The Last American Martyr (6 page)

Nevertheless, we weren’t about to let down our guard. I may have stopped checking the rearview mirror, but I was still damned glad I had the Glock .45 automatic I’d bought the previous year. Buying the pistol seemed like a necessary evil after sales of
Enough is Enough
skyrocketed and the response from the business world escalated from mere grumblings to a loud vicious growl. As much as we needed the gun now, I wasn’t very happy when I had bought it. I’d broken a promise I once made to myself. A vow I swore to myself the day I left Viet Nam. I can remember as if it was last week, being on that “freedom bird,” rising above the jungle and rice paddies, watching them shrink and swearing up and down I’d never touch another firearm. Unfortunately, circumstances sometimes dictate that we go back on our word.

The first stop on our itinerary was Cherry Hill, New Jersey. We had checked our laptop before leaving the hotel and found out that two large RV dealers were in that area. Both seemed to have large inventories, so we figured they would be good places to shop prices and maybe strike up a deal. Also, both dealerships were convenient since we were heading south to begin with. With winter not all that far off, which direction to go in had been an easy decision. If Elaina and I were being forced to hide out, or if we had to keep on running, we might as well do it where it’s sunny and warm.

After exiting the Jersey Turnpike in Cherry Hill, we stopped at a McDonald’s drive-thru, grabbed two coffees then drove the short distance to the first RV dealership. We got there fifteen minutes before they opened, so Elaina and I sat in the car sipping our coffee. Peering through the windshield and tall cyclone fence, we could not believe the number of travel trailers and motor homes on the lot.

“My God,” Elaina said, “how will we ever know what to pick out? There must be two hundred of them in there.”

“I don’t know, but like I said, we should definitely buy a used one. We’re only planning to keep it a year, tops. If we bought a new one, we’d lose a small fortune when the time comes to flip it. Plus, I’m sure there’ll be a lot more wiggle room when we begin to negotiate the price.”

“I agree. We need to look for one just a few years old with low mileage,” Elaina said as she lifted her bottom off the seat so she could see into the visor mirror. Once she got high enough to see, she quickly finger-brushed her new pixie cut. As she fluffed the short black bangs, her face winced and her eyebrows furrowed. Looking at her now, both our spirits deflated. The fact that she’d been forced to cut off her long beautiful hair was a grim reminder of just how serious our situation was. Our happy respite was no longer so happy, but we knew we still had to move forward with our plan.

Right then a man dressed like a Wall Street banker—three-piece, pinstriped suit and all—slid the huge, wheeled gate open. I gulped the last of my coffee and drove into the lot.

Just a few minutes after we had begun wandering amongst the acres of RV’s, the fashion plate from the gate approached us. He was a fast talker who, like your basic run-of-the-mill doctor, acted as if his presence was an overly-generous, selfless gift. Right from the get-go the guy rubbed me the wrong way. He tried to lead us around by our noses but soon learned that wasn’t going to happen. He was tall like me, about six-two, but probably fifteen years younger. He had an athletic build, and his looks were as flawless as his outfit. Beneath a head of impeccable blonde hair, he had a handsome, yet smarmy face that always seemed too close to ours when he spoke. And did he like to talk. The biggest mistake any salesman can make is to not listen to his customer, and believe me this guy was tough to get through to.

As full of himself as he was, and as much as Elaina and I wanted to bolt out of there, he had one unit we thought was perfect. It was an eleven-year-old, thirty-foot, Class A motor home. Forget about the age, this Winnebago was cherry, and it only had 31,000 miles on the odometer. It looked a streamlined, dressed up miniature bus on the outside, and the inside made our apartment look like a depression-era flat. Supposedly, it only had one previous owner. Whether it did or it didn’t, we could easily see it had been loved. On its huge, panoramic windshield they had a price of $18,999.

After looking around it, inside it, and under it, we went for a spin. It felt awfully strange sitting so high off the road as I steered the big wheel, but the unit ran beautifully.

