The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.14 – Phoenix

Image result for fancy glass meeting room


The wait proved long. First, there were Xrays, and diagnoses, then prescriptions. We passed two whole days in Louisville. Maybe it was three or four, I don’t know, I was high when I boarded the plane.

The painkillers made me sleep like a stone. Between Louisville and Phoenix, I’d only opened my eyes twice. Just long enough to take a roundtrip from my seat to the head, and back again.

Arizona! I was damned surprised we weren’t Virginia-side. But then again Thornton was full of surprises.

I was never put off by the idea of consequences. I wasn’t nervous in the least as to how Jack would react. I did, however, have a certain overweening desire to cut off my phone and head back to Carolina.

I despised bureaucracy. And military bureaucracy was a tedium that even Satan himself couldn’t devise.

The table in the boardroom was marble. My card read: Hammond and Dupree. My dress was business casual – a fact that I resented.

None of us were recognizable. Our hair wasn’t regulation but damnably close. Without his golden afro, Hoyt looked like a gigantic accountant. He’d gotten his father’s thin English lips. The sardonic twist they’d taken since his seizure could be demonic or just evidence of book-keeping for RBS.

The ruse was good. Despite their burliness, the three men with Thornton could be representatives of IPG (Integrated Polymer Group). And Doc, Fabre, Hoyt and I could be lawyers drawing up a merger with Bisbee Industrial Fabrics. The rest could well be mistaken for assistants and junior partners.

I never understood why we couldn’t meet on base, or a ‘black site’ as they were called. But then again you don’t question paranoiacs.

The walls were actually windows. We were in a glass box. Very modern, very chique. Despite the blinds being drawn, I could occasionally see folk milling by to the mixer in the adjacent lobby.

I was distinctly aware of their unkempt hair and beards. Hipsterdom was the norm and I didn’t know why Thornton had to be such a rebel. We’d have blended better without the haircuts. But whatever old dogs, new tricks, that sort of thing.

It was a fact. He was very much stuck in the past. With his neat but full mustache, his crisp military bearing, and the slight hint of late middle age paunch; He was an authoritarian paradox, some odd hybrid meeting in the middle of ex-cop and high school principal.

My ribs hurt despite the Vicodin. I was groggy and annoyed.

“What the hell’s the point of all these shenanigans!” I exploded shaking my tie free of its clip to make clear the object of my ire.

“It’s the first hour of detention.” Came the vaguely nasal, mellow, midwestern reply.


1.1 (Intro) The Sketch of Sam Monroe

1.2 The Cajun Prayer

1.3 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter One: The Cambridge Gable Scene (‘Gator is Waitin’)

1.4 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.4 – The Cambridge Gable Scene – (Horticulture)

1.5 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.5: ‘To Luckadoo Cove’

1.6 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.6 – ‘Is there anybody out there…’

1.7 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.7: ‘Jesse’

1.8 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.8: ‘Lungful of Bees’

1.9 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.9 – ‘Precedent’

2.0 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.0 -Calvinist Neuroses

2.1 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.1 – Mirage

2.2 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.2 – Estate Planning

2.3 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.3 – High Tech Summons

2.4 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.4 – Amazon Stonehenge

2.5 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.5 – Jung

2.6 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.6 – Dee

2.7 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.7 – Meeting 211

2.8 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.8 – Itinerary

2.9 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.9 – Fact and Fiction

2.10 Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.10 -Kaffeeklatsch

2.11 Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.11 – Catnap

2.12 Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.12 – ‘One Pair’

2.13 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.13 – Reentry


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The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.13 – Reentry

Image result for kentucky highway


My sides were screaming and I felt nauseous.

Doc Pearce said I likely had a broken rib.

‘Wonderful.’

I was grateful for the silence in the car. It had been a couple of hours since we’d merged onto the freeway.  No one said much and I was glad. It allowed me to nurse my wound and gather my thoughts.

How did the bastard get in? Why? Nothing in that lab would have made much sense to anyone not directly involved in PLATO. Nor was it anything that was difficult to procure through conventional means.

It didn’t add up. There was too much of an effort threshold. Cui bono? The ROI of breaking into a secluded, covert, military installation for a handful of experimental mushrooms and some psychobabble ridden research was dubious.

It wasn’t even worth the gas in the tank.

