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MOUNTAIN/DESERT
RESEARCHER |
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Off
The Record BY
PATO
Onorato's
First
Novel Published
X
To
order your book write: Pat at P.O. Box 1108,
Lucerne Valley, CA 92356
or email: research@sisp.net
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TRUTH
OR CONSEQUENCES?
An older
lady gets pulled over for speeding...
(Submitted
by Peg R. of Lucerne Valley...2/08)
Older
Woman: Is there a problem, Officer?
Officer: Ma'am, you were speeding.
Older Woman: Oh, I see.
Officer: Can I see your license please?
Older Woman: I'd give it to you but I don't have one.
Officer: Don 't have one?
Older Woman: Lost it, 4 years ago for drunk driving.
Officer: I see...Can I see your vehicle registration
papers please.
Older Woman: I can't do that.
Officer: Why not?
Older Woman: I stole this car.
Officer: Stole it?
Older Woman: Yes, and I killed and hacked up the owner.
Officer: You what?
Older Woman: His body parts are in plastic bags in the
trunk if you want to see
The
Officer looks at the woman and slowly backs away to his
car and calls for
back up. Within minutes 5 police cars circle the car. A
senior officer
slowly approaches the car , clasping his half drawn gun.
Officer 2: Ma'am, could you step out of your vehicle
please! The woman steps out
of her vehicle.
Older woman: Is there a problem sir?
Officer 2: One of my officers told me that you have
stolen this car and murdered
the owner.
Older Woman: Murdered the owner?
Officer 2: Yes, could you please open the trunk of your
car, please.<
The woman opens the trunk,
revealing nothing but an empty trunk.
Officer 2: Is this your car, ma'am?
Older Woman: Yes, here are the registration papers.
The officer is quite stunned.
Officer 2: One of my officers claims that you do not have
a driving license. <
The woman digs into her handbag
and pulls out a clutch purse and hands it to
the officer.
The officer examines the license.
He looks quite puzzled.
Officer 2: Thank you ma'am, one of my officers told me
you didn't have a license,
that you stole this car, and that you murdered and hacked
up the owner.
Older Woman: Bet the liar told you I was speeding, too.
A
COMMUNITY ON THE EDGE
The ''OSTREECH''
It was a beautiful and seemingly restful September day in
Lucerne Valley. I had just punched the pillows on my
‘old chair’ and set up the portable typewriter
to record my 70 years of tumultuous living. Now, I
thought smugly, it was my turn to relax; a calmness
overcame me and as I tapped away on my antique typewriter
relentlessly chipping out metal imprints of the keys the
ring on the telephone startled me. I picked up the phone,
"Hello."
"Hello, "Pot? Deese eease Marteen at the Lu
Cerne Val Le Gar rrage. Eets zee ostreech ... zee es
loose."
"What? Who? Ostreech? Where?" I snapped.
"Queek. I need for you to 'elp me. I bean trying to
catch eet for two hour...You got a gun, yeah?'
"Yeah!" I said. "Well, not a gun but a
rifle. A .22 caliber."
"Dats goot, we shoot it, yeah?"
Well, not
knowing, or having ever looked an 'ostreech' in the eye,
and I might add, having never shot at anything other than
a tin can, I replied, "Come get me. I'll be outside
the gates."
SHOTS
FIRED
While
I waited for Martine to arrive (she lives 10 minutes from
me) I quickly removed the .22 from the gun rack, blew the
dust off of it, loaded the 8_shot automatic magazine and
put it in my pocket. Short of slipping into my army
camouflage fatigues, I stormed outdoors, looked for a
clear space above me and then fired the rifle to make
certain no bullets were in the barrel. I heard the 'click.'
"Ah, a good sound for an empty rifle, " I
thought. Just as I rushed outside the gates carrying the
rifle across my chest, I could see my friend Martine’s
car racing down the street to pick me up.
"Queek! Zee ostreech, sheez on Crystal Crick"
she snapped brushing some debris off my seat.
I carefully placed the rifle between us (by now, in my
mind, the rifle had become a hand grenade with a loose
pin).
MARTINE
SPOTS IT!
Martine, a likeable petite French
woman in her 40's with a commanding personality, hit the
pedal to the metal jerking me almost through the
windshield. Excited, in her strong French dialect, my
friend cried, "Zere! Zere she eese...the ostreech."
Where? WHERE? I snapped shifting my head from side to
side anxiously looking like Mr. Magoo (the first thing to
go at my age is the eyesight).
"Zere! Zere she eese," Martine said pointing to
the bushes in the empty fields on Crystal Creek Rd.
Finally, I saw, among the tall weeds
and spiked yuccas, a highly raised head with a long neck
like a giraffe and a body like a hippo. Like a commando
in combat I slipped the mag in the rifle.
"THAT'S IT?" I asked frozen
in my seat.
