasant times with Kathleen and relieved himself in the empty quart orange juice bottle he had brought for that purpose. He began listening to the radio about 9:00 AM. At one point his heart began to race with the thought of what he was about to attempt, but he breathed deeply and entered the hunting/waiting trance of acutely alert timelessness. He felt little different than he had awaiting rabbits in the meadow near Lake George, so in spite of the momentous nature of the event in which he was about to participate, an honest description of it from his point of view surprisingly is unavoidably dull. The gun was in its place, and there was nothing to do but wait for the target to be in its. As for the man who was to be in the sixth floor window of the Dallas Book Depository Building James only thought, "Alex or Lee or whatever your name is, just don't fuck up my shot." James doubted there was much chance of that because even if he struck the president before James fired, James would still have ample opportunity to administer the coup de grace.
      Then the motorcade was passing up South Houston Street. James heard the crowd cheer. He closed the action of the gun and looked through the scope. He sighted on the center of the street in front of the Book Depository. He felt his right hand shake ever so slightly and experienced momentary queasiness in his stomach, but the instant his finger was on the trigger, he was steady. His stomach left his consciousness which became totally focused on the cross hairs in the scope as he aligned them just in front of the center of the President's head. Time slowed to a virtual halt in James mind, and it seemed to him that it took an eternity for the oversize Lincoln to turn the corner and begin down toward the overpass. James heard the report of a rifle and saw the President began to buckle forward. "Shit, I told him to wait.
      He isn't where there's grass behind him yet," thought James as the motorcade sped up. He was tempted to gamble the shot had been a hit and would prove lethal, but he knew he could not yield to that impulse. Then the car was positioned between him and the grassy slope, but there were people on the sidewalk who would be struck by a projectile passing completely through the President's skull. James led the sight to the proper position in front of his target. He watched as the President continued turning to his left with the impact of the first shot. James saw a large enough gap approaching between two people on the sidewalk and touched the hair trigger ever so gently. He heard the muffled sound of the gun. He felt to try to jump on its mount and then settle back quickly on the area of the car. He heard the sound of the impact of the bullet. He saw he had struck President Kennedy near his right eye with a shot which necessarily would traverse enough of his cranial cavity to insure his death. He swung back quickly to see no one in the crowd had been struck after the bullet had exited the rear of the president's skull, and satisfied the piece of stainless-steel was now deeply embedded in the ground, he shut the gasoline filler door noiselessly against the small foam rubber cushion he had placed inside, so it could not slam. As he did this, he heard another shot ring out from across the street and then a third. James rolled into place to be ready to burst out of the trunk, shoot and run. He had four revolvers ready, one in either hand and two in holsters, but although he heard much screaming and running and his police radio was filled with frenzied communications, no one even approached his car. James looked through his periscope and saw a commotion directly across from him on the grassy slope on the north side of the railway overpass. First five minutes went by, then ten. Reports began to come in about pursuit of possible suspects. James breathed very deeply to keep himself calm.
      He was no longer the hunter but the prey, a situation which he always disliked and which always made him nervous, but he recognized this was inevitable, however, in the past he always had felt actively in control of his fate because he had been able to flee. In contrast in this situation he was totally passive, waiting in a far different way, and he was tempted to get out and run, but that passed. Eventually three men walked around the area near the Pontiac, and from their conversation it was apparent they were agents, but they were totally unaware they were within a few feet of their quarry. One of them was tying a shoe lace with his foot on the rear bumper of the Pontiac when another said, "It just came over the radio. The President died."
      James thought, "So much for that.
      Now if I can just get out of here like I planned." He felt an intense need to urinate but was unable to because he knew the sound would be audible outside the trunk. He continued breathing as quietly as he could.
      "We're going to look awful because of this," said the one with his foot on the trunk.
      "The press's really going to go after us. Never mind how many times we've done a good job, a great job. Never mind it's impossible to make a President completely safe. One slip and we've had it. We're in for it now."
      "You and I know it's impossible, but that's what the public expects, the impossible... Something else I know, we're going to get the bastards who did it."
      "I wouldn't be so sure," thought James as he heard the one taking his foot off the trunk say, "There's nothing over here. Let's get back to the car."
      James looked through the periscope, and as soon as they were out of ear shot, he urinated. No one else came that near the Pontiac although later some people came and removed their cars from the lot. He heard on the radio that a suspect had been apprehended after killing a Dallas policeman. "They'll love him for that," thought James. "A lot of local cops hated Kennedy so much they'll be more upset about the cop than the President. For that they'd've just roughed him up a bit. Now they'll beat the shit out of him. So much for the price of fame. Anyway he's in custody, and they've got their scapegoat. I hope he enjoys the notoriety... Lee Harvey Oswald... So that's the name history's going to record along with Brutus, John Wilkes Booth and Gabrilo Prinzip. Oh well, so long as it isn't James Marlowe."
      Around 7:00 PM there were no people in the area immediately around the car, and James emerged from his hiding place.
      He had wrapped the starter in sound deadening material, so the engine started noiselessly, and he drove off into the night unnoticed. Following a path of side streets parallel to major thoroughfares, he made his way out of Dallas. He dismantled the silencer and threw its interior pieces out of the car window one at a time over a space of thirty miles. The five remaining cartridges for the falling block gun he pulled apart with a pliers and along with the silencer tube threw the stainless-steel bullets off a bridge over a small river along Highway 80 as he headed east. Since the gun itself was legal and since it could not be linked to the projectile in the soil by the overpass even if it, the bullet, was found, James kept the gun. The copper jacket sections which had fragmented in the silencer and which bore the rifling marks also went in the river after he cut them into little pieces with a tin snips.
      He drove as far as Pensacola, Florida, slept most of the next day and awoke to learn a stroke of luck beyond anything he had imagined left him free of any worries he might have had concerning Lee Harvey Oswald. He had hoped he would be killed resisting capture, but when this had not happened, he had assumed he would have to change his appearance substantially and be even more reclusive for several years, but this changed everything. With the media blaring "Lone Madman" it was obvious Oswald had not said anything. "Fame is fleeting... And costly," thought James as he smiled at his good fortune. It was his first real smile since Kathleen had died.
      He could finish his business in Florida and move to California unimpeded because he truly was the one that got away.

Chapter XVII

James returned to Miami and slept for almost an entire twenty-four hours. On each of the next three days he drove to Jose's school in a 1953 Chevrolet panel truck he owned and waited to see if he left alone. On the third day he did. About halfway between his school and his home James pulled up to him on a quiet street and said, "Your father asked me to pick you up. Hop in."
      "Oh, hi," said the boy unhesitatingly. When he was in, James drove around two corners to another quiet street and without any warning shot Jose once between the eyes with a .22 Long Rifle semiautomatic pistol with a silencer. He carefully put the body on a plastic sheet he had placed in the rear.
      "One witness down, two to go,"
      thought James as he drove home. He drained the boy's body of blood, cut it into several pieces, and cremated it slowly in the unit he had constructed for that purpose.
      He called the brothers' office and set up a meeting with them for 10:00 PM that night. He knew they would try to kill him at that time, and he was ready. He drove to their office more than an hour before he was due. He considered it a distinct possibility they might try to kill him outside the building even before they let him in, so he studied the area, the parking lot, the street and surrounding buildings but concluded anyone shooting him there would have to be fairly far away. To be on the safe side he shot out two street lights with an air pistol, so if someone was hidden up the street with a scoped rifle, he would not have enough light to sight on him.
      He knocked on the door precisely at 10:00 PM and was admitted by the younger brother. James walked down the hall with him all smiles, a perfect lamb being led to slaughter. James gauged the position of the man behind him from a glance over his shoulder and opened the office door.
      "Oh, fuck, this isn't going to be as easy as I figured," thought James. James had considered it a likelihood the brothers would have one or two, perhaps even three extra men with them to ensure their safety and James' demise, but this was unreal. Including the brothers, James counted seven men arrayed against him. Almost certainly all were armed and competent killers. Their plan was obviously to wait until James was fully in the room with the door closed behind him to prevent escape and the younger brother out of the line of fire. At that point on some signal, probably from the older brother, they would all draw and fire simultaneously. "The brothers must've been impressed to call in this much artillery. I sure will have surprise on my side.
      Who'd expect one man to draw on seven? Here goes."
      If real combat shooting was a sport instead of something which almost invariably leads to human death, what took place in the next approximately four-fifths of a second would be recorded with the greatest moments in sports, something like Don Larson's World Series perfect game, a virtual impossibility which nevertheless happened because of the outstanding, no eerie abilities of one person, but this was not a game or stunt.
      There was no super slow motion camera to record this feat for posterity replete with digital stop watch accurate to three decimal places and Howard Cosell to comment on the instant replay. This was one man's life on the line against seven others'.
      Anticipating the need to use his "radar" shot because the younger brother always had entered the room behind him, James had worn one of his guns in the shoulder holster he had made himself with the gun barrel pointed straight back instead of down. Going by the estimate he had made of the younger brother's position, he simultaneously raised his left arm and began reaching for the gun he had in a belt holster below his left kidney with his left hand and fired the gun in the shoulder holster under his left arm with his right hand. Faster than a human eye, even his own human eye, could see, James began shooting the men on the left side of the room alternating targets first with one gun and then the other. As he had expected, James saw time slow to a creeping pace, and he saw each element of each shot in great detail. It was as if the guns pointed down a small tunnel, and whatever was visible at the end of that tunnel was etched sharply into his mind. His draw had been so fast and so unexpected that the first three men after the younger brother were still motionless when he shot them. Since he had anticipated having to shoot several man in rapid succession, he had loaded relatively light powder charges to minimize recoil and used hollow pointed, soft lead bullets which would expand quickly on impact and do the most damage possible. Because of the off chance, unlikely but not to be discounted, that one or more of his assailants might be wearing body armor, James had chosen to shoot each one in the head. By the time James got to number five who was the older brother, James saw someone who was beginning to react. He was attempting to duck behind his massive mahogany desk. Adjusting for his motion, James shot him squarely between the eyes. Without words were even wordless conscious thought James instinctively realized the last two men were almost certain to be far more difficult to slay than the first five. Assuming they would be drawing their own guns to return fire, James began a twisting dive toward the floor while still aiming and preparing to fire at the sixth. Many times since childhood he had practiced firing in this way while moving violently, and although this necessarily limited his accuracy, the need for evasive action took precedence. As if to prove him correct, at that very instant James saw a muzzle flash to his right then another directly in front of him. Flying on adrenaline and totally unconcerned with whether or not he had been hit, James shot number six at the same time he heard the two shots fired at him. As he struck the floor, James rolled to one side and heard the seventh man shoot his second shot. Knowing this man would almost certainly get him if he did not shoot him immediately, James fired both his revolvers upward at him. Tumbling to his feet in a roll that he did in most of his practice sessions, James fired one last shot at this last man. It proved unnecessary. The two shots had struck him in the chin and traveled up through his brain killing him instantly. James stood for a second surveying the carnage he had wrought. Although none moved, James reloaded one gun before briefly examining each corpse. Each but the first which had been shot in the mouth and the last which had been shot in the chin had been shot within an inch and a half of between the eyes. Finally starting to absorb the fact that he was unscathed, James let out a joyous yell and headed for the safe. The combination had not been changed, and he opened it easily. To his amazement he found not merely some money or a lot of money but literally a staggering fortune. Stacks upon stacks of fifty and hundred dollar bills filled the safe which was considerably larger than James had expected. He stuffed the money into brown paper grocery sacks he found in a closet. He had planned to take the bodies with him, but these were too many to take since the police might arrive at any moment called by someone frightened by the gunfire. James removed his fingerprints from the safe and closet door and left with his money. He left the rear door slightly ajar in case the police did not come, drove six blocks up the street and parked to see what happened.
      After thirty minutes without the arrival of the police James reasoned that since no one else had been in the small office building or the adjacent shops, no one had heard the gunfire which had been muffled by the inner and outer building walls. James returned, parked his truck at the rear door and loaded all the bodies in the truck. He rolled up and loaded the blood stained carpet and found the rug pad had been part plastic which had kept blood from soaking through to the tile floor. After putting the rug pad in the truck, he pried the three bullets which had been shot at him out of the wall. All of his had remained in the bodies of his would be assailants.
      James departed from the brothers' office for the last time, drove home, unloaded the bodies and prepared them for cremation. He did this over several nights between 1:00 AM and 5:00 AM when the wind was blowing away from the home of his nearest neighbor who lived over a hundred yards away. When he was done, James pulverized the remaining bones and took them and the ashes out on his boat and scattered them on the ocean. He did not do this out of any respect for their souls but merely to destroy evidence.
      The metal shavings which his milling machine made of their guns he dumped in the ocean, too, along with the ashes of their personal effects which he also had burned. He only kept several gold teeth which he melted into an ingot. The rug and its pad he cleaned, cut into little pieces and threw off his boat one piece at a time over quite a few miles. He did not do this to destroy evidence. He could have done that by weighting it down and throwing it overboard in one piece. He did it to be silly, to relax from all the strain he had been under for the last two months. "It's over. It's all over, and I'm still alive, still free.
      I did it. I'm still alive and free and well," he said over and over as he cruised up and down the coast throwing small squares of carpet and cushion as far as he could. When James counted the money in the safe, it totaled $1,153,400.00. The amount was so far beyond anything James had imagined or even could imagine that he simply decided to hide it and not think about it for the time being.
      Several days later James found a newspaper account of the sudden disappearance of the entire leadership of Beta 26, a Cuban underground group of unknown connections. The families and friends of the missing men were trying to get the police to investigate, but the local law enforcement authorities believed the men had gone on a secret raiding party to Cuba and encountered superior forces, so they would not pursue the matter further. James chuckled quietly as he read the phrase "superior forces." That was the only mention he ever saw of the affair.
      James began seeking an appropriate buyer for his home, that is one who would pay cash. While he waited, he took a course in operating heavy earth moving equipment because he needed that skill to accomplish some of his plans in California. He also bought a large truck, so he could do his own moving. In April 1964 James found his customer. He was a wealthy Cuban exile who found the seclusion and fortification of the house ideal, and when he saw the bomb shelter, he readily agreed to James' price which was nearly eight times what James had paid.
      Before leaving for California, he deposited substantial amounts of money in numbered accounts in offshore banks.
      He flew his Cessna 172 to California, left it at an airport and returned for his truck. He drove to Northern California, found a safe place to leave the truck in began searching for a place to buy. Since he had far more capital than he had expected, he was able to consider some very large tracts of land. In the summer of 1964 Mendocino was a very depressed area economically, and land values were low. Eschewing real-estate agents, James moved from small town bar to small town bar, never going to the same place twice, shooting pool on the little bar tables and making the locals work very hard to win small to moderate amounts of money from him in close games, something he had learned made people like him and open up to him. Actually with his uncanny eyes and hand/eye coordination he was an exceptional pool shooter who could beat all but the real sharks, but this reverse hustle got him what he wanted which was conversation about large parcels of land which might be for sale. After only two weeks of this one night in Ukiah he learned of a large area of several ridges and bottoms which belonged to an eccentric old man descended from lumber barons. To James way of thinking it was ideal. There was a government forest, the Jefferson Woods, which was unused and mostly inaccessible wilderness and which never could be logged again or developed because it had been donated to the government on the condition that it remain pristine. This was a "G" shaped piece of land which almost completely surrounded the land about which James had heard. This inner section was an oval shape made up of three almost parallel ridges. Its borders were ridge bottoms which rose to high outer ridges, descended to an inner oval of bottom land and then rose to an inner ridge slightly lower and shorter than the outer ones, so no one even knew the inner ridge existed unless they trespassed all the way on to the land as far as the top of the outer ridges. The ridges of the Jefferson Woods where very steep and had been logged only lightly in the 1920s. Because of a fortunate combination of circumstances, the steepness of the ridges, a dispute over the price of lumber and the personal quirks of the owner, the inner tract never had been logged. It was not so close to the ocean that it had large, dense groves of redwoods, but it did have more than a few of the awesome giants.
      James spent three days exploring the land which was deserted. He had learned the old man who owned the land distrusted paper money, so when James flew to Idaho to meet him he brought several mint condition eagles and doubled eagles from the hoard he had dragged up Burnside Avenue more than twenty years earlier. It turned out the nonegenarian, who said he was going to live to be at least a hundred and fifty, was partial to gold, and James drove back the following week to exchange $68,000.00 in face value of U.S. gold coins, many of them quite rare and almost all of them in what was then very fine or better condition, for a little more than 4,100 acres of beautiful but then virtually useless land. It came with a right of access over eight and half miles of very poor dirt road. There was nothing profitable one could do with this land except possibly log it, which James would not do, and James never expected there would be. It was an ideal retreat for a wealthy hermit and nothing more.
      James bought himself a Caterpillar and some other equipment including a cement mixer. He graded the road just enough to bring in building materials, dug a large hole near the top of the inner ridge and built a multilevel underground home. The patio and sliding glass door to the living room were all that was above ground. They offered a marvelous view out but were set so they could not be seen. The lowest level reached by a secret air lock was a large fallout shelter, much more comfortable than the last, with food for two years and its own buried water tank the size of a swimming pool fed by a year round spring. When the last steel reinforced concrete had set, he covered the top with soil and replanted it. Twenty feet from it in any direction including up one could not tell it was there.
      Electricity was generated by two windmills hidden on the west side of the ridge.
      Throughout the construction his mind was focused on his work. He had built this structure in his head months earlier, and he concentrated on adapting his generalized plan to the specific location as he went along. In a sense it was like anything else James did, a meditation, although this later day buzzword never crossed his mind. He simply did it.
      In good weather he slept out in the open. From where he slept, he could see over a mile in any direction, all of it land which was his. On one side the ridge dropped over six hundred feet almost straight down. It was a dramatic view of year round green over which the sun rose. From this perch he could watch the sunset, and once his home was built, he often did. He worked fourteen hours a day until he was done, but afterward he worked very little. He exercised, relaxed and practiced all kinds of shooting.
      His violent past never crossed his mind. It was as if it never had happened. He was at peace.
      James drove long distances to shop and never went to the same place twice. He purchased large quantities of beans, grains and other staples, gardened for fresh fruits and vegetables, shot deer, boar and other animals for meat and generally did everything he could to be self-sufficient. This included developing a remarkable ability to recreate Kathleen in his mind and masturbate to the illusion they were making love. It never left him feeling hollow because in some way for him she really was there.
      He might have preferred to have a woman living with him, but he never expected to find one who would choose to live such a life especially since the only women he knew besides Kathleen where the ones from the University of Miami, and he could not imagine any of them electing to live this way because he just could not see one of them up to her elbows in deer entrails or manure. He did not despise the urban choice. At this time it simply was not for him.
      James listened to the news on the radio and subscribed to several newspapers and magazines and read parts of each almost every day. Once a week he would hike out to his mailbox and get them.
      What had not been read by the end of the week went for kindling with what had.
      James merely wanted to keep up with major events in case anything effecting him was reported, but he read other articles, too. He had read an early San Francisco Chronicle article on the hippies but more or less disregarded it on a conscious level, however, something in it must have intrigued him because when he had to go shopping in the late spring of 1966, he decided to go to San Francisco.
      When he got there, he chose a natural foods store in the Haight/Ashbury neighborhood on Page Street and abruptly found himself walking down the street not just in another country but on another planet. He was wearing jeans and a workshirt and had somewhat shaggy hair because he had decided there was no point in keeping his hair in a crewcut where he lived, but he was clean shaven. Actually he did not look too badly out of place, just a drabber version of the people there. He was enchanted by the profusion of color in the peoples' dress. The ribbons, feathers, embroideries, etc. were like nothing he had expected from the few black and white photographs in the Chronicle. Using his instinct as a cultural and social chameleon, he watched and listened to everything around him and began to mimic some of the aura of his surroundings.
      As he piled up his purchases, he noticed a young, very pretty, somewhat chubby brunette woman looking at him. He smiled at her, and she smiled back at him, but he gave it no further thought.
      When he took his place in the line for the cash register, she was in back of him.
      "Are you into health foods?" she asked.
      "Yeah, I am . Are you?" replied James assuming this was a reasonably correct answer.
      "Me, too," smiled the woman. "What's your sign?"
      "My sign?"
      "You know, your astrological sign?"
      "I don't know."
      "What day and month were you born?"
      "November eighth."
      "You're a Scorpio. Far out. I'm a Leo. A lot of my friends're Scorpios."
      It slowly began to dawn on James this woman was not simply chatting with him but trying to pick him up. Although he knew he was fairly good-looking, no one ever had tried to pick him up before.
      In fact it never had occurred to him that a woman would try to pick up any man.
      It was too far removed from the role structures he had been raised with, but there was no question in his mind about her intent. Initially James was suspicious, but as he talked with her, he sensed a kind of purity and openness he never had encountered before. "This's weird," thought James, "but she seems nice, and it sure is flattering she picked in me. I'll be careful."
      James glanced at her figure when she turned away. The first thing he noticed was she was not wearing a brassiere under her brightly colored T-shirt. James never had seen an adult woman, even one with small breasts, without a bra in public, and the effect on him of seeing her cleavage and readily visible nipples was immediate and electric. He had an erection and was flustered for conversation. She turned back, saw where he was looking and smiled as if nothing was amiss.
      "Are you comfortable like that?"
      asked James awkwardly gesturing toward her breasts and then becoming afraid that might have been the wrong question.
      "Oh, yeah. It makes me feel so free," she said giving a little squirm which made her bosom jiggle. "You see I'm real large in front. All the time I was growing up, I had to strap myself into those lawful bone and wire contraptions. I hated it. Not wearing a bra is a symbol of freeing myself from all the old restrictions and conventions of up tight America. It's so beautiful here. Everybody loves everybody else."
      James sensed all this was overtly sexual, intensely so at that, but something within him perceived her as completely innocent, free of any guile. James decided to ignore this apparent contradiction for the moment. He paid his bill and said, "It's real nice chatting with you. I'm free for the afternoon if you'd like to go for a cup of coffee or a walk in the park."
      "Sure, the park's just up the street. How about that?"
      "James loaded his purchases into a nondescript old station wagon and said, "My name's Jerry."
      "I'm Jessica. Pleased to meet you."
      "Me, too."
      James followed Jessica into Golden Gate Park and sat down with her in a quiet glade. "Some of what you said sounds good," he began, "but I can't say I understand it. I live up in the woods, and I don't know much about what's going on down here. Tell me about it. I can't make up my mind without details."
      "It's real simple. For years and years America's gotten more and more up tight. Everybody's into material values.
      They judge you by how big your car is and how fancy's your house, stuff like that. They're messing up nature something awful, polluting the water and the air. We're supposed to be at one with nature, live in harmony with it, not foul it up... And love, they're so up tight about love. Two people who love each other can make each other so happy, but everything's against the law if you aren't married, and I had to run away from high school 'cause I said so, and all the kids started calling me filthy names... It was horrible. That's another thing. Anybody who's the least bit different, they do bad things to them, make fun of them, even beat them up. They did it to me, so I ran away and came here soon as I heard what's going on."
      "How old're you?"
      "Sixteen. I'll be seventeen August 4th. I'm a Leo, remember?"
      "Yes."
      "Well, we want to change all that.
      They say it's a free country, but it isn't. We want it to be really free like it's supposed to be. Another thing they're up tight about his marijuana and LSD.
      Grass's illegal already, and they say they're going to make LSD against the law soon, too."
      "I've heard of marijuana, but I don't know anything about it. I've never heard of LSD. What is it?"
      "It's a chemical they make in a laboratory. Just the tiniest amount opens your mind to wonderful spiritual experiences. It helps you see your true connection with nature. Some people say they've seen God. It'll bring peace on earth. When people take it, they don't want to fight or anything. If we get enough people to take it, it'll end war forever."
      "That's certainly a noble goal," he said remembering the way World War II had disrupted his life and the trouble he had gone to avoiding the draft after the Korean War.
      "Money's another thing. I don't know if we can do away with it completely, but we want to keep people from having to work at such uncreative jobs to get enough to live. You can't feel very good about life if you're trapped on an assembly line doing the same thing all day.
      We think things people need ought to be free..."
      James listened a lot and asked Jessica questions about hippie philosophy for several hours. On the one hand he thought what she said would have been wonderful if it could have worked, but on the other he knew it did not stand a chance. She was obviously intelligent and articulate, and he found her exuberance so enchanting he almost believed her, but he saw her as totally naive. As far as James was concerned, the world was the way it was, and nothing was likely to improve because power was held by evil people who were so well entrenched they could not be dislodged. An individual had to do whatever was necessary to survive and was justified in doing whatever assured his ongoing strength and success in the face of a completely self-centered ruling bureaucracy. This continued to be why he felt no guilt about anything he ever had done. He no longer believed in his childhood notions of a universe governed by dark gods of the north, but he definitely was an agnostic who believed human greed was the primary motivating force on earth. He had gotten a good share by boldly risking his life, and he only was in a better position than most because he was smarter, more disciplined and more daring.
      He did not, however, view Jessica as a fool to be taken advantage of. Part of him felt very drawn to the gentle philosophy she expounded while he sometimes listened attentively and others looked longingly at her high, firm breasts, and since he never mixed sex with violence, even in his mind, she was in no danger worse than his making a tentative pass at her. If she said "No," that would be that. He would be disappointed but would get in his station wagon and return to his fantasies of Kathleen. Furthermore by now he related deeply to the idea of oneness with the universe. He often lost awareness of his own existence as he sat for hours on his ridge top watching now the trees, then the animals and later the stars either with powerful binoculars or his naked eyes. This experience, as well as the fact that he could acquire any material object the desired, had led him to become much more relaxed in his posture toward the world although his attitude on self-defense still was based on willingness to exterminate any one or thing he felt threatened him. It was the good fortune of the world James was not paranoid.
      By the end of the afternoon when the fog came in and it became too cold to remain in the park, James had developed a genuine liking for Jessica. This was separate from his feeling such lust for her that he willingly would have risked a quick trip into the bushes with her if he had thought she would have accepted such an invitation. This was especially true after the cold turned her nipples as erect as his penis.
      "Do you live around here?" he asked "Right over on Stanyan," she said,"D'you want to go back there now? We've got some stuff for a salad. We could have that for dinner."
      James nodded, and they began walking out of the park. Jessica walked a lot closer to James than he had expected. She shivered, and he put his arm around her, ostensibly to keep her warm. She pressed herself as close to him as she could, and he could feel her unfettered breast jiggling against him with every step. He was so aroused he hardly could walk straight. His mind was without any capacity for thought, so he wisely limited himself to saying "Unh hunh" in agreement as she talked on an on as if there was nothing sexual about their contact. James found his desire almost unbearable after the last few years during which he only infrequently had done more than give perfunctory kisses to the women he had dated. Having come of age in the 1940s and 1950s, he was plagued with the fear Jessica was a "tease" who might derive some bizarre form of gratification by arousing a man and then saying "No" at the last moment. As his experience of women had widened, he had come to think some few women might enjoy such games even though he had met only women who suffered anxiety at times like that, not pleasure.
      Jessica continued to chat casually about philosophical and intellectual matters all the way back to the large, rundown Victorian house where she was staying. "Let me get a sweater in my room," she said leading him up a wide, dark oak staircase to a small, rear, third-floor room with three bare mattresses on the floor, a few psychedelic posters on the wall and heaps of personal belongings, mostly dirty clothing, strewn everywhere.
      James closed the door behind them and turned Jessica toward him. He gave her a gentle, tentative kiss on her lips as he felt her breasts push against his chest. He knew she could not possibly be unaware of his erection prodding against her belly. The kiss became more and more passionate. James reached for her breast and fondled it's weighty softness with delight until Jessica pushed him away but only slightly so. He was afraid this was it. She was about to tell him "No," to tell him he had completely misunderstood all the good and noble things she had tried to explain to him all afternoon and to insist he leave immediately. He saw himself terribly disappointed, not merely unspeakably horny but excruciatingly lonely as he walked down the street to his car for the long drive home having tasted but been denied not only sexual bliss but extended contact with the first human being whom he had liked in years.
      Instead he looked down into her frightened eyes which were on the verge of tears and heard her say, "You won't think I'm cheap if I let you, will you?"
      "No, of course not."
      "It was so awful what happened to meet last week. I let a guy do it. I was so nice to him. I did everything he wanted. I really wanted to be his friend, but when he was done, he called meet a slut and a whore. I've been so sad ever since. I didn't go out of my room till today."
      "Where is he? I'll kill him,"
      thought James with a ferocity which amazed him. He suppressed this response immediately and followed it with, "His loss is my gain... but that's not the right thing to say." At last he said, "That's terrible. You must've been so unhappy. You try to give someone of beautiful gift, and they trample on it... I never could do something like that it," which was the truth.
      "I knew you were a nice man. I just knew you were," whispered Jessica almost more to herself than to James as she hugged him very tightly.
      James decided not to risk Jessica changing her mind, so he moved her down onto the nearest mattress. He reached under her Indian bedspread dress to take her panties down and almost ejaculated in his underwear when he discovered she was not wearing any. He fumbled with his belt and zipper but finally managed to get his pants off. He found her vagina and the entire surrounding area moist with her secretions. He plunged into her and began having his orgasm the instant he entered her. She smiled as he came close against her and stroked his back crooning softly, "What a nice man you are. I just know you are." James was so aroused that even after his climax his penis remained erect. He rested on his elbows and moved in and out a bit to confirm to her that his penis was still quite hard.
      James lifted his head up far enough to see her face and said, "I was so eager for you I didn't ask if we needed anything. I'm sorry."
      "Don't worry, silly. I take the pill... You're the first guy who asked."
      "My mother told me it wasn't nice to get a girl pregnant if you weren't married to her."
      "More men should be like that...
      Your cock is still hard. Do you want to come again?"
      "Your turn," said James rising up but remaining within her.
      "I never come. I don't even know what it's like," said Jessica. "Maybe there's something wrong with me... I don't mind though. It makes men so happy when you do it for them."
      "I suppose it does, but you're entitled to feel good, too," said James remembering Kathleen had told him during the few times they had copulated that she could not have an orgasm unless he massaged her clitoris with his thumb because his penis did not stimulate the right place. He began fondling her the way Kathleen had liked. For a while nothing happened, and he began to doubt anything would, but he was patient. He lifted her T-shirt and caressed her breasts with his free hand. "What a sweet lady you are, what the sweet, beautiful lady," he whispered over and over. He began to think about giving up when he felt her twitch and breathe deeply, not Kathleen's signs but definitely an indication something was happening for her.
      He continued, and she sighed softly, but she hardly moved at all. Her whole body was tense and then went limp. James laid down with his cheek next to hers.
      After a while she said, "It was so beautiful, more beautiful than anything I expected. I thought there was something wrong with me 'cause I never came no matter how many guys I did it with."
      "You mean nobody ever did what I just did or did it with his tongue?"
      "No, guys tend to be greedy about sex, I guess. They want you to do what they want, but when they're done, that's it. You're the first one who cared. You're really special." Jessica thought for a moment and went on, "I'd like to do something really nice for you 'cause you're the only one who ever tried to do it for me... Do you want to come in my mouth? I'll swallow all of it. Guys really seem to want girls to do that."
      "That'd be real nice," said James rolling over and letting Jessica suck him. Afterward he ate her pussy. Driven by the sexual drought in the recent years of his life, James spent almost the entire night in one form of sexual congress or another with Jessica. Around midnight two other people entered the room. In the darkness the two couples ignored each other.
      Toward dawn Jessica said she was sore and exhausted and wanted to get some sleep. James said, "I'm sorry, sweet Jessica, if I've been inconsiderate, but I've been alone since my wife died ...
      in a car accident a couple of years ago, and I really was lonely and horny when I met you. You're the first girl I've looked at since then, and I like you a whole lot."
      "Oh, you poor, poor man," said Jessica. "I'll suck your cock one more time if you want. I like you a real lot, too."
      "Sure you don't mind?"
      "No, silly, you even taste nice.
      Some men taste awful. Besides you've done everything I wanted. Why shouldn't I do it for you, but after that I really want to go to sleep, okay?"
      "Okay."
      "Come as soon as you like," said Jessica stroking him firmly and quickly while licking and sucking the head of his penis vigorously. James fondled her bosom and cried with joy as he felt his orgasm come upon him swiftly. She refused one last offer on his part, and they slept until well past one in the afternoon.
      In passing the reader might be interested to know Jessica's response to the knowledge James carried a gun. She did not have one because she was unaware of it. James had changed the gun he carried in day to day situations away from his land from a snubnosed, six shot, Smith & Wesson .38 Special revolver to a Walther PPK/S semiautomatic in .380 auto caliber. The latter was much slimmer, thoroughly reliable and quite easily concealed inside his belt and pants below his right kidney. When he had gotten to her house and the possibility of disrobing had become imminent, he had pushed it down further into his pants, holster and all, so she never had noticed it inside his wide belt. He'd had counted on her being distracted, too, which had been the case.
      When James and Jessica woke, they were alone. They embraced but did not make love. They were both too sore. They got up and ate. They cuddled but did not speak. Late in the afternoon Jessica said, "Do you want to smoke a joint with me? I've got some really good Panama Red."
      "What's that?"
      "Marijuana."
      "Don't that stuff make you a drug addict?"
      "No way. That's just government propaganda paid for by the liquor industry. They don't want you to know how good it is. They're afraid you'll never buy scotch origin again."
      "I don't know about that."
      "Do I look like a drug addict?"
      "No."
      "I smoke it all the time. The only danger from marijuana is if you get caught with it, you can go to jail."
      James knew he had a tremendous capacity for self-discipline. He always had been able to force himself to do work or exercise and decided he could control his desire for any drug he might try. Also he looked at Jessica and did not see someone who fitted the image of a dope fiend. "Okay," he said.
      "She got a small plastic bag, a dish and rolling papers, and he watched her clean out the seeds and roll a cigarette.
      "You take a long drag and hold it as long as you can."
      He tried to do as he was told but coughed very badly. She inhaled and coughed, too, but after several tries he managed to hold quite a bit in his lungs for almost a minute. First he felt lightheaded. Then he said, "I feel lightheaded." A minute later he could not remember whether or not he had told her he felt lightheaded, so he said it again.
      "You said it already once," she said giggling.
      "I forgot," he said what seemed like ten minutes later.
      "Forgot what?" she giggled.
      He giggled, too. She fell against him on the couch, and he felt the warmth of her body. He was aroused for several minutes before he realized it. He simply got up and carried her upstairs. This time they kissed and caressed each other for quite a while before making love.
      Then they went out to eat in an Italian restaurant where they ate three entrees and a pizza.
      "I think I like that stuff. What do you call it?"
      "Grass."
      "Yes, ma'am, I do believe I like that stuff."
      Again they slept until well into the afternoon.
      During almost every waking moment he spent in the house on Stanyan Street, James could hear rock 'n' roll being played, usually very loudly, on one radio or record player or another, and often on more than one at the same time, so walking down the halls created a stereo effect, that was if he was fortunate enough to find them tuned to the same station. Usually it was Chuck Berry, the Beatles, and the Supremes all at the same time. James always had listened to the radio in his car while traveling and often listened to rock, but the latest San Francisco phenomenon, Acid Rock, was unknown to him.
      James was sitting on the couch casually feeling Jessica's breasts while she enjoyed the attention of being teased about how large her bosom was, "Boy, are you huge."
      "I'm not a boy. If I was, I wouldn't be huge."
      "No, I guess you're not a boy. How did you get to be so big so young?"
      "I don't know, silly. Do you really like them?"
      "Yeah, they're great."
      "For years I hated them. I wanted to cut them off. I even asked my mother if the doctor could do it."
      James winced at the thought and asked, "Why'd you want to do that? Most men think big breasts're beautiful."
      "I don't know about that. I do know they're not popular in the fifth grade. I was the only girl who needed a bra, and they called me "Milkshake" all the time. In the sixth grade the boys started putting their hands on me there. I tried to stop them, but they did it anyway. I hated them so much."
      "The boys or your breasts?"
      "Both."
      "Are you happier with them now?"
      "If you are... Do you really liked them? You're not just saying it to make me feel good?"
      "You feel pretty good to me," said James caressing her as lasciviously as he could.
      "You're so silly... You don't understand what it's like to be an outcast when you're a kid."
      Abruptly James stopped fondling Jessica. A faraway looked came over his face. "Yes... Yes, I do. I had a terrible time as a kid. I had only one friend, the girl who grew up to be my wife, and she went to a different school. We were both terribly isolated from other kids for a bunch of reasons. The only difference is we had each other.
      I'll admit that's a bit better than your situation, but I'd've liked to've been part of the crowd. It just didn't work out that way. Children can be really nasty." He gently ran his fingers through her thick, waist length, brown hair, and it never even crossed his mind when he talked of nasty children that before puberty he had shot and killed over a hundred people in cold blood, some of them children no older then he himself had been.
      Jessica could tell she had touched a sore point and said, "I'm sorry. I guess you know more about stuff like I went through than I thought. I'm sorry to hear that. I wouldn't wish it on anyone...
      Don't look sad." She moved his hand back to her breast and said, "Do you want me to suck your cock?"
      "No, it's too sore, but it's very sweet of you to offer... Are you horny?"
      "No, mine's worn out, but I'm glad.
      It's so good with you... Hold me. Just hold me."
      Jessica rolled so she was facing James, and they lay on the couch that way silently for more than an hour ignoring people who came and went.
      Late in the afternoon Jessica moved back far enough to look at James and said, "I know what we can do. We can take LSD together and go to the Fillmore. It's Saturday night, and the Airplane's playing."
      "What?"
      "Here," said Jessica reaching in a pocket of her jeans and handing James of folded piece of white paper with a strange mass in the center which looked to him like nothing so much as a tumor.
      Scrawled on the tumor was odd shaped lettering which seemed to crawl around the orange blob like lettering on a baloon. Right there on top it said, "Jefferson Airplane."
      "What, pray tell, is Jefferson Airplane?"
      "It's... They're a rock group. You like rock 'n' roll, don't you?"
      "Yeah, but that's a weird name. Sure don't sound like the Shirelles or the Belmonts. Everything around here is weird," he said laughing.
      "Me, too," said Jessica proudly.
      "Yes, you, too."
      "Pretty soon you're going to be weird just like me."
      "I don't know if I like that idea,"
      said James in mock indignation.
      "No, seriously," said Jessica, "doing acid together is the best way to be truly close to somebody. It brings your souls close in ways you can't imagine till you've done it... I feel so close to you, but I want to get even closer, as close as possible, one with you even... It helps you see your real place in the universe, too. I really believe you'll agree with me if you try it."
      "It's very important to you, isn't it?"
      "Yes."
      "All right."
      "There's a guy over on Ashbury deals the most righteous grass and acid. We should go over there right now, so we've got enough time to come on to it."
      "Come on to it?"
      "For it to take effect. It takes a while."
      Jessica led James to a downstairs, rear flat in a small, somewhat rundown apartment building on Ashbury not far from Haight. This place was decorated much like Jessica's with Indian print bedspreads on the walls and ceiling. They were admitted by a very handsome blond man of medium height and build, perhaps twenty-five years old, who went back to sitting on a double mattress between two young women about Jessica's age. They were passing a pipe around and offered it to Jessica who took a long toke on it and handed it to James who did the same thinking, "I guess I'm starting to look like an experienced dope fiend."
      "Really great grass, Starleaf, really great," coughed Jessica,"Starleaf, this is my friend, Jerry, Jerry, Starleaf."
      "I'm pleased to meet you," said the blond man smiling.
      "Likewise," said James liking him right away but not sure why.
      "Sherry and Moon Lady, Jessica,"
      said Starleaf pointing at the two women who nodded.
      "Interesting names," said James.
      "It's a new age, the Age of Aquarius," said Starleaf. "Some folks feel new names're in order for a new age."
      "Seems reasonable enough to me,"
      said James who found Starleaf increasingly more likably funny as they became more stoned.
      "We want to pick up some acid for the Airplane concert tonight at the Fillmore," said Jessica.
      "Sure thing," said Starleaf going to the refrigerator and returning with two sugar cubes. Jessica promptly swallowed hers, and James thought, "Why not? Wonderland here I come," and followed her example.
      "How'd you pick your name? I like it, but what's it mean?" asked James.
      "The leaves of the marijuana plant form a star. I deal grass, so I figured it fits."
      "Show him your tattoo," said Jessica.
      Starleaf pushed aside the double strand of beads and bones around his neck and pulled his left arm out of his embroidered, green, corduroy shirt to expose what first appeared to be a shooting star with a tail but on closer examination was a highly detailed marijuana leaf "comet" with a rainbow tail. Below it in delicately shaded copperplate script was written "Starleaf." As he looked at this on Starleaf's shoulder, he saw through his long wavy hair a small gold earring pierced through the lobe of his left ear.
      "This sure is a weird place,"
      thought James without attaching any pejorative connotation to the word "weird."
      He knew he himself never would be tattooed willingly because it made the bearer standout, particularly for police identification, but he was learning the hippies wanted to stand out, and his only response was, "Whatever they do is their business as long as they don't hurt me."
      Jessica handed Starleaf five dollars, and they left. Once out the door James gave Jessica five dollars. She said, "You don't have to."
      "I've got more to spare then you."
      "Thanks. I haven't got much left, but I really wanted to share this experience with you."
      James had unloaded all his food store purchases at Jessica's house, and they drove his car to the Fillmore Auditorium. She knew the route well and obviously had been there several times.
      As they walked up the stairs, James thought, "Kathleen and I once went to an Alan Freed concert at the Times Square Paramount. I should be ready for anything they have here... Shit! What the hell is this?" James gaped at the floor full of wildly dancing people amidst a deafening roar of amplified sound and a wall full of vibrating light which looked as if the wall itself was pulsating in and out several feet a second like a throbbing heart. "Nobody ever danced at the Paramount. If you got up, they threw you out... I think I'm gonna like this."
      James never had tried to dance but always had wanted to. He felt no self-consciousness because the hall was fairly dark, and no one seemed even remotely interested in him. He watched Jessica for a few seconds and then began gyrating to whatever impulses moved him. He started to realize his sense perceptions of everything around him had been drastically altered, but he just thought of what Jessica had said, "Relax and let things flow wherever they flow. Don't resist. You only get in trouble if you resist."
      At one point he went over to the wall to see how far in and out it was moving. He stood next to it and concluded it was at least a foot. "Must be an incredible system, maybe hydraulics, to do that," he thought. He danced closer to the stage and for the first time made out some of the words of a song. He knew he could have listened to the words at any time he wished, but only now did he choose to. He saw a very beautiful, dark haired woman moving powerfully across the stage, microphone in hand, singing loudly, "When truth has come to be lies," and his mind was riveted by the phrase. It was the most profound thing he ever had heard. He felt it explained the entire universe to him. His body kept dancing, but his mind absorbed no more of the song. He saw the woman enveloped in silver light as she floated up in the air. It seemed to James he had been dancing tirelessly for years. He was in a state of bliss as he enjoyed this newfound total understanding of the universe which was now on a nonverbal level explained by the pulsating lights on the wall which he found readily intelligible and to which he responded by thinking other pulsating patterns of color of his own which demonstrated his understanding of the ones on the wall. Throughout this period during which time ceased to exist for him, he felt Jessica understood everything he did and was completely united with him.
      In the middle of it all he had an insight that this state of total understanding was drug induced but that he could bring this higher reality back with him if he recorded the words which triggered it all. During a break in the music he borrowed a ballpoint pen and wrote on his arm, "When truth has come to be lies." He fully believed that merely by disseminating this most deep and incontrovertible of truths, which would appear self-evident to all the people on earth once he uttered it, he would end all the evils in the world; hunger, greed, anger, war, death, etc. and everyone would live happily ever after.
      Then the walls stopped leaping forward and back. The music ceased, and Jessica led him back to the car. Out in the street the walls of the buildings here and there throbbed and glowed, but it was much more subdued, more gentle. "Everything is so beautiful," said James as Jessica snuggled under his arm. She gave him directions, and he found he could drive between the twinkling cars along the streets if he concentrated on keeping the car on the ground which seemed important. Also important was some deeply ingrained belief that it was his moral and ethical duty to stop when the traffic lights on the corners were red.
      He felt Jessica put his hand on her breast, and he felt a strange, tingling sensation in his loins which something dimly said was good. "I know what I want to do," he said. "I want to make love with you."
      "Me, too," said Jessica, "but we can't stop and do it here. We have to get home first, silly."
      "Oh, yeah, I guess we ought to,"
      said James not sure why but eager to please Jessica.
      It seemed to take years to get back to Stanyan Street, but they made it without mishap. Jessica led James to her room, and as soon as they were on the mattress, they embraced passionately. They fumbled terribly getting their jeans off and were united immediately. James heard Jessica sighing loudly as he moved in and out. He felt two golden balls of light float up into the air and fly about the room. Bands of pure white light flew back and forth between them drawing them closer and closer together. It seemed to take hours until they touched and merged into one which descended and enveloped their bodies. He felt his body twitch and spasm with exploding patterns of colored lights in rainbow arcs. Like everything else his orgasm seemed to last endlessly. He felt a great stream of loving energy flowing out from his penis into Jessica whose vagina radiated wave after wave of energy back to him to be recycled around and around between them.
      Then they lay still. "I love you, Jerry," he heard Jessica whisper.
      "Who's Jerry?" he asked himself. A long silence ensued before he realized, "It's okay. I'm Jerry."
      "I love you, too, Jessica," he said.
      "I'm so happy," she said.
      "Me, too."
      Then he realized he was exhausted, and he passed out.
      James awoke disoriented. For some time he was not sure on what level he was conscious; dream, waking illusion or wakefullness. His dreams had been so strange and surreal that they seemed a continuation of the previous evening. He had flown in his body by simply willing himself into the air and had soared over his land, the grass and leaves of which had been bright purple while the tree trunks and earth had been orange. At the time this had seemed perfectly normal and the flight something as natural as eating.
      "Where am I?" he asked himself and rolled over into Jessica's warm, soft body. She was still asleep.
      "I remember... We took that drug...
      LSD. No wonder I feel so dazed." The window shade gave the slightest of twinkles. "Must be an aftereffect."
      Then James recalled the incredibly intense feeling of insight into the universe which he had had at the concert and thought, "I think I'm going to save the world... What was that phrase? I can't remember it. It's very important... I wrote it on my arm."
      James looked at his arm, and there scrawled in very shaky script which bore only minimal resemblance to his own firm style he found, "When truth has come to be lies."
      "What?" he asked himself. "This is going to save the world?" He contemplated this enigmatic phrase for several minutes searching for some hint of the deeper meaning it had appeared to possess the previous night, but he found none.
      "Last night I thought the wall was flying in and out, and now I know it was just in illusion generated by the drug and compounded by the lights. I thought the cars along the curbs were moving sideways, and that isn't too likely either. This drug makes me see things that aren't there. Obviously it also makes me feel understandings which're just as unreal. All these people who think it makes them see God are simply experiencing an illusion like the moving wall only on some deeper level. That's too bad. It was fun thinking I was going to save the world. The world's beyond saving. All there is to do is enjoy the last days as well as I can. Who knows? I might even survive... In some ways that drug isn't so bad. With some things it doesn't matter if my perceptions are false or not because only my perceptions count. Who cares if it's an illusion and my orgasm only lasted sixty-three seconds instead of eleven minutes... That sure was good... I really did feel close to Jessica, and if she felt close to me, that's all that matters, but I'd better not confront her about that feeling one with the universe stuff. She takes it pretty seriously, and there's no point in risking driving her off. I've been lonesome... and horny for a long time. I'm going to enjoy her company while I can... Now that I think about it, I've got a hard on right now. Maybe I can wake her and interest her in a little affection."
      James went to Mendocino alone and came back with enough money to live on for at least three months. He rented an apartment up the street from Starleaf's and told Jessica a friend and his had gone out of town and left him his place. He asked her if she wanted to move there, and she accepted. They lived an idyllic, solitary life for several weeks going to concerts together, almost always stoned on one drug or another at Jessica's wish. James found he did not care much for marijuana and only enjoyed the sexual aspects of LSD. The closest he came to a bad trip was one night when he was confronted menacingly by what seemed to be a veritable legion of people he had killed as a child. They were dressed in blood red clothing. He relaxed and confidently thought, "You're all dead, so get out of here," while simultaneously imagining their color turning to gray whereupon they slowly turned to smoke. They never had troubled him before then they never did again.
      When they had been together a month, James began to realize what he wanted in a mate was someone who could focus all her attention on him the way he could on her, something absolutely necessary if he was going to bring her back to his land to live with him in lifelong seclusion. Initially he had hoped this might be possible with Jessica, but as their time in the Haight/Ashbury grew, she began to make other friends. It turned out she only had gotten there two months before he had and had had no opportunity to begin any serious relationships before him. He asked her oblique questions about living far away and only coming to the city on occasional visits, and she responded by telling him she had lived on a farm all her life and never would again. She had hated it and wanted only to live amidst large numbers of people. James saw there was no future for them as a couple, but he had grown quite fond of her and decided to stay with her as long as it was pleasant for both of them.
      By midsummer Jessica was talking with animation about how restless she was. She had to see America on her way to New York. She had heard something similar to the Haight/Ashbury was happening in the Village, and she wanted to see it. She tried hard to get James to drive across the country with her, but every time she talked about her quest for adventure, she mentioned something James already had done in his own travels, and New York was not only not his first choice of a place to end a summer journey, it was his last. Besides he was satisfied where he was.
      There were no arguments. One day Jessica said to him, "You're so far beyond me in everything. You've already done everything I want to do. You've found the wisdom and experience I'm looking for.
      If I stay here with you, I'll never grow anymore. If you leave here, you'll be miserable because you're a tree that needs roots, not a butterfly like me. We both thrive in the sun but..." She talked on and on apologetically about having to leave the only man she ever would love and would return to someday, and James listened patiently thinking, "This little speech is important to her, and I ought to hear her out... It was worth a try. Maybe there's someone out there like I want, and maybe there isn't. It'll hurt when she goes but not nearly as much as it felt good while she was here. If this's what the search feels like, I'm going to like it."
      Over the next three years there were dozens of Jessicas, Susies, Jans, Barbaras, Sunshines, Rainbows, Debbies, etc., etc.. The came in all shapes, sizes, ages and colors. They ranged from as young as twelve to as old as fifty-one. There was even a pair of gorgeous, blond twins who would have fulfilled most men's most delightful fantasies. Almost all of them were glad to have met James who was a sensitive, gentle lover, and a safe one, too, after an early scare with a late period led him to have a vasectomy.
      James definitely was unwilling to tailor himself to the whims of two people, one of whom would be a complete stranger. He had seen too many children totally unlike their parents for him to take such a risk. Unfortunately none of these women wanted to live happily ever after in the woods with a quiet, affectionate, considerate, retired, or to be more precise, semi-retired mass murderer. James never considered his wild sexlife an end in itself but rather a search, and he would have abandoned it immediately for almost any of these women if she had responded correctly to his hints about getting away from it all, but he did enjoy this period of his life. It was, however, not the satisfaction of his fantasies which did not involve conquest of a female beloved so much as finding a woman who once through the conquest ritual, a formality James saw as unavoidable, wanted nothing more than life in a castle both adoring and adored by a man she could take for granted completely if he could do the same with her, in short, another Kathleen. He did not find one.
      The consolations, and he considered them adequate, came in such moments as those walking along the beach at Pt.
      Reyes hand in hand with this or that woman listening attentively to her talk about whatever interested her, be it ecology, socialism or the Rolling Stones, and seeing how happy she was at that moment when he honestly indicated he could be interested in the same topics. This consolation also came in moments when he slowly eased his penis into her vagina feeling the first ripples of pleasure radiate from her moist, velvet pocket to his central nervous system as she smiled at him grateful to be sharing intimacy with such a nice man.
      "Maybe this'll be the one," he would think ever optimistic.
      If this leads to the notion James was an intellectual and emotional chameleon, in a surface sense this was so, but on a deeper level he believed in tailoring himself to fit the wishes of a woman who would do the same for him which meant abandoning society and living reclusively. What they did once they were on his land would be at least as much if not more up to her as to him. He would have been as happy installing a huge TV antenna so she could watch soap operas as he would have been building her a studio so she could paint watercolors.
      James began to wonder if there was one for the one that got away.

