Chapter                                Chapter                     Chapter
    1    Skytop                            2    JC                       3    The Canyon
    4    The Box Canyon Camp     5    The Raiders         6   The Family Fortune
    7    After Dinner
 

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    Friday the thirteenth, my lucky day, it was good omen, I was lucky when I needed to be. Every meeting is potentially dangerous, even a casual and innocent one. I had seen him on several previous flights, but this was our first exchange. A mellow tenor voice asked, "Would you mind exchanging seats with me?"  I turned from the window and saw a large man standing in the aisle, we exchanged seats. He looked out the window and I read the rest of the flight.
    On Monday morning, the woman in front of me became flustered, she was at the wrong gate. She turned around abruptly, knocking me into the person behind. It was him. He helped me maintain my balance. "Thank you."
    "Glad to assist." When I turned back to the gate, I stumbled, the woman dropped a package. Without thinking, I reached down, picked it up, and ran after her. I turned out of the gate area and followed her down the hall. One side was cordoned off for repairs. The narrowed hallway filled with people going in the opposite direction, I felt like a salmon swimming up stream. I leaped the rope, ran after her, and leaped the rope at the other end. I caught her before she turned the corner. She recognized the package, accepted it, and thanked me. I turned, leaped the rope, ran back, leaped the rope at the other end, and went to the end of the line.
    He caught my eye and signaled for me to join him. As I approached he said, "You don't have to give up your place just because you did someone a favor."
    "Next please."
    He turned toward the clerk and back to me. "Would you care to sit next to me?" I nodded. He made the arrangements and we moved to the boarding line. We went through the usual boarding procedures and he looked out the window. When the seat belt sign chime sounded, he turned, "You jumped that rope like a gazelle."
    "I ran hurdles in high school."
    "I didn't have time for athletics in school, but I've always admired athletes. I don't frequent athletic events very much any more, my corporation is building a skyscraper downtown and since I'm the architect and the civil engineer in charge, I don't have very much free time."
    "Are you married?"
    "No, I live alone." He looked out the window and read for a while, then asked, "Do you fly this route often? I remember seeing you on this same flight before and another on Friday evening."
    "Yes. Business in New York during the week and pleasure in Chicago on the weekends."
    "Why I do the same thing. I go to Chicago to look at buildings, a true busman's holiday, an architect looking at buildings," he chuckled to himself.
    We talked about anything and everything for the rest of the flight, time passed very quickly. As the plane rolled to the gate, "Would you care to share a cab into the city?"
    "Sure, are you traveling light?"
    "Only a small suitcase under the seat."
    "Me too, only my briefcase and my pet rock." He chuckled.
    After we were on the bridge, "Any chance you'll be going to Chicago next weekend?"
    "Yes, every weekend."
    "I've enjoyed your conversation very much. I would like to have you as a seat mate again, if your schedule matches mine." He handed me a copy of his flight schedule.
    "I'm already booked on those same flights." He looked very pleased. "By the way I'm," and introduced himself, "but please call me, Jerry."
    "Call me, Jim."
    The cab stopped at his destination. He handed the driver a bill and got out. "Till next weekend, then. Have a good week."
    I would have a good week if it went anything like the return flight. The week did go quickly. My cab was waiting, as I walked out of the building. I even had a little extra time before departure and walked leisurely through the terminal. I did not see Jerry, he was four people behind me, until I heard him laugh as I explained to the security people that my pet rock would not go through the detector. One of them opened the pouch to make sure it was a rock and they all smiled when it was displayed. Another responded, "I hope both of you have a good trip."
    "We will, one good thing about pet rocks, is they never get motion sickness." Everyone nearby laughed. Jerry caught up with me a few moments later, "Do you really take that thing with you every where you go?"
    "Yes," and I showed him how the small soft leather pouch fit smoothly around the pound and a half, half egg shaped rock, it was flat on one side with rounded edges, and how the draw string leather strap looped tight around my wrist. When the strap was snug against my wrist, the pouch and its content were barely visible below my left hand.
    I demonstrated how easily it fell out of my way when I wanted to use my hand to do something else. "Very few people are aware that I'm carrying it."
    "I didn't notice it, until you turned it over at the security check." We walked to the boarding gate and waited in line. "My building project, 'Skytop', is in trouble."
    My jaw must have hit the floor because he stopped talking and looked at me with a funny look on his face, I nearly laughed. "What a coincidence, one of the projects I'm working on is called 'Skytop'."
    "I'm having difficulty keeping building material on schedule. If I can't improve it, it will delay the construction."
    It was mid-flight before he changed subjects and then we swapped stories about high school and college. He wouldn't let me let him do all the talking. He insisted I tell about a specific event in detail, before he would tell me more about himself. "Most of my life was boring and I don't want to talk about it. Besides, I'm having difficulty remembering the details."
    "I don't, my life has not been exciting, but I can remember all the boring details."