"Queek! Out of zee car. Lai's geet it before it
‘urts someone," ordered my battalion chief.
Instinctively. I jumped out of the car and carefully
picked up what I now felt was a the pin_less hand grenade.
Looming above me I saw a sheriff’s helicopter
swirling in circles around the ostrich as patrolmen on
foot disappeared in the wake of dust tornados raised by
the copter. The sheriff’s, in an effort to lure the
'scared to death' ostrich away from the traffic on
Crystal Creek Road, faced a challenging situation.
Everyone was in danger, particularly me, since I was the
one holding the pinless grenade.
I fell into my sexless infamous prone position while
carefully scrutinizing the area for objects which may
cause the bullet to ricochet (Note: I did say singular,
bullet ... since I do consider myself a marksman) , then
I propped the rifle telescope to my eye, where I might
add, its black and blue imprint remains today, and I took
careful aim at the frightened ostrich. As I focused on
the ostrich, it stared back at me intently, while
relieving itself profusely. I slowly cocked the hammer,
paused, wiped the sweat from my brow, focused and said,
"Not today kid! I can't shoot this animal ... it's
too big!" I got up, dusted myself off, and, with
rifle in hand, walked back to the car, removed the mag
from the rifle and placed the rifle between the front
bucket seats.
HELICOPTER
SPINS
In
the meanwhile the helicopter came in so low I thought I
was going to have headless ostrich for Thanksgiving.
About this time, as I scurried back to the field to help
Martine, two sheriff cars arrived to assist. I told them
what I was up to, then I asked, "Don't you think
that all this commotion is scaring the hell out of that
poor animal?"
Things began to calm down and the ostrich, with a little
nudging from the sheriffs, Martine, and the helicopter,
did move a safe distance from Crystal Creek Road.
CROWDS CHEER
To
emphasize the seriousness of having a mentally deranged
wild, half_crazed ostrich threatening the human
population, the battlefield now consisted of four sheriff
cars. a helicopter, several concerned citizens cheering
us on, a lunch wagon, a paramedic unit and ... a
partridge in a pear tree.
Two Sons of the Pioneers lassoed the ostrich and
maintained a taut hold from each side while Martine
slipped a sock over its face. I coming from the east
Bronx, a city girl, thought, my god, if it wasn't scared
before, it sure as hell is going to go into convulsions
now. Right? Wrong!. The ostrich, much to my amazement,
calmed down and we were able to walk almost a mile with
it hobbling along followed by all us munchkins as we
skipped down the yellow brick road ... the only things
missing were Toto, the Wiz, and Dorothy.
Finally, when a trailer was brought in from the Hesperia
Sheriff department and the ostrich had to be lifted on to
it ... it was, in the final analysis, " The Great
Marteene" who rustled that animal to intimidation
and flung herself on its neck hanging on wilder than a
cowboy bumping on a Brahma bull! Her small frame bounced
around like a kid spinning on a maypole. She was amazing,
her face a deep red, but she could not lift the enraged
animal on to the open trailer. The sheriffs continued to
cling to the rope which they used to control the beast.
It was then that I, who knows better than to get into a
confrontation with , of all things, an "ostreech,"
grabbed its leg and with all my strength, lifted it on to
the trailer...also, it was then I realized the situation
was getting very personal., sort of a vendetta. It seemed
that Martine and I were fighting a life and death
struggle desperately trying to get the ostrich on the
trailer but the ostrich had a mind of its own and it,
also, took it very personal. And, even though my hand was
crushed against the metal trailer rails, we did get it 's
two legs on the trailer. It was then, I swear, I saw the
'ostreech' stick it's tongue out at me. And, all that
fussing around certainly didn't help the rheumatoid
arthritis in both my shoulders either! By the time this
incident was put to rest I felt, and looked, like I came
out of the war_zone jungles of Cambodia.
And, finally, the
masked ranger, I mean the blindfolded ostrich, was hauled
into the trailer to its compound on the Martine &
Aziz ranch, while two sheriffs sat in the trailer
clinging to the rope to keep the animal immobile. And,
you ask, where was Aziz, Matine's husband? Well, word has
it that he was earning a living; adjusting a carburetor
with a small screwdriver at their Lucerne Valley Garage
or answering the phone or doing something really manly
and important.
Well, the day ended for me when I collapsed in the
fluffed up pillows on my 'old chair' with a double scotch
and water on the rocks ... on second thought, hold the
water... and the rocks . Just another September day in
the life of any old lady, right, Martine?
JANET: This is a
picture of Anne and I in 1946 (I was 16 and she about 23)
We were on our way to Sunday mass...Pat O. (2/2008)
>>>click
here>>>FRIENDSHIP PHOTO GALLERY<<<click
here<< .. ..
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Big Bear Lake
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<<<So
what's buggin' you, UGLY?
Such dramatics. She shoulda been a
conductor.