It Ain't Paranoia if...

Part 1: There is no sex in this part; therefore no sex among or viewed by anyone under the age of 18.

In part one the setting and characters are established, and, to be honest, while much of the story is from my fertile imagination, I spent six summers in the Big Bend and Davis Mountains, and the places I went, the people I met, and the stories I was told strongly influenced this tale.

If you've never been to the Big Bend area, trying Googling images of it. That won't come close to doing it justice but you will have an idea of what the country is like. The whole area is unique and the characters who live there rare, but the Study Butte to Terlingua area, and the folks who used to hang out at La Kiva and those who drank beer with Clay Henry, are extra-special.

The sky at night is unlike anything in your experience, unless you've lived in a desert away from lights, or been in the midst of an ocean.

Warning: While the introduction is mild, you may not want to start the series If you don't like violence. The story is posted in Novels and Novellas because, in its entirety, it doesn't fit anywhere else neatly.

Part 2 will be posted soon after this part is published.

Duke's ears perked up; he sniffed the air and listened for a moment, then emitted a low growl. I saved the spreadsheet I was working on, closed the laptop, and holstered the pistol lying beside me on the table. None of the alarms had been triggered yet, but Duke was never wrong. He scrambled out of his Sealy Orthopedic XL Dog Bed and waited at the door while I retrieved my AR and tactical shotgun from their ready station near the couch.

Looking through the glass door, I could see dust rising on the road running to my property through the dessert. A cute little German-made SUV emerged from the dust and stopped just before the creek, a few hundred feet below my vantage. The unknown occupants were reading my hand-painted 6'x6' sign: DO YOU BELIEVE IN THE HEREAFTER? PROCEED BEYOND THIS POINT UNINVITED AND YOU WILL KNOW FOR SURE. POSTED - NO TRESPASSING -- PRIVATE PROPERTY - KEEP OUT. An identical sign stood beside it, written in Spanish.

My line of work and my uncompromising methods seemed to invite, or perhaps provoke, retribution from those whose own selfishness had cost them dearly in dealings with me. Additionally, this desolate area of the Big Bend is rife with Coyotes hustling illegals through the desert toward needy agricultural interests to the north, and to needy employers in big cities to the east, north, and west. As well, we contended with drug runners hustling products to the surging markets in those same cities.

Generally speaking, we let them be if they let us be, but some thought they were more than they were.

The sheriff had suggested the need for the straightforward signage after a few tried to breach my castle and I invoked the doctrine. As he said, a sign won't stop the motivated, but it will warn off the lost, and it gives me the necessary cover when the investigation begins.

I was fairly confident, however, that neither my business casualties nor the drug/human runners drove silver Beamers that I was sure had a window sticker like "My child is on the honor roll at..."

I set the shotgun against the wall just inside the door, but kept the AR nestled in my elbow.

The only way to get to my fortified house is up a road that begins just across the shallow creek bed. The narrow road was cut into the granite and gravel of my small mountain at a steep incline, using dynamite, a backhoe, and a bulldozer. It is narrow, with a sheer fall on the outside, a rock face on the inside, and a series of switchbacks on the back (west) side of the mountain that ain't for the faint of heart.

Regardless of how often I run a road grader over it, the road surface is uneven. That's because the sand and small gravel blows away in the high winds that are common out here, and the only rainfall we get falls in torrents. Erosion leaves the uneven granite uncovered, so I have to haul more gravel from time to time.

I left a sluice on the inside, against the mountain, and buried several pipes under the road that send the water flying outward like water main breaks. Those devices keep the roadway from washing out.

The forces of nature also loosen and remove the gravel and sand on the rock face, ultimately causing stones, and sometimes boulders, to break loose and fall onto the roadway. If you have a high-clearance vehicle with big tires, the rocks are only a nuisance, but a standard automobile isn't going to make it up the road.

Over the years, a few have ignored the sign and tried. There were three men who ignored the sign, motivated by anger because they had thrown away their businesses trying to put one over on me. There were a couple of drug dealers high on their product who decided they would kill me and use my house for storage and distribution of their product. The Sheriff's department made a SWAT vehicle out of their Hummer a few months later.