    I barely passed with high enough grades to stay in school, he had all A's. I never knew what I wanted to do, he knew as far back as he could remember. I was the class weakling, everyone picked on me, he was big and strong, very few people bothered him. I was the smallest member of our football team, but also the quickest, he was the largest boy in his class, but slow and clumsy. I had a few moments of glory in athletics, he had many in academics.
    We were about as opposite as we could be, but I enjoyed his company and his conversation. His stories never bored me and he seemed to enjoy my company. We were seat mates on half our flights over the next three months.
    We did have some things in common. We were in our mid thirties, living alone, and we both liked to eat, all different kinds of foods. We differed on drink, I liked beer, he liked fine wines and liqueurs. "How about having dinner with me after we land?" I changed my schedule and we had dinner after we arrived in Chicago before we went our separate ways.
    Sometime later, Jerry asked, "Why not meet for dinner on Wednesday night? It'll break up the week." Again, I changed my routine and we met for dinner every Wednesday night. Each time he asked me to go to his apartment for an after dinner drink and some more conversation.
    "I'm working over time and I have to get back to work. I'm way behind schedule."
    Each time he was more insistent, but he did accept the fact that I was not going, I had to get back to work.
    On our next flight to Chicago, he abruptly changed the topic of conversation, "What is it that you do for employment?"
    "I'm a systems analyst."
    "What do you do?"
    "I analyze systems."
    "Thanks a lot. What does your word system mean?"
    "Well to me a system is directed activities using resources within an environment that will accomplish a goal for a user."
    "OK, how do you analyze a system?"
    "I try to get our customers to define their goals, first."
    "If you don't know where you are going any road will get you there. Eh?"
    "Right. Then I work backwards from the word goal in my definition and check their system to see if it is doing what they want it to do. Then I check for effectiveness and efficiency."
    "What do you mean?"
    "Effective is accomplishing the goal and efficiency is using the least amount of resources in accomplishing the goal."
    "That doesn't sound so difficult. I do much the same every day in my work, I just use different words.
    Why are you so busy?"
    "You're right, the work is not difficult, but most people do it so poorly. It's amazing how many people don't even have the slightest idea what their goals are. That's the most difficult part, trying to get our customers to define their goals. When they write them down, their goals are down right stupid, even contradictory and usually stated in abstract and fuzzy words.
    I became very frustrated with a customer, after weeks of work on his goals, he threw my work into the waste basket and said, 'All I want to do is make more money.'
    I gave him two pennies and told him I would send him my bill. He was so shocked he chased me down the hall and asked me to try again."
    "That still doesn't explain why you're so busy. Why are you behind in your work?"
    "You're right, I'm not using my own skills. I get carried away when I talk about my work, I enjoy it very much. Two of our analysts were injured in a car accident and I'm trying to do the work of three people."
    "You were very brash, giving a customer two cents and walking out."
    "No more brash than you. You just told me a story where one of your employees kept telling you about things that needed to be done and you responded, 'Is your mouth the only thing that works?'. Obviously, he could have done what he told you rather than wasting your time by telling you."
    "It's your turn to be right. I have very little patients with people who tell me what needs to be done when they could have done it in the same length of time it takes to tell me about it."
    "Your other stories indicate that you treat your employees as if they were a commodity. It became very apparent to me that you can treat labor as a commodity some times, but not all the time."
    "Why not?"
    "All people are independent systems. The advantage of using independent systems is that they can full fill the role of any part of another system, all the way from its smallest part up to and including the whole system. As long as people play the role you can manage them, because a manager manages a system, but when people revert to behaving as an independent system, which they can do at any time, you can not manage them. You can lead a horse to water, but ...., there is no way anyone can manage independent systems, you must lead them, you must get their willing cooperation."
    "Is that all your theory told you?" I continued, completely ignoring his sarcasm. "No, it also indicated another reason why we cannot have total peace, we can only reach an arbitrary level of nonviolence. Every system must be active or else it is 'dead', it must occupy space and it must use resources. All of these will lead to conflict with other systems."
    "You used the word 'another', that implies more than one reason. Tell me another reason."
    "After hearing a story about a man named Doc, I came to the conclusion, that there is no battle between the sexes. The battle is with the herd. Every person could live perfectly well without sex, but the herd would die. The herd imposes the requirement of sex on the individual for its own survival, this creates a conflict of interest to the individual and between individuals. This conflict can never be resolved. No matter what form, conflict is conflict, it is not peace."
    "The son of man has no place to rest his head, is that what you're trying to tell me?"
    "How true, from the time we are born until we die, we are on the slippery slope and like a drowning person we grab at straws, trying to hold still."
    "Enough."
    "From what you have told me, you could use a systems analysis of your operation. I would volunteer my services to you, but I just don't have the time."
    "You're going to be my nemesis aren't you, Jim.
    You are going to be my nemesis."
