Arizonian Pride

Arizonian Pride Chapter 3

"Awww, MOM! I don't wanna go!" Serafina wailed. "It's only been three weeks out here."

"Honey, I'd like to stay longer, too. But I'm afraid we must go. We don't wanna get into trouble with the government, do we?"

"The who? And why not?" the young naive girl piped up. Susan Whitercoll sighed.

"Let's just go, ok? I'll explain everything on the way home."

Mother and daughter trudged out of the vicinity of Randy's property. Randy stood on his back porch, leaning against the door. He watches the family of seven from a distance as they gloomily load their packed luggages into their family jeep.

"Phew," Randy muttered with a delighted smile on his wrinkly face. "Farewell to them city-slickin' peeps, at last."

Randy waited until the jeep has taken off some distance from his land, then reentered his ranch house. The retired rancher plopped onto his resting chair and heaved a sigh of relief.

With the children gone, all family holiday activities ceased, his animals left alone, and everything put back in their rightful places, Randy's home and simple life have gone back to normal......

***

*Knock-knock-knock* "Hello? Is anyone home?"

Randy opened the front door and greeted his visitor, whom was dressed in all black, with a scowl.

"Whaddya want, laddie?" he asked impatiently, hoping this is not another family dropping by for a short stay.

The man in black said nothing and whipped out an official-looking document from his coat pocket. Randy wondered why he would be wearing more than two layers of clothing in the typical hot and dry Arizonian weather.

The stranger flashed the document at Randy's face. Randy snatched it from his hands and quickly skimmed through it. A few moments later, he met eyes with the stranger, utter disbelief flashing in his own.

"Y-you... you... CAN'T be serious!" Randy cried out with what little words he managed to utter.

"Yes, I am serious, sir," the stranger replied in a deep, no-nonsense voice. "I am here as one of the representatives of a local government-controlled company and my colleagues and I have received an official warrant from the government to remove you from these premises."

"B-but ya can't take me away from here. I LIVE HERE!" Randy tried to argue.

"This is official business, sir. We also have a warrant to detain you in our headquarters if you refuse to cooperate with us."

Randy's signature temper began flaring up. "Listen, laddie," he hissed, "I don't care who you work for and how many okays ya got for this job. But this is MY land and without MY permission you are NOT allowed to do anything on it!"

"SIR. We. Have. An. Official. Warrant. To. Remove. You. From. These. Premises," the man repeated himself as if Randy had not heard him clearly the first time.

"And," he continued, "we may not take you away from here, but we will DRAG you away from here if necessary. We will not hesitate to use harsh tactics in the name of business dealings. Now, if you would just cooperate with us, we might tone it down a little on ya." A snide smile formed on the stranger's face as he finished the last sentence.

"I AIN'T BUDGIN' AN INCH FROM THIS PORCH!" Randy yelled and planted both his feet firmly on each side behind the door. "Drag me out if you must, young punk. I'd like to see you TRY," Randy challenged the man.

Without a word, the man looked behind him, raised a hand and snapped his fingers. Four to five other men dressed in black rushed to the front porch. Working together like ants in a colony, they struggled hard, trying to pry the veteran from his stubborn position. They grabbed and pulled at his shoulders, arms, thighs and even his beard. Randy stood still, not willing to lose out to the unfriendly strangers.

Randy is a fit, strong, and very determined person. In anger and defiance, these qualities are multiplied by at least three times. But all of that was not enough to match a handful of younger, fitter, stronger and equally determined men pulling him out the door.

One of the men managed to get one of Randy's feet off the ground. The rest came easy after that. Together, the men tied a gag around the struggling Randy's mouth, and wrapped the rest of his old body with chains. They lifted him up and loaded him into the back of a large dark-coloured van parked about twenty feet from the ranch.

"Phew, that was a tough one!" the man at Randy's door heaved as he settled next to the driver's seat at the front of the van.

"Yeah, man," his colleague, the driver, agreed as he turned the ignition. "That was one of the toughest old geezers I've ever handled in my 12-year career!"

"Why do old geezers gotta live alone by themselves these days, huh? They're actually making our job easier, man! Haha. Is it some trend or something?" Everyone in the van, except Randy, laughed.

"I dunno, but let's just hope this guy here doesn't have any friends he can contact to put him back in his ranch or what - "

"This guy? Heh. Livin' out here, the only friends he could probably have are his cattle."

"And cacti."

"And horses and goats that must've gotten lost from somewhere," one of the men riding in the passenger's seat spoke up.

"And hungry vultures roaming above his house, waiting to treat them themselves to a fine meal once he's dead," another one added. "They wouldn't need to wait long for that."

Cruel laughter erupted among the devious men once again. In the back of the van, a silenced Randy was fuming, at risk of becoming and behaving absolutely LIVID, even in chains. After some time in the back of the van, Randy's tense muscles relaxed. His shoulders slumped. Only one topic played over and over again in his mind: What is to become of my ranch now? Will I ever see it again?

***

The door unlocked. A well-dressed interrogator with slightly grey hair stepped in. Randy looked up at him, then looked back down and clenched his mouth shut. The man placed some formal documents on the table in front of Randy, and sat across him calmly. Randy kept his head down.

The room was quiet. There were no windows or air vents. Only a door which the man entered from. No one could see or hear what goes on in there...... or so it seemed.

