Teaching the group to fish was fun for all, and I gave up four YoYo automatic fishing reels to be used collectively by the newly named group, known as the Lake Pueblo Occupiers. Mitch, we found out, was not joking, or even slightly exaggerating, his fishing abilities as he clocked in not only the largest fish but also the biggest haul. He was officially appointed head fisherman for the new group.
“It was worth giving up my guns,” he told me that afternoon while sporting a nearly new Kimber Mountain Ascent bolt action .30-06 rifle. “Check it out,” he said, handing it to me.
“It’s light,” I replied, never having held one.
“It should be,” he said. “Used to go for a couple thousand dollars before the scope. I got it from my old buddy and now new leader. It was worth the wait to get it back,” he added, hugging his girlfriend.
“All I know is when you’re done today, you will be bathing in this lake,” she said, “and so will I… Who knows? You may even get lucky tonight,” she added.
“This day just keeps getting better!” he said. “Thank you all for helping us out here. You changed all of our lives.”
* * * *
I noticed a group of all men, maybe 15 or 20, off to the side of the lake.
“What’s with those guys?” I asked the new Occupiers leader, as Mike glared at them.
“Those are the men who traded their wives and girlfriends over the past few weeks for a fishing pass. The women we still have here don’t want them back, and I don’t see as I can blame them. Even their kids won’t speak to them. So, for now, at least they stay away from us and do their own thing.
“I guess I spoke too soon,” he said, watching three of the men approach.
“What can I help you with?” said the leader.
They looked beyond him, and two put their hands into the air. The leader’s security team had rifles trained on the men.
“Wait, hold up,” he commanded to his men. “Let’s see what they want… So, what do you want, gentlemen?” he asked.
“We want our women and children back, and our guns,” said the only one without his hands raised.
“So, you’re the leader of the misfits who cowardly trade their women to be enslaved so you can eat?” asked Mike, growing flushed.
His two friends were bumbling with some sort of apologies for even being born.
“Go back to your camp and bring the rest over here,” Mike barked at the two.
They turned, whimpering like they had been smacked on the nose trying to steal food off the counter, and waved to their friends to join the conversation.
“So, you’re the leader?” asked Mike again once they were all there to hear.
“Yep. Ain’t nobody else got the stones to stand up for what’s owed. Isn’t that right, boys?”
Nobody spoke.
“Now, I want what’s owed.”
“Owed to who?” asked Mike, now dominating his group’s side of the conversation.
“Owed to me,” the man replied, smiling. “My guns and my lady… Now hand them over before things go bad for you.”
“For me?” said Mike, cold and not raising his voice.
“That’s what I done said, boy.”
The new Occupier leader looked at Mike, surprised he was so calm. He waived for his guards to stay put, wanting to see where this exchange may end up.
“You men all want him for your new leader?” Mike called out.
“Of course they do!” said the man, feeling a bit cockier.
“I’m not asking you. I’m asking them.”
“They do what I say,” he said, putting a finger in Mike’s face.
* * * *
Vlad and I saw the commotion from a distance. I could see clearly with binoculars, but I couldn’t hear what was being said.
“I left my binos on the trailer,” said Vlad. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know, but it’s about to worsen,” I said.
Jake chimed in. “He’s got his finger in Mike’s face. Here, take a look. I’ve got an extra set,” Jake added, handing them to Vlad.
We all looked and were surprised, even after all we had been through.
“Do you remember the last time someone put a finger in another man’s face?” Jake asked me.
“How could I forget?” I replied. “That Lawrence guy from my office on that very first day it happened and that thug he pointed at weren’t nearly as dangerous as Mike.”
“I think this may end up the same,” continued Jake.
“What happened on the first day?” asked Vlad.
“This guy Lawrence pointed his finger back then, and was dead in a few minutes,” replied Jake.
The next moment happened fast, and the three of us would never completely agree on the gritty details. Mike stepped close, so the man’s finger was touching the tip of his nose. He swung his right arm and left, clapping his palms hard onto the man’s ears. This scream we could hear. Mike had him on the ground, knees on his back, with his arm stretched out.
“You just may be the first man to put his finger in my face. Which one was it?” Mike asked, squeezing each one individually. “I can’t remember if it was the index or the middle one. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, catch a tiger by the toe. If he hollers...”
The man did holler as Mike opened his buck knife with a flip.
“Please, I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just horsing around is all. I’m sorry I pointed at you.”
“It’s not really about that anymore,” said Mike, keeping a good hold on the man. “I see he’s a righty,” he said, now only talking to the other men up from the lake. “This means you reel your pole with your left hand.”
Mike quickly let go of his right hand and grabbed his left.
Others in his group stood still, not attempting to intervene and backing away a few steps.