    With a sullen look he turned to the window and was silent the rest of the flight. I didn't understand what he meant, but I didn't ask him to explain. I wondered what I had done to offend him. As we rolled to the gate he began to talk again as if nothing had happened. When my schedule permitted, I joined Jerry on Sunday afternoons. I found that I enjoyed looking at buildings, too, after he taught me what to observe in the design of each one. He made arrangements so we could go inside and look at the interiors as well. He always had more buildings to look at than he had time.
    We walked to the top of a old five story building, when we reached the top Jerry looked at his watch, "Oh my, we're behind schedule, we'd better run down."
    At the last two steps of each flight I put my hand firmly on the railing and vaulted over it, landing on the third step going down the next flight. Soon, I left Jerry far behind. I was completely rested when he finally came puffing down the last flight of stairs. We arrived at O'Hare with a few minutes to spare.
    He rested half of the flight before he wanted to talk. Then he spent the rest of the time telling me how graceful I was. By the end of the flight I was annoyed. Another incident caused me to question my relationship with Jerry.
    One old building had wide smooth solid brass stairway railings mounted on top of narrow walls. The turns at the bottom of each flight were very wide and round. We were alone and I could not resist the temptation, I slid down the banister for three flights. Jerry roared with laughter.
    Again, I was the center of his conversation on the flight to New York and on Wednesday night he insisted I go with him to his apartment after dinner. He was angry, "You are my nemesis," and stormed out of the restaurant.
    He was more distant in our relationship, I was no longer the center of his conversation. The next flight to Chicago made me very much aware that Jerry spent a good share of his conversation praising me, because of its absence. He stopped insisting that I go to his apartment after our Wednesday night dinner, instead he tried to get me to have another drink, an after dinner drink.
    One night I did, it was the greatest mistake I ever made. I don't remember, but I don't think I took more than two swallows, when I felt funny. The sensation lasted only a few seconds and disappeared. I didn't think too much about it until it returned again and again like waves coming on shore, with the time between each occurrence becoming shorter and the length of time each lasted becoming longer.
    When I finally decided to say something, it was too late. I couldn't talk, I couldn't control my movement, my brain was not functioning, everything was jumbled, illogical. I had tunnel vision, it was like looking down the wrong end of a telescope, I could only see what was directly in front of me. I remember hearing Jerry say, "My friend has had one to many."
    Next, I felt someone rubbing a perfumed lotion into the skin of my shoulders, back, and buttocks. Slowly, my muscles and brain began to respond, I had some control, but an asthma attack was coming. I moved to get away from the smell. When I moved, he stopped and lifted his hands from my body. I rolled off the bed onto the floor, stood up quickly, and asked, "Where's your bathroom?"
    Jerry was surprised, he looked at me blankly and pointed. I ran into the bathroom and showered, cold water kept the odor low. I knew I was in great danger, but I had to remove the lotion fast or nothing else would matter, I would collapse. With the lotion removed, I turned on the hot water, I could breath again.
    The tunnel vision remained, my brain was foggy, and the funny feeling kept coming back, but not as strong and not as frequent, I could remain standing, I just could not move while it was in control.
    I got out of the shower, grabbed a towel, and dried. I was not alone. Just inside the door, Jerry knelt with his head almost on the floor. He was nude. "I am sorry, Jim, I forgot."
    "How could you forget after that time on the plane. You had to carry me to another seat, to get me away from that woman. She wore so much perfume that even you couldn't stand it. The pilot was even considering an emergency landing until I finally convinced him I would be all right. How could you forget?"
    "Please Jim, don't reject me, I love you."
    "You love me? Some love, you drug me and damn near kill me and you talk of love. You're sick. That's not love."
    "Please Jim, forgive me. Forget what has happened. I was desperate, I had to do it. You wouldn't let me get close."
    "I'm not sure I want you for a friend."
    "Please Jim, forgive me. Come to bed with me and I will make it up to you."
    "I will forgive you, but you must get help. I will help you if you get help."
    "No, I don't need help, I need you. Don't make me do it."
    "Do what?" As he raised his head, a small red silk scarf came into focus on the floor followed by a goalies mask covering his face.
    "Don't make me do it."
    "I'm not making you do anything."
    "YOU ARE MY NEMESIS."
    Slowly, he removed the silk scarf to reveal a ceremonial knife and even more slowly he reached for it, as if he was carrying out some sort of ritual. How could he be so deliberate? What did he think I was going to do, just stand there?
    During the conversation, I removed my pet rock, keeping my actions concealed behind the towel. While he was reaching for the knife, I went into my wind up. When his head faced me the rock was already on its way with all the force I could muster. The rock slammed into the goalies mask right between his eyes. His head flew backwards and bounced off the floor, the force of the blow straightening his body on the floor.
    Another wave of that funny feeling slammed into me as I tried to check him, I stumbled and fell. As I struggled to my feet, my inner voice said, "Get your rock and get dressed."
    While sitting on the end of the bed tying my last shoe, something told me to move fast. I don't know what it was, a sound, a change in the light intensity, or what, I obeyed.
    Instinctively, I slid my fingers through the loop of my pet rock pouch, pushed with both legs as hard as I could, and threw my body back and to the right.
