Chapter 2

It will come as no surprise to most of the readers that this is not only fiction but bald faced lies. The author has been known to stretch the truth past breaking. He is fully aware that Monster Millions is his own creation and does not exist in reality. He is also cognizant of the fact that this an alternate reality. The names might be real ... the people are not. If your name is in here ... it’s not you ... any of you.

You would have too.

“How much?”

In 1955 a decent wage for a high school graduate was 178.20 ... after tax and union dues ... every two weeks. Before tax and union? about four hundred a month. $1,960.20 a year ... all the car manufacturers took September to install tooling for the coming model year. You had better have the month of September in the bank.

Sure ... apply for unemployment... 60% of your take home for 52 weeks ... BUT...

You were back to work before the first check was cut.

You’re employed and you damn well better report it... $107.52 ... two weeks. For the month $215.o4 and it usually pops up in the mail just before Christmas ... and you know the wife will look at that and grab it. You know it’s so ... she’s been taking it for 7 years. If you’re lucky you might get a pair of sox ... or a carton of smokes. If you’re single ... well draft beer is a quarter a glass.

White collar employees ... college grads ... start out at $5,200 before tax. After 10 years ... maybe 12 grand ... maybe. $400 grand and a sterling plate watch for 40 loyal years of prosperity.

<32 million.>

I did run off the road ... right into the barrow ditch.

“What?”

<32 million> then a chuckle, <before taxes> another anticipatory pause, <if you take the annuity>. I could HEAR the grin, <50 grand a year per million for 20 years>

My mind wouldn’t, couldn’t calculate ... I had a short overload. And a bleeding forehead.

<a million six hundred thousand dollars a year> again with the pause <before tax.>. <you’ll come away with 1 million a year> <rounded down.>

I was self-employed. I was responsible for the tax prepaid every three months. I also was responsible for insurance, house payment, phone, heat and light ... and incidentals. So ... the 8 or so grand a year ... generally ... was gone before the year was up. I did get seven fifty a day per-diem and fifty cents a mile for the gas. A MILLION a YEAR?!?

“Anybody alive in there?” then “alguien vivo ahí?”

Ah ... the archaeology crew heading to town for beer. Corona... 25 cents a bottle.

“Yes!” I moaned.

I struggled a bit.

“Don’t do that!”

“What?”

“Rock the car.”

“Ok ... why?” Life is a bit fuzzy around the edges.

“Give us time to chain it to the truck.”

If you know ANYTHING about Beetles ... there’s only a couple of places to hook a hook to. The pushrod tubes aren’t one of them. The safest place is the transmission crossmember. It’s also one of the hardest places to get to.

Fortunately, one of the crew had been in a similar situation and she was already dirty. The water in ditch got her a modicum of clean but she got it done. Destroyed my car ... didn’t care. I left the signed title on the seat and abandoned it right in the middle of the road ... two track ... trail.

‘Don’t rock the car?’ 500 feet clean air just off the nose. Straight down.

After the embroidery and fifty for the seamstress and doctor (rising inflection inserted for the word). I was allowed to call it in.

National Geographic wasn’t pleased ... you already had the advance and you had damn well finish the job! They said.

I have no way to get around.

Figure it out.

My life savings ... and the rest of the advance bought a running 1934 ford phaeton ... minus top ... fenders ... and passenger side door... (S). Well ... the doors were there ... but the holes looked .45 calber. And enough of ‘em to be a full 100 round type C drums worth ... a 1921 Thompson. The Mexican Police have a bunch of ‘em.

The seller tried to sell me a 1955 VW.

I have 180 days to get to Puerto to collect.

Oh Joy.

And Joy said no.