Chapter XVIII

It is difficult to imagine that a man with James' history would not consider any of the happenings described so far, not even the successful assassination of the President of the United States, the major occurrence of his life, that is, it is difficult until one reads an account of what was without doubt the event which fixed in James' mind once and for all the philosophy which had guided him up to this point and which governed him afterwards.
      Almost three months after he and Jessica had separated, James returned to his land intending to stay a few days, see that everything was in order, get some money and go back to San Francisco.
      It did not work out that way.
      It was a mild Tuesday night in October, and James chose to sleep out on his ridge. He had not taken any drugs in more than two months, and after his first LSD experience never had had any problem distinguishing where reality left off and imagination or illusion began.
      As far as James was concerned, the following was as real as the table and chairs in his kitchen. In a sense he found it far more real.
      As he often did, he was lying on his back looking up at the stars. He had no significant knowledge of astronomy and could not identify more than a handful of stars. He simply enjoyed looking at them in the same way he looked at a squirrel running about a meadow. He liked to watch things to see what they did. As sometimes happened in these periods of observation, he ceased to be aware of his own existence on a conscious level, but this was a somewhat different state from his hunting/waiting mode because it was not purposeful.
      Abruptly he sensed some awesomely powerful entity seeking about frantically in the void. James the perceiver intruded on James who had transcended himself, and he felt this search pass over him in swift waves. He felt others over a vast area also were being scanned, but somehow or other it always came back to him. He knew a choice had been made and offered no resistance when his consciousness suddenly moved to another place, a totally different place, and another body, a totally alien body.
      He wanted to enter this state slowly, to examine it leisurely, but he was not permitted to do so. In great haste he was integrated into the alien's intelligence, and he had at his disposal all the knowledge of the other. He was with Eessththtaah, a huge, eight legged, four armed reptilian perhaps fifty or sixty feet long and weighing many tons. The slowness of this massive form belied the swiftness of its mind (It was one of a three sexed species, and since our language is unprepared for such a distinction, "it" will have to do.). This creature was the commanding officer of an immense starship somewhat larger than the entire planet Mars, and James understood one could not rise to such a position without strengths. They were in the command center of the starship as it moved in a wide spiral through the emptiness of intergalactic space. They had been there quite some time and were weary with waiting, very weary. From the electrode in the reptile's brain which linked it to the ship's computer it was clear something momentous was being awaited. All the offensive and defensive systems of the starship; propulsion, weapons and shielding, were at hair trigger readiness. The huge, dark room was filled with an eerie, dim light outside the spectrum James normally could see, and James' new self possessed several additional senses. It was able to perceive energy fields as a primary means of communication through two rod-like sensors slightly above its ears which were set behind four independently mobile eyes which besides seeing also could emit the energy used in communicating.
      Furthermore the brain could process all the information from these senses simultaneously along with masses of other information even without the aid of the computer. The vast array of gauges were not visible but perceived by still another sense he never was able to describe.
      All this he grasped in an instant.
      The answer to "Why am I here?" followed. These massive reptiles -- They referred to themselves as the Ththeeaassii -- had been among the first beings in this universe to develop an advanced civilization with such capacities as intergalactic travel and immensely extended lifespan. They long since had attained their goal of enlightenment. Their technology enabled them to care for what they saw as their universe. However, they had guided it for so long without a serious threat from a violent adversary that they also had developed a distinct squeamishness about battle. Unlike the others of its species Eessththtaah had correctly recognized this as an inability to defend themselves by slaying an enemy. Now their universe was faced with an invasion by violent beings at least as technologically advanced as themselves, and these noble and benign creatures were unable to use the vast weapons their ancestors had created long ago because of all the suffering they knew they would cause. They all had decided they would rather perish than betray every value they held dear, that is, all of them except Eessththtaah. It was its idea to allow a creature of some lesser species to unite with one of them and use their weapons to defend their universe. This creature would have to be both able to absorb the data necessary to marshal their forces and also able to employee these forces with unrestrained brutality. This suggestion had been ruled down, but Eessththtaah, who personally was no more able to kill in the required manner than any of its fellows, secretly had gone its own way intending to locate some barbaric warrior and turn that warrior loose upon their enemies.
      For more than a revolution of their galaxy the Ththeeaassii had known of the existence of several parallel universes besides their own. They had doubted it would be possible to cross over from one universe to another, but now it appeared one universe was in a state of impending collapse prior to destruction and rebirth, what James knew as the Big Bang. The Ththeeaassii had monitored this universe by means of energy windows through which some communications passed. When they deciphered these transmissions, they had only a brief warning that the rulers of this doomed universe intended to employ some means the Ththeeaassii did not comprehend to burst into the universe of the Ththeeaassii and conquer and destroy whatever was there. Enter James who realized this meant him, too, and by now it should be inescapably clear what James would do when he felt threatened.
      James studied the information on operating the weapons and then the propulsion and shielding systems. The flow of data made him dizzy, but within seconds he had his battle plan. There was no time to learn why the systems worked, only to discover what triggers there were, how to squeeze them and what happened after this was done. The very notion of what was about to happen terrified Eessththtaah who not even remotely had imagined what was to be unleashed upon an unsuspecting universe, but it was unable to revoke the power granted James.
      It was standard starship practice before leaving a holding spiral to spend several seconds allowing the ship's computer to plot an arcing route to the destination and then gradually open the ship's ion funnel in such a way as to avoid populated galaxies, which meant almost all of them. The notion of actuating the entire funnel at once on a direct route to anywhere was as unthinkable to Eessththtaah as giving up an advantage was to James. The Ththeeaassii never even had attempted such a maneuver and were unsure it would work although it seemed theoretically likely, but it was James who was in control and would be until he relinquished it. As the doomed universe collapsed, its ships entered the universe of the Ththeeaassii. Initial attempts at contacting the first few ships resulted only in devastating attacks on the sources of these communications.
      James' inner being became calm as he aimed the ship near the point where what appeared to be a line of enemy ships had begun to appear, the center of the home galaxy of the Ththeeaassii.
      Immediately he activated the ion funnel, and every galaxy in the path of his long, direct route was turned into subatomic debris.
      The ship attained the speed of time and entered hyperspace which it could leave at exactly the instant it had reached that speed but at any point along the line of its path. James selected a location from which the ship's weapons could be concentrated on the point where the next enemy vessel was expected.
      James decelerated to the highest speed the starship could maintain without remaining in hyperspace. As it leapt from the cloak of hyperspace, James took direct control of the weapons systems.
      Without even vaguely comprehending what type of firepower he wielded but only how to make it function at its most lethal levels, James shut down the ships shielding, targeted the spot where the next enemy vessel was expected and began firing as if the area was occupied. A brief instant later they passed a massive explosion. The enemy ship obviously had entered this universe and been caught before it could reactivate its shields which James had hoped, fortunately correctly, would not be functional in the jump between universes. Computing the next projected entry point, James trained his weapons on it and began firing at the empty space. There was another explosion, then another and another.
      Eessththtaah, who knew the extent of the death and devastation being wrought not only on the enemy but also on nearby star systems, trembled in horror, but James only readjusted the stream of fire for the fifth target based on the exact positions of the first four. In seconds he covered light years catching each enemy ship at its most vulnerable instant. The slightest error, even in nanoseconds, and he would have missed and left the potential for his own destruction immediately behind his unshielded back, but he gave no thought to this. He only focused on firing the weapons where and when he sensed was correct.
      Over twenty-one thousand ships emerged and were destroyed and sucked into the ship's converter to be turned into fuel for the ship's engine and artillery. Through the electrode James literally felt his mind emanating the forces slaying his foes. He could feel it radiating from him in wave after awesome wave, but he made himself continue fully alert so he would not be distracted by thoughts of impending victory. Then there was a targeted spot where there was no explosion and a second and a third.
      After several more James ceased firing and simultaneously activated the shielding. The sensors showed no further ships appearing. The last few fractions of a second passed, and he knew the other universe had collapsed and reexploded.
      Nothing further would leave there for time beyond his comprehension if ever again.
      Eessththtaah thought, "It's over.
      It's over," but James only remembered, "The first eleven of their ships escaped." James brought his ship into a long arc toward where those ships had been and found them clustered near a large planetary system. As he drew closer and considered strategy to deal with their unknown offensive and defensive capabilities, he received a communication from their commander who was obviously aware of the destruction of the fleet but not the means by which it had been achieved.
      "We sought to enter your universe as our own died. We came in peace, but you destroyed our fleet. We beseech you to negotiate with us so we may surrender. We await your terms so we can show our obedience."
      Eessththtaah sought to reassert control of the ship, and James sensed it trying to send the response, "We are grievously sorry for our mistake. You will be made welcome in our universe and compensated to the fullest extent of our resources," but James prevented its transmission.
      "Liar," thought James.
      "Deactivate your shielding mechanisms as a sign of your peaceful intent, or we shall be forced to destroy you as we did the others," bluffed James who realized even these few remaining invaders still could conquer his universe if there was nothing to resist them, and aside him there was nothing. He considered it more than likely the enemy would lower their shields because they thought them futile in the face of the armaments they confronted. He counted on their fear of the unknown to force them to relinquish the advantage they had without being aware of it, so they could buy time to contemplate their next move. James' sensors showed their shields were down, and as he sped through the midst of the remnants of their armada, James dropped an enormously powerful explosive device turning the nearby star nova and barely escaped the massive detonation by speeding away. A few moments later his sensors showed a dead zone encompassing the entire planetary system.
      "Eeeeehaaaaa!" thought James unable to yell in joy without a human larynx. "I have survived! I am victorious! I have slain my enemies!" exulted James has Eessththtaah thought, "It was all unnecessary. They really did want to surrender. We could have learned so much from them... They weren't trying to invade us, and we only misinterpreted their actions... Oh, what have I done? What have I done?"
      James sensed the great reptile becoming more and more incoherent and despondent, nearer and nearer collapse.
      James scanned space and perceived that in spite of the staggering destruction which had been wrought, many higher beings including multitudes of the Ththeeaassii had survived in their far-flung outposts. None seemed to know what had saved them. Some initial communications speculated the invaders had miscalculated something about the passage between universes and been destroyed by some natural phenomenon. Even on Eessththtaah's own ship the majority of the crew did not yet grasp what their commander had done. James plotted a safe and somewhat circuitous route which would be untraceable. He headed for Earth listening to the growing guilt and torment which possessed the crew as they became cognizant of what had happened and placed the blame on Eessththtaah.
      "Once they figure out it was a barbarian and not one of their own who did this, who knows what these ungrateful lizards'll do? They've got to go," thought James as Eessththtaah became paralyzed with guilt and was suicidally unable or unwilling to resist what it knew James would do. Unnoticed by any other ship in the deep wilderness of lightly populated, recently developing space, James headed for the side of the sun facing away from the Earth. Before the battle he had cut off any possibility of the crew overriding his actions, so nothing could prevent his deactivation of all the ship's energy sources. He aimed the starship directly into the sun. As it was about to burn up, James separated himself from the now babbling Eessththtaah and returned to his body on the ridge. The starship disintegrated without a trace. James sensed the sudden darkness come upon Eessththtaah and its crew.
      He was wide awake as he looked at the stars. They indicated only a few minutes had elapsed. "That's pretty wild,"
      he thought. "I thought it was heavy having the whole FBI, legions of cops and a bunch of Cubans looking for me. Now I've probably got some kind of intergalactic lynch mob after me to get back at me for wiping out... Shit, I don't even know what I wiped out, but I do know it was unavoidable. They'll probably reinterpret all their own initial reports and the aliens' initial hostility and believe the last eleven alien ships really wanted to surrender or came in peace in the first place. I doubt those integrates would thank me for saving the universe. They wouldn't be able to handle what I had to do to do it. They'd deny I had any justification. Instead of pinning of medal on me, they'd screw me something awful... I think I covered my tracks. If I'm right, I'm still the one that got away."

Chapter XIX

This chapter is short because it deals with a brief but significant event. As time passed, James became close to Starleaf. They liked each other and talked about baseball, cars, weapons, horticulture, women, sex, rock bands, Western painting, North Indian music and a wide range of other topics. Starleaf had had an extensive liberal arts education, six undergraduate years at four universities, before dropping out, and James found him a knowledgeable companion to join for afternoon coffee at the I/Thou or one of the other places they frequented. It was Starleaf who first had suggested to James that he plant seeds from Thai sticks on the "small piece of land" he admitted to owning "somewhere up north." After some initial installation work to set up an elaborate automatic irrigation system, James only had to go up to check his crop once every two weeks until close to harvest time.
      He sold his entire production to Starleaf whose exceptional entrepreneurial skills and low-profile lifestyle already had put him well along the way to becoming very wealthy. From acquaintances in the drug dealing business Starleaf acquired for James a veritable arsenal of fully automatic arms, explosives, anti-tank equipment and enough ammunition to arm a small guerrilla force. James tested and then buried them in sealed containers at widely separated points on his property.
      James also made love once with Starleaf. By this time San Francisco already had emerged as a gay/lesbian center, and one evening after several hours of delicate circumlocution the spirit of the place overcame them. It became clear to each of them that the other was at least moderately curious about having sex with another man and trusted no one but the other to be the one with whom he tried it. It was an awkward but not unpleasant experience. Each offered the other caresses he had enjoyed receiving from women. They fellated each other and expressed bewilderment about why some women were reluctant to swallow a man's semen since now that they had done it, they could say it was no big thing, and it pleased a man very greatly. They never repeated this although several months later on the way home from a Rolling Stones concert they agreed that in spite of their preference for women they would make an exception for Mick Jagger.
      The focal point of this chapter is not James' relationship with Starleaf, important as that was as the only real male to male relationship James had in his life beside the one with his father.
      It simply is mentioned here to explain why James was walking through a dark corner of Golden Gate Park about 2:20 AM on September 4th, 1971.
      James was returning home from Starleaf's walking briskly when a man of medium height and build appeared from behind the shrubbery and hissed, "Hey, Hippie," at James as he matched him stride for stride with about six feet between them.
      Immediately James prepared to draw the Walther PPK./S .380 automatic he was carrying inside his belt in a holster above his right rear pocket. He saw the man did not have a weapon in his hand but sensed confidence and menace in his voice. Quickly James surveyed the surrounding area and moved toward a more lighted, open space. He neither saw nor felt the presence of an accomplice to the man who had accosted him, but he could not rule out that possibility. In the slightly greater light James saw a clean cut, ordinary looking, blond man. James suspected the man meant to rob him, so James decided to shoot him the instant he made any move to draw a weapon. Having practiced shooting in low light and darkness, James felt sure he would have no difficulty dispatching this fellow if he attempted to assault him.
      "What d'you want?" asked James stop stopping abruptly so he was between the man and the light and had the advantage of seeing him fairly clearly while his own face and body remained visible only in silhouette. It was a scenario similar to one James had run through his mind numerous times, and he was able to seize this superior placement for their confrontation smoothly and easily.
      "I just wanted to tell you you're about to die," whispered the man.
      "James breathed deeply but still felt his heart race. He always had chosen the time and place of his murders, and this was the first time he was the prey instead of the hunter. "He's incompetent," thought James who always struck without warning. He was tempted to draw and shoot the man but could not rule out a second, hidden assailant, so he said, "If you don't mind my asking, how're you gonna do it?"
      "Stop looking around for help, you dirty hippie. We're all alone, just you and me. How'm I gonna kill you? I'm gonna reach in my coat pocket, take out my gun and blow you away, you filthy scum... And you know what's gonna happen then?" asked the man becoming more agitated.
      "No," said James who had learned what he had wanted to know, that the man was alone and that he was carrying a gun in his coat pocket, an almost impossible place to draw a gun from rapidly.
      James also knew it was extremely difficult to reach into a coat pocket and fire a gun through the garment quickly and accurately. It would have been different if the man already had had his hand in his pocket pointing the gun, but he did not. James flexed his knees and then his right elbow imperceptibly in preparation for his move, but he still wanted to know who the man was and why he wanted to kill him, so he waited."
      "You become my slave in the afterlife. You'll be number thirty-eight."
      From this statement James knew whom he must be facing. He had followed all the San Francisco Chronicle articles. The phrase "slaves in the afterlife" had appeared more than once in the taunting, tormented letters sent to the newspaper by the madman who called himself "the Zodiac."
      "Is that so?" said James who took no pleasure in killing, rarely thought about it and could never understand why people did it unless they were in danger or being paid.
      "Yes it is... You don't look very nervous for someone who's about to die. I'd be afraid if I were you," said the Zodiac starting to become uneasy.
      "No, you wouldn't," said James "Wouldn't what?" asked the Zodiac confused.
      "Be afraid if you were me... Tell me, why d'you kill people?"
      "I told you. It makes them my slaves in the next life. The voices of the gods promised me."
      "D'you enjoy killing?"
      "A whole lot, and I'm gonna enjoy killing you most of all... You arrogant son of a bitch."
      James watched the man intensely for the slightest twitch and asked, "Is it like sex?"
      "That's all of you filthy fuckin' hippies think about. The world'll be better off when I get rid of all of you."
      "Come on, you're gonna kill me, right? I'm gonna be your slave forever. Indulge me. Answer my question. I've always wanted to know what makes guys like you tick."
      "Sex's disgusting. You have to expose yourself to do it... I feel weak when it's over. When I kill someone, I feel strong, powerful."
      "Interesting, I never do. I don't feel anything. To me it's always been just a job. I feel like the guys who make Chevrolets at the end of the shift. All I want is to go home, eat dinner and watch Star Trek. I like sex much better, all that warm flesh touching mine, and I feel so relaxed and peaceful afterward."
      "What're you talking about?"
      "I've killed lots of people, a hell of a lot more than thirty-seven, but I've never enjoyed it, not even the one I tortured to death because he killed my wife. I've always wanted to know why you guys do it because I wanted to know if I'm like you, but I guess I'm not. You do it because it makes you feel good, right?"
      "Yeah," said the Zodiac still confused.
      "And you do it 'cause you can't get off on sex like you're supposed to. I'm right. How about that?" said James more to himself than to the other main.
      "I'm gonna love having you for my slave forever."
      "For what, to give you blow jobs on the astral plane? It's too bad your mother didn't cuddle you when you were little and show you how to jerk off... The whole world'd be better off if all mothers did. There'd be fewer nuts like you running around, no wars either. My father'd still be alive, and I wouldn't've had to kill people all over the place... But that's the way the world is. It's just too bad."
      "My mother was a cold, fuckin' bitch, and you're the most of repulsive creep I've ever met."
      "Let me return the compliment. You are, too... Let's get this over with. Go for your gun whenever you're ready, and I'll go for mine, but I warn you, there is a good chance I'm one of the fastest guns alive, and even if I'm not, I doubt you are."
      A look of awful recognition came over the blond man's face as it dawned on him his victim was armed and capable of defending himself. James had been tempted to wait until the man made some sort of motion, but then he realized he already had taken too many risks. He was not about to give another man, however incompetent, the opportunity of making the first move. Without any further warning James drew and fired three shots, two in the chest, one in the head.
      "The report of the gun shattered the early morning stillness as the Winchester Silvertips did their work. The man fell over backwards, dead. James retrieved the three spent shell casings which fortunately glittered faintly on the pavement. He lifted the body over his shoulder and ran toward Fulton Street. He was less than a block from his apartment and his panel truck. He left the body just inside the park under a bush, got his truck, picked up the body and drove off. He made a practice of keeping his gas tanks full when the vehicles were not in use, so he was able to drive to his land without stopping. He cremated the body of the Zodiac killer and scattered his ashes and pulverized bone dust in his marijuana garden. He stayed in the north for a week watching the papers for mention of a murder or any other disturbance in the park, but there was none. The man had carried no identification, only a key chain with a zodiac emblem, so James never knew his name. James used his milling machine to turn the man's gun to metal shavings and returned to San Francisco. Every now and then James would recall the "nut" who had been wrong when he had thought he was the one that got away.

