Ophelia Hurtin

Ceilings lid splat white, near aglow, all shattering 100 watts off that vertical mirror. Planted, her soles hold motionless. Image reflects just another room of the same ole view. Handle up and water down. Reflection gone but only from glass. Flection inside always lasts. Never crystal clear, just there. The freshly cleaned, filthy tub drain washes fluids away, tears ain't shed since..., when?
"Hit me.", says the voice. "Yep." Phone clicks shut. Switch down and door closed. She slips into a familiar buckskin stitched seat. Effortlessly that ole V12 fires up, no rear view in this rig. Nothing to ever look back on. It's simply gone.

One by one the names trickled in 7 years back, now lists are pages. Yet a three to one ratio, never missed. One top player to three starving. Man, woman or child, it matters not. They're all gonna pay.

Sign reads "Welcome to Colorado" as that delightful coal black Jaguar coasts to a stop.
Top cracks open of a slim black lighter etched with an eagle feather. Repeatedly she inhales hard, slightly turning those perfectly rolled Cuban leaves. Lips savouring each leaf full of Vuelta Abajo and El Corojo Vega nutrients. They seemingly soak up and evaporate all the night away. Puff after puff, in with cleansing smoke, stripping along its path. "Pheeeew", out she blows. Off to a sky striped of fuchsia, pink, purple and down to a blue guilds the horizon while boot tips are doused in autumn's fresh frost. Cleansed and refreshed that V12 rumbles up and map shows highlighted route. Des Moines Iowa.
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Every single day, if one pays attention Nature in Montana will transport you to truth and awareness. Bill knows he grew up and lives in this grande territory but this morning a toreador red coloured Volkswagen is on his mind. Notices no Nature.
Just like every other morning he heavily rolls his 187 pounds out of bed. Exhausting once or twice prior to mounting his throne. Ophelia lying motionless drags a pillow out from between warm thighs to cover her head. Both hands as if holding pressure upon a wound, keeping organic cotton, filled of goose down tight over her ears. Soon after, he stands bedside and forces both her hands into a familiar hand cuffing position. Forcefully pressing down into the taught small of her back. Bouncing her up and down like a gym ball. Motionless and silent, he lets off.
Coffee pot gurgles a nasty instant aroma. Ophelia knowing chronologically the events to follow, slips both her hands back under the covers along her ribs and down between pelvis and flannel. Soaking up her touch brings relief in thoughts. Her skin so soft, muscles now relax, knowing no pounding to come this day. Hands just resting, breath transports her gliding fingers into morning oblivion. An oblivion she enjoys often. "See ya tonite honey!", bounces down the hallway. Slamming door rattles photo of Bill and Force cronies on wall. Ophelia shutters on into dawn's light, now dancing along bamboo blinds.
See ya tonite echoes in mind, blankly, mirror stares into her. "See ya tonite, I don't want to.", rolls off her lips as her fingers push up the skin under her Sagittarian green eyes. They then fluff a banshee mess of red hair. "Well...", she says "...clean it up girl!". Pushes a button and a wailing of drums bounce off every droplet in her softly lit copper rain room. Answering machine blinks as "Come on woman, what are you doing over there? Pickup the phone!", is recorded. Gleaning of fiery red upon her nape and wrapped in a towel she says, "I was in the shower. No! I did it in bed!" laughing. "Yeap, I'll be there shortly. I love you too."
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No coincidence about residing in big sky country. 1987 set an act to follow. Ophelia and 173 other classmates flipped a tassel left to right, held a paper and tossed their goofy shiny hats one June afternoon. Her very best friend, Tabatha was stoked, thanks to Fred, a great ole hippy dad. He fixed up a little shop in town 2 doors down from Mutters Hardware. Location, location, location he would say, "You wanna cut hair, well be close to the guys, the girls will follow." Hardware, groceries, booze and the Yonsted Grain Mill one block up. She had it all. Tabatha was hooked up with Aaron, Yonsted's football star.

