A Warriors Road: The Life of an Independent Criminal

By Marvin Wines

MEET LUTHER WISE. A SMALL TOWN NATIVE AMERICAN BOY GROWING UP IN THE BACK WOODS OF THE UNITED STATES. A ROUGH, RAW STORY THAT IS NOT ONLY TRUE, BUT SCARY AND HEARTBREAKING AT THE SAME TIME. FROM WITNESSING A MURDER AT THE AGE 13, TO THE DARK ROAD OF CRIME HE CHOSE TO WALK, HIS STORY WILL PULL YOU IN AND MAKE YOU WANT TO KNOW MORE. GRITTY, BUT HEARTFELT, HE TELLS THE STORY OF HIS LIFE AND THE WARRIORS ROAD HE CHOSE TO WALK....THOSE HE LEFT BEHIND AND THOSE THAT GOT LOST ALONG THE WAY.....THIS BOOK WILL TOUCH THE DARKNESS INSIDE US ALL, BUT GRAB YOUR HEART WITH THE TRUTH OF A LIFE LIVED ON A DARK ROAD...YOU WILL FEEL SHOCK, ANGER AND PASSION, BUT MOST OF ALL YOU WILL SEE THAT NO MATTER HOW DARK THE PATHS YOU WALK ARE, WE ALL HAVE THE POWER TO CHANGE............

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 22, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463435035

Marvin Wines

Mr. Wines was born on the shores of the Shannandor River in the lover’s state of Virginia. Raised wildly, he learned to live freely in the southern states of the East Coast. He spent the last twenty five years of his life bouncing in and out of one sort of CDC system or another. He ended doing time many place all up and down the West Coast. Unlike others, Wines learned from his past and has made a new life for himself. What he would like you, the reader, to take from reading about his life is that bad can become good. Hurt can be healed. And no matter who you are, or what you’ve done, you chose What road you walk……………

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Prologue

Well Here I Sit, Alone In This Cabin. Listing To The Cold Winds Flowing Off The High Sierras Like A Torrent River After A Two Day Rain.

Straining My Sense Of Hearing To Near Superhuman Ability, Trying To Catch Death Whispering My Name. My Death Song Lingers On My Lips. Thinking, If This Is The End Let It Be Fast.

Ha, I Laugh Out Loud. I’m A Warrior. My Death Will Be How I Want It. And Whoever Comes To Collect My Bounty Better Be Prepared To Pay The Highest Price.

I Know They Are Out There. Waiting Behind The Tall Knotty Pines And Gnarled White Oaks That Dot My Mountain Paradise Retreat. Hanging On My NextMove, Wondering If I’ll Surrender. Hoping I Won’t.

Surrounding My Small Cabin Like Wolves Circling Their Next Meal, A Chance, Their Only Chance, To Take Me Out. Knowing If They Don’t Wait Patiently They’ll Miss Their Chance, They’ll Go Hungry.

And I’ll slip Through the Woods like Fog rolling Off the Lake in Early Morning Spring.

They crept in the early morning hours, before the sun topped the peaks of my beautiful mountain home.

Thinking maybe, just maybe, they could sneak up on me. Taking me by surprise. Ha!!! What a Joke.

I’m better than that. They were lucky to make it this close, almost caught me slippin’. But when they got close, I knew. You see this is my land. My grounds. In simple terms, they’re trespassing into my world.

Who are they you ask? The government, the feds. Mr. F.B.I. Himself. Now, I bet you’re also wondering who I am. And depending on which side of the fence you stand on your probably wondering what kind of man brings out the finest U.S. Ambassadors to his front, and back, door step.

Well colla[1], that’s a tale that has to be, no, needs to be told indeed. It’s my life, The memory that keeps running through my mind over and over again. So why don’t we keep these bastards waiting a little longer. They’re not going anywhere anytime soon. And neither am I, at least not yet.

Chapter One… .

My name is Luther Wise. But everyone calls me Thumper. I’m of Native American / Mexican descent. Captain Jack runs through my blood and my clan is of the deer.

I also consider myself a F.B.I. Full Blooded Indian. Hell, the only thing a Mexican is, is an Indian with an identity crisis, Just keeping it real.

Growing up I was the oldest in my family. There were eight of us. And believe me that was enough. My parents of course, four younger brothers and a sister that was a true tomboy. Being the oldest I was also the one that had to try everything at least once, twice, if I liked it.

My parents were from the opposite sides of the universe. Dad was in the navy, stationed at Lamore Navy Air Station. He was with the squadron VFA-125s. At the time I think they were flying A6 intruders. I could be wrong.

Anyways, like many things in my life, as you will see, there are tales within tales. Such as, why my mother chose my dad. He was a hard drinker and a harder partier. She went to a Catholic school and was attending college at the time of their meeting.

They met at a dance that my mother wasn’t really supposed to be at. Thank creation for me she was.

As it’s told, the story goes like this; old dad was smacking them back as fast as he could get them. Raising hell, like he was against the devil his self and he wasn’t going to lose.

Fuck that, you’ll hear him yell from time to time. Then all at once his world came crashing down upon him.

There she was. His Spanish eyes he used to call her. Still does. Anyway he walked over to her, asked her if she wanted to dance and proceeded to tell her he was going to marry her. Well she laughed in his face, and turned around and walked away. Ten days later they were married. Hhhmmmmm, who’s laughing now?

Now when it comes to my parents, well you see they have a story for everything when it comes to all my crazy misadventures in my life.

And my first story, my birth story is no different. Hell, my parents tell of my birth to everyone that starts to get close to me. I guess that’s their way of warning people about the kind of cat they are messing with.

First I was born august 6th, 1970 in the small town of Winchester, Virginia.

Side note, August 6th, nineteen forty-five, was also the day the first atom bomb was dropped on lil’ Japan.

