“Both acronyms sound like a positive at the outset. Anyway, the first time I was with a friend, returning to our hotel for a convention, we were working as employees of a snow ski company. I was driving late at night with my friend. This was in the early 1990s before cell phones, and even pagers. We got off at the wrong exit, and at a light we were surrounded by men wearing red hats and bandanas.
“No other cars were in view, and I counted more than 50 people around us. We froze, and for a split second I contemplated gunning the engine in a last-ditch effort to escape.
“Time stood still as the lead man and three of his group stood silently in front of my small car, pointing at me. Neither my friend nor I spoke as we awaited the fate we both expected was coming.
“Thirty seconds—or two hours later in panic time—the lead man made a gun gesture with his right hand, pulling the trigger at each of us, and called his men to move without expression of any kind.
“I watched them leave in slow motion, not thinking to drive away. ‘It’s green,’ my friend finally said as I drove slowly back down the road.
“The second time would be a year later with a girlfriend, when we took the wrong exit and ended up in the middle of a suburb. I stopped at a grocery store secured by a full-time armed security guard with an AR-15 clearly visible. He asked us, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
“I explained we were lost, and he made a couple of calls on his radio before giving us written directions on a napkin.
“‘Follow these directions exactly. Don’t talk to anybody or look another man in the eye. Lastly, but most importantly, don’t stop for anything—no stops signs, lights…nothin’.’
“What if I get pulled over?” I asked nervously.
“What if you get pulled over?” he asked, laughing deeply.
“Hey, Theresa, listen to this,” he called out loudly. Many people in the crowded store looked our way. “This here white boy and his lady friend got lost and ended up here. I’m trying to save their asses, and he’s worried about getting a ticket!”
“Now that’s the funniest shit I’ve heard all day,” she yelled back. “Now you all go on about your business,” she said to the growing crowd around her.
She approached quietly, lightly touching my girlfriend’s shoulder. “You holding up all right, Sweetie?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she replied. “We didn’t mean to just barge in here.”
“Don’t you two worry; it’s a free country. But make no mistake, you’re in a different country right now. Just go 25 miles up that direction,” she continued, pointing northwest, “and you would be smack dab in the middle of Beverly Hills, where you would probably get a ticket for taking one step off a curb. But you might as well be a thousand miles from there where you’re standing right now.”
“The police don’t come down here, not ever. Well, only unofficially,” joked the guard.
“Knock it off, Ray,” she said, waving her hand at him. “I’m trying to make a point here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he quickly replied.
“So, Ray and his radio here will get you back to where you need to be, and don’t stop for nothing.” I dug into my pocket and pulled out my wallet.
“Put that back now,” she said in a low but firm voice.
“I just wanted to tip or something for the help,” I said.
“I own this here store,” she said, waving around to all her customers. “I damn sure don’t need no money, and Ray here is overpaid as it is. The only action he’s seen lately was a clogged toilet last week,” she added, trying to keep a straight face, but eventually smiling and getting a “Hey, that’s a low blow,” reply from him.
“You two get now, and don’t look back,” she continued.
“Thank you, ma’am,” we both said, “and sir.”
“The last man you will see when you’re close to the on-ramp will be wearing a Raiders hat. Head exactly where he points to, and it will spit you back on to the freeway.”
“Will he know what car we’re in?” I asked.
“Yeah,” the man said, laughing. “Everybody here does. Now get on down the road.”
“I followed the instructions to a T. A few scary-looking men waved me on in what I hoped was the right direction toward the next freeway on-ramp.
“The last man wore all blue, minus the black Oakland Raiders cap, and pointed me to the ramp of freedom and right back on to the same highway as the other business people and soccer moms used, having no idea what they were driving over day in and day out.”
“That happened twice in one year, huh?” asked Jake, “and you didn’t learn your lesson?”
“I did learn my lesson,” I argued. “It only happened twice.”
I had apparently brought it up more than once to Joy, like it was a badge of courage being in contact with both notorious gangs within a year. But honestly, maybe it was just stupidity on my part.
* * * * * * *
Chapter Eleven
Raton Pass, New Mexico
“Anyway,” Joy told me, “let’s gather the group again, and this time I want a vote on our friends.” I gathered our group for a quick vote. I gave them the new information about the group’s food and ammo.
All agreed to let them stay, with only two people choosing not to vote.
“You and Joy started this whole thing anyway,” said Jake. “If your friends were around at the very beginning, some of us may not have gotten a spot in the group.”
“Thanks, everyone,” I said, as Joy hobbled back on her crutches. She smiled before meeting Jim and Mark for another call.
“Don’t