Paired up the girls parted the sidewalks, blue on blond and green on red, yikes! They knocked 'em dead and moved like sacred Swans. "No tether, forever!", Ophelia often spouted off. But Tabatha looked on Aaron like no other, she wouldn't care if her tether was only twelve inches long...Aaron was hers.
Fred loved his little girl but her mom, Vicki, adored nearly to a fault. Tenderness deep as Grand's canyon and fresh, like one of those dripping wet Fawns thrown throughout all the worlds forests. Vicki knows her young lady can cut hair, yet Julliard's dance program would gladly be funded through a second mortgage, if she would accept it. Ophelia brought awe to any onlooker but her best friend pranced around her as if feather light and controlled from an invisible force. "It's just not my passion Ma.", she would say. So it was, five days later "Yer Cut" hung its shingle and it was a Friday to celebrate. Saturday, Ophelia cries as Suns warmth blazes her skin, she's departs for Germany.
An "Autobahness", as her Dad called her, since 9 years old. She recalls A. J. Foyt loosing control at 140 miles per hour, flipping end over end 6 times and Mario Andretti going on to win. Which race she does not remember, but life changing nevertheless. "I want to feel 150 miles per hour Daddy.", flowed frequently since 10 years old. "Seven years of foreplay Dad!", "Now don't you talk that way little girl!" Philip grew up with speed. Flatheads, V12's, big blocks, her father tasted them all and like those pistons needed oil, she needed daddy.
Ophelia only knew a mother by pictures. When not soaking up Nature or racing a dream car in her mind, she sat to ponder her mother. Questions of endless loops, asked over and over, "Why did she have to die? Would she like me? Was it painful?". Mainly her pondering was trenched deeper. Death, struggle, pain and personalities tore into her phscy. "One day I will figure it out. I will help one day."
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Near two years later Fred asked, after a crying Tabatha went to her room, "Why Montana?". "Well. Montana is the only state, speed limit free. Germany, well it realized a childhood dream, but it's still Germany. Heaven forbid stopping to look at flowers, go for a walk or try something other than omelets or pancakes for breakfast.", she paused "Loved the speed but not the regimented creed."
Sad was the day Ophelia moved to Montana, but guttural was the day Tabatha ventured North to join her. Light tongued Vicki learched out with, "Yer giving up everything. Yer shop, yer husband and most of all yer family. FOR WHAT?", she shouted. "Following Ophelia is like following a god damned hurricane!"
Time passes, tipped are a few glasses and today is Tuesday or as the girls say OT day. Engraved into their schedules so deep, it took Ophelia an extra 90 days over 6 years to get her Masters in Psychology. Never miss OT, too much to miss. Gin, scrabble, skinny dipping, kayaking, brewing and of course dancing.
"Yer Cut" of Montana is doing very well. Three locations and although Julliard never happened, practicing with little boys and girls is "the icing" for Tabatha. Bing, bing goes the front door. "Hey, there you are!", "Hiya sis." Tabatha gets up from her comfy cutting chair for a big hug and says "I love you so much!" Smiling big, Ophelia says "Well Trap Lake or the boat?" "Trap Lake." "Alright, I'm packed for either one.", "Of course you are." "Darcy, don't forget yer one o'clock for energy.", as they tramp out the door. "I know. I know."
They climb into Ophelia's 1980 CJ-7 and she can't help but bark the tires pulling out onto Main. Straight away Tabatha says, "I was thinkin of yer old statement you used to make. The one about never being tethered." "Hey now, it's OT! Are you going deep?" "Right, right. Well I was just thinkin." "I know. Yeap, look at us both now." Tabatha glances to Ophelia and says, "We need to talk more once we get to the lake." "OK?", comes out with curiosity lain about.
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"Little red wagon, oh be there, little red wagon." Trips off Bill's lips and slides down forty-one year old glass. The olive drab Power Wagon rolls to a stop. While purring like a week old kitten he eases her clutch out into second gear. Gas for a couple seconds and double clutches to third, then off goes the motor. Coasting to a stop next to a smiley Todd standing a short six feet tall and packing bulldog like shoulders. The ole "built like an ox" kinda guy. He is holding up a Gillie suit. Bill says, "Damn, guess I get the tree today."

Parking lot of terrorist protector arsenal. Row of pickups about twelve long, all sporting white, some taped in green stripe. Could all be mistaken as Michigan State's cheerleader convoy. Left a bit sets a Coast Guard equivalent aluminum boat, rigged with twin 200 horsepower Honda's. Absolutely ready to disarm any pirate activities along the Koocanusa's half mile stretch of pristine border waters. Thence a 4-door 3/4 ton hitched to a four place trailer, brimming with shiny new snowmobiles and bloody hell, don't forget the other trailer topped with ATVs. Snow cat, helicopter, dogs and guns. As if this were Glock's factory testing grounds.

