Chapter 19: Negotiations

Claude Rosenthal, aka “Rosie” was hurting. Of the four men who survived to escape the failed raid on the Franklin farm diesel fuel tank, Rosie was the only one wounded.

“How are you coping, Rosie?” Wally, the former brewer and beer distributor asked the former truck driver.

“Hurts like Hell! My arm feels hot when I touch it. I think I got a fever in my arm. Might be an infection starting! Without medical attention, I’m probably going to die slow from an infection! Or lose my arm! It just isn’t fair and it hurts.” Rosie complained.

“Slow down, Dale, and swap to straight electric. Economy speed. Save what fuel we got left and prolong the battery as much as possible! Nobody is chasing us.” Wally ordered the goggled driver.

“As soon as we’ve slowed to economy, I’ll slide back to you, and look at your wound, Rosie. Go ahead and remove your shirt and any equipment you have strapped on.” Wally counseled Rosie.

“Jeff! How much do you reckon that belly armor weighs? No, I really don’t care how many hundreds of pounds. What I mean is, I’m not worried about mines! if we drop that armor, what extra range do you think we’ll get on the batteries?” Wally asked the forth member of his squad.

“We’ll get improved range, boss. Just how much, I have no experience or data to even make a guess. But, some! More. More range.” Jeff wished he knew the answer, but he didn’t.

“Well, we’ll find out, won’t we. Start looking around the floor, Jeff. Look for bolts that might be holding that armor on.” Wally started wriggling his way back to Rosie. The cramped, crowded and complicated crew stations in the scout car weren’t designed for shifting positions while moving.

“Scale out on the GPS map, Dale. See where the nearest town or gas station is. Might be something still left in their tanks.” Wally was planning their best chance of survival. A return to the Ranch!

“Okay. Let me look at your wound. This isn’t so bad, Rosie! Your left tricep has a deep furrow it’s length. A bullet graze-burn. You aren’t shot, you’re plowed! Hurts like hell, I bet, but you’ll live! Yes, yes, providing you don’t get infected. Stick a doubled web belt in your mouth and bite on it. Now you get a good hold on that belt with both hands and with your teeth and don’t let go! If we have to anesthetize you, it will have to be a bump on the head! Then your head will ache, too! I’m going to pour alcohol in your grooved arm! So you don’t get that infection! “ Wally assured him.

“Good brave man, Rosie! Now I’m going to bandage your arm. Keeping it clean and so you don’t chafe it.” Wally was wrapping grimacing Rosie’s entire upper arm with multiple passes of gauze.

“We are going back to that Ranch where we delivered those ten loads of beer. They have everything we need there! Okay, Dale where is the nearest town, and what speed are we making?”

“Twelve miles an hour. Two hours left on batteries. There’s a town twenty miles ahead.” Dale said.

John finished filing off the padlock on the underground fuel tanks at the mom and pop grocery where Ron got the light bulbs. Opening the lid, he lit up the interior of the tank by shining down a 110v light bulb trouble light on an extension cord. There was liquid in the bottom of the tank. Probing with an eight foot long 1x2 stick he found in the back room of the store, he measured a bit more than four inches of what smelled to him, like gasoline. Messing around behind the counter inside the store, he discovered the switches and how to turn on the pumps.

Ron showed up and praised John for his smart work. They debated leaving the fuel where it was, or transferring it to portable tanks, if they had any. Since they had no other tanks, the argument was purely academic. Ron wanted to test the pumps and the fuel. In all the houses and buildings they had explored, they had never found a single wooden match or book of paper matches. In extremity, people valued their ability to create fires and left no matches or disposable lighters behind ... John did find an old Zippo lighter, but it had no fuel in it. Ron wanted to try gasoline in the Zippo. He went inside and returned with a plastic waste basket from behind the store’s counter. They ran about a gallon from the pump nozzle into the plastic trashcan. John wouldn’t let Ron touch his Zippo, but followed Ron’s instructions on how to remove the case. They discovered several spare flints buried in the cotton. John installed one, as per Ron’s guidance. Then John dipped the base holding the cotton, about a half inch into the surface of the gasoline and let it soak a minute. Reassembling the Zippo, it lit with a high flame on second try and John dropped it. Ron retrieved it. They were arguing about returning the lighter to John, when they saw the scout car.

They both saw the scout car at the same time, as it was approaching a few blocks away. Ron quickly told John to be his most ornery and act like he was the village idiot with the visitors. Ron went upstairs to the apartment above the store, with the wastebasket and its gallon plus of gas. Ron stuck his head out the front window and yelled to John.

“Go inside and stay behind the counter. Turn the sign lights on and off and on and off, until they drive up to the pumps. Turn off everything when they drive up. Don’t turn the pump on again until I tell you! I will call you the ‘Mayor’. Call me Ronald McDonald! Can you remember all that?”

“You must think I’m stupid or something!” John was getting mad.

“Good! I want you to be mad when these people try to talk to you. Now, go flick the lights on and off a bunch of times.” Ron kept the instruction simple this time.

John obeyed and got the scout car’s attention. It turned down their street and drove up to the pumps. Everybody but Rosie got out of the car and stood around looking around.

“Anybody here?” yelled Wally.

“Just the Mayor and me!” Yelled Ron from a hidden position at an upstairs window. John hollered YEAH! From inside the store.

“Got any gasoline or diesel?” Wally asked out loud.

“Well, first we have to arrange the trade.” Ron called down.

“Well first I need to know you got fuel to trade for!” Wally was a veteran businessman.

A wire coat hanger, with a roughly hacked rag of sheet hooked on it, flew into the topless car from the upstairs window. “Smell that!” challenged Ron.

The hanger was quickly removed from the car and passed to Wally. The rag was dripping wet with gasoline. “Okay! You got my attention! Can you pump me a hundred gallons?”

“First, tell that bandaged fellow to get out of the car. If I have to fire bomb your car, I don’t want any unnecessary casualties on my conscience.” Ron loudly insisted. Rosie moved with alacrity!

“Hahaha! Since when did YOU start worrying about who you hurt?” John yelled out in derision!

“Well, Mayor. You killed your own father, a preacher! You ain’t one to begin pitching stones!” Ron yelled back. The banter was making Wally and company very nervous!

“He needed killing!” John defended himself.

“Indeed! I agree Mr Mayor. He deserved killing a hundred times over. Never mind! Let’s get back to doing business with these gentle folks. What I am willing to trade for, is your weapons. You give that bandaged fella your guns, and he walks them to the door of the store, and the Mayor takes them. All the bullets you got, too!” Ron named his price.

“Sorry! We can’t agree to that. We need those weapons ourselves in the coming days!” Wally explained.

“Sorry for you for being so ignorant and stupid. Unless you surrender all your weapons, your immediate future looks real toasty. You don’t need to waste time and thought on a tomorrow you won’t see!” Ron threatened.

“Maybe we could deal? One of our rifles and a pistol for the gasoline. “ Wally offered. A cup of liquid thrown from the window, rained on the pavement between the pumps and the store. Then, another coat hanger sailed down, with a burning rag attached to it’s hook. Wally and company ran for the street.

“It was just water this time. Nest time, it will be a bucket of gas thrown on your car!” Ron upped the ante. “Better start your walking wounded walking those guns over to the Mayor! Never mind. Just stay out there by the street. Mayor? Walk out to the car and collect the guns yourself! Quickly!” Ron ordered. Took John three trips running to move everything he found. “Okay! The only guns you still need to surrender are the pistols ya’ll personally carry and that machine gun mounted on the car.”