June and Juliet went to the grocery store to get some things and I decided to do a little target practice. Of course I wasn't really shooting the gun to practice my shot, I was doing it because I figured Lester would hear me shooting and it would make him aware I was armed and could protect myself. Nevertheless it turned out I was still a pretty good shot. I was able to hit an old garbage can from about thirty yards away almost every time I squeezed. It was actually kind of fun and gave me a charge. The smell of the gunpowder brought me straight back to childhood.
I sat on the stoop of my house after I was done shooting and I had a beer. Perhaps it was the adrenaline that the shooting generated, or maybe it was the fact that alcohol has a tendency to make me a little bit manic, but I resolved that I should go have a face to face with Lester at his tent and tell him man to man that I didn't appreciate him camping out so close to us, especially after I had paid him so much money to relocate.
I walked down the gravel road that lead to the highway and there he was, roasting some hot dogs over his Coleman stove.
As I stepped up before him, some of the John Wayne bravado I had been feeling slipped away from me, but not all of it.
"You come for a hot dog?" He asked, as he bit off some meat.
"I came to tell you that I'd prefer it if you'd make your camp somewhere father away, where you weren't intimidating myself or my family."
"Am I intimidating you, Dr. Johns, just by simply being a human being within your line of sight?"
"I think that's what you're intending to do. Otherwise I assume you would camp somewhere else or use the money I gave you to stay in a hotel for a while and get on your feet."
"I'm on my feet Dr. Johns," he said as he rose up to my level.
"I'm warning you Lester."
"Warning me of what? You going to shoot your little gun at me? Were you trying to intimidate me firing that thing all morning? You got a license to carry that thing? Maybe I ought to call the Sheriff and have him confiscate it from you like he confiscated mine?"
"You do what you want, Lester, but I'm telling you man to man that I want you to clear out of here."
"Man to man, ha?"
"Man to man."
"Hardly," he said bluntly as he stared daggers in my eyes.
"I want you out of here by tomorrow or I'll go get a restraining order."
"Sure, go run to your Kike lawyer for help. See if I care."
"Go to hell," I then said as I turned tail and walked back toward my house.
I did not look back. And I half expected to hear his footsteps rush up to me and tackle me. But they didn't come.
Even though I had acted like a tough guy and was convinced it was a reasonable tactic, there was a shadow hanging over my conscience the entire time I had acted--something that said: this is a mistake...you're playing with fire...you could be making matters worse.
And of course that shadow side of my awareness was correct, as I would find out the very next morning.
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