Chapter XX

As time passed, both James and Starleaf became disgusted with the deterioration of the Haight/Ashbury. Stores which had been boarded up before the Hippie renaissance were boarded up again. A new kind of drug dealer appeared, one who, unlike Starleaf, would sell whatever made the most money, death drugs like heroine and methadrine. Starleaf, who had been there since early 1963, analyzed the breakdown this way one evening over coffee, "All across America in the late '50s and early '60s there were kids who were outcasts because they wouldn't get into the materialist status game. They didn't want to drive a Cadillac and live in a big, suburban mansion, and they were absolutely certain they'd be miserable working at the jobs they'd have to to get those things. They felt terribly alone, isolated, but they developed great inner fortitude in order to stand up to the taunts of their peers who mercilessly persecuted any deviation from the norm. Around 1965 and 1966 they heard something different was going on in the Haight/Ashbury. When they showed up, they took a look around and said, 'Wow! I'm not the only one. Everyone here's into love, peace and brotherhood and being free. This must be the promised land.' They were strong, so they could grow from experiences like LSD and resist the allure of smack and speed. Then in '67 the media started making noise about the San Francisco scene, and the hubcap thieves in Peoria said, 'Hey, let's go out to Frisco and fuck some hippie chicks.' They showed up with a completely different ethnic than love, peace and brotherhood. Theirs was, 'Grab of whatever you can get away with.' They didn't have much personal strength of character. They were pack animals who didn't think for themselves, so they were easy prey for dealers who turned them on to smack and speed and filled our streets with junkies who'll rip off anything from anybody to pay for their next fix."
      James only replied, "The party's over. The biggest party since the fall of the Roman Empire has officially ended... At least I got to go."
      The last straw came about 11:30 PM on Saturday October 9, 1971 while James and Starleaf were sitting in Starleaf's apartment debating whether or not to wander into a large, very loud party two doors away. Starleaf wanted to go, but James said, "In the last six months I've caught clap once and crabs twice. I'm beginning to think it's time to quit."
      Starleaf laughed. Suddenly the apartment door was kicked in by two men wearing work shirts, jeans and ski masks. They burst in with drawn guns. From their bearing James immediately recognized they were practiced shootists. One began searching the living room while the other held James and Starleaf at gunpoint.
      James knew Starleaf had become very successful as a marijuana broker, someone who sold to dealers on a large scale, and had warned him about keeping large amounts of cash around because of the recent murders of several wealthy Haight/Ashbury dealers, so he was not surprised when one of them barked, "Where's the dough, Hippie? Tell us, or we'll kill you motherfuckers."
      James cautiously had been waiting for an instant when neither intruder was pointing his gun directly at either him or Starleaf, and it came just as the man finished his threat. The one searching continued pulling drawers out of a dresser, and the other pointed his revolver toward the bedroom door to indicate he wanted them to go in there. The range was short, less than eight feet, and James shot them both through the central portion of the skull. Again the Winchester Silvertips expanded perfectly, and they were both dead before they hit the floor.
      "Shit, man, you saved my life...
      Thanks," said Starleaf trembling.
      "Mine, too, buddy, they were gonna kill both of us."
      "I won't forget this Jerry. You're the best friend I've ever had... I won't forget this," continued Starleaf paralyzed by the fear of what might have happened and had been averted only by the slightest margin.
      James had to shake him and order him, "Give me a hand. We'll roll the bodies in this rug. There's blood all over it already anyway."
      "What're we gonna do?"
      "I'm gonna get my truck and get rid of them, and you're gonna forget this ever happened."
      "You're sure that's best?"
      "Just do as I say."
      "Don't worry. After what you just did, I'll do whatever you say. If you say forget it, I'll never mentioned it to anybody... If I get busted for it, I swear I'll never rat on you even if I go to the gas chamber... Shit, you saved my life."
      "I suppose I did," said James modestly because he thought that was what Starleaf wanted to hear. He was not even vaguely tempted to kill him also to eliminate the only witness to what had taken place. Starleaf was his friend, and he had come to trust him through almost daily contact over several years during which he always had proved loyal.
      James believed Starleaf would, in fact, have gone to execution rather than inform on him in the same way he knew he would have died to protect him.
      Because of the noisy party no one noticed the shots. James got his truck and pulled it into the garage beneath Starleaf's apartment. They loaded the bodies, and James drove off. He disposed of these bodies as he had the Zodiac's, cremated them, pulverized the remaining bones and scattered their ashes and bone dust over a wide area. James returned to San Francisco, packed his things and said goodbye to Starleaf who had decided to move back to Los Angeles and restructure his entire operation so he could be guarded constantly by some people who had known him since junior high school and who once had sought that kind of employment from him. He went on to be extremely successful, eventually laundered his money, left his business to his former bodyguards and operated, among other things, one of the biggest recording companies in America, but he always looked forward to the once and later twice a year James came south to sell what he had grown. James returned to living on his land and took great pleasure from their visits which made the long drive in his specially modified truck worthwhile in more than just the financial sense. This truck had enormous extra gas tanks, so it could make the entire distance in one uninterrupted haul. It was built around an old freezer which was airtight to keep the extremely redolent aroma of the high-grade sinsemilla from giving away the nature of its cargo. James never did tell Starleaf that identification he had found on the two bodies indicated they had been federal narcotics agents.
      Their disappearance must have been investigated, but James never knew how close to him or Starleaf it ever came. He simply hid in the woods for several years.
      But before retiring to his land, James had one last thing he wanted to do, something he had been planning for months, and it is here that the astute reader knows in advance what is going to happen as surely as he or she knew what was going to happen in Dallas as they read that section. In order to describe the second major public event in which James was involved it first will be necessary to go back a few years in time before 1971 and discuss the only time James let his ego get in the way of his better judgment and how this now came within a hair's breadth of killing him.
      After James' escape following the Kennedy assassination, he had decided the crime had been too perfect, that is, no one even knew the crime had been committed. In what he later deemed the most stupid choice of his life, sometime around 1968 he began thinking about what possible crime, and by this he meant major felony, he could perpetrated in not just a highly visible fashion but a striking and spectacular manner which would leave him a legend in his own time. Immediately he ruled out a string of grizzly murders because, as strange as it sounds, he could not imagine killing someone for the aggrandizement of his own ego. He took no pleasure in killing, and besides, mass murderers were fairly common. Even the worst, Henry Lee Lucas, who spent most of his adult life raping the corpses of his hundred or more victims, was quickly forgotten.
      James pondered several unusual forms of bank robbery but reasoned something of that sort never could be sufficiently different from past crimes to achieve his goal of lasting notoriety. Then one day as he sat in a cafe reading the San Francisco Chronicle about a madman who had demanded and received a large ransom while hijacking an airliner to Cuba, the not so obvious idea came to him, and he said, "Wow! I've got it!" so loudly that everyone within ten feet of him looked at James as if he was the living embodiment of Richard Pryor's line, "New York was where I discovered it doesn't take two people to have an argument."
      The solution was clear. Despite their exceptional devotion to capitalism and the individual right to grab as much as possible without regard for others, Americans always were schizophrenic about the consequences of this for themselves as individuals and hated the massive corporations which pushed little people around with impunity. What could be more spectacular and romantic in the eyes of such a populous than to hijack an airplane, demand an enormous ransom and then leap into the night never to be heard from again? Even today more than sixty years later his success still can excite people's imaginations.
      Since almost everyone reading this is familiar with the event which will be related here and the opportunity for generating suspense about the outcome is nil, the remainder of this chapter will be restricted to an explanation of what happened behind the scenes the night of November 24, 1971, what led up to it and what ensued. It was random chance that it almost took place on the anniversary of the assassination. James did not keep track of things like that. Initially James despaired of being able to accomplish this feat because of the impossibility of parachuting from any of the commercial jet liners then in service. The risk of striking some portion of the plane and being killed instantly was too great. James went so far as to abandon this project and for a while cast about for a different idea, but then he saw a photograph of a Boeing 727 which had a rear door, and he knew this was it. He began studying maps for landing sites and escape routes. He wanted an area with a driving time of well under twenty-four hours from his land, so he could disappear completely before any nationwide manhunt could get into full swing, and he preferred the idea of one more or less straight drive along good, fast road like Interstate Highway. Eventually he picked north on Interstate 5.
      James began spending a few days here, a few days there flying his old Cessna 172 -- He called it the Dodge Dart of airplanes because it was similarly nondescript -- up and down the Pacific Coast first during daylight hours and then at night. He examined topography carefully and devoted an immense amount of energy to memorizing what literally hundreds of small towns and other potential landmarks looked like from various angles at 10,000 feet in the hours around midnight.
      As he did this, he gave careful consideration to other aspects of his plan and arrived at several conclusions.
      He reasoned he could not restrict himself to one jump site. He would have to secrete at least three or four vehicles along his route in case some locations were unusable due to weather conditions, and he would have to make arrangements so he would not have to stop at any service stations during his escape. By the time of the shooting of the two corrupt federal narcotics officers, James already had towed three abandoned cars up to his land where he had put them in excellent running condition. He also had purchased a dozen five gallon gasoline cans to hide at various points along his route, so he could refuel without risking identification by a service station attendant or customer because he knew that however much he disguised himself, his likeness would be widely distributed in the form of an artist's composite sketch soon after his escape.
      In late August he had spent a week driving up and down Highway 5 as far north as Seattle to pick the locations for his vehicles and fuel dumps, so when the officers were slain, his preparations for the hijacking were almost complete.
      The Using his truck and towbar, James towed the cars to his chosen sites along a straight line from Seattle, Washington to Eugene, Oregon. He also positioned two small motorcycles about halfway between the cars. He explored the area near each possible drop point for several miles around both by day and night, so he could make his way to safety quickly no matter where in an area he landed. Of course, he was meticulous seeing he left no fingerprints in any of these vehicles which more than likely would be stripped and left to rot without any real chance of being connected to him once he was out of the region, but even if someone did posit a link between the hijacker and any or all of the vehicles he had left behind, the southernmost would not be far from Eugene, Oregon, almost four hundred miles from where he would be heading.
      The stage was set, the preparations made. It was time to do the deed. James stood looking at himself, or rather the stranger he had made of himself, in the mirror of the rest room at Portland International Airport. It was not long after 4:00 PM of Thanksgiving Eve, Wednesday November 24, 1971, and for an instant James asked himself, "Why the hell am I here? What have I done to myself? I can't even recognize myself," and he was right. Over the last three weeks he had spent hours under a sunlamp darkening his normally fair skin to a deep, olive tan. He had shaved much of the forward part of his scalp to simulate a receding hairline, gone through his thick, sandy brown hair with a thinning scissors to simulate incipient baldness, dyed the remainder black, slicked it down and shaved off the neatly trimmed beard he had sported since not long after meeting Jessica. Even Starleaf, who prided himself on being extremely observant, would have walked right past him and not had any inkling it was his best friend.
      He paused and answered his own question, "I'm here for the same reason Hillary climbed Everest, because it's there, and I'm the best, and the best can do anything. This's the stuff legends're made of. I've done a tremendous job of disguise; five hundred dollar suit, tasteful overcoat and brown oxfords, jazz sunglasses. I am fucking outrageous. Now go and do it."
      James strode over to the ticket counter of Northwest Orient Airlines. In his left rear pocket was a wallet with the identification he had carefully maintained and updated from the birth certificate of the first person he had killed, the neighborhood bully, Danny."
      "Where are you going this evening, Sir?" asked the clerk.
      "Flight 305 to Seattle. That's a 727, isn't it?"
      "Yes, Sir. What is the name?"
      "Dan... D. B. Cooper," said James.
      James sat quietly as Flight 305 taxied and took off. As soon as they reached cruising altitude, James took several deep breaths, so he would be relaxed. His mind was almost exclusively engaged in absorbing data about his surroundings.
      He motioned for the stewardess to come over, ostensibly to order a drink which she brought. He handed her a note indicating he was hijacking the plane and demanding ransom, but she merely stuffed it in her pocket.
      "How amusing," thought James. "She thinks I'm trying to pick her up. I guess she's pretty and men must try to pick her up all the time. I've been with the hippies so long I've forgotten how the middle classes do these things, an inconsequential oversight." He gestured for her to read his note immediately. She did. He patted the vacant seat next to him, and she sat down. She was quite flustered and spilled his drink on his attache case which was on his lap. "I didn't intend to drink it anyway," he thought mopping it up (Several months later when he finally read the newspaper accounts, he was amused to learn the stewardess had said he had spilled his drink on himself.).
      "Just relax. Everything's going to be all right," said James in a peaceful, soothing voice. He opened the attache case far enough for her to make out the small but powerful dynamite bomb and triggering device he had constructed and would have exploded unhesitatingly rather than be captured. "You go and tell the pilot I want two hundred thousand dollars and four parachutes, two back and two front, delivered to the plane when it lands in Seattle. He's not to land until the money and the parachutes're there. Then the passengers can get off, and the crew and I will fly to Mexico.
      Is that clear?"
      "Yes," replied the stewardess trembling.
      "Don't worry. No one's going to get hurt," said James gently patting her wrist. "Don't disturb the passengers about this. There's no point in making innocent bystanders afraid, is there?"
      "No," said the stewardess smiling weakly.
      "What's your name," asked James.
      With his strange dichotomy of caring about people coupled with his complete willingness to kill them so long as it was swiftly and painlessly, he derived no pleasure from and was, in fact, unhappy about the anguish of the stewardess.
      "Florence."
      "Well, Florence, don't you worry.
      Those folks on the ground're sure to be sensible, and no one's going to get hurt. I know this can't be a pleasant experience for you, but I'll try to see to it it's not any worse for anyone than it has to be, okay?"
      "Okay."
      "Now tell the captain."
      James watched her as she walked to the cockpit. He looked out the window and noticed the weather was changing from clear to stormy. "Shit," he thought. "This is just what I need. The storm wasn't due for another six or eight hours. It was supposed to hamper search operations, not my escape... I'll just have to do the best I can. There's no turning back now." He continued deep, even breathing in a frame of mind close to his hunting/waiting state as he alertly watched the passengers moving in the aisles.
      He was carrying two .38 Special Colt revolvers, one in a crossdraw holster which was easy to draw from in a sitting position.
      After waiting what he deemed long enough for the stewardess to relate his demands to the pilot and the pilot to communicate them to officials on the ground in Seattle, James strolled slowly up to the cockpit and tapped on the door. When it was opened, he entered and said, "Good afternoon, gentlemen," while holding the attache case up at an angle to show the triggering mechanism coming from inside and running to his index finger.
      "We don't want any trouble," said the captain with no little poise considering the situation.
      "He looks a bit like the actor, Brian Keith," thought James. "His voice shows some strain, but he's in charge.
      That's good. I don't want some panicky fool screwing things up."
      "Neither do I, Captain," said James.
      "All I want is four parachutes and two hundred thousand dollars. We stay up here till they've got it on the runway. Then we land away from the terminal. I check things out. If every thing's all right, the passengers get off, and the crew and I head for Mexico. Is that clear?"
      "Quite," said the captain feigning acceptance and restraining his anger at the impotence he felt.
      "Probably not a bad guy," thought James, "but I'll have to watch him. I don't want to have to waste him. The whole point is to pull off a spectacular crime and become a folk hero. People won't regard a murderer as a folk hero, so even if I escape, I won't get what I want if anyone winds up dead... Still I'll kill anyone I have to... Best to be our urbane and suave. That should create a good criminal, folk hero image."
      James chuckled to himself and said, "Why don't you take care of the passengers, Florence? There's no point in alarming them."
      The stewardess left the cockpit, and the copilot asked, "Why do you want four parachutes?"
      "I might make one of you jump with me," replied James. "That's the best way to insure no one'll try to give me a bad 'chute," a possibility he had considered.
      "You'll never get away with this,"
      said the copilot.
      "Maybe not, but I'm going to try my best," said James. "You gentlemen just fly the plane. It's too late for me to change my mind now."
      "True," said the copilot, and they proceeded in silence.
      After nearly two hours of circling Seattle, Captain Scott told James the money and parachutes were ready. James permitted the plane to land but insisted it not approach the terminal. When the staircase was in position, he had the stewardess open the door enough to retrieve the parachutes and money. He had her bring them to him in the cockpit, so he would not be a target for a police sharpshooter. He was also careful to see no one entered the plane. They had sent out four parachutes, but James recognized one was a trainer and another a military model designed to open on exit from the plane. The last two, however, were exactly what James wanted, high-quality sport parachutes which could be controlled to a much greater degree than the others. He glanced at the money long enough to see there was a lot and randomly scrutinized about eight or nine bills to insure none was counterfeit.
      Satisfied, James told the pilot, "Have the passengers get off now. The flight crew and one stewardess will stay with me on the trip to Mexico."
      "We don't have enough fuel to reach Mexico," said the copilot.
      "Where can we refuel?" asked James knowing he had no intention of being on the plane wherever it landed.
      "Reno would be good," said the pilot.
      "Fine," said James. "When we're in the air, you'll inform them of our plans."
      The passengers understandably cooperated by making every effort to leave the plane swiftly, and it was not long before the craft was ready for takeoff.
      "I have some very specific instructions for you, Captain," said James. "Please listen carefully."
      "I'm listening," said that captain by now satisfied he was dealing with someone who would do the crew no harm if they obeyed his orders.
      "After takeoff you are to fly in a straight line toward Portland, then Eugene and last Reno. Is our route clear?"
      "Yes."
      "You're to fly at ten thousand feet, no more, no less."
      "Yes."
      "You will fly at no more than two hundred miles an hour with your flaps down and landing gear lowered."
      "Yes."
      "And I want the rear boarding door open."
      "I see."
      "When I'm ready, I'll fly in the rear compartment. I want it dark in there. I know this route to Reno well, so do not deviate from it because if you do, I will know it, and I am likely to get angry... but don't worry. If you do as I say, nothing bad will happen to you.
      You have my word on that. I won't do anything to endanger your lives."
      "I believe you. We'll do what you say," said the pilot.
      By 7:30 PM Flight 305 was airborne again. Ten minutes later James said, "I want you folks to know I'm sorry about the intrusion I've made into your lives. I owe you something for what I'm putting you through." He reached into his pocket, took out a stack of his own hundred dollar bills and holding them by the edges to keep his fingerprints off them, handed ten to each crew member. "When you get back and they question you, I don't expect you to lie or anything like that. Just keep your mouths shut about this and keep the money. Think of it as my way of apologizing for putting you nice folks through this, okay?" James figured this would incline them to say nice things about him.
      Initially they looked at each other in bewilderment, but then they nodded, grinned and pocketed the money.
      "You're the strangest guy I ever met," said the stewardess who had remained with the plane, a very beautiful, blond woman with a smile which showed she was at least somewhat attracted to James.
      "Unless you've met some very odd fellows, you're probably right," said James. "I've got to go now. Too bad we can't get together for a drink some time. You all stay here till you land in Reno, no exceptions. Your lives depend on it, right?"
      They all nodded.
      James closed them in the cockpit and strode swiftly to the rear of the plane. It was freezing cold near the open door, and he shivered as he strapped the money bag to his body using strips he cut from one of the parachutes. He got into harness with the other two and deactivated the bomb, so he could jump with it bound to him. As he glanced out the window, he felt the 727 shudder in the gusting wind. Visibility was poor in the squalling rain.
      "I've really got myself into some shit this time," James thought. "The weather report I got said the front wouldn't be in till tomorrow... Look at it this way, if I pull it off, the legend'll be that much greater. If I don't, I'll be dead anyway, so what do I care."
      James was all set to jump, but as he looked out the windows on either side, the weather made it impossible for him to make out any of the landmarks he had studied so assiduously. "What if the whole route is like this... There's a break in the clouds... Its Ariel up by Lake Merwin. What luck! Highway 503 just above the town is where I left the '66 Dart sedan... The plane is jiggling around like crazy. It must be an eighty mile an hour wind out there. This's insane. I don't have boots, a jump suit, a helmet, anything, just these goggles. I'm going out in a five hundred dollar business suit. What class. I'll be the best dressed corpse they ever fish out of the lake... Just calm down. Breathe deeply. That's it. I saved the universe. I can do anything I set my mind to... I could wait till I get to one of the other sites... They could be obscured, too... Sometimes not acting is an act in itself. If I don't act in the next few seconds, this option is gone. Not deciding becomes a decision. Most people never realize that..."
      James stepped across the sub zero compartment to the open door. Amidst the screeching noise he thought, "There's bound to be a plane full of cops following this one. I think I saw it before even if I can't see it now. I've got to go way down before I open my 'chute . If I do it right, they won't know I've jumped until they land in Reno. At it this pace that'll be at least two and a half hours from now..." He looked at his watch. It read 8:03:20 PM. "Time to do it," he thought. He screamed "Geronimo"
      to himself as he ran out the door into the roaring darkness.
      The instant he left the airliner, he felt as if he had struck a wall covered with needles of ice. Spinning and tumbling violently out of control, he either passed out from the motion or was knocked unconscious by the jolt. All he remembered was passing down a long, dark tunnel thinking, "I'm dead. I blew it, and I'm dead. I knew this was a dumb thing to do. I did it knowing the money'd have recorded serial numbers, so I could never spend it. I didn't even need it. It was just an ego trip. My father always warned me never to do anything to draw attention to myself, and now I'm paying the price for it not listening to him. He was no fool... I'll make the best of it. I wonder what it's like being dead. I sure hope this place's more peaceful than that one..."
      He felt himself coming to the end of the tunnel and into the company of to small balls of light. One of them was communicating with him, "You're damn right I was no fool, and you were an idiot to try a stunt like that." There was no anger in the message, just an amused sadness that a beloved had done something which would cause him some minor harm.
      He knew right away this was his father and mother.
      "Mom, Dad," he thought overjoyed to be in their company again and aware of a wonderful feeling of warmth as he got closer and closer to them. He also perceived a lasting and blissful union joined his mother and father.
      "Don't come so close. It's not right yet," came to him from his mother, and he halted.
      Before he could ask why it was not right, a far more important question entered his consciousness, "Where's Kathleen?"
      "She's not here," was his father's answer.
      "She went to hell?" asked James suddenly frightened at the prospect of eternal separation from his heart's desire.
      "No, silly, it's not like that,"
      replied his mother.
      "The earth is only one of many classrooms in the school of the spirit," added his father. "We don't know everything. We just know she's not here."
      "There's no such place, so she couldn't go there. You either, but you will have to apologize to some folks. You killed an awful lot of people. Some weren't even remotely necessary. If you meet them again, it will be appropriate for you to apologize," communicated his mother.
      "I had to protect you," he thought.
      "We know," replied his father. "The world is a very violent place. That's its purpose, so raw spirits can learn about the evils of violence and work off their violent tendencies, so they can be at peace and open to wisdom later on. You were right to kill a few of those people. You just got carried away with it."
      "I've been a lot more mellow the last few years," thought James trying to please his mother and father.
      "A little," responded his mother.
      He approached closer to them, and suddenly the warmth turned to frigid cold. They faded, and again he felt the needles of ice piercing his face and hands. He also sensed he was falling rapidly. Only dimly he perceived his mother's last words to him, "Try not to kill so many people, my sweet James. Even in that awful place you don't have to live quite as violently as you do."
      "But..."
      "Try."
      He was fully conscious again. The freezing blast had revived him. Instinctively he pulled the rip cord and felt a great jolt as the parachute opened. Abruptly the sack of money slipped from under the parachute harness and strips of cloth he had used to bind it to him.
      Some of the money fell from it, and he had a flash vision of the closing scene from Stanley Kubrick's movie The Killing. Kubrick was his favorite director and the star, Sterling Hayden, his favorite actor. In it Hayden has executed a brilliant robbery of a racetrack but can not be permitted to escape because the movie code in the late 1950s still prohibited the triumph of crime in contrast to what is often the pattern of life, so the suitcase containing the loot is made to fall off the baggage cart as it is being driven out to the plane. It breaks open, and the movie ends with the propellers of the plane blowing several million dollars across the airfield.
      James grabbed to close the sack and watched several packets of bills fall toward what looked like Lake Merwin. James tried to guide his descent, but the wind was too powerful, and he had opened his parachute too late. Fighting dizziness, James managed to recognize he was coming down in an area about a mile and a half north of Ariel. It was rugged, mountainous country covered with wilderness forests. He had chosen it because of what he had thought would be the difficulty of finding him in such an area, but he had counted on jumping in much better weather. The wind blew him back north over land, so he was no longer going down into Lake Merwin. He had explored this region thoroughly and knew he was a bit west and south of what the U. S.
      Interior Department Geological Survey map listed as Cape Horn Creek. "At least something's going right," he thought. "I'm less than a mile from where I left the Dart up the dirt road halfway between Cape Horn Creek and Marble Creek."
      James relaxed himself to prepare for his impact on the steep hillside north of Lake Merwin. He was ready either to roll on landing the way he had been taught or be caught and hang from branches, the two options he had considered possible, but it did not happen either way.
      The strong winds gusting off the lake blew him toward the trunk of a dead but still standing branchless tree on the edge of a small clearing. He struck the trunk with the center of his chest and the side of his head. He felt a terrible, cracking sensation at several points in his chest and heard an awful thud in his head. His parachute collapsed, and he dropped to the ground at least fifteen or twenty feet like a stone. He landed on his right ankle and twisted it badly.
      James lay there on the ice cold ground wearing nothing but his business suit and light overcoat. He shivered in excruciating pain but could not move. He hardly was able to breathe because every time he inhaled beyond a very shallow amount he felt as if knives were stabbing him all over his chest. He knew precious moments of escape time were going by, but he was paralyzed in pain. At last he took stock of his situation.
      The money was right next to him as was the attache case, and his parachute was tangled in the low branches of a tree just downhill from him.
      "I don't care how much it hurts. I'm going to get out of here or die trying. The first thing I've got to do is get the parachute. If I leave it, it won't be long before they know this is where I hit." Unable to stand, James crawled over and rolled up his parachute, so he could tie and carry it. From the edge of the hill he watched through the trees as a car passed by, and he knew he was only several hundred feet south and uphill from Highway 503. Tying the money sack, parachute and attache case together and pulling them along, he slid down the hill gingerly on the only part of his anatomy which did not hurt, his behind. It was dark in the forest, and each time he bumped into low branches, he felt new waves of agony pass through his head. At one point he slipped down a steep slope at least twenty feet before a log on the ground broke his roll. It was not a fall that would have bothered him normally, but in his condition that night it was almost as bad as the original impact. By sheer act of the will he sat up again and began moving downhill. As he neared the road, he realized he would have to walk about a mile west to the car, and with his ankle in its current state that would be next to impossible, so as he skidded downward, he groped around in the dark for a large stick he could use as a crutch. He was afraid to use his flashlight for fear of drawing attention. When he found one, he dragged it along, too. By now he was completely soaked, and although he was accustomed to wearing light clothing in cold weather as a result of his survival practice sessions on his land, he was shivering severely.
      No sooner did he reach the road than he heard a car approaching and had to dive back into the woods. Lying flat on the ground in a pool of mud and water, he thought, "Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid... I can't believe I was so stupid... I thought I was smart, but I wasn't. I was a complete asshole... Car's gone... Oh, shit, another one. No car passes the whole time I'm coming down the fucking hill when I could've used the headlights to find my way, and now when I'm in the mud, two come at once...
      Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid..."
      At last the second car was gone, and James rose first to his knees and then to his feet. He was very dizzy and could not breathe deeply to overcome it because of the pains in his chest, but he managed to stay conscious. Sometimes dragging, others carrying his baggage over his shoulder, he hobbled toward his car. Fortunately for James most of this stretch of the road was downhill, and he found a sidling sort of step which though it was quite painful, he could bear.
      Although he had to duck into the brush several more times, finally he reached the turn off for the dirt road and found the car. The keys were under a rock where he had left them. He stowed his things in the trunk and took out the change of clothes he had left there, so he would be wearing something different during this phase of his escape. He sat down in the car out of the rain and changed. It was terribly difficult not just because he was cramped but because so many motions, lifting his arm in particular, caused the knives of pain to renew their stabbing in his chest. If he was not warm, at least he was dry. He pushed the tattered, mud covered business suit and shoes under the seat and put on his left boot. He could not get the right one on because his ankle was too sore.
      He turned the key in the ignition.
      The Slant 6 engine coughed and then came to life. "Good old Chrysler engineering. At last something goes right... Oh, shit, don't forget what happened the last time you thought that. You went right into a tree a few seconds later," thought James not displeased the car had started but wary about becoming even slightly elated. James eased in the clutch and using his crutch to work the gas pedal, he shifted into first gear and moved slowly toward the harder surface road.
      As soon as he saw the first oncoming car he met near Ariel, he knew he had yet another problem. He saw four headlights instead of two. "Fuck, I've got a concussion, too. In the dark I couldn't tell, and when the other cars passed, I was behind trees... I've got a terrible headache into the bargain. The pains in my chest were so bad I didn't notice my head before." He touched the side of his head and felt a large, shallow wound which more or less had stopped bleeding. He coughed and wanted to spit, but rolling down the car window was too much effort, so he spat on the floor of the car.
      He continued shivering as he went through the little town of Ariel and was another five or six miles down the road before he remembered the car had a heater. He turned it all the way up and soon was warm. "I wish I could turn off the pain that easily," he thought. About the time he had covered the ten miles to Woodland and the junction of Interstate 5, he realized it would be a good idea if he checked the time. To his surprise hit was only 10:05 PM. It had been only two hours since he had parachuted from the plane, and in all likelihood it would be almost another hour before the plane landed in Reno, and it was learned he had jumped. He assumed that if his parachute had not been seen, and it was likely it had not on a night like this, the authorities would have no idea where to begin their search, but all the same he was not going to give in to any temptation to stop and rest. Anyone, particularly a motel owner, who saw him looking battered as he was, would be suspicious and might report him. There was no choice but to keep to his original plan and drive to Mendocino as quickly as possible.
      Once on I -5 things went smoother.
      Steering, which had been a major difficulty on Route 503 because he could not raise his arms very far, became much easier, and he could maintain a fairly steady pressure on the gas pedal with his crutch. He drove on and on for what seemed like forever only to find himself entering Portland. He had driven less than forty miles. He turned on the radio to learn if anything was being said about him, but he could not reach over to the far dial without hurting badly, so he stayed with a country music station from Calgary which came in clearly. He took the 205 bypass around Portland and got back on I -5 . As much as he wanted to drive quickly across the flat, open roads of northern and central Oregon because he knew that at eighty-five miles per hour he could take several hours off his travel time, he stayed around sixty-five miles per hour, so he would not risk being stopped.
      "Be patient," he thought. "I don't want to blow it all by being pulled over for speeding after I've come this far.
      Besides in my condition I couldn't possibly outdraw a highway patrolman, and with my vision the way it is now, I'd probably shoot him right between his two heads." This absurdity struck James as very funny, and he began to laugh. This made him cough in pain, and he spit a great, salty blob on the floor.
      He passed the Woodburn exit and recalled he had left another car there. He watched the windshield wipers swing back and forth and thought, "Weather's no better here. I might've come down on a power line and never known till I was electrocuted." He cruised on in the night until a little before 1:00 AM. He passed Eugene, and a little later he pulled off at Curtin. A few hundred yards up the road was where he had hidden his first refueling of gas. His injured muscles had become very tight, and it was hard for him to get out of the car. He had great difficulty lifting the five gallon cans but found the cold, fresh air invigorating because the heater in the car had started him drowsing in spite of his pains. At this point he realized he looked filthy, and since he had to go through a number of towns very slowly, he used a rag to wash his face with water from the drinking water bottle he had left in the car. He pulled his blue knit wool navy cap over the bruise on the side of his head and looked almost presentable in his flannel shirt, jeans and one boot.
      He drove on as well as he could mile after endless mile through the tunnel his headlights cut into the night.
      "Oh, I want to be home so bad... I wish this was over... I want to be home in bed so bad... I feel like a rabbit running for its burrow across some huge open space pursued by who knows what predators... Maybe they're nowhere near... Maybe someone saw the parachute come down, and there's an all points bulletin out... I'm more than two hundred miles from there... My mind is babbling... I'll be in a lot of trouble if I have to think... Just follow the plan and drive... Aside from a few unplanned injuries everything is going to be fine..." His interior monologue went on and on as he drove. He managed to pay marginal attention to the road and worked out a technique of dealing with his blurred, double vision which involved squinting, blinking and closing one eye at a time. It did not work well, but traffic on the interstate was light and only in one direction, and he made no attempt to pass anyone, so he had much less difficulty than he had had earlier.
      Going over the mountains in southern Oregon was much harder because it entailed a lot of steering and some braking.
      He passed the "Entering California" sign and thought, "So far, so good... Good?
      I'm a fucking wreck." He continued on to the vicinity of Edgewood north of Weed where he had his second cache of gasoline. By this point his mind was very dull, and his memory of the rest of the drive was very patchy and vague. It was well after sunrise when he turned off I-5 at Williams, but he did not remember the California agricultural inspection, the sunrise or the turn onto Highway 20. He almost missed his last gasoline stop about twenty-five miles west of Williams, but as he passed it, he remembered, stopped and backed up.
      The breaking, stopping, turning and shifting on Highway 20 were excruciating for him, particularly the very winding sections, but the individual details were lost in a sea of pain. While going through one of the towns -- He could not recall which -- he glanced at the floor and saw he had not been spitting mucus but clots of blood. He was so exhausted even this made little impression on him. Highway 20 seemed to go on forever, but at last he reached Calpella, turned onto U. S. 101 long enough to reach the exit for the narrow road to the Jefferson Woods and started west up the narrow, twisting road toward the ridges where he lived. Because of his blurred, double vision it took him a long time to open the huge combination lock on the great iron pipe gate at the entrance to his property. Over and over as he failed to get the numbers correctly, he swore to replace this lock with a keyed lock if he lived long enough to do it. He almost shot it but refrained when he realized he would have no means of relocking it. At last he figured out he was trying the combination of his high school gym locker. He laughed, choked, cursed his own stupidity again but finally was inside with the gate locked behind him. He deliberately had allowed his own access road to deteriorate to discourage intrusions, so he had to drive at a creeping, jolting pace over the ups, downs, twists and switchbacks of the badly rutted road. He had no idea how long it took him to negotiate this last portion of his journey, but here time did not bother him. He was far more worried about falling four hundred feet into a ravine.
      Besides he was home. This was his land, his safety. He left the car in a grove of trees and staggered to his house. He always made at habit of leaving logs and kindling in his heating stove ready to light, so he only had to strike a match to start the fire. He took two of the No. 4 codeine tablets, the strongest available, which he had gotten from Dr. Blue, the doctor in Berkeley he had visited after Starleaf had told him the fellow would prescribe anything a paying patient requested. At that time James had decided it might be useful to have some painkillers around in case of emergency. As the room began to warm up, James undressed and got into his down sleeping bag. He drifted off to sleep thinking, "Home at last, home at last... I swear I'll never do anything this stupid again. I'll never take unnecessary risks again... If I live to wake up tomorrow, I'll still be the one that got away."

