Farm Boy's Wisdom

By C. L. Jones

The death of his wife during the last operation caused him to enter a period where he reevaluated his life, his morals and his judgment. His decision to distance himself from the Agency just sort of happened as he stayed away and pursued careers in body guarding and private investigation work. But his friends on the squad were not about to let him mope around feeling sorry for himself, particularly when they needed his skills on another mission.
After several attempts to draw him back into their clandestine line of work he finally agrees to help out, not because he knows much about the operation but because of the unwavering lifelong bonds formed in an earlier time with his friends in the military service. As it turns out, the squad was taking on a crime organization that dealt in violence, drugs and human trafficking so in many ways it seemed like a rerun of the last operation which for him turned out to be a disaster. The question was, could he overcome the ghosts in his mind and his self doubts and get back to being the old agent that was one of the best in the business.
The plot is filled with several twists and turns as an old hollowed out agent tries to reclaim the mojo that he lost several months ago during the last operation with the Agency. FARM BOY’S WISDOM depicts the struggle of a good man who wrestles with all the problems that come up for undercover agents who serve the country and raises questions about the demands that are placed on them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. L. Jones
• Release date: Jun 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463911983

C. L. Jones

C.L. Jones grew up in a large Midwestern family, a military family who served for many generations, where he learned the art of storytelling. Back in his early days he would sit around the fire pit and share his tales with friends and family. C.L. Jones experienced the depth of brotherhood through out his military career, having received the Combat Infantry Badge, Bronze Star, 2 Purple Hearts, Meritorious Service Medal, and the Humanitarian Service medal. The first three books that he's published are part of a series that he fondly calls "Brotherhood Holds the Line". Brothers of Different Mothers, the first book, is a story about how Pops and the Crew grew to become brothers while trying to survive the organization's efforts to thin the ranks. Book #2, Home Front, shows how the strong bonds that formed in Brothers of Different Mothers continued to grow as the Crew helped Surfer through trying times. Book #3, Second Chance, takes the close knit team on a mission to Central America to find a CEO of a large company who was kidnapped by a rebel faction to extort money for their cause. These three stories are good examples of the kinds of stories that he would share.Jones has completed work on the Farm Boy Series. You will recognize some characters from Pops and his crew but the squad is the younger generation of agents working through modern technology with the same bad elements that survive time. Good against evil with some twists. Book #1, Farm Boy, book #2 Farm Boy's Wisdom and book #3 Enough is Enough is now available. An early release has shown that Enough is Enough is an exciting read and was well received. What is coming next, we now look forward to the saga wrapping up with a final conclusion for the Pop's Team and Farm Boy's squad, just wait till you read what happens next!!

Book preview

Farm Boy’s Wisdom

By

C. L. JONES

COPYRIGHT 2017 C. L. Jones

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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 an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Interlude

Chapter 1: Mourning

Chapter 2: Security Work

Chapter 3: De

Chapter 4: Double Dipping

Chapter 5: The Squad

Chapter 6: Newport

Chapter 7: Mc Bean

Chapter 8: Infiltration

Chapter 9: New Assignment

Chapter 10: A Bad Turn

Chapter 11: Planning

Chapter 12: Bankruptcy

Chapter 13: Trail Head

Chapter 14: Fiddler

Chapter 15: Arriving in Trail Head

Chapter 16: The Squad

Chapter 17: Amos

Chapter 18: The Set Up

Chapter 19: The Con

Chapter 20: Takedown

Epilogue

Note from the Author

Acknowledgement

Interlude

Fools give full vent to their rage, but the wise bring calm in the end

(New International Version, Proverbs 29:11)

I’ve done quite a bit of thinking about life and death lately and realize it is harder to see what is ahead of you when you spend so much time looking back.

I remember clearly the code I used with my wife when she was alive: Green light, yellow light, red light. Why are some things so easy to remember? Why are others so hard to forget?

It is hard to believe the people who tell us that what they say is right and only they have the truth. Our time on earth is a mystery even with the teachings of the so called great religious leaders, highly educated professors and political leaders. None of us know when the off switch of life will be flipped thereby ending our time on this earth. Will it all just be over, will it be a time of rest or will it be the magical wonder that we hope? To do what people in my profession do we must hold out hope and believe that someday there will be a place of true betterment.

I look back on my life and think how extraordinary it has been and how differently I have lived compared to my family. Hey I’m not knocking my family. Just the opposite. For the most part they are the people that made this country great. They are the muscle and backbone that keep the everyday wheels running. People in my business think that the things we do are what keep us all free but as I look back on my family I now believe that they are the ones who get up every morning, put their shoulder to the wheel and nose to the grind stone to make a difference. And by the sweat of their brow, they are the ones that keep us moving forward. That is America.