Unless I was missing something. I didn’t think so. I couldn’t think of anything. Yet, there was the vague outline of something, some variable, dancing at the periphery of my conscience.

I gazed at the thick line of mute forest dappled in noonday sun. The tinted glass lent a surreal and somber cast to those leafy sentinels.

‘How much there is to know….’ By now the melody of that old Zeppelin song was solidly associated with the vast Kentucky wilderness. I had coupled the two when we’d first arrived at Luckadoo Cove. It was a perfect summation of the rolling sea of green, undulating as hills, crashing spectacularly into the heavens as waves of mountain. The hoary scent of the very soil was redolent with mystery.

As we approached Louisville I felt more and more like an astronaut reentering Earth’s atmosphere. Which world was alien? The hills or the city? I did not know.

There were a million questions and I would just have to wait.


1.1 (Intro) The Sketch of Sam Monroe

1.2 The Cajun Prayer

1.3 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter One: The Cambridge Gable Scene (‘Gator is Waitin’)

1.4 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.4 – The Cambridge Gable Scene – (Horticulture)

1.5 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.5: ‘To Luckadoo Cove’

1.6 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.6 – ‘Is there anybody out there…’

1.7 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.7: ‘Jesse’

1.8 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.8: ‘Lungful of Bees’

1.9 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.9 – ‘Precedent’

2.0 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.0 -Calvinist Neuroses

2.1 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.1 – Mirage

2.2 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.2 – Estate Planning

2.3 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.3 – High Tech Summons

2.4 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.4 – Amazon Stonehenge

2.5 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.5 – Jung

2.6 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.6 – Dee

2.7 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.7 – Meeting 211

2.8 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.8 – Itinerary

2.9 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.9 – Fact and Fiction

2.10 Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.10 -Kaffeeklatsch

2.11 Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.11 – Catnap

2.12 Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.12 – ‘One Pair’


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Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.12 – ‘One Pair’


“Where’s your Commanding Officer?” Thornton’s distant nasally midwestern voice inquired with detached vehemence.

I often pictured him sitting in some lonesome prairie house on a dirt farm, even though his actual surroundings consisted of an array of blue, green, red, and yellow Christmas lights, broken up by buzzed or tightly bunned heads blocking the glow of computer monitors.

“Had an errand to run in town.”

“Did he review his role before leaving?”

“Yes,” I answered. Thornton was referring to the ‘story consistency checks’ we’d do, to make sure locals unbound by NDA’s thought that our periodic trips into town were just stops along the way between home and our relatives. We didn’t go into town very often so it worked pretty well.

“Purpose?”

“Needed a new PVC pipe, been having some plumbin’ issues.” I lied.

“Major Baird, you were provisioned with a full years supply of repair and maintenance tools and materials.” He called my bluff.

“Alright Colonel, alright, we ran out of Jack.”

“You have a very interesting job, Major. Why compromise it?”

“Interesting! Colonel, there’s nothing out here but owl shit and ghosts and believe it or not chemistry and psychology do lose their luster after coupla months. Even if we’re paid to trip balls. The hamsters get tired no matter how psychedelic the maze. Need the formula. The formula happens to be Jack…and we happen to be out!”

“Stop, prevaricating Major.”

“I was not prevaricating sir.”

“Did Lieutenant Monroe inform you of the purpose of this call?”

I looked at Sam who now that I had had time for the fog of sleep to fully dissipate, looked decidedly nervous.

“No, sir please elucidate.”

“There are three unauthorized parties on your premises.”

“Nah, Schmidt left, it’s just me Sam, Chuck, and Hoyt.”

“Unless you’ve grown extra legs….” Thornton let his comment trail off into the air of a sarcastic question.

‘Shit!’ I thought as it dawned on me. ‘Shit! The damned strips! I’d forgotten the floors were coated with electromagnetic dust. Basically an electrochemical gumshoe affair. Right now he was probably looking at a computer readout on a screen in Langley or whatever godforsaken black site he was haunting.

‘…wait…SHIT!’

“Location.”

“Kitchen – 4 pair, com station 2 pair, Lab – 1 pair.”

“Target acknowledged, standby,” I said reaching for my cell phone.

I tried to use the app I’d written to lock the lab door.