    I never saw or felt his blow. My left shoulder and arm went limp, my body accelerated backward and bounced off the bed. My legs continued to push and I rolled over on the floor away from the bed, my pet rock pouch loop sliding from my left hand.
    He lost his balance adjusting his swing in mid course to match my changing position and his momentum carried him flat on the bed next to where I had been. He scrambled after me, but could not reach me.
    I slid my right hand through my pet rock pouch loop, jumped to my feet, and lash out at him with my pet rock. He fell back on the bed. I don't know where I hit him.
    Another wave hit me and my inner voice said, "Get out of here." I ran into the living room, to the first door I thought was the entrance. I stood in the light from the open door trying to make a decision. "Should I go up or down?" If I'm at his apartment, I'm five floors from the top of his unfinished building." I decided to go up.
    I reached for the railing, but my left arm would not move. Keeping my right hand on the railing I went up as fast as I could and disappeared into the darkness. The lights of the city were a welcomed sight and allowed me to see the doors and windows on the top landing.
    Only when I tried to open one did the thought occur to me that they would be locked. "Damn." From below Jerry yelled in a taunting voice, "Don't vault any landings on the way down or you will go further than you think."
    Again and again, I tried each window and door. "Or did you go up?" Slow heavy foot steps echoed up the stair well. I didn't want to break the glass with my pet rock unless I had too, I didn't want him to know where I was.
    Accidentally, I pushed side ways on a window, it moved. The window had a wide rain lip at the top. Grasping it with my right hand, I raised my body out. Exhausted, I clung to the window frame so I could look around.
    "What now?"
    A bright light over powered the city lights and came to rest on the only clear area on the top of the building. I staggered toward it. When I reached the circle of white light, a loop descended toward me out of the darkness. I slid my right hand through the loop, pulled my body into it, sat in the loop, and slid my right hand up into a smaller hand loop.
    Like someone threw a switch, my brain recognized the thump, thump of a helicopter and the whir of a winch. I turned slowly as I went up and struggled to remain conscious. Strong hands pulled me inside.
    Jerry reached the top and turned on the lights. He took one look and went down the stairs as the door closed in front of me and the helicopter moved.
    In the dim light I recognized a friendly face. "Rick! You will never know how glad I am to see you."
    "And you will never know how glad I am to see YOU."
    "Don't touch my left arm." I passed out.

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    "Gee, grandpa, just like on TV," said fourteen year old Jimmy.
    "Don't interrupt the story, Jimmy, there are too many lose ends," said sixteen year old Jane, "Please finish the story, grandpa."
    "Your grandfather has a fantastic imagination," said James.
    "Please daddy, I believe grandpa's stories, if they are fiction, he always begins with 'This is the way the story was told to me', or words to that effect."
    "Dad."
    "That other place."
    "Dad!
    Is something wrong?"
    "He was so violent and yet, Doc would have been appalled at the violence in our society." James shook my arm. "OH.
    Pardon me, I drifted off. Jimmy's remark, 'Just like TV', emphasized the violence and brought back a memory. Its strange how our lives are intertwined."
    "Doc, who?"
    "Nothing, a story I heard before I was married."
    The children were bored after they had explored the train and spent some time looking out the window. They had seen most of the Midwest, so the landscape did not interest them, only crossing the Mississippi held their attention.
    After we pulled out of the St. Louis station, they insisted I tell a story. "Please continue, grandpa."

    I awoke in a hospital and pushed the attention button, a nurse came very quickly. "I'm starving."
    "You should be after sleeping for thirty six hours." She returned in a few minutes with a glass of orange juice. "This should tide you over until your meal arrives." I almost said, "What took you so long to bring one small glass of orange juice," but I didn't.
    Fifteen minutes later my meal arrived. While eating, Rick walked in. Then I understood, she must have called him before she brought my juice. "You'll be here a couple of days for observation. They want to make sure nothing else is wrong before they release you. Jerry broke your collar bone, other than that you are OK.
    They don't know what he used to drug you." I kept on eating. "When you get back to the office I want a full report on that last night." He moved closer to the bed, "I know you want to know how it ended and why I was so glad to see you."
    "Not as much as I was to see you, but tell me, why WERE you so glad to see me?"
    "I made the cardinal sin of a backup man, I left you alone to make a phone call. I let myself be lulled to sleep, all the other times were routine. A backup man can't do that, no matter how many times nothing happens.
    Damn it." He turned toward the wall briefly and then back to me. "Fortunately for both of us, you survived and my error allowed the case to be solved.
    When I returned to the dining room, you were gone. I ran to the door and when I reached the street there was no sign of you there either. I raced to my car and called dispatch for help. I asked them to meet me at his building, I didn't know where else to look.
    Thank God, you were there. I would never have forgiven myself if he had killed you. When I arrived, the door was locked and no lights were on anywhere inside the building. I looked through the windows in the hope that I would see something, anything, that would tell me I had made the right decision.
