Chapter 4 The Operation

My initial wave of optimistic enthusiasm was quickly dampened once the grind of the daily surveillance operation got underway that morning. Carrie, and her current pack of lovers/fellow co-conspirators, Edgar, Luke and Phillip were already jumpier than squirrels hopped up on methamphetamines. If they had any actual decisive plans of action whatsoever, these were far outweighed by the pure random impulsiveness of their lifestyle.

One minute they'd be laughing about how they'd spend the Wilde family money, the next ranting about calling some alphabet soup agency to 'give them the lowdown dirt', and the next plotting to load up another huge batch of WildeWeed to sell to one of their dealer friends in St. Louis or Kansas City and making a road trip out of it.

In reality, their talk was mostly just that ... talk. What they actually did was drink booze, smoke dope and fuck a lot, in various multi-partner ways. Between the three guys, lucky Carrie found herself getting three-holed and made water-tight at least once a day. Not to mention the various 1-on-1 and double-team encounters. It was amusing at first listening to their loud fucking, but since I wasn't having much of a love life myself, it got old rather fast. Ned certainly didn't want to listen to his ex getting her freak on several times a day with strange men - he'd had enough of that while they were still married. Poor Ned apparently put up with being a cuckold for awhile after he discovered what Carrie had been up to before deciding that enough was enough. Being a fairly dim, but good natured soul, Ned never even considered using our father's shotgun to expedite his divorce ... that's probably more than I could say for a good number of Wildewood men. I'm nearly as amiable as Ned, but I'd never tolerate a tenth of what he put up with before packing up and leaving.

Just in case, I sent Joe a message to relay to Walt for him to avoid making any redistribution sized deliveries of WildeWeed to them. We wanted them fixed in one place where we could keep our eyes out on them.

The more I listened the less comfortable I felt about the planned operation. The woman was absolutely maddening. She was already more than half-nuts to begin with and still actively baking her brain to more than likely soon adequately finish the job. Schizophrenia, schizoaffective disorder, bipolar disorder, major depressive disorder, obsessive-compulsive ... you name it, she probably needed to under a brain doc's care for it, along with a heavy dose of lithium, and other proper mind candy. Listening to her constant psychotic rants just made me want to shove my hands through the Internet to reach out and give her a hard shake by the neck.

Our plans to give her medications that new extra added push was starting to look they would end up giving her more of a shove, instead. Already her drug abused sense of paranoia was tuned up to at least a nine on the power knob, which our soon to be added pharmacological adjustments were sure to take up to a full eleven. We didn't even have any 'watchers' yet on station obviously lurking around their cabin, but Luke (an even more paranoid druggie than Carrie) was already sure that they were being "monitored". They were sure that they were being watched by government Men in Black, their mail being opened, etc. Everything up to and including the ubiquitous black helicopters.

Actually, we could get our hands on a suitable looking all-black helicopter via a distant family cousin who lived in West Plains. Since I had carte-blanche for this operation, I scrounged up a secure disposable cell-phone and gave him a call. Getting a nice 'family business' discount, I arranged for him to overfly the area at least twice a day, being seen to linger conspicuously in their area. Preferably also to be seen with passengers in dark suits holding telephoto cameras and big binoculars looking down at them. For nighttime harassment, one of our two normal family owned copters we used for mining and logging operations, and our Sheriff's Sky-Eye bird could alternate being heard in the near vicinity, a couple of times each night.

Our surveillance subjects did tend to keep very erratic hours and frequently partied long into the night. This was going to wreck havoc with my own already erratic sleeping schedule, and I had already sent a previous note to Joe that I'd need at least two other folks to help me with our around the clock surveillance.

The biggest problem with getting our own 'Men in Black', was that we needed to obtain a couple of big black GMC Yukons. Every crime TV drama I've ever watched has the FBI and other fed agents all running around in black Yukons with heavy tinting. I wanted at least one to park on the dirt road near their cabin but I couldn't find one from any rental agency closer than Springfield. We'd already sent someone off to pick that one up, but the rest of our cast in dark suits and sunglasses wouldn't be ready to start until tomorrow.

Now we could begin to consider the cast of Carrie's accomplices.

Luke was pretty much your ordinary everyday run of the mill dope fiend and full blown Goth in his early thirties. He seemed peaceable enough despite his taste for the constant loud death metal music that make picking up records of their conversations tricky at times. He talked about supernatural sorts of LARP'ing (role play gaming concerning werewolves and vampires) nearly constantly. Heck, the guy couldn't decide if he wanted to become a vampire or an elf. He apparently had the skinniest cock and usually got to be the one to fuck Carrie's ass. He was the least of our problems compared to the kid named Phillip.

