Braxtons,” Mac grumbled.
“Worrying is not a productive endeavor. The Lord advises against it.”
“I know. It’s like watering fake flowers. Keeps you busy but doesn’t accomplish anything.”
Not exactly Biblical words on the subject of worry, but maybe they were lost in translation somewhere.
“Whether or not I’m worrying is getting off the subject here,” Mac added. “What we need to do is go after the Braxtons instead of waiting for them to come to us. Find out where they live, what they’re involved in, what kind of relationships they have with each other. Where they’re vulnerable. Check into family squabbles. Use the old divide-and-conquer technique to get something incriminating on them.”
“I’ve had the impression that even if there are family differences, their desire to turn me into roadkill unites them.”
“But no family is totally united. There are conflicts and internal feuds. We need to look for them.”
“Okay. How?”
“The internet knows all. But first I need another dish of peach cobbler.”
Chapter Ten
After dinner, we drove back over to Mac’s motorhome. I had a computer for a while, but it crashed in a blue funk of death, and I haven’t replaced it. Mac’s laptop works on something called Wi-fi, which the RV park provided. I have an uneasy suspicion this is connected with a mysterious cyberspace cult with secret handshakes (or talon or tentacle shakes, whatever the case may be) and a language utilizing only two-letter words. Mac assures me, however, that it’s a technology “everybody” uses these days. I suppose he’s right. His laptop fired right up. Every time I seem on the verge of catching up with technology, it leaps right over me. Leaving me in a dust of pixels and bytes, ports and scripts, with enough acronym letters (DDR, BIOS, CPU, ISP) to make alphabet soup for an army .
Mac concentrated on the laptop, with me looking over his shoulder. He collected a list of a half-dozen or so Braxtons, with residential phone numbers and addresses. Also some Braxton businesses: Braxton Construction, Braxton Furniture, and an all-purpose Braxton Enterprises. No address for that one. Ever suspicious, the lack of address made me wonder if they were doing nefarious business from under a rock somewhere.
We also looked for the Zollinger name, possible relatives of the Beaumont Zollinger I’d helped convict. Braxtons and Zollingers are entwined because Bo Zollinger and Drake Braxton and a couple of others are half brothers. Several residential addresses for Zollingers showed up. Also a Dr. Deena Zollinger, podiatrist, which rather surprised me since I’d never connected feet with a mini-Mafia. Maybe she had a concrete-shoe sideline? There was a Zollinger Brothers Computers & Communications business, and, rather ominously, it seemed to me, an Elton Zollinger, Attorney-at-Law. No doubt standing ready to find legal loopholes for any and all Braxton/Zollinger illicit activities.
Altogether, the Braxton/Zollinger spiderweb covered a wide territory and made a dangerous net of people who might have me on a hit list. I couldn’t help a nervous glance out the motorhome window. Were they stalking me even now?
Unprompted by me, Mac made another quick search, this time on Radison Properties, the company that had made the offer on my house. A phone number and an address over in Illinois, the same information that was on their letterhead, was all that came up.
“Don’t you think that’s odd?” I asked. “Doesn’t practically every business in the country have some kind of internet presence by now?”
“Did you ever try to call them?”
“No. Not yet.” I’d put off calling until I stopped flip-flopping and settled on a definite plan for the future. Although I was reminded of that old saying: We plan – God laughs. Not a malicious laughter, of course. But our plans may wander away from his, and he’s the one in control.
“It almost looks like a front,”
“Worrying is not a productive endeavor. The Lord advises against it.”
“I know. It’s like watering fake flowers. Keeps you busy but doesn’t accomplish anything.”
Not exactly Biblical words on the subject of worry, but maybe they were lost in translation somewhere.
“Whether or not I’m worrying is getting off the subject here,” Mac added. “What we need to do is go after the Braxtons instead of waiting for them to come to us. Find out where they live, what they’re involved in, what kind of relationships they have with each other. Where they’re vulnerable. Check into family squabbles. Use the old divide-and-conquer technique to get something incriminating on them.”
“I’ve had the impression that even if there are family differences, their desire to turn me into roadkill unites them.”
“But no family is totally united. There are conflicts and internal feuds. We need to look for them.”
“Okay. How?”
“The internet knows all. But first I need another dish of peach cobbler.”
Chapter Ten
After dinner, we drove back over to Mac’s motorhome. I had a computer for a while, but it crashed in a blue funk of death, and I haven’t replaced it. Mac’s laptop works on something called Wi-fi, which the RV park provided. I have an uneasy suspicion this is connected with a mysterious cyberspace cult with secret handshakes (or talon or tentacle shakes, whatever the case may be) and a language utilizing only two-letter words. Mac assures me, however, that it’s a technology “everybody” uses these days. I suppose he’s right. His laptop fired right up. Every time I seem on the verge of catching up with technology, it leaps right over me. Leaving me in a dust of pixels and bytes, ports and scripts, with enough acronym letters (DDR, BIOS, CPU, ISP) to make alphabet soup for an army .
Mac concentrated on the laptop, with me looking over his shoulder. He collected a list of a half-dozen or so Braxtons, with residential phone numbers and addresses. Also some Braxton businesses: Braxton Construction, Braxton Furniture, and an all-purpose Braxton Enterprises. No address for that one. Ever suspicious, the lack of address made me wonder if they were doing nefarious business from under a rock somewhere.
We also looked for the Zollinger name, possible relatives of the Beaumont Zollinger I’d helped convict. Braxtons and Zollingers are entwined because Bo Zollinger and Drake Braxton and a couple of others are half brothers. Several residential addresses for Zollingers showed up. Also a Dr. Deena Zollinger, podiatrist, which rather surprised me since I’d never connected feet with a mini-Mafia. Maybe she had a concrete-shoe sideline? There was a Zollinger Brothers Computers & Communications business, and, rather ominously, it seemed to me, an Elton Zollinger, Attorney-at-Law. No doubt standing ready to find legal loopholes for any and all Braxton/Zollinger illicit activities.
Altogether, the Braxton/Zollinger spiderweb covered a wide territory and made a dangerous net of people who might have me on a hit list. I couldn’t help a nervous glance out the motorhome window. Were they stalking me even now?
Unprompted by me, Mac made another quick search, this time on Radison Properties, the company that had made the offer on my house. A phone number and an address over in Illinois, the same information that was on their letterhead, was all that came up.
“Don’t you think that’s odd?” I asked. “Doesn’t practically every business in the country have some kind of internet presence by now?”
“Did you ever try to call them?”
“No. Not yet.” I’d put off calling until I stopped flip-flopping and settled on a definite plan for the future. Although I was reminded of that old saying: We plan – God laughs. Not a malicious laughter, of course. But our plans may wander away from his, and he’s the one in control.
“It almost looks like a front,”
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