After a while, it became clear to the interrogator that Randy is not going to be the one to start the conversation. So he spoke up first.

"AHEM," he cleared his throat loudly. "Mr. McClarence?" he called out once.

Randy did not even blink. The interrogator tried again.

"Mr. McClarence?" the man said again, more clearly this time. No response.

"W-well... ok. You don't have to talk if you don't want to, sir. But I'm sure you're at least wondering why you were removed from your home against your will and brought here with no briefing or explanation whatsoever."

Randy's nose twitched a little, but he still remained tight-lipped. The interrogator decided to probe a little more.

"Ok. The story here is basically this: we are a small, startup company based in Arizona and after years of research we have taken quite a fond interest in your land because - "

The interrogator did not get to finish his story. Randy had stood up abruptly and slammed an angry, vein-covered fist on the wooden table. The documents jumped a few inches from the surface upon impact.

"Ah don't care what you punks see mah land good for," Randy rasped out in a weak, scratchy voice, partially due to dehydration. "That land is mine. It has been mine for decades. Ah remember the first time ah rode out there on nothin' but a horse. It was sunny Tuesday morning. Clear sky. No forecast of rain or storm. Ah rode ol' Thunderstruck out into the desert just 'cause ah felt like it, and no longer than a few short hours later ah came to the place. It was just perfect."

The interrogator, staring at his suspect silently, was still shaking from Randy's sudden burst of anger and energy, but he decided to let Randy keep talking.

"And so, ah looked around it and found it very suitable for raisin' and breedin' me cattle. Ah quickly rode back to Tumbleweed where ah used to work. Ah met with the estate, land and property manager of that time and asked if ah could have that land all for meself; to do whatever ah i wanted to do with it, long as it ain't against the law!"

Randy looked up and met eyes with the man in front of him. "Ah still have them papers with me today. They're back at the ranch. They are proof that the ranch and its surrounding property are mine, legally paid for. And no one can do nothin' to it 'less ah let 'em!"

The interrogator watched as Randy inched closer and closer to tears, but held them back with strong conviction. He suddenly had a strong admiration for someone he didn't thought he would be impressed with before, ever.

"If you want me land," Randy continued. "You're going to have to get yer well-manicured hands dirty and dig for me dead body which will be buried somewhere there. It is the only way ah shall ever lose mah ranch."

Randy slowly walked over and planted his wrinkly face right in front of his interrogator's.

"Understand?"

"Y-yes. Yes. I can d-definitely see w-why you are so protective about your p-place," the man stuttered.

Randy straightened up, thinking he made his message clear. He sat back down on his chair.

"But personally, I have always wondered why a strong, healthy and perfectly capable person like you would want to live some hundred miles away from civilization. Do you ever get lonely?"

Randy looked up at the man. For the first time in the interrogation room, he chuckled.

"Loneliness is a terrible state of mind, I must say. I wouldn't wish it upon my worst enemy. I wouldn't wish upon YOU."

"..."

"But just like any other state of mind, it can be changed. Corrected. Made to feel better. Once you have made up your mind that you are DONE with being lonely and suffering, it just vanishes and never bugs you. EVER. AGAIN. Trust me, I've tried it."

Randy swallowed. "And that's how ah managed to live out there in the middle a' nowhere. Far, far away from civilization, as far as a man can live out of his own. All these years. Because I just woke up one day n' decided me demons ain't gonna bug me no more."

The interrogator sat a little longer, processing Randy's story and reflection. Then he stood up.

"Wow. That was deep. I certainly admire your strength, indifference towards solitude, and your and self-sufficiency, Mr. McClarence. But as someone who, er, cares about the wellbeing of elderly folk, I am not going to let you go back to your ranch, because I can't stand to let you live alone without any human interaction whatsoever."

"Then what are ya gonna do with me?"

"I am going to put you in an Old Folk's Home in Texas. It's just a few miles away from Austin - you can get all your supplies and grocery needs there. You won't have to pay a thing for the home as all facilities will be provided by the people running the place. It's not so far from Arizona, McClarence, at least not when you look at the entire map of the US of A."

Randy's temper flared again. He hated being perceived as someone who needs special care, companionship and human interaction just because he is old, unmarried and retired. Can't younger folk these days just acknowledge that some people are perfectly fine minding their own business by themselves?

"I can live out there just fine by mah own, laddie. Ah've been doin' it for years!" he said crossly. "You and your peeps still have NO RIGHT to pry me away from mah residential home without mah permission!"

Randy stood up and removed his outer wear. He then held out a shiny, star-shaped golden badge fastened above the right-side pocket on the front of his shirt. The man stepped over to take a closer look at it.

"Do you see this, laddie? It's a retirement badge that they gave me back at the Arizonian Archaeology Club. According to the American law, a retiree has every right to live where he wants to live without any snivellin' interruptions! So, you either release me and leave me property alone, or would you rather I call a lawyer I've known since me workin' days at Tumbleweed. Believe me, I may be some old-haggard of a hermit out in the desert, but ah still know people!"

"And you should get to know more," said the interrogator, without showing a hint of feeling threatened. "Trust me, living with a little more company doesn't hurt. Long as they're not, like, friends of your wife or your annoying aunt or anything like that. Haha."

The man wrote some things on the documents and signed them, and a disgruntled Randy was excused from the venue after picking up what little belongings he has left from the officers.