Elephant Park

By Alex Park

In a nearly forgotten trailer Park on the Gulf Coast of Florida, a cashiered Iraq war hero, Brody, struggles to help the unlikely and mostly unlucky residents even as he strives to find love and some peace. Nearby is an elephant rehab park, run by two women who are partners, operating it with virtually no money. Roxy, who has a poetry degree, is even a stripper at a roadside dive to help support them and their four old circus elephants.
Brody’s struggle intensifies when the owners tell him they are shutting the park down to make more money building beachfront condos, and he isn’t allowed to tell anyone. The park is inhabited by some bikers, single parents desperately making ends meet while raising children, some couples that have lost the American Dream, a few lucky retirees with pensions, engineers and technical people, a lot of mostly ignored teens and kids, even a group of New York City Jews. Things get even worse when a huge hurricane runs right over them, wrecking half the park. One of the women of the elephant park and an elephant are lost, leaving Roxy to care for the place with no money.
Meanwhile, Brody has finally found happiness with Tomsin, a college student with a big secret. In the Prologue, we find a luxury yacht marooned in an old canal next to the park after a hurricane. Independently wealthy, Igor & Allyson are famous for a novel they wrote. They are casually sailing around the world, their son safely in Paris with Nadine, a lover to them both. Their stories are explained in a first novel, Running From the Paranoids, 2004, available in print. The second book in a series, Elephant Park also stands alone.
Both of them decide to stay a while under the guise of being shipwrecked, but they have found something curious and worthwhile to do in helping rescue the park and its people. Igor grew up with a biologist mother, and is very familiar with elephants from his time in Thailand with her. He is an eccentric, gleefully so, sometimes talking of Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle as a way of life, and it is Allyson, a stunning Swedish beauty and actress, who keeps him grounded.
Quietly, and with Brody’s subtle leadership, and the help of a few oddly educated bikers who are construction workers, a miscreant NY engineer named Michaelmas, a Italian contractor, and some drifting Cuban field workers they get the Elephant Park back on its feet. They rescue the trailer park people from an evangelical church where they seek refuge from the storm, and gradually make life tolerable again in the ruined park. FEMA nor anyone else helps them, just Igor’s money, given mostly anonymously.
Not everyone returns after the wreckage, some parents leave their kids behind, new families and supports are created in the wreckage of the park. Tomsin’s mother, a raving beauty in her own right, is deeply involved, as she is both a biology teacher and a private jet host with a keen business sense and an ability with languages— and another hidden secret. Two of the abandoned teens go to live with Roxy in her refurbished house and work with the elephants, creating another odd family
But they are left with a dilemma: the park must be vacated, what is left of it. Allyson comes up with the simple idea of relocating the trailer park to the elephant land, which is abundant, and paying Roxy rent to make her solvent. Brody turns out to be quite a Robin Hood character, and decides to steal the good trailers left, and move them to elephant land. But how? Easy, says Igor, the elephants will haul them. The owners are left to believe the storm has destroyed everything, which delights them, saving them trouble. We learn a bit of Brody’s tactics in Iraq, and his Robin Hood activities there too.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alex Park
• Release date: May 25, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466181779

Alex Park

Raised in Upstate NY, I have lived in New York City at times, New Haven, Ct, Lenox, Ma, and Juarez, Mexico among other places. Bachelor's in history, English, and biology from the University of Buffalo. I come from a long line of writers stretching back several hundred years.I like to examine the unlikely but possible in fiction instead. I developed an eccentric chracter, Igor Prince, from an ex-pat German faimily, who lives in NYC. He is wealthy, dissolute, totally unfocused, has come up with the bizzare idea of trying to live his life according to Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle, a physics law. Igor can be pretty funny too. He is rescued in the first book of this trilogy by a struggling actress, Allyson. (Running From the Paranoids, 2004) She brings focus to his life while delighting in some of the absurdities Igor revels in. Without his knowledge, but with the encouragement of a wide group of friends, she writes a connective narrative for his humorous short stories, and publishes it, creating a huge success for each of them, The Pan-Galactic Amusement Park. In the last chapter they sail to Sweden and Finland.New York is the perfect setting for such a character, and I've always enjoyed my time there. Also, my writing incorporates the art world a great deal, and I'm an amatuer painter. I also enjoy long distance sailing, and would love to casually sail aroud the world, as I have Igor And Allyson doing in my newest book, Elephant Park.Humor is important to me, the relations between people, I try to make some political points because I'm involved with politics as much as possible. Ecology matters too, so that's included into Elephant Park, as well as current events. There is a hurricane in the Gulf Coast, the BP oil spill is in the background, returning war veterans, finacial hardships for the middle class, and my experience in real estate, specifically mobile homeparks.I am are well seved by reading whenever I can. Randomness is the Great Dictator of life.