    I calmed down a little when I saw the elevator floor numbers light up and go off in succession. I ran back to my car and called for a lock smith and following my intuition, for a helicopter. Dispatch told me where to go to meet the chopper. Before I signed off a patrol car arrived. I filled them in and left.
    When I reached the landing pad, it had not arrived. All I could do was talk to the patrolmen via a telephone to radio hookup. They tried all the doors on all sides of the building, all were locked. By then, the locksmith arrived and more patrolmen. Jerry turned the power off to the elevators when he reached his floor. The patrolmen climbed the stairs as far as they could, one section was missing. I'm glad you went up and not down. You would've taken a nasty fall or would've been trapped.
    Do you know how slow time moves when you are waiting like that. I paced like a caged animal with sweat pouring down my face. I looked at my watch every five seconds. I could not believe more time had not elapsed.
    I didn't have to tell the pilot what to do, he took off as soon as I was on board. What neither of us knew was whether we could land on his building. The pilot turned on the landing light when we arrived, we could not land. He told the winch operator to lower the loop to test the wind. As he lowered it, you suddenly appeared. No one had to say anything, that was the end of the test. As soon as you were on board the pilot headed straight to the hospital. A medical team was waiting for you and a car for me.
    I quite sure you know what we found when we finally reached his apartment."
    I pushed the tray aside. "Yes. You found him dead, nude, spread-eagled in the middle of his bed with both veins in his neck cut with small precise incisions, just like all of his victims."
Rick removed my tray and replaced it with a stack of newspapers. The headlines read, 'Sky Top Serial Killer Found Dead.'
    "Can you believe it, the chief has been on TV five times already." He looked at his watch and walked to the door. "I have to run, see you in the office."
    A few days later, I went to the office with my arm in a sling and finished my report. Rick added my report to his and mailed them to headquarters. We reviewed the case from beginning to end several times, to see if we could have done it differently or if we could improve our methods for the next time. We finally decided we were still to personally involved to do a good critique. We would have to wait awhile or someone else would have to do it. We both knew it was a mistake for me to be the lead and Rick to be the backup, that was a reversal of our usual roles.
    An inexperienced detective should never be the lead, but I was the natural one to be the lead, I was a businessman flying from Chicago to New York on a regular basis. Why would you put anyone else on the case?
    The police did not have a clue, after five murders, not one. The only things in common among the five were, all were killed in the same manner, all were business men flying from Chicago to New York, all were found in rooms near the top of different hotels. Hence the media called him 'The Sky Top Killer'.
    We borrowed the first part as the case name. So many men flew that route on a regular basis, it was like looking for a needle in a hay stack. I didn't suspect Jerry, I considered him a friend until he made that statement about my being his nemesis. At the same time, I thought I had done something to scare him off, but to my surprise he continued the relationship.
    For some reason, Rick was suspicious of Jerry the first time he saw his name in my weekly report. He told me to continue the relationship. When Jerry insisted that I go to his apartment, Rick followed us. Seven more men died before he killed himself.
    Even then, the only link we had between Jerry and the dead men were tie pins and tie clasps, he had a very large collection. A few were identified by the next of kin.

    Well that raps up that story, go and find your mother and grandmother, I'm hungry, I would like to have some lunch."
    "Wait grandpa. Were you a systems analyst and a detective too?", asked Jane.
    "Yes, we found that as systems analysts, we could go many places and ask all kinds of questions without arousing suspicion. Rick got the idea after I finished a white collar crime case.
    I was a systems analyst with a large accounting firm in Chicago. Rick came to Chicago to recruit someone to help with a very difficult case. He needed someone who knew accounting and business operations and who was not known in New York. I was the only person on our staff who had never worked in New York, in fact, I had never been to New York.
    I was given a special leave to work with Rick, but I never returned to work in Chicago. I got the evidence Rick needed in less than two weeks, he could not believe it. Also, he could not believe the questions I asked to get what he needed without so much as a blink of an eye.
    He asked me to work on another case, I had the same success. I was not surprised, when Rick asked me to join the force. It was exciting and I liked it, so off I went to training school. When I was graduated, Rick had already set up a special branch office in New York, in cooperation with the Chicago firm that was my former employer, as a cover for our work.
    Everyone employed at the branch office was an undercover police officer, even the custodian on our floor. We never went into any police department and we never had any contact with uniformed officers. We never appeared in court, our names and faces were never in the newspapers, on radio, or TV."
    "Who was Rick?"
    "Rick was in charge of undercover operations. He adopted me, after my first case and we became very close friends. He almost blew the second case because he let his facial expression show surprise when I asked a question. He quickly recovered and the person I was interviewing didn't notice the change in his expression. After that episode, I had to explain for three days, that if questions were asked in a professional manner and worded in the proper way, no one will be suspicious. A third case convinced him. After that, when he worked a case, I was always his backup. When he was not working a case, I would be the backup for one of the other officers.