Bill climbs out with bag in hand and heads to the Jeep. Todd casuals over toting the Gillie under his arm like a young lamb and says, "You got the tree man!" "I see that." They load up and head South through the old Tobacco Valley dotted with drumlins which many years back when terrorist, as a word could not be found in local Kootenay language. Closest creature of the sort was a pack rat and drumlins were places for Vision Quests.
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Where a young man would see his first white Cougar walk before him. Kneeling down in disbelief, to grab some Mother Earth for assurance that this is real. "Do not doubt", he heard, as those golden eyes streaked with red, slowly rose upward, peering into his soul, while a bundle of Sage and Tobacco dusted his view. Transforming the most powerfully beautiful creature he had ever seen into a woman lain long of silvery Moon like hair down below her moccasin tops. Every strand tipped like Grandfather had painted them himself. Red! Bearing evidence her buckskin was in fact her wedding dress, the only remaining white, lay directly over her heart. Tattered of colour never seen in a woman's dress prior. Ashen, as a week old fire, seemed to soot her head to toe.. Her left hand rolled open, "You must take this to your village." "Coming, is time of passing and pain. Sleeping shiny Stone scattered across our Mother Earth has possessed men of white, from a far away land." Her hand pulled away, but he did not notice. Her eyes bore bright as morning sun, fixing his gaze. "Have it now my son.", she whispered. Pulling his gaze away due to her head nod. Slowly he took hold and as if pulling an arrow from his quiver. A long white strap of hide peeled from her arm, creating a smokey, dust like cloud. His hand lay heavy for such a small Stone. Gust of Wind swashed through his person and she was gone. Leaving only a circle where she stood. Of shiny red, he knelt down to dip his finger into this rich coloured liquid and like a cavern gave way, the fresh warm blood seemed to Snake into his finger from the circle, recoiling North to South. Feeling a rushing in his body, his balance was lost. How long he laid, he had now known, but the shadows were long from West to East. Was it the same day? Looking around there was no circle to be seen.

His village, in plain view down along Phillips Creek, where Ponderosa grow near tall as clouds and his brothers of Grizzly, Wolf, Caribou and Cougar all shared these open plains. "Cougar", he thinks to himself and begins to walk down hill, occasionally looking back. Looking for what was etched in his mind. "Do not doubt.", repeated often as he held this Stone of golden like shine. Beautiful he is thinking, as if formed around the Stone, a Cougars claw pierced clean through and long like his shouldered black hair was snow white Cougar hide seemingly ripped from charred flesh.
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Bill and Todd look to no drumlins, they're just blowing seventy down the highway. Left on Burma Road, passing through Cry Baby Ranch, well dubbed, it was a few back. Heinrich a old graveled oil man from B.C. created a big enough stink to get the forest service to fence his entire property with high power electricity. The poor ole Elk were bothering his ranching operations. Cry and cry and cry, see what you can do.

Soon up Hwy. 93, Kootenai National Forest which backs to Ten Lakes Scenic Wilderness Area, which is a fantastic name, but means little. Not designated Wilderness, just pristine enough to have wilderness attached. Games government plays. Fools of people, some say.

Todd punches Bill's shoulder, "There it is man!". Both happy as that old Lark. Bill drives on up the two track drenched with Ponderosa, Larch, Mountain Ash and Fir for another half mile. Dressed in olive drab as uniform, they do not have much else to camouflage. Armed and fully harnessed with patrol gear, they quietly secure the Jeep.

Initially foot fall bears upon 48 year old fire road. Nature doing her best to reclaim this scar, Pine and Alder's root curl deep. Showing infant beginnings of duff atop decomposed granite. Made for quiet, easy walking. Reaching Tamaracks cast long shadows, creating triangular shade retreats. It's said in Colorado every two track leads to an old mine and in Montana, to a clearcut. Pretty spot on, it seems.

Game trail veers North along Drip Valley, carved wide and shallow, flanked with Aspen trying hard to reach ten inches of diameter. Sun's reach seldom douses this forest floor. Bill and Todd stop for a moment as six cow Elk rise from day beds up above. Todd raises his hand into a pistol figure, "Pow". The last cream coloured rump vanishes and they have 300 yards to go. Bill pats his hand down behind him and his knowing partner nods his head. Quiet and slow is their going, from here on.

Short of four weeks back Todd's stride was carefree, thence a trickle of sound floated through the forest. He stopped. Looking, turning his head like a Coyote trying to locate supper. His brain shifts. Shifts to some sub-conscious mischievous and prying state of awareness. Pace changes. Stance changes, now a tucked like walk and curiosity is driving him forward. Begins a personal inquisition. "Sounds like women to me? But they are laughing? Watch your step ya fool.", toying with his brain. Binoculars are up, then down. His eyes are miffed. Closer and closer this obscure trail leads him.