Anyway. So the story goes that when I was born, my father was anxiouslly pacing in the waiting room when all of a sudden, doors banged against the outer walls cracking one of the observation windows inserted in the doors.

And what comes flowing out the door? The picture of a mad scientist himself. Gray, disheveled hair, glasses slightly eschewed (if you call a ninety degree angle slightly). Lab coat covered in blood and who knows what else.

No, really it was just the doctor that came out of the delivery room. Only thing was, he was laughing his ass off.

My father rushed to him and started inquiring about my mother. Wondering not only on the welfare of his lovely wife but if he was the proud papa of a baby boy or baby girl. The answer he got? The crazy ass doctor just kept laughing.

Again and again my dad asked about the health of his wife and the sex of the baby.

But the crazed doctor just started laughing harder and soon tears were streaming down his cheeks.

Finally, the old man blew a gasket and couldn’t take it any longer.

He grabbed the demented doc by his white coat, shoved him against the wall, and yelled, what the fuck is so funny?! How is my wife and is it a boy?!! A girl?!!! bouncing the head of the maniac doc off the wall with every shake.

That definetly got the quack to speak and quickly he answered my frantic dad. Please calm down Mr. Wise., the old saw bones replied. Your wife is fine and you’re the proud father of a healthy baby boy.

My dad released Mr. Giggles and asked ever so gently, Then what’s so fucking funny? The answer he received wasn’t one he expected.

Well, you see Mr. Wise I’ve been delivering babies for over thirty years. And never in my life have I met a boy like yours. replied the doctor.

What do you mean? my father asked. Well, if you’ll please let me catch my breath I’ll explain, said the doctor.

And after a few deep breaths he explained, "you see, when a baby is born you usually have to hold them upside down by their ankles and smack them on the ass so anything that could be lodged down an infants’ throat can be dislodged and they can take their first breath of life.

Well that’s what I was going to do to your son. I grabbed him by his ankles reared my hand back and was just getting ready to smack him when all of a sudden he let out with a loud cry and his hand came up right in front of my face.

His whole fist was clenched except his middle finger. And there your son was, crying, flipping me off, giving me the bird. Like he was saying, fuck off doc. You’re not spanking me!!! and I just couldn’t do it. It’s the damndest thing I’ve ever saw."

Well that’s the story according to my folks. And if you would ask my mother, since then that’s been my outlook on life.

Go figure. And pretty soon the label black sheep became my shadow.

My family was the average, run of the mill, group. We fought others and each other. Was proud of who we were, and faced everything that came our way in life head on,

My father was a very hard working and proud man. He was 5'7", Luther M. Wise was his name. Yep, I’m his name sake. He was 170 lbs. and tough as nails.

My earliest memories of my dad go back to about two. He worked his ass off for his family during the week but when the weekend came, it was all about his bike, him and I.

He would throw a diaper bag, with bottle, change of clothes etc, etc… , in one of the saddle bags, grab me up, jump on the bike, and a poker run we will go.

We both had a blast. And when it came to feeding or changing me, he didn’t have to worry about anything.

You see I was a cute baby, as babies go, and there were always females around to powder my soft little bottom. Or play with my long curly hair.

The most valuable thing he ever taught me was how to survive and adapt.

No matter where I was in the world or what stage I was at in my life. The lessons were hard. And he only expected the best of me.

No matter what I was doing. In the end I have him to thank for getting me out of many tight spots I found myself in. I’ll always love and respect my father.

My mother was also a hell of a woman. Only 4’ 10", a small little piece of T.N.T. that no one wanted to tangle with.

She ran our tribe of misfits, always sacrificing herself before her children with a will of iron that wouldn’t bend. She was one of those rare souls that could bring a smile to your face.

No matter what drama was going on in your life. Man how her spirit shined. She was, and still is, truly an angel. But she couldn’t fool us because we knew she hid her little horns well.

Ok, she still fools us sometimes. Again, I’m just keeping it real.

My four youngest brothers were Michael, Chris, Tone, (a lost soul that found a home with us at age thirteen), and baby Dew. That’s short for Donald Eddie Wise.

My sister Rose was everything I was, stubborn, tough, smart, and beautiful. She drove all the boys crazy.

And usually we brothers would end up beating some asses. She’d just watch with a small grin on her face. Always knowing what she was doing and loving every minute of it.

But when shit came down, damn she could fight. Hell, half the local boys either wanted to date her or were scared of her. She has us to thank for that. You’re welcome… :)

Then just like every other red blooded, red skinned, Native American family, we also had a cool but crazy ass Uncle Eddie.

His real name was Edwin Cleavers. He really wasn’t my uncle technically speaking. My father and him were third cousins, or something like that.

They’ve been best friends ever since they wore shitty diapers. Looking back, sometimes I think they were more like brothers than anything else.

When they argued, they fought like brothers. But, when they came together to run-a-muck, those boys sure knew how to raise some hell.

Now my uncle Eddie was also that guy that just attracted pussy. Sometimes so much so that lines that should never be crossed, are.

That line between temptation and devotion almost cost him his life more than once. Got two in the back for jumping out a woman’s window.

He got drafted into the army during the golden Vietnam times. Boy the stories he would tell, and the things he would show us were just insane.

He was a hell of a shot with any rifle and could pick the strings off a guitar. Yes my uncle Eddie was one hell of a character.

Well, besides a couple dogs, cats, and one crazy wolf, that was my tribe.

Chapter two… .

Hell we moved so much in those early years, we never had a true home.

That is until 1989. That’s the year we found home. Lake Isabella.

By then, my life of crime was just getting started. And I thought I was the shit. Yeah right, little did I know.

Back then things were different. But hell aren’t they always? And I’ve found that when you start to regress into your past, it