Drake's Treasure. charles berrard

remembered that the company was the Germans, and that he disliked Germans.

      As Jeff started the pickup and pulled out, he turned up the radio to hear the group Redbone singing “Come And Get Your Love,” an all-Indian R&B tune that had hit the charts in ’73 and turned out to be their greatest hit. He sang right along with the radio: “Come and get yo love…come and get yo love now…come and get yo love… These guys are a trip man. They’ve played with and backed up people like the Beach Boys, Elvis, The Everly Brothers, surfer music from Fresno, man. They were Indians and Mexicans from the Fresno barrio. Of course, on stage, they all dressed as Indians.”

      “Now that you mention it, I remember a poster with Indians in full paint and headdresses.”

      “That’s them alright. Wild and scary looking, yeah! Jimi Hendrix is half Cherokee, and liked to hang out with them. They turned Jimi on to peyote, and Jimi turned them on to acid. Can you imagine drunk, stoned Mexicans and Indians with Jimi, on acid?” Jeff didn’t expect an answer, and a mournful foghorn from somewhere in the dark made him jerk his head toward the sound. “Christian and I used to run weed up to Seattle, and catch shows and spread a little joy around to the musicians. That’s where we met the band members.”

      “The tune’s got that old R&B sound to it. I like it,” said Lincoln.

      Jeff continued to sing along with the radio.

      “To change the subject a bit,” Lincoln said, “it looks like you’re the only one with enough chutzpah to carry out the new plan. Lenny owes me one, so maybe I can get him to come around. With the majority, I know we can convince Christian. Then I think Robert will go along.”

      “Lenny owes you?”

      “Yeah, I got him out of LA before the Feds grabbed him. And they would have.”

      “I hate to bring it up,” Jeff says, “but how long can we keep our plan from Sara?”

      “We need to know what we can expect of her. To be honest, women are trouble,” Lincoln said. Just to confirm what Jeff’s position was, he asked, “You are still with me on the action, aren’t you? I mean, that threat of your brother’s was just talk, right?”

      “He’s only my older brother, he doesn’t decide what I think.”

      “Well praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!” Lincoln said slapping his knee. “You know,” he continued, “the BLA may not be planning their actions very well, but their focus on hitting the ‘pigs’ dramatized their action. Hit symbols! Hit them where it hurts! That’s why power plants are our target—they’re symbols of corporate greed and power, and it will hurt them.

      “Those farmers who stole our water,” Jeff raised his voice. “They’re gonna love it without power to run their damn pumps!”

      “Right on!” Lincoln pumped a fist at the dark night beyond the headlights while they speed along Maple Creek Road.

      The high-pitched crackle of the wheels finding traction with the gravel and tar surface was louder than the sound of the ’53 Chevy’s overhead six engine. The road had been recently resurfaced—tar and gravel, mostly lots of loose gravel. It was done every three years or so, and for some time after, the unbanked curves often sent unsuspecting speeders skidding off the road. Jeff knew Maple Creek Road, and knew where the unbanked turns were. The coke had him feeling pumped, and as the first turn came, up he hit the gas just before the apex and slid sideways on a mound of gravel fast enough to let him think he wasn’t going to make it. The new rear tires found hard turf between the mounds of gravel. The wheels got traction, peeled out of the turn and took off again. Lincoln and Jeff let out whoops, and doubled over laughing.

      Few cars traveled this remote, winding, two-lane country road, so it was something of a surprise for them to round a turn and find directly in front of them an RV moving slower than the speed limit.

      “Honk or they’ll never let you by,” Lincoln warned.

      Jeff honked and flashed his high beams. “There’s a turnout coming up,” he said, remembering the succession of turns. “They should pull out and let us pass.”

      The turnout came and the RV didn’t pull over. They both cursed in desperation, as Jeff began to flash and honk.

      “Fuck it! I’m passing this sucker.”

      “It’s a blind turn, Jeff!”

      “There’s nobody on this road,” Jeff stated, certain it would be OK to pass. He hit the gas and pulled out to his left, his wheels peeling and sliding in the loose gravel. Jeff knew that on a dark night all you had to do was look for headlight beams to know if another car was coming. That was usually enough warning. Suddenly, he saw one headlight, making it impossible to determine if it was a car or a motorcycle. Maybe a motorcycle, but if it was a car with one light out, which side had the bad light? It was too late to pull back behind the RV. If he made the wrong choice, Jeff realized, they were all dead.

      He knew there was another unbanked curve on the oncoming left side that had a wide turnout, so he headed wide left into the turnout, hit the brakes and jerked the steering wheel just enough to do a 180-degree swing, missing the oncoming vehicle by inches, and came to a stop. There was dead silence. Jeff and Lincoln watched the car as its red taillights flickered behind the trees and disappeared around another turn. This near-death experience left them both stunned and shaken. There were no whoops this time.