Book preview

ELEPHANT PARK

By

Alex Park

Copyright 2011 by Alexander W. Park

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase and additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All characters in this novel are fictitious. Allyson Olafsson and Igor Prince are characters from a previous novel, Running From the Paranoids, and Elephant Park is the second novel in this series. Kari and Nathan Tryphon are characters from another novel, Count of Chaos, both soon to become Smashwords editions.

Take my advice and live for long, long time because the maddest thing a man can do in this life is to let himself die.

Cervantes, from Don Quixote

Imagination is more important than knowledge.

Einstein

Chapter 1: Prologue

The roiling clouds were fading away with the high winds and rain after the storm and now there was only a mist in the air, enough to keep everything not already soaked damp. Brody looked around blearily from the porch of the office, which was attached to a model unit where he also lived. He was dead tired from the last two days of the storm evacuating residents although he’d just woken up after passing out at the peak of the storm. His Jeep wagon was in a ditch on its side where it had tried to drown him. Everywhere he looked was a disaster—what were they calling it—Hurricane Kari, another K for God’s sake. There was mud where blacktop should’ve been, mud where grass should have been, nothing at all in the flowerbeds he’d so mindlessly planted and tended.

At least his place was intact, a little better built and placed for permanency where nothing was for long on a small rise not far from the old canal. He could see Mrs. Kirby’s unit was knocked off its cinderblock foundations and the vinyl skirting torn away exposing the ugly plumbing underneath. At least he’d turned off everyone’s propane so there were no leaks. Her garden was gone too except for the bushes. But the pink flamingos stood firm in their cliché. She was safe in town at the school like most of them, he’d driven her there himself like so many others. In a way he was grateful he couldn’t see most of the park, the office was more situated to see who was coming in and going out and display the model, not the park itself.

What caught his interest was the canal, that old stinking canal with no name that he knew that smelled bad from decay when the wind was wrong, dug sometime around 1905 or 10 to bring sugar from the old mill a mile away from somewhere to nowhere to market.

He liked fishing the canal through its fetid scum sometimes, although across 50 yards or so was really much better, where there were glorious palm trees at the top of the white sand beach fronting the ocean that was the park’s major attraction. He could catch a red snapper there sometimes. Many of the palms were knocked down, broken, or bent, but Brody wasn’t worried about them, they’d come back quickly, they were native not like in LA.

As Brody surveyed his domain what he was looking at was not the destruction so much but the large yacht in his canal, which went nowhere except four miles to town and was landlocked although still pretty deep. It wasn’t altogether silted in where the packet boats had run a hundred years earlier. He could only dimly suppose the boat came from the Gulf, over the palms, and was responsible for knocking down many of them. It shouldn’t have been there, and it annoyed him, but, nevertheless, there was a sleek black sloop scarcely a hundred feet from Brody’s porch in his canal where there should have been a wooden plank bridge wide enough for trucks. And what’s more, there was a large man walking around on the deck wearing dirty white shorts and a Hawaiian shirt with rather long dirty blonde hair tied back and was looking about as perplexed as Brody felt himself. A boat where there were no boats but the occasional rotting rowboat.

Resigned, he put on his yellow rain coat over his shirt, automatically dropped his phone in a pocket, forgetting the cell towers had been knocked down, along with a flashlight even if it was daylight. He pulled on his muddy boots and dropped quite a few airline bottles of tequila that Jackie the Jet Blue stewardess still dropped off even though she’d taken up with a pilot after sleeping with him a few times over a year ago, never mentioning it.

As he clumped through the mud he began to appreciate the fine hull of the sloop and knew this no ordinary sailing yacht, not even Pearson or Sabre or C & C, but something infinitely better, perhaps a Beneteau, and he grew intrigued despite his fatigue. The large man seemed not to notice Brody as he stood ten feet from the bank, seemingly obsessed by tying lines to the trees or stumps to secure the boat, and clearing the tangle on deck.