    After my training, I trained the others to be systems analysts and assistant auditors. Rick would be the project manager, I would be the auditor, and the other people on our staff would be my assistants. We would go into a company and perform an external audit, complete with all the reports and recommendations like a regular accounting firm, it was very professional.
    At the same time we gathered evidence to be use in court. Sometimes employees from other branch offices worked with us, not knowing what we were doing. It was an excellent cover."
    "Are you still a detective?"
    "No."
    "Are you still a systems analyst?"
    "No."
    "Why did you work, you certainly didn't need the money?"
    "No. Neither, I nor anyone in our family needs money. I'm sure you know what we do with our money."
    "Yes, we know," they said in unison. "Why did you work?"
    "To have something to do. I had not decided what I was going to do with my life. It was interesting and I enjoyed it."
    "Why did you commute from Chicago to New York?"
    "Well, at first the detective job was only temporary. Later it became apparent to me, that if I wanted time for myself and my family, I had to leave town."
    "Do you still have your pet rock?", asked Jimmy.
    "Certainly do."
    "Can I see it." I opened my collar and pulled a strap up until the soft leather pouch fell down in front of my shirt. I removed the rock and showed it to them. "Can I keep it."
    "Not yet, I'm not finished with it, but when I am, I will give it to you. It's a family tradition to give it from grandfather to grandson along with its story since J.C.Smith found it many years ago."
    "Will you tell us the story?"
    "How about after lunch, it's too long to tell now."
    "OK."
    "When will you be finished with the rock?"
    "I don't know, but I have a strange feeling that I still need it."
    "Why do you wear it around your neck?"
    "Because it's too heavy for my wrist, I'm not as strong as I used to be."
    I replaced the rock in its pouch and placed the pouch down inside my shirt. Jane and Jimmy ran to find the women. James and I proceeded to the dinning car at a much slower pace. During lunch the children told the women about the story and about the story I was going to tell. Everyone said they would like to hear the story, even James, who generally did not pay much attention to my stories. The children agreed to wake me after a short nap. I woke without assistance and waiting when the children came to tell me everyone was ready. We joined them at a large round table in the, now empty, dinning car.
    "Let me begin by reminding everyone about the oldest family tradition, the naming of our children. The first girl is named Jane and the first boy James, with the boys being called Jim, James, and Jimmy in that rotation for all succeeding generations. No child has ever had exactly the same full name as any proceeding generation.
    Well, J.C.Smith was called Jimmy and he didn't like the name. He didn't like his middle name, Carlton, either, so he signed his name J.C. Smith. Eventually, people began calling him JC and so did he. JC added more traditions than any other member. He started the tradition of supporting orphanages and passing the pet rock and its story to his grandson, plus some others you will recognize as I tell his story."

    As a young man JC was a drifter. After college, he worked in the family business for a while. He tried all the jobs in the business, from bookkeeper to janitor, but he soon became restless and left Chicago. He took any job he could find. When he had enough money, he moved to another town. Each move took him further west.
    While riding a train, he heard a story about the ride of a headless horseman. The story piqued his interest, so much so that he decided to check it out himself. He had more money than usual and instead of stopping at the next town he continued on until he reached a town where he could board a stagecoach that would take him to the town where the story was supposed to have taken place. The name of the town meant 'Nowhere' in Spanish.
    The journey to Nowhere was much farther than he thought and to pass the time, he asked people to tell him the story if they knew it. Each story was a little different. Instead of discouraging JC, it only increased his interest and his fear that no one would be alive who had witness parts of the story.
    After traveling all day without seeing a living thing, not even a hawk, it was very apparent, why the village had its name. They spent the night at a stagecoach company way station in a mining village north of Nowhere. At dinner JC asked, "Why did we stop so early, we still have four hours of daylight?" The station master answered, "The next well is in Nowhere and we will not reach it until after dark tomorrow."
    "A very good reason," JC thought to himself. The station master continued, "Nowhere is on a large low rise in the middle of the third step of the Devil's Stair Case, about a mile from the next step. No one knows how many steps because no one has ever reached the four step and from any place below only the mountains can be seen beyond the fourth step.
    The first three steps form a tongue, with the fourth step at its base, about five miles across about ten miles from the tip to the fourth step. The first two steps are well defined at the tip, but near the fourth step they merge into one steep incline on both sides of the tongue. The first three steps are fifty feet high at the tip.
    The fourth step is only thirty feet above the third step, but it forms an escarpment one hundred eighty feet high for five miles north and south of the tongue before it merges into the mountain range.
    The steps are nearly level, fairly smooth, and treeless. They slope gently from their edges toward the center and from the tip to the fourth step. The first two are about thirty yards wide at the tip, but narrow until they become one leg of the switch backs on the steep inclines and disappear at the dry river beds.
    Near the fourth step, the first step is wide enough for a railroad, but the second is barely wide enough for a wagon. The grade is so steep to reach the first step that an engine can only pull two cars at a time. Only ore trains from and supply trains to the mines use this track.