Todd knows Bill waits in the Jeep or will be there in ten minutes, but he still can not leave. Cares of nothing else in this moment, actually has forgotten about Bill. Todd so rudely breaks a web of fine silk. From Earth to blanket to warm naked bodies on up skyward to Gnat and needle. But most unfortunately to Todd's peeping eyes. Finally he peels himself away in a bother of hormonal energy. Disbelief and wonder runs wild as, Winters melting cleanse rips high drainage's.

First time both made their way up was unbelievable. Todd repeatedly says, "See what'd I tell ya?", excited enough to think he just found the 1867 "Mother Lode" in Cripple Creek. Now being their fifth crossing of paths, more thoughts have opened up between them. Private thoughts. Self-gratification thoughts.

Access is easy, this day, thanks to some picking up branches and moving brush out of the way on past exits. Bill stops and points to his ear, Todd whispers, "I know." Depending upon the wind the last 50 yards may need to be a Deer like walk, but today voices roll right down, smacking them in the face. Wind is in their favor. Todd stops and wiggles into his Gillie suit knowing he has the more difficult approach. Bill motions himself forward. Bill can now see the blond hair he has so much been anticipating. Carefully he raises his binoculars. The powerful mirrors bring him in as if sitting on the red rimmed blanket. Sees a woman sitting up wearing a white button down shirt and stroking long brown hair of her partner lying on her lap. He lowers the glasses and moves up slowly, knowing his view is far better just twenty yards up. Todd works towards the same vista, just a different vantage. Half a step shuffle at a time he gets up to eighteen yards from the ladies private setting.

"Whatcha thinking my love?", as fingers continue to gently run through Kathleen's hair. "You mean besides how nice that feels?". She gently nods. "Well? I was thinking of how much I love being in the sun. Thinking of how strange family is and if I could pay off my credit card next month and how those tamarack needles are so much greener than all the other needles. Just things like that." "Why, what are you thinking?" "Nothing really. Just observing I suppose." "I was wondering if I had ever been in love with a man as much as I am with you?" Kathleen rolls her head over and says, "You are so sweet."

Bill and Todd silently watch as Peggy Jane bends down for a kiss while gently sliding her left hand under Kathleen's flannel shirt. The moment these thieves have been waiting for.
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Lore tells of everything being circular. Earth, nests, stars, eyes and even right and wrong. Grandfathers say wrong is a jagged lightning like pattern, yet still circular. What one imposes this day may be skipped over or trod by, even the same tomorrow. Many moons may pass and one day the jagged will cut you. All is circular, my Son. Therefore you must think far on your actions, now.
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Des Moines literally translated means "River of Monks" back from French descent. Des Moines has gone from lands of Wooly Mammoths to Sac and Fox tribes, now riddled of half a million peoples.

Ophelia comes off the Eastbound I-80 at 3:13 a.m. and she needs some mint tea. Littered with options, Pancake House, Denny's or...but she likes Waffle House. Red neon shines "OPEN", "Hell, when are they closed?", she mutters.

Like a molasses thick plague had moved through, two solemn waitresses stop playing cards and turn their look as if the front door dinger was attached to a string and automatically twisted their heads round. Duffer in a tattered 347 Union cap and face laden with wrinkles deep enough to hold peas, throws an up and down gaze to the door. Turns back and drags his disappearing Kool, deep into his putridly wheezing cavity of a chest.

Ophelia commands her 1963 Jag effortlessly, and any on looker views her a spectacle equal in intrigue. Dressed of rural America, hiking boot to Levi's to t-shirt draped in button down plaid print. Nothing shiny, no names to flaunt and no boutique trimmings are going to accentuate those freckles. None-the-less, the Jag rests and she needs a table. "Hi there, would you like a menu?"

"No thanks just some tea water and honey and a waffle with strawberries." "Tea water? What kind of tea did you want and would you like whip cream?" Momentarily forgetting the time of day and territory, she snaps off, "Just bring me some boiling water and honey and no, I didn't ask for whip cream. Tell your manager to quit training you people to always ask customers if they want this or that!", she looks up to her server. Taken back, she calmly puts her order pad in her smock and walks away.

Ophelia sips her tea and pecks at the waffle, leaving no berries behind. A twenty dollar bill lay on the table with a note written on the bill. "Sorry, just tired."

Ding goes the door and 5 a.m. reveals hope, towards sky full of sun this day. Ophelia stands still, soaking up the warmth. Thinking of how her day needs to go, she spends most of it by the river under maples and elms.