Chapter XXI

James spent most of the next month eating codeine and little else. He lay flat on his back sufficiently intoxicated by the drug that if he did not move or inhale deeply, he was not in great pain.
      He crawled to the stove and refilled it with wood whenever he got cold. He urinated in juice jars without getting out of bed, and the codeine made him constipated, so he did not have to get up very often to move his bowels. Because of the blow to his head and the drug induced stupor he did not notice much difference between the days. After a month he had come to enjoy the languorous haze, and it was several more disoriented days before he realized that for some time he had been walking rather painlessly to the stove, breathing almost normally and seeing only one match when he lit the fire, however, he still felt awful. He was nauseous, constipated, unsteady and otherwise generally in the initial stages of drug dependency.
      "I've been better for awhile... I didn't even notice it... I used to be so in tune with my body, always knew what was going on... I've got to quit taking that shit... I'll stop tomorrow... The fuck I will. I'll stop right now. It did a great job for me when I needed it, but I don't need it anymore... I can see how people get hooked on it. It's pleasant, but it turns you into a vegetable... Starleaf says heroin's even worse. No wonder the world's full of junkies. Their lives're fucked up, and it makes them forget."
      James experienced some minor withdrawal symptoms, chills, shakes, sweats and the like but nothing overwhelming. "Chalk it up to education," he said to himself shivering in his down sleeping bag even though the room was warm. "It can't take but a couple of days," and it did not.
      One day James looked in the mirror for the first time since the hijacking and saw the bizarre, unrecognizable sight of a gaunt man with two drastically different colors of hair and ashy, white skin with a sickly, greenish tinge. He had lost at least twenty pounds during his ordeal, and when he tried to eat anything but the simplest foods, he vomited. Furthermore when he tried to do even his most basic exercises, he lost his balance and fell over. Firing a gun was out of the question, and it was only with very great difficulty that he cut his hair to get rid of the two tone effect, this in spite of the fact that over the years he had become quite proficient at cutting his own hair using two mirrors.
      It was a long, hard road back not only to health but to the excellent state of physical fitness James had maintained before this, but James possessed the self-discipline to do whatever he thought was necessary. He did little beyond work out, eat, sleep and meditate. He had evolved his own technique over the years from the various methods he had been shown both as a child and later in his hippie phase. Several women he had slept with had asked him to go with them to see this guru or that, and he had permitted himself to be initiated into a variety of meditations because it made these women happy. Such relationships usually had ended when the woman in question has decided they should follow the enlightened one to India, Nepal or Houston, and James had said he would not.
      As time passed, the outside world ceased to exist entirely for him, and outside meant not only San Francisco or even the nearby towns. He stayed underground in his house most of the time because the weather was bad and he did not feel like taking long hikes in the rain as he had in past years. Even when the weather was a bit better and he went out, he rarely went more than a hundred yards from his house. He had withdrawn totally into himself, saw himself as a tortoise which had pulled everything into its shell and could offer no explanation why. He was not merely hiding out. He did not listen to his radio or pick up his newspapers. Something was bothering him, and he did not know what, but he obviously intended not to go anyplace until he had worked it out.
      Finally it came to him he was deeply disturbed he could have done something so unbelievably foolish as risk his life and freedom on a venture which offered no reward other than a weird sort of anonymous fame, and he was afraid he might try something worse if he went back into the world. That he had not been caught made no difference to him. He saw this as a complete abandonment of one of his deepest principles, following his father's injunction to do nothing which might draw attention on himself. Clearly his father had meant for him to transcend the need for the attention of others.
      He had done well up to this point, but this idiotic stunt had been an attempt to circumvent his father's sage advice by making some masked persona with which he identified himself into a famous figure, a public hero no one knew was him. It had been an ego trip of the first order, and ego trips were the best way to get captured.
      "The perfect crime is not merely one I get away with. It's not even one no one knows I committed. It's one no one knows was done in the first place. I don't care how famous the mythical Dan B.
      Cooper is... I wonder whether it's a big thing or not... The price was too high for no gain. Fame is no gain. In this case it's worthless. I can't write a best-seller and go on Johnny Carson, now can I? Deep down inside I don't want to. This was just some childish bullshit I didn't restrain. It was a heavy duty crime. There'll be FBI agents hunting me on it as long as I live. Even if they never get close, it won't have been worth it. I've got everything I need here, and I don't need to risk throwing it away for fame. I'm not leaving this land until I'm sure I'll never do anything like that again... What's done is done. I can't undo it. I was stupid, but I won't be again. To be successful a criminal has to be dispassionate, not ego involved. How long would Starleaf last as a big weed broker if he wanted everyone to know how successful he was at outwitting the law? A low profile is essential in this business... Enough! Enough! I've learned my lesson. I won't do it again."
      James had stocked up with enough supplies to last him at least six months, and it was May of 1972 before he ventured from his land. He drove to the San Francisco Bay Area and used the Main Berkeley Public Library to check out what the press had said about his deed. As he read phrases like "master criminal," "meticulously planned," "one of the most unusual crimes in history," "suave, calm and poised," and "disappeared without a trace," he thought to himself, "It's almost worth it... Stupid... And nothing could pay me back for the pain of those broken ribs and cracked skull, but this's the stuff folk heroes're made of... All right, I've got what I wanted. My ego will be satisfied for the rest of my life." He did not even mind being described as "a middle aged man" because it showed how well he had disguised himself, and when he looked at the artist's composite drawing, it was so far from what he actually looked like that he knew he could shake hands would be FBI agent in charge of his case, and the man would have no idea who he was. He was amused to read how the drink the stewardess had spilled on him had been transformed into one he had tipped over himself, but then she was not one of the ones to whom he had "apologized." Needless to say there was no mention of that in the articles. "That was money well spent," he thought. "They obviously said nice things about me to the reporters. I couldn't've done better if I'd hired a press agent." He was still displeased he had done it, but he had to admit he had been successful in what he had set out to do, however foolhardy it might have been. James was quite surprised to learn that data from the flight recorder of the plane had pinpointed his jump site perfectly and that an intensive search had been mounted in the Lake Merwin region of the Cascades within only a few hours after he had left the area. "I knew it wasn't a good idea to stop and rest... I guess it all boils down to a rule that if I'm going to do something very stupid, I might get away with it if I'm very smart planning it."
      James left the library. He walked up Bancroft and down Telegraph to a local cafe, the Mediterraneum, where he and Starleaf had gone when they had been in Berkeley. He got a mocha con panne and a slice of carrot cake and went upstairs to sit by the balcony rail to watch the denizens of the "Med" come and go. After a while he began to read a New York Times left behind by another customer, so he did not notice when three people, two men and a woman, came in and started up the stairs. As they sat down next to him, he recognized them for an unlikely trio even for Berkeley. One man was very tall, muscular and strikingly handsome. About thirty, he dressed in jeans, flannel shirt and work boots like an Alaskan logger which it turned out he had been. He spoke in the deepest bass James ever had heard. His neatly trimmed, full beard moved up and down as he talked, and he frequently waved his arms about as if he was swinging an ax to make a point. The other was a small, skinny bald fellow about fifty who talked with the very heavy nasal twang of a New York Jewish accent. He sat behind his thick glasses as if they were a defensive barrier and wore an old, worn, gray business suit as if it were attire totally correct for a bohemian coffee house. The woman was short, heavily set and of indeterminate age. Anywhere between twenty-five and forty-five was possible. She was dressed entirely in worn black clothing. It almost seemed as if she had gone out of her way to ignore her appearance, but then James realized she had consciously created an interesting, pleasant and eccentric persona to go with her role as an artist unusual even by artists' standards. When she spoke, it was in such hesitating and often disjointed phrases that sometimes it seemed to take her forever to complete them, and in the middle of making a profound point, she astonished James by taking out a bottle of bubble water and blowing soap bubbles at two delighted little children who had come in with their mother. None of this seemed to faze the two men who appeared quite accustomed to and even enchanted with her antics as they waited patiently because they obviously accepted her as the deepest thinker among them as well as a major poet.
      They were discussing art and the nature of the universe, and James was too fascinated not to listen to them. At first everything they said seemed so grotesque as to be almost incoherent to him, but as the hours transpired and he came to understand what they meant by "Surrealism," he became enraptured with their bizarre and half serious concept of the universe as a flawed poem by an only moderately gifted artist with a perverse sense of humor. James took it with a grain of salt as it was intended because it was clear they were poets and wits with considerable intellects and abilities playing games with words and life, but as they were getting up to leave, the logger looked at James and said something which gave him a much needed additional perspective on his life, "If you don't think we're right, Buddy," he chuckled, "tell me why some asshole who hijacked an airplane for money he can never spend and jumps out of the plane into heavy wind and rain over forested mountains in the dead of night with what I figure is a ten percent survival probability, and I was a smoke jumper for years so I ought to know, this guy gets to be a world-famous folk hero for pulling off the stupidest stunt I ever heard of, and this woman here who is one of the two or three greatest living poets writing in the English language is broke and has never been heard of outside a small circle of poets and literary critics? Does that make God a surrealist or does that make God a surrealist?"
      "I believe that makes God a surrealist," smiled James. "Do you really think D. B. Cooper was that dumb?"
      "If he did it for the money, he was a schmuck," said the little man in the business suit, "but if he did it as a goof or as a piece of situational guerrilla theater to point up the absurdity of the world in general and bourgeois capitalist society in particular, he was a genius."
      "It was a goof," said James.
      "You sure?" asked the logger.
      "I just know it was. Take my word for it," said James speaking in the same joking tone they had used.
      "Far out," said the logger.
      "Unbelievable. I always thought it was," said the smaller man. "Nobody could have been smart enough to pull it off and dumb enough to do it for the money. I knew it had to be one of us doing it as a goof."
      "Buy a copy of my latest book? It's only a dollar," said the woman.
      "Why not?" said James, and he bought one.
      The three walked out laughing. James read the book and thought, "If there is a God and that God is either just or just a surrealist, that woman would be a lot more rich and famous than I am, but either there isn't, or he, she or it isn't... Weird, they've got me talking like them."
      James ego was totally satisfied, and he never let it influence him in that way again. He enjoyed the notion of his hijacking as a joke appreciated by intellectuals as creative art. As time went by and a Hollywood movie was made about his hijacking, James tended to forget the broken bones, torn ligaments and various contusions it had cost him. Some years later he read a quote in Newsweek describing him as a cross between Amelia Earhart and Martin Bormann, and he knew the legend of D. B. Cooper would excite the larcenous side of the human imagination for a long time to come. He had it all, all he wanted anyway, except for one thing. For that he had to wait a little longer.
      Over the next three and a half years James stayed almost entirely to himself on his land. He was celibate and had abandoned the notion he ever would meet a woman who would want to share the isolated life he had chosen. He had read Abraham Lincoln's quotation, "I find every man is just about as happy as he sets his mind to be," and was reasonably successful in following Lincoln's advice.
      Anticipating what he saw as the inevitable intense aerial surveillance for Northern California marijuana growers by over five years, he worked a great deal on his land building a number of additional underground facilities, most notable among them a subterranean garden for raising marijuana with growing lights powered by gasoline generators. He also installed an underground, service station size gasoline storage tank and hijacked a tanker truck to fill it (This probably could have been a whole chapter in itself, but he never got around to the details. Basically he discovered an abandoned gas station outside Ukiah and filled its tanks from the hijacked truck. Then he emptied them a few hundred gallons at a time.). He booby trapped his access roads at a number of points, so that a vehicle of an uninvited party who broke down his various gates would tumble six hundred feet down the ridge when the road collapsed. He set up to a resort corporation on a Caribbean island which took possession of the land and made it look as if he was only a caretaker employed by the corporation to guard the land until it was developed. Needless to say the board of directors was made up of his various aliases.
      James thought his life was pleasantly dull and appreciated the fact that he expected it to stay that way.
      He had come to value peace and quiet a great deal, but very soon his life was going to change drastically.
      In late July of 1975 at the time of year when high-grade sinsemilla flower tops brought the best possible price because the harvest of above ground plants was still a month or more away, James spent twelve hours a day for ten days reaping and then cleaning and processing his subterranean crop. He compressed it and loaded it into the airtight freezer in his long distance delivery truck. It had specials springs and shock absorbers as well as extra gas tanks with enough gasoline for a trip not just to Los Angeles but San Diego.
      James arranged his meeting with Starleaf, did his business and was invited over for dinner. As usual the party was small; Starleaf, his younger brother and sister, their three spouses and their three children. As always James spent a very pleasant evening chatting with people who were the nicest he could imagine. They all made him welcome including the children with whom he played until they went to bed. It was the closest thing he had to a family, and even if it was only a few nights a year, one or two for each delivery, it was an experience he treasured. This time he answered questions from Starleaf's brother and sister and their mates on how to buy rural land and grow marijuana as he did. He suggested the Garberville area and strongly recommended underground gardening. He had reservations about their becoming pirate farmers because they were pacifistic types who still talked in '60s terms like "love, peace and brotherhood," and things could get violent with so much money at stake. Their response was that they would have no trouble if they could find land far enough out of the way and keep a low profile.
      "I hope you're right," was all James said.
      After sleeping at Starleaf's home, James decided to do something for fun before returning to his land. At first he could not think of anything. Disneyland did not interest him, and he also ruled out several other famous places. While he was filling his gas tanks, he remembered an early pop record about Catalina Island calling it "The Island of Romance." He could not recall the exact title but he knew the island was somewhere in the area and checked his map. The dock for the ferry out to the island was little farther away than a straight drive across the city on the freeway.
      When James got to the ferry pier, he did not want to park his truck in the parking lot because it was full of flashy, late model cars and his truck stood out, so he drove across the overpass outside the lot and up into a residential neighborhood. He parked the truck in front of a house, locked it, armed the alarm system and walked back to the ticket booth in the terminal.
      As James got in the ticket line, he noticed a very pretty woman in front of him. She was dressed in a gold miniskirt and revealing red top. In spite of her large bosom she was not wearing a bra, and her nipples were quite noticeable. She was tall and blond, and she was so extraordinary looking James tried to recall her face from movies he had seen, but nothing came to mind. Yet as James looked at her face, although it was the epitome of Nordic, Caucasian, American beauty, something he could not identify caused him to recoil from her. He sensed a hardness, a coldness which made him feel there was no love in her, just an icy, distant surface of good looks.
      A few seconds later she was joined by a little girl who was a veritable miniature copy of her mother. The child was, if anything, even more beautiful with luxuriant, wavy blond hair reaching almost to her knees, but where her mother appeared cold, this child radiated a warm, sensitive sadness. The little girl asked, "Can I told my ticket?"
      The vehemence of her mother's senseless response caught James by surprise and turned his stomach, "Damn you, selfish little bitch. You always want something, don't you? Well this time you're not gonna get it. The last time we were out here, I let you hold your ticket. You lost the fucking thing, and I had to buy another one."
      "Mommy, please don't talk like that in front of people. I was just a little kid then, only eight. I won't drop it in the water like last time. I'll put it in the little pocket inside my skirt."
      "Can take 'no' for an answer, little bastard," said the woman slapping her daughter quite soundly on the face. "Mind your own shitty business. I'll talk any fucking way I want."
      Just then a man emerged from the restroom and went over to them. He was about fifty and looked like the classic image of a Hollywood producer; somewhat short, a bit overweight, balding and with a small, graying waxed mustache curled upward at the ends. He wore very expensive clothing; cream colored trousers, a charcoal gray blazer and a pale blue shirt with a silk ascot tie. He found the little girl almost in tears and asked the woman, "What's the matter?"
      The contrast in the woman's tone amazed James. It was all smiles, sweetness and light. "She wants to hold her own ticket. I told her 'no' ' cause the last time we were out here she lost it, and I had to buy another one to get her back."
      "She must be a hell of an actress to shift gears that fast," thought James.
      "That was almost a year ago. I won't do it again. I've got a little pocket inside my skirt," said the child pleading her case to the man.
      "If that'll make you happy, my little sweetheart, we'll just take the chance," said the man patting the little girl on her bottom and handing her the ticket.
      The little girl turned away clutching her tiny triumph, not unaware of the poison darts in her mother's eyes. For the first time she saw James whose face wore a look of awful anguish at the torment the child had just endured and probably underwent all the time.
      He could see the revulsion on her face at having been felt intimately by someone whose touch was greatly displeasing to her. Her glance fell on James who grimaced and shook his head to show his disapproval of how she had been treated.
      The child smiled thinly in gratitude for this unexpected bit of sympathy and support, however limited it might have been. She was clearly a child facing a very hostile world entirely alone. James returned the smile and averted his eyes. "I could get in a lot of trouble with assholes like that if they saw me looking at their kid."
      As they were boarding the ferry, James watched from behind as the sad little girl trudged up the gangplank in front of the two adults. He glanced at the woman's rear expecting to enjoy watching the swaying of her hips as she walked, but to his amazement all he could think of was small blocks of ice containing her vile words dropping from her like feces. He was revolted and looked away to see the little girl who had just turned onto the deck after reaching the top of the gangplank. She saw the look of disgust which had been on James' face while he had been looking at her mother, and she smiled again, not broadly but obviously pleased. James returned the smile and thought, "I've got to stay away from that kid, or I'm going to be tempted to do something very foolish." James watched the three enter the lower deck lounge and went to the outside front rail on the upper deck.
      It was a weekday, and there were not many people on board. The boat pulled out, and James stood alone looking at the open water with the ocean breeze in his face. He tried to push his sadness at the little girl's mistreatment from his mind, but she continued to haunt him.
      "I've never made anyone do anything against their will... except die...
      certainly not sex, and I'm not going to begin now," he thought.
      Suddenly he heard a voice in his head, one he had not heard in more than thirty years. It was his Uncle Robert speaking as distinctly as if the man were on the boat right next to him, "Lure her into some bushes. Rape her. Then kill her and rape her again. You've killed hundreds of people and no one knows what all else. What's one more little corpse? It'll make you feel so good. You were so jealous when that creep felt her ass. You can do it. You can get away with anything."
      James was staggered. Never in his life had he heard voices in his head like this, and never had he expected to, but during his LSD taking phase he had thought about it. He had been told some people heard voices in their heads and felt compelled to do as the voices instructed them even when it was against everything in which they believed.
      James had decided that such a voice inside his head should be regarded as no different than a stranger who spoke to him on the street. The response he had chosen back then was, "If someone came up to me in Golden Gate Park and told me to kill my mother, I would tell him, 'Fuck you, Turkey,' and that's how to deal with a disembodied voice, say, ' Fuck you, Voice.'"
      Now he thought, "Fuck you, you bastard. I killed you because you were trying to hurt my mother. I couldn't harm that child for pleasure any more than I could Kathleen or my mother. Sex and violence don't go together. I'd rather spend the rest of my life alone up on my land and never make love again if it doesn't come to me offered as a gift by free choice."
      There was a pause, and then he heard the voice of his mother saying confidently, "See! I told you the Little Prince was pure. A boy who does everything he can to care for his poor, sick, crazy mother is a good boy, and he's been much better since he grew up, too. Leave him alone... Let him win the Little Treasure if he can."
      "I'll never let you down, Mom...
      What d'you mean, ' Win the Little Treasure?'" he thought, and this strange sensation past. James again was aware of his immediate surroundings and realized the little blond girl was standing only a few feet from him leaning over the rail. Her long blond hair blew out behind her in the wind. She was sobbing.
      James had no idea how long she had been there or how long she had been weeping, but tears were all over her face and arm, and the ship was far from land. James looked around and saw her parents were not in sight.
      James was filled with conflict. He who had been decisive at virtually every moment of his life stood there unable to act. Part of him wanted to talk to the child, to comfort her, wished her no harm, but wanted only to do or say something which would make her burden more bearable. The other part of him wished her no evil either, but this was the rational side, and it cautioned him that no adult speaks to a stranger's child, particularly a beauty like this with nasty parents, without risking arrest on very serious charges. The rational part held sway, and James resolved to turn away and go into the upstairs lounge, but when he tried to move, it was as his shoes had become weighted with a ton of stone. "I won't speak. No matter what, I won't speak," he thought, and a few more minutes went by. She continued to sob.
      "Sooner or later she'll go away," he thought. The emotional part of him continued trying to overcome the rational element which defended itself saying, "The last time my ego got involved, I almost got killed."
      James thought the rational side had won, but abruptly its defenses were overwhelmed when he realized the little girl bore an incredible resemblance to Kathleen when she had been nine. James had not recognized this at first because whenever he thought of Kathleen it was of a grown woman he had known just before her death. James took a deep breath and in the steadiest, most sympathetic tone he could muster asked, "Why're you crying, little girl?"
      There was a long pause. James was afraid he had said the wrong thing and she would turn and go, but at last through the tears he heard a sweetly delicate, sad voice say, "Because nobody loves me."
      In spite of himself James began to cry, too.
      "Why're you crying, Mister?"
      "Because nobody loves me, either,"
      said James all at once immersed in the loneliness of the years by himself on his land.
      "Your mom doesn't love you?" asked James seeking to denying the obvious.
      "She hates me."
      "Your dad doesn't love you?"
      "That guy isn't my father. My mom won't tell me who my father is."
      "That's awful. At least when I was young, I had parents who loved me."
      "What happened to them?" asked the child realizing she was not the only one on the upper forward deck of the ferry who was suffering the pains of being alone.
      "They died a long time ago."
      "Don't you have a wife?"
      James sensed anxiety in her voice when she asked this and relief when he replied, "I did, but she died, too. It was all a long time ago."
      "That's awful. I think people who get married should stay married their whole lives and grow old and die together."
      "Me, too, but sometimes it doesn't work out that way."
      "I guess..."
      "When you get older maybe you get a little better at dealing with it. It just seems so terrible for a child to grow up with nobody at all close to them. Don't you have on aunts, uncles, grandparents, anybody?"
      "No, my mom won't even talk about her family."
      "Don't you at least have a friend?"
      "No, none of the kids'll play with me."
      "Why not?"
      "Their parents won't let 'em."
      "Why not?"
      "I don't want to say. You probly won't talk to me either if I do... It's so sad. I'd be such a good friend if I could find somebody. I'd stick with 'em no matter what... What's the use? Nobody loves me, and that's that. I've got to be tough... I keep telling myself I've got to get accustomed to it, but I still cry every night when I go to bed. Life is so... I don't want to say a bad word, but it's the truth."
      They were silent for a while. James dried his eyes with his handkerchief and handed it to the little girl, and she did the same. When she gave it back, her hand brushed his ever so lightly and briefly, and James felt an unexpected electricity which he immediately suppressed. Then she looked at him clearly fighting an overwhelming struggle to change her mood and almost cheerfully asked, "Do you go out to Catalina a lot?"
      "No, I've never been there before."
      "It's really neat. I've been there lots of times. I've walked all over by myself. I love to explore... Would you like me to show you around?"
      "Yes, that'd be... Listen, this is terrible. You're a little kid. Kids can't do things, especially with strange grown-ups, without their parents' permission. Your mother'd think the wrong thing and get me arrested. It's very risky just for me to be seen talking with you."
      "But you're nice, the first nice person I've ever met. I know you'd never hurt me," said the little girl desperately.
      "That's not the point. It's a question of what other adults think, particularly your mom who has a bad temper to begin with and cops who're always suspicious. I could get into an awful lot of trouble if anybody saw me walking around with you, talking with you, anything.
      "I don't care about any of 'em. They all hate me. You're the only person I ever met who talked to me, listened to me.
      This's the first time I ever felt anybody cared about me. Please spend the day with me on the island. I'm so lonely... If you're afraid people'll see us, I know a place at the top of the mountain. There's a bunch of bushes. If you crawl in, there's space in the middle big enough for us. I go up there and hide all the time. Nobody ever goes up there. Nobody's ever seen me up there. They could get ten feet from us and never know we're there. Please, I promise you won't be sorry. We'll have a good time. I just know we will. I swear I'll never tell nobody nothing, no matter what. Cross my heart and hope to die... Stick a needle in my eye... I mean it. I never could do anything to hurt somebody who was nice to me. I could go to jail. I could even go to the gas chamber, but I wouldn't tell on somebody who was nice to me."
      James sensed she was telling the truth. Everything seemed to point in the direction of the strange, beautiful, lonely, little girl possessing the same fanatical type of loyalty he did. He thought for a moment, glanced behind him to see the inner lounge was still empty and said, "I trust you, and I really want to spend the day with you. Do as I say, and I think it'll work out. When we get off the boat, walk through the town. Don't look back. Don't look at me. Walk up whatever road it is. I'll follow you a couple hundred yards back. I have to be far enough behind you, so no one'll think we're together or I'm trying to follow you. Walk confidently, fairly quickly, like you know where you're going and what you're doing, but don't run. I'll follow you and make it look like I'm going somewhere else. When you turn off the road, don't look back at me, but look all around to make sure nobody else can see you. If anyone else's looking, keep going, circle around and come back. Got it?"
      "Got it," said the little girl enthusiastically.
      "Go back, and stay with your mom until we dock."
      "Okay... My name's La Donna."
      "Mine's James," said James amazed he had told the truth for the first time since Kathleen had died . They shook hands and each said, "Pleased to meet you."
      "Would you like me to get us a picnic lunch?"
      "That'd be really neat," said La Donna.
      "What d'you like?"
      "Oh, anything you want's fine."
      "Where should I get it?"
      "When I pass the right store, I'll stop for a second and stamp my foot on the ground. When I see you come out, I'll start up the trail again," said La Donna in a conspiratorial tone.
      "Okay, back to your mom."
      "See you on the mountain top," she said walking off with her yard long hair blowing in the sea breeze.
      "What'm I getting myself into?"
      James asked himself. He tried to push the thought of her from his mind, but for the remainder of the cruise out to Catalina Island her sad, sweet, beautiful face was fixed in his mind.
      From a distance James watched La Donna get off the boat and followed her into town. As she passed a store, she stopped and stamped her right foot. James felt very uneasy about going in the market because it meant he would have to lose sight of her while she was still with her mother. "What happens if her mother decides to put her in a taxi and drag her to some other part of the island? I'd have no way of knowing," he thought and sat down on a bench near the store as La Donna, her mother and the man with them strolled about looking in shops. Twenty minutes went by, and James began to consider it a real possibility La Donna would not be able to free herself from her mother. The extent of his disappointment amazed him. He sensed it was far worse than he would have felt if, for example, Jessica had stopped him at the last instant before they made love the first time. He did not expect sex from this meeting, so it was something much more profound that he wanted.
      "But what?" he asked himself. "She's just a child. How could it be so important, just spending the afternoon with her, crying on each other's shoulders about how crummy life can be? She'll go back to her bitchy mother, and I'll go back to the land. What's such a big deal about that?"
      La Donna's mother and her companion entered a bar a few doors from where James was sitting, and he heard her say, "You be sure you're back here by six o'clock or I'll beat your ass good."
      La Donna nodded and walked off toward the edge of town. Feeling incredibly relieved, James ducked into the store and quickly picked out bread, cheese, soda, nuts and raisins. Back outside he saw La Donna get up from a bench and start hiking up the winding road. He stayed far behind her, and she was not always visible to him, but when she was in sight, he gazed longingly at her beautiful child's body. Even with the distance between them he could see the delicately rounded curves of her little bottom as it swayed ever so slightly from side to side, and the wind blew her hair so it revealed it, then hit it, then revealed it again.
      "I wonder why none of the other kids can play with her," James thought. "That seemed to make her saddest of all. It was almost as if she could accept her mother's unkindness if she had a playmate... She's down in a small depression in the hillside, and she's checking to see no one's watching. She's heading off into the grass... This's steep. No wonder no one comes here... Where is she? There's a bunch of clumps of bushes up here. That one over there looks big enough..."
      He went over to it, but it looked solid, impenetrable, and he started toward another when he heard her whisper, "Here I am, silly. Get down and crawl in." He lowered himself but still could not see where to go until a hand pulled some branches aside and beckoned him. He handed her their lunch and with no small difficulty managed to slither into an area hardly big enough for them both to sit in.
      "See. I told you we'd be safe here.
      You were right next to me and couldn't tell... It's my secret hide out," she said delighted to share it with him.
      She sat down with her legs crossed, and he did the same facing her. The area was so small their knees touched as they leaned against the bushes. There was a long, awkward silence. La Donna wanted to say something which would please James but could think of nothing.
      James wanted to ask her any number of questions but could think of no tactful opening. They both stared at their hands folded in their laps while sneaking glances at each other.
      "Oh... oh, she is so beautiful. I can't believe it," thought James. "When she grows up, she'll be one of the most beautiful women in the world... I want to hold her in my arms so much... I can't make love with a child... Why not? I did for years with Kathleen... I was a kid then, too... So what? We'd just have to do it a different way. I like that better anyway... Drop this line of thought. It's counterproductive. If she thinks I want sex, she'll hate me, too."
      At last James cleared his throat and asked, "You seem like such a nice little girl. Why he won't parents let their kids play with you?"
      La Donna's brow knitted into a frightened frown, and she said, "Don't ask me that. If I told you, you wouldn't want to have anything to do with me either."
      "When I was seven," said James, "I met the little girl I was going to marry when I grew up. She was six, and nobody'd play with her. A nasty bully was doing bad things to her, and I... beat him up and made him stay away from her. I asked her why nobody'd play with her, and she said the same thing you did. I told her friends stick by you no matter what and whatever her problem was I never would tease her about it or use it to make her do things she didn't want to or reject her friendship because of it. I told her you don't get many chances in life to make friends and I was her chance. I said if it was important, I ought to know, so I could protect her. She was very afraid I'd desert her when I found out and made me promise a bunch of times I'd never tease her. Finally she trusted me and told me. I told her it was no big thing to me. She was very relieved, and my knowing about it made our relationship a lot stronger because she knew I could be trusted with even her deepest, darkest secrets and'd never betray her, and I saw she'd trust me in ways which made her very vulnerable."
      "What's vulnerable?"
      "Easy to hurt."
      "My secret's really awful."
      "Do you have some sort of fatal disease that's contagious?" asked James wondering if he might have stepped into a very dangerous position.
      "No, nothing like that... What was your wife's secret?"
      "I'm not sure whether or not I promised never to tell anybody. I think I did."
      "I wouldn't want you to break your word to someone else, 'specially your wife, even if she's dead. I think people never should break their word. They just should be real careful about giving it," said La Donna, and James was amazed at how her child's curiosity about the secret had been overruled by her understanding that it was wrong to trying to get someone to divulge what they had sworn to keep secret.
      "Under the circumstances I don't think she'd mind if I told you, but I expect you never to repeat this."
      "I won't."
      "She had a bladder control problem,"
      said James trying to be delicate.
      "A what?"
      "She used to pee her pants. She did it all through kindergarten and even in the first grade. She'd get scared, and she couldn't hold it in. The other kids teased her unmercifully. They called her 'Pee Pants' and made her miserable."
      "That's too bad... I did it once in kindergarten, and they teased me a whole year, until we moved to a new school...
      I hate school. I wish I never had to go again. The teachers hate me just like the kids, and I hate them."
      "Was that your secret? It was no big thing to me then, and it wouldn't be now. She got over it."
