Chapter 12

The next day, Sally and I walked out of the house toward the driveway. I was driving to the store for enough ice cream for the whole family, and Sally was going along to make sure that I got some of her favorite flavor: spumoni.

We had taken only a few steps off the veranda when a car came whizzing down the street. The passenger window was open and I spotted a gun barrel poking out. This may have been a drive-by shooting and it may have been something else, but I was terrified that Sally would be shot! I dove at her and knocked her to the ground just as a double load of shotgun pellets smashed into me. The car kept on going, and I never had a chance to get a good look at the license plate.

My body caught all of the shot headed our way, and Sally was not injured. I wasn't either, but my shirt was ruined from all of the holes punched in it by the buckshot. My ring's protection extended to buckshot, apparently, because I was not even bruised by the pellets that hit me. A few hung in my shirt and there were more on the ground around me. I had been shot with #00 buckshot by somebody who knew what he was doing. Without my ring, I would be dead, or, at least, in the hospital for a very long time.

Sally was practically a basket case of tears and nervous shakes. I had to carry her inside. The whole family traipsed up to the bedroom behind me where I lay Sally on the bed. The damage to my shirt was obvious, and there was no way I was going to wiggle out of telling the truth about what happened.

Dad opened the show by saying, "I have known for some time that you have had an especially active guardian angel, but this looks to be more than that. Come on and give us an explanation, and don't try to fast talk your way out of a complete story."

"Okay, Dad, you are right. I have a very personal and active guardian, but it is no angel. Take a look at that ring that I found nearly two years ago and still wear. In fact, I could not get it off my finger if I wanted to. For practical purposes, that ring has become a part of me!

"I have no idea how it works, so I just tell myself that it is magic, and I don't worry any further about it. The ring is dedicated to serving me, and it works in a multitude of ways. One thing it does, and y'all have just seen an example, is that it makes my skin impervious to injury. So far, every attempt to penetrate my skin has ended in failure. Those fights where I was attacked by wooden bats were stopped by my skin acting as body armor. Knives can't cut me, and neither can buckshot.

"I have no idea what regular bullets would do, and I am not going to experiment to find out. I certainly don't intend to shoot myself with various guns just to see what the bullets can do to me. As far as I am concerned, I will dodge when I can and take my chances otherwise.

"Another thing that the ring has done for me it to make my sex life a Hell of a lot more interesting, both for me and for my partners. If you wish, I will give you the specific details, but I think that my girls would be embarrassed if I did. Therefore, I will stop there with that comment unless you insist.

"The other significant thing that the ring has done for me it to increase my brain power. I can now read a 500-page book in less than two hours and remember virtually everything that I read. An interesting result of that is that I can split my attention among several topics at the same time. For example, I can sit in the classroom and listen to the teacher drone on and keep up with the lecture. Also, I can read a book on an entirely different subject, and I can think about other things, all at the same time. I have kept my secret in school, but I may be eventually found out.

"That's a synopsis of my abilities to date, but I have just recently thought about working on ESP and some other things. Okay, does anybody have any questions?"

There was a complete silence as I asked that. I had not expected any questions at that time, but I was pretty sure that some would come along when they had a chance to think about the ramifications of what I had said. And, yes, I had deliberately not mentioned the effects of my aura because I did not want them to think that I was trying to influence them any more than any teen tries to control his parents.

"Oh, by the way, please don't mention this to anybody. I don't want to be treated as a freak, even if I am one."

Dad asked, "Can your ring do any of that for the rest of us?"

"No, I'm afraid not. The effect is limited to the person wearing the ring. I wish that I could enhance all of you, but there seems to be no way that can happen. Maybe, if I can get ESP and other paranormal powers to work, then I can enhance you, but don't count on it."

"Okay, Son, we'll just muddle through our lives as ordinary folks. But, if you ever get that far, please keep me in mind for enhancement."

"Right, Dad. You will be one of the first ones on my list, and so will the rest of y'all."

Dad started to turn away, and I said, "Dad, can I talk to you for a few minutes? Something is bothering me, and you may be able to help."

"Sure, come on to my office. We can be comfortable there, and you can feel free to talk about anything you wish.

"Dad, I don't think that was just a random drive-by shooting. For one thing, it was just too professional. I am having trouble figuring out who is trying to kill me. Do you have any ideas?"

"Well, assuming that it was a professional job, who do you have as an enemy who is rich enough to afford it. Frankly, I can't think of a single person whom I can call a name for. As far as I know, your only rich enemies are the Old Guard on the City Council and a few of their cronies. The problem is, I can't figure out why they would want you dead, unless it is to stop you from pushing your way onto the Ways and Means Committee.

"If that is the reason behind trying to kill you, or, at least, scaring you off, the next question has to be what they are trying to hide at those committee meetings. The only way we are going to find that out, probably, is to keep pushing until you win your case."

"You must be right, but I don't know of anything else that they would want to keep secret. If they were taking big bribes from somebody, then they would want to keep that quiet, but why would anyone be foolish enough to try to bribe the low grade politicians who live in Dothan?"