Hey! What are you doing here? he asked the man, who seemed rather a giant up close, although Brody was six one himself.

The man looked up cannily, unsurprised. Why? Am I parked in the red zone? Perhaps I could have been just caught in a hurricane, he offered obliquely in a gruff voice. Philosophically, we’ve been traveling.

Perplexed, Brody asked, What were you doing in a hurricane?

Why, trying to get away from it, man, isn’t everyone? he answered in a strong but quiet voice.

But you’re here, pointed out Brody.

Well, it didn’t work out, did it? But we’re OK. Need some help? I’m Igor von Prince, he said as he nimbly hopped ashore with another line.

Numb, Brody helped Igor loop the line around an oak automatically, for at least he seemed to know what he was doing. They pulled it back as a spring line to the stern around a winch that was still there, and Brody could see the transom. He was pondering the name, both the boat and the owner’s. It said Atavist, from NYC. Are you Igor von Prinz, the writer? he asked. You’re not what I expected.

I never expected myself either, said Igor loudly, But maybe Heisenberg did.

I think I arranged it, said a throaty broken voice from the cabin, its owner unseen. Except for the shipwreck.

It’s not a shipwreck! Merely a way station of sorts.

Of course. Perhaps the right time, and right place, agreed Brody agreeably for lack of any other coherence. That last wave wiped out most of the park I work for, with the storm surge. He noted that Igor seemed pretty confident for someone who was sort of shipwrecked and unknowingly landlocked. Your rigging took a toll.

Heisenberg said you couldn’t have both! And we don’t really have any rigging, do we?

We have before, drawled the sensuous voice from the cabin.

Vaguely Brody recalled from the book that Igor’s main character, Arnold, had been obsessed with the German physicist’s Uncertainly Principle as a way of living, which was insane. The mast, boom, most of the rigging, and railings were all missing. Together they looked over the boat from shore. Near the cockpit in the rear was a short mast where Igor had kept a wind generator, and it seemed intact, but the generator was gone.. The canvas cover over the cockpit was gone, along with its solar cells. The lifeboat was safely lashed down in its container in back of the mast under about a hundred lines. He wondered how Igor had ever intended to escape that way should it have been necessary. He assumed the sails were below decks. The front bowsprit was torn away, probably from a tree, and most of the lifelines and stanchions were ripped apart, along with pieces of the deck, although everything still seemed watertight. Altogether, the impression Brody had was one of remarkable seamanship in passing over an entire beach with its palms nearly unscathed in forty-foot storm surges, or an incredible fluke of luck. Later he was to learn that Igor was luckiest man alive. Even as he felt shaky, he calmly dug up a bottle of tequila from his pocket and passed it to Igor. Without looking, Igor cracked it open and drained it with satisfaction. He handed him another. Same thing. Brody was still on his first. Igor tossed his in the canal casually. He handed over another.

Ah…the makings of a Zorro, he finally offered.

What’s a Zorro?

I’ll show you sometime, and he clapped an arm around Brody’s shoulder that nearly caused him to slip off the muddy bank. Seems I’ll be here a few days. He lit a Camel non-filter, incongruously dry, looking about eagerly. Brody was left standing helplessly. He had the inescapable impression that Igor merely felt he was on vacation instead of stranded in a canal in Florida with a half-wrecked boat after a hurricane.

What struck Brody was that Igor, having survived an incredibly major storm unscathed, appeared to be enjoying himself as if it were just another adventure, routine almost, while casually awaiting the next act, whereas most sailors would talk about it all their lives. But he saw Igor’s keen observation of his boat as he walked about, keeping him in a friendly embrace while walking through the grassy ooze of the canal bank.

It’s a Nautor Swan, built in Finland for me, before you ask, said Igor, although Brody hadn’t asked, but he was intrigued by the yacht’s overall quality and beauty even with rigging and stainless steel stays cut and broken. She was neatly tied off in the canal by now, looking perfectly at home, as if an ocean-going yacht deserved to be in a swampy inland canal, nearly filling its whole width.

Now, do you need any help? insisted Igor looking over the doublewide that served as Brody’s office, a model, and his home surrounded by giant trees overhead stripped of leaves and small branches, wreckage all about.

