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"Chasing Angels"
Copyright 2006 Thomas F. Gregg All Rights Reserved
Chapter One
The sun was beginning
to rise in the foothills of the desert as I laid in bed with
Mimi, thinking about last nights All Star game. With a deep red
hue from the morning sun, the foothills looked scorched red;
water running through the stream could be heard in the early
morning stillness. Silence was broken by the Santa Fe freight
train that was passing through our little community of "Helendale,"
a small country town with a post office, grocery store, pizza
shop, barber, and local grill.
Mimi and I had decided
to keep the lake house, and planned a complete restoration to
the pueblo style property. Recently moving to a new home in the
Knolls area, we had furnished almost 7,000 square feet of living
space and decided to begin construction at the lake. The need
for a walk-in closet with additional show racks was about to
start a $75,000 renovation, complete with new tile, granite,
Berber carpet, kitchen cabinets, new appliances, and of course,
new furniture. Also, Mimi has somewhere around seventy-five pairs
of shoes at a part time home.
We raised seven children,
six of them girls, so closet space and shoe racks were always
at premium, Panty hose, panties, and bras were common place in
the laundry room, but you could find them on the floor in just
about any room of the house. And then there were also various
colors and sizes hanging in the bathrooms.
Mimi was still very
sexy after raising seven children, and her lace panties and bras
matched the color she was wearing for the day. She had taught
the girls they should feel good on the inside as well as the
outside; our account at Victoria's Secret was a testament to
just how good their taste was.
Knowing we were going
to be extremely busy with the remodeling and our motorsports
scheduling, between drag racing teams and stock cars, we planned
to take a mini vacation at the beach, no children, just carpet
samples, color clips, cabinet designs, appliance brochures, and
the rest of our wish list.
The rain began to
let up as we pulled into the resort valet parking lot. Greeted
with a smile from the valet parking attendant, he asked, "checking
in?" Well I thought we were, but perhaps I looked like I
wanted directions. Mimi smiled and calmly said, "Yes, we
have reservations.
Of course we do, silly me, they do not charge $795.00 if you
do not have reservations."
It was a typical resort
experience. Huntington Beach, "Surf City," had become
Las Vegas without legal gambling and you needed $10's, $5's,
and an occasional $1. The smiles lasted till cash hit their palms,
and then quickly went to a waiting pocket.
The team members at
the registration desk were extremely courteous, explaining the
amenities on the property, the suite, and the different restaurants.
After a brief stroll
walking hand in hand, we rode the elevator up to our penthouse
suite, as we walked through the outdoor corridors. The smell
of rain mixed with the fragrance of Mimi's perfume and a hint
of the Pacific Ocean breeze reminded me of how it all began for
us over thirty years ago.
Mimi was a sophomore
high school cheerleader, and I was a letterman in football, basketball,
and tennis. My grades were above average and I had plans for
college in the fall. In high school, Mimi struggled, with little
time for homework because of her chores on the farm. Mimi was
the youngest, and so her mother had mellowed some when Mimi was
about thirteen years old, allowing her to drive, letting her
wear a little bit of makeup, and stay up on Friday and Saturday
nights until 10:00pm.
Mimi and I were friends
as far back as I could remember even before I realized she was
a girl and we were different. We matured together and I recalled
the first time Mimi had on a Sunday dress with her saddle shoes.
We went to town and saw a motion picture at the Newbell Theatre.
As they walked home,
Mimi continued to cry and would not tell Tommy why. I told her
I would protect her and to stop crying because the picture wasn't
that bad.
Standing on the front
porch, I realized why Mimi had been crying, and from that lazy
evening many years ago, their life was changed forever.
My best friend was no longer a girl, she had blossomed right
before my eyes into a young women I didn't see Mimi for a couple
of days till she stopped down at the lake where I was fishing.
She sat down next to me and put her head on my arm and said,
"thank you for caring about me."
"Oh stop now!
I am trying to catch fish."
"You are not
Tommy Diamond, you don't even have any worms on the hook."
Mimi and I sat on
the dock for a long time in silence. Breaking the silence, Mimi
asked me to walk her home. We walked hand in hand through the
Alfalfa fields up to Mimi's road that would take her to her two-story
farm home. We stood together and smiled at each other, me holding
a fishing pole over my shoulder. Mimi, with her hands on her
hips said. "Tommy Diamond, we are best friends." We
gave each other the pinky shake, interlocking our pinky fingers,
and she gave me a kiss on my cheek and took off running home.
"See you tomorrow Tommy Diamond,"
she yelled over her shoulder.