Other than those few, however, all the other people who wandered seven miles down the rough dirt road leading here read the sign, viewed the daunting roadway, backed up, turned around, and fled back the way they came.

Not the folks in the silver SUV; they crossed through the creek and turned onto the road.

Duke and I walked out onto the rock patio so we could keep an eye on our uninvited guest(s).

My curiosity was piqued on two matters: who ignores dire warnings about proceeding sans invitation; and, can the SUV actually ascend the rough road? From early observations, it appeared to be an all-wheel drive X6, so maybe, if it had enough clearance.

The BMW proceeded upward at a rather breath-taking 30-degree angle; it looked like an airplane that had just lifted off the runway and was desperately climbing. Several of my friends with four-wheel drive pickups complained about the narrowness, the angle, and the surface of my road, but my big Jeep handled it easily enough.

The clearance on the SUV appeared questionable from our location, but we watched with appreciation as it made the climb across the south face rather nicely before disappearing behind the west side of the mountain. We waited, listening for sounds that might tell us if the vehicle fell off the road, crashed into the rock wall, or got hung up on the uncovered granite extrusions.

Hearing none, we gave it a few minutes, and then walked around the east side of the house so we could watch it emerge along the north face and into the open area behind the house.

As soon as I saw the nose appear, Duke and I moved against the northeast wall of the house, giving us cover in case whoever was inside came out shooting. Peeping around the corner, I saw the BMW emerge from behind the mountain, enter the open area, and pull into the parking area about 20 steps behind the house.

The AR's muzzle was pointed toward the suspect vehicle as it stopped; Duke's menacing growl grew in volume.

Like his human, the faithful Lab assumed all other humans were enemies until proven otherwise; his fangs were exposed, and he was prepared to do battle unto the death!

The SUV stopped facing the house, and the engine switched off. The side windows were darkly tinted and sun was glinting off the windshield, so I couldn't make out the figures inside.

My first clue of the degree of mortal danger we were in came from Duke, who was standing by my side.

When the back doors flew open and kids' legs appeared below the door, he suddenly stopped growling, started wagging his tail, woofed, and jauntily trotted toward the SUV. This was confusing: his advanced senses had seemingly determined there was not only no danger, but that the occupants were humans he knew and trusted.

Perhaps it was as simple as one of my friends having a new car, but I wasn't as trusting; I remained along the wall, holding the AR at the ready.

A kid stepped out from behind the near door; a blonde-haired young girl. She knelt down. She called "Duke!" and he veered toward her. A slightly smaller boy ran from behind the vehicle with arms out, crying "Duke! Duke!"

I didn't recognize either of them immediately, but Duke was beside himself with joy. I turned my attention, and the barrel of the AR, back to the SUV and waited. After all, they could be a diversion... but how did they know Duke, and how did he know them?

Out of my peripheral vision, I could see the kids whooping with excitement, and Duke kissing them on their hands, arms, and faces while they shrieked with joy. That was so unlike my big boy that I briefly turned my attention away from the front doors to take a closer look at the children.

It only took a moment before my brain made the connections: "Oh shit! It can't be!"

The driver's door suddenly flew open, yanking my attention back to the SUV. A shapely bare leg appeared below the door, and then a head of tousled blonde hair appeared above it. I waited with bated breath as the flowing locks rose about the door, hoping against hope...

Recognition hit me hard; I hissed, and the AR followed the driver as she stepped around the door, walked to the front of the SUV and stopped. I fought the inclination to open fire and destroy the evil bitch before she could do more harm, but I refrained for fear I'd somehow hit my kids.

My kids!

They were five years older, but there was no question!

Having made the identifications, I struggled between running to greet the kids or shooting their momma. I didn't do either; I stood stoically while the boy and girl played with Duke, and the woman stared at me from behind big sunglasses.

I'm sure I made quite the menacing figure, standing there in worn boots, jeans, and denim shirt, holding an assault rifle, with a pistol strapped on my hip and a look of consternation on my face. With any luck, the weapons would be enough to dissuade her from whatever harm she intended and I wouldn't have to kill her in front of her kids. Although it was tempting...

"Rob, I know we aren't invited guests, but can we approach without being sent to our maker?" the beautiful blonde traitor asked.