‘Localhost..80…what….’ I tried frantically to wrap my mind around it… ‘fuck’ …. nothing was working.

I turned to Sam. “Cover me.”

God damn it where was my sidearm…

“Fuck!” I yelled under my breath as I ran to my bedroom.

Grabbing the Sig from the holster I wheeled around to Sam.

He was just standing there unnerved.

“To arms man! Tallyfucking ho…come on!”

He just pointed upstairs with a pained expression.

The Lab was upstairs to avoid groundwater contamination.

“Fuck!” My whisper was loud. “Ok, just stay behind me, there’s only one man.”

“I know it’s cold, but it’s so sunny outside! We should hike to take the edge off.” I said as naturally as possible as we ascended the stairs. But no matter how artfully rendered a trick how precisely loud so as to inform but not alarm the intruder… Something to make him lay low enough to isolate, suppress, and apprehend him…it was too late.

I heard heavy footfalls coming towards us fast.

Thump, thump, thump, before I could raise my pistol in defense…before my “On the ground!” was anything more than an “Ahnn….” I felt a sharp pain in my gut, it was sickening, instantly nauseating, felt like that thing when you loop over the swing as a kid but fucking painful. I tumbled backward into Sam and we rolled down the stairs.

As I was getting up on my elbows and knees dry heaving, I saw a black heavy boot swinging at my face. Suddenly before the moment of truth, it was yanked away. Sam had gotten the bastards leg. I was still dry heaving and couldn’t help him. As I rose to my feet I saw Monroe get a vicious kick to the shoulder and he released his grip.

The man who I now noticed was large, unusually so, ran toward an egress that I knew was locked. ‘Gotcha bitch’ I thought to myself as I got to my feet tasting bile and readying my pistol.

He had some distance on me. But I could still hear him. As I rounded the corner to the door that led to the back porch I saw him produce something that looked like a taser. He zapped the electric door lock and threw his prodigious weight against it.

I could hardly believe what I was seeing. He was out the door. I fired. Missing in my pain and confusion…the bullet lodging in the doorframe.

“Give me the fucking gun!” Sam yelled coming up behind me.

I watched him run through the door after the man, firing carefully in doubles, but we were too late, the giant dove into a running dark green Ford sedan and was gone.


1.1 (Intro) The Sketch of Sam Monroe

1.2 The Cajun Prayer

1.3 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter One: The Cambridge Gable Scene (‘Gator is Waitin’)

1.4 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.4 – The Cambridge Gable Scene – (Horticulture)

1.5 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.5: ‘To Luckadoo Cove’

1.6 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.6 – ‘Is there anybody out there…’

1.7 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.7: ‘Jesse’

1.8 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.8: ‘Lungful of Bees’

1.9 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.9 – ‘Precedent’

2.0 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.0 -Calvinist Neuroses

2.1 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.1 – Mirage

2.2 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.2 – Estate Planning

2.3 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.3 – High Tech Summons

2.4 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.4 – Amazon Stonehenge

2.5 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.5 – Jung

2.6 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.6 – Dee

2.7 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.7 – Meeting 211

2.8 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.8 – Itinerary

2.9 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.9 – Fact and Fiction

2.10 Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.10 -Kaffeeklatsch

2.11 Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.11 – Catnap

Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.11 – Catnap

Hoard of Incan 'quipus' calculators unearthed | Daily Mail ...


“I knew I smelled Java,” Chuck said boisterously as he made a beeline for the pot.

“Dear god, I’m too old for these sorts of marathons.” Doctor Pearce remarked, popping his back.

Graham was silent, placid even, given his recent eager shenanigans, I had half expected another barrage of reasons for leaving post haste. But, they never came.

My headache was dissipating, nonetheless, I was in no mood to play chef this morning.

“Well! There’s the fridge, there’s the pot, you know what to do.” I declared and trooped off to take a hot shower.

On my way to the stairs, I stopped by Schmidt’s room and told him to drive the yokel back to town. He groaned but assented.

There was no need for that kid to be here, there was a lot of weirdness to unravel, and he’d just further complicate matters. I was concerned he’d talk, but even if he did the Rotary club types of the town, or what passed for them in Foley anyway, were all under NDA’s and already knew. For added security, I told Schmidt to scare the shit out of him on the drive back. His wry smirk was all the confirmation I needed.

