Arizonian Pride

Arizonian Pride Chapter 6

The next morning, Randy awoke with a splitting headache, a parched mouth, and a dry and somewhat throat. The effects of the hangover are kicking in, leaving him with little to no memory of last night's occurrences.

Somewhat.

"Ughnnnn," he groaned. "S' been a long time since I drank that much......"

Wearily, the veteran got out of bed and straightened up. He stretched out and his aged spine cracked.

"Oooooooh! I better have my chiropractor on speed dial!"

He staggered towards his closet and threw some clothes on, plus his favourite cowboy hat. As he dressed, he replayed what little sequence of yesterday's happenings still left in his mind.

"Hope ah didn't embarrass mahself in front of other people by gettin' drunk in front of them." Then he remembered there was someone to witness his personal pity party last night.

Melvin Whitercoll.

"Melvin. Melvin! Oh, doggone it. What has he told everyone 'bout me now?"

Randy tried his best to not worry about it as he freshened himself up. As the cold water hit his face, memories from last night began coming back to him; slowly at first, like a trickle of water, then soon like a tidal wave washing against the shore. It washed away the fog in his brain, then he remembered that Melvin had told him something before he left him alone in his room.

But what was it?

"Grrr, come one, come on, come on!" Randy hit his head repeatedly, not caring that it already hurts enough, trying to recall Melvin's words as best as he could.

He went back up to his room and looked around. It was a fairly small, simple room with a few basic necessities, and wooden everything — wooden floor, wooden cupboard, wooden closet, wooden table, wooden chair and a wooden bedpost. He wondered where would be the perfect hiding place, say, a safe, to keep his brain and short-term memories safe the next time something like this happens again.

Safe... that's it!

With a hand on his still-throbbing head, Randy left his room and went straight into Mr. and Mrs. Whitercoll's private office. To his surprise, the rest of the old folks' home was vacant.

"They must've gone out for a trip or somethin'," he thought to himself.

The door to the office was surprisingly unlocked. Randy entered and went straight for the walls, feeling them for any hidden locks, buttons, depressions or mechanism-triggers. He searched every inch carefully, not wanting to miss any important leads. He hoped the Whitercolls won't return from their trip very soon. After about 45 minutes of scaling, the safe still remained safe.

Randy was about to give up and go back to bed. Maybe he just imagined the whole thing about Melvin telling him something. Maybe he was just wasting his time. If that was true, he swore to God that he will never touch another drop of alcohol for the rest of his life.

Just then, he noticed a large portrait of the Whitercolls hanging above the computer desk. "That can't be it," Randy huffed. "Who woulda put a safe behind something so noticeable?"

But then he checked behind the portrait anyway...... and there it was.

"Fools."

The safe was locked with a five-digit combo. Randy searched his head again.

"Boy, ah sure wish ol' Melvin was here now." But he'd rather hurt his head seeking the code than to risk getting caught poking around in a private office and get dragged off to the police station again.

"Let's see, Melvin told me the code was...... 24680? Nah. Too easy. It must be, uh...... 66255! Rights. These Whitercoll folks really are fools. Who puts repeating digits for a safe code? They're making things too easy!"

The safe door opened, making a shrill squeaking sound. Randy was glad no one was in the house to hear it. He removed all its contents, which include some official-looking letters, a wallet full of "emergency-only" cash, some miscellaneous bills, memos, and...... what's this, a map of some sort?

Randy examined the first piece of paper. It was a fully-coloured map of central Arizona. Some regions were shaded blue, some green, some purple, and some splats of pink surrounded the corners of the map. Randy's ranch was smack-dabbed in the middle of the map where at least three of the colours overlap each other.

Randy's eyes narrowed as he studied the small print beneath the word "legend" on the lower left corner of the map, then widened as he realised it was a map of various minerals in the area surrounding his private property, and his ranch was smack-dabbed in the middle of what looked like a millionaire's dream!

The pieces of the puzzle slowly started coming together in Randy's head. He put the map down and looked at the letters from the safe. The logo on their top left corners jumped out at him. Another memory came flooding back — the memory of those agents in black who flashed him the same logo before forcefully removing him from his home!

In the letter, William and Susan Whitercoll were assigned to make a trip to Randy's property and get him to leave the area permanently by any means necessary. The private company has also agreed to pay them handsomely for the successful completion of this task. If they should fail, their positions as special employees of the company will be revoked.

Slamming a fist on the desk, Randy growled. Those men in black and the Whitercolls were on the same side after all. He was tricked! The owners and operators of his new home were not really on a "family vacation" after all. It was only a ruse. And now that he was out of their way in his new "home", they could keep an eye on him while their other colleagues are free to bulldoze his beloved ranch to the ground and search for whatever they think they can find beneath it.

Randy's blood boiled even more at the thought of unauthorised, illegal and potentially environmentally unfriendly procedures of excavation being performed on his land. Talk about knowing how to piss off a morally strong ex-archaeologist.

With renewed determination, and seemingly loss of memory of his hangover, Randy threw everything back into the safe except the letters and the map. They make great evidence if he were to meet the Whitercolls and their colleagues in court someday. He ran up to his room, packed all his essentials into a backpack and hauled it over his shoulder. Then he got out his map of the fastest trails to New Mexico. An old friend who can help him resides there......

Near the old folks' home's main entrance, Randy saw a framed photograph of the Whitercolls children — Malachi, Raymond, Chelsea and Serafina — on the mantle in the living room. Forgetting his anger momentarily, he walked over and picked it up.

In the picture, a smiling, long-bearded Malachi was hugging a giggling, sunny-faced Chelsea and Raymond, while a tiny Serafina tries to squeeze into the embrace. It was a very sweet, warm moment between the siblings, Randy noted. For a split second, Randy smiled at the thought of having his own siblings.

But his smile dissipated as quickly as it came at the thought of these happy, innocent children having scammers, thieves, and downright violators as parents. He felt sorry for the children. They were tools used in their parents' scheme to drag him away from his simple home without raising any eyebrows. They were used. They were unsuspecting participants of this whole facade.

They were used.

Randy's anger reignited. He put the picture down, walked out the door (also surprisingly left unlocked), and hopped onto his horse. Other than upgrading their security habits, Randy decided that the Whitercolls better get a good lawyer, too. Because with the help of his old friend in another state, Randy knows this is going to be one hell of a case in court.