Chapter 1:

Mourning

It’s only been a short while since I lost my wife though there are times when I guess it feels like a lifetime has passed. And then there are other times when I look around trying to find her because it feels like she is there right beside me, and I’m surprised and saddened all over again when I realize she is gone. The three men responsible for her death are now departed from this earth, each having fatefully met with their own horrible deaths. I made it my business to determine how each died, thinking that would help me come to terms and bring some closure for her death. I wanted to know that the brains behind the Trio had at least a little taste of the same fear that my wife experienced when they first kidnapped her. Ok, I wasn’t in the room when each passed away so maybe I didn’t know exactly what it was like for them in the last few seconds. And here’s the other funny thing; I discovered that it doesn’t really matter one way or the other how they died because none of it brings her back to me.

What I can report unfortunately, is that I continue to feel responsible for her death and it weighs heavily on me. I spend many days and many longer nights reliving the time before she died wondering if maybe I’d done this or maybe that there would have been a better outcome. In the end, it helped nothing. It certainly didn’t help my health. I get little sleep and eat poorly which causes me to lose a whole lot of weight, simply because I have no appetite. Anyway, I woke up one morning and happened to really look at my appearance in the bathroom mirror and was shocked to see this old man staring back at me. I mean I’d looked at myself in the mirror every day but never noticed that I was in this death spiral which, if I kept it up, would end in no good. So I decided it was time to walk out from under my self-imposed dark fog that surrounds me most of the time.

I’d backed away from the Agency and had not returned even though I’ve been told many times that my job is waiting and there would probably be a promotion if ever I walked back through the door. For the last year and a half I’ve done some security consulting, some body-guarding and even some private investigation work just to make enough money to pay the bills. With help from the Agency, I obtained a state private investigator license and the Agency indicated that they could drop a few favors to help me get an interstate license if I wanted it. It was all easy work and sometimes even a little fun. On the plus side, the money was pretty damn good, I could work when I wanted and not take jobs if I wanted to be at home. Staying at home wasn’t always a good choice because with time on my hands I would feel sorry for myself and mope around the house, drinking one soda after another and watch mind numbing, dumb-ass shows on TV.

It so happened that today was one of those days where I didn’t really want to work so I debated my options. I could go in and be bored on my current security job or maybe kick back until lunch and then catch a movie at the old theater downtown. I found that I preferred week day movie matinees, particularly when kids were in school because there are fewer people in the theater, less chatter by those around me who’d seen the movie before, and fewer dimwits on cell phones. Plus it was half the price of the evening showings which made buying the overpriced concession food even better. Among the movies currently showing was a chick flick which suited me just fine. I’ve recently noticed that all the hyped movies with the big stars involved women being taken, kidnapped and sold off. Of course I’d had enough of that crap in my real life so all I wanted in a movie now was humor and interpersonal relationships. How’s that for macho? These days I find myself watching one chick flick after another.

The newspaper ads for the movies were spread out before me on the kitchen table when my doorbell rang. On the way to the front door I paused at the antique triple hook hat rack bar that I’d hung on the hallway wall and pulled up on the center hook revealing a cubby hole behind the rack. Inside was a small 380 handgun, loaded and ready, which I retrieved as I continued down the hall to the front door. I guess there are many self preservation habits left over from my Agency days and stashing guns around the house so they are easily accessible is one of them. You just never know when a gun can come in handy. Even though I’m right handed, I switched the gun to my left so it was hidden behind the door that I was about to open. I checked my appearance in the hallway mirror and consciously fixed an expression on my face that I thought would give the impression that I was a common hardworking guy at home for the day, spending it like a lump on the couch.

I checked the peep hole and was somewhat surprised to see a familiar face on the other side. I automatically opened the door without thinking and couldn’t seem to get my brain engaged to offer a greeting as it swung open. Then I heard some long almost forgotten words, We need to talk. I chuckled to myself since this woman always seems to start her conversations with that phrase. Before me stood Doctor Kathie De Francisco, or De to her friends. She wore a light yellow Marilyn Monroe type summer dress with red flowers and sandals to match and her hair was pulled back tight on her head with a long ponytail hanging half way down her back. We looked at each other for three counts and I still couldn’t engage my brain to gather a response since it had been a while since I’d last seen her. Not waiting, she pushed past me and walked into my living room, pausing briefly to point to my left hand behind the door, You can put the gun away you know. What do you have to drink, coffee, beer or that stupid soft drink crap you’re hooked on?

I stood at the still open front door and watched De walk through the living room to the kitchen with her butt flipping that nineteen fifties dress from side to side and her raven haired ponytail rocking to the same rhythm. It was almost like she was walking and swaying to some music that I couldn’t hear. Finally I closed the door and followed her to the kitchen.