It was good. It was good to stave off the cold. I appreciated the steam coming from the showerhead. One hell of a water heater, one of those things that made me wonder, why someone so rich would build a place like this, in Foley…

The thought disappeared as I was enveloped in warmth. There were a lot of headaches ahead and I made certain to take adequate time to let my muscles relax. Bodily tension leads to mental tension which leads to fuzzy thinking. This was no time for fuzzy thinking.

I was good at this, too good, and soon dozed off.

The sound of running water and the pressure of the drops on my head…the warmth…I awoke under a waterfall. The sound of exotic birds echoed all around. And there was a pervasive nearly unbearable humidity.

I looked to my left. As the water struck stone it produced a fine steamy mist which was falling on my face. I hopped to my feet which I noticed were bare.

The soil was black, soft, and spongy, the air redolent with flora. Vast trees with great trunks stretched up and away on either side of the river near which I’d been napping.

Despite myself, I knew my purpose, at least my legs did, I strode with confidence into the dark line of trees.

The atmosphere beneath the actual canopy was entirely different. Though I could still hear the sound of the waterfall tumbling down behind me there was a muffling effect. It was like being wrapped in some subtle sort of filter that wouldn’t permit anything inessential to enter the mind.

Despite the occasional cry of a bird or monkey, there was a solemn sort of silence. I proceeded further into the forest my feet adept at dancing round roots and other impediments. My eyes sharp for speckled bands or leaves sitting where they should not be.

After some time. I came to a line of rocks pointing like fingers in every direction. Some towards the sky, some to the east, some to the west, and in the midst of these there sat a man with bronze skin. He was older and stretched in front of him was some kind of array of multi-colored strings with little knots at odd places up and down the length.

As I approached, the elder looked up from his work and said in a loud clear voice,

“Baird! Baird! Stop jerking off already!”

He sounded exactly like Sam.

“Baird! Thorton is on the phone.”

‘Oh shit.’


1.1 (Intro) The Sketch of Sam Monroe

1.2 The Cajun Prayer

1.3 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter One: The Cambridge Gable Scene (‘Gator is Waitin’)

1.4 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.4 – The Cambridge Gable Scene – (Horticulture)

1.5 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.5: ‘To Luckadoo Cove’

1.6 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.6 – ‘Is there anybody out there…’

1.7 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.7: ‘Jesse’

1.8 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.8: ‘Lungful of Bees’

1.9 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.9 – ‘Precedent’

2.0 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.0 -Calvinist Neuroses

2.1 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.1 – Mirage

2.2 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.2 – Estate Planning

2.3 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.3 – High Tech Summons

2.4 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.4 – Amazon Stonehenge

2.5 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.5 – Jung

2.6 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.6 – Dee

2.7 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.7 – Meeting 211

2.8 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.8 – Itinerary

2.9 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.9 – Fact and Fiction

2.10 Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.10 -Kaffeeklatsch

 

Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.10 -Kaffeeklatsch

2 Boys Found Safe After Night Spent in the Woods


I awoke from a deep dreamless sleep to the sound of chirping birds. A sunbeam danced through the window to land on the wood panel floor. Motes of dust glimmering in its wake.

It was cold. Despite the best efforts of a powerful central heating system, my lower level room fell prey to the biting sting of a Kentucky spring.

I buried my face in the pillow and pulled two thick blankets over me.

Lucas, Sam, and I had taken three rooms on the first floor. It was a security thing. Even though I’d rather hear an intruder than be caught off guard I’d considered moving upstairs more than once. Hot air rises and I could just picture Graham, Chuck, and our guests all warm and snug.
Meh…I flipped the covers off and set my fortuitously besocked feet on the chilly floor. Just like with water it’s better to dive in. I made a beeline for the kitchen.

As usual, I had no idea what in all solemn hell was going on, I just knew that I had to make coffee and eat something fat and now!

I rinsed out the dirty pot and filled it to the top. After adding the grounds and flipping the switch on I pulled the cream cheese from the fridge. Post toasting a couple of bagels to perfection I smeared thick gobs of the cheese on it. It was unholy.

I was always ravenous in the morning. Ravenous and cold.

As I turned round to head back towards the kitchen table I was surprised.