      "So did I. I never do it any more even in bed at night... My secret's much worse... It's horrible... The kids have a name for me, too... You won't want to be my friend... I'm scared."
      "I promise I won't tease you or do anything unkind. I don't mean it to be nosy. Maybe I can help you."
      La Donna looked back at her lap and mumbled one word just loud enough for James to hear it. The word was "whore."
      James mind simply could not compute the data bit it had been offered. He was silent for a while trying to figure out what she meant, and it finally occurred to him that there was such a thing as a child prostitute. He even had seen them once or twice in big city ghettos, but it was hard for him to imagine this well-dressed, middle-class looking little girl as a child prostitute.
      As James pondered over this, La Donna became more and more frightened she had made a terrible mistake in trusting James and finally blurted out, "Well say something, anything."
      Hesitantly James asked, "You hate your mother because she sells your body to men? That's evil, but I couldn't hold against you something you did against your will." James mind moved with no little speed toward his preferred solution to major difficulties, and he finished, "Maybe there is something I can do."
      By this point La Donna was crying, her whole body racked with sobs. She threw herself into James' arms, and he assumed his conclusion had been correct. After a few minutes she managed to lean away from him and say, "Not me, my mother, so they think I must be one, too...
      She says she's gonna make me one soon, but I've never done anything like that. I told her I'd kill myself first, and I will. I feel so yucky when one of those men shakes hands with me, and today when her john felt my butt, I felt awful...
      I know how a woman my mom knew killed herself. She sat in a tub full of hot water and slashed her wrists with a razor blade. I'm gonna do that to myself right away if my mom lets a man do it to me."
      James was no little bit relieved to hear La Donna had not yet been subjected to abuse of the scope he had suspected, but the imminence of it and her sworn response made him sad beyond words. At last groping for something to say, he asked, "How'd you know how the woman killed herself?" and immediately sensed he had asked the wrong question.
      "'Cause I found her body when I got home from school. She was a whore, too. She was sharing a place with us. Then the landlord threw us out."
      "You really have had it rough."
      "I told you it was bad."
      "I didn't realize it could be so bad... But I'm still sitting here. I didn't get up and leave even when I thought you were the one... who..."
      "The whore," said La Donna firmly through her tears. "No, you didn't, and I love you 'cause you didn't. You're the only person who ever cared about me."
      "Your mom sure hates you if she'd do that to you."
      "She says it's my fault she's a whore instead of a movie star, so she says it's gonna be her fault that I'm not a movie star. I don't even wanna be a movie star. I just wanna go off some place far away and be with somebody who loves me. I'd do anything for somebody who loves me."
      James decided for the moment to ignore the offer implicit in what La Donna had said and asked her, "How could it be your fault she's not a movie star?"
      "She ran away from home to Hollywood when she was seventeen. She managed to meet this famous actor who was gonna make her a star. He got them to offer her a movie contract and everything. Then he got her pregnant with me, and he ditched her 'cause he was married. She tried all different things inside her like coat hangers to get rid of me before I was born, but she said I was stubborn and selfish even then and made her hurt a lot.
      She never got to be a star, and she couldn't find any job she liked, so she wound up doing it for money. She gets a lot 'cause she's so pretty, but she hates men... I do, too. I hate everybody ...'cept you."
      "She never told you who your father was?"
      "No, she says I've seen him lots of times in the movies... I don't care who he is. He's a creep, too. He knew my mom was pregnant, and he didn't stand by her, so what good can he be? He'd probly want to feel my butt, too. What do I need him for?"
      "You're probably right. I don't have much use for most people either, but my way of dealing with people who want to hurt me is much different than killing myself... There're very few people I've cared about. I'm so sick of people that most of the last ten years I've lived alone in the woods in Northern California."
      "My favorite fantasy... my only fantasy... Somebody nice comes and rescues me and takes me to live alone with him, and we live happily ever after."
      The direction this was taking was getting very serious, and James was silent for a long time trying to sort out what was going on.
      While James was thinking, La Donna already had made up her mind. She threw herself back into James arms forcing him almost flat on his back with his legs apart. He put his arms around her shoulders, but she pushed them down onto her bottom. When she felt his penis stir and become erect against her thigh, she felt very scared but very secure.
      Something in James wanted very badly to remove his hands from where La Donna had placed them, but that something was powerless. There was a lot to be discussed, but all he could do was gently caress her little derriere. He slid his hands down farther and farther until he reached the hem of her gold satin miniskirt. As he stroked the soft, round curl of flesh where her legs joined her bottom, he was transported in wordless rapture. In direct conflict with the something which wanted to remove his hands, he raised her dress and began to lower her white cotton panties. Obligingly she rose up, so he could slip them off. Once they were on her naked flesh, it was as if his hands had been affixed there with barbed nails. As he moved them across her smooth, flawless skin, even trying to take them away brought a terrible feeling of loss. This went on for at least twenty or thirty minutes during which time La Donna squirmed several times with her pubic bone directly against James' penis. Each time she exhaled a delicate, little sigh. He did not want so much to have an orgasm as to remain there with her indefinitely. At last with an act of the will he considered one of the strongest in his life, he moved his hands to her armpits and lifted her, so she was sitting on his belly. He had forgotten he had removed her underpants and unexpectedly found himself gazing at her simple, little girl's cleft. It bore no hair, no sign of maturing labia, not even the slightest darkening toward the deeper part which foretells labial development.
      It was just a gentle depression, and it glistened ever so slightly. He tore his eyes away and covered it with her dress.
      "What's the matter?" she asked.
      "We have to talk."
      "Don't you want me?" she asked fear returning to her eyes. "All the men want me. Why not you? It's just not fair. I find someone I love, and you're the only one who doesn't want me. My beauty's been such a curse, all those slimy hands trying to feel me, but when I finally find someone I want to give myself to, you don't want me."
      "That's not true. I'm terribly in love with you, and it's not because of your beauty. Your mother's beautiful, too, but I couldn't love her. I love you because you're willing to love me the way I believe we're meant to love, totally."
      "I love you, too, more than anyone in the world, so what do we have to talk about?"
      "I don't live in a castle, just a cottage."
      "I don't care."
      "If you run away with me, you'll never be able to leave the land. You're so unusual looking and beautiful everybody'll remember what you looked like when the police circulate your picture because you're missing."
      "I don't care. I told you I hate the world."
      "Will you be able to take care of yourself if I have to go away for a few days on business?"
      "My mom leaves me alone for a week sometimes."
      "What'll you do up there? Won't you get bored?"
      "I'll learn to cook for you and keep house and stuff, and I'll explore your land. I love to explore. If it's real big, I'll never get bored."
      "Sometimes it rains for weeks at a time, and you can't go out."
      "I'll stay in bed with you and snuggle."
      "For a week?"
      "For a month. It felt so awful when you took your hands off my butt. Put them back... please."
      "We're discussing important things.
      It's not wise to let sex cloud your mind at a time like this. We're talking about living together the rest of our lives. It's serious, and there's more to life than sex."
      "I know. I didn't let sex make up my mind, but I decided a while ago. You're the one who's not sure."
      "I'm sure what I want, but when you love somebody, you don't want to be happy at their expense. It wouldn't be any good if you're unhappy up there 'cause you didn't know what you were getting into."
      "Are you going to be nice to me and love me?"
      "Yes."
      "Then I know what I'm getting into."
      "You're very confident for a kid."
      "I had to take care of myself as long as I can remember. I know what I want. You're the one."
      "Have you thought about sex? I mean you can't go around squirming all over a me naked without making me want you very badly, and we can't have intercourse, now can we?"
      "I know that... You wouldn't make me do that, would you? I'm so little down there. It really scares me when I think a man might make me do that. It'd hurt so bad."
      "So..."
      "There're other things I could do for you. I told you my mom's a whore. She has a bunch of dirty movies men can watch with her. I looked at them when she was out. There's a couple other things I could do to make you... squirt."
      "You're sure you wouldn't think it was gross. Little girls usually think it's gross."
      "Not if it was you. I love you.
      You're the one I'm supposed to do it with. You make me feel good, and I make you feel good. It's only fair."
      "Are you sure?"
      "Yes, do you want me to do it for you now?"
      "It's usually better if the man does it for the woman first. It makes men sleepy, and they want a nap afterward."
      "I don't mind. I had three already."
      "What?"
      "When you were feeling my butt and I squirmed, I had it three times. Do you want me to do it for you? I'll do whatever you want. I'll do it so good you'll squirt a foot in the air."
      "Er... actually that in the air business is just for the movies. They do it to show the man had an orgasm. It doesn't feel nearly as good that way."
      "Really? What do people usually do?"
      "The man stays in the woman and lets it go inside her. It loses a lot of the feeling if the man pulls out."
      "I didn't know that. All I've seen was men squirting in the air, but I'll do what you want. What do you want?"
      "For me the nicest way of sharing it has always been to do it for a woman with my tongue and then have her do it for me with her mouth, and I'd really like to do that with you."
      "Men in the movies seem to like that a lot."
      "Would it bother you? We shouldn't if it would. Sooner or later you'd hate me for making you do it."
      "It's okay with me if it'd make you happy... It's what I thought you'd want, not just my hand... When I was a little kid, I always sucked my thumb. This's just a big thumb to suck... What does the woman do when the stuff goes in her mouth?"
      "It's really a beautiful gift if she swallows it. If you think of it as little drops of love going to your heart instead of sperm going to your stomach, it makes it nicer... If you like, you can hold some in your mouth, and when you're done, you can come up and kiss me and put it in my mouth mixed with your saliva as a symbol that if you were the man and I was the woman I'd do it for you."
      "You would?"
      "Sure."
      "What does it taste like?"
      "It's hard to describe. It's funny, but if the man is healthy and clean, it isn't bad. It's nice to wash, both of you, before you do it."
      "Okay, I'll do it. D'you want me to do it now? Your penis's sticking up. I can feel it on my thigh."
      "One or two more questions."
      "Must we? I want it again, too."
      "We'll have years and years together if we build the foundation right now. It's worth a few more minutes."
      "I suppose," pouted La Donna. "What else?"
      "Living in the woods alone can be dangerous. Bad people might try to hurt us. Your response to someone trying to hurt you was you'd kill yourself. You'd have to change that completely."
      "How?"
      "If I showed you how to shoot a gun, could you kill someone to protect yourself... or me? What if you came back from exploring and found two big guys beating me with baseball bats? Could you kill them?"
      "You mean you'll show me how to defend myself against grown-ups who want to hurt me?"
      James was surprised by La Donna's sudden enthusiasm and said, "Yes, but we have to agree that no matter how angry we get with each other, we'll never use guns between ourselves. You know when you live together a long time, even if you love each other a lot, sometimes you disagree."
      "I know that, but I could never hurt you... The rest of the world, I don't know how many times I wished I could kill one of those creeps who felt my butt. If I knew how, I would."
      "It's not that simple. If you kill someone without planning it, chances are the cop'll come, and you'll wind up in in jail or worse. You have to be careful."
      "You'll teach me that, too?"
      "You're a bloodthirsty little one one, aren't you?"
      "You bet I am. You'd be, too, if you'd been me."
      "I suppose I would... I suppose I would."
      "What else d'you want to ask me?"
      "If I promise never to make you do anything against your will, will you promise never to tell anyone anything, no matter what?"
      "Sure."
      "Last question, if you stay with me a few weeks and change your mind, I'll take you back to L.A., but you have to let me make up the story you tell."
      "I won't change my mind... I don't change my mind. Once you say 'Yes,' I'm yours till I die no matter what."
      "Even if I get real sick and you have to take care of me?"
      "Yes... and if it'll make you feel any better I'll tell any story you want if I leave, but I know I'm staying. I'll be loyal and true no matter what, but I expect the same from you."
      "I wouldn't want you to settle for anything less."
      By this point it was unavoidably clear to James what La Donna was offering, not just sex but a lifelong fanatical devotion to match his own. All she wanted in return was as much security as she could muster in an unstable world. At first he had had trouble imagining a child knowledgeably making a commitment like this, but now he realized she was at least as capable as himself.
      "I do," said James.
      "I do, too," said La Donna. "I now pronounce us married forever and ever."
      She waited a bit, lifted her dress to expose her vagina, slid down toward his face and the and said, "You may kiss the bride."
      James could not help laughing.
      "It's not funny," she pouted. "You made me wait all this time. I'm so horny I could jump out of my skin."
      James put his hands around on her cheeks and fondled them. Like a great chalice he wished to sip from, he moved her body toward him and leaned his head up. Slowly he let his tongue slide from the lowest part of her smooth, little cleft to the top. He felt as if there was electricity and his tongue, as if his tongue was having an orgasm. He kissed her gently and sought her most sensitive spot. He found it and licked around it slowly enjoying the wondrous sensation of his lips and tongue on her little girl's pussy. He tasted just a hint of woman's lubricative juices and swallowed it joyfully. To his surprise she began to tremble and sigh almost immediately.
      It went on for several minutes as he licked around and around her tiny precious treasure. At last she slid down so they were embracing chest to chest.
      "That's the nicest one I ever had,"
      whispered La Donna after a few moments, "nicer than it ever was by myself. I love you so much."
      "It's wonderful to know I pleased you."
      After another moment she squirmed and rose up. She opened his belt buckle and unzipped his fly. She was a bit awkward, but James could not believe how wonderful his body felt as his mind realized she was going to be anything but passive. She held his penis gently by the lower part of the shaft and flicked her tongue across the tip taking into her mouth the drop of his semen she found there.
      "It's so big," she cooed. "My Sweet James cock is so big..." She was aware it was larger than ordinary, over eight and a half inches and rather thick, but she had seen ones a foot long in movies.
      She said what she did because she had heard her mother say men loved to hear the size of their cocks praised, and she wanted James to be pleased in every way.
      She began massaging up and down quickly on the shaft of his penis, but James reached up and showed her how to stroke slowly and gently. Immediately she adjusted to his guidance and plunged it into her mouth. She licked her tongue around it as he ran his fingers through her long, golden hair which was strewn like a canopy over his whole lower torso.
      She squeezed the head of his cock between her tongue and the roof of her mouth and then licked along the sensitive underside of the shaft just below the head.
      James breathed deeply attempting to prolong the moment. He looked down, then moving her hair aside, gazed at her beautiful face with his cock in her mouth and her hand fondling his balls and thought for an instant of the future, of all the things they would share, of never being alone. Suddenly she began to suck firmly on his cock. There was no way he could delay any longer as her saliva moistened fingers slid up and down his penis. His hips twitched, and he felt himself began to come in her mouth. Wave after wave, pulse after pulse, he sensed her drawing every last drop of ecstasy from him.
      At last it was over, and she moved above him again. She waited patiently until he opened his eyes and parted her lips to show her mouth was filled with his semen. She let a drop of his cum run down her chin, then eagerly swallowed almost all of it. She leaned down, kissed him on the lips almost chastely and let the remainder slip into his mouth. He smiled, noticed the different taste and texture from semen alone, and swallowed it.
      "Did I do it good?" she asked.
      "Better than anyone ever. I love you so much," he answered.
      "I'm so happy."
      James closed his eyes and hugged her. He drifted into a blissful twilight between wakefullness and sleep until he heard her whisper, " I need it again, Sweet James. Could I have one more?"
      "Like before?"
      "Just like before," she said indicating it had been as she had wished. She lowered herself over his face and felt his hands fondle her bottom.
      "I can't believe I'm so lucky," she thought. "The Handsome Prince has come to rescue me just before my mother was going to sell my virtue to the Evil Knight... I would've killed myself. I really would've. I was so dumb. James was right. He should've been dead, not me. I'll never think that way again... Oh, his tongue is going a little too low. There, now it's right. It's so neat when he licks it all the way from one end to the other. I've dreamed of this for so long. Forever and ever I'll do whatever he wants, and he'll be so pleased with me, he'll do whatever I want. We'll live happily ever after... I'm starting my tingles..." La Donna felt James' tongue probe around her clitoris and even pry a little into the depths of her vagina.
      In the newness of being with a man she felt waves of bliss flowing from her vagina inward up to her navel and farther and farther. She opened her eyes and looked down at James' face briefly between one wave and the next and smiled as she saw him looking up with just the same look of joy and bliss in his eyes.
      "He's thinking just what I'm thinking. I just know he is... I'm not alone anymore. This is the beginning of happily ever after." Then the next wave of her ecstasy drove words from her mind.
      She collapsed against him only to find he had an erection again. "Oh, how neat. I always hated being beautiful 'cause it meant so much trouble, but from now on I'll be glad 'cause it makes him so happy... It really is like sucking a big thumb... It didn't taste bad, just funny. I won't mind swallowing it. I was afraid it'd taste like pee. When I tasted mine once, it was so gross... It's little drops of love going to my heart. I'll never forget that." As she sucked him a second time, she tried to take note of what made him sigh . "I don't think I'd like it any bigger anyway.
      He fills up my whole mouth. The texture of the top part is so neat, sort of smooth and rough at the same time. When I squeeze it flat and let it go, it swells back up so fast. This's fun. I was afraid I'm might not like this even with Prince Charming, but I do... Oooh, he's squirting right now. This very second the man I love is feeling all the beautiful feelings 'cause of me. I love him so much for giving them to me. He must love me for giving them to him...
      There's less stuff this time... 0h, well... I'm glad I didn't believe my mom when she said all men stunk. I knew there'd be one nice one to rescue me."
      She repeated the ritual with his semen, swallowing and putting some in his mouth. Then they lay still, satiated and joyous.
      James was not sure how much time had passed when he woke up, but he knew from the location of the sun that it already was the middle of the afternoon. He awoke in the same position he had fallen asleep; naked, lying on his jeans with a nine-year-old girl across his chest and his hand on the lower portion of her bare bottom, a compromising situation to say the least.
      He shook La Donna gently. "Wake up,"
      he said, but she did not stir. He heard her deep, even breathing and continued trying to rouse her.
      At last he heard her mumble sleepily, "What? Where am I?" She opened her eyes and was very disoriented. She looked at James with confusion which made James very uneasy, but then the fog in her eyes lifted, and she said, "Oh, I know where I am. I'm in Paradise on my honeymoon with my husband, Sweet Prince James... I should've warned you. I sleep real sound, and I'm lost if someone wakes me up."
      "You sure scared me, " said James sighing with relief.
      "Oh, is that one of your guns?"
      asked La Donna noticing the holster he had managed to conceal when she had undressed him.
      "Yes, but..."
      "Do you want to do it again?"
      "Yes, but we have to get out of here. If we're going to get away, we have to do it now before you're supposed to meet your mom."
      "I guess" pouted La Donna.
      "We'll have years to do whatever we want, but now we have to work to make our future secure."
      "I know," said La Donna. "You're right, but I'm horny again."
      "You're horny all the time."
      "Not all the time but a lot."
      "Listen, up on the land there're going to be days, weeks sometimes, when we'll have to work very hard training you to be able to defend what's ours. It'll be like army boot camp, no fun and games. We have to earn the right to lie around making love. We have to be prepared to protect ourselves, and that doesn't just mean me protecting us. You have to be ready to fight, too, and it's going to take a lot of very hard work."
      La Donna's expression changed immediately from playful teasing to icy seriousness, and she said, "After what I've been through, I'll do anything to make sure I don't have to go back. I'll defend our castle against anything might hurt us anyway I can, and you'd better teach me everything I need."
      "It's not a castle."
      "I don't care if it's a shack. It's our castle."
      "I understand," said James." "We've got to get at there first. Get your clothes on while I think... You have your ticket?"
      "Yes, here, see."
      James gave her very detailed instructions on how to get on the boat, what to do on the boat, where his truck was and what to do when she got there. He had her repeat these instructions, and she did so perfectly, almost verbatim. He was both impressed and pleased.
      "Good, really good," he said, "but just in case this doesn't work, where do you live?"
      She gave him an address in West Los Angeles, and he said, "Remember what I told you the truck looks like. Every night at 11:00 PM I'll be parked as close as I can to your house. Make sure no one sees you. In case I have to go looking for you, what's your last name?"
      "DeLorean, La Donna DeLorean."
      "Is that ever a movie star's name."
      "My mom made it all up. Her first name's 'Lorinda.' She won't tell me what name she was born with."
      "It's a neat name."
      "The only movie I want to star in is your life story."
      "Aren't you a little wit? I'll be happy to be your leading man."
      He hugged her, and she asked, "You'll be on the next boat?"
      "If I'm still alive. I may die from the shock of being so happy."
      "Don't joke about stuff like that."
      "I'm sorry. I won't do it again.
      You've got to go now."
      She gave him a lingering, delicate kiss on the lips and said, "I love you more than anyone in the world, forever and always."
      "I love you more than anyone in the world, forever and always," he responded.
      She trembled all over, smiled and said, "That's what that the Handsome Prince says to me in my fantasies, 'specially when I cum."
      "I won't be able to talk with my tongue in your pussy."
      "I guess... but you'll say it later?"
      "Sure, will you say it to me? The Handsome Prince wants to be loved, too."
      "Just wink at me anytime you want, and I'll say it."
      "Your fantasy with the Handsome Prince is pretty elaborate?"
      "What's 'elaborate?'"
      "There're a lot of parts to it."
      "Yeah."
      "If you tell me what they are, I'll live them out with you."
      "When we get to the castle."
      James pointed under the bushes to indicate she should go, and she kissed him again on the lips. She hesitated, and he said, "Don't worry. One way or another we'll be at the castle in a few days, My Lady."
      La Donna grinned and crawled under the bushes. James sat quietly for an hour alternating between transcendent bliss and fear something might go wrong because he was unaccustomed to relying on someone else for handling important matters.
      As James was going down to the town, he saw the ferry pull out. He went into the bar and saw La Donna's mother sitting in a booth with her john. James left, found the next ferry departure time, returned and slipped unnoticed into the booth next to them. He eavesdropped on them until he had to leave for the ferry. Neither said anything which might indicate they had seen La Donna. They only mentioned her once, but it chilled him to the bone when he heard her mother answer the man's, "When're you gonna let me fool around with your little brat?" with, "Soon as you got a grand for me."
      The man haggled a bit, and then her mother said, "Come on, Frankie. Nine year old cherry like that's worth a grand."
      "You're right," he said agreeing to her price. "She sure is a beauty. I've always wanted a little girl. I'll take you up on it next weekend."
      "When the money's mine, she's yours for the night."
      "It doesn't bother you this's gonna rip her up pretty bad?"
      "She ripped my guts apart getting into this world. This'll make us even."
      "You're a hard woman, Lori."
      "It's a hard world."
      James thought, "No point in killing anybody I don't have to, but I'll be happy to rid the world of her if I do...
      When I get done training her, La Donna'll eat assholes like that guy and her mother before breakfast if she has to."
      Meanwhile La Donna walked down the road toward the town. Careful to avoid the main street, she went to the dock and got on the ferry. The ferryman recognized her and asked, "Where's your mom?"
      "She'll be here in a minute," said La Donna following James' detailed instructions. She smiled at the man as confidently and casually as she could, and he let her on board. She immediately went to the women's rest room, made sure no one saw her enter, and locked herself in a stall. The concept of forever could not have involved a longer stretch of time for La Donna than that boat ride back to Los Angeles. She was neither more nor less patient then most girls her age, and she grew restless quickly. "It stinks in here," she thought as women came in, relieved themselves and left. "Maybe I could go up on deck for a little while... James said no one should see me... I'm bored... He's right, I guess... He's so handsome. I love him so much... I wonder if he'll mind if I do it for myself sometimes... I want to do it right now... I'll make believe my finger's his tongue... Oh, I hope we get away... 0oh... I'm still bored... Oh, yuck, that woman stinks so bad... It's much more fun on the deck. I could go up for just a little while... He's a grown-up. He must know more about this stuff than I do. He said to stay in the potty. He must be real smart to make plans that quick... We'll have lots of time to play outside after we escape... The Evil Which is after me, and I've got to hide in here, so she won't catch me. If she catches me... I don't want to make believe about that. It's too awful.. A man putting his thing in me down there would hurt so bad... James's big, but it's sort of cute when it sticks up in the air and waves back and forth, not scary at all 'cause he'd never hurt me with it. When it's all little and limp and he feels my butt then it swells up, I wonder what it makes him feel like. It's so different than girls... He looked so happy when he saw me swallow it like the woman did in the movie my mom had. She let a bit run down her chin and swallowed the rest. He swallowed some, too.
      That's fair... I'm bored... This is going on forever. I don't have a watch. I wish I knew what time it is... I'm so bored..."
      La Donna almost jumped for joy when the ship docked. She went up on deck and saw the same one of the crew who had asked her where her mother was. He was by the gate, and he was going to stop her. Her heart beat fast and she almost froze. She took a deep breath as James had told her to do if she was afraid and then followed his instructions perfectly. She looked toward the door of the terminal, yelled, "Wait for me, Grandma," waved at an older woman who turned around and ran down the gangplank, across the pier and into the terminal. She did not look back, and she was not challenged.
      La Donna made her way through the small crowd, out the door, across the parking lot and across the large road.
      Finally in the distance she saw her goal, James blue panel truck. A man was walking past it, so she slowed her pace, so he would not be nearby when she reached it. She stared at the ground avoiding eye contact as he went by, and she had no idea if he noticed her. A few older boys were playing up the street. They looked tough, but they were far enough away that they did not see her. She glanced around quickly, saw no one was watching, then deactivated the alarm and opened the lock with the keys he had given her and got in behind the curtain behind the seat. It was dark and very warm but not unbearably so because it was late afternoon and the truck was under a tree. She found James' foam rubber mat and pillow and lay down. Suddenly she felt very tired. All the excitement had taken its toll, and soon she was fast asleep.
      Two hours later James retrieved his spare keys from under the fender, disarmed ignition kill switch and got in the truck.
      "La Donna?" he said softly. When he received no response, his soaring spirits fell. "Damn!" he thought.
      "Now I'll have to stay here till she can get out at night... It's risky parking a truck like this in a neighborhood every night even for only half an hour. Sooner or later somebody'll notice.
      Whatever got in her way must've been bad. She's smart... I hope nothing happened to her. Maybe some bastard grabbed her between here and the dock. She's so beautiful... and defenseless. Shit! I lost one like that already... Don't get crazy now. She probably got stopped by her mother... Or some asshole on the dock... I must be angry. I thought more swear words in the last thirty seconds than I have in the last thirty days... I noticed she didn't curse in spite of her mother's bad example... I really did want to leave L.A. tonight. Now I'll have to find someplace to park and sleep every night and something to do every day... With that freezer in the back, even scrubbed clean, this truck's suspicious if a cop, decides to search it... I guess I ought to drive over to West L. A. and reconnoiter her neighborhood... I sure hope it doesn't take her many nights to get out... I really am taking this hard... I have to trust her to pull it off... What it she changed her mind? No way, not the slightest chance.
      She wants this as much as I do. She just got stopped... Maybe she can make it out tonight... Shit! Fuck! This's a bum break... What's that?" James heard soft, deep, even breathing and turned to look behind the curtain. In the dimness he made out the child of his dreams sprawled naked where she had undressed because of that heat. His sense of joy and relief was total. He wanted to yell at the top of his lungs and do a cartwheel in front of the truck. He only restrained himself with the greatest of effort.
      "Time to be somewhere else," thought James starting the engine and driving off. "No point in waking her. I don't think I'll ever forget how happy I was to see her this minute."
      They were already over the Grapevine and in the Valley north of Bakersfield before La Donna awoke. When driving long distances, particularly at night, James entered some form of his hunting/waiting state. Something in him was totally alert watching for any event requiring a response, but his conscious mind simply was not there "Jaaames?" drawled his drowsy beloved.
      "Yes, Angel Child," he replied.
      "I have to pee."
      "There's a hole in the floor under the mat and a funnel with a tube on the freezer... Can you use that?"
      "Do I have to?"
      "There's a coffee can back there if that'd be easier. Then you can pour it out the funnel."
      "Can't we stop?"
      "If anyone sees you, they'll be sure to remember you if your picture's in the paper. We've get to get away without anybody seeing you."
      "I'm sorry. I forgot. I'm glad I have you to take care of me and remember stuff like that. I think I can use the coffee can."
      James heard a tinkling sound and had an erection almost right away.
      "Can I come up and sit by you?
      Nobody can see me in the dark."
      "Okay, put your clothes on."
      La Donna climbed over the seat and wedged her body tightly against James'. He put his arm around her, and she laid her her hand on his thigh.
      "I'm hungry."
      "There's some nuts in the glove box."
      She got them and began eating. He kissed her lightly on the top of the head. She stroked his thigh.
      "When my mom makes me ride someplace takes a long time, I make up stories about Prince Charming, and I forget where I am."
      "This's gonna be a long ride, another eight or nine hours. Why don't you make up a story about you and the Prince?"
      "It's not me and the Prince anymore.
      It's you and me."
      "All my stories are you and me from now on, too."
      The big Chevrolet panel truck with heavy-duty equipment and spare gas tanks cruised up the Valley in the warm summer night as James and La Donna snuggled and thought of the future. At one point James noticed she had her hand in her underpants, and he whispered, "I love you more than anyone in the world."
      Later she asked. "Do you want me to do it for you?"
      "No, silly, we'd wind up in a ditch.
      A man can't do that and drive a truck at the same time."
      "I guess I couldn't either... We shouldn't stop to do it, should we? If a policeman came along and found me doing it for you, we'd get in a lot of trouble, wouldn't we?" she giggled.
      "I'd get in a lot of trouble. You'd just have to go home."
      "That's a lot of trouble... That place with my mom isn't my home anymore. Wherever we're going's my home from now on... You'll just have to wait till we get there." To James surprise La Donna put her hand right on his penis, squeezed it gently and whispered, "I love you more than anyone in the world." Then she put her hand back on his thigh and soon was fast asleep.
      "Aggressive little nymphet, isn't she. I'm sure I can get accustomed to it," he thought.
      Not long after dawn James woke La Donna whom he called "Sleeping Beauty" and told her to get in the back, so he could stop to fill his gas tanks. Then they took the winding highway toward the coast. Here James had La Donna stay in the back because they had to drive slowly through a number of towns. She leaned back against the freezer and watched through the curtain. In the hills it was much colder, and she wrapped herself in the sleeping bag.
      They turned off the last, twisting, asphalt state road onto the dirt road leading to his property. Once out of sight of the government land James stopped the truck, got out and lifted a rock to reveal a keyhole. When he turned his key in it, a small section of hillside rose just like a garage door revealing a concrete bunker containing his vehicles.
      "Last stretch on the motorbike," he said without telling her the road was booby trapped to collapse at several points if a vehicle as heavy as a car passed over them.
      As they rode the last three miles on the motorbike, La Donna looked around and around saying to herself over and over, "This is beautiful, so beautiful."
      At one point she asked, "How much of this's yours?"
      "It's ours as far as you can see and a good deal more," yelled James over the engine noise.
      Seemingly in the middle of nowhere James stopped and walked part way down the slope." We're home. Here's your castle, Princess."
      "Where?" she asked seeing not even a cabin.
      "You're standing right on it," he said and led her down and around to the heavily barred sliding glass doors. They went inside, and she happily explored the small, wood paneled rooms with thick Persian carpets on the parquet floors.
      "Ooh, I married the Troll Prince, and we're going to live underground," squealed La Donna in delight.
      "The Troll Prince's exhausted and wants to sleep... Please don't wander far from here till I show you around,"
      James said undressing and lifting the huge, heavy quilt on his double bed.
      "Can't I snuggle with you? I want to snuggle with you."
      "Are you sure you want to? You slept all night."
      "I don't care. I want to snuggle with you, please."
      "Sure, I'd love to have you keep me company. I didn't mean you couldn't. I just thought you'd want to explore."
      "Later."
      She dropped her clothing and quickly joined him in bed. He hugged her and caressed her bottom. Before he knew what was happening, she was sucking his penis. "Don't you want me to do it for you?"
      he asked.
      "It makes you sleepy, right?"
      "Yes."
      "You've been up all night. You need the rest. Cum as soon as you want." She wet his penis thoroughly with her saliva, licked and massaged it firmly, and he came almost immediately. She repeated the ritual kiss as she always would and said, "I love you more than anyone in the world."
      "I love you more than anyone in the world," he replied feeling her warm, smooth body cuddled close to his own weary one. He rested his hand between her cheeks and thought, "I will do anything I can to make this wonderful child, gift of... of whoever runs this show; random chance, God, Kathleen wanting my life to be happy again, who knows? Thank you, whoever... or whatever... I will do anything I can to make her happy..." As he dozed off, his last thought was, "No one has ever been happier than I am now,"
      which, strangely enough, was La Donna's thought, too, a she cuddled closely to the one she did not know was the one that got away.