Walking home in the
spring showers, I thought about the high school prom, summer
vacation, and the draft. As I sat down on a big oak rocking chair
on my front porch, the radio was recapping the day's events in
Vietnam.
Chapter Two
The clock said 4:45am
and I felt like I had just gone to bed and it was already time
to get up. Breakfast would be ready and on the table at 5:00am.
Breakfast at home was served on platters, taking helpings of
what you wanted: ham, sausage, bacon, fried eggs, scrambled eggs,
pancakes, biscuits, jam, potatoes, grits, and of course, country
gravy.
Take all you want
and eat all you take, because when school was out, we worked
full days starting at 6:00am till noon, taking dinner for the
noon meal and a nap, then working from 2:00pm until 6:00pm having
a light supper, and in bed by 9:00pm. Saturday we had chores
but we could plan other things once our chores were complete.
For me, it was fishing and working on Sally, my 1955 Chevrolet.
I paid $25.00 for Sally. We towed her home and I have been working
on her every spare moment I could muster for over a year.
Sally sat by herself
for years in a carport across from the Baptist Church we attended.
After service on Sunday, I would walk out to the corner and make
sure she was still sitting there. I did not know who she belonged
to, but I knew someday she would be mine.
The washed away dirt
revealed a Turquoise paint and bright chrome. The interior was
in excellent shape, and under the hood was a modified 283 with
a four speed. The baby looked stock until you fired her up. The
exhaust system rumbled. The Delco radio played hits from the
sixties from the 9" rear speakers.
I pulled Sally out
of the barn to take her on her first test drive. As I eased the
clutch out and gave her a little gas, she spun the rear tires,
kicking up gravel and dust. I masked down a little more on the
gas and Sally's rear tires got their grip and we were flying
down Trotters Mill Road.
As I rolled down Trotters Mill Road heading north, I saw the
afternoon thunderheads starting to form. The radio D.J. said
to expect afternoon thunderstorms along with increasing humidity,
"Iron Butterfly" and "In a Gods Davida" started
off the next set of ten, request lines are open.
Glancing at the rearview mirror, I saw red lights coming fast.
Sally's speedometer read 110 miles per hour. Slowing down to
pull over, Sally stalled. I was now coasting, and the red lights
were getting closer. I could hear the blare of sirens.
Sally was pulled over
to the side of the road. The sheriff's car was less than 100
yards away and did not appear to be slowing down. As the sheriff's
car sped by, the radio D.J. interrupted the drown solo of "In
a God's Davida," "Local girl being held hostage in
foiled robbery attempt at Trotters Market at Trotters Mill Road
and Church Street, more details as they become available."
He announced.
I was less than a
mile from Trotters Market. Getting out of Sally to check under
the hood, two more sheriff cars flew past. We only had four sheriff
cars for the entire county and now three were at Trotters Market.
I opened the hood
on Sally, checked the ignition wires, and found the coil wire
was loose from the distributor cap. I pushed the wire down and
made sure the rubber boot was snug on the distributor cap. I
figured she would fire right up. I shut the hood, crawled in
behind the wheel, turned the key, and she came to life.
I hit the throttle,
went through the M22 gear pattern, and was at Trotters Market
in no time. As I slowed down, I saw the three sheriff cars parked
in front of the market along with "Rebecca."
The hostage situation
began to unfold as I stood less than 40 yards away from Rebecca,
who was being used as a shield, and there was nothing I could
do. The deputy sheriff was attempting to start a dialog with
two men holding the girls hostage.
One of the three deputies
was trying his best to push the small crowd that was starting
to gather out of potential harm. Off in the distance, the wail
of sirens could be heard. The voice from the bullhorn was the
local sheriff, who was calling for the desperados to drop their
weapons and surrender.
The deputy sheriffs
were attempting to establish contact with the market. The phone
rang and rang, but no answer. On my car radio the D.J. said,
"On the line is Lizzie Trotter, inside Trotters Market,
where a foiled robbery attempt and hostage situation started
about half an hour ago."
"Lizzie, are
you ok?"
"Yes."
"Are you alone?"
"No, one of the
three desperados is still inside of the store along with...."
The connection was
lost. "The market phone wire was apparently cut," said
the radio D.J. "Lizzie are you stupid?!" Snapped a
voice looking out the store front windows.
The market front doors
were blocked with sacks of potatoes. The noise of the store's
swamp cooler muffled the voices outside, while the two young
women inside pondered what to do next.
"Lizzie, is there
a gun in the store anywhere?"
