Chapter 1

Born 1972 Ray Selfridge
enlisted 1990
Rudy’s Auto and Truck repair in Siler City.
312 Church Street Siler City.
Junior Martin former Lieutenant of Ray’s
Tonya Scooter’s waitress
Lucy driver (uber type) in Siler City

I was in the middle of packing my belonging from the, slightly larger than a motel room, efficiency apartment. It was the apartment which I had rented for the last three years. I paid more than it was worth, but it was within biking distance of the McGuire AFB flight line. Which made it convenient for me, since that was where I had worked for the last five years of my twenty eight year career.

I would not be going back to my work station again. I had cleaned it out and my ID had been revoked the day before. I spent my time that morning on the computer as I had the day and night before. I was trying to make sense of what had happened to me, even as I researched my next move.

I had started my career during the first Gulf war in 1990 and had it ended for me during the Afghanistan war in 2018.During operation Desert shield I was a new recruit in the Air Police at Lackland Air Force Base in Texas. Later that year I was assigned to Keesler Air Force Base in Mississippi. At Keesler I did my share of gate guard duty, and walked the flight line as a security guard. I also had a smidgen of motor patrol experience, while I patrolled the housing areas in a humvee.

Since my time at Keesler ended, I had been in almost constant combat areas. I did five deployments during the next ten years. During that time I rose to the rank of Staff Sergeant. As a lowly staff sergeant I became a supervisor of other Air Policemen. I found out real quickly how much I hated that. Still it was a job that needed doing.

I kept volunteering for deployments in any position I was qualified to fill. Which is how I spend the last ten years as VIP security coordinator. Which meant glorified body guard. I had almost nothing to do with planning, or arranging any security plans. I just did the hands-on supervision of the airmen providing the security. Since the job was authorized a Master Sergeant I got a quick promotion. I had done my time, but during that administration the Military was taking some cut backs. Somehow the CO pushed my promotion for technical sergeant to Master sergeant even in those times.

After eight years in that position a rumor started to be floated. The rumor stated that on my last field assignment I tortured then killed a prisoner. Frankly the rumor was true. Hell he wasn’t even the first one, he was just the first one with a shave-tail lieutenant supervising. Lieutenant Cassidy had been told to look the other wayjust as all light in the ass second Lieutenant were. I knew all along it was just a matter of time before someone ratted me out. I expected it to be a staff sergeant who had principles.

It turned out to be a Lieutenant disappointed by a Jewish promotion cycle. He got passed over. Why he chose to take it out on me was a bit of a shock, but like I said inevitable.

At first the major in charge of the unit said, “Forget it. His word won’t carry as much weight as yours. Just keep telling the truth you interrogated the prisoner who tried to escape afterward. You had to shoot him.” The fact the prisoner was shot in the face while supposedly running from me didn’t seem to bother anyone at the time.

The rumor ran around a while then sort of went dormant. All of a sudden the congress went liberal and began demanding that I be investigated for war crimes. Yes it was a crock, but I had no choice other than to go along. The men who had been worried about every vehicle which came though the gate testified that they weren’t present during the interrogation, or the escape attempt. The Lieutenant’s information was all hearsay based on information from airmen who were no longer serving.

The JAG officers worked out a plea deal. I would plead guilty to a Misdemeanor assault charge and retired. In exchange they would drop all other charges, and also indemnify me against prosecution for all other offenses committed against the enemy during my service.

I took the deal. It meant a reduced pension since I was forced to retire early, but it also meant there would be no chance of ending up in Leavenworth. The misdemeanor conviction meant a reduction in pay, but it didn’t effect my current pension.

I sure as hell didn’t plan to stay in New Jersey. Hell, nobody wanted to live in Jersey. Okay maybe the towns across the Hudson were a good location for New Yorkers to get away from the street gangs. I’ll give you the area around Philly wouldn’t have been too bad, if they had nuked Camden NJ.

Since I owned two bicycles and zero cars, I was forced to hire a rental truck. I would have had to do that anyway. I owned a bed, two small chests, a picnic table, and a sofa, chairs, and TV for the living room. I used the picnic table inside the apartment to eat my meals. Those items and a few black plastic bags of civilian clothes and one set of dress blues went into the truck. Everything else went into the trash. When I left for home, there were just a few items I carried up front in the truck’s cab.

Home hadn’t really been home since my mom and dad passed. My only brother John had moved to California by that time. What he did in the land of dreams by day, and nightmares by night, I had no idea. He had a good moral compass, so I expected that he and his wife along with their two kids walked the straight and narrow.

It was my plan to try living in the city of my birth for a while at least. Since my pension checks went directly to Bank of America, I didn’t expect any problems relocating. I arrived in my hometown of record, the night of the same day I left New Jersey. The first thing I had to do was find a motel. I chose one along the junction of three interstate highways. Driving in the traffic was almost as bad as guarding a gasoline tanker driving out to a chopper pad in a combat area. Even in those few miles my ass was clenched the whole time.

My first night in North Carolina I checked the local maps and decided that Greensboro North Carolina was way too crowded for me. The local news also had a fair amount of violence and traffic news. I was looking for a quiet place where I could continue to ride my bikes. It was the only exercise I had needed for years. I no longer had to pass physical fitness tests, but I still wanted to be able to do so.

In my research I found a town about forty miles, more or less, south east of Greensboro. I made my decision to move there since my dad had taken me there as a kid. I knew that after I got there, I would figure out a way to make it work. So on day two I drove the two hours in my U-Haul truck, to Siler City North Carolina.