Chapter 2:

Security Work

Ok, I lose my wife and pretty much go celibate. I mean I still have the urges but since I lost her I had not been with another woman even though there were a few times when the opportunity presented itself. So far I’d always managed to diplomatically ease my way out of any encounters without harming anybody’s ego, particularly mine. I followed De into the kitchen carefully watching what was under the Marilyn Monroe sun dress that swayed from side to side as she walked. The view triggered a recent memory which I relived on my trip through the house to the kitchen.

In this case the culprit was the sexy wife of a security client who had hired me to provide bodyguard duty. He was rich and much older and it seemed to me his wife took every opportunity to flaunt her shapely body at any man who happened to be nearby. The gig wasn’t particularly dangerous and in fact I think my client just wanted to impress his colleagues and associates by being able to say, Oh those gentlemen, oh they are just my bodyguards. He hired two of us to be on call if he needed us for any reason, real or fictitious and our contract stated we needed to be at his location within an hour after a call. It was weird when you think about it. The guy supposedly needed a bodyguard but he gave us time off with the requirement that we be at his location with an hour’s notice, I guess if he sensed any danger coming his way.

My security partner on this job was a friend of mine who I frequently subcontracted to supply support. U.S. Marine Master Gunnery Sergeant Robert Francis Mc Bean had a short stint as an employee of a different alphabet organization and back in the day, we served together more than once. For some reason we ended up working undercover on the same assignments even though we were employed by different agencies. It was unusual because operatives from one agency never knew agents from another agency, each working their missions with their own rules. By happen stance McBean, or Mac as he liked to be called, and I found ourselves on some of the same stakeouts and we came to the conclusion that as long as the mission was completed we wouldn’t upset the brass back in their clean little offices. The number one rule in our agencies was to work as hard as a Kentucky mule or at least look like you were working hard and never upset the applecart so the paper pushing pipsqueaks at the home office stayed off your back. Neither of us was ever required to file a written report and one agency never confided in the other about missions so we just kept our heads down and stayed silent.

Anyway, Mac and I hit it off immediately. Sometimes when you meet another person you make a snap evaluation and you go with it. In this case I concluded that U.S. Marine Master Gunnery Sergeant Robert Francis Mc Bean was a man who I could trust with my life or anything I held dear, a man of honor and respect. Like I said he’s my friend.

Mac had just finished the night shift at the house as I was coming on. On this job I’d taken a motel room nearby since there was no one at my home and I could easily get to the client’s house if needed. The other plus in staying at the motel was there was a nearby restaurant that happened to be one of my favorites.

It was a bright sunny Saturday morning when I relieved Mac who rolled his eyes back in his head and said with an apologetic tone, Good luck buddy, I hope we have a job tonight. Before I could get an explanation, I was summoned to the office in my client’s home so I said my goodbye to Mac and headed to the boss’s office.

The old guy was sitting behind his desk when I entered so I moved to the desk and silently waited for him to look up, noting that he always had a superior demeanor and treated everyone like a servant. Finally he looked up, My wife wants to be taken to the country club for her weekly golf lessons. He dismissed me and I headed out of his office to the garage that reminded me of an old carriage house. The keys were kept in a key cabinet on one side of the garage. I assumed we would be taking the town car so I opened the box to retrieve the key and saw it was empty. There were five cars in the garage and none of the keys for any of the cars were in the box.

I turned to head back to the main house when I heard someone talking softly, I want the convertible Benz, the dark green one. I stopped and turned toward the voice and saw my client’s wife, dangling the keys at arm’s length and looking very pretty in a strapless spring dress. I met her eye but kept my expression blank as I took the key and headed to the Benz. I figured I needed to let it run for awhile if I could even get it started since I’d not seen the car used in the time I’d been working there. Starting it was not a problem. It started with little noise and the engine seemed to purr like a bunch of satisfied kittens. Even if you’re not a car guy, the sound of a well-maintained engine makes you just want to sit there and listen as long as you can. I operated the mechanism to have the top retract behind the back seat of the car and now with the top down, I rolled out of the garage into the sunlight to let it idle on the driveway.

As I slowly backed out, the client’s wife jumped over the closed door on the passenger side of the vehicle, landing butt first in the front seat. Her behavior reminded me of a teenage kid but her body was certainly older as I confirmed when her already very low cut sundress dropped down over her right shoulder and exposed three quarters of her breasts. She rearranged her dress as she settled in the low slung seat, then announced, We’re off to the club. Take the freeway. I want to go as fast as we can. I pulled out of the drive as she sorted through the Benz’s glove compartment, eventually pulling out a music disc. Sliding the disc in the car’s CD player, she adjusted the volume to high and went through this crazy routine, pounding on the dash, slumping down in the bucket seat and kicking her feet up in the air like she was riding a bike. All of her moves seemed to be choreographed to the beat of the music that was blaring out of the speakers. I noticed she had good timing and her motions were catlike, as I occasionally glanced her way while driving at the speed limit through the neighborhood. I moved on to the freeway and began accelerating just as she stood part way up with her head extended over the windshield. I love speed, she exclaimed, waving her hands around over her head with her hair trailing behind as the speed of the car increased. She sat back down and looked in my direction before cupping her hands under her breasts and pushing them as high as she could, leaning forward and shaking them like she was trying to shake them off her body. I mean was this weird or what? This lady was certainly looking for attention and the people who happened to be sharing the same highway with us got a pretty good show.