I would have bought it on the spot. With the signals Elaina was sending me I knew she would have, too. But I wanted to check out that other dealer first. I also wanted to feel out our
new friend
, Ronald C. Kincaid, to see how flexible he was on the price. After telling him we wanted to look further (much to his obvious chagrin) I asked him what his best price would be. Of course, he tried to drag us into the office to “talk,” but I let him know I wasn’t yet ready for that charade. He said they might take $17,500, plus tax, prep fees, and this and that. When I told him we might be back in an hour or so to talk, instead of being hopeful that he might have a sale, he looked at us as if we’d just yanked a commission check out of his breast pocket. As much as his demeanor bothered the hell out of me, something else irked me even more. Twice, during his pushy sales pitch, he stopped midsentence, looked closely at my face, and asked, “Are you sure we’ve never met? You look
very
familiar.”

Though we hated to, Elaina and I did go back to see Kincaid. The salesman at the second dealership had been a true gentleman and ever so helpful. He asked us all kinds of questions so he could help us choose a vehicle that would not only fit our needs but our budget as well. But as hard as we looked, we couldn’t find anything we liked as much as the one at the first place.

After going round and round with Kincaid and his manager for what seemed like half the day, but in reality was only an hour, we finally agreed on a deal. After that, when Elaina had gone to the ladies room, the general manager told me that this had been the hardest time he’d ever had “giving away” an RV. I just smiled and handed him a deposit.

After that, Elaina and I drove right over to the local branch of our bank and withdrew the funds. Fortunately, we got there ten minutes before their noon Saturday closing time. Soon after that, with Elaina behind me in the rental car, I rolled our new home out of the lot. We’d paid only $15,000—
out the door!
That included tax, title, license plates the works. We not only got a fantastic price, but the manager ended up eating all of the dealership’s standard, nonsensical fees because I absolutely would not pay them.

After returning the Taurus right there in Cherry Hill, Elaina hopped into the RV with me. We were absolutely ecstatic. As I drove away from the Avis lot she raced up and down our new home on wheels checking out every nook and cranny. She was like a little girl on an Easter egg hunt. She finally plopped into the plush, oversized passenger seat next to me just as I steered the behemoth back onto the Jersey Turnpike. Sitting high, high above the road, all smiles, we felt as if we were perched on top of the world and it was rotating beneath us.

For the time being at least, all our happiness and excitement seemed to shrink our fears again. I can’t describe with words how good it made me feel to see Elaina so excited and at ease after what we’d been through. I knew well and good we should savor this relief from our newly imposed mental bondage. I wanted to taste it, chew it slowly; make it last before digesting it. But something new was gnawing at me now. Something I wasn’t going to bring up and let ruin all our well-deserved joy.

I did not like the idea that after Elaina and I had signed the paperwork, and she’d left me alone with Kincaid and the GM, Kincaid managed to put my name and face together. He’d finally realized who I was, and I did not like it one bit. Bad enough he knew the make, model, year, and color of the RV we would be driving, but there was even more. I had no choice but to also give him our cell number. He needed it so that when the permanent license plates arrived from New York he could call us and forward them to wherever we might be staying. I realized I just might be letting my imagination get out of hand. That the odds were huge nothing would ever become of this. But just the same, I did not like that guy. And with our lives possibly in very real danger, I didn’t like having any bases uncovered. As much as that scenario with Kincaid and his boss bothered me, I decided not to tell Elaina about it. She already had enough on her mind.

After driving only sixty miles or so, I asked Elaina if she wanted to stop and find a campground. We hadn’t gone far, but it was already crowding four in the afternoon. We’d gotten up very early that morning, accomplished a lot, and were beginning to tire. Driving the RV had been a barrel of fun, but being new at it demanded constant vigilance. I also figured we’d be much better off driving through Baltimore and D.C. early the next day; a Sunday morning. Lord knows we had nothing but time. Well, at least that’s what we thought.

We exited I-95 in a very nice Maryland town called Aberdeen. We needed some supplies and there were all kinds of shopping right there near the interstate. All the big chain-stores were well represented in this squeaky-clean business district, but we really hoped to find a mom and pop place. We didn’t have any luck, but we did manage to find one small supermarket with an unfamiliar name. And after parking the big rig in the far corner of the lot, we went in to buy groceries, beer, wine, and ice. The ice was a must since the fridge hadn’t been plugged in yet and would take hours to get cold after we hooked up at a campground.

