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A coupleof hours slipped by while she told us stories of theboat, and celebrities that she and her husband knew orhad met.The sun was approaching the horizon, and Charlene askedus if we wouldn’t stay and have dinner aboard with herand her husband, Stanley.Stanley arrived on board while Charlene and Genie were inthe galley, chatting away like old friends and workingtogether on the meal.We shook hands introduced ourselves. It made me feel likea real man, greeting this wealthy fellow aboard his ownboat as if I were his equal. Well, this was America afterall.It was all very seductive, and I was very proud of Geniethat despite her lack of makeup and jewelry, her simplehaircut and simple clothes, she seemed to just fit rightin with these wealthy people. I remember feeling a kindof warm euphoria about it all. This fine fleetingfantasy; moving amongst the rich and famous. Okay, theyweren’t famous, but they were rich.Stanley was as pleasant and personable as his wife. Hewas about. I had a feeling. They jumped back in the van and started driving slowly back towards our drive.“Connie ... back to the house ... NOW!” I said.We started to run ... the van sped up.I heard the gate at the drive crunch.“Can you shoot?”Connie said, “Yes.”“Will you shoot?”She hesitated, “Umh.”“Never mind,” I said. I popped open a shelf drawer and took out Hairy’s Smith. Ever since his 1911 had jammed, Hairy had converted to wheel guns. “Behind the door is a rifle, the magazine is in it. Get it please.”It’s a good quarter mile of bad road, is our drive. I’ve been meaning to get some gravel delivered and spread out ... but I hadn’t ... yet. That old van bounced and shuddered, banging and clattering down our horrible drive at just under the speed of sound ... that drive is a chore at a walk. They made the bunkhouse turn and slid to a stop at the trash burning barrel.Both doors popped open and a longhaired tall man wearing a duster stepped out of the drivers side. A short fat guy stepped out.
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