I was maybe fifteen minutes out from the country club, still driving on the same freeway when she stopped her machinations and popped the CD from the player. Replacing the CD in the case, she reopened the glove box and produced a second CD which she jammed into the player. She looked at me and smiled, then cranked the volume to a point that I believed the earth worms that happened to be near this particular highway would try to burrow even deeper to get away from the noise. She barked out another order like it was an emergency, Pull over in that shopping mall parking lot. Startled, I moved from the fast lane so I could make the exit. She continued, This mall has an entrance to a private parking garage. Go there.

It wasn’t easy as I picked my way through the traffic and adjusted my speed to make it to the off ramp, requiring some big city driving skills. I guess the driver training, courtesy of the Agency, didn’t hurt any either.

The mall parking lot was a zoo, everyone wanting the spaces near their favorite store or parking in handicap spaces they did not deserve. I worked my way to the five story parking ramp only to discover that the barrier gate at the garage entrance was down and a neon sign read FULL. The client’s wife was sitting forward on the edge of the seat undeterred when I stopped at the gate. Push the numbers 36-24-36. Of course I got the meaning behind the security code. I entered the code, the gate swung up and I quickly drove past the barrier as she told me, Drive to parking space number 412.

The parking levels flowed from one floor to the next with spaces on either side as the car ascended through the garage. Surprisingly most of the spaces were empty considering the number of people driving around looking for spaces outside the garage. I found space 412, and pulled forward and backed into the space just as I was trained. The space was right next to one of the stairwells and the concrete wall of the stairwell was unbroken on my side of the car as I backed in. There would be little room to open the driver side door without slamming the door into the wall. In this part of the garage there were no openings to the outside so very little sunlight filtered in and the nearest electrical light was a few spaces down and was not very bright. I’d automatically checked the exits and darker sections of the garage as we drove in and concluded parking space 412 put my client’s wife and me in a box if anyone wanted to jump us. By now my senses were even more heightened as I continued to check out this level of the garage. I made a mental note to make sure that everything in the car could be left behind if for some reason we could not leave in the Benz when my client’s wife was done shopping.

My client’s wife commanded, Put the top up, just as I shut the car down. I glanced in the rearview mirror at the recessed area of the car where the ragtop was kept and wondered if the cramped parking space would pose a problem in getting the car’s top back in place. I got ready to open the driver’s side door in the cramped space to begin to put the top up but first glanced at my passenger. The harsh demanding voice was replaced with a sexy whisper which seemed to echo back and forth out of the crappy lighting in our parking corner. Hey before you put the top up, lean your seat back and unbutton your pants and I’ll help you unwind. Just lean your seat back.

Well maybe I’m not the sharpest pencil in the drawer since my wife passed away but I figured out this maneuver really quickly. Ma’am, I don’t think what you want is a very good idea. I turned enough in my seat so that I could hook my arm to the side of the headrest and face the outline of this woman in the passenger seat. She gave me another sexy smile and stood up in her seat, climbing over the backrest and parking herself in the back seat. Needless to say I got a good view of my client’s wife and I can honestly say she was built better than many of those touched up photos in the men’s magazines. In a few seconds she removed the sundress over her high heels and confirmed what I’d suspected when she first hopped into the car at my client’s garage: there was not a stitch of clothing underneath the dress. I’d figured as much as I’d watched her jumping around on the way to the mall.

Don’t be such an old man; I’ve already got one of those at home. Remember that President Clinton said that what I’m about to give you isn’t sex, so no one will know or be harmed.

If the truth be known, my male imagination had run amuck the first time I’d ever laid eyes on her. Some women just seem to send out signals that they are open to play so to some extent I was not surprised by her game. But hey, I had an allegiance to my client so I stayed the good little bodyguard and checked around for anyone who might happen to be in our part of the garage. No problem, there was minimal traffic in and around where we were parked. I kept my eyes fixed on the front windshield and said, Ma’am when you finish getting changed into your shopping clothes, I would be happy to escort you around the mall. The car was silent for at least a whole minute and finally I heard the sounds of my client’s wife getting dressed. I waited for her to finish, acting nonchalantly, as if what had just happened was a normal weekly event.

She finished dressing, acting as if nothing had happened. Then her ego returned in full force as she snarled, "Well get