"Yes, behind
the counter," snapped Lizzie. "I don't know how to
use it; I don't know anything about guns."
The other young woman
replied, "I do," as she peeked out the window. She
turned to the third desperado who they now held hostage, and
looking at him, said, "Not today." He squirmed and
tried to attack, but the gag in his mouth wouldn't give, and
the chains they had used to tie him up made it impossible for
him to move.
You could see the
anger and determination in the young woman's face looking into
the eyes of the clawed up desperado, "They better not hurt
Rebecca," she snapped.
Lizzie sat down next
to the young woman holding a lever action rifle and a handgun
in the waistband of her cut off Levi shorts. "I have got
a plan,"
"Yeah well you
better do something, or else shut up, sit down, and wait it out;
either way I am with you. It's Saturday night and it looks like
we're a show."
The other young woman
told Lizzie to get kerosene, stick matches, a pack of cigarettes,
and a beer. The other young woman took the kerosene from Lizzie
and started to soak the desperado. She told Lizzie to pour out
the beer, fill the bottle with kerosene, soak a rag, put the
rag in the beer bottle, open up the pack of cigarettes, and take
two out, one for Lizzie and one for her. "Line up the stack
of matches," each girl lit her cigarette as the other woman
busted out the glass from the window. She yelled out, "Sheriff,
I am Mimi Hollister, one of the Hollister girls, and I have had
enough, I stopped here because it is about the 28th day since
I was here last. The moon should be due and so if it is ok with
you I am telling the two holding Rebecca to drop their guns and
surrender."
"That's bullshit,"
was yelled by one as he turned towards the window. Boom, boom,
two shots fired, taking off part of his knee cap, "Shut
up!"
Mimi yelled, "or I'll part your hair, asshole."
The desperado said,
"We're not surrendering because of some young bitch."
Mimi replied, "fine." Taking her cigarette, she lit
the rag with the bottle full of kerosene and pitched it towards
them on the porch. The two men moved to the far side of the market
where Mimi said, "Next we light up your partner who is covered
in kerosene, and Lizzie is sitting on him with a lit cigarette."
The two men dropped their guns and walked towards the Sheriff.
The girls moved the bags of potatoes, dropped their weapons,
and walked out. Tommy ran up to hug Mimi and with tears in her
eyes she said, "I almost lost Rebecca." Mimi and I
stood next to Rebecca, waiting for the deputies to talk to Mimi
and Lizzie.
With about ten minutes
passing, Mimi said to the one deputy, "Harley, I am going
home. You can call me tomorrow if you want." Mimi started
Rebecca up and as the old rambler coughed to life, she put her
in gear and pulled away with Tommy right behind her.
Chapter Three
Tommy followed Mimi
down Trotters Mill Road where she turned off the highway and
waved to Tommy, riding in silence the rest of the way home. With
Sally safely tucked away in the barn, he slowly walked up to
the front porch where his mama sat crocheting and his daddy was
smoking a corn cob pipe, they're rocking chairs going back and
forth the only thing breaking the silence.
Tommy sat down on
the big white wrap around front porch, nothing was said till
Mr. Diamond stood up and said, "Good night son, good night
mother," and retired for the evening. Daddy was not big
on conversation and had very little interest in small talk but
was a good businessman.
Daddy was a third generation Diamond in charge of running the
family dynasty that was slowly rebuilt after the great depression.
Growing up at Diamond Hearts farm came with privilege and responsibility.
Long considered one of the diamond family crown jewels, raising
through bred horses, a stud farm and training facilities, the
farm had some very famous horses over the last 100 years. Church-Hill
Downs, Belmont, Santa Anita, the Preakness, and many others,
were the home away from home for horses that came out of Diamond
Hearts farm.
The Diamonds settled
in this valley in 1858 where they opened the first of many businesses,
"The Whistle Stop Café." Mr. Diamond took his
inheritance of $280.00, opened the Whistle Stop Café,
and never looked back. The famous southern café still
operates today as part of the Diamond family legacy.
Surviving the Civil
War, a flood, the daily grind of the railroad, and many thousands
of stories told in the cavernous dining room at the horseshoe
counter and the large potbelly wood-burning stove. Talk of the
beginning of the War Between the States was non-stop around the
clock as young men, their fathers, and friends, prepared to join
ranks of the southern folks as the campaign against the north
began April 1861.
Mimi and Tommy watched many unprepared boys board that long black
train after taking that last home cooked southern meal at the
café. For many, it was only hours before they met their
fate in battle. The south lost thousands of young men in the
early days of the tragic War Between the States.
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