Surprisingly, the store had a fairly good selection of ball caps in one of its aisles. Believing that hats just might add another small degree of anonymity to our appearance, we each bought one. Elaina and I had to search for a few minutes, but we managed to find a couple that didn’t have corporate or team logos on them. We wouldn’t have cared if the store was giving them away, neither of us would ever allow ourselves to become walking billboards for some corporation, or a billionaire-owned sports team.

As soon as we got back to the camper, we removed the tags from our new caps, and put them on immediately. Elaina looked adorable the way she tipped the bill up on her burgundy one, and I told her exactly that. With a contented smile still on those full lips of hers, she said I looked real outdoorsy in my brown version. No matter how good, bad or indifferent they may have looked, we made a pact right there and then. Neither of us would ever take them off in public.

We spent that night in our camper parked in the back of a Cracker Barrel restaurant. Being new RVers, we hadn’t a clue that most campgrounds as far north as we were had already closed for the winter. Nevertheless, after storing all the food and ice and having a couple of drinks and dinner, we cuddled up in the back bedroom and slept like two sleep-deprived infants. The next morning, feeling all rested, chipper and cozy in our new home, we decided not to shoot straight to Florida. There certainly was no reason to rush. Neither of us had ever seen the Great Smoky Mountains in Western North Carolina, and now that we had the opportunity, we figured why not. It was still autumn and maybe not too late to see the leaves turning up there. 

Benign as our reasons were, the decision to go to the Smokies would soon turn out to be an unfathomable mistake.

Chapter 6

The morning of November 2
^nd
was the fifth time we had woken up in the Winnebago. We were having a ball in it, and Elaina had the tiny kitchen all set up just the just way she wanted. It was our second day in the Asheville area, and the weather forecast promised another unseasonably-mild autumn day. Sitting at a picnic table outside the camper at first light, we were already working on our second cup of coffee. As the new dawn greeted the forest around us, illuminating a spectacle of scarlet and gold leaves, Elaina whispered so as not to disturb the other campers.

“Honey, what do you say we drive up to the Blue Ridge Parkway this morning? Everyone is saying that it’s utterly gorgeous.”

“Sure,” I said, admiring the natural beauty all around us, “I guess it’s safe.”

“What’s safe, Tom? We don’t know how safe we are sitting right here. We can’t just lie down and die. We’re going to go right on enjoying ourselves. Yeah … sure, we still have to be vigilant, but that’s it.”

I pulled a Carlton from my pack, tapped the end of it on the wooden picnic table. You’re right, honey, freak it, we’re going to have an experience we’ll never forget. By the way, we’re going to have to buy one of those little cameras. What do they call them…digital?”

“Yesss,” she said raising her brows in an exaggerated fashion, going popeyed on me. “And guess who’s going to end up figuring how to work the thing.”

“All right, all right, quit picking on me. So what if I’m a bit, what do they call it today, electronically challenged?”

“I’d like to get one today ... hey, do you hear that? Shhhh, listen.”

From somewhere just behind the tree line came a loud knock-knock-knock as if someone was banging one of the tree trunks with an undersized hammer.

“Yeaaah, I hear it. It sounds like…”

“Look Tom,” Elaina interrupted, “There it is. See it.”

Flying from the bough of a tall pine tree, with the sun’s first soft rays setting it aglow, was the largest woodpecker we’d ever seen. A full foot and a half in length, it looked a little goofy, yet majestic, at the same time. It had a tall red crest atop its head and a white line running down its blackish neck. As it flew right above us, it called out as if it was scolding us. A loud, irregular kik-kikkik-kik-kik resonated throughout the campground and woods.

* * *

About an hour later, on the way to the Blue Ridge Parkway, we made a quick stop at a Wal-Mart. For the first time in as long as I can remember, we splurged. For many years we’d been splitting paper towels in half, cutting out grocery coupons, buying day-old bread. This day we sprung for that camera, and two reasonably-priced pairs of binoculars. On the way to the checkout, Elaina spotted
A
Field Guide to the Birds East of the Rockies,
which we also bought. Minutes later, as I drove to the parkway, she checked the guide and found out the bird we’d seen was a Pileated Woodpecker.