“Bahh…who the fuck…”

It took nearly a minute to recognize Officer Fabre. Slowly last nights events crept back into my mind.

“Aren’t you worried about your precinct?” I asked right as I took a greedy bite of bagel.

“Eh…com ci com ca, in a town this size, the deputies can handle it. I told them I might be gone for a couple of days.”

“Really, you expected to be gone that long.”

“Potentially. But I am not worried about that. Right now I am worried about the crime that is my empty stomach.”

“You and me both,” I said between bites. “No donuts here, though…this kitchen’s only big enough for one pig.”

“Now where’s all that famous southern hospitality?”

“That don’t kick in till a more godly hour,” I said opening the fridge grabbing a half-empty packet of cheese slices and throwing it to my guest.

“Uhh..thanks…”

“Yeah, no problem, figure it out, I need to find some damn aspirin.”

I pulled open a drawer and pulled out a couple.

“Jesus Christ you’re just like papa…” He said.

“Huh…?”

“You chewed them….”

“Well, yea it’s quicker that way.”

Officer Fabre shook his head.

“Aren’t you at all concerned about your liver? Dialysis isn’t fun.”

“Eh…I only get like this maybe once or twice a year…when I’m bored…other time I’m a real fucking Nazi just like these pills here.”

“Huh…”

“Bayer…aspirin…Nazis…and most of the year I’d put any West Coast fascist to shame with my trendy ketogenic diets and other shit.”

“How are you bored out here. Doing all this damned voodoo?”

“Well, because it’s bullshit,” I responded taking a huge swig of coffee.

“Come again…isn’t the government paying for this research.”

“Uh, yeah, it’s government-sponsored bullshit.”

There was an odd silence.

“O come on…you’re a public servant as well…”

“Yeah, but everything that’s just happened…”

“Well, this stuff with Graham and the TV, etc..” It was all flooding back to me. “It’s strange, but stuff like this does happen, Jung, attributed the mystic label Synchronicity to it. Dunno how it works but ehh…mostly it’s bullshit and confirmation bias. I’m not really a skeptic but I’m not really a believer either.”

“So you don’t believe in what you’re doing?”

“No, I do. I just don’t think it’s magic. I think we’re here to figure out why symbols and chemicals do what they do and then weaponize it.”

“You’re a creepy son of a bitch.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s not a compliment.”

I rubbed my temples. “Look, I know you’re officer yokel… down to earth…. independent-minded etc… whatever…do you understand…that…it hasn’t been much longer than a half-century since people were still hanging each other…in public…with the cheering approval of the masses…who watched…it takes quite the son of a bitch to know about the mechanics of that sort of business. So yea, thanks.”

“Where’s the coffee cups?”

I pointed to the cupboard on my right and watched Fabre pour himself a cup.

He was a big guy. Probably ex-military himself.

“So how was the Gulf?”

He cocked his head. “How’dya know?”

“Just a guess: age, build, gait.”

He just kind of looked at me.

“So, the point of me asking was. You remember how the Iraqis or Persians or fucking whatever behaved…”

“Pretty damned civilized actually.”

“Yeah, until it came time for discipline, you recall right..”

“Sure, but war is war.”

“Peacetime wasn’t much different.”

“I don’t know. Aren’t you the one that’s supposed to tell me to be less xenophobic… whippersnapper?”

“Race, ethnicity, nationality, even faith, that’s not the issue. Limited resources, underdeveloped legal structures, no matter how enlightened a civilization …fault lines will occur. Iraq, hell even Afghanistan, is not as different from the United States and Western World of a few decades ago. Even though we had the enlightenment it took years for its best effects to blossom. Like I said it was only a half-century or so ago that we were still hanging people publicly.”

“It was a little longer than that. I remember from the Academy. It was the 1930’s.”

“Sure, officially…in the States…”

“So this justifies brainwashing, manipulation…”

“Guidance,” I said coldly.

“You say tomato I say tomahto.”

We were silent for a bit, sipping coffee, and watching the sunlight bounce off the trees outside.

“So, what did Graham say to you?”

The officer looked a tad taken aback, it was obviously something he’d rather forget.

“Like I said… he told me the gator is waiting.”

“Ok…and what does that mean exactly.”

“Well…in the Bayou..when a gator crawls under your house…it’s considered a sign that someone is about to die.”

