Good morning!  No worries, I dropped out of that gang from East L.A.  and gave up my shank.  I emailed them and told ’em it was over.  It’s all good in the hood.

Last time I talked to you I was in Southern California watching Crock writher in pain with his appendicitis.  So weird cuz yesterday I was in the emergency room watching Dux writher in pain with his broken toe/tendon-pulled-away-from-the-raw-bone accident he had motorcycle ridin’.

$250 bucks later, he was as good as new.  The doc told him to put his foot out sideways and “Walk like a duck.”  What are the chances?

Doc said if it wasn’t for motorcycles, horses and skateboards, he’d be outta business, kinda smiled and winked as he took my check and encouraged Dux to try it again.  Shame.

Back to Dave!

David was almost unrecognizable with his beard and long hair.  Camping in the wind along the beautiful coast of Big Sur had seemed to age him with sun and wind-burned skin amidst ratty hair.  His belongings were few, and his clothes seemed baggy and old.  He moved from place to place always looking over his back for Sal’s murderous gang.

Soon after he had ditched the car and turned up in the coffee shop in the ocean-side town, he had seen the newspapers, front page headlines screaming the unspeakable news:

Peaceful Monks at monastery murdered; no suspects.

The overwhelming shock of those words hit Dave like a sucker punch to the stomach.  He slid onto the wooden chair with both hands riveted to the paper.  His eyes quickly read the article…over and over and over.  He couldn’t believe what he was reading…Moeke was dead and so were his priests, all because Dave had led Sal there.

Remorse and dread filled Dave up as he staggered to stand up.  With shaking hands, he dropped the paper next to the  full coffee cup and headed for the door.  Instinctively he stopped and turned around, heading for the back of the cafe looking for an exit.  A screened door opened to the back parking lot, and Dave slipped out and headed straight for the wooded area behind the cafe, slowly jogging through the trees.  Though he hadn’t run far, his heart was beating so hard he felt like it would explode.  He couldn’t seem to slow his gait, the headlines of the paper exploding over and over in his head.  He knew they had to be close behind him, if not already watching him.  Paranoia seemed to overtake him as he ran deeper and deeper into the woods.

Dave awoke with a start.  The sun was setting, and he was laying on pine needles next to large shady tree.  He slowly got his bearings and sat straight up, scanning the area for movement.  There was none.  Birds sang nonchalantly to one another as if they didn’t care about the massacre.  Squirrels were unconcerned with Dave as they scattered through the tree branches.

Dave knew the cover of night would help him survive.  He knew he needed supplies and food.  He decided to wait until complete darkness set in before he started back to town. The slow walk back was filled with false alerts and sudden drops to the ground.  Yet still there had been no sight of Sal or his men.

Finally Dave made it back to the parking lot he had run across that very morning.  It was dark and the cafe was closed.  After looking in all directions, Dave moved quickly through the shadows across the parking lot and up through the dark alley.

Once near the street, his eyes scanned to find an open store.  Down the road he eyed a lit gas station and he stole his way there through the back alleys of the shops.  Once inside he quickly bought his necessities including water, bread, a lighter and some kerosine.

Then he headed for the ocean.  The closer to the sea he got he could feel the fog beginning to hide him in the dark.  The damp air clung to his face and hair and refreshed his dark soul.  The distant pounding of the waves began to get stronger and stronger and he could see the majestic sea in the moon’s reflection.

As the dirt turned into sand, he trudged down the long lonely beach until he saw an old fire pit.  Lighting a small fire, he sat on the log before the flames huddling in his flannel shirt letting the tears of remorse spill down his face.  His mourning came at first in silent grief, but soon cresendoed to full-scale sobs.  He couldn’t get Moeke out of his mind; his smiling youthful face, his happy eyes, his allegiance to Dave.  Dave’s mind quickly left Moeke’s face and focused on Sal.  Dave could feel the hatred start to climb up him, he felt flashes of rage overtake him.

Yet, what could he do?  Here he sat homeless, without a job, a car, a phone hiding from this madman in the night.  Hopelessness washed over Dave again as new tears tumbled.

Finally he slipped to his knees and cried out to God, first in anger which quickly subsided to humility.  After all, he was still alive.  Sal had not found him.  A peace began to wash over him as if the waves themselves had engulfed him.  At once he knew he was in God’s hands. He knew he would be safe. He layed down on the damp sand in front of the fire with the moon watching and the ocean lulling him into a deep sleep.

After days of running in fear, Dave finally walked into the town library and sat down to use the phone.  His dirty hands shook as he called his phone number and began to listen to his voicemails.  He was astonished that he had over 89 messages, all worried friends and family wondering where he was.  He also learned that Sal had filed an annulment on his marriage with Micah. His heart hurt so bad he thought it would explode.  So much loss!  He just couldn’t seem to comprehend all that had been taken from him.  The familiar old ache began in his chest again, and he felt new tears begin to form.  But the one message that got his attention was from John.  He sounded desperate.  He told Dave that his dad was on a rampage to kill him, that he had completely lost it.  He instructed Dave to keep running, to stay away.  He expressed his remorse and then he got strangely quiet.

He slowly squeaked out the dreadful words, “Sammy died.  It was peaceful, in his sleep.  He’s with the Lord now.  I know it’s a lot, Dave, but hang on.”

The news of Sammy was too much for Dave.  He dropped the phone and staggered out of the library.  His vision was blurred from the tears and his whole body was shaking.  His knees began to tremble, and he wondered if he could make it out.  Once outside he was assaulted with the rain that had begun.  It seemed to mock his misery and was relentless.  Dave stumbled around and seemed to walk in circles.  How could it be that Sammy was gone?  His advocate, his friend, his mentor…gone.  Then he remembered the night at the tent, it seemed as though Sammy had known.  He had held Dave tight and for a long time.  For some reason that memory comforted Dave somewhat.

Dave headed to the small Bed and Breakfast across the street.  He realized he must have been a sight to see, but the elderly lady seem to understand he was distressed.  He rented the room upstairs  and trudged up the circular old wooden stairway to the door on the right.  After locking the door, he saw his reflection in the mirror and was shocked at his appearance.  The man in the mirror looked so weak and tired and desperate.   He filled the free-standing porcelain tub that sat near fireplace with hot water and before he could undress, he heard a faint knock on his door.  Fear shot through him until he heard the elderly woman’s voice, “I thought you’d like something to eat.”

He heard her footsteps gradually fade as she went down the staircase.  There on the floor in front of his door lay a tray with a bowl of hot minestrone soup, french bread and butter, a piece of berry pie and a cup of tea.  It was then that Dave knew he was still in God’s hands, still being taken care of.  He went to bed that night with a full stomach in clean sheets.  It had never felt so good to be bathed.

So, I betcha want that recipe up there?  And I betcha you’re wondering why, why, why aren’t there anymore recipes???  Well, it’s called capitalism.  Yes, true story.  Julia Childs approached me on doing a cookbook for animals.  After a few back and forth negotiations, we agreed I’d do a cookbook about animals.  Of course now I’m under contracts and lawyers and piles of paper towels so if you want my dee-lish recipes….that’s right, you’re gonna have to  pay up.  They are flying off the shelves, so get em for Christmas gifts!  Email Kittyoheart@live.com  Price is $20.00 includes shipping.