With that, the absolutely gorgeous young girl and handsome boy stopped playing with Duke and looked at me hopefully.

I swore five years ago that I'd never allow any of them back into my life, but holding a grudge against nine and seven year olds who were four and two at the time of my betrayal seemed a bit harsh, even to an old hardcase like me. Besides, I wanted to see them up close.

"The kids can come on, but you need to raise your hands in the air and keep them there so I can make sure you aren't carrying a dagger to stick in my back."

She laughed!

The traitorous bitch laughed at me, and walked toward me with her hands extended, palms forward. "You can frisk me if you want, but I promise you I'm here for a peaceful purpose."

"Yeah, I should believe that because your promises mean so much..." I sullenly murmured.

Nonetheless, because I wanted to hug my kids and thought I could beat her in a fair fight if it came to that, I propped the AR against the rock wall and looked back at my kids, who rose and watched me hopefully.

Duke woofed and ran toward the Evil One with his tail wagging; I started to warn him of the danger, but just then my daughter hesitantly asked, "Dad?"

I beckoned to them, and they ran pell-mell toward me. I knelt down, scooped one in each arm, picked them up, stood, and we hugged each other as tightly as we could.

The Devil's Spawn stooped, ruffled Duke's fur, and spoke words of doggie love into his ears. He whined and made doggie noises of appreciation in return. I silently vowed to cut out his jerky treats for a week for consorting with the enemy.

After a few moments of hugging, Logan Michael Carroll, II, leaned back and confronted me. "Daddy, why did you leave us with that man? He was mean to me and Gracie, and he hit mommy and us! Me and Gracie called your phone over and over but you never answered! We even had Granny and Gramps looking for you, but Gramps said you just disappeared off the face of the earth!"

They think I went off and left them with a man who hit them?

That hurt; I threw an angry look toward the traitorous she-devil, who continued hugging the dog and ignoring my piercing stare. I turned back at my son and explained, throwing her under the same bus she had obviously thrown me under.

"Son, you were only two at the time, but Mommy chose that man over Daddy, and all of you moved into his big house. When I came to see you, my kids, you and Grace told me all about how Daddy Robert bought you things, took you on his boat, and flew you to Disney World on his private plane. You said you were going to fly to the beach that afternoon with Daddy Robert, but maybe you could see me some other time.

"So I gave Mommy the divorce she wanted and moved away, like she asked me to.

"No one ever told me anything about him being mean to you -- all I heard from Granma and Grampa Sterling was how happy you guys and mommy were with Daddy Robert, all the places he took you and all the things he bought you."

Grace locked her huge green eyes on mine and solemnly stated, "Daddy, we were just little kids. We didn't understand that we were choosing that man over YOU! We just wanted to fly to the beach and do all the things Mommy had promised.

"You were gone all the time, but we loved you and we wanted to be with you! We liked getting to go places and buy anything we wanted, but we didn't want that man to be our daddy -- we wanted you! But mommy said you got mad and left us, so we were going to be a family with that man, and we should call him Daddy Robert."

Grace made a face, crunching her forehead and pursing her lips extravagantly. "He was nice at first, but then he got drunk a lot and cussed at mommy and us, and he was mean!"

"How was he mean, Grace?" I asked.

"Well, like that night he was real drunk and he and mommy were yelling. We got out of bed and were watching from the stairs when he hit mommy in the face and knocked her down. Dos ran and got his bat, I got my tennis racket, and we ran down stairs and hit him in the back of his legs while he was standing over mommy yelling.

He hollered and grabbed his legs, but then he slapped Dos and me. We were crying and mommy was screaming she was going to call the cops. He yelled bad words at all of us and left."

"And did Mommy call the cops?"

"Yes. A bunch of nice policemen came and took pictures of us and recorded our story. A doctor looked at mommy and made her get X-a-rays of her face 'cause he thought she had a broken bone in her cheek."

"And they arrested that mean man!" Dos interjected.

I looked at a chastened Kaitlyn and shook my head. She dropped her eyes to the floor, but I was pissed.

"So, still think that was the right choice for you and the kids, Kaitlyn? That's what you told me when I confronted you about cheating with that bastard - 'I'm sorry, Rob, but I have to do the right thing for me and my kids.' Remember that?"