Chapter XXII

For the next month LaDonna and James did little besides eat, sleep and make love. Since LaDonna had no clothes to wear, she went naked almost all the time. She tied her hair up loosely, so none of her body would be obscured from James' sight. Her beauty, which had been such a curse in her eyes until now, became a blessing because it pleased James. She, too, often gazed at James' nude body delighting in all the powerful, well-developed muscles and the strength they implied. Their clinging and coupling were nothing short of desperate. Each had had an elaborate fantasy structure which they had all but abandoned when it abruptly had been fulfilled, and in this initial phase of their relationship they required unceasing physical contact as proof not of the other's love but of the other's very existence. When they discovered they could not be engaged in having or giving each other orgasms every waking moment, they shifted to interminable acts of foreplay, giving each other endless, languorous massages. As a very oral child LaDonna enjoyed French kissing immediately, and she could lie on James' belly half an afternoon leisurely twirling her tongue about his while his hands caressed her round, little bottom. He would say silly things to her like, "If tush was an Olympic event, you'd win a gold medal." She would giggle with pleasure, and then they would roll over, so he could kiss and nibble her nipples which were only barely recognizable as flat areas with minimal changes in skin texture and no change in color from the surrounding part of her chest. He ran his tongue around the tiny tips of her nipples, and they hardened slightly. She put her hand on his head and stroked his hair. After that she would sit on his belly and let him run his fingers through her cascading hair. The gazed into each other's eyes and smiled and laughed and smiled and laughed.
      Finally, finally the frenzied need for physical reassurance that they were no longer alone began to wane. James measured LaDonna carefully and drove to Oakland where he bought several years worth of a wide variety of clothing for her from jeans and hiking boots to evening gowns and formal pumps. Once a week they would dress up and eat a candlelight dinner pretending they were in famous restaurants around the world.
      James taught LaDonna to cook, and eventually they divided the chore evenly. He also bought her a few pieces of adult lingerie in the smallest sizes available.
      She giggled and told him he was silly for buying her a baby doll nightie because whenever he had her put it on, he took it off in less than a minute. He said, "I enjoy that minute a lot," and she said what they usually both said at times like that, "If it makes you happy, it makes me happy."
      James spent several weeks trying to think of how to broached the topic which he considered the only possibility for disagreement between them and only could come up with, "Princess, I suspect you have noticed there are no knights in shining armor, no moats and no battlements protecting our castle against assault by anyone who might wander by and decide to harm us. There's only us."
      "I know," she replied. "Now you want to teach me how to defend us."
      "Right."
      The same mat on which they had massaged each other was the site of first an hour, then two hours of martial arts training before breakfast four mornings each week. When James tried to raise it to five, LaDonna said, "You've got what you want more than half, and I want to lay in bed the other days. It's only fair," and James agreed. When weather permitted, they exercised outside. When it was poor they worked in the living room. Whenever she was reluctant, which at first was often, he would ask, "What's the alternative?"
      She knew the answer he had given her was, "One day three bikers from Fresno are going to come up here by accident, see you naked and if you can't kill them first, they're going to rape you, murder you and rape your corpse."
      "I'm sick of you saying that," she said.
      "Is it true or not?"
      "Yes, it's true. I know how bad men can be. I've seen them beat up my mother and... I'm just sick of hearing about it." By this time she was out of bed and preparing for their workout because she actually agreed with James completely on his assessment of their vulnerability and their need to be able to defend themselves. She simply disliked getting up in the morning, but as time passed and she perceived the changes in her body, her increased agility, strength and speed, she became a more willing and sometimes even eager participant in her training. That she was very physical by nature also eventually led to her taking pleasure in the running, calisthenics, etc. which he did with her.
      Then there was shooting. Here he never had to prod her even in the beginning. From the first shot she fired from a .22 rifle, she relished every minute she spent with him on the range he had constructed in one of the bottomlands. He had built an enclosure with sound deadening walls and roof and a wall with openings to shoot through. This structure plus the location made it possible for them to shoot as much as they wanted without risk of inquisitive government authorities because no sound left their valley.
      He used human silhouette targets to train her and indoctrinated her with the standard rules of personal defense with firearms. "You never shoot anybody once, and you only shoot to kill," he said drawing her careful anatomical diagrams of vital organs and their approximate locations at various angles. As the weeks and months passed, LaDonna came to believe in her heart of hearts that James was right. It was far better to kill than to suffer. The world of the land belonged to them. What they had between them was priceless, and no one had the right to intrude. Anything they had to do to protect this unique treasure was not only acceptable but necessary even if it meant killing in cold blood. James had thought he might have to overcome some squeamishness she might have about taking human life, but LaDonna disliked and mistrusted most people to begin with, and she was prepared to destroy anyone or anything which might endanger their paradise. In fact James had to spend hours each night at his high-speed, progressive reloading press to keep up with her demand for ammunition, and when she came to automatic weapons, he simply gave up, showed her how to work the machine and required her to make her own. On her own she spent hours at a time in the sound deadening shooting house with its double walls and multiple layers of insulation in between. In that they could shoot up to twenty-five yards completely indoors, and shooting from inside through the various ports, they could shoot as far as twelve hundred yards up a valley never making enough noise to be heard off the land.
      James also insisted they spend several days each month living outside in all kinds of weather. For LaDonna this was by far the most unpleasant part of their relationship, but she did not disagree with James' judgment in the matter. She simply disliked the fact that he was right. They had to be able to defend their land, and in order to do this they had to know the land thoroughly and be able to live off it using only the most minimal equipment. LaDonna learned survivalism quickly, and they regularly hunted each other for days at a time. Before long she was able to hold her own quite well in what became an intense competition.
      Most importantly he explained to her how he stopped time and entered his hunting/waiting state. Since he already had taught her to meditate, this was no great leap, and she could hold a position for over an hour with no feeling of impatience. Within a year she was a truly formidable warrior. Outsiders might have found it eerie to see an almost invisible child in camouflage overalls, combat boots and war paint, as they called their makeup, sliding silently through the underbrush with an Uzi submachine gun in her hands or slung across her back. Only a seasoned combat veteran would have fully appreciated her flawless economy of motion, her stealth and her total alertness. Unlike James LaDonna took no pleasure in these exercises, but since she considered them absolutely necessary, she actually would have opposed him if the had suggested eliminating them.
      Her only concession to impracticality was the hood she wore to keep her hair out of her way. Once she brought up the possibility of cutting it. James looked her in the eye and said only, "Please don't." LaDonna knew from his tone and demeanor this was an area in which he felt she had every right to do whatever she wished and he could approach her only as a suppliant.
      She promptly replied, "I'll never cut my hair as long as I live," and he sighed in relief.
      It should not be surprising in light of whom she was living with and how he influenced her, but the following, which occurred when she was thirteen, was something she never thought of as an important event in her life. It was late June, and they had been somewhat remiss in their regular reconnaissance of the southern portion of their eastern bottomland. LaDonna had asked James for a horse, and after much research and looking he had purchased two from a farmer in Ukiah. He had constructed an underground barn and spent many hours riding with LaDonna whose maturing figure held constant allure for him. Almost day by day he watched her bosom grow larger and larger as it continued to stand straight out from her chest. Ever aware of his thoughts she never tired of finding the flimsiest excuses for taking off her top and watching him glance at her with a shyness she treasured. Unfortunately there were no possible riding trails in that one southern area, so it was quite some time before LaDonna pointed out that it had been too long since they had been on maneuvers or checked their southern valley. Immediately James realized she was correct, and early the next morning they donned combat fatigues planning to spend four days in that area.
      Sunrise found them all business.
      James carried a selective fire Belgian assault rifle in 7.62mm NATO caliber and LaDonna her 9mm Uzi. They had walkie talkies and minimal camping gear. James also had a .22 Long Rifle caliber semiautomatic with which to shoot small game which, along with whatever plants they chose, would be their entire diet until they returned to their bunker. They were working about a hundred yards apart in a pincer move on a hypothetical enemy position when James suddenly heard LaDonna's whisper in his earpiece, "Freeze, Code One." This meant one thing and one thing only, a real intruder. He stopped and began scanning the brush. He swung the rifle off his back preparing to use it but saw no one. Even though he was well past forty, he still had not lost any of his phenomenal vision, but whomever she had seen was out of his field of view. He listened closely but heard only the chirping of the usual insects. In spite of the morning cool he felt sweat forming in his armpits. He breathed deeply and was calm and ready.
      Several minutes went by, and he heard her whisper, "Retreat along the route you came in on,. Meet me at the point you entered the brush."
      "Obeying," he whispered and without questioning did so. She knew what the problem was, and he did not. He trusted her judgment and was not uncomfortable deferring to it. He reached the edge of the trail several hundred yards back and gave a well practiced bird call. She responded by mimicking him, then crossed over to him.
      "Man, appears to be alone for now,"
      she began in a hushed tone. "About a hundred maybe, maybe a hundred and twenty yards in front of where I was and a bit around the ridge curve. That's why you didn't see him. He's done exactly what you were afraid somebody'd do, picked a small meadow on our property and planted a whole lot of marijuana. It's right out in the open. Any kind of aerial surveillance, and the cops'll be up here in droves."
      "Lead me back, so I can get a look."
      "It'd be better to go up higher along the ridge, better view of the whole set up from above, won't have to get as close either."
      "Whatever you say."
      LaDonna led James through the woods to a point about a hundred and fifty yards above and to the north of their uninvited guest. James peered from behind the tree and began studying the man's operation. It was quite sophisticated, definitely the result of extensive planning. James could make out at least a hundred and fifty plants each growing in its own individually mulched pit. He also saw a large, elaborate, portable, gravity fed irrigation system of plastic pipe. Since there was no way this could have been brought in by motor vehicle, even four wheel drive, this was clearly something into which someone had put an immense amount of energy. He had had to carry everything several miles on a trail bike and then up and down a steep ridge for at least a mile on foot. James suspected several people were involved, and using sign language, which he and LaDonna had learned together from books for just such emergencies, he told her his thoughts. There was no choice but to observe this interloper long enough to have a better idea of what was going on.
      It would be particularly risky to kill him and have him disappear if he had regular visitors or companions who might prove to be an additional threat.
      They set up a regular observation post and watched for two weeks. The man never went far from his field and always was armed. On three different occasions he drew his revolver at the sound of deer in the bushes. He obviously was nervous and edgy about the fortune in sinsemilla he was guarding. James reasoned the man had not explored much further up the valley than where he had stopped because the undergrowth was dense for almost half a mile from his camp before one even reached the walking trail they used, and he would have had to have been lucky to have stumbled onto that. It was agreed throughout the time they watched him that they would kill him immediately and destroy his garden if any suspicious aircraft passed overhead, but none did. Eventually they decided he was alone, and James brought LaDonna the 7mm falling block gun with which he had assassinated President Kennedy. He had built a new silencer for it and sighted it in for the distance they were from the tree under which the man often sat.
      The night before James had asked LaDonna, "Do you have any problem with pulling the trigger?"
      "No, is there some reason you don't want to?"
      "I've killed a few people. It's no big thing to me. You ought to have the experience, so you know you can do it."
      "Sure," said LaDonna no more moved than if she had agreed to water the horses the next morning. That night she did spend a few minutes thinking about this total stranger, how she had seen him in his most intimate moments, even watched him masturbate while looking at pictures in a magazine, but she felt nothing for him other than fear he might disrupt the paradise she had worked so hard to build. The fact that he was handsome did not effect her at all, nor the eroticism of watching him ejaculate, nor the fact that he shared with her the desire to read, something she spent hours at a time doing, especially in winter. All she saw was a threat, and like James, she had come to prefer one solution to threats.
      LaDonna rested the silencer on the vee of a branch. Her left hand was under her right on the pistol grip which was on a different branch. She adjusted her left hand very deliberately to get the correct elevation. She aligned the cross hairs on the space right between his eyes. Her hands were steady as she breathed deeply and evenly. She thought briefly about how she had trembled the first time she had shot at a deer, trembled and missed. It had been a long time ago, but she could remember vividly how angered she had been at her failure, how resolved she had been it would never happen again. It had not. She took a breath and let out about a third of it. "That was years ago, and this is now," she thought and squeezed the trigger.
      There was an audible but not particularly loud popping sound, and the gun jumped in her hand. The recoil lifted the muzzle and drove her hands down smartly but not painfully against the branch.
      An instant before the man had been sitting under the tree thinking. They would never know or care what thoughts.
      Now he was sprawled over backwards, motionless. He never had known he was in danger. James and LaDonna moved down to him to make certain he was dead. He was.
      The bullet had entered his skull less than half an inch above and to the right of where she had aimed. To James total amazement LaDonna took out a skinning knife and begin butchering the man's corpse.
      "What're you doing?" he asked.
      "You taught me only to kill what I have to and always to eat what I kill. This's no exception. I have no intention of wasting this meat."
      "Why not?" James thought actually pleased with her dispassionate tone of voice, and he began helping her.
      They ate his flesh for several days, burned and pulverized the bones and, as in the past, scattered the dust and ashes on their vegetable garden. They destroyed his personal effects, all that is, except one. LaDonna insisted on framing the magazine fold out which her victim had preferred. She hung it on their living room wall as a sort of trophy.
      James might have found this weird a few weeks earlier, but after she had insisted on a ritual sharing of the man's testicles as an appetizer before their first meal of his flesh, this was just a small item. She had informed him that she had heard her mother say there were primitive tribes whose members thought they derived the strength of their defeated enemies in this manner. "If it makes you happy, Angel Child, it's fine with me," he thought as he ate his portion with relish feigned to mask his own in difference.
      For the rest of the summer they guarded the marijuana plantation from their earlier vantage point working it only in the half-hour around sunrise. No planes flew over it, and no one else approached it on land. They were prepared to cut everything down and incinerate it on the slightest provocation, but there was none. That year they supplemented the income from their own crop with this one, dismantled everything the unfortunate farmer had brought and planted indigenous grasses to return the meadow to its original appearance. No one ever tried anything similar on their land again, but from then on they were extremely vigilant to prevent a recurrence.
      LaDonna developed into an almost insatiable reader. Without television to distract her she eventually read almost every book James had in the sizable library he had accumulated under Starleaf's guidance. From there she went on to develop very eclectic tastes which ran from Greek tragedy to modern trash romance. She was fascinated by novels which had complicated plots like jigsaw puzzles and particularly enjoyed William Faulkner and Feodor Dostoevski. She had James virtually ransack bookstores for lavishly color illustrated art history books while at the same time devouring all Ian Fleming's James Bond stories. She also skimmed over the books about weapons which James had inherited from his father. James also had a large quantity of material from paramilitary and survivalist publishers which he updated regularly. She was thoroughly familiar with all the important points in these books even if she did not know every item in its finest detail the way he did.
      The reading habit was established in her very deeply by the time satellite dishes for television reception became available. After James concealed one along with his other antennas in the top of a huge redwood tree which was the highest point on their land, she watched a number of programs regularly including Saturday morning cartoons, but she continued to devote more time to reading. Since money was no object, they also amassed a huge library of movies on video cassettes as well as adding to James' formidable if somewhat bizarre music collection. For example, he had original 1930s and 1940s Berlin recordings of Beethoven symphonies conducted by Wilhelm Furtwangler and even earlier ones of Amsterdam Concertgebouw Orchestra conducted by Josef Willem Mengelberg located alphabetically almost immediately adjacent to original 1950s recordings of Chuck Berry whom he considered to be of the same stature as Jasha Heifetz. Furthermore it was his theory that if civilization survived another century, something he considered doubtful, Thelonius Monk, Keith Jarrett and Chuck Berry would be in the same position in music as Renoir, Manet and Degas in painting. In their own day the critics had considered them outcasts and the Salon painters had reigned supreme, but a century later it was obvious Impressionism was the route on which great art had traveled, and no one except a few experts and museum curators could name any of the Salon painters.
      James believed the better jazz and rock would achieve a similar acceptance.
      James and LaDonna were not bored in their isolation, not even during long, rainy winters. Although they did not find their lives tedious, they welcomed a change of pace which became a tradition for them beginning in 1977. In August of that year when James was in Los Angeles to sell his crop, Starleaf informed him his sister and brother had bought a nice piece of land not too far from Garberville which they felt suited their needs.
      It was almost totally inaccessible, even farther off the beaten track than James and LaDonna's home, and they had set up shop as pirate farmers. For whatever their reasons they had chosen to disregard James' advice about subterranean gardening but had constructed a sunken plot with an ingenious low roof which was so well camouflaged as to be imperceptible from the air but which still allowed enough sunlight to reach the plants. Their first year had been quite successful in spite of their inexperience thanks to James' detailed written instructions, and they wanted to celebrate with a small family gathering over the Christmas holidays. They knew James was Starleaf's best friend and liked him very much themselves, so they invited him to join their festivities.
      James initial response was to turn them down. He had had no real experience of Christmas either as a child or as an adult, so he never missed having a yule gathering. Furthermore he was not eager to risk taking LaDonna, who was still only twelve years old, off the land, but Starleaf pressed him stressing how much his brother-in-law in particular thought of him and how he himself would genuinely enjoy the opportunity of spending leisurely time with him over a few weeks. By this point James very much wanted to go, but he would not even consider leaving LaDonna alone that long. She hated his two and three day shopping trips to the city even if they were only half a dozen a year, and she literally attacked him with affection when he returned.
      Finally James said, "Problem isn't me... I live with somebody, and if I went someplace with... that somebody and stayed there a while my relationship with that somebody would be obvious... I'm not sure your family could handle it."
      "What kind of double-talk're you giving me, brother... Listen, if you're gay and you want to come out of the closet with us, that's cool. The four of them up their swap every way they can think of. They see their relationship as a marriage of four. The kids know about it. Nothing you do is going to turn them off," said Starleaf somewhat indignant James might have thought him narrow-minded.
      "No... that's not it. This somebody is... a female type person," said James hesitantly unsure how to avoid the clearly inaccurate word "woman ."
      "Are you living with a sheep or something? Listen anyone who's okay with you is okay with us," said Starleaf obviously making fun of James delicacy.
      "All right, but remember, you were warned. Everybody there has to know what they see goes nowhere. I could get very pissed if it got out."
      "Don't worry. You know everybody's cool, the kids, too. They know not to talk about anything with outsiders. They'd clam up even if it was cops... Are you going with somebody famous... That's it, some movie star... No, it's some famous weather underground fugitive. You've always been a bit of a mystery, but this tops it all."
      "That's not it," said James slowly and distinctly. "Just give me directions."
      LaDonna was anxious through the entire Fall constantly asking, "Do you think they'll like me?"
      "I wouldn't do this if I thought they wouldn't," replied James. "There aren't many nice people in the world, but these're fine folks. Give it a try."
      They boarded their horses in a stable for a month, and an early December afternoon found them following an elaborate route marked on a National Geological Survey map. It took them over a dozen miles of increasingly bad dirt roads and through four very heavy locked gates. Some places James was surprised even his Land Rover could make it, but then there they were amidst a beautiful cluster of rustic cabins under some of the largest redwoods off government land. It was a clear, cold day, and smoke drifted from several chimneys. Immediately the entire clan, six adults and five children, poured out to greet the new arrivals. The men wore buckskins, the women granny dresses. One woman and a baby in her arms, another a toddler clinging to her dress. They all smiled and drew near to James to hug him, but they stopped when they saw the incredibly beautiful, shy young girl emerge from the passenger's side. Obviously they had been warned to expect the unexpected, but this was the unexpectable. No one seemed displeased, merely curious.
      All their eyes were on her frightened face of porcelain china doll skin surrounded by her knee length cascade of wavy, light blond hair as James put his arm around LaDonna and said, "Everyone, this is my wife, Veronica."
      LaDonna glowed with delight at James giving her this title even if it was under another name.
      A tall, grinning black man, obviously the father of the two mulatto children holding his hands, said, "Shit, Jerry, when you rob a cradle, you sure do it right."
      "No jive, Roosevelt," said a small, stocky, confident sounding woman with short, red hair. "Are you happy with this man?" she asked looking LaDonna straight in the eye.
      "Yes, Ma'am," answered LaDonna sensing no hostility but only honest amazement. "The best I could wish you is your marriage is happy as mine."
      "Then where he robbed her is nobody's business but theirs," said the woman, and everybody laughed.
      They all came forward and hugged the newcomers and were introduced one by one. The confident woman was Maureen, Starleaf's sister-in-law, Roosevelt his brother-in-law, and the two tall, thin, handsome brown haired people were Starleaf's brother, Andrew, and sister, Marie.
      The children immediately viewed LaDonna as a playmate, not as an adult, and the six-year-old boy holding Roosevelt's hand said, "I got a new toy train. Wanna see it?"
      LaDonna looked at James, and he said, "What're you looking at me for? I don't know if you want to see the train.
      Go play with him, stay with me. It's up to you."
      LaDonna had not missed the company of other children because they always had been unpleasant to her, but the thought of playing with someone not all that far from her own age enchanted her, and she ran off with the little boy whose name was Kenyatta.
      Starleaf helped James carry in a large pile of gifts from the Rover, and they placed them under the tree in the corner of the living room of the main communal cottage.
      It was a joyous time not just for James and LaDonna who usually had no contact with anyone but each other but also for their rural hosts who were not much more social with outsiders than their guests. During the day over the next three weeks each of the six adults of Starleaf's extended family paired off at one time or another with LaDonna or James for long conversations about life, cooking, deer hunting, spiritualism, baseball, politics, sewing and the price of tea in China. Even Starleaf's wife, Laurie, a Valley Girl totally out of her element and very uneasy about outdoor plumbing, relaxed and gave up worrying about what was going on back in their recording studio while she was not there to oversee it. Since both James and LaDonna listened patiently to everything she said and interrupted her only infrequently to ask intelligent questions, she liked them a great deal. They liked her for the strangely intimate way she told them things it seemed like she never had told anyone else.
      LaDonna spent several hours at a time almost every day she was there with Rosey learning the rhythms of the conga drums he had played professionally before retiring to the country. She discussed Greek mythology with Starleaf, embroidery with Marie, women's rights with Maureen and hunting with Andrew, but what she thrived on was playing with the children.. She took over the parent role and kept them occupied entire afternoons giving their parents a much needed rest for which they were very grateful. The three-year old, Billy, was her favorite, and she dandled him on her knee as she read to all of them. She even learned to change diapers, but toward the end of the visit she confided to James in their sleeping bag one night, "They're a lot of fun, but I don't think I'd want to wipe someone else's butt for three years and then amuse them for ten or twelve more. I'll be glad when we get home. This's a great vacation, but I've got to be free to do what I want to do when I want to do it. Can you imagine wanting to do something... make love, go shooting, meditate, anything, but you can't 'cause your kid won't let you? I'd hate it."
      "Me, too," said James who had enjoyed teaching Kenyatta about stalking game even though he had found his limited but quite normal attention span to be a trial he would not want to deal with on a daily basis. James was no little bit relieved LaDonna expressed no interest and having children of her own, especially since she had been experiencing such powerful examples of the joys of motherhood from Starleaf's sister and sister-in-law. These two women delighted in playing with their children almost without interruption, but LaDonna had made a choice on this subject long ago, and LaDonna was not one to change her mind.
      Several of their dinners were lavish feasts including one of an entire deer roasted whole over a pit of burning coals. James and LaDonna had been out walking when a doe had emerged from the woods about fifty-five yards away. She stood still for a second as James drew and fired his Ruger .22 caliber pistol. He shot her in the eye socket, and she died instantly. He butchered her neatly and said only, "My secret," when no one could figure out how he had killed the animal because there was no entry wound and no damaged meat.
      When they finally saw the skull, Andrew asked, "It had to be in the eye. How far away were you to try a shot like that with a .22?"
      "'Bout fifteen yards," lied James.
      "That's real iffy. You could've wounded her," said Andrew.
      "Not likely," said Starleaf. "James couldn't miss at that distance."
      "Not at four times that distance,"
      thought LaDonna, but she said nothing.
      They sat along a great, mahogany dining room table in the main house and passed platter after platter of homegrown vegetables and venison and joint after joint of homegrown sinsemilla.
      They joked, laughed and talked of how wonderful it was to be in the company of people they loved. Each dinner was prepared by a different person who also was responsible for cleaning up, but it did seem Andrew did more cooking than anyone else. LaDonna prepared chickens one night under his guidance, and later she got James to agree to raising them on their land.
      Evenings were spent around a roaring fire in a huge fireplace. Their hosts talked of a lot of the future, about how they were going to live out their lives on this land in peace and harmony with their Mother Earth. James said, "That's beautiful, truly beautiful," but he thought, "That's naive, truly naive," because he had mentioned once to each of them that he thought they should prepare for what he felt was the inevitable collapse of society by studying survivalism, arming themselves and storing up several years worth of supplies and necessities, but each of them had told him something like, "Jerry, I know you mean well, but we're safe up here. We're far enough out of the way that no one'll bother us. Besides if there's a nuclear war, either we'll all be killed, or it'll be too bad. I don't want to live in the kind of brutal world where I have to kill starving people to keep them from my food."
      "I love these people, but they're hopeless," whispered James to LaDonna one night before they went to sleep.
      "They're wonderful, gentle and sweet, but sooner or later that's going to kill them, and I'm going to be very sad. No one's ever been nice to me like this. I wish I could help them."
      LaDonna grasped his mood and decided the best thing to do was to take his mind off the sadness which had nothing to do with the concrete present but rather a vague future, a way of thinking totally out of character for him, so she said, "You can't do anything about it, so why worry? It won't do you any good or them either. I love them all, but they just won't understand, and if talking about it annoys them or upsets them, let them alone. You've done all you can." She put her head back on her pillow and whispered, "Kiss my nipples, my Sweet Baby James." In the light of the glowing embers he looked down at her pointy, little breasts and began sucking them lightly. The small, thin, twelve year old girl stroked the hair of her much larger forty-three year old beloved. He was comforted as their fears for others drifted from their consciousness.
      Christmas Day was LaDonna's finest memory. Here was the normal family for which she always had longed; gleeful children with twinkling eyes opening gifts and smiling adults thanking each other for the homemade treasures each laboriously had crafted for the others, and, to her surprise, Santa had not forgotten her. It was on this day she received what was to be one of her most prized possessions for the rest of her life, a pair of great drums almost as large as she was which Roosevelt gave her from amongst his personal collection. He correctly sensed she would not only keep and value them but learn to play them well which she did using the tape recorded lessons he sent to her post office box every month.
      Christmas dinner was Andrew's piece de resistance, an entire young boar roasted on a spit and served with enough side dishes to insure everyone had their favorite. An hour later he produced three different desserts, classic apple pie, chocolate mousse and pumpkin pie.
      Everyone said they were to full, but the desserts were gone in twenty minutes.
      On New Year's Day after the children were in bed, the adults sat on the floor in a circle holding hands. LaDonna sat between Marie and James as they meditated on good thoughts for the coming year.
      Later she cried as James kissed her "pretty precious," as he sometimes called it, and as she had her first orgasm of the night, she prayed, "God, these're such nice people. Please don't ever let anything bad happen to them. I love them so much."
      James hoped, for there was no point in praying to the gods he once had believed in, "I see the handwriting on the wall. Only the date is unclear. Let it be later rather than sooner." When LaDonna kissed him with the symbolic drop of his seman on her tongue, her tears mingled with his, and they held each other tightly for several hours before falling asleep near dawn.
      They returned to their own land eager to be alone together but knowing Christmas would be their favorite time of year from then on, and they did, in fact, spend more than a few Yuletides as they had this one. These were times of peace and joy in the hearts of LaDonna and the one that got away.

Chapter XXIII

It was almost inevitable James would have something to do with the cocaine traffic of the eighties. In the early seventies he had tried much diluted street versions of the drug and experienced virtually no perceivable effects. Just before he met LaDonna while he was visiting Starleaf on a delivery, he was offered a couple of lines by the man who now bought his marijuana crop. He declined quietly saying, "Not my drug of choice, man."
      The burly coke maven/dealer replied, "I know that, but this is the best we've had in all the years we've dealt, ninety-eight percent Peruvian flake. I know you're a connoisseur. You've got the taste to appreciate anything outstanding."
      "Under the circumstances," thought James, "it'd be tacky to turn him down. He buys all my weed crop, and he's made me a lot richer than I was when I met him."
      "If you put it that way," said James cutting several long lines on the sterling silver, Art Nouveau mirror and snorting them through the obligatory hundred dollar bill. Master of a technique of nearly objective self observation, James waited to see the results of the drug on his mind and body. He had heard a few people extol the virtues of cocaine, still a fairly esoteric drug back then, but they were people he deemed unreliable.
      Immediately he felt the passages of his nose open very wide, so he experienced little more resistance breathing through his nose than through his mouth. Simultaneously he experienced a bitter taste in his throat. "Feels like the nose spray my father gave me for a cold when I was a kid..." Then he sensed his heart rate and blood pressure were rising. He waited a few minutes, and they stabilized. He glanced at his watch and counted thirteen beats in fifteen seconds, up about eight per minute above his normal resting heart rate. A moment later he noticed much of his upper jaw, especially the two front teeth, was numb. He tapped the nail of his index finger against these teeth. He felt almost nothing and heard a strange, thudding sound in his head.
      The large man and his wife both laughed, and she said, "Great shit, ain't it?"
      "Yeah," said James knowing he had tooted up at least fifty dollars worth and not wishing to appear ungrateful. He sat quietly and attentively as the other two expatiated rapidly, at length and in depth, about their theories on Alfred North Whitehead and Phenomenology, a topic James had looked into briefly at Starleaf's suggestion, found uninteresting and abandoned. James could tell they knew what they were talking about but sensed some sort of artificially induced energy was at work because this great bear of a man and his small, dark, thin, very sexy wife usually were rather relaxed and spoke deliberately and thoughtfully instead of in staccato as they were doing now.
      James sat patiently thinking the drug might have some further effect on him and snorted two more large lines when they were offered. He waited two hours for the drug to do something to him besides clear his nose and numb his teeth, but nothing happened. Then he realized what already had occurred was it. "Bizarre," thought James. "If I'd paid, it would've cost me fifty bucks to give me a bad taste in the back of my mouth and kill sensation in my teeth. This stuff is more overrated then anything I know of... except Charles Dickens." This experience and two others like it led James to believe, quite wrongly as time proved, that cocaine was harmless. He simply did not have an addictive personality.
      By the time the eighties had arrived and cocaine had become a multi-billion dollar industry, James had heard numerous stories about coke smugglers who had made what even James considered astronomical amounts of money on single runs. James had met several of these cocaine cowboys and at first found it incomprehensible that they repeatedly risked arrest and imprisonment for extremely long sentences when they already had far more money than it had taken him to establish what he felt was a veritable mountain paradise. He eventually concluded it was the excitement of the game they played, often with drug contaminated judgment. Past a point the money became meaningless, and they smuggled and dealt only to see if they could come up with new ways of outwitting the combined law-enforcement establishment arrayed against them. It was the thrill of the chase.
      While James felt no urge to become part of this ongoing, senseless competition with fate, he had become somewhat bored during the ten years of uninterrupted, idyllic, rural peace he had been experiencing. One might suppose he had had sufficient time to heal and to forget the pains of all the contusions and broken bones he had received the last time he had felt his life had become dull. He wanted one last adventure, and this seemed a promising area for it to be lucrative.
      In contrast LaDonna was thoroughly happy on the land. She had little more desire to leave its security than she thought a tree might have. Sometimes when she meditated in the lotus position, she felt roots physically growing out of her body into the ground, and when she arose, she continued to feel psychic roots connecting her to the land. By the time she was fifteen, James had gotten her no fewer than four complete sets of identification which gave her age as between eighteen and twenty. In reality she appeared to be no more than thirteen even with her by now largish breasts, but no one ever stopped them, and even if they had, it was unlikely she would not have passed a routine check such as one by the California Highway Patrol for a speeding ticket. At James request she agreed to occasional trips away from their land to, for examples, San Francisco Symphony concerts and classes at a high-performance driving school. He also taught her to fly, so when he took it into his mind to attempt one cocaine run, she was a skilled potential accomplice. She really did not want to get involved in such business, but for a variety of reasons she was willing. Not the least of these was that he had done many things simply because she had asked, so she acquiesced.
      James' rather novel idea, which later was copied with both successful and tragic results, was based on the notion that the profits from each individual deal were so great that virtually any piece of equipment could be deemed expendable. This was especially true if this original notion could be used to throw the opposition off-balance, cause them to make a move to protect one area which they felt was vulnerable and thereby open a hole in another through which he could slip. The direct application of this theory was that the smuggler's plane itself could be deliberately lost, and although this might be expensive, it would be very effective the first time it was tried.
      As might be expected, James began parachuting again. This time he studied techniques of jumping with heavy weights which had their own parachutes that he opened well after leaving the plane. It was tricky, and the banging around from repeated landings was hardly fun for a man nearing fifty, even one in top physical and mental condition, but James regarded it as a necessary part of the training the way an athlete does preparing for an important competition.
      LaDonna enjoyed piloting a light plane, and after James had jumped, she would meander leisurely about the sky for as long as she could. Although she kept perfect track of her surroundings and instruments, she experienced a delicious elation as she wordlessly imagined herself of great swan flying on a long migration. From the air she looked down on a fantasy world which, for the moment, was a peaceful place where a beautiful bird could go anywhere she wished and not encounter anything but a warm, safe welcome. She parachuted a few times at James instigation, but she did not find it pleasurable. She definitely was not of thrill seeker, and although she was poised, not easily frightened, she said to herself, "If there is no need to jump out of a plane, there is no point in jumping out of a plane." She did it enough to feel she could do it with confidence, and that was that.
      It ought to be added that the main reason for their foray into drug smuggling was not James' boredom. Although James and LaDonna did have a fairly large nest egg, he felt this addition could make them secure for life, particularly if it was translated into a wide variety of supplies and equipment which would be useful in surviving a major cataclysm.
      They also wanted to have enough reserve funds in case something prevented them from making substantial amounts of money from marijuana cultivation. In this area of planning LaDonna did not disagree with James even remotely, particularly since the taxes on such a large piece of land as theirs were getting rather high.
      James and LaDonna began flying systematically over the southern Central Valley of California. They logged many daylight and then nighttime hours in their Cessna 172 over the entire area between Yuma, Arizona and Fresno, California. Just as he had memorized towns in Washington and Oregon, now he etched into his mind the appearance from the air of such things as street light patterns for literally scores of California towns. They also spent some time vacationing over northern Mexico. James' eyes still possessed almost the same abnormal visual acuity and his brain the same ability to store visual data as they had had when he had been twenty, and he enjoyed using them in a situation like this.
      While they were doing this, James was watching for someone who wanted to sell an old C-46 transport plane. This twin engine aircraft had a normal 29,000 lb. operating weight, 51,000 lb.
      takeoff weight, 900 lb. per hour fuel consumption rate and 200 mile per hour cruising speed. He had decided these specifications made it the best suited to his needs of all the available possibilities because even with all the modifications he intended to make, it still would cost them less than a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, well within the price range he considered expendable on a single trip. Furthermore with the alterations he had in mind, it reliably could be expected to carry him and his cargo the requisite five thousand five hundred miles.
      They found one in North Carolina, flew there on a commercial jet, paid cash, registered it under one of James aliases which included a pilot's license and flew it to a small airfield in Nebraska where they spent a month rebuilding everything which was not in new or nearly new condition and adding fuel tanks to the absolute maximum capacity.
      During this time both he and LaDonna were heavily disguised. It might be noted LaDonna was an excellent mechanic having had a great deal of experience with all the engines on their land. As a test they flew nonstop from Nebraska to California via New Jersey. They flew a total of 5,535 miles and still arrived with enough fuel for at least another thirty-five minutes in the air. James also used this flight as practice for staying awake the long hours necessary during his solo smuggling flight.
      James inquired about referrals to major cocaine brokers, and the husband and wife who bought his marijuana crop introduced him to Senor Diego Sanchez Rivera who was one of the wealthiest men in the world as a result of his interest in the international cocaine traffic.
      As they were driving to Senor Rivera's home, the husband hinted darkly that at least one and possibly two Latin American governments remained in power at Senor Rivera's pleasure. James was not sure how much credence to give this data bit, but the wife, between bizarre anecdotes about Marilyn Monroe, added in her hard edged, nasal, but surprisingly delightful, witty tone, "Charlie's right, you know. One place he owns both sides, the fascist government and the communist revolutionaries. No matter who wins, he wins."
      James never knew what to make of this pair who claimed to be dedicated communists, supplied underground causes with substantial amounts of money from their drug sales and ran a soup kitchen several days a week, but in totally reactionary luxury spent more time stoned and in sexual embrace of every kind they could imagine than anyone else he ever had met. They apparently did it more frequently than he had with Kathleen which was a lot. They talked about sex incessantly but never took it or themselves seriously, and they told the best dirty jokes James ever had heard. Needless to say, he liked them quite a bit.
      Senor Rivera lived in a veritable fortress protected by every imaginable security device except a moat full of alligators. After surrendering his Walther PPK/S .380 to the guard at the metal detector inside the front door, James was led into a small, bare room with one chair. In it sat a small, ascetic looking man to whom Charlie's wife, Monica, introduced him in a serious, deferential tone he never had heard her use with anyone else. Senor Rivera nodded, and she and Charlie left.
      "Your references are good, Mr.
      Allison. What can I do for you?" asked Senor Rivera, and although James sensed neither menace nor hostility in his slightly accented English, James knew this man wanted him to come to the point immediately.
      "Senor Rivera," began James in the same tone Monica had used, "I have an original idea about how to bring in one large shipment of your product from South America. I have the means to carry out my plan unaided and the capital to purchase the product myself. If you would be interested in connecting me with someone I can buy it from, I'll sell it all to you up here at whatever you say is a fair price. I take all the risks."
      "That does not sound like an unreasonable proposition. What's your plan?"
      "With all due respect, Senor Rivera, I believe that's my business. I assure you it will not endanger you in any way.
      It simply involves a novel idea with an airplane... and hopefully good weather on the night of a New Moon. If it works for me once, I'll be happy to tell you how it was done. I don't intend to try it twice."
      Senor Rivera made a gesture with his shoulders which James could not interpret. For a moment James was a bit uneasy, but then the smaller man asked him how much money he wanted to invest. James told him it was not a matter of money but of a certain maximum weight. James told him how much weight, and Senor Rivera gave him an approximate dollar figure for cost in Colombia and resale in Los Angeles. James nodded and added he would pay whatever Senor Rivera considered an appropriate price for intelligence his operatives might have which would help him. Senor Rivera nodded and said to his lieutenant who had stood silently next to him the entire time, "Give Mr. Allison what he needs. Sell him one of those scopes we picked up, too."
      "Thank you, Senor Rivera," said James following the lieutenant out of the room. This large, sharp-eyed, nervous looking man in his early thirties briefed James on a wide variety of matters from flight paths to radio frequencies and sold him a state of the art infrared scanner. The federal government used them in their aircraft to follow smugglers, and smugglers used them to detect when they were being pursued. James had heard a whole shipment of them recently had been stolen from the Navy, and being quite aware of what they were from his reading in military technical journals, he was glad to get one. As an afterthought the asked if he could buy another one, and the lieutenant gladly sold him a second one for the same price of four thousand dollars. Together with the passive night vision starlight equipment he already possessed, it left him well outfitted for his expedition.
      Surprisingly enough after all the preparations for an almost endless list of contingencies and the expectation that at least a few problems would arise, James' actual venture into the cocaine trade was definitely anticlimactic. A few days later he received a call at his motel and was instructed to arrive in Bogota, Colombia at a specific time. He got there and made one telephone call from the airport. He waited patiently for two days in the C-46, and then at the precise early morning hour agreed upon, a Mercedes Benz limousine pulled up to his plane. A very pleasant gentleman in a general's uniform exchanged two large trunks of cocaine which James checked carefully for a suitcase of American currency which the general examined with similar attention. The man had two huge soldiers with him who looked all business, stonefaced and ready to kill James or anyone else at the general's behest, but the general was quite pleased, and after a very friendly offer of personal hospitality should James desire to return on vacation to the general's beautiful country, they shook hands and James got back in his plane and took off. Once airborne he transferred his cargo to specially constructed polyethylene containers which were relatively light in weight, nearly indestructible on impact, and the right shape to fit in the next vehicle in which they were to be transported.
      James had flown almost the entire southbound trip in his hunting/waiting state, but on his return flight he spent a fair amount of time thinking about the people with whom he was dealing. He had known he would have to accept situations in which he would be powerless. Either Senor Rivera or the general could have had him killed on a whim of suspicion or greed, and there would have been nothing he could have done to have prevented it. He disliked the feeling of impotence this lack of control over his own fate generated in him, disliked it even more than he had expected he would. He repeated to himself it was a one time venture necessary to ensure their financial security. Once it was over, never again. He did not feel he was involved in something senseless and stupid as he now viewed the hijacking, just something risky, and he was tired of taking chances. Before falling back into his hunting/waiting state, he summed it up with, "I'm too old for this stuff.
      From now on peace and quiet, rocking chairs and a lot of loving with my wife."
      He flew up the Gulf of California, dipped down at a small airport near San Felipe in order to appear to have landed in case he was being watched on radar, and using the night vision equipment flew only a few feet above the water. As he drew closer, he radioed LaDonna to move into position north of Bakersfield. He flew in low over the desert, gained altitude near Yuma shamming a takeoff from the U.S. side of the border, and waited for some kind of interception to appear. Five minutes past, then ten, and nothing showed up on the infrared screen. He was amazed. He had expected such a primitive entry would be noticed, but it was not. James even was tempted to abort his original plan since there was no drug enforcement agency plane to evade, and he had grown attached to the C-46, but after thinking about it, he decided he could not be certain the law was not following him from the ground preparing to pounce wherever he landed. Using the starlight scope in the predawn darkness, he spotted LaDonna's car on Highway 99 near Shafter. The wide, white tape stripe on the dark blue roof was clearly visible. He activated the automatic pilot and the timers on the explosive devices, stood in the doorway a second, thought, "Once more into the night... What theatrical bullshit," pushed the cocaine and jumped with it. When he got as low as he dared, he pulled the ripcord on his parcel, watched the parachute open and then opened his own parachute. His reliance on the forecast of the U.S. Weather Bureau did not prove unwarranted. Unlike his jump over Oregon he was not blown about by freezing, gale force winds, and this time he had full skydiving gear. It was a warm, calm night, and he and several hundred pounds of pure, uncut cocaine landed in a field within fifty yards of each other and less than two hundred yards from the road. It took them less than ten minutes to get the four sections of the main container and the parachutes to the road and in the trunk of the rented Ford sedan . They drove off south toward the castle of Senor Rivera. The C-46 presumably did exactly as it was supposed to, flew out over it the ocean approximately two hundred miles and exploded leaving little if any floating wreckage. Nothing about it ever appeared in the newspapers.
      James was very tired from the long hours in the air and the great exertion of running across the field with the heavy burden of the bulky containers, but he forced himself to maintain total alertness. Cradled on his lap was his Uzi loaded with what he thought was the best mix of ammunition, alternately armor piercing, copper jacketed steel core bullets and Winchester Silvertips. At close range one round or the other could be relied on to take care of most problems. For heavier work he had his FN LAR in 7.62mm NATO caliber loaded alternately armor piercing and soft point for the same reason. The only words they had exchanged were, "Everything all right? and "Looks okay so far."
      At last when they started over the Grapevine into Los Angeles, James looked at LaDonna and said, "Hello, Angel Child. I missed you."
      "I missed you, too, Sweep Baby James," she said glancing away from the road briefly.
      "I'll tell you all about it when it's over... Not much to tell, really," and then they were silent.
      As a precaution James made four separate trips, one from each of four motel rooms LaDonna had rented, but everything went smoothly. Senor Rivera thanked him for being a reliable fellow and told him to stop by again if he ever had any more original ideas. James relayed the general's greeting to Senor Rivera's mother and the rest of his family. Then James mentioned his interest in militaria and arms collecting, and Senor Rivera said he would keep James in mind if anything unusual crossed his path.
      By three in the afternoon James and LaDonna had returned the rental car and were flying home in their Cessna. James slept most of the way. LaDonna looked at him and said to herself, "Now I know what an adventure is. It stinks. For all I know I came within a hair of losing this man who is the only thing of value to me in the world... Maybe he was right, and we needed the money and maybe not, but we'll never need to take another chance, and we won't if I have anything to say about it... I love him totally. Life would have no meaning without him... I'll never let him do something like this again... Never. Maybe there's no complete security in the world, but I'm going to get as close as I can." She reached out and let the back of her hand stroke his cheek lightly. She felt the same trembling joy in her heart as she always felt when she thought about her love for James, the one that got away.