    West of Nowhere is the north entrance to a canyon in the fourth step. The canyon twists and turns in a giant loop for about thirty miles to its southern entrance just north of the south rim of the tongue. Two large box canyons and several small ones are along its course. The floor of the canyon is a dry river bed.
    The south entrance is very steep for the first half mile, but from there the dry river bed slopes gently all the way to the north entrance. The dry river flows from both entrances down the steep inclines on each side of the tongue next to the escarpment. They follow the base of the first step to the east and meet at the tip where a series of springs form a creek flowing to the east. As the creek grows into a river the fertility of the land changes with the size of the creek. The river makes a giant curve to the south east and forms a large valley with many farms and small villages." JC thanked him for the unasked information and went to bed.
    The stage coach left the mining village with the first rays of sunlight. The stage coach trail didn't have a straight stretch in it, if they weren't curving around a hill, they were going over one. The coach stopped at the incline in late afternoon. JC soon found out why. The switch backs were short and steep and everyone walked in front of the coach.
    Only then did JC notice that mules were pulling the coach and not horses. He didn't notice the long, hot, and dusty climb, checking the station master's description occupied his thoughts. A cool breeze greeted them at the top. JC looked down, "Isn't that an odd place for a cemetery?"
    "The bed rock is only a foot below the surface, so the people of Nowhere use the closest suitable spot," answered the driver. When the mules were rested, they continued.
    The station master was right, it was dark when they reached Nowhere, the twilight ended quickly when the sun set behind the mountains. The inn keeper gave JC the best room, after he said, "I'm staying for the summer."
    JC went for an early morning walk and saw the coach off. He enjoyed watching the village wake up. After the coach left, JC inspected a partially salvaged house and observed a home being repaired.
    "So that's how they build them." Ten inch tiers of flat rock were stacked in two rows next to each other. The next layer of flat rock held one edge of a clay strip, the rest hung down the outside of each row. Where the strips met, wet hands worked the bottom edge until it joined with the clay strip below. The strips were a half inch thick and a foot long, with the width varying according to the clay layer used.
    The roof logs were laid from one wall to the other. Clay shingles were overlapped on the top of the logs after scraps of clay leveled the surface. The very little top soil was easily removed exposing a very dense clay layer underneath which made an excellent floor.
    Nowhere consisted of a mission, an inn, a carpenters shop, a general store, a livery, twenty homes, many empty houses, and between the mission and the inn, a well. The buildings did not have any particular orientation except for the inn and the livery, they faced each other on opposite sides of the stage coach trail. All were small, built of stacked rocks and clay, with a lot of space around each one, because each builder used the rocks nearby, making the village very sprawling.
    Behind the livery, several stables contained mules with a manure pile and a compost pile in back of them. All organic refuse from the village was composted and spread on the grazing fields. The livery had three horses and many empty stalls. Farming was a communal affair and their mules were house at the stables long with those of the stage coach company.
    Only four families had children, the inn keeper, the store keeper, the carpenter, and the livery owner. The others were older and their children had left. As with all villages, it had dogs, cats, and chickens. If JC had any doubts about the local economy, they were soon dispelled. Everyone worked from sunrise to sunset. When each finished the work they had to do for that day they joined the others drawing water and hauling it to irrigate the fields. The physically able did the heavy work, the others led the mule drawn wagons to the fields and drained the barrels into the irrigation ditches. Many of these people would have only one meal a day by spring time. They had to sell what little food they had left to buy fire wood to keep from freezing. This village was extremely poor.
    After his morning walk, JC was in a mood to barter for his room and board. When he approached the inn keeper, JC could not barter, the price was so low, he was ashamed to agree to it. With a poker face, "I'll pay in advance if you put a rocking chair on the porch for me," and left to barter with the livery owner. Again he couldn't, he paid for the summer. He returned to the inn, a rocking chair with a padded back and seat was on the porch, he paid the inn keeper. JC was in a very jovial mood, he still had half of his money.
    He sat in the rocking chair planning his next move. A waste of time because his routine evolved without much thought or effort. He rode around the countryside each morning, helped the people with odd chores during the afternoon, and sat on the porch after dinner. Meals were supposed to be served at a precise time, but after two weeks, he was considered a very special guest and a member of the family, he could eat at anytime.
    The inn keeper's wife was so happy to have an easy to please and helpful guest that she did almost anything for him. He ate anything she served and he did not care if his shirts were ironed or not. He helped with the kitchen chores and the laundry, he drew and carried water.
    JC was in no hurry to do anything, he didn't even introduce himself to the people, he didn't have to, eventually everyone introduced themselves to him. They wanted to meet a person who was crazy enough to stay in Nowhere for a summer.
    JC didn't talk very much, he listened. The villagers told him any and everything that came to mind, they were happy to have someone who would listen to them. Most told the story of their life or of other people they knew. In a short time he was a friend to everyone in the village and knew everything about everyone who lived in the village back to the time of the headless horseman.
    The people soon learned that his main interest was the story of the headless horseman and they told him what they knew. More chairs were put on the porch as more people gathered each night to hear the others contribution.
