Traveller - L.W. Samuelson (free e books to read online TXT) 📗

his clothing in the bag. He hugged her and then, with tears in his eyes, he turned around and left the apartment.

When Traveller got back to Austin’s apartment, he pulled his bottle of Jack Daniels from the cupboard and poured himself a glass straight up, no ice. He took a swallow without grimacing.
“You okay?” asked Austin.
“I will be in a minute,” he said before downing the rest of the glass. “I love whiskey. It makes me feel good. It doesn’t ask anything of me.”
“Oh but you’ll pay for it with your soul, believe me. It had me in its clutches until I ran out of money and hit the road. When I finally sobered up, I found myself in a ditch shaking and wishing I were dead.”
“But I’m a Benwarian. We can handle anything.”
“I’ll be here to catch you when you fall,” Austin said with conviction.

Jesse and Tim were able to get through their last semester of college with passing grades. They were motivated by Lori’s constant reminders and gentle persuasion, but their hearts weren’t in it. They were obsessed with the band.
When school ended the Benwarian Blues Band played in several bars throughout southeastern Idaho. Soda Springs, Preston, Montpelier, Burley and even Twin Falls had a bar that scheduled them. As their reputation spread, the audiences grew. Sometimes they would play to standing room only.
Traveller started each evening with a couple of shots of Jack Daniels. He felt free to drink whiskey rationalizing that it made him act and think like Jim Morrison. He began every set with ‘Ship of Fools.’ By the end of the night, he was whiskey numbed and unthinking, alone with himself and as solitary as an oyster inside its shell.

In August the band traveled back to Pocatello for a Ross Park concert. A stage was set up just below the zoo. It looked out upon the grass and trees. People brought blankets and lawn chairs in anticipation of seeing the band with its dynamic lead singer. Over two thousand people showed up.
The crowd cheered and clapped after every song. A talent agent visiting an old friend living in Pocatello was in attendance. The band’s performance captivated him. After the set he asked Traveller if he and the band would care to open for Fleetwood Mac on their fall tour across the United States.
Willy was also in attendance that day. He watched Traveller get into the band’s bus drinking from a silver flask. He knocked on the door just after it closed. When Traveller saw his blood brother, his face lit up with surprise and joy. “Bro! Damn good to see you,” he said hopping down the steps to embrace his friend.
“Dang man, band keeps gettin’ better. Y’all learn to play a little disco, I might buy an album,” Willy smiled. “How ya doin’?”
“Flying high man. Flying high. Gonna be opening for Fleetwood this fall. Yourself?”
“I be helpin’ with basketball camps and pickin’ up a coupla credits in summer school,” Willy replied. “Coach keepin’ me busy. You say Fleetwood Mac? You on the cusp of the big time Bro’.”
“Come and sit down,” Traveller said ushering him into the bus. He led Willy down the aisle to the table in the back. Traveller pointed his flask at his friend, “Drink?” he asked.
“Naw. Y’all know bettern’ that.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Traveller said taking a pull of whiskey.
“Where Tim and Jesse?”
“They cut out after the last song, said they had something to do.”
“Lori?”
“She quit the band. Haven’t seen her for a while.”
“I hear you move out. Damn fine girl.”
“Yeah, she had better things to do. She’s in love with John Steinbeck.”
“She in love with you fool. She jus’ the kinda woman demands respect. Won’t put up with someone with another love.”
“I don’t love anyone else. What’re you talking about?”
“What’s in that bottle, that’s what I be talkin’ ‘bout.”
“Hey Bro’ don’t crowd me. I can quit anytime I want to.”
“Yeah that’s what my ole’ man usta tell my momma just before he smack us around.”
“Screw you Willy.”
“Man Bro’ you gettin’ all dark on me,” Willy said getting up from the table. “No way to talk to a friend. Y’all helped me out, I just tryin’ to return the favor.”
“Screw you Willy.”
Willy shook his head. “I try to catch you sober sometime Bro’,” he said as he walked down the bus aisle. At the door he stopped and said, “Don’t forget your friends.”
With Willy gone, Traveller pulled his acoustic guitar from the luggage racks. He sat down at the table and adlibbed a song in his gravelly blues voice,

I have a new lover,
She’s blowing my mind.
Her lips are so tender
She makes me feel fine.

A taste of amber
Puts rose on my face.
Makes me burning warm,
Takes me outta this place

I gave up my friends,
Even my brother.
I gave up my girlfriend
When I found my lover.

Her name’s Jacki Daniels
I drink long and deep.
I drink to get drunk.
It’s sordid and cheap

Got a hold on me
I can’t let her go
She’s easy to be with
That much I know.

I drink from my lover
She makes me feel fine
Give me love in bottle
We’ll pass the time.

Oh Jacki Daniels
She’s lettin’ me down
She knows that I’m sinkin’
She’s lettin’ me drown.