Kid being a relative term, since according to our report from the Sheriff's office, Phillip was in his late twenties but still playing the role of college campus radical. Phillip definitely had an agenda - buy dope cheap, sell high - buy guns/build bombs and wait for the imminent Worker's Revolution. He was a far-left crypto-anarchist "Truther". EVERYTHING was some sort of NeoCon government conspiracy. 9/11, the War in Iraq, the New World Order, global slavery via the G8 nations, Princess Di's 'murder', "Bush lied and people died", steroids in professional sports ... you name it - it was all due to some sort of government conspiracy. Luke's hatred of our lame duck sitting President was pathological. Any mention of "Dubya" was enough to send him into a ranting frenzy. This could certainly be exploited. He wore a lot of black and moped around a lot too, but he was more interested in politics than fantasy gaming. Sexually, he was an oral man and he loved to have Carrie suck his cock (preferably on her knees) while he sprouting sermons of truther gibberish to the faithful.

From the sound of things, Phillip had at least one gun with him ... and possibly an entire arsenal. He talked about bombs and blowing things up ... a lot ... but was it just talk or was he really building them? We couldn't decide.

Edgar "Eddie" was the youngest of the lot, maybe only in his mid-twenties and very much also Goth, complete with dozens of exotic body piercings, including apparently a cock ring. He was Carrie's main fuck toy, although the other two guys certainly each took their turns with her. She apparently picked him up while she was at college, even before she married Ned. The lad undoubtedly had way more cock than brains but he seemed to know how use at least that part of his anatomy. I got to listen to Eddie and Carrie screw at least three times a day, and they definitely made a production out of it.

Politically, Eddie didn't seem like much of a hard core narcophile, revolutionary or fellow traveller. He was obviously only in the movement to get laid ... and often. A lover rather than a fighter, and apparently with large enough equipment in that department that her other two lovers rarely took sloppy seconds in her cunt. He tended to follow Carrie's lead on most other things, but if he got sufficiently stoned or drunk he was willing to play the romantic hero role, and impulsively lead from the front. These chaotically sudden character swings were the hardest for me to attempt to anticipate. How would he react under stress and which way would he jump if threatened?

Damned if I knew. No one else could figure the kid out either. He ought to be back at college or in his parent's basement, role-playing Dungeons & Dragons or leading World of Warcraft raids on weekends to settle his internal need for heroic drama. Bloody amateurs!

At least the part of the plan involving our tattle tale telling mole was working perfectly, so far. I had never met "the widow Marsha", but this had suggested in my mind a short dumpy woman of middle to elderly years with gray hair and gnarled fingers from a lifetime of scrubbing other folks floors and operating knitting needles. Well, I at least got the 'short' part right, but nothing else about her was close.

Marsha Wilder, was a compact but curvaceous and extremely decorative small thing with glorious long brown hair invariably set into a ponytail that bounced nearly as much as her full breasts did when she walked. She was bright and cheerful in disposition and seemingly possessed a very good brain within her very pretty head. She was in her early thirties and had lost her husband Rick to a roadside bomb in Iraq a few years ago. No children. She owned a small farm that provided a meager living quite near Ned's cabin that Carrie was now living in, and she performed the mundane household chores a few days a week for some extra money. She was saving up to buy an extremely expensive Viking Husqvarna embroidery sewing machine. Smart, pretty and domesticated ... I started to wonder how her cooking was. Mmmmm!

She understood her mission easily enough when I explained the full situation and background to her, and she suggested several worthwhile means of casually and tactfully imparting the various nuggets of poisoned pill misinformation that we wished Carrie to learn about. She readily comprehended the degree of paranoia that her domestic employees were under and prepared to insinuate herself as deeply into their confidences as possible, to make herself a trusted source to better feed their suspicion of everyone and everything else.

She seemed to understand that she was dealing with drug crazed and mentally unstable people who were quite likely to become even wilder and more volatile in the very near future. I told her we had a bug listening to what happened in the house and we established an emergency 'Oh Shit" word ("Christmas") that she was to use in the event that she felt in personal danger while in the house and feared that she might become trapped and unable to leave on her own. I emphasized that we valued her assistance but if the situation started to get too rough, weird or scary - she was to bail out fast. Every other consideration was secondary to her health and safety. She nodded her pretty little head which also had the extra added benefit of giving her large magnificent breasts a healthy giggle.