“Heh.” I chuckled. “Isn’t someone always about to die?”

“Yeah, but the fact that he knew about it, that he spoke Coonass…and…and…he told me about Jean.” Fabre looked so nervous that I didn’t really want to push him but curiosity got the best of me.

“Who’s Jean?”

Before he could answer, Graham, Chuck, and the Doctor all trooped into the kitchen.


1.1 (Intro) The Sketch of Sam Monroe

1.2 The Cajun Prayer

1.3 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter One: The Cambridge Gable Scene (‘Gator is Waitin’)

1.4 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.4 – The Cambridge Gable Scene – (Horticulture)

1.5 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.5: ‘To Luckadoo Cove’

1.6 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.6 – ‘Is there anybody out there…’

1.7 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.7: ‘Jesse’

1.8 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.8: ‘Lungful of Bees’

1.9 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.9 – ‘Precedent’

2.0 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.0 -Calvinist Neuroses

2.1 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.1 – Mirage

2.2 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.2 – Estate Planning

2.3 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.3 – High Tech Summons

2.4 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.4 – Amazon Stonehenge

2.5 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.5 – Jung

2.6 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.6 – Dee

2.7 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.7 – Meeting 211

2.8 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.8 – Itinerary

2.9 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.9 – Fact and Fiction

 



The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.9 – Fact and Fiction

PercyFawcett.jpg
Lieutenant Colonel Percival Harrison Fawcett DSO 

“Yar!” Lucas screamed.

I caught his gist.

“Is that wher da gol’ doobloons lie!”

Graham was surprisingly nonplussed given his recent raving.

“Well, the city this leads to was reputed to have been built from gold.”

“The old Eldorado gag…” Chuck snorted derisively.

“Fact and fiction often intermingle, especially in very old matters,” Graham replied matter of factly.

“Let me see the map.” Doctor Pierce chimed in.

Graham handed him the map, “Be careful, even though it’s a copy, it is a hundred and thirty years old.”

“Hmm…” Pierce exhaled examining the document.

“It’s a very localized map. Obviously showing some tributary of the Amazon. If I had to guess this is somewhere in the south-west, probably near Bolivia.”

“Aha, that’s exactly where it is.”

“Mmmhmm…I guess you were right about fact and fiction often mixing. The reason I’m able to offer that up is boyhood reading. There was a series of adventure magazines that my father had delivered to Boston in order to encourage literacy. That area was the setting of a serial fictionalization in ‘Intrepid’ of Colonel Fawcett’s quest.”

Boston, so he must be some offshoot of the last of the Brahmin. His nearly British intonations were nothing like the folksy brogue typical of the region. This fresh factoid accounted spectacularly for much of his demeanor.

I noticed that my eyelids were very heavy.

“We may very well find Fawcett or his bones there,” Graham replied.

“Well that would be very interesting indeed, many have tried, what makes you so sure of this map. Did it belong to Fawcett?”

“Hardly. It predates the man by some three hundred years.”

“Oh, and whose map was this then, was it Friar Carvajal’s?”

“You have a good memory doctor, but no, this is the map my uncle nicked from the museum. The cartographer was far less public then that clergyman.”

“Who then?”

“I honestly don’t know, but my uncle was in such a great deal of trouble over what most had thought was a college prank, a man of his station and promise would usually get a lot of leeway at the time. This was not the case. Very nearly ruined the family and was a large part of the reason why my father immigrated to America.”

“Hm, so I’m guessing this thing was not on display. It was in an archive right?”

“That’s correct. He only knew of it because of his studies of ethnography. I don’t know why he actually wanted to steal it though. I am here repeating my father. He could just as easily have copied it. Or perhaps not. Very strange. Because even after posting bail my father recalls that the family home was subject to many rummagings and very grim folk would come knocking by to grill ‘mad Henry.’”

All this talk of lost cities and stolen maps was like something out of a storybook and I realized that I was dozing off. Whatever more we could gather wouldn’t be much good. None of us were in a state to pay attention much less to make any sort of decision.

I held up my hand. “Look. This is all very fascinating but I for one am tired and judging by the fact that three of you are asleep, I say we turn in and re-examine this come morning…or afternoon.”

Graham seemed annoyed momentarily but there was a confidence to him now. I think he felt he’d won our interest.

