If this were a Hitchcock opening, it might open like this.
EXT. #6 Accosted -- Back Drive Way -- Night Time
We see a white Suburban parked in the driveway, just beyond the automatic garage door. The Suburban is packed to rooftops with suitcases, boxes, house goods and other miscellaneous items.
The garage door explodes open, squeaking and quaking as it rides up its rails. A light comes on as the door rises.
We see a lurking figure, dressed in all black, in the garage just visible in the background. She slowing emerges from the garage and approaches the Suburban. Her chicken-fat colored hair sparkling and reflecting the nearby street light. The full moon above gives her a slight but long shadow that looks like a Punch and Judy silhouhette -- which is a word I can never spell -- with a jutting out jutting jaw. Or maybe Mrs. Frankenstein.
In the background, we hear black birds cackling, screeching and tutting like cranky bagpipes.
As she emerges further from the dimly lit garage, we see she is carrying an item in each hand.
In her left hand she has the car remote. In her right hand she is carrying a cognac colored puffy leather pouch -- the kind used to carry pistols.
The chicken-fat haired figure clicks the remote. The door locks pop up. Her hand slowly and quietly pulls the passenger side door handle as the interior light comes on.
Close on the bottom of the passenger seat. We see some change that had been dropped inadvertently on the floor mat in front of the seat – three quarters, two dimes and a penny.
Bending over, she cracks a smile, and we see her grey wrinkly hand slide the cognac colored puffy leather pouch under the passenger seat. She reaches over to the coins and grabs a quarter.
Wider: The chicken-fat hair colored figure retreats to the garage. Presses a button and the garage door closes.
EXT. Oklahoma Highway -- Day
We dissolve to the dry Oklahoma country side. The Sun is passing into the afternoon. We are looking overhead at the white Suburban as it glides down Highway 40. Just off the highway to the left we see the Cherokee Casino & Hotel Roland gleaming in the distance. Like Ayers Rock.
We follow the Suburban a few miles until we see a blue and white sign that says “Welcome To Arkansas, The Nature State”, just outside of Fort Smith.
Cut to front view of the Suburban as it continues down the highway. We see police lights flashing in the rear -- far away, but rapidly approaching. The Suburban pulls over to the side of the road. A police officer steps out of his car and approaches, his right hand on his holster.
What happened? Was it a routine traffic stop? Was the pouch a plant and the police received a tip-off about some or other kind of contraband?
Tune in to next week’s Episode to find out! Just kidding. I tell the story here.
Since this isn’t a Hitchcock movie (well, not yet anyway), I will tell the story my way.
Back to Reality
What is this? I was looking at a zipped and padded cognac colored leather pouch -- the kind used to carry pistols. Nice pouch, I thought.
Considering the compact size, it was heavy. I bounced it in my hands a few times, before unzipping it. There it was, a nickel plated Smith & Wesson .38 caliber revolver. A model 36 -- I would later find out, which chambers five .38 Special rounds. It was introduced in the 1950s and was originally called the Chief Special.
It is a pretty smallish, but handy, revolver. I picked it up and opened the cylinder to check that it was unloaded. It was. I also found five rounds -- with “Speer .38 Special” written on the shell base surrounding the primer. Metal jacket with lead hollow points. They looked like police rounds to me.
I have to say, it is a surprisingly comfortable pistol. I would totally choose this revolver if I were shopping for revolvers. The weight is balanced -- like a Wustoff knife. It is small enough to fit in a handbag.
Here is a picture.
Image Courtesy of PFFK#7; Bar Cart by Alvar Aalto
More of a women’s gun, I’d say. So I imagine no self-respecting Police Chief would be caught alive with this model in his side holster. Do Police Chiefs have side holsters? I think they probably have shoulder holsters strapped on left arm of their white shirt, concealed under their Police Chief blazer, next to a red tie -- fastened with a tie clip, of course -- and finished off with gray pants and brown flat leather shoes. No black! At least that’s what TV would have you believe. So, anyway, the Smith & Wesson Company stopped calling it the Chief Special in 1957.
