"From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines, going where I list, my own master total and absolute, Listening to others, considering well what they say, Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating, Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me."
Walt Whitman (1819-92)
"When I look back now over my life and call to mind what I might have had simply for taking and did not take, my heart is like to break."
Akhenaton (d. c.1354 BC)
And now, the current weather, from some random person we pulled off the street:
Thursday, August 05, 2004
Hound Dog
quar-ry Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural quarries
Etymology: Middle English querre entrails of game given to the hounds, from Middle French cuiree, from cuir skin, hide (on which the entrails were placed), from Latin corium -- more at CUIRASS
1 obsolete : a heap of the game killed in a hunt
2 : GAME; specifically : game hunted with hawks
3 : one that is sought or pursued : PREY
4 : sometimes, people
MC said "This is my old friend Randy Regents," and I almost wet my pants.
It was the early eighties, and I was finishing up my very last night as a hotel auditor, a position I had held for a year or so. And a promise made long before was now possible to fulfill.
Millard was going to be very, very pleased, if I could stay alive long enough to call him.
A year earlier, I worked for a radio station in the sales department. My best friend there was a guy named Millard. We'd meet each other for lunch, sometimes have dinner together, etc.
Millard's wife had an ex-husband, let's call him Randy Regents (not his real name), that was a bit of a problem. It seems that he owed years and years of back alimony, but he had friends on the police force so Millard and his wife had never been able to track him down. When I left the radio job and took the auditor job, I moved back to the town where my mother lived, which happened to be the town Randy lived in too.
"If you can find him, call me, doesn't matter what time, 24 hours a day. I know a policeman that isn't trying to hide him, and he'll go arrest him. When he does, I'll send you something for your trouble."
Sounded good to me.
As soon as I got into town, I started checking around. I came up with an address and started casing the neighborhood each day, but never spotted a car at the house. I asked around a bit more with people I thought might know him, but got nothing.
Nothing that is until one day my father called me aside and said "Have you been asking around about someone named Randy Regents?"
Did I ever mention that my name is Cliff Hursey, Jr.? "Uh, yeah..." and I told him the story.
"Don't mess with him, he's bad news and you could get yourself killed."
Not wanting either one of the Cliff Hurseys to meet up with an untimely end at the hands of a redneck, I followed his advice.
That is, until eleven months later.
It was my last night at work. I had pretty much finished up and I dropped by one of our hotels to say goodbye to MC the night auditor who had become a close friend.
So, we're talking and this huge guy walks in, drunk, and wants a room. He smells of cheap whiskey and way too much Hai Karate aftershave.
"Hey! Randy!" MC says. Turns out they know each other. When MC introduces me I know I must have turned pale, but Randy Regents was way too drunk to notice or even to recognize my name from somewhere in his dim, foggy brain. No, Randy's brain was on autopilot now, and if the girl in his little sports car was any indicator his steering wheel was being held by an entirely different part of his anatomy.
When he headed out to his room, I couldn't get to a phone fast enough.
"Millard!"
"Yeah?" (blearily)
"Listen, I know its two in the morning, but I got him. I got Randy Regents, if you still want him. This is Cliff."
"YES!" Millard was all awake now. He took the info, and said he would call me back.
They sent a policeman who waited in front of the motel and arrested him when he left hours later, most likely still drunk.
I made $500 on the deal too. Not bad for a first time bounty hunter, huh?
Hunting is not a sport. In a sport, both sides should know they're in the game.
Paul Rodriguez
