I knew I had to go back to the beach bar, but the danger was near now, and whoever it was who sent that opulent but tricky blonde probably had the place staked out 24 hours a day, looking for the old man. I knew Ollie would never come back—he lost his favorite watering hole and the few acquaintances he had.  But he would not lose me because I was part of him now—and perhaps he somehow grabbed a piece of my soul and filled a chunk of it with limitless meadows of wonder, then suddenly transformed the meadows into majestic mountain peaks of insurmountable knowledge.

Whatever it was, I came to the bar and Sam plopped a large mug of Guinness down in front of me as soon as I arrived.   The patrons stared at me and smiled, but knew better than to ask about the old man.

“Hey Sam.  Good to see you.”

“Yeah, been a while Carson.”

We both knew the little beach watering hole was becoming more and more popular, especially now, with visitors from who knows where, arriving with black suburbans.  Sam knew he was somehow a target too. 

“They been here?”

“Yep.

 “How about the shiny Sig Sauer sultry seductress:”

He curled his right lip up slightly in a half-smile, then said, “She’s glided in several times, wiggled expertly onto the bar stool and asked about him.  I always say I know nothing.  As you know, that is true. I keep my nose out of his business, and by default, yours as well.  But what she doesn’t know is how the old man communicates to me, I mean you.”

I continued to stare straight ahead, using my senses as Ollie taught me, to be aware of my surroundings, and said quietly to Sam: “This time, when you bring it, someone will be watching. So, fold it up tightly, and put it in the bar check folder, and I will grab it and put it in my fist while I pay the bill.  He usually doesn’t say too much so not much to fold.”

Sam walked away and did as he was told.  I knew Sam was now completely on our team, but he was the one who they were least interested in.

He came back, placed Ollies folded up letter in the bar bill folder, I paid my bill and deftly placed the crimpled letter in my closed fist, finished the beer, thanked Sam and walked away out of the bar.

Dear Carson:

I am doing well and safe.  I thought at my age I would be able to rest a little, and yeah, I do like the beach, but something dangerous is happening now and I am needed.  The president has sent his men looking for me, wanting another meeting, but I won’t go.  On November fifth, I will be where I am most needed to serve my country, because I feel things are going to happen and I must be in a position to preserve what is good in this nation, and the world, for that matter, because they are all watching what happens here.  By the way, I know Veronica has contacted you, but don’t blame her too much—she is doing what she is told.  She remains dangerous until this is resolved.

Enjoy your Guinness and please finish writing my book!

P.S. I used to love flying the Beechcraft Bonanza.  Great aircraft and I loved the V-tail. The Shockers love it when I visit and they let me fly around a bit, and that brings me back a little to the old days, since I won’t be coming back to the beach bar anymore.  It’s less busy on the weekends, so they don’t mind if I take one of ’em up for a spin.  Later, at the Brickyard I may pound down a few Guinness beers before I call it a night, but someday I may try one of their craft beers. As you know, Carson, I don’t really have a home, but I am starting to feel comfortable here for the moment.

Be careful Carson and trust no one.