Based on the serial number, it was made sometime between 1976 and 1977 -- when adorable little me was born!
Here’s adorable little me after being woken up late one night.
I call this one Mommy Can I Have a Drink of Water?
Image Courtesy of PFFK#7
Burban and Croak
It is 2016. My mom, Hannibal, had somehow convinced Fredo to “let” me borrow the white, 2011 Suburban for a cross country drive. She also very helpfully loaded it up with a bunch of home type items, many sourced from Homegoods, T.J. Max, or Tuesday Morning. Faux Chinese looking blue porcelain vases. For what? Outdoor hanging lanterns. Mexican brightly colored ponchos like Clint Eastwood might have worn in The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. Great movie, by the way. There are two kinds of people. Those that shop at Homegoods. And those that don’t.
These things were definitely not my taste, but you know what they say, don’t look a gift horse in the as . . . oooops, I mean . . . the mouth.
This was back in 2016 remember, when I thought my family and my mom, in particular, had my back and really honestly wanted to help me out. Nowadays, I wonder if she had a secret covetous plan to take over my house -- make it her trinket house -- and so was pre-furnishing it with her crapola. Or as my Niece would say, she was Junkerating.
I recently came across a picture I had taken maybe in 2014. In the picture, she is sitting at the dining table staring at a picture of the house I was moving into. Back then, I thought she was evaluating the house. It took on a whole new meaning when I saw it this time.
Hey Baby, You’re an OnStar
There was another reason Hannibal convinced Fredo to “let” me borrow the Suburban. It is a GMC vehicle, so it comes equipped with OnStar. OnStar tracks everything you do. It tracks all calls you make or receive. Your mileage. How fast your drive. Your GPS locations. It even takes pictures of locations. And stores it ALL in a hard drive that is buried deep under the center console of the vehicle. The GMC Company does not tell you that, and good luck finding any information online about it. That is, any “official” information. There are a bunch of video tutorials out there how to access the system. It is not that complicated, but tedious because the hard drive is really hard to access. You need to remove a bunch of plastic panels and floor mats. Once you do that, however, you will find a cable connection with a USB connector. You can unplug that, plug it into a USB cable, and access whatever is on the hard drive.
Oh yeah, OnStar can also be used to monitor your conversations and at least where you are. There were several times I’d be driving along and, all of a sudden, OnStar would be calling the car. It would actually ring, and you could see a phone number pop up on the center display.
OnStar can also be used to lock the car doors, which it (i.e., one of Hannibal or Myron) did when I mistakenly left the keys in the car. Not to worry, that’s when I learned you can get these inflatable packs that slide into the door gap, allowing you to pry open the door just enough to get to the door locks.
Thanks OnStar . . . and Hannibal.
Crossing the Line
So, here I am in the fully stocked Suburban making a 1,500 mile trip from Amarillo to somewhere that is not Amarillo to Junkerate my house.
The trip took me a few days. The first night, we made it to Memphis and stayed at the Peabody Hotel. The lobby is fantastic, with an invigorating Old South feel. You can almost smell the sweet pipe smoke, sweat and bourbon. Also, there’s lots of ducks in the indoor fountain . . . for some reason. The rooms were ehhh. After checking in, we went out for some famous Memphis Ribs and Brisket. Ummmm, famous for what? Rudy’s in Amarillo has much better ribs. Also, better brisket by a country-fried mile.
The second night I think we stopped in Indianapolis. At least I think it was Indianapolis. It apparently did not make much of an impression, other than it can be a real pain in the button-hole to get from the Interstate to down-town. If you miss your exit -- which is easy to do at night -- you just keep driving a giant circle.
Anyway, after driving across numerous state lines, and unpacking the Suburban, I learned the Smith & Wesson Model 36 revolver, which chambers five rounds, was somehow planted under the passenger’s side seat. How could this happen? More importantly, why did this happen?