Breaking free of Igor’s friendly grip, Brody handed Igor a fourth bottle as he borrowed the Camel. It’s a beautiful boat. But what the hell were you doing out there in a freaking hurricane? I mean, like everyone else ran to port or to sea. The whole trailer park’s a freaking mess…like I’m glad you’re fine, but what the hell? I don’t even know where some of my tenants are! Brody’s nerves had finally fractured from days of too little sleep and too much work. He threw his airline bottle into to the algae muck of the canal and stood helplessly. It couldn’t have gotten any worse.

And then a distinctly feminine voice rang out. "I’ll tell you what he was doing…he was looking at a Beethoven and Wagner festival from Germany on satellite and conducting it while wearing tails sometimes, and cooking great meals for two days, all at some ear-splitting volume as the weather got steadily worse. Then I finally checked the weather and we high-tailed it for the open sea but couldn’t make it even with the engine. I have an idiot as a captain. Then she added in a different voice, Of course it’s my fault too. We were having fun."

Ah, but you are a skilled navigator, interjected Igor quickly.

But not always a diligent one, she admitted. Hey! You’re Brody? I’m Allyson, she said cheerfully.

So it did get worse. As Allyson emerged from the cabin, Brody could see she was one of the most stunning women he’d ever seen in person, her long blonde hair accented with orange emerging from the cabin way, Othello’s strawberry handkerchief, her white sweatshirt and black bikini bottom, barefoot. He was stunned as she talked on a bit cheerfully, flexing her legs, and Igor just smiled knowingly. Brody knew he was staring.

There, there, said Igor squeezing him tighter around the shoulders, We’ll help you out.

It just didn’t make any sense. These odd stranded sailors wanted to help him. He wasn’t stranded, although his life was in disarray, the park, and everything else. A freaking disaster. Oddly detached, Brody listened to the friendly banter between Allyson and Igor even as he wondered what to do. He was having impure thoughts about Allyson too, from looking at her long legs and thighs barely covered.

So it had to happen: Roxy emerged from the undergrowth, crying hysterically. She was all of maybe five foot five, her dark hair only to her shoulders, her brown tee shirt and safari shorts and boots covered in mud as she practically paddled up to Igor and Brody.

It’s Jody! she kept screaming, It’s Jody! Molly fell on her! She can’t talk! She collapsed in front of Brody, holding him around the waist as she struggled for breath and sanity.

Igor was confused. Who’s Molly?

An elephant, yelled Brody as he pulled Roxy to her feet and started following her in the chaos of mud, slime, and undergrowth. What else could he do? Igor ran after him. Allyson, admiral of her domain, watched as the three of them ran down a slippery path roughly along the canal before disappearing. An elephant was definitely worth it she knew. Days had been stranger, really much stranger. Brody seemed a decent sort, for she’d been listening all along, if a bit shell-shocked about a little thing like a hurricane. She sat on the cabin top after catching an airline bottle from Brody, lightly hopping ashore and back again, not quite comfortable with land yet. She had a disheartening feeling the day would get weirder.

Roxy proved lightening quick in her panic but Igor easily kept up with her as they jogged about half a mile through undergrowth twisted and torn and mud covered with the exhausted Brody following behind. The air stank of decay but felt fresh all the same, revitalizing to Igor who dreaded what he might see. Brody only thought Dear god, what next? How many disappointments can a man take, he wondered even as he knew the answer: plenty.

Jody was gone, half covered in mud, her feet under Molly, who was also dead. It was clear to Igor and Brody what had happened as Roxy jabbered on incoherently. Jody had been probably been riding on Molly, and she had slipped in the mud near the canal, fallen on top of Jody, and they had drowned in the flood of storm surge. Igor guessed she had tried to pull herself up with her trunk that lay wrapped around a giant palm, torn from the ground upon them. Molly had done her best.

Igor was as overwhelmed by grief as Roxy for different reasons, his father, but he didn’t show it. Roxy, at first holding on to Brody’s arm, watched sobbing as Igor went to Jody’s limp body, checking for a pulse, gently brushing her muddy hair from her face. He brushed her blue eyes closed, the hair from her face, and shook his head. He pulled a water bottle from his jacket and gently washed her face clean, and he did it with great reverence, like he had done it before. She seemed a toughly built woman in her twenties with blonde hair, pretty and relaxed in death. He tried vainly to pull her from under Molly but couldn’t. Then he paused at Molly’s giant head, patting her gently, looking into her huge eye, and felt only grief.

