Chapter 4

My initial wave of optimistic enthusiasm was quickly dampened once the grind of the daily surveillance operation got underway that morning. Carrie, and her current pack of lovers/fellow co-conspirators, Edgar, Luke and Phillip were already jumpier than squirrels hopped up on methamphetamines. If they had any actual decisive plans of action whatsoever, these were far outweighed by the pure random impulsiveness of their lifestyle. One minute they'd be laughing about how they'd spend the Wilde family money, the next ranting about calling some alphabet soup agency to 'give them the lowdown dirt', and the next plotting to load up another huge batch of WildeWeed to sell to one of their dealer friends in St. Louis or Kansas City and making a road trip out of it.

In reality, their talk was mostly just that ... talk. What they actually did was drink booze, smoke dope and fuck a lot, in various multi-partner ways. Between the three guys, lucky Carrie found herself getting three-holed and made water-tight at least once a day. Not to mention the various 1-on-1 and double-team encounters. It was amusing at first listening to their loud fucking, but since I wasn't having much of a love life myself, it got old rather fast. Ned certainly didn't want to listen to his ex getting her freak on several times a day with strange men — he'd had enough of that while they were still married. Poor Ned apparently put up with being a cuckold for awhile after he discovered what Carrie had been up to before deciding that enough was enough. Being a fairly dim, but good natured soul, Ned never even considered using our father's shotgun to expedite his divorce ... that's probably more than I could say for a good number of Wildewood men. I'm nearly as amiable as Ned, but I'd never tolerate a tenth of what he put up with before packing up and leaving.

Just in case, I sent Joe a message to relay to Walt for him to avoid making any redistribution sized deliveries of WildeWeed to them. We wanted them fixed in one place where we could keep our eyes out on them.

The more I listened the less comfortable I felt about the planned operation. The woman was absolutely maddening. She was already more than half-nuts to begin with and still actively baking her brain to more than likely soon adequately finish the job. Schizophrenia, schizoaffective disorder, bipolar disorder, major depressive disorder, obsessive-compulsive ... you name it, she probably needed to under a brain doc's care for it, along with a heavy dose of lithium, and other proper mind candy. Listening to her constant psychotic rants just made me want to shove my hands through the Internet to reach out and give her a hard shake by the neck.

Our plans to give her medications that new extra added push was starting to look they would end up giving her more of a shove, instead. Already her drug abused sense of paranoia was tuned up to at least a nine on the power knob, which our soon to be added pharmacological adjustments were sure to take up to a full eleven. We didn't even have any 'watchers' yet on station obviously lurking around their cabin, but Luke (an even more paranoid druggie than Carrie) was already sure that they were being "monitored". They were sure that they were being watched by government Men in Black, their mail being opened, etc. Everything up to and including the ubiquitous black helicopters.

Actually, we could get our hands on a suitable looking all-black helicopter via a distant family cousin who lived in West Plains. Since I had carte-blanche for this operation, I scrounged up a secure disposable cell-phone and gave him a call. Getting a nice 'family business' discount, I arranged for him to overfly the area at least twice a day, being seen to linger conspicuously in their area. Preferably also to be seen with passengers in dark suits holding telephoto cameras and big binoculars looking down at them. For nighttime harassment, one of our two normal family owned copters we used for mining and logging operations, and our Sheriff's Sky-Eye bird could alternate being heard in the near vicinity, a couple of times each night.

Our surveillance subjects did tend to keep very erratic hours and frequently partied long into the night. This was going to wreck havoc with my own already erratic sleeping schedule, and I had already sent a previous note to Joe that I'd need at least two other folks to help me with our around the clock surveillance.

The biggest problem with getting our own 'Men in Black', was that we needed to obtain a couple of big black GMC Yukons. Every crime TV drama I've ever watched has the FBI and other fed agents all running around in black Yukons with heavy tinting. I wanted at least one to park on the dirt road near their cabin but I couldn't find one from any rental agency closer than Springfield. We'd already sent someone off to pick that one up, but the rest of our cast in dark suits and sunglasses wouldn't be ready to start until tomorrow.

Now we could begin to consider the cast of Carrie's accomplices.

Luke was pretty much your ordinary everyday run of the mill dope fiend and full blown Goth in his early thirties. He seemed peaceable enough despite his taste for the constant loud death metal music that make picking up records of their conversations tricky at times. He talked about supernatural sorts of LARP'ing (role play gaming concerning werewolves and vampires) nearly constantly. Heck, the guy couldn't decide if he wanted to become a vampire or an elf. He apparently had the skinniest cock and usually got to be the one to fuck Carrie's ass. He was the least of our problems compared to the kid named Phillip.

Kid being a relative term, since according to our report from the Sheriff's office, Phillip was in his late twenties but still playing the role of college campus radical. Phillip definitely had an agenda — buy dope cheap, sell high - buy guns/build bombs and wait for the imminent Worker's Revolution. He was a far-left crypto-anarchist "Truther". EVERYTHING was some sort of NeoCon government conspiracy. 9/11, the War in Iraq, the New World Order, global slavery via the G8 nations, Princess Di's 'murder', "Bush lied and people died", steroids in professional sports ... you name it — it was all due to some sort of government conspiracy. Luke's hatred of our lame duck sitting President was pathological. Any mention of "Dubya" was enough to send him into a ranting frenzy. This could certainly be exploited. He wore a lot of black and moped around a lot too, but he was more interested in politics than fantasy gaming. Sexually, he was an oral man and he loved to have Carrie suck his cock (preferably on her knees) while he sprouting sermons of truther gibberish to the faithful.

From the sound of things, Phillip had at least one gun with him ... and possibly an entire arsenal. He talked about bombs and blowing things up ... a lot ... but was it just talk or was he really building them? We couldn't decide.

Edgar "Eddie" was the youngest of the lot, maybe only in his mid-twenties and very much also Goth, complete with dozens of exotic body piercings, including apparently a cock ring. He was Carrie's main fuck toy, although the other two guys certainly each took their turns with her. She apparently picked him up while she was at college, even before she married Ned. The lad undoubtedly had way more cock than brains but he seemed to know how use at least that part of his anatomy. I got to listen to Eddie and Carrie screw at least three times a day, and they definitely made a production out of it.

Politically, Eddie didn't seem like much of a hard core narcophile, revolutionary or fellow traveller. He was obviously only in the movement to get laid ... and often. A lover rather than a fighter, and apparently with large enough equipment in that department that her other two lovers rarely took sloppy seconds in her cunt. He tended to follow Carrie's lead on most other things, but if he got sufficiently stoned or drunk he was willing to play the romantic hero role, and impulsively lead from the front. These chaotically sudden character swings were the hardest for me to attempt to anticipate. How would he react under stress and which way would he jump if threatened?

Damned if I knew. No one else could figure the kid out either. He ought to be back at college or in his parent's basement, role-playing Dungeons & Dragons or leading World of Warcraft raids on weekends to settle his internal need for heroic drama. Bloody amateurs!