Chapter 1

John Stevens pulled off the highway into the lot of the combination gas station and miniature market. He drove forward to the pumps and turned off the aging van. The silence roared loudly in his ears.

He had been on the road since just after dawn, it was now late afternoon.

He stretched and then eased his tired, cramped body down out of the drivers seat.

Setting the gasoline pump nozzle to fill his tank, he headed towards the store. A sign pointing to rest rooms diverted him to the side and he cured a large portion of his discomfort.

Some time later he squeezed the last few drops of gas into his tank and replaced the nozzle into the pump.

Heading back to the market he noticed how each of them had begun to resemble one another all across the country. With only minor variations, such as in places that allowed gambling or lottery’s. This one sported a large lottery printer next to the cash register.

He picked through this stores version of pre-made tasteless— sandwiches, grabbed a bag of generic potato chips and refilled his travel mug from the coffee pot. Gathering up his selections he moved to the counter.

A cute blonde girl in her early twenties looked up from her book. She seemed to shrink back into herself at the sight of John. Another portion of John’s discomfort stabbed at him momentarily.

“Is that all?” asked the blonde, looking at the gas counter instead of at John.

“No, give me a lottery quick pick too.” mumbled John.

The girl poked a button on the lotto machine and it spit a ticket out the top. The girl pulled it out and handed it to John.

“That will be $24.56 with the Gas.” said the girl.

John fished a twenty and a five out of his wallet and handed them to the girl.

“Oh, can I get a receipt for the gas?” he asked.

The girl frowned but nodded. She grabbed a gas voucher pad and scribbled out the receipt by hand. Making certain to exactly fill in the price of the fuel. She handed it to John along with the coins from his change and instantly went back to her book.

John fumbled with his change and selections and managed to make it back out to the Van. The girl hadn’t offered him a sack to make the task easier. He got the door open and leaned in to set his load on the center console. He spilled some of his coffee in the process and cussed as he set about wiping it up. He finally hauled himself into the drivers seat and started the van.

He pulled off to the side of the lot to eat his lunch where he would be out of the way. He thoughtfully watched the girl in the store as he ate.

“One of these days, you’ll get yours!” he mused to himself.

He didn’t mean it.

John had never gotten along with women very well. The few he had had dealings with had only taken advantage of him and then left. He had an ex-wife and a child who didn’t know him, or care to.

He pushed the thought out of his head, finished his lunch and hit the road once more.

Days later John was reclining on a motel bed several states away. He was browsing through a publication that offered surplus government property and real estate for re-sale. He’d picked it up from a free dispenser from yet another market. You could probably get any of the property it listed cheaper, but you’d have to know how.

Some of it was quite amusing:

{One 50 acre plot of land with obsolete missile silo dead center, $562,000}

The ad included a general location and contact numbers.

“That would be kind of neat.” thought John to himself. “Complete with High Speed Sunroof!”

He chuckled at his own joke and reached over to turn out the light. He had another long day of driving to do the next day. John fell asleep wondering what someone would want with a used Missile Silo.

At 4:26 A.M. his eyes slammed open and he knew.

He fumbled for his pack of smokes as he thought about the concept flooding into his psyche.

A missile silo ... good god it must be over a hundred fifty feet deep and forty to fifty feet in diameter. Talk about room! The majority of it resided in earth that remained at a constant 56 degrees year round, talk about energy efficient! It was bound to be out in the middle of nowhere, talk about privacy! If there were only some way for him to pull it off.

John’s credit wasn’t the best on the planet. Several corporate downsizes and a marriage downsize had left him flat ass busted. He owed people in six different states, not to mention the IRS and several State tax commission’s. His ex-wife was threatening him with hard time for his arrears.

“But what a neat place to live!” he mumbled to himself as he stabbed out his smoke and looked at the clock...

He moaned a bit at the thought of an early wake-up call. He flicked off the light and tried to force himself to sleep as his mind raced along full of budding construction plans and ideas about solar heat and power.

The morning found him groggy as he stumbled to the shower. His mind already back working on the idea of the silo as a house.

Two days and several more states later, John was listening to the only thing a radio will pick up in the wide open spaces of the West; Staticy AM.

The stations format was that of a right wing talk show. On a news break there was a story about a State lottery worth fourteen million dollars that some idiot hadn’t claimed at yet. They only had three more days before they lost it.

John punched in a well worn oldies tape to kill the static.

Five miles down the road he suddenly swerved to the side and slammed on the brakes.

His hands were shaking and his breath came in gasps as he searched through his wallet for the ticket he had purchased almost a week previous. He found it rumpled and sandwiched between gas receipts and business cards.

He was shaking so hard he could barely read the numbers. He checked them off one by one as he could remember them from the news broadcast; “14, 23, 33, 31, 45 and 27 as the bonus”.

John let out a holler like a kid on his first drunk; he was a millionaire!

After he screamed himself hoarse and then smoked himself relatively calm once more, he suddenly sobered.

He had a piece of paper that was worth fourteen million dollars in his wallet. He was a day and a half’s drive away from the state he had purchased it in, and had about forty- three dollars and change to his name.

He reached under the seat and pulled out the old .357 python he traveled with. He had mostly forgotten about it. He felt a pang of fear over the serious trouble it could have caused him all the times he had gotten speeding tickets and had forgotten that it was even there.

He cracked it open and checked it. Live bullets in five of the six cambers. Just as it should have been. He carefully lowered the hammer onto the empty cylinder and stashed it back, but within easy reach.

He looked in back of the van at the selection of electronics equipment from his sales route.

“Fuck that shit!” he chuckled to himself.

He managed to pull back out on the highway. His mind was racing much faster than the odd car that came careening around him as he toodled along at a slower speed, safer for the old van.

John hated lawyers with a passion. He had never had what could be termed “a pleasurable experience” with any of them. Still, he was no fool. He knew he needed a good tax lawyer ... and right now!

As he drove along he formulated plans on what to do, and how to do it best. He had calmed down considerably, but his driving still wasn’t the best.

When he pulled into the first 100,000 plus population city on the way he stopped at the first phone booth. He found what he was looking for in the yellow pages under “Banks”.

He selected a bank that was a well known chain in the West, but hadn’t pissed him off too much in the past. He looked up the address of the main branch in town and scribbled it down. It never occurred to him how he looked ... or smelled. The previous night —to save money and make up time on his route— he had slept in his van at a rest stop rather than a motel.

When he walked in and asked to see the manager the teller turned kind of white and half reached for the alarm button.