She was fighting back tears, but she managed, "Yes, Rob, I remember, and I think we all know that was a mistake. One of many, many mistakes I made at that time. I want to talk to you about that, but can we do it later?"

Harnessing my anger, I looked at the kids, who were watching closely; I agreed, to spare them the anger I knew that conversation would unleash, and her demeanor immediately transformed. With highly developed skills honed over a lifetime, she eagerly changed the topic to avoid a conversation she didn't want to have.

Morphing effortlessly from somewhat contrite to enthusiastic, she exclaimed, "The kids and I were just amazed when we looked up at your house on top of the mountain! Can we see it, and can you tell us how you built it up here among all the granite?"

"Can we see your house now, Daddy?" begged Grace, echoed by Dos.

"Of course! I'm sorry -- I'm not being a very good host, am I? I'll bet you would all like something cold to drink -- it's hot and dry up here in the high desert, and it makes you really thirsty."

I set the kids down, picked up my rifle and herded everyone to the front door. Grabbing the shotgun from beside the door, I secured both weapons on a hidden rack in the pantry and set the biometric lock. Only my (live) fingerprint could open the rack now.

They both wanted a coke, which is Texan for soda water, so I gave each a Dr. Pepper in a plastic La Kiva glass filled with ice. Kaitlyn didn't ask for anything, so I poured her a glass of what used to be her favorite: sweet tea with a few leaves of fresh mint. She took it, looked at the mint, and her eyes misted. "You remembered..."

I shrugged, "Yeah, I remember. I was married to you for five years before you found someone 'better'." She blanched and turned her back to me.

Maybe that was a cheap shot, but what I really want to do is wring her pretty neck!

The three stood in the middle of the open space that consists of living room / dining room / kitchen, tittering and pointing. They were looking through the thick, five-foot high glass that spanned the eastern wall at the distant mountains to the east, and through the sliding glass doors on the south at the barren expanse of the Chihuahuan Desert.

All the glass was bulletproof, including the thick sliding doors, and capable of stopping up to .50 caliber ammo. With the touch of a button, a steel curtain descended that greatly reinforced the stopping power and took away the sightline to the target(s).

The floors throughout the house were two-foot squares of Mexican red tile, except where I left a bit of exposed granite as a conversation piece in the living room; couches and recliners surrounded it.

The rock patio wrapped around the east and south sides of the house, and became a covered porch on the southwest corner, where a 12' x 20' extension jutted south. A barbeque pit, a smoker, a grill, and a small wood-fired brick oven were clustered on the extension, just outside the roofed area.

There was a stucco-covered adobe wall extending to the roof on that end; it blocked the fierce summer sun and the cold winter wind, so that area was fairly comfortable year-round. An enclosed counter ran the length of the wall. There was a double sink about two-thirds of the way back, and an old chuck box, also affixed to the wall, set near the corner. When you opened the door, cooking supplies, spices, and various utensils were stored inside.

A long wooden table with seating for sixteen sat under the covered area, as did a higher table with four tall director's chairs.

That's all there because I cook outside -- a lot!

A forty-two inch high, two-foot thick parapet wall ringed the entire patio, including the concrete extension. The wall created a problem for anyone firing upward at someone on the patio from the desert floor or the creek, and allowed a target to drop behind the wall and be well protected from gunfire.

The centerpiece of the patio was a wheeled brass cannon overlooking the road and creek. Three six-pound cannonballs were stacked in a holder, and a sealed, waterproof metal box sat on the other side of the cannon. That box held pre-measured powder charges and wadding, as well as additional six-pound balls and a rammer. A padded cushion lay on top of the box so it could serve as seating.

Wooden-slat folding chairs were scattered about; a pair of padded couches and loveseats formed a conversation area near the cannon, with glass top coffee tables for each couch and loveseat.

The house itself was made of adobe bricks covered on the outside with stucco. The walls were a foot thick, acting as insulation from the heat and cold. Inside, the walls were framed and enclosed with bulletproof fiberglass panels. They were covered with three-quarter inch wood paneling. Between the foot-thick adobe and the fiberglass panels, it would require something like a .50 caliber bullet to penetrate into the house.