    The old priest and the grandmother of the livery owner knew the most and they became regular evening story tellers. Their stories confirmed earlier ones. After a new story, JC tried to find the location of where it occurred to see if he could find anything that would support or deny the story. He found many artifacts, facilities, and features to support the stories or at least allowed the stories to be plausible, he didn't find anything to invalidate the stories.
    The mission was involved in the stories the priest told, so JC helped repair the mission during the afternoon, he could check anything without appearing to be nosy. The priest retired many years ago, but he decided to stay when he learned he would not be replaced. He could not leave his people whom he had known for so long without a priest. He was completely dependent upon the villagers for everything, he did not receive any outside support, he was truly as poor as a church mouse.
    The bell tower was involved somehow, but no one knew exactly how. JC offered to replace the old wooden ladder and the bell rope, so the bell could ring again. He waited almost a month to get the lumber. The carpenter sent an order with the stage coach driver, it came once a week, the lumber was delivered by a freight wagon from the mines after they had enough orders to justify a trip, and the wagon took corn, beans, oats, wheat, eggs, chickens, and mutton back to the miners.
    The carpenter helped JC, it really was the other way around. When JC told him what he wanted to do with the lumber, he offered his assistance.
    When the lumber arrived, they loaded the lumber on to a small wagon and delivered it to the mission. The carpenter looked at the bell tower several times, "I should've looked at it when you asked me to order the lumber. The original builders must have built the tower around the ladder. I think a narrow spiral stair case would be safer. I'm sure I have enough lumber at the shop along with what you have purchased to do the job." JC agreed.
    When they were done, the people were pleased to hear the mission bell call them to church again and JC was glad they built the staircase. He liked the view from the bell tower and he felt much safer going up and down the staircase.
    He went there often, when he was tired of everything else, when he wanted to be alone, or when he wanted to review what he had learned about the story. His thoughts seemed to come much easier, up there.
    JC was sure the bell tower was not built like other mission bell towers. The walls were very thick and stones were placed on the inside edge, they could not be seen from below. "Why would anyone place stones at the top of a bell tower."
    He thought about it every time he was up there. It puzzled him, many things puzzled him. He wondered why the people were hauling water to the fields, there had to be an easier way. It puzzled him that they had not found an easier method, but he could not think of one, either.
    As he looked over the village, it was easy to understand why it was built here and why the buildings did not have any particular orientation, the gentle slope of the rise kept the water out of their homes when it rained, the doors were on the down hill side.
    JC looked at the fields. A stacked rock fence three feet high ran north and south from one edge to the other. The fields were east of the wall, the village, the trail, and unused land were west of it. Another wall ran, perpendicular to it at the center, all the way to the tip of the step. North of it sheep grazed, south of it, crops were growing, only a fraction of the land was in production. Several wooden gates provided access to the fields. The flat stones were stacked so carefully that a person could run on top of the wall and not move the stones. Ancient people had lived and farmed this land.
    The grandmother told stories involving both inclines, the railroad, and the base of the first step. JC explored them and the area around the base of the tongue, the station master was very accurate. The spring snow melt carved a series of falls and rapids in the dry river bed down both inclines, with many ledges and dry pools. Some switch backs on both inclines curved very close to the dry river beds.
    The base of each step contained many shallow caves. Above the caves, the walls were solid and steep. The only loose rock was at the tip of the tongue, where a vertical vein of cracked rock, about ten feet wide, ran from the top to the bottom.
    A thick horizontal layer of dense clay cut through the vein at the base of each step Only when a piece of clay from one layer was placed next to one from another was a difference in color noticeable.
    The springs came out of the base of the first step where the vein and the clay met, just beneath the surface of a small pool. Rock falling from the vein created many narrow ledges and formed a notch in the tip of the tongue. A low, stacked rock and clay retaining wall prevented falling rock from rolling on to the tracks.
    JC tested one story by lowering himself from the top of the third step to the railroad tracks, he was amazed how easy it was. With only a short piece of rope and a small fire place log, split in half, he went down in less than an hour.
    He tied a loop at the center of the log, wedged the log, flat side down, into a horizontal crack in the rock or placed in on a ledge so rope hung through a vertical crack in the rock. Using the loop for one hand and the ledges for his feet, he moved up or down without much more effort than climbing a ladder. The loop provided a firm hand hold when his fingers might have slipped from the rock.
    When he reached the tracks he checked the retaining wall again, it was trying to tell him something, he could feel it. He checked for cracks, none. He checked for changes in color, none. He picked up a loose railroad spike and removed the rock and sand from one end of the wall, down to the dense clay layer.
    "That's odd, the clay on the wall is not the same color as the layer. Why would the builders import clay to make the wall when there was plenty of clay all around the edge of the step?"
    He solved one puzzle only to find another. He pushed the sand and rock back into the hole with his feet and returned to the top. As the story came together, it was obvious that someone had reached the top of the fourth step. Instead of searching the tongue any longer, he turned his attention to the canyon.

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