CHAPTER 1

H artford, Connecticut 1953 on a hot summer day. Fifteen-year, old Domingo Lopez leans against the monkey bars in Keney Park. He’s walked over from Northeast Hartford away from the crime and violence of his neighborhood. As he stood there smoking his eyes caught the white of flashing legs, as a group of young girls were climbing on the apparatus. They barely drew his attention as he was lost in thought trying to make sense of the life he was born to.

His dad is a self-employed janitor who makes little money. He drinks up most of it when he isn’t beating up his wife and children. His mom works in a factory that stamps out metal parts. She puts the piece to be formed in place and presses the red button. Wham, the machine slams down. It’s not a part this time, it’s mom’s hand and she is home with broken fingers and no pay.

Domingo has learned one thing very well. He doesn’t want to be poor. Life in the low-income Projects is draining the life from him. Hunger is gnawing at his belly. Not just the hunger for food, but the hunger for life. He’s surrounded by brown and black families that are in the same situation that he is. Many people in the Projects turn to crime as a way to live. Selling drugs or selling yourself is the most lucrative employment available. Few people get out of the Projects, many succumb to its ever, present danger.

Domingo is small in stature, at 5'4" and 130 pounds he’s a lightweight. He’s light-skinned with short straight black hair that’s always neatly combed. His oval face possesses features that are attractive to the young girls in the Projects. He has an easy manner with the girls, stands apart from the boys. He is quiet by nature and that hides the intensity that burns within him. He grinds his cigarette under his boot heel, then heads east through the park. An hour’s walk brings him to his neighborhood. He walks up the three flights of stairs, enters his apartment unit and joins the chaos that is his home.

Although the Projects are only a few years old, the buildings show the signs of vandalism and neglect by the occupants who are, for the most part, black and brown.

His mother is sitting on the worn couch and looks to be in pain from her injured hand. He walks over to her, kisses the side of her face. She reaches up with her good hand, strokes the side of his face. His father is drunk, gets up from the kitchen table, gives him a look that doesn’t bode well. In a rage he grips his son’s arm, hits the side of his face. Domingo hits the side of the wall, slides to the floor in a daze. His father doesn’t stop. He grabs hold of his son, slaps his face three times bringing tears to his eyes. His mother rushes in to stop the beating, and is punched by his father. She falls to the floor where his father kicks her in the side. Mom covers her head, goes into the fetal position to try and protect herself. His two younger sisters are cringing, crying on the couch. Domingo regains his senses, strikes his father on the side of his head. Years of frustration and rage are released through his fists as he pummels his father to the floor on top of his mother, beats him unmercifully. He finally tires, sits at the kitchen table. Someone has called the police and the banging on the door is very loud.

Open the door! Police!

Domingo opens the door, is grabbed by a huge officer. The officer leads him to a chair, forces him to sit down in it. The cops question his mother and sisters, they get a picture of what has transpired. His dad is arrested and led away to the waiting ambulance parked in front of the building. His sisters, come to him and he tries to comfort the young girls. Mom is being checked out by the EMTS, she is refusing to go to the hospital. Domingo leads his mother to the couch where she sits heavily. The girls join her, and bury their faces against her body.

Life is not good. Dad has disappeared and the only money coming in is from mom’s welfare check. Domingo is a very attentive boy. He sees who runs the Projects and the neighborhood. The Italians are on top. The powerful black gangs are next and the brown people band together. The blacks are always at war with everyone. The leader of the blacks is a powerful man. He commands respect by being the most vicious among them. He is a big man, over six feet in height and physically dominating. Domingo knows the Italians would like to see him gone. He watches the big man, sees that he goes to his apartment alone. Just about two or three in the morning, he enters his apartment alone.

Domingo is standing outside of the Italian restaurant that is headquarters for the Italian gang. The man sitting in a chair in front is Gino Ferrari. He will kill you or anyone else and never bat an eye. Domingo approaches him. I want to talk to Tony. Gino takes a long puff on his cigarette, just looks at the diminutive Domingo. Domingo’s face doesn’t reveal anything. Gino finally says, Wait.

Sal Romano leads Domingo to a table where Tony Ricci is sitting. Tony waves at Sal, motions for Domingo to sit down. Tony knows of the boy. Word was the little bastard wasn’t to be fucked with despite his small size. He kept his mouth shut and minded his own business. You had trouble with your father? Domingo nodded. He’s a drunk and a no good, bastard to hit his wife and children. Domingo nodded. What do you want?

You need someone not connected to you to do certain things. I need money. You’re having trouble, with the leader of the blacks, I can make him go away.

Tony thinks a little. He lights up a cigar, waves to a pretty, young, black haired waitress. Domingo pays no attention to the pretty girl, waits for her to finish serving coffee to Tony. Tony sips his coffee, waits for the boy to speak.

We can’t have any association. I must remain apart from you and your men.

Tony has a hard time believing the boy, but something in the boy appeals to him. He sees the advantage of having someone like the boy to handle certain things. If I see my problem disappear, I’ll know we have a deal. You must never speak to me again. You must never speak of these things we will do to anyone. When Sal contacts you, you will know it’s from me.

I need things.

Tony nodded. Sal will take care of you. Tony calls Sal over and motions for Domingo to leave. He leaves and walks to the corner where he lights up a smoke, and waits. You will give the boy what he asks for Sal. You will be his father. Don’t be seen with him and tell him he must let you know before he does anything. Sal nods his understanding and leaves the table.

Domingo sees Sal leave the restaurant. He follows him a few blocks. He sees Sal waiting for him and approaches. What do you need? When will you do it?

I need a throwaway gun and it will be tonight very late. Sal hands him a piece, they part.

At home in