The Mountain Mafia (Prologue)

PROLOGUE:

If you’ve ever dreamt of running away, then this story is for you. If you have ever actually run away, then this story is definitely for you. If you’ve ever run away and returned as quickly as you left, please disregard you ever saw this, some nerve is needed on this journey.
Patrick worked his entire life to achieve one thing, an athletic scholarship. So, when a Division I college, located smack next to the beach offered him his wish, life couldn’t have gotten any better.
His first year was marred by sins of the flesh and parties. His coach warned him; then begged him not to be the only player in team history to join a fraternity outside the baseball team. But, he did it anyway.
Showing up to games annihilated and trashed allowed him the freedom he needed to run down balls in the outfield without fear, but did his batting ever suffer. His 5’10, 180 pound frame, finally succumbed to the mounting destruction in the second semester of his sophomore year. Let’s take you to the scene…
It’s three o’clock in the morning on a beautiful spring night, Patrick and his bloodstream feel great since they’re both loaded down with alcohol and XENIX, also known as, “forget me nots.”
Four blocks separate him from his waiting bed, clearly too far to walk. In what turns out to be the fuse connected to the rest of his life, Patrick decides to get in his car and drive off. And with a “whoop, whoop,” he’s pulled over.
“Son, I smell you, get out of the car.”
Patrick exits the car and stands before the officer, swaying in the breeze.
“Sorry sir, I just live right there… that house with the statues…”
Patrick’s auburn hair is blowing around a tad less than the head it’s connected to.
“Kid, I don’t care if you live in your car and you’re already home, look at you… you’re comin’ with me.”
Patrick does as he’s told and gets in the back of the police cruiser for the quarter mile drive down to the station.
“Downtown,” the accused finds himself sitting at the officer’s desk, getting booked like he’s on a job interview.
“You got somebody, anybody that’s not drunk, that can come pick you up? You lucked out that I’m the only one on duty tonight.”
Patrick knows someone and calls him. A fraternity brother immediately comes to the rescue and escorts Patrick and the officer to a parking lot outside of the station. The officer has some parting words.
“Now look, you blew less than the legal limit and you’re still twenty; that means you’re underage with alcohol in your system. But, you’re also intoxicated on somethin’ else, and I can tell that.”
Patrick stands with his friend as the officer continues.
“So, I’m going easy on you tonight. I’m givin’ you a DWI and an underage DWI. The “W” means that none of this has to do with drugs. For you and your coach’s sake, I’d try and keep it that way.”
The officer then wishes Patrick, his friend, and both of their gaping jaws farewell; neither of them are able to speak.
Damon, who’s still in his slippers, gets Patrick into his truck for the short ride home. Neither one knows what to say, that all ends when they pass by Patrick’s stranded car.
“Stop this thing! Damon, stop the truck!” Patrick opens the door as his friend eases the brake, “that fucking prick! I just got two DWI’s and I’m not even drunk! He can’t prove I took pills!”
Damon doesn’t know what to do; he’s in the middle of the road.
“Pat, he told me to take you home! Where are you going?”
Patrick and his car are both unlocked and ready for more.
“Where do you think? I’m goin’ back there to protest my innocence!”
Patrick puts his car in gear and flips the U turn. He does exactly the speed limit for nine blocks, talking to himself all the while on how he couldn’t be more right. He pulls up in front of the station, slams his door and runs inside. The policeman is walking down the hall; he’s temporarily stunned, almost reacting like his fellow officers pull this kind of trick on him all the time. Patrick walks towards him.
“Sir, I’m here to tell you that I’m innocent. You have to listen to me…”
The officer realizes this is no joke and cuts Patrick off.
“Son, did you just get back in your car?”
Patrick is halted by the man’s reddening face; he sees the cop wants an answer.
“Yes I did. But sir…”
“Well then, stop right there and put your hands behind your back, you’re under arrest all over again."