Suddenly the storm was becoming real to him. They would never see tears in the mist.

Igor saw them looking at him.

Roxy was crying uncontrollably, holding Brody. But if Igor was unsurprised by the elephant, he was equally unsurprised by the others. Brody felt connected with him and realized he was dealing with an impressive character, for he knew Igor was looking at the other three elephants that had quietly gathered around them. He knew one of them had killed a circus worker years before, but couldn’t remember which, but she had never been punished because of the abuse she’d suffered. He wasn’t afraid anymore. He really didn’t care. Brody had rarely been this close to them, had never ventured into the park before like this, only a few times with Tomsin when they had fed Molly by hand. Tomsin was fearless around animals. By himself he used to go up to the fence and watch them from at a distance. He watched Igor walk up unafraid to the huge matriarch, an Indian, and stand there unafraid.

Roxy stopped crying in the fading breeze. Igor and the elephant stared at each other. Slowly her trunk reached out towards him as they watched fascinated. When it reached Igor he gripped it, and blew into her trunk, and let go. She stood peering at him a minute with her smaller friends behind her, and they in turn came up to Igor, and he did the same thing. Brody was fascinated. He knew Jody and Roxy were skilled with elephants, but this shipwrecked sailor amazed him. Igor next went back to Jody as the elephants watched. He waited.

Slowly the new matriarch came over to her dead friend running her trunk over her, and her friends did too, more circumspectly. It was almost religious. Igor crouched near Jody, looking at her. Gradually they organized themselves. The big one slowly wrapped her trunk around a front leg of Molly, and with two trunks around each rear leg, and they slid their friend away from Jody’s body. Igor covered her with his rain slicker, but left her on the ground. He drew back the blue slicker and gently washed Jody’s face again with water, and arranged her hair. He pulled the white towel from around his neck and wrapped it beneath her head before covering her again. He treated her with utmost tenderness although he hadn’t known her. The three elephants kept running their trunks over Molly, occasionally reaching to Igor and Jody as he crouched there. Igor barely noticed when their trunks touched him or Jody gently, not much more than a cat’s whisker. There was a quiet noise they couldn’t place as they stomped there feet restlessly. Igor walked over to them.

I’m more sorry than you could know. He took yet another airline bottle of something from Brody, tilted Roxy’s head up, and forced it down her throat. Then again. She choked but didn’t resist, looking up at him in shock. Igor picked her up, cradling her as if she were a child, and started trudging off towards the Atavist and the trailer park with Brody numbly following, unsure of what he’d seen. Igor carried Roxy effortlessly, this woman he had met lees than an hour before, as she if was a precious burden, and he felt relief. Then he realized that they had left Jody’s body behind.

Igor read his mind. The other elephants won’t let anything happen to her, meaning scavenging animals.

When they reached the boat Brody could see that Allyson had cleaned up more, and was waiting for them sitting on the cabin top for the view. There were still stanchions and stays lying loose and broken around the dirty deck. She didn’t seem a bit surprised that Igor was carrying the half-unconscious girl as he walked nimbly up the gangplank she’d rigged while he was gone. In the main cabin Igor let Roxy down and she gratefully reached out to Allyson who held her without question, who seemed completely unconcerned that Roxy was covering her white sweatshirt in mud and grime. She led Roxy away as Brody sat at the table. Igor busied himself in the various cabinets as Brody sank into himself looking at the luxurious furniture-like cabin, its sinks and precise galley, copper pots neatly hung, maybe a few missing, a few splinters here and there, but everything glowing almost immaculate from Allyson’s labor. Between the galley and the stairs he could see the navigator’s station. The deck was only dirty from Roxy’s muddy footprints, everything else was immaculate, in some order, more than he felt. He took off his boots and threw them ashore, barefoot now.

Igor obviously had everything. At a glance, Brody saw radar, satellite receivers, telephones, a DVD A/V system, anything he could think of. The electrical and engine panels he imagined were obscured. The light was bright but not annoying. Fatigue crept upon him as Igor brought a bottle of some scotch he’d never heard of with a few glasses. He was preparing a syringe. She needs to sleep, she’s in shock, he said unnecessarily.