Traveller ended the song before he took another drink of whiskey. He placed his head on the table, closed his eyes and then fell asleep.
When Austin had the equipment loaded, he lifted Traveller into one of the seats and drove him home.

Chapter 44 - Porter Tellez

Porter had touched his spaceship down in the mountains outside of Tucson in May 1978. Before the flight, Sandiko, Porter’s South African business associate, had purchased a thousand acre ranch through a real estate agent. He had also hired a contactor to build an underground bunker on the place with over 5000 square feet of floor space. With walls of rebar-reinforced concrete over three feet thick, it was built to withstand an aerial bombardment. The structure was buried deep into the side of a mountain with a camouflaged entryway large enough for Porter to drive his space pod into. The ship was stored in a separate compartment at the back of the bunker. Only Sandiko, Porter and Loreto knew it was there.
Porter had researched for over a month to find a suitable location in the United States. Located sixty miles north of the Mexican border, the climate in Tucson was the closest match the Benwarian could find to the planet of Lemmus. It was a little cooler in the winter and not quite as hot in the summer, but overall the temperatures and climate were quite amenable to his Benwarian physiology.
His business agent had purchased a home in the Casas Adobe neighborhood in Tucson. The modest rectangular adobe contained a living room in the front, a large kitchen/dining room in the back with two bedrooms on each side of the house. The plain unassuming house suggested a middle-classed owner. It had just two windows in the front that looked out onto the mountains. The house was energy efficient with a simple, easy to clean, design.
Porter found the Mediterranean architecture of Casas Adobe neighborhood attractive. The Tucson area was criss-crossed with a labyrinth of commuter bike routes and several off-road biking trails that led into the mountains and surrounding terrain. He and Loreto enjoyed riding their ten speeds and rarely drove their 1977 Toyota Camry.
His presence in South Africa had become untenable with the South African Defense Force after him. He had fled Soweto with soldiers combing the township for the one known as the Blue Man. By fleeing into the savannah, he had avoided arrest. After two weeks of mining gold from the vein he had found, he and Loreto had flown the pod to the United States.
As a cover, he had paid twenty thousand dollars for the identity and social security number of a Phoenix man who had died of natural causes. Blake Hollister’s records now showed Porter’s photograph and address. Porter and his wife, Loreto, had married over a year ago. She had borne him a child six months afterward. The boy, christened Logan Hollister, enjoyed the vitality of a hybrid. He looked more Middle Eastern than African or Benwarian with his dark hair, deep brown eyes, and a dark complexion with a bluish tint.
For the past six months, Porter had been pursuing a new hobby. At a fundraiser he and Loreto attended, he had been approached by a Catholic priest. Father McNamara was sheltering two Mexican families from the authorities. He was giving them sanctuary, but the courts had ruled that the illegals must be turned over to the Immigration and Naturalization Service for deportation. The good Father McNamara wouldn’t do it. He answered to a higher law than the United States government. He felt it was un-Christian to turn away God’s downtrodden so he had asked Porter for help.
“Why me?” Porter asked knowing the answer.
“Because I can see by the light in your eyes that you are one of God’s chosen,” the priest replied.
“I’m not even a Catholic,” he said with Loreto standing nearby smiling and wondering why Porter was being difficult. “What would you have me do?”
“Your eyes tell me that you’re a man of compassion, understanding. You have resources. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
Porter sighed and said, “Bring them to the house tonight.”
When the two families were ushered into his house at one o’clock in the morning, Porter had used his translator to interview them. He found out that they had been starving and unemployed in Mexico. Their escape to America had been their only hope for a better life.
It was the beginning of Porter’s hobby or what some would say was his calling. He rented another home in Tucson to serve as a halfway house for illegal aliens. Their plight became his plight, an alien helping aliens. He also purchased a delivery van to transport people north to find jobs. Money and food were provided to ensure that the immigrants had a good start.
Father McNamara brought the many that came to him for help to Porter. Often these immigrants told of others camped out on the desert or in the mountains. When this happened, Porter would drive the delivery van to the area. He would track the illegals down and bring them back to Tucson. Several times he had rescued groups who had run out of water or food or both. Without Porter’s help, these people would have perished.
Loreto, who actually was a Christian, took great joy in helping her husband. She prepared meals, bought clothing at the thrift stores and made arrangements for the unfortunates they came in contact with.

On a sunny day in the first part of December, Porter and Loreto made arrangements with Rosa and Manuel Gutierrez to baby sit Logan. The Gutierrez’s were illegals with kindly souls of light according to Porter’s spectrometer readings. Ostensibly employed to clean and cook, they were invaluable interpreters for Porter and Loreto. They also organized and ran the underground help network established by the Hollisters for illegal immigrants. With these trusted friends in charge they felt comfortable leaving Logan so they could journey in the mountains on their bicycles.
So on this sunny day in December with the temperature at 70 degrees Fahrenheit, Porter and Loreto rode on the mountain trails before journeying into the city to get a newspaper, orange juice, and fresh fruit for breakfast. They stopped at