***
Kenzie was Patrick's life long friend from the same hometown in New Jersey. He was commuting across the Delaware River to his school of choice when a mutual acquaintance told him that Patrick, and a whole shit-load of trouble, had crashed into each other just a few nights back. In a way, this was good news for Kenzie.
Patrick and his dreams of playing drunken college baseball were over. His parents came down and removed him from the vandalized mansion he was living in so fast, his roommates never even saw him leave. Before he knew it, he was back in the same bedroom he'd spent every night of his life in.
Kenzie gave Patrick a week or so of courtesy shame time before calling his parent's house one boring Friday night. The two were now part of a small group of twenty year-olds that weren't away at school.
For the next six months the two were inseparable. Patrick worked at a golf course during the day while Kenzie took classes, but at night, every night; the two would drive the back roads of their county smoking pot in Kenzie's car.
During these drives they would obsessively discuss the limitless possibilities of where they could relocate. They scoured the earth with their ideas, each one having his favorite. Then, one late fall night, after an entire summer had gone by, Kenzie and his sunroof-blown blonde hair turned to Patrick as they drove.
"So that's it… you're tellin' me that's where we're going?"
Patrick is counting down the days until he gets his license back; his car is hibernating in his parent’s driveway.
"That's it Kenz… you said it yourself, who the fuck comes from there? The best part is; it's still in the U. S… why are you shaking your head; you just told me you were ready for the unknown."
Kenz is facetiously enthused.
"This is great… you think by the end of this year, huh? Do you know how cold it's going to be in fucking January out there? Do you have any idea?"
Patrick can see in his friend’s eye that they’re still connected by testosterone, whether he wants to be or not…
"Kenz, why are you questioning the best part? We're gonna find out."
***
All Patrick is able to find out after that conversation is how to fuck up, bad. Patrick’s Mother, for the first time in her life, officially throws him out of the house in a fit of hysteria. It’s three days before Thanksgiving and she walks in to a controlled substance debauchery.
In essence, Patrick and another longtime friend have taken gerbil tubes and connected them to a plastic bong. They have music playing lightly and smoke flying heavily. Patrick’s room is downstairs. It’s the first room on the right, and is almost tripped over when one walks through the front door… that’s exactly what Patrick’s Mother does, undetected.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?!”
Patrick indeed had lost his mind. Even in a nightmare he wouldn’t be caught standing on a chair smoking pot out of stolen science equipment in front of his Mother.
The motherly matriarch short circuits and summons primordial menstrual powers that she was setting aside.
“Kevin, get out of here! I’ll see your Mom this weekend! And you, pack your fucking bags, I’ve had it! I’m supposed to walk in my own house and see my son smoking God knows what out of a ten foot pipe?! What are you in the Alps?! I can’t believe you; I want you out!”
Patrick knows his father is coming home soon. His Dad is a mild fan of the herb, but he’s even a bigger fan of not pissing off his wife.
Patrick grabs everything he can find in four-minutes and starts up his car. He knows his Mom doesn’t mean it, but he’s going to make everyone pay this time.
Looking at the map on his wall, he finds the one and only thumb-tack that’s brightly sticking out. It’s now or never, and he knows it. The last remaining detail he can think of in this moment of haste is waiting for the bank to open in the morning. He would camp out.
First payphone, first phone call after Patrick’s panicked flight from his house is to Kenzie.
“Kenz, I’m fucked! My mom walked in my room and it looked like we were burning a bush! She kicked me out!”
Kenzie is eating dinner with his brother.
“Whoa, what are you going to do?”
“I’m goin’!”
Kenzie’s swallows are heard on both ends.
“What do you mean, where are you goin’?”
Patrick is in no mood for games.
“Where do you think? Look, if you’re still serious about coming with me, I’ll be by to pick up your stuff; you can just meet me out there whenever you want… seriously, I’m fucked; I’m going with or without you. What’s it gonna be?!”
Kenzie’s brother is heard through the phone asking him what’s wrong. He’s not quite understanding.
“You’re driving to Montana now?”