to figure out most of them contained weapons and ammunition. Some of them were actually old army surplus ammunition cases, scuffed olive-drab sheet metal containers with orange stenciling saying things like "5.56MM NATO". Others were plastic, aluminum, or even wooden cases that no doubt held firearms. There were smaller cases the size of a lunchbox, probably containing handguns, while others were long and flat and thin, no doubt for longer guns.
Once we had unloaded all the weapons and ammunition from Richard's underground cache, we began organizing the supplies he had brought with him in the Suburban. Several new gun cases and ammo boxes went down into the cache before we covered it back up. More water cans, cases of bottled sports rehydration drinks and packages of energy bars, dried meat and fruit and canned goods, as well as more fuel and other living amenities such as toilet paper.
"There's no running water, but there's an outhouse around back. It's simple, but it's also in good shape and with the right amount of lye and other chemicals, fairly odorless," Richard explained.
I realized why we had so much water. There wasn't even a well here, up on this low, gently sloping hill, and I knew we were going to try to remain isolated as much as possible over the next month.
"The water we brought with us, along with the bottled drinks and the water here at the cabin, should get us through the first week," Richard explained. "We'll take a drive into town now and then to resupply, but the less contact with the locals, the better. They've seen me off and on enough to not ask any questions, but you're new around here. Explaining your presence is just another complication."
By the time we unloaded, unpacked, shelved, stored, and settled in, it was well into the evening, with perhaps only an hour of daylight left. Richard assigned me the relatively simple task of preparing dinner, but I didn't mind. I had already seen this was going to be a mentor and apprentice dynamic like you see in the movies. Trying to argue that "I'm here to learn how to seek vengeance on my enemies, not sweep the floor and cook dinner!" wasn't going to get me anywhere, so why bother with the drama? I knew I needed hardening. My life until this moment had been that of a soft, wealthy, white-collar kid living on easy street. If I was going to dish out what the Paggianos deserved, I needed to turn myself into something much, much rougher around the edges, and be quick about it.
I dug around the pantry and acquired the necessary kitchenware. In moments like this, I was thankful that my family wasn’t in love with the typical “meat and potatoes” Irish diet. My parents were a pair of epicures, and my sister and I were taught the basics of preparing meals at an early age. I boiled some rice and dried beef, then added cans of black beans and tomatoes, along with a little chili powder. Finally, I heated a package of soft flour tortillas on a flat cast-iron skillet.
Richard and I helped ourselves to the meal of simple burritos while sitting on the front porch of the cabin, watching the sun set off in the west. Coming from the urban east coast, you never understand what all the fuss is about until you go to Texas and watch a real sunset in the desert. Sitting on the porch of an old log cabin, next to a grizzled local wearing blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a battered straw hat was just added gravy. Richard even brought along three bottles of Tecate for me, still cool after their long voyage next to some cold packs inside an insulated cooler.
"That's the only alcohol you're going to have for the next month," Richard warned me, "so enjoy it tonight. Starting tomorrow, you're going to need to stay sharp and avoid anything that's going to throw your system out of whack, because you're not going to be very gentle to your body over the next few weeks."
After dinner, Richard and I got down to business. One by one, we opened his gun cases and unpacked the ammunition
Once we had unloaded all the weapons and ammunition from Richard's underground cache, we began organizing the supplies he had brought with him in the Suburban. Several new gun cases and ammo boxes went down into the cache before we covered it back up. More water cans, cases of bottled sports rehydration drinks and packages of energy bars, dried meat and fruit and canned goods, as well as more fuel and other living amenities such as toilet paper.
"There's no running water, but there's an outhouse around back. It's simple, but it's also in good shape and with the right amount of lye and other chemicals, fairly odorless," Richard explained.
I realized why we had so much water. There wasn't even a well here, up on this low, gently sloping hill, and I knew we were going to try to remain isolated as much as possible over the next month.
"The water we brought with us, along with the bottled drinks and the water here at the cabin, should get us through the first week," Richard explained. "We'll take a drive into town now and then to resupply, but the less contact with the locals, the better. They've seen me off and on enough to not ask any questions, but you're new around here. Explaining your presence is just another complication."
By the time we unloaded, unpacked, shelved, stored, and settled in, it was well into the evening, with perhaps only an hour of daylight left. Richard assigned me the relatively simple task of preparing dinner, but I didn't mind. I had already seen this was going to be a mentor and apprentice dynamic like you see in the movies. Trying to argue that "I'm here to learn how to seek vengeance on my enemies, not sweep the floor and cook dinner!" wasn't going to get me anywhere, so why bother with the drama? I knew I needed hardening. My life until this moment had been that of a soft, wealthy, white-collar kid living on easy street. If I was going to dish out what the Paggianos deserved, I needed to turn myself into something much, much rougher around the edges, and be quick about it.
I dug around the pantry and acquired the necessary kitchenware. In moments like this, I was thankful that my family wasn’t in love with the typical “meat and potatoes” Irish diet. My parents were a pair of epicures, and my sister and I were taught the basics of preparing meals at an early age. I boiled some rice and dried beef, then added cans of black beans and tomatoes, along with a little chili powder. Finally, I heated a package of soft flour tortillas on a flat cast-iron skillet.
Richard and I helped ourselves to the meal of simple burritos while sitting on the front porch of the cabin, watching the sun set off in the west. Coming from the urban east coast, you never understand what all the fuss is about until you go to Texas and watch a real sunset in the desert. Sitting on the porch of an old log cabin, next to a grizzled local wearing blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a battered straw hat was just added gravy. Richard even brought along three bottles of Tecate for me, still cool after their long voyage next to some cold packs inside an insulated cooler.
"That's the only alcohol you're going to have for the next month," Richard warned me, "so enjoy it tonight. Starting tomorrow, you're going to need to stay sharp and avoid anything that's going to throw your system out of whack, because you're not going to be very gentle to your body over the next few weeks."
After dinner, Richard and I got down to business. One by one, we opened his gun cases and unpacked the ammunition
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