Making her way over the Cottage Grove Bridge and into Soapwood Cafe. She takes a good look at a photo pulled from her breast pocket. Soapwood is a pretty typical sports bar with too many TVs, pool tables, fatty foods and general perusing for the opposite sex. Locally known for its opportunities.

Ophelia knocks a couple Killian's back, gaining some good cafe breath and enough time for a bloke she noticed earlier. One truly in love with his hair and removing his wedding band to make his way over. She watches him sit, leaving a stool between them. "Now I know I've never seen you around here before.", he fires off. "No, just as I have never seen you before... Is that really all ya got?", as she stares forward. Then cracks a faint chuckle with, "Have you rehearsed that line with the woman that gave you the ring in your pocket?" "Awe, fuck off newbee.", and walks away to stare into a football game.

Watching him mesmerizing, as men tackle each other, her memory cross checks a man walking past, loud as a billboard. Seeing through his name brand this and that, she focuses on his build. Five foot ten inches, shoulders average with beginnings of too many beers, too often showing above the belt.

Ophelia turns and orders a Vodka and a water, no ice. "You know your going to get that all night, right?", bartender says. "Yeap. I won't be long."

Ophelia's been watching her man, watching in the mirror. Bartender goes on with him at the end of the bar, whispering. Breaking their huddle, she sees him get up and start towards her. She takes a swig of water and slaps ten bucks on the bar, swiping by her man. And her left hand pulls back her black leather jacket exposing her yummy mint green sweater. Then looks him straight in the eye and gives him a wink. Her stride is swift and his guard, dismantled. Before he knows it, she is through both doors and he can't recall the colour of her sweater, but he can vividly hallucinate about, underneath.

"Well she did say she wouldn't be long.", bartender says. "Jesus Christ that woman was a knock out!", he lathers on.

Ophelia waits patiently in the Jag. Nine minutes pass, which she makes a note of and Mr. Billboard comes out. She watches him get in and drives up next to his little 325i. "You know where the Southend Hotel is?" "Ya." "You get a room and I'll wait for you." "Ok, if that's the way you want it." and he starts his baby beamer. "One more thing, I need your cell phone.", "My cell phone!", he reluctantly laughs. "Yes your cell phone." "You're serious?", as he looks to her for confirmation of such an unusual request. "That's a strange one. Whatya do, put vibrate on for the drive over?", with his crass laugh. "Just give me your phone or you can go to the hotel yerself ." Dumbfoundedly he reaches into his pocket and tosses her the phone. "Have fun..." clutch peddle out and she's gone, "...with the phone."

He pisses about the phone momentarily but then his little head takes over. "Holyshit the Southend Hotel! I can't believe it. She was actually waitin for me.", even more lathered, he carries on.

Keys in hand, looking intently to his onlooker, much like the dog, that he is, Ophelia waves him inside. Bouncing off the bed corner, says, "Ahh, the king bed, ya gotta love it." Straight to the bathroom to see how his billboard of attraction is holding up. Swipe of the hair, original and planted ones along with the cupping hand breath test. Nearing all pre-checks complete, the door opens slowly.

His adrenaline begins to trickle faster, she glimpses the bed and his silhouette to its left. Quickly undressing her in fantasy. Door closes, leaving a sword like glint of light beaming onto yellow dinge of a wall. Wasting no time he goes over with left and right hands, spreads her weathered bomber jacket wide. Inhaling through nostril and retina the likes of this specimen before him. All the while her expression addicted to his actions. "Hot damn, baby. That you are!" Pulling her into his grasp, he goes for a kiss. "Easy there fella.", as she runs her hands up under his arms swiftly in one motion, stripping his clutch of leather.

Brushing off her shoulder, he laps the latch over the protruding door pin, spins around with, "Oh I'll be easy, you wait and feel." Looking upon his spewing arrogance, "Wow, I am not sure if I have ever been this close to a man of your sort?" "Well thank you. Now let me get that coat off of you.", "You are quite pushy, ya know. Hell don'tcha even want that kiss?" And Ophelia reaches out with both hands to the lowers of his skull, gently twisting him around to the bed. She feels his hands torpedo directly to her chest. Her left hand upon his chin, left foot, left of his right foot and right hand guiding his lips closer to hers. Her right leg slowly raises up and back as if a rattler poising a strike. Anticipation waits no more, he wants so much to run his lips underneath her covers and in one split second her leg fires a powerful blow to his groin. Only a whiff of exhilaration exclaimed, as left to right her hands swiftly snap his neck.