Chapter XXIV

If the chapter about James and LaDonna's foray into the cocaine trade was disappointingly dull, it simply is a reflection of the fact that the event itself was, for the most part, rather boring. There were no dramatic moments; shoot outs, confrontations, cliff hangers, just a lot of tedious work followed by LaDonna sitting in a Bakersfield motel glued to a shortwave radio while James waited patiently to have something to report to her. There were not even any significant mental events, long interior monologues filled with insights, only their common decisions not to get involved in this traffic again. LaDonna had read most of the time she had been awake, and James had meditated and read, too. That was all there was to it.
      The success of their mission resulted in several changes in their lifestyle. They no longer grew marijuana in commercial quantities in their underground garden. They did continue to raise a few plants for their own personal use, but this did not require the massive gasoline consumption the full garden did. They slowly replenished their gasoline tank until it was full and acquired a large quantity of filled propane tanks.
      They spent six months building several additions to their underground home, and with an eye to the nuclear winter theory they added an electric heating system to their water tank, so if there was a long-term drop in temperatures, it would not freeze. They also purchased newer radiation detection equipment.
      A significant element of their total intimacy was the way in which they worked together on construction projects.
      LaDonna was quite strong and had grown late to be over five feet nine inches tall and a hundred and forty pounds in weight, and she was capable of sharing long hours of heavy labor. There was a tremendous closeness built by this.
      The two of them standing over a mixer shoveling in cement may not sound like a romantic moment, but in their minds they saw it to be as much to part of their union as living in the house would be when they finished. They would toil and sweat together for an entire afternoon from noon till dark, shower together and then sprawl exhausted in each other's arms until they had the strength to fix dinner.
      Mostly they were silent or talked about their work, but now and then over dinner one would say, "I can't get over how lucky I was to've found you... The world's full of people who're miserable all alone or even with somebody, but we're different. We have each other. I love you more than anyone in the world."
      "I love you, too, more than anyone in the world," the other would say, "but it's not luck, and you know it. We're completely committed to each other. Most people just look out for themselves, and they get what they deserve, but not us..."
      During this building phase their sex life was greatly decreased, but once it was done, their intense sexual passion reasserted itself. For the first time in their relationship James and LaDonna began having frequent penile/vaginal intercourse. As Kathleen's had before, now LaDonna's breasts seemed to grow to fulfill James fondest fantasies. As he would undress her and see the long cleavage line formed by her bra restraining her bosom, he would say silly things like, "Ah, My Lady, truly thy cup runneth over," and she would giggle and think to herself, "Whoever or whatever made me what I am, I thank thee for making me so pleasing to this man for he is so pleasing unto me, and among my greatest joys is knowing he is as happy with me as I am with him."
      He would lie on his back an hour or more with his cock erect within her as she sat upon him. With his left hand he would feel the weight of her firm, high breasts which were just a bit oversize for a D cup. She would smile down on him in the dim light of a kerosene lamp as he made oval motions around and around her clitoris with his right thumb. She would sigh and tremble all over, and he would watch her breasts jiggle as she came. Then she would lie still atop him until she was able to cum again. As she rested, he would fondle the softly rounded curve of her derriere slowly gliding his hands to the point he liked the best, the line where her butt joined her legs. He would place his fingertips in this little crease of flash, lift her slightly to move her up and down on his penis and feel his erection harden with renewed vigor. She rested on her elbows, so he could feel the soft motion of her bosom on his skin.
      If her bosom was exquisite for its size and shape, he told her her nipples were uniquely beautiful. Unlike those of most women which simply change color and only protrude from the line of the breast at the tip, LaDonna's stood out quite far from the line of her breast beginning at the point where the color shift took place and again at their tips.
      This caused James to think of sex almost constantly because they would show under almost any kind of clothing. He joked that they would show through a baseball catcher's chest protector, and whenever they left the land, she had to place several layers of cloth inside her brassiere in order to disguise this anatomical anomaly which during foreplay gave James the most awful of dilemmas; whether to kiss LaDonna and roll his tongue slowly around and around hers first in her mouth and then in his while sensing the various soft, moist textures of the different parts of her tongue, or to suck on her nipples, which swelled up and became enormous at times like this, and to rub his tongue across their firm tips. Sometimes he would try to do both for as long as he could, and in spite of her vigorous stroking of his penis to excite him to the point where he could not resist penetrating her, he would continue until in exasperation she would blurt out, "If you don't stop that and put it in me, I'm going to jump out of my skin." He would laugh, and she would mock indignation saying, "You think it's funny. How'd you like it if I got you to just before you cum and kept you there fifteen minutes while I fooled with your nipples?"
      At times like this she would climb on him and begin to cum immediately as he slid into her. She felt waves of bliss flowing into her deeper and deeper with each wave, first to her waist, then her chest and last to her heart. As her whole body and soul were transported in rapture, he seemed to know just the instant it reached her heart, and he would whisper, "I love you more than anyone in the world," and a clear, brilliant, white light would fill her consciousness, and for a timeless instant she would think quite lucidly, "God, I'm truly grateful for this moment of bliss that thou hast granted me." Then the light would be gone, and she would be back at the peak of her orgasm feeling every wave flow over her descending a bit at a time until she would push his hand from her vagina and lay flat upon him exhausted with delight and pleased to find his penis still firm.
      Since he could not have nearly as many orgasms as she, he would wait until she was satiated and then roll over on top of her. He would want to delay cumming for a few moments, and usually she would let him take as long as he liked only running her hands through his hair and down his back, but now and then to show she was not the only one who could lose control sexually, she would slip her hand around and fondle his testicles and then form a tight ring around his penis with her thumb and forefinger, so as he slid in an out, she pumped on the sensitive sides and underside up near the head in a much more arousing manner than simply moving in and out of her vagina would have been. "Pussy wants you to cum now, Sweet Baby James," she would croon to him, and he would cum at once even when he tried to breathe deeply to delay it for a few seconds. Then he would bury himself as far into her as he could, moving only slightly. His whole torso twitching with ecstasy, his penis throbbed with delight as jet after jet of his semen rose through the shaft of his cock to enter her. At his peak she would whisper, "I love you more than anyone in the world," and his soul would feel the same joyous release as his body.
      She liked the fact that she could make him lose control at times like these because she had virtually no control that all. Once she thought it would be a good idea to master her responses in this area, and she tried to resist having an orgasm by thinking of other things just to see if she could, but she failed. For a few moments she thought about a cloudless, blue sky and nothing happened, but then a huge penis plunged out of the sky and drove into the earth in the valley below their home. She virtually imploded with sudden ecstasy and later thought, "Oh well, why should I want to control something as beautiful as this? Besides, he couldn't either."
      On rare occasions when she would exhaust her body's not quite endless supply of vaginal secretions before he could roll over on top of her, she would say, "Would you like to fuck my titties this time?" and he would rest lightly on her chest placing his penis between her breasts. She would hold them together to form a cleft for him, and knowing she was tired, he would hold his breath to make himself climax sooner. She would look up at his handsome face with its wide, drooping edged, Zapata mustache and still thick, blond hair, and see him staring with totally monofixated intensity at one of her nipples. She would wonder what about gazing at a simple bit of flesh could be so hypnotically gratifying for him, but it would excite him very rapidly, and the instant before he came, he would sign to her and she would let go of her breasts, raise her head and lock her mouth onto his penis. She would pump the shaft hard with her hand while swirling her tongue around the head and sucking vigorously. This was not because he preferred this. He would have just as soon have bedewed her neck and face with his semen, but she said it made her sad to see his seed go anywhere but within her. Once when she slipped and he could not help covering her face, she collected it with her fingers and licked them.
      But the true depth of their devotion to each other was not in the beauty their flesh held for each other. One night they watched a television special on breast cancer. LaDonna became more and more uneasy as the program went on until at its close she lay down on her back and examined herself in the recommended manner. She knew how much her bosom meant to James. Once when she was sixteen and was having some difficulty adjusting to these two alien mounds attached where before nothing had gotten in her way, she had asked James what he thought of breast reduction surgery for her, and this man who she thought knew almost no fear looked at her in genuine horror and said, "I can't stop you from doing what you want... I wouldn't stop you... But I'd plead with you... Please don't. Your bosom is such a joy to me. I don't know why it gives me such pleasure you're so large. Maybe it's my cultural conditioning. Maybe it's my DNA. Who knows? Who cares? I just know holding them in my hands and kissing them, just looking at them, makes me feel so good."
      Surprised by the vehemence of his response, she had sworn never to mention the subject again although she did parlay her silence into frequent, long, luxurious back massages with the slightest hint her back might ache a bit, implying playfully that if it ached it was because she was so large and that a good back rub was a small price to pay for fondling a bosom of such dimensions whenever he liked.
      This, however, was different. She was terrified by the image of one of the women in the broadcast describing her depression after a radical mastectomy when her husband, repulsed by her scars and deformity, first became cold and then divorced her for another woman. This had left her feeling worthless, not a woman, for years until a women's support group had helped her restore her self-esteem. LaDonna looked at James with fright and asked, "What if that happened to me?"
      He thought for a while seeking the right words to express himself because he knew the answer would be very important to her. Unfortunately this only added to her anxiety, but at last he said, "I cared for my mother to the last moment of her life in this world not because she was beautiful, which she was, and not because she gave me pleasure, which she did. I did it because I was totally devoted to her. I was totally devoted to Kathleen, and now, Treasure of My Heart, I am totally devoted to you.
      Your bosom may give me brief pleasure of the flesh, but it's nothing compared to the joy nearness to your spirit gives my soul, which I believe will be reunited with yours after we die... If you lost a breast, I'd kiss the one you had left.
      If you lost both of them, I'd go back to the ecstasies I felt when I kissed your tiny little buds when I first met you. I could kiss the ugliest scar on your body and be grateful for it if that scar insured you were healthy... and I expect no less of you."
      "Oh, my love," she said filled with relief, "I'd rather die and have the Harpies pick my flesh forever than give you sadness because I loved you less than you loved me." After a while she thought about one thing he had said and asked, "Do you really think we'll be reunited after we die?"
      "Yes."
      "What about Kathleen?"
      "If you aren't her come back to give me peace in my old age, and sometimes I think you are 'cause there're so many ways you're alike, then I just suppose the three of us'll be together after we die. I can't see myself being jealous in a disembodied state. If I'd died and she'd lived, I'd've wanted her to find another man to love her. She'd've picked a man who loved her seriously the way I did. She wouldn't've settled for anything less. He wouldn't've been the kind of man I wouldn't want to know or couldn't share her with in a life without bodies. He'd've been somebody I'd want to be friends with... Sex is just a characteristic of our bodies. Our spirits're different. Maybe most people's aren't, but ours are. If I die and you want another husband, I want you to find somebody nice to make you happy. Just be careful. There're a lot of the bastards out there, but there're some nice ones, at least a few."
      "Maybe there are... but I couldn't live without you. If I have to share you with Kathleen for all eternity, I guess I'll manage it," she added somewhat reluctantly.
      "Have I ever been wrong before about anything serious?"
      "Not really."
      "Then take my word for it. In the spirit life there won't be anything hidden. You'll know all about me. I hope you'll still love me... A few eons with Kathleen and you'll probably like her more than you like me... As for my mother and father, they're so wonderful you'll be delighted to be with them, too, instead of alone with me."
      "Are you sure?" she asked amazed she could ask a question like that so seriously.
      "Yes, I'm sure," he answered, and although she knew part of him was jesting, she felt there was some substance to what he had said, and it brought her more than a little peace.
      The next ten years and more were filled with serenity and bliss for James and LaDonna. One rather amusing new object entered their lives. Among the stack of video cassettes James brought home was a pornographic one he had intended as a joke. To his amazement she watched as if she was riveted to her chair and practically attacked him as soon as it was over. After that she asked him to get others, and eventually they amassed quite a library of dirty movies, but LaDonna was not indiscriminate in her tastes. She had James buy a second VCR, so she could edit out scenes involving violence, humiliation and a variety of other things which conflicted with her ideas of sex as a gentle, loving event. Once she burned an entire tape in the fireplace. It starred her mother. She was sad for a few days, but it passed. She never told this to James who enjoyed her pleasure and would eat her pussy as she gazed enraptured at the screen. He never felt jealous because one of the first things she said about her new fetish of video voyeurism was that she always imagined it was James and her doing it. Besides he came to like them quite a bit, too.
      They also acquired some pieces of modern technology which were neither benign nor amusing. James had kept up his distant but respectful relationship with Senor Rivera. Every year he paid a courtesy call upon this kingpin of the international drug trade to drop off a pound of his own personal sinsemilla as a gift. He gave him any ideas he had come up with which might facilitate his business, and several proved quite useful. Sometimes he purchased and others was given the latest in equipment and information. Once in the mid-1980's James even used his growing knowledge of electronics, stolen descramblers, ingenuity and a bit of intelligence to tune in the President of the United States on Air Force One flying to his ranch. He and LaDonna clearly heard the Commander in Chief of the greatest forces of destruction in the history of the human race make a hundred dollar bet on the Super Bowl with his Secretary of State. After that the great leader told a toilet joke James recalled having heard in the fourth grade while seated in a stall in the boys' room. James said the two men laughed in much the same manner as the two boys had then.
      One day in September, 1988 Senor Rivera asked James if he knew what a SAM.-22 was.
      "Yes," said James. "a new, shoulder fired Soviet surface to air missile primarily designed for anti-helicopter use in support of ground troops. It's sometimes called a 'Krinsky' after its primary designer, Marshall Krinsky. It's a small, extremely explosive device."
      "I have six of them. Fifty thousand dollars each or all six for a quarter."
      "Senor Rivera, you know I trust you as a man of your word, but that for amount of money, I'd like to test one. If it checks out, I'll take them all."
      "No problem. Whatever makes you happy, Jerry. I brought these in just for you. You've always been very helpful to me. The Minister of Defense of a revolutionary government needed some money to pay off old personal debts, so I bought them. I know you like toys like this."
      James took one out in the desert near Barstow and at a distance of nearly two kilometers shot down a model airplane with an eight-foot wingspan. Two days later James delivered a suitcase containing $260,000.00 to Senor Rivera. "The extra ten is a gift to show my gratitude for your thoughtfulness," said James.
      "Think nothing of it," said Senor Rivera. "You are a man who remembers his friends."
      LaDonna considered James' penchant for exotic weapons to be an expensive silliness, but they had so much money it did not matter if he squandered some now and then if it made him happy, and it did. She doubted it was possible they would make any use of all this destructive gadgetry. After all, how likely was it there would be an enemy helicopter assault by a company of troops on a peaceful, nondescript ridge in northern California? Even James did not deem it a high priority danger. He simply was fascinated by unusual, high-tech weapons, but then the elements began to fall into place leading to the third major public event in James life, the third widely known crime which he perpetrated but for which he never was captured.
      It all began innocently enough. They had adhered closely to their vow of no adventures for more than a decade. No boredom with tranquility gnawed at James' guts or LaDonna's either for that matter. They stayed almost entirely on their land, were unknown in nearby towns, now and then shopped in cities and at Christmas and again in late spring visited the land of Starleaf's extended family. After his enormous success in the recording industry Starleaf and his wife, who had wearied of city life, retired to this land with their three children. In spite of the heavily increased surveillance by law enforcement aircraft looking for pirate farmers, they continued to grow large sinsemilla crops under camouflage covers. They were quite rich. James urged them to abandon their illegal gardening or at least move it underground, but they laughed and told him he was paranoid. After that he said no more. He and LaDonna prized the time they shared with these people and did not wish to alienate them by harping on something which obviously was a bone of contention among them because both he and LaDonna sensed it would do no good.
      By now it was early spring of 1994.
      The long, wet winter had broken, and it was late morning of the first dry, warm, sunny day of the year. The temperature was already in the low seventies as they emerged from their bunker and began strolling about their land. The ridges were a lush, verdant green, the air brilliantly clear, the meadows sporting spring wildflowers. The smells of rural spring filled their nostrils. After a long, meandering walk they sat down in the middle of a large, grassy area not too far down the slope from the top of their central ridge but over a mile north of their home and still well inside their property boundary. They had hiked down to the marvelous waterfall in the valley below their home and watched the rain swollen stream falling sixty feet into the now icy pond they swam in in summer.
      They had seen deer four different times, all bounding about in delight at the change of season, or at least that was their anthropomorphic projection upon the deer who even objectively viewed were bounding about more than they had a few days ago. Now they were on their knees gazing at the delicate shadings of blue to white in the center of a perfectly formed, small wild iris which was their favorite flower.
      Desire struck LaDonna, and she playfully pushed James over and began to wrestle with him. She knew of no surer way to excite him quickly. He rolled her over and began to tickle her saying, "What a pest you are. Here I am trying to be one with the beauties of nature, and all you have on your mind is lust."
      She squirmed away, opened her shirt and unhooked her brassiere. Jiggling her bosom she said, "Come on, big boy, tell me you've ever seen a more beautiful bit of nature than these flowers. You've loved them since they were little tiny buds, and now they're in full bloom.
      Check 'em out. You ever seen a part of nature you'd like to be one with more 'n me?"
      James shook his head and laughed.
      "Women are supposed to be demure and passive. They're not supposed to initiate intercourse. It makes men insecure," he teased.
      "I wasn't demure and passive when you met me, and you knew it. Besides you don't look insecure to me. Your crotch is bulging with confidence."
      James grabbed her and pushed her down on the ground. She collapsed eagerly, and he began probing his tongue in her mouth. Before long they were completely naked, and James' face was buried in her loins. Lost in their passion, they did not hear the muffled swish -- swish -- swish of the helicopter which had flown up and down the valley on the other side of the ridge from them at an altitude will below the ridgetop. It came over the hill no more than fifteen feet off the ground and was upon them with no warning. It took James several seconds to realize two men in sheriffs' uniforms were staring at them laughing and making obscene gestures from inside the cockpit bubble. It took LaDonna much longer. She had been having an orgasm the instant they appeared. She looked up dazed in ecstasy and whimpered in immobilized horror . "What's happening... This can't be real... Go away," she thought feeling faint. She saw the men's gross faces and thought, "I wish I was dead. God, let me be dead this instant."
      James paused and thought. He, too, saw the men's faces. He recognized them from local newspaper pictures. They had been publicized widely as leaders of an anti-marijuana strike team which flew helicopters to remote gardens and pounced on surprised farmers. They had taken a reporter with them on one such mission, and he had photographed them grinning confidently as they stood over the dead body of someone the article had described as having "resisted arrest."
      James first thought was to reach for the gun he carried in his jeans when he hiked. It was an Israeli made Desert Eagle .44 Magnum semiautomatic pistol with hot loaded ammunition. Two well placed shots could end their laughter permanently. Then he realized one of them was pointing a MAC-10 submachinegun at him. A loudspeaker from the helicopter blared, "Don't let us bother you folks. We're just some cops looking for weed. I don't see any illegal growing activity going on down there." The two men in the helicopter hovered and continued laughing with the microphone turned on.
      James felt an almost suicidal fury and actually contemplated going for his gun. He was still fast enough that he might have been able to do it. Then he realized LaDonna might be killed and decided to try the only other option he thought might work. He looked up at the helicopter, and hiding his anger in feigned chagrin as best as he could, obsequiously called out, "You guys sure did get us. That'll teach us not to camp out in the Jefferson Woods and fool around." He submissively pretended to see the joke was on them and laughed. As he laughed, he said without moving his lips, "If they land, roll to your right, get your gun and shoot to one on the right."
      She replied, "Done."
      The one with the MAC-10 made an obscene gesture of comraderie toward James, leered and said, "I wish my wife had great tits like that." Then he made a thumbs up gesture to the pilot, and the helicopter flew off.
      James and LaDonna lay still on the ground about a yard apart. They were paralyzed with grief. Something so personal, so private and so beautiful had been invaded by the ugliest assailants they could imagine. They both felt covered with slime as if the men in the helicopter actually had masturbated and ejaculated on them. In a word, they felt raped.
      For at least half an hour they lay buried in desolation. There were no real thoughts in their minds, just blankness and depression, things new to both of them. James rolled toward LaDonna to find she had been weeping silently the entire time. His mind had been filled with thoughts of inadequacy because of his failure to protect her during this assault. His eyes, too, were red. He embraced her and comforted her. She rolled into his arms and cried softly. He felt her tears run down his face. At last he said, "We ought to get out of here... I don't think they'll come back after this long, but who knows..." He thought to himself, "Interesting, in the moment of crisis instinctively I told the best lie. It made them think we weren't locals to look out for again, just campers in the Jefferson Woods." It was no consolation.
      Slowly they trudged back to their home. LaDonna had not bothered to dress herself beyond pulling her jeans on and throwing her shirt over her shoulders. James easily could have looked over and seen her bosom swaying freely. It was anything but erotic. All he could think of was the pain she must be enduring from the thought that two strange men had beheld her naked. In all their encounters with others she had been modesty personified. She never had been examined by a doctor, male or female, in spite of the danger this represented because she felt that the inner recesses of her body like her soul belonged to James alone.
      "Turn on the tub heater for me, will you please, Sweet James," she said sounding as exhausted and drained as if she had walked all the way from San Francisco, and he uncovered their hot tub and lit the gas heater. Before long they climbed down into the spa. They held hands but sat fairly far apart. They sweated profusely in the 112F water but did not feel relieved. After almost half an hour she got out and scrubbed herself compulsively in the shower for at least ten minutes even though she had bathed that morning. At last she walked back into the bunker like a zombie and got into bed. She curled up in the fetal position. James asked if she wanted him to get in with her. She answered, "No, please don't come near me."
      "I feel so filthy," she thought, "so unworthy of this wonderful man who was the only one who ever touched me or saw my nakedness. He's given me everything... Now I've been fouled by those two beasts. I don't know what to do." She cried.
      James sat in a chair next to the bed. "I don't care for myself," he thought. "At first I did. I thought my pain was as bad as hers, but now I see it was much worse for her. I don't know what to do... I'll have to take my cue from her at least for now.
      He sat motionless in the dim candlelight. By all signs of body language one could read despair. He knew several hours had passed when he heard her say, "I know I'm unclean... Impure.
      I'm trying to bear this alone, but I can't. Please hold me." The tone of her voice was pleading, as if she feared he might reject her. Immediately he lay down next to her. He knew what she needed. "You're not impure or unclean. For me you're all that's good and true in the world. You didn't seek out those bastards and lure them to see your nakedness. It wasn't your fault. Whoever thought they could be on us like that with no warning?"
      "Do you still love me?"
      "Of course I still love you. Do you think my love for you is so fragile it couldn't survive something like this? I know this is like you were raped, but you didn't do anything to provoke it.
      There is no guilt for you. To be unclean and impure you have to be responsible.
      You weren't. All you were was there. The fault was entirely theirs. Besides they saw me, too. Do you still love me?"
      "I love you forever and always, more than anyone in the world."
      "I love you, too, forever and always, more than anyone in the world."
      He felt his penis stir slightly and thought, "If that damn thing causes her any sadness now in this moment of darkness, I swear I'll cut it off." His penis became limp immediately.
      A while later she asked, "Do you need me? I'll do it if you want."
      Sometimes it's beautiful when you give yourself to me as a gift. I do it for you that way lots of times, but for me to make you do that now would be sick. I'd have to be worse than them."
      "I love you."
      "I love you, too."
      They were almost motionless long into the night. The next morning they awoke feeling better, even a bit hungry, and James cooked cereal for them. They sat on their redwood deck on low chairs facing the morning sun. LaDonna said, "Late last night after I stopped being so depressed... You were wonderful by the way... I wanted those men dead, but now I think we ought to forget about it. We've agreed no more adventures. We might be able to pull off killing them, but it wouldn't be worth the risk. They really didn't do us that much harm. From now on we'll just have to be a little more careful about our... spontaneity. I don't want to risk killing two cops just because they're gross and crude and happened to see us making love... It isn't worth it."
      She had been afraid James would be filled with a lasting anger over the incident and might try something dangerous to get back at them, and she was happy when he said, "I'm glad you see it that way. I made up my mind to follow your lead in this. For a while I wanted to kill them, too, but this morning it seemed pointless. If that's the worst thing ever happens to us, we won't be bad off. We have paradise up here, and there's no point endangering it for something this stupid."
      "Then we'll forget about it?"
      "Yeah."
      It was a week before they made love again, and the first few times were tentative couplings, little more than excuses for lengthy hugging sessions, but before much longer this event receded over the horizon of time. They forgot, and they spent several days in bed making up for lost time.
      If nothing further had happened involving these sheriff's deputies with James and LaDonna, that would have been the end of it. Things did not work out that way. James and LaDonna made their annual spring visit to Starleaf's family, played with the children, chatted with the adults, fed the animals, watered the plants and in general part took of their daily life for three weeks. James cautioned them that articles he had read in the newspapers confirmed things he had heard on his police radio scanners indicating they were becoming much more violent in their dealings with law breakers in general and pot farmers and particular. With several new conservative State Supreme Court Justices to back them up, the police had started taking out their frustrations at their inability to stop marijuana from being both the state's and the nation's number one cash crop by brutalizing those few growers they caught. Many were beaten badly, and a few were killed.
      From that they had developed the notion that they could scare them into stopping by spreading word around that those growers who were discovered might be executed on the spot instead of arrested, and there were some indications this even might be working. The 1994 crop had been estimated to have been the first crop in as long as anyone could remember to have shown a decline in cash value.
      This was in spite of the vast increase of urban basement growers. The country had moved to the right and not just a little. There had been a substantial swelling of the ranks of fundamentalist Christians dedicated to the belief that this world was a place of trial and sadness and anything which brought pleasure into the world like sex or marijuana should be rooted out and exterminated, so people could get on with the business of showing their devotion to Jesus by suffering. It might be added in passing as a sociological note that virtually no Americans noticed any parallel at all between what was happening in their country and the rise of Islamic fundamentalism in Arab countries and the increasing power of the religious parties in Israel and India.
      James tried hard to convince his friends it was time to abandon pirate farming, but he was unsuccessful. It was not that they needed the money. To them it had become a game of eluding the authorities to show they were smarter. In their favor it might be said that unlike the cocaine merchants they honestly believed their product, marijuana, was good for people. Roosevelt again boasted about how many years their system of screens had worked and said it was very doubtful drug enforcement people would kill unarmed people in cold blood. Maybe they had killed of few Viet Nam veterans who had shot back at them, but on this land there no longer was even a deer rifle, and he could not envision the wholesale slaughter of people who surrendered without resistance. His family had agreed that if the anti-marijuana platoons ever found out about them and invaded their land, they would come out with their hands up and try to beat it in court. James told them that any crime committed often enough was likely to be detected, but they did not agree. He and LaDonna left with an awful sensation of foreboding that these middle-aged hippies were sweet and wonderful but so anachronistically naive as to be doomed.
      Their long years of isolation had rendered them unwilling or unable to acknowledge the rules of the game had been changed.
      Since James and LaDonna loved this entire tribe with all their hearts, they, too, refused to face the inevitability of something going wrong for their friends and sooner rather than later. "Maybe they're right," said LaDonna. "You really can't spot them from the air. We flew over at under a hundred feet and couldn't see a thing, and we knew where to look." James nodded hopefully.
      They were wrong, but even they were unprepared for what happened next. One evening late in August they turned on their television to watch the news, and they found themselves watching the helicopter pilot who had surprised them being interviewed in front of a strangely familiar cluster of burned out cabins.
      "We're talking with one of the three brave helicopter pilots who flew in the troops on this morning's raid," said the reporter. "Tell us about it, Lieutenant Clifton."
      "It all began two days ago, Melissa.
      My partner and I were flying a surveillance mission at an altitude of two hundred feet. That's the Court ordered elevation we're required to observe, and we observe it. We were looking for illegal crops. We came over a ridge and spotted something unusual. It looked as if part of a shed roof had collapsed. We took a closer look and saw it was a small corner of a huge camouflage screen covering an enormous marijuana garden, one of the largest we've ever seen. We got out of there real fast. You never know who's guarding those patches or what they might be armed with. We assembled our strike force last night at 3:00 AM and headed for the target well before sunrise. We're using helicopters now, so we can take them completely by surprise. When we came in on the ground, sometimes lookouts would warn the perpetrators, and they'd flee.
      "We landed all three choppers in two fields, both less than a hundred yards from where we are now, on either side of the target area. We suspected, just call it an old cop's intuition, but we suspected a crop this large would be guarded by criminals who would resist violently, and we were right. Fortunately we brought along some heavy equipment to give those creeps a taste of modern law enforcement firepower. When we called out for them to come out with their hands up, right away we began to take fire from heavy automatic weapons. Our commanding officer, Captain Morgan, decided it would be foolish to risk serious casualties from these terrorists, so since their compound was under trees surrounded by open grass, he ordered the use of our flame thrower. We hosed them down real good. They must've been some kind of fanatics. Not one of them ran out, even when their houses were on fire. They just kept shooting at us, real heavy stuff. We found two .50 caliber machine guns had been mounted in the windows of the main house. A regular arsenal of other weapons, many of them automatics, were found in the ruins. Then we heard a huge explosion. The fire had reached where they'd stored a large quantity of high explosives. It was all over after that. We had a fire control bomber standing by just in case, and it flew in and doused it. That's about it."
      "How many bodies have you recovered?"
      "Twelve, so far, all adults."
      "Did you have any casualties among your people?"
      "No, thank God, all our men are safe."
      "That's it from me, Melissa Faraday, on the site of the battle where today our brave guardians of freedom risked their lives on the front lines of the war against the fanatics in their increasing violent struggle to protect the youth of America from the unspeakable evils of illicit drugs. Now back to Frank in our studio."
      James and LaDonna had watched this broadcast transfixed. When it was over, they sat motionless. They were so stunned it was half an hour before the even cried. They could not believe it.
      LaDonna went to the commode and threw up. The instant James heard her, he ran to the sink and did the same. At last LaDonna moaned, "Eleven kids, there were eleven kids in those houses, two babies and two more toddlers. The oldest was only..." her voice trailed off.
      They sat in their chairs grieving all night for the loss of the only friends either of them ever had had. They were devastated. "I've killed lots of people," James thought. "I never thought something like this could wipe me out. I'm getting soft."
      Not long after dawn LaDonna staggered past him to their bed. "I'll think of something," was all he said.
      She knew he would, but being unfamiliar with his childhood, she had no idea of the lengths to which he might go.
      She awoke to find he was not next to her or anywhere else in there are home,. She climbed up and went outside. He was sitting in the Lotus position under a madrone tree not far from their entrance.
      He apparently had been there some time, and he did not move for several more hours. Finally she asked him, "What're you doing?"
      "Thinking," was all he mumbled, and she recalled his earlier words, "I'll think of something." She knew this was going to be very ugly. She was frightened some evil genie had been released from its flask, but she said nothing. She was not at all displeased that this dark side of James might be unleashed against those who had slaughtered so many innocents.
      For two days and nights James sat.
      What he was seeking was inspiration of righteous endarkenment, but it did not come quickly. His mind was clouded with rage, and all the notions which came to him were useless fantasies, but he thought, "I've always been at my best with slow and deliberate planning, and I've got plenty of time." Bit by bit his wrath subsided, and he began to think soundly. First one scheme came to him, and he studied it. It was too perilous, and he discarded it. Another appeared. He examined it and judged it too limited a response, so he rejected it. At least a dozen more came and were found wanting, and then late in the night as he gazed blankly at the moon, he had a clear vision of himself acting out the most nearly perfect idea he knew he would get. He knew it would take months of work and endless hours of vigilant waiting, but it would be worth it.
      With great difficulty he rolled to one side and spent almost half an hour getting his legs to move. He usually sat in this position when he meditated and often had remained in it for several hours, but this had been much, much longer. He was very stiff, and straightening up was quite painful, but he relaxed and accepted the pain as well as he could and eventually managed to enter the bunker and get into bed.
      LaDonna awoke to find him sleeping peacefully, and knowing how long he had been up, she did not disturb him. She went out and rode her horse most of the day. When she returned, she found James in the shade on their deck poring over a large pile of U.S. Geological Survey maps. He was studying much of Northern California inch by inch.
      "What're you looking for?" she asked.
      "Vengeance," he muttered in a low snarl.
      "This's going to be even nastier than I thought," she said to herself.
      After several days of scrutinizing his maps, James had marked nine X's on a flight chart, and he asked LaDonna, "Want to go fly around in circles with me?" It was the first thing he had said to her since "Vengeance." She had decided it was better to leave him alone until he was ready to talk to her, and she was happy to find his tone pleasant and ordinary.
      As they flew over one location after another, James took several rolls of pictures. Again LaDonna asked, "What're you looking for?"
      "Remember the story of the Trojan Horse?" he asked.
      "Sure."
      "We're looking for the site of the Trojan marijuana garden."
      "We're going to kill a few of those... those mother you know what's?"
      "We're sure gonna try."
      "That helicopter pilot, Clifton, I'd eat his balls if I had the chance. I'd make him watch me if I could."
      "You're my kinda woman, LaDonna, my kinda woman," James laughed never having doubted for an instant she would see this his way.
      Their aerial observations ruled out three sites. The pictures cut three more. That left three for personal inspection. They packed their camping gear and trail bikes in their pickup and examined each place. James explained he was searching for a piece of almost totally inaccessible government land with two steep ridges separated by a canyon less than a mile wide with a good size meadow and spring near the bottom. The best was only thirty-two miles north end a bit west of where they lived. It was deserted and showed no signs of recent human presence. In order to reach it they had to leave their motorcycles and hike in over three-quarters of a mile up an old loggers' skid trail just to reach the ridge top. They could not get even close to the large bottom meadow with any kind of motor vehicle. James crisscrossed the entire area on foot for three miles in each direction and finally after a day and half was ready to leave.
      "This's it, isn't it?" she asked.
      "Yeah," he replied "What do we do now?"
      "Wait till spring. I'll explain it all to you as soon as I've got it worked out, shouldn't be but a day or so. Then you'll study the idea and give me your suggestions. I don't want the rough details to keep you from viewing it objectively when I've got it polished."
      "Fine with me. You're better at this sort of stuff than I am... Do I get Clifton's balls?"
      "'Fraid not."
      "Too bad."
      "You would if I could see how... You really hate him. Catching you getting your pussy eaten wasn't that bad."
      "I haven't thought of that in months. Every time I sit down to play the drums, I see Rosey on fire screaming for help. That man never hurt a fly. All he wanted was to play his drums and smoke a little pot. For this the leaders of our society and the local pigs sentenced him to death by torture. They should all die like he did."
      "They will," said James. "They will." She did not realize how prophetic that statement was.
      James' basic plan was not complicated. It was to plant a large plot of marijuana which was certain to be seen during routine aerial surveillance and then shoot down the government helicopters when they came. It was simple as long as one considered hours and hours of back breaking labor and months of never moving from under a grove of redwood trees in the daytime to be simple. To James and LaDonna these were small prices to pay in light of the burning, ferocious hatred and wrath they now directed at the anti-drug arms of the law enforcement agencies.
      Late the following winter James and LaDonna rode to the chosen site numerous times at sunrise on rainy days. They figured this would be the least likely time to encounter someone, and they were correct. Not once did they meet in a single person. At night they dug pits for several hundred plants at the center of the meadow, so it would appear helicopters would have plenty of room to land and surround the patch with its fake guard shack and armed dummies. This digging was extremely hard work, but neither made the slightest complaint.
      "When this works, it'll be worth it," they thought over and over, shovelful after shovelful. Rainwater got inside their collars and ran down their backs. They ignored it. Their feet were soaked and cold. They ignored it. Their muscles ached from carrying fertilizer and compost down the ridge. They ignored it. They just ignored it.
      When the preliminary work was done; the pits mulched, the seedlings they had sprouted at home planted, the the plastic irrigation pipes laid out and a hidden shelter for James built atop the west ridge, LaDonna left. During the day James sat under one tree or another near his shelter keeping watch on the entire area. He was about five hundred feet above the garden and could see anything approaching it. He had a police issue H&K PSG-1 sniper rifle in 7.62mm NATO caliber which was equipped with the latest combination of daylight/starlight scope. If anything went near the meadow and he wanted to kill it, this $8,000.00 rig would do the job. Once on his own range in the middle of the night he had shot ten rounds in a row with it at two hundred yards, and all had fallen into an area the size of a bottlecap.
      He knew the precise distance to every major landmark out to a mile because he had measured them with a range finder. He knew where to place the crosshairs for any shot out to one thousand yards. He also had his Uzi and a Ruger .22LR semiautomatic pistol with a silencer, but no human came near. Just before nightfall he would climb down the skid trails and care for the plants. Then he would hike back up and enter his shelter pit which was under layers of redwood branches on top of a sheet of plywood. Around dawn he would awaken and do it all over again. Even with all his patience and ability to spend hours in his hunting/waiting state, he found it tedious. He did not move much during the day to insure that after it was over no one who had passed by would remember seeing anyone camped in the area. He read a little, but since he did not want LaDonna making frequent supply visits, he ran out of books quickly. He never cooked. He ate only trail mixes of nuts, seeds and dried fruits. He rendered his water safe with an expensive, ceramic core purifier which was absolutely necessary because of the widespread contamination, bacterial and otherwise, of water throughout rural California. He got a lot of exercise going up and down the ridge and often jogged in the meadow, but still the time wore on him. He had a CB radio and spoke with LaDonna every other day, but they kept their communications short and cryptic.
      Without James LaDonna was very lonely and spent whole days in bed, eating, masturbating and sleeping almost always near the CB in case of emergency, but then she would resolve to stay in shape and would work out for a week. She read and watched videotapes. She watched The Rocky Horror Picture Show at least a dozen times and sometimes pretended she was back in Berkeley in the mid-eighties when she had gone to see it with James at midnight showings for audiences full of people made up as the characters. He had sewed her a sequined outfit, so she could dress as Columbia, and they had gone in costume once. The memory of that night was one of her favorite fantasies. Afterward they had made love in a motel room speaking the characters' lines to each other and laughing.
      April, May and June crept by with no sign of discovery. This did not trouble James who had assumed they would not engage in many observation flights until plants would be readily recognizable, but as July wore on and nothing happened, he began to wonder if it was going to take place as he had planned. He also was beginning to worry because it had been one of the driest, hottest springs in years. If there was a fire, all his work would be for naught, and the fire hazard rose every day. When it reached the middle of August, he was very concerned. The plants were rapidly approaching their time of harvest, and although they would provide of very valuable crop if reaped, that was just not what James had spent almost five months waiting for sitting under a tree. He contemplated having LaDonna send a tip to the authorities but was afraid that might prove suspicious, so he decided to hold off on that for another two weeks.
      Then late one afternoon James spotted a small plane flying back and forth over the landscape in the distance.
      He followed it with his binoculars as it crisscrossed the skies ever closer to him. It took so long he was afraid the pilot would run low on fuel and have to return to base, but finally he passed right over James. He must have espied the patch immediately. It was out in the open with ten foot tall plants the distinctive color of marijuana. Abruptly the pilot broke his pattern and circled back. He flew up the center of the valley taking pictures. "Bingo," thought James and then "Double Bingo. It's our old friend Lieutenant Clifton. See you tomorrow morning, motherfucker."
      That night James told LaDonna to be in position with the panel truck on Highway One by 5:00AM the next morning, and precisely at 5:00AM he heard one word on his CB, "Ready."
      "Waiting," he replied.
      Long before sunrise he unpacked his five Krinskies and place them in a row on the ground next to him under a tree.
      It concealed him in shade but the lowest branches were high enough to fire beneath at incoming low altitude targets. What gear he was going to take with him was packed and sitting next to his motorcycle. The sky was clear, and there was no fog in the bottomland. The sun barely had peaked over the horizon when he saw far off in the distance a squadron of four military type helicopters rapidly approaching him very low over the distant hills. "This is it," he said into the microphone.
      "Rolling," he heard her reply.
      James touched the arming switches on four of the missiles. The sights popped up, and the triggers and pistol grips dropped down. The helicopters were in a diamond formation coming in at under three hundred feet. "Looks like a scene out of Apocalypse Now," was his last thought before he cleared his mind for the ambush. He shouldered the first SAM and waited until the lead helicopter was almost directly over the valley. Just as it began to descend, he squeezed the trigger and continued holding the laser guiding sights on the center of the chopper. An instant later it exploded in a huge fireball. Debris and bodies were blown every which way. James did not pause to study his work but dropped the launching tube, grabbed the second and fired.
      The second pilot had not had time to respond to the attack on the first, and James struck this one easily, too, but by the time he was aiming the third missile, his target was taking evasive action. Gunners on the fourth helicopter opened fire at the area from which they thought the attack was coming, but James was in heavy shade under a circle of large, second growth redwoods. His hit on the third helicopter was less decisive, and though it began to spin as if it might go out of control, it did not crash. By now he was drawing heavy automatic weapons fire all around him as the men in the doorway of the fourth chopper raked the entire top of the hill with their machine guns. They were turning to retreat out of range, and as the rows of bullets struck within inches of his feet, James was tempted to duck behind a tree and let them get away, especially since he would have to stand there and guide the missile to its target, but he realized he would be unable to escape on his motorcycle if he had a helicopter pursuing him. "They'd cut me to pieces the instant they spotted me," he thought shouldering the fourth launcher. The range was much greater to this one, and it seemed like forever to James as he heard bullets impacting all around him while the missile sped on its way and he held the crosshairs in place. There was another huge explosion directly below him as the third helicopter crashed in flames. He did not take his eye from the sight in spite of the fact that the earth shook beneath him. At last the fourth missile found its mark almost two miles away. The last helicopter crashed and burned in the next valley east of where the first three had.
      As quickly as he could, James picked up the one remaining live missile. He began to get on his trail bike when he saw the fire control bomber flying toward him. "I need the fire to distract them while I escape. With the new fire retardant chemicals he could douse the blaze before it spreads." James armed the last missile and fired at the left wing tank. An instant later the wing was blown off, and the plane rolled over and dove into the next valley west of James. That made three totally separate valleys on fire.
      "That oughta keep 'em busy," thought James hastily as he rode off amidst the quickly spreading forest fires. "Paid 'em back for Starleaf and them, fuck their rotten souls. I hope none of' 'em're dead now and all of 'em're dead in an hour. That should be lousy enough to make me feel better."
      The extra muffler kept the motorcycle silent as James sped toward the nearest paved road. When he got there, he saw LaDonna parked alone just far enough in from the junction that she could not be seen from the road. Quickly she opened the back, pulled down a ramp and helped him haul the bike into the compartment. They tied it in place, closed the rear doors and sped off back to Highway One. As they rode, they were all business listening to their scanners as the various law enforcement and fire fighting people yelled at each other.
      "The last helicopter transmitted it was under attack," said LaDonna. "Now the fire department won't enter the area because they're afraid it's a large group of international terrorists and they'll come under fire."
      "Great, that's great. By the time they get to fighting the blaze, we'll be long gone, and the whole area'll be completely incinerated, and all those bastards'll be dead. We've paid 'em back for Starleaf's family, paid 'em back ten times over."
      They drove south on winding Highway One along the coast looking just like the other vehicles. At last they reached the state road nearest the Jefferson Woods and turned east. A dozen miles later they entered their own access road. Soon they were home and turned on the television. They watched the video and listened to the scanners. They held hands and kissed, and LaDonna said, "I've missed you so much."
      "Me, too," said James looking in her eyes.
      She cried for joy at his safe return and said, "I love you more than anyone in the world."
      "I love you more than anyone in the world," he replied.
      Suddenly she pulled his pants down and began sucking his cock vigorously. Surprised he said, "I'm all stinky. I haven't had a bath in days."
      "I don't care. All I want is a mouthful of your cum," she said quoting a porn movie star she liked. James was very horny from his time alone and came immediately. He could not remember it happening more quickly. Soon he rolled over and took her jeans off. The taste of her vagina never had been so sweet to him, not even when she was ten, and between her waves of pleasure he continued to nibble her pubic area. At last when she was done, she insisted on sucking him a second time.
      "Whoa, I'm an old man," he teased.
      "You can do it," she laughed, and he had another orgasm swiftly. After that they passed out in each other's arms with the scanners and taping equipment running. They awoke the next morning to a live, on the spot, report from the valley where the first three helicopters had been shot down. "This is Melissa Faraday on the scene of the worst disaster in the history of American law enforcement. A hundred and three officers and eleven civilians are known dead, and nine more are still missing. Miraculously four are known to have survived the inferno which turned what was once lush, green canyons into nothing more than smoking embers. Most notable among those murdered here in cold blood was California State Attorney General W. Arlington Seagrave, the fundamentalist minister turned politician who was being widely touted as the front runner in the next gubernatorial election. Attorney General Seagrave, who had always kept a high profile in the strong crackdown on illegal drugs, joined the ill-fated strike force at the last moment as a show of support for the heroes of the Golden State's war on drug abuse. This was to have been a raid on one of the largest marijuana plantations in recent years, but it became a tragedy when the brave guardians of our freedom were attacked by cowardly terrorists apparently using sophisticated anti-aircraft missiles of unknown origin. The evil perpetrators of yesterday's vile assault on duly authorized government officials is the most craven act this reporter has ever heard of..."
      "Up yours, Lissie," interjected LaDonna flying the bird at the screen.
      "What about those brave law enforcement heroes incinerating little kids, bitch," added James.
      "Also among the crew in addition to Attorney General Seagrave were fourteen federal agents and a full complement of state and local officers including one whom I had the personal pleasure of meeting several times. He was typical of the courageous dedication of all those who died, and we're going to run some file footage of Lieutenant Thomas Clifton, father of three, which we took after a raid last year."
      The station cut to the interview she had done with Clifton in front of the ruins of Starleaf's family compound.
      "Eat shit and die, pig... I'd eat your balls right now with you watching if I could," LaDonna raged at the screen.
      "How about that?" said James. "We got that bastard Seagrave. You know I heard he was responsible for the hit on Senor Riviera and his wife and kids. He was an ambitious creep, wanted to be President, would've outlawed unregistered orgasms if he could've... Who knows?
      Maybe we altered the course of history. Fascists liked him're real popular now, and he was one of the slickest."
      "Don't be naive, James. Another asshole'll pop up to fill his place in the public rectum. Nothing'll change.
      There'll always be a war between people like us who want to the left alone and the morality police like him. You know as well as I do eighty percent of crime in America would disappear if they legalized everything they call victimless crime. Organized crime would go broke, and we wouldn't have any more junkies than we have now. The only differences'd be the junkies wouldn't bother anybody 'cause they'd get all their drugs free, and most cops'd have to earn an honest living, but it'll never happen. The people're too brainwashed... The pigs like to think they're different then we are, but they're not. They kill brutally in cold blood, and so do we. The only difference is the society sanctions their violence... No, this won't change anything. All it did was make us feel better which's all I wanted it to do. I feel great. Wanted to do it to me, Big Boy?"
      "Sure," said James embracing her.
      "She's right," he thought. "Nothing's changed. We've just gotten our personal vengeance out of our system... Nothing changed when I killed Kennedy... Gee, I haven't thought of that in years... and nothing will now... Life gives you only what you force it to give you. I'd never've hurt a soul if I wasn't attacked first... 0h, LaDonna, you have the most marvelous little pussy..."
      The next day the media speculated it was Arab terrorists angered by U.S. support of Israel. After that the guessers pointed at South American drug dealers wanting to strike back at the increasingly draconian American Drug Enforcement Agency which was rumored to have begun shooting down suspected drug smuggling aircraft rather than trying to make arrests, and still later it was ascribed to Central American Marxist revolutionaries lashing out at Yankee imperialism.
      Of course, Northern California was crawling with every agent the government could muster. Countless lesser and more than a few major investigations were abandoned while every possible lead in the case was run down, however, none of those leads ever pointed anywhere near the one that got away.