I wondered, possibly just a bit too out loud, where everyone had been hiding this rather decorative creature. In the months I'd been back home I'd certainly never seen her around town, at Joe's, or even at the grocery store or gas station. I'd certainly have remembered seeing her! Just looking at her made my stomach feel a bit odd and a bit out of tune, not to mention my tongue getting completely out of synch with my brain. I made a note to myself to get some more sleep as I was possibly coming down with something. Damn, I've definitely been listening to too much of other people's fucking!

The telephone wiretap was also paying dividends. Soon we started getting a rather comprehensive listing of everyone she was calling. Her best friend's phones never seemed to cool from the heat of her hand. How that woman loved to talk! She seemed to have a compulsive need to talk incessantly, and when her three companions failed to amuse her she was off to the telephone.

We gathered a list of the government agencies and law enforcement officials she was calling (some of them she seemed to have on speed-dial) and it was already apparent that several of these organizations were already rather tired of her act. She promised wild disclosures, made vague threats, and demanded outlandish payment for her whistleblower services. So far, all without particular success - her act already seemed tiresome and rather unappreciated. Obviously, most of the folks she was wheedling had already accurately characterized her and classified her as a 'kook'. Several officials already seemed fairly put out with her act and were pointedly telling her to either "put up or shut up". Give them some meaningful specific information or go away (and stay). I guess most of these government and law enforcement folks actually had some real work that needed doing which her drugged raving interludes were distracting them from. Fine by me, if they weren't particularly amused by Carrie, they were just going to love Emily's calls.

Getting Emily set to parrot off some of the wildest drink induced ravings that Joe's most twisted customers could concoct was going to be the easy part. The girl was a natural mimic and comedienne! The hard part was getting another phone line slaved and tweaked to spoof Carrie's home land line so the fed's caller ID systems would show that all of our faux misinformation and harassment calls did indeed come from her number. Rollie was working hard on that and we hoped to have that done within a few hours.

Working at the pharmacological side of things, a short side meeting with Wally, Walt and Randall the pharmacist, revealed a suitable chemical additive that was virtually guaranteed to addle whatever few remaining functional brain cells they had left. What exactly the drug was, or what was in it, no one was entirely quite sure. Allegedly, this substance was purported to be a hybrid of both Ecstasy and Crystal Meth, a trippy sort of thing to help folks with an active lifestyle - i.e. to dance all night long in a wild frenzy. A "friend-of-a-friend" of Walt's had obtained the stuff some time back but it hadn't quite performed as advertised. The drug mix had been cut with something unpleasant, or an extra additive such as PCP had been added into the mix. The end result was a nasty vicious drug that wired you up as tight as a Hell's Angel, with the added bonus of mild psychotropic hallucinations. The friends limited previous drug testing had revealed that even irregular use tended to make the consumer prone to becoming very, very angry - going postal at even minor provocations.

I warned everyone - especially Walt who seemed too blasé about the situation, that already our subjects were a tad more delicate than we would have liked, and this new chemical additive should be very sparingly used ... especially at first until we could see how they reacted. We wanted a controlled meltdown, not a walking volcano on a hair-trigger to eruption. They all listened and agreed, but I'm certain my words of caution were forgotten or ignored immediately afterwards

This new additive was most definitely not a very marketable drug. The Elders take a very libertarian view to most nominally illegal drugs, particularly the local WildeWeed, just as long as it is clearly for domestic consumption use only. Anyone desiring to deal into more exotic and blatantly dangerous drugs, or any local grower that shows an inclination into becoming a large scale producer for outsiders, is pretty certain to get into severe family disfavor. Most offenders rarely ever need a second reminder. There are no third time offenders, let's leave it at that. I was pretty sure that Walt had already walked over that line a time of two already. Given his own druthers, he'd already probably be dealing wholesale to some outside syndicate and making some big bucks. The kid probably just didn't or couldn't understand our family's long term philosophy about staying underneath all governmental radars. Wally, his father, had always been a small time operator and had worked comfortably within the family's allowable parameters, but just couldn't seem to keep in son in-line. Walt apparently wanted to be a high flyer ... and if he kept it up much longer there was going to be a terrible and painful crash back down to earth.

This screwed up or tainted drug was probably overkill, but against my inner better judgment, I agreed to let them try this - in very small amounts at first. Some to be added into a jug of Gid's home-squeezings and the rest to be lightly dusted into a dimebag of Wildewood County's finest homegrown herbal product. Both to be hand delivered by Walt later this evening.

Wacky cigarettes, home distilled whisky and a very wild, wild woman. They'd definitely drive her crazy ... and probably insane. Still, it looked like things were all coming together, or so I thought