Abruptly he lay upon his waiting king and she pulls her gloves tight into her finger tips, running them up and down over her breasts as if to shammy off his final clutch.
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Bill not being satisfied of his self-gratification out in the woods while earning his government wages, comes up with a plan. "Hey what about moving the tree. Creating a no trace hill top for a few days and then we show up and show those girls a real time!" "You mean like all of us together?" Bill says, "It's getting kinda old just taking pictures and hiding in a tree." "Ah, it's not that bad, man when those two are kissin on each other I can hardly keep quiet." "Exactly! That is what I am talking about. They're just fucking teasing us." Bill shakes it off. "Anyways I want to move the tree today, if they're not there."

Ophelia enjoys a quiet morning at home, sweeping about the circle sawn pine floors and hears the familiar pounding of a Pileated Woodpecker up on the gable end. Dashing out the back door with a wallop of the broom, "Hey, you. Knock it off." Rather than fluttering away, this red headed beauty swoops down to perch atop an old willow stump. Taken by his sentinel look, she dashes in for the camera. As if painted atop that old willow, his slender white rushes trail behind yellow circled eyes peering directly into her lens. "Well aren't you a beauty." To her surprise he hops with a twist, revealing a right handed pose. "OK, you little red headed cutie, now quit puttin holes in my house.", shaking her finger. With a Pileated squelch he's gone in a instant.

Inside, cord goes to camera then to computer and download is selected. Sweeping and thinking of her brief visit with such a grand bird, she says, "Tabatha and I really need to spend more time in nature together." For now she is content listening to her favourite Mozart piano piece and reflecting on their most recent, "...being married to who they are married to..." discussion. How one drop of rain equals one smile then a dozen of each begin to saturate, soon if not prepared saturation begins stripping layer after layer and one day, perhaps this day, you just ask, why? "Why are we with these guys?" On her way for the dust pan the computer screen says, "Delete after import?", she leaves the box blank and download is complete.

Todd went along with his partners plan and to Bill's liking the red wagon was not there this day. Moving the tree was fairly simple, pull up three eighteen inch stakes and she goes to any location.

Bill remembers the first time he was introduced to "the tree". Taken on a morning hike, by Steve, to become familiarized with the border he was soon to protect. Steve had four years of patrol under his belt. A bit annoyed with the route of choice. Through the densest dead fall and down thick Rosehip patches and a stretch of Drip Creek lain thick of lichen covered rocks. All the while looking out twenty yards, seeing easy going forest floor, finally atop a knoll Steve points East and West, up and down a forty foot wide swath of treeless land. "Well, this is it. America here, Canada there. And now it's lunch." Two stumps adorn a seemingly frequented nestle with Glacier National Park to the East and the Kootenai Forest laying path to pristine Yaak Valley to the West. Steve takes a stump and Bill the other, both removing day packs. Steve says, "Here try this one on -- As an airplane is about to crash, a female passenger jumps up frantically and announces, "If I'm going to die, I want to die feeling like a woman." She removes all her clothing and asks, "Is there someone on this plane who is man enough to make me feel like a woman?" A man stands up, removes his shirt and says, "Here, iron this!"." Bill busts out laughing, "No shit, they should iron this.", still laughing up a good one. Then, CRASH! A three foot diameter tree lands right next to his seat smashing his day pack. Jumping near five feet while Steve is gasping, laughing at Bill still wanting to move backwards looks to Steve who is beside himself. Then Bill sees the tree roll left a bit and a door opens revealing John who is grinning ear to ear. "Hey, I'm John. Ya just never know what's gunna getchya up here on the border!" "You guys are fucked up. That just ain't right!"

No joking around this day. Tree is at least a half mile away now, everything picked clean and their tracks swept on exit. Bill is very quiet with a fast gait back to the pickup. Todd says, "So what kind of plan are you coming up with?" Twenty minutes later, Bill opens the drivers door and says, "Lets sleep on it over the long weekend and hope for a red wagon on Tuesday." "Ya, lets just enjoy the holiday."
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"Hit me.", says the voice. "Yep." Phone clicks shut. Switch down and door closed.
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Ophelia and Tabatha enjoy red wine on the back deck. Ophelia tells Tabatha to open iPhoto on her laptop and look at the last import.
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Bill wants to have his way w/ the girls. They do.
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Peggy Jane and Kathleen report it.
what is the evidence that would lead the guys to the scene?

need something personal to Ophelia that Bill destroys while in prison via connections