When I got there I began looking for a place to live. I had it in the back of my mind to buy something portable. Yes I had been watching too many DIY shows on TV during my last tour. Since the efficiency apartment was just a little bigger than a tiny house, I figured I could live in one for a while.

I really wouldn’t mind a motor home to be honest. Something I could pick up and roll away. Since I wouldn’t be moving it too often, I didn’t need all the luxuries, just your basic engine that would pass all the safety and pollution tests would suffice. That is when I thought of a running school bus conversion. I did not have the wood working, or mechanical skills to do it myself, so I called around when I got to Siler City.

There was no one who specialized in those things, so I decided to have it done piece meal. It would not be cheap, but if I caught a break, it would be cheaper than buying a brick and mortar house.

First thing I needed was a place to live temporarily while I had my school house bus done. I had lived in enough undeveloped bases to know that I could rough it, if needed to do that. What I needed to do first was find a storage locker, then a running school bus next.

It was obvious that my next move would be lunch at the local downtown diner. There was usually one of those in most small towns. At least that was what I had been led to believe. Scooter’s cafe wasn’t in the heart of town, but it had a hometown feel about it.

I had a burger and fries, which is hard for anyone to fuck up. I also got some information from the waitress, Tonya.

“I’m looking for a used truck dealer.” I mentioned it to the slightly over weight teenager with the tattoo of a butterfly on her neck. “Do you have one to recommend.”

“Yeah my cousin Rudy runs a repair shop. He can usually find you anything you want and it’s cheap,” she said.

“That works for me.” I left her a big tip.

Then I drove to the storage warehouse she has mentioned earlier. I rented a small one. I unloaded the truck there. I considered sleeping in the warehouse that night, but instead I drove the truck to the motel recommended by the warehouse manager.

I spent the night at a hometown motel, the Siler City Motor Lodge or some such thing. Since I would be leaving first thing in he morning, it was a satisfactory place to stay.

The next morning I had breakfast at Scooter’s again, then dropped the U haul at a dealer close by. Frankly I was surprised to find one close. After I delivered the truck I removed my Mountain Bike from the rear, then rode it back into town. I called Rudy and got directions to his shop. During the ride to his shop I worried about my bike. The roads in Chatham county were like an old time washboard.

Rudy was an older man. Well not older than me but older than the two kids who also worked in the shop. “Rudy, your Cousin Tonya suggested I come see you about a school bus,” I suggested.

“What kind you got?” he asked.

“No Rudy, I’m looking to buy one,” I corrected him.

“Gas or diesel?” he asked.

“Gasoline I think: Something easy to get repaired on the road. I’m thinking to convert it to a travel bus.” I figured I might as well tell Him the truth.

“Diesel is gonna be easier to find and cheaper. I can find a twenty to thirty year old bus and get it in good shape for you for about eight to ten grand,” he stated waiting for me to say something.

“That is a bit heavy for a retired person,” I said.

“I can find you one that is all there, but isn’t running. It will probably need some heavy duty repairs though. Course you ain’t gonna be able to put it down in town.”

“I’m gonna need to do some serious thinking. I’ll give you a call tomorrow, if I make a decision,” I explained.

I put my backpack on and climbed back onto the bike. The backpack contained my Remington 1911.45 caliber pistol. It was a true antique, but it was more reliable than most of the modern pistols in production at the time, at least in my opinion. Of course it was of no use to me in the backpack. I just felt more comfortable with it in the backpack than I would have with it in the storage locker.

I rode back into town and found myself ready for an early dinner. I stopped at Compadres Mexican Restaurant, because I just happened to pass it. I took he next entrance into the strip mall. I like Mexican food, but I usually stuck with the taco salad. I did the best I could to avoid heavy foods from any country.

As I walked through the door I saw a stack of real estate fliers piled in a wire stand like the old newspaper racks. I picked up a one page flier the size of a single page of the Sunday comics. It had a half page filled with different real estate agents name and small adds. In addition the other half page had about ten adds from Siler City. The rear of the page was filled with advertising for home repair companies and lawn services.

The ten ads were mostly for homes, too large and expensive for me to even bother thinking about. There was one realty company’s advertisement which interested me. I wanted to find out more about a man who advertised that he specialized in unusual houses. I was interested in finding out more.

While I waited for my Taco Salad, I called his office. I got a recording, so I left my number. I left it with a ‘New to the area’ message. When the salad came I began eating and forgot about Jason Mason the Realtor. I was sure Jason Mason was some kind of sleazy Realtor, so I dismissed him.

After dinner I rode my bike back to the motel. I decided it would be my last night there.I decided to look for a place to live the next day, even it was a rental. I was looking at my computer when the cell phone rang.

“Mr Self-ridge I’m Jason Mason. How are you?” he asked insincerely.

“I would be better if you had a house for sale, that I could afford,” I replied.

“I’m sure I have something,” he suggested. “Give me your email and I’ll send you my current listings. Give me a price to start with.”

“Fifty thousand,” I said.

“Lord there is nothing at that price except fixer uppers,” he suggested. “And a house in the barrio.”

“Send me a list of them all, and I’ll ride by tomorrow. If there is nothing available, I might move on to some other town.” After all I wasn’t tied to Siler City.

He agreed, so I broke the connection. The cable TV and the computer had shit on it that night. What did I expect, it was Wednesday night? I asked myself. I finally found an old TV show to watch. The problem with that was that the Internet connection was terrible. It was so slow that the show stopped every couple of minutes to fill the buffer. Then it would run a couple of more minutes before the cycle started over again.

As usual I fell asleep with the Computer on. Fortunately for the world, the computer shut down automatically, if a key wasn’t pushed, or something like that.