Brody was in shock, and lit a Camel as Igor went forward, and he didn’t normally smoke. Behind him he saw steps descending behind the navigator’s station to another cabin or an engine room he imagined, next to the cabin steps in the opposite direction. The main cabin was covered in beautiful cherry wood, a few small paintings incredibly screwed on walls. Igor came back and sat at the table across from him, smiling lamely, filling a glass. She’s asleep.

He had no way of knowing that Allyson had gently stripped the muddy girl, careless of herself, and tenderly held her up after tearing off her own sweatshirt and clothes, supporting her in the hot shower with their last fresh water in the tank until they could make more, soaping her all over for the first time in days, washing her hair and then her own, wrapping her in heavy towels and herself too. She half carried her limp frame in the bow cabin with its private head so Brody wouldn’t see them nearly naked, and wrapped her arms under a soft comforter barely damp. Allyson noted that Roxy had an athlete’s body, in fantastic shape. Igor came in and gave an injection of liquid valium into Roxy’s arm, and Allyson finally fell asleep again with Roxy in her arms, still tired from the past two days.

Igor sat across from Brody, sipped some scotch. He didn’t seem very tired after an effort that made Brody tired thinking about it. Dimly he realized Mozart was playing softly throughout the boat, and he had no idea what anything was anymore. Who was this guy?

Well, said Igor finally. So this is Florida. Haven’t been here in a long time. Tell me what you don’t like about your life.

Brody remained immobile but fell silent in the afternoon. So did Igor and the elephants. He had a feeling that despite the park closing, now partially wiped out, Jody dead, that things were going to be really different from now on. He fell asleep at the table.

Chapter 2: The Beginning

The palm trees swayed with a rhythm on the sandy beach and the cypress trees behind them in the occasional swampy hollow and nobody cared, but it was near the coast, and that was all that mattered.

Brody often hid on the private side porch of his doublewide manufactured home where he cultivated a soft green lawn that sloped down to the usually noxious canal. The front part was mostly an office, and the mailboxes were in front, and tenants were always parking and talking to him and complaining and hopefully leaving. The green lawn couldn’t be seen from the long half paved, half dirt road leading to the trailer park, or from anywhere except the porch around the corner. He could look all around him towards the ocean and canal side, the highest elevation nearby of maybe twenty feet above sea level, and see the bright sun breaking through the old cypress trees dressed in Spanish moss and the palms in the distance.

But he couldn’t see the ocean, nor could he smell it for the rank canal covered in algae, its banks really keeping out the end of a swamp, not keeping the canal in. Nobody knew the name of the canal or cared, it had been built around 1910 to move sugar cane.

Not normally a voyeur, but who wouldn’t look at the girl with the long soft brown hair half way down her back as she languorously enticed her boyfriend in her white bikini? He only wanted to see how far they would go, and besides, they had invaded his private domain, for the yard was strictly his, in the contract with the owners, whoever they were anymore. He had really no privacy.

It was past five and he was tired of the Niederhoffers, an old couple from Queens that didn’t belong in a trailer park and probably not anywhere in Florida for that matter. She was about four foot nothing and he’d gone over to their single and fixed the water heater pilot light while she made him espresso when he really wanted a drink. He’d had to admire their garden of a few tomato plants, petunias, and marigolds and nod at pictures of their children, one of whom wasn’t bad, but she lived in Cleveland.

But that was the deal, customer service. Mr. Ramunajan, an Indian real estate agent, interviewing him for the job, had said, Mr. Brody, he’d gone on in his sing song, ignoring his last name, The name of the game is customer service. You must be nice to the clients. They could always move to another park, and then where would we be? he asked expectantly like Brody was going to answer.

And you must sell too. I see from your resume you sold cars, so surely you can sell a few homes and rent some lots, OK? But you must also screen the prospects, you cannot rent to men who ride motorcycles with tattoos, they are always manufacturing drugs, right?

I’m sure they could be, but isn’t that illegal to discriminate?

Do not worry about that. I am a real estate agent, and I work for the investors who own this facility. And I know the sheriff and the DA for the county, so we will have no problems, OK? He waited while Brody eagerly nodded. "It is