To Wall or Not to Wall
This Episode may involve crime, safety and the law -- allegedly -- and is potentially one of the more serious ones.
So, I am just going to go ahead and put the paywall in. OK. A little bit more before that happens.
Back to the Picture
It’s 2016. I have arrived at the end of my 1,500 mile trip and begin to unpack the Suburban.
“What is this?” “Oh crap!” I find the puffy leather pouch under the passenger’s side seat. Enclosed in the pouch was Hannibal’s gun. That’s right, her nickel plated .38 Special, Model 36. With five rounds.
I did remember this revolver. However, the wooden handgrips on the one I remember looked different. More on that later.
From the time I was learning words -- like “ho my mother” which I wrote in a birthday card for Hannibal or I should say was forced to write -- I was taught about gun safety. Over and over. From my Grandparents mostly. Hannibal always carried a gun in her vehicles, typically in the glove compartment. She also used to carry a wooden club under the driver’s seat.
When I would ask why . . . I’m sure most of you already know what’s coming. Me, because of me, was the explanation. Hannibal needed to protect me in case I became the first person in the history of Hansford county to ever be kidnapped -- that’s not counting the ne’er-do-wells in the old days who needed “escorting” out past county lines, never to return. I wonder what happened to them?
When I was a kid, I remember asking Fredo why my mom always had a gun in her car.
Fredo
“Now your mom, she can handle herself but now that we have you, she needs a gun. Y’all driving to Amarillo all of the time.” [Yeah, why was that exactly?]. “Ya know. Something could happen. You could get a flat tire or something could happen at a gas station [Allsups?]. I want your mom to be able to protect you.”
The only thing that would happen at an Allsup’s is someone might get a bad case of the burritos.
Me
“That sounds dangerous. Maybe I shouldn’t go to Amarillo. None of my friend’s Moms have guns. I’ve asked when I ride in their cars. They look at me with a confused look. Muff does not carry one in her vehicles. Do you carry one?”
Fredo
“No one is going to mess with Muff. Stop telling people we carry guns in our trucks. You know, just stop asking questions.”
Me
“Why should I stop asking questions?”
Five Gun Folly
Back to 2016. I open the gun pouch and stare at the gun for a bit. What the hell? Of course, I ring up Fredo, more than annoyed.
Me
“Fredo! Why did you not tell me that Hannibal’s gun was in the Suburban before I set off for a trip half way across the country? Hannibal never mentioned it, and it is HER gun. This is insane.”
Fredo
“Well I did not know. Hannibal probably didn’t know either.”
Me
“Oh, RIGHT. Like you don’t where your guns are at all times. I mean, if you don’t you should. Really, get real. Really!”
Fredo
“Don’t worry about it. It has never been shot.”
Me
“Fredo! You are missing the point here. More than one.”
Fredo cannot stand it if someone questions his intellect, solid-guy-ness or integrity.
Fredo
“What? No, I am not. Calm down. You are being dramatic. Let it go.”
Me
“No. You let me drive across about five different state lines with a gun. This is absolutely irresponsible. It is against the law in some of those states I bet.”
Fredo
“Well, like I said, it has never been fired. So don’t worry about it.”
Me
“Somehow I don’t think the police care if it’s been fired or not. What am I supposed to do with it?”
Fredo
“Let’s not worry about it for now. No one has fired it.”
He kept coming back to that point numerous times. Turns out he was way wrong. It has been fired several times. I will tell you how I know that shortly.
Again, this was in 2016. I can not tell you the length of their “let’s not worry about it for now list”. It has supernoved, snowballed and multiplied faster than ludicrous speed in Space Balls.
So, I ultimately forgot about it and put the gun away in the safest place I could think of. Which was actually a safe.
The rest of the story will have to be behind a paywall — it’s kind of scandalous.