“Agreed,” Lucas said.

I got about the business of finding bunks for our guests.


1.1 (Intro) The Sketch of Sam Monroe

1.2 The Cajun Prayer

1.3 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter One: The Cambridge Gable Scene (‘Gator is Waitin’)

1.4 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.4 – The Cambridge Gable Scene – (Horticulture)

1.5 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.5: ‘To Luckadoo Cove’

1.6 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.6 – ‘Is there anybody out there…’

1.7 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.7: ‘Jesse’

1.8 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.8: ‘Lungful of Bees’

1.9 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.9 – ‘Precedent’

2.0 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.0 -Calvinist Neuroses

2.1 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.1 – Mirage

2.2 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.2 – Estate Planning

2.3 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.3 – High Tech Summons

2.4 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.4 – Amazon Stonehenge

2.5 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.5 – Jung

2.6 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.6 – Dee

2.7 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.7 – Meeting 211

2.8 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.8 – Itinerary


Suggested Reading 

https://www.geographicus.com/P/AntiqueMap/NEAmericaGore-coronelli-1688

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Percy_Fawcett

 

 

 

Drowning Jones

Image result for victorian hellscape


I threw him into the Thames.

This dream followed the outline of several others occurring some years apart.

Sort of English themed, in an industrial setting, seeming to be round 1860’s.

Could be cause of all the Doyle I’ve read over the years or my guardian’s furniture.

On Friday I’d caught up with an old high school buddy over billiards.

We’d done some reminiscing about the early 2000’s.

I work a very early shift and had stayed awake for quite a while so my mind was ripe for influence.

The following night I dreamt yet another strange English dream.

Sort of dusky, and dirty, and sepia all of its own accord, in feel, in substance. Just like the one before where the strange tramp in the crumpled top hat led me and an odd brigade of riff-raff up the side of some brutalist structure pausing only once to show me a severed thumb in a jar full of a sick yellowish liquid. The sun hung midway in the sky obscured by smog.
In this Iteration of what I’ve come to term ‘Victorian Hellscape,’ I was on an inky dock with several folk only some of whom were familiar. For some reason, I was very aware that this was London, that this dock beneath an embankment was, in fact, an access to the Thames. The murky grey water passed by in a thick sort of way under the wan light of the moon.

The strangers around whispered to one another. Yet there was one among them who I recognized. The last name I give is the real last name of the man in question but it is so common that giving it is of no consequence to privacy.

His name is Jones. He is lanky and tall with eyes like emeralds framed in lids that seemed to always be adjusted for haughtiness. I didn’t have much against him. And I found it odd that he appeared near me in this place.

The whole atmosphere, the whispering of the strangers, my own senses, we were all anticipating something.

Finally, I could take it no longer. I gripped Jones firmly by the arms and raised him off his feet. An awkward feat considering the ratio of our respective heights. Having gotten the Ichabod’s feet over the water line I thrust downward with all the force that I could muster. He disappeared beneath the murky polluted soup in an instant with nary a bubble to attest to his passage. The water was placid, moving thick and slow in the wan light of the moon, its surface like a sick and grimy mirror.

I waited but there was no sign of Jones.

“He’s going to die!” A strong hand gripped me by the shoulder. “He’s going to die, if he hasn’t already!”

I considered and lingered in indecision. I did not want to swim in that! But there was the pressure of my conscious and of the pleas of the crowd and I dove in.

I felt the current, I tasted filth, and I swam against its onslaught in vertical fashion attempting to descend as much as I could. But the current kept bring me up.

After some moments I realized that Jones was dead.

Then I woke up.


Image Source

Industrial Hellscape

A Good Sign?

The video below comes from ‘The Knife Media’ which seems to be taking a step in the right direction. They use a fairly good grasp of logical fallacies to point out the misleading tactics of big media companies and influential personalities. Their journalistic chops working for MSM rags like Bloomberg, TIME, and NYT give them added credibility and insight.

While I’m leary of organizations and people promoting themselves as ‘rational voices’ I think that a lot of good might come out of ‘The Knife Media’ in the years ahead.

Check them out and tell me what you think.

The Knife Media



I found out about ‘The Knife Media’ from another (IMO great) independent journalist: Tim Pool.