Chapter XXV

Needless to say James and LaDonna did not venture far off their land for more than a year. They lived their usual, long established pattern of rural existence, in some ways spartan, in others sybaritic. In the spring of 1997 they went shopping in Southern California and played tourist along the southern coast. Except for the couple who had purchased their marijuana crop, everyone they had known there was dead, and they did not visit Charlie and Monica. They did go to Catalina Island, and they hiked up to the very clump of bushes where they first had made love more than twenty years earlier. Naturally they were overcome with passion and nostalgia, and they copulated gleefully in celebration of the longevity of their relationship. This day of mature loving tenderness was to be one of their very favorite memories for the rest of their lives. Mostly they just sat on the hilltop and held hands while basking in the radiance of their love for each other.
      LaDonna disliked being off their land for long, so they and their truckload of supplies soon were back home.
      Their life fell back into its orderly day to day routine until early June. Then the major turd of human history began to move inexorably toward the proverbial fan which had been placed in its path. James was above ground sawing and stacking several cords of firewood for their underground woodshed and was almost done when LaDonna lifted the main entry hatch of their home and called, "James, there's something on TV you'd better watch."
      "Let me finish the last few logs.
      I'll be down."
      "James, this's important."
      He knew right away from her stress on "important" that something major was occurring. He put down the chainsaw and descended into the ground. He saw she had activated their most recent military scanners and descramblers, all of which were still operational because whomever Senor Rivera had bribed to get them six years earlier had not been discovered.
      "I was watching the seven o'clock news when they announced they were going to Jerusalem," said LaDonna. "They said something about a response to a nuclear threat by an Arab terrorist group."
      "Shit," said James. "How many times have I told you that's how it's going to go down. With that new Prime Minister who's a fanatical sephardic Rabbi things could get out of hand real fast."
      "What makes you so sure?"
      "I'm half Jewish, remember? I'm old enough to have the smell of the ovens in my nostrils. It's not ancient history to me, and it's even more immediate to him. I look at him, and I see a terrorist as crazy as any trained by the mullahs. Back in the late forties when he was a kid, he planted bombs just like the Arabs do today. When his religious party get big enough to broker power between Labor and Likud, it was just a matter of time before he demanded to be Prime Minister in exchange for his support, and things really started to get weird when Likud cut a deal with him. They weren't any too displeased when he instituted and enforced the Arab Expulsion Act, and the people there love it whenever he appears in public with his fist up any air yelling, 'Never again.' He's as obsessed with the Gotterdammerung mentality as Hitler was in the bunker only he sees the whole state of Israel as his bunker."
      "Are you that sure?"
      "I told you. It's half of me. I understand it. I'd wipe out a whole city if that's what it took to keep us alive. He'd kill the rest of the world to preserve Israel, and if he knew Israel was going down, he'd try to take as much of the world with him as he could. That was Hitler's idea when he saw Germany collapsing. The difference between me and the Prime Minister of Israel is I was smart enough and lucky enough to find a place to hide. All those Jews never would or never could, so they sought safety in numbers out in the open. Now they're a sitting duck target. Maybe they had no other choice... This's going to be a desperate long shot, his only chance, but it won't work."
      The television flashed to an ascetic looking man of medium-size wearing wire rimmed spectacles. He was seated behind a battery of microphones and had on a skull cap. He was about James' age.
      The voice of the announcer said, "Live from Jerusalem we bring you a statement from Israeli Prime Minister Yitzak Troglodonsky."
      "Ladies and Gentlemen," said the Prime Minister in English only slightly tinged with a Yiddish accent. "Three days ago an Arab terrorist stating he was a representative of the P.G. in E., the Palestinian Government in Exile, delivered to our embassy in Paris a vial of what we have determined is weapons grade plutonium. Along with this were plans for a primitive but workable nuclear device. We were informed four such bombs had been constructed and were in place in Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, Haifa and Netanya. We were told that if the Jewish people did not agreed to leave this, the Promised Land which was given to us many thousands of years ago, did not agreed to leave Israel, these bombs would be detonated. We were given seven days to reply.
      "Today I am replying. I would like to tell you Mr. Ayatollah Kusemalli, for it is undoubtedly you who is the moving force behind this ultimatum, that the Almighty Living God of the Chosen People has promised us this land for as long as men live on earth. We are prepared to defend it by any means necessary and all means at our disposal.
      "I would like to thank the President of the United States of America who in the interest of world peace has offered to allow the entire population of Israel to emigrate to his country. This is a wonderful gesture, and Jews everywhere will never forget who made it, but this is our country. We cannot leave it without giving up control over our own destiny, and this we will never do.
      "We have been warned that if we make any attempt to locate these bombs, they will be detonated by the people guarding them. We do not doubt that this is so. What I wish to tell you, Mr. Ayatollah, is what it will cost you to destroy Israel, because deep inside me is the certain knowledge that it is within your power to do so. If these bombs explode, the few remaining people of Israel will be easily overrun by the Arab hordes now massing in their countries, however, the Children of Israel are not about to go into the ovens alone this time. We possess over four hundred nuclear weapons, most of them larger than the ones with which we are being threatened.
      Furthermore we have a variety of effective delivery systems, cruise and ballistic missiles as well as bombers, to insure that we can totally decimate every Islamic population center between Rabat in Morocco on the Atlantic Ocean and Islamabad in Pakistan which we know is responsible for giving you the technology to do this and which country we intend to take special care to annihilate completely if this attack is made on us. Your Holy City of Mecca shall be made an immense, radioactive hole in the ground, and we also have the means of delivering nuclear weapons to several other large Islamic population centers farther away such as in Bangladesh.
      "Mr. Ayatollah, I speak to you in the only language you understand, brute force. The destruction of Israel will cost you the end of Islam as a major religion on earth . Over a billion people will die in this Holocaust which you are threatening to begin, and only a tiny percentage of them will be Jews. Almost all the rest, yourself included, will be Moslems.
      "I also have a word for the President of Russia. Our intelligence indicates you are preparing a pre-emptive strike against us. I warn you, our technology is far more advanced than you suspect. Should either our satellites or our land-based systems detect any attack by your forces on Israel, all our weapons are now poised for launch on warning and can all be fired in twenty-five seconds. This includes eleven thermonuclear weapons which are now targeted at the major cities of your country. The delivery systems of these weapons are substantially different than you expect and are capable of penetrating your defensive systems. While this would not prevent your country from waging war in the short run, it will result in such a large loss of population that the United States and its Western allies will swallow you in a few years, that is what is left of you after your Chinese enemies seize everything in Russia east of the Ural Mountains.
      "Mr. Ayatollah Kusemalli, let me tell you that all the Children of Israel want is to live in peace in the land God gave us. If you will leave us in peace, we will not trouble you. We will let you remove your agents guarding your bombs, and we will dismantle them. Those Arabs formerly from Palestine will continue living in the countries where they are now. The Jewish people will continue living within the current borders of the State of Israel, and the human race will survive, or you will continue on the road to insanity which you have pursued every time to Chosen People of the Everlasting Living God have tried to defend themselves against your fanatical terrorist attacks, and we will all die. The choice is yours, but you must make it knowing that the Jewish people will never again walk into the ovens like docile lambs led to slaughter. Never Again."
      The screen went blank for a few seconds and then cut to the network studio in New York where the anchorman was seated.
      "No doubt in my mind he means it,"
      said James. "He's told the Arabs to fuck off, and they're as crazy as he is.
      They'll die rather than lose face. They think it's the quickest way to paradise."
      "Well, there you have it," said the anchorman. "It seems the world is in for a significant confrontation over the next few days."
      "Those guys're unbelievable," said LaDonna. "'A significant confrontation.' This's like the clown who called the explosion of the Space Shuttle back... When was it...' 85...' 86... 'a major malfunction.'"
      "Let's get everything we want down in the shelter. I'll run a systems check on it. We did one four months ago, so everything should be fine. Then we'll start monitoring."
      "Right," said LaDonna, and they set about the prearranged tasks they had designated for a preliminary alert which they distinguished from an immediate alert which meant missiles were on the way.
      For the next two days neither James nor LaDonna strayed more than a hundred yards from their home. The great, safe-like steel doors at both ends of the tunnel leading down to their shelter were kept open, and one or the other constantly monitored what they could of the Presidential and other secret frequencies. The most interesting communication they intercepted began with a question from the Russians to the Americans asking if the Israelis actually did have the early warning and delivery capabilities they claimed or were merely bluffing. The leader of the Russians very carefully asked if the President might not consider it prudent to sacrifice a few million Jews -- a "handful" was the word used -- in order to save a billion lives, and the Americans clearly gave the idea a great deal of thought before admitting they simply did not know the level of Israeli technology.
      Twice the Russians made it clear they would attack the U. S. if Israel attacked them.
      The television screens were filled with interviews with everyone who would talk to a reporter, but this did not include the Ayatollah or any of his aides who were said to be in seclusion praying for divine guidance. The nature of what their God told them became apparent when James monitored a transmission to the President informing him that observation satellites over the Middle East had recorded four nuclear explosions in Israel. For several minutes there was no response, and then a substantial flight of missiles toward Israel was detected originating from several points in Russia as well as from submarines, presumably Russian. The Russian leader was gambling the Israelis would never know what hit them. He lost. Great waves of missiles left Israel before its destruction, and within an hour the Arab world and the Islamic religion was well on its way to becoming a relic of history.
      Even more surprising to the Russians was some bit of unknown Israeli technology which allowed all but one of its eleven thermonuclear weapons to reach their targets causing enormous destruction. The Russians made good on their threat to attack the United States, but contrary to predictions of what such a war would be like, a thirty minute war, this went on for days. Strangely enough nowhere near the total destructive force of either side was used. Each side seemed to realize that for them to be able to survive after the war their enemy had to be destroyed with as few bombs as possible because each bomb which exploded moved the planet that much closer to complete uninhabitability, and it was this which prevented either side from wiping out all life on earth.
      If offers of negotiation were made, James and LaDonna never knew of them. Targets like the miles deep Rocky Mountain Command Center were hit repeatedly and eventually destroyed. Quite a few Russian and several American warheads proved to be duds. The skies over the Northern Hemisphere grew darker and darker. The Russians and the Chinese exchanged quite a few warheads. Parts of Western and Central Europe also were incinerated. After a week there were few transmissions left to monitor except shortwave ones from the Southern Hemisphere.
      James research and intuition had proved correct. There had been no potential targets in their immediate vicinity, and they were unharmed. Even their fear of forest fires in their area, which had led them to clear the hillside around their home, proved incorrect because it had been a wet spring and no flames spread there from other areas. Furthermore it rained heavily several times that summer. Their radiation sensors indicated high levels on the surface, but at no time did they have to close off their air filtration system and use emergency oxygen tanks. The skies were not totally dark but dim enough that their photovoltaic systems generated no electricity.
      There was enough light, so that even at night their starlight video cameras powered by their still functional windmills could give them accurate information about what was going on above them.
      James and LaDonna settled in for what they expected would be a long time underground. They spent the first few days in the bunker silently wrapped in each other's arms. They made love a few times, but it was definitely not a period of orgiastic behavior for them. Even though both of them were basically somewhat misanthropic people, the scope of what had occurred left them stunned. Neither wanted to discuss the topic. At times they listened to Southern Hemisphere broadcasts which indicated the skies were darkening there, too, but not nearly to the extent they had in the North.
      The fact that they were fluent in Spanish enabled them to understand the greater part of South American broadcasts, and they also listened to Australians and New Zealanders. They did not respond even though their equipment had that capacity.
      From scattered transmissions they knew more than a few besides themselves had survived in North America including a few entire cities, but most people were in far worse circumstances than their own, and James and LaDonna did not want to communicate with them.
      When they heard the pleasant sounding, English speaking voice of a middle aged American emigrate black who had gone to Zimbabwe to study African music and just never come back, curiosity got the better of them, and they responded with a New Zealand identification. He kept them posted on the events there which were more or less inevitable. The civil war went on in South Africa. The blacks were openly and actively supported by the armies by the neighboring African states. They were the vast majority, but they had problems agreeing on unified leadership, and the whites were much better trained and equipped, so it went on a long time and was very bloody. The whites had a few nuclear weapons and used them, but this only served to anger the blacks more, and the eventual slaughter was nearly total. Some escaped on boats, and a handful managed to flee north to Zimbabwe where an unusually enlightened and to some extent still multiracial government, though it supported the South African invasion, nevertheless tried to protect its own white citizens as well as it could.
      "Serves them right," said LaDonna one night. "They screwed them over so long. They should've figured sooner or later they'd screw back."
      "I sure would've," said James.
      One day after about a month in the bunker LaDonna finally said, "I can't imagine so many people dead."
      "Ninety-nine point nine percent of them were assholes," said James. "If they weren't, we wouldn't be stuck in this hole in the ground. They got what they deserved, and they brought it on themselves. The other tenth of a percent we couldn't've done anything for anyway, so why bother thinking about it?"
      "You're right," she said. "It doesn't upset me. It's just strange to think about. Actually if we survive this and the sun comes back out, the world won't be overpopulated. I'm beginning to like that idea. We have our home and our piece of land. We never left here much anyway, and now we won't have any reason to go away at all. I think I'm going to like that."
      "That's how I look at it," said James. "As long as I've got you, the rest of the world can drop dead. I don't care if we're the last two people on earth. I'll be happy loving you."
      "Me, too."
      This was virtually the only conversation James and LaDonna had about the fate of however many billions of people it was who died in those times, and it accurately represented their feelings.
      Soon afterward LaDonna went up from their shelter to their home long enough to bring down her collection of pornographic video tapes. Since they were unable to bathe as frequently as they would have liked, they abandoned oral sex in favor of penile/vaginal intercourse. They huddled naked in their oversize down sleeping bag and kept warm. What could have been the terrible boredom of their months underground was diverted by viewing hour after hour of smiling, laughing people gleefully copulating. Even when they were not themselves sexually aroused, they would watch the screen and imagine themselves to be the couples who were embracing.
      This deliberate mesmerization probably helped them stay sane in a world where there was nothing to do besides that and occasionally get out of bed to eat, drink or relieve themselves, and since it was increasingly cold even with their stove burning several hours a day, they only got out of bed when it was necessary. They meditated quite a bit and otherwise lay wrapped in each other's arms with as much skin pressed against each other as possible.
      James would move his hand slowly over LaDonna's large, chubby bosom for hours at a time feeling the perfect smoothness of her skin and round shapliness of her breasts while thinking, "This isn't bad at all. I've gotten to return to the womb for a while, only this time I have my lover with me. I love her so much." Then after a long pause he would think, "I'm going to have an erection again soon. I can feel it began to stir."
      LaDonna would lay against James thinking, "I never would've thought I'd be happy down here like this, but I am.
      I always loved cuddling with James, and this is the ultimate snuggle. I love him so much. I'm so grateful for him saving me and bringing me here... It's so neat watching those movies while he diddles me... 0h, he's getting an erection again.
      For a guy in his sixties he still can do it a lot, twice a day..."
      James would roll LaDonna over, and she would spread her legs and raise her knees to make it as easy as possible for him to enter her. Then they would lay still, joined but not moving other than to kiss for half an hour or more. When she would sense his penis was growing soft, she would rhythmically tighten and relax her vaginal muscles until he was firm again. At times she would sit astride him and let her breasts and hair sweep across his face and chest. He would massage her clitoris with his thumb until she squirmed in delight before collapsing on him. Then with his penis still firm within her he would fondle her derriere gently as she rested. Then they would turn over, and she would slip her hand around his thigh so as he slid his penis in and out of her vagina, she would fondle his testicles and then form a tight ring with her fingers around the shaft of his penis, so he could cum easily. "My Sweet James is going to cum so good," she would croon to him as his erection grew harder and harder until he climaxed and lay still.
      "I love you more than anyone in the world," they would whisper, and then they would dose. This went on for almost a year.
      The skies were quite dark compared to days before the war but gradually lighter than they had been at their darkest. James and LaDonna at last reemerged on the surface in late May of 1998.
      Radiation levels had dropped, and they decided to risk a few hours above ground.
      They found walking very difficult, and they were in terrible physical condition from lack of exercise, but they managed to repair a windmill which had bound up and to check their old underground garden to see if it might be possible to grow a few beans, grains and vegetables there because their food supplies was dwindling. Using growing lights on seedlings they had sprouted in the house, they began the first crop in 45 F cold using heaters. The winter of 1998-1999 was the worst with temperatures regularly in the teens, a few below zero readings and several feet of snow, but the spring of 1999 brought much clearer skies and temperatures rising into the sixties. Much of the vegetation around their home had died but they had stored a large quantity of fast growing rye grass seed which before the war had been recommended for use on hillsides after fires to prevent erosion, and in the fall they sowed this over a wide area.
      Within a few years it had spread as far as the eye could see. In the spring of 2000 they began an above ground garden on bottomland where someone surveying the land from a distant ridge would not see it (They always had employed an elaborate system of filters and diffusers to keep smoke from their fireplaces almost invisible from a distance.). They saw no sign of anyone else after exploring for several miles in every direction, but they definitely considered it imprudent to advertise their presence.
      The next thirty-five years of their lives were peaceful, hard-working times. The climate became quite warm and the air clear. They quietly joyed in each other's companionship, gardened, meditated, exercised and slowly grew old. The listened to radio broadcasts from the Southern Hemisphere where many people, more than a half of the population in many places, had died during the darkness, but it had been nothing like the devastation of the Northern Hemisphere where perhaps only a twentieth of the people survived. They rarely transmitted responses and never gave their true location. While most people would have found the repetitive nature of their lives dull, James and LaDonna deemed it idyllic. They were the sort of people who if they liked a certain food could eat it nearly every day for thirty years without tiring of it, and in those times this was a powerful survival trait.
      They knew sooner or later population in the south would swell and people would push north, but this would not be until many years after they had died. Besides the countries in South America persisted in fighting with each other as did those in Africa, and this kept population low and delayed migration north. James and LaDonna simply sat on their rocking chairs in the sun and enjoyed the pastoral silence and solitude. There were some indications other people had survived in Mendocino, but they obviously kept to themselves, too, and James and LaDonna never saw them, not even when their radio indicated small villages were developing.
      Whether it was because of his years of vigorous exercise and good diet or because of his good genes or both, James lived a hearty and active life into his hundred and first year. He walked slowly to their garden and usually did not work more than an hour at a time, but he looked no more than seventy and even made love with LaDonna fairly often. Then one day in December of 2035 after LaDonna had gently sucked him and he had cum and whispered his words of love for her, she felt him grow cold and realized he was dead. She wept for days leaving his body on the bed where he had expired, but eventually she realized she had to dispose of his body and would do so as he had requested. She built a large pyre in a bottomland meadow and waited for a foggy night. When one came, she drenched the logs with gasoline, placed his body on the pyre, lit it and watched it burn in the eerieness of the ground fog. Even though it was a large blaze, it was not visible for any distance. At last it was beyond the power of any human hand to render false James' claim that he was indeed the one that got away.

PostscriptHow did it come to be, this book you

hve found buried in a bunker? The answer is simple. As James aged into his late nineties, he felt more and more filled with the belief that in the next life we would be reunited, and he wished to spare me the shock of learning the story of his earlier life then, so he began to prepare me by telling me of his life before we met. I became fascinated by it and asked him for endless details. Bit by bit he told me everything you have read here from the anecdote of fishing money from gratings with Kathleen to the slaying of a President. I took notes on all of it, and after his death I passed many hours that otherwise would have been very lonely by putting those notes in their present form. I did not outlive him by many years. I detected a swelling in my belly long before I was eighty, and I knew it could cause me great pain. I did not intend to suffer the tortures it could bring me, so when the pain became severe, I built myself a pyre where James' had been. I sealed up the entrance to our home, so it would be a long time before it was discovered with this recording and our possessions. I waited for a fog shrouded night, and then I climbed upon the gasoline soaked mound of dried, old logs, and soon my body was but dust on the wind.
      I have no idea what kind of values will be held by those who discover this biography. I know my own beliefs and those of the hypocritical society of late Twentieth Century America. If people who see life as James and I did find this, I am sure they will understand and take courage from our successful struggle to survive in a cruel and insensitive world. We wish them well in their quest for a world which will leave individuals in peace without calling on them to defend themselves at every turn because surely it will be obvious to them that James never would have hurt a soul if he had not been threatened at every step of his life. I knew he had a gentle, loyal heart to offer anyone who treated him fairly. He never took pleasure in his violent actions but only saw them as the appropriate and necessary responses to a degenerate environment. If those hypocrites and fools who ruled the world then and gave us the years of ice and darkness still prevail and it is they who come upon this account, I know they will see this has not much different than a book about her wonderful life with Adolph Hitler which Eva Braun might have written if Germany had won World War II, but this is not the case. James hated Hitler just as he hated everyone from Danny Cooper on who entered his life seeking to do him harm for no reason other than his own selfish pleasure, but if the readers of this book are so unwise as to see James as evil, let this book serve to thumb his nose at history and remind the world that just as with good so, too, must evil have its heroes, and surely one of them must be James Sean Christopher Marlowe, the one that got away.

Certification By The Board Of Federation ArchivistsWe, the members of the Board of

Federation Archivists, certify that this document found on a primitive recording disk was unearthed by the Federation Archeological Team searching on planet No.
      68,719,387 in the galaxy No. 4,161,263,244,216. Careful study of it reveals that it is a description of the life of the until now unknown Great Warrior who called himself "The One That Got Away" and who saved our universe on the day of the Interuniversal Invasion. This incredible stroke of good fortune has led to the establishment of the Great Shrine to the memory of this protohuminoid on that desolate, faraway planet.
      Until the discovery of this ancient recording all that was known of the Great Warrior was what the secret automatic transmission equipment of the starship of Eessththtaah had sent to the Federation Recording Vaults before it was destroyed by the Great Warrior prior to its returning to its home world which we only knew as being in the galaxies of the No. 41,619 sector of the universe. As we all know, those transmissions lay unknown in the Vaults for eons until the Federation Archivists studying the destruction of the Interuniversal Invaders discovered them and learned how the Great Warrior had commanded a ship which had annihilated our attackers who had not been destroyed by some natural phenomenon as previously had been supposed.
      The Truth of the Philosophy recorded by the computers of that ship as having come directly from the mind of the Great Warrior who saved us had the most profound effect upon all of us who continue to govern the universe in peace and harmony with our fellows, so that we are no longer unwilling to defend ourselves if we are attacked.
      As time passes, many will journey to this dead but apparently once beautiful planet and its Shrine in what the Great Warrior knew as Mendocino, Northern California to pay homage to this creature who, primitive as it was, saved our ancestors from total destruction and gave us the most important lesson of our Way of Being, "Be kind to those who show you kindness, but be vigilant and treat others as would The One That Got Away."

Afterword

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Table of Contents

DedicationFor J. who calls herself the

The One That Got Away

Dedication

Prolog"That one... That one's Jewish,"

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIV

Chapter XXV

PostscriptHow did it come to be, this book you

Certification By The Board Of Federation ArchivistsWe, the members of the Board of

Afterword