"Bill, I have no answer to that question. I think that you are going to have to be the one to answer it. You are in a good position to hear what is going on in the various committees, and you have some contacts, Rachel Anderson for example, who can help you. I suggest that you confide in Rachel and see what she can dig up. She might know something without realizing it."

"Thanks, Dad. That is a great idea. I knew that you would be able to help me out."

This was the weekend, but I had Rachel's cellphone number, so I decided to call her before something made me forget. It rang for the maximum number of times before I got switched to the answering device. "Rachel, this is Bill Watkins. Something serious has just happened. Somebody has tried to murder me and make it look like a drive-by shooting. No, I did not call the cops. I tell you why when we can talk privately. Please call me back at either my home or my cellphone number. I'm waiting for you."

I heard back from Rachel in less than 10 minutes. She didn't say anything to explain it, but I could tell that she was breathing hard. I assumed that she and her husband had been doing some family exercise. That was none of my business, so I didn't mention it. I described the shooting and said, "Dad suggested that I discuss the matter with you. When are you available?"

"Bill, I'll be by to pick you up in about 40 minutes. We can go to our favorite coffee shop, unless you have a better idea."

"No, that's fine. I'll see you then. Goodbye."

Rachel was true to her word, and she picked me up in front of my house. This time, I looked carefully before I went outside. I didn't want any more shooting in my neighborhood. She drove to the coffee house and we requested one of the small meeting rooms. We were both well known there, so there was no problem with the management letting us do what we wanted.

As soon as we sat down, Rachel wanted to know the details about the shooting. I told her everything I knew, including a description of the car. One of the side effects of my mind expansion is that I have a perfect memory and never forget anything. While I was waiting for Rachel to pick me up, I ran the shooting through my brain and now had a detailed description of the car and even the license plate number. Fortunately, Alabama still keys the license plates to the issuing county, so I saw that the car was registered in Houston County, this one. That would make it much easier for her to trace.

Rachel could do that without raising too much suspicion, and I was glad to give that part of the investigation to her. Meanwhile, I now knew exactly what the shooter looked like, and I had a pretty good idea of the driver's face, though it had been in too much shadow for any detail to show up. Both were White, but that was no surprise.

The real question was why somebody would be after me. The only thing that we could come up with was that it was somehow related to the City Council lawsuit. I could not come up with a logical reason for that to be true, but we quickly eliminated all of the other possibilities, and that one was left. Sherlock Holmes would have been proud of us!

At that point, we were out of ideas and started brainstorming. Rachel suggested that the root of the problem might be that I was moving in on somebody else's territory. Just as some animals are very territorial, so are many politicians. Maybe somebody was pissed off at me for moving in on his political territory, and he was making an irrational try to push me away.

That could certainly describe some of the Old Guard. They would not take lightly to the threat that a high school whippersnapper was going to muscle in on them. The very irrationality of their reaction certainly pointed in that direction.

Okay, suppose that was the root cause of the antagonism toward me. Granting that did not explain where the muscle was coming from. We wildly speculated further, and I came up with the idea that one or more of the Old Guard was involved in an illegal gang-style operation, and he was calling on some of the men from that group to lean on me.

Both of us agreed that I had come up with a pretty wild speculation, but it did explain all of the facts that we had at our disposal. Moonshining (producing and selling illegal liquor) was still the major drug activity in this part of the South. Some people drank moonshine because they liked it, and some people drank moonshine because it was a way to stick a finger in The Man's eye. In any case, it was a big business in Houston County, and no amount of effort had been able to stop it for very long.

Houston County borders on the Chattahoochee River, and the swamps over there were the ideal place to brew moonshine. Legitimate businesses also operated in the area, so heavy truck and automobile traffic were fairly common on those back roads. Thus it was easy to haul raw materials in and finished product out without tipping off the Feds (Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms). It was easy to conceive of one or more of the Old Guard having a hand it such an operation. As I thought about it, I could see that some of the politicians did seem to spend more money than their legitimate businesses justified.

Okay, we now had a working hypothesis, but what were we going to do with it? I announced to Rachel that I had suddenly become very interested in taking a look at those swamps to see what I could find. Rachel reacted with horror! She rightly pointed out that I was considering doing something very dangerous, bordering on the suicidal. I assured her that I would be okay, but she was too concerned for me to be willing to work with me on this.

I had now reached the point where I had to trust Rachel with part of my secret. "Rachel, did you ever wonder how I was able to survive those attacks in school and the one today? Well, let me demonstrate." I took my pocked knife from my pocket and opened it. Rachel did not pay much attention until I suddenly lay my left hand on the table and stabbed at the palm with the knife.

She was horrified as the knife came down on my bare hand, but she was as puzzled as anyone would have been when the knife did not penetrate. "Rachel, what would have happened if I had done that same thing to your hand?"

"Oh my God, my hand would have been pinned to the table by the knife blade passing through it. How did you do that? Was it some sort of stage-magician's trick?"

"Absolutely not! Here, look at this." I took my wallet out of my pocket and laid it over my hand. I stabbed again, and the knife penetrated the wallet until it got to my hand, where it abruptly stopped moving. Rachel was still not convinced, so I handed her the knife. "Okay, you Doubting Thomasina, you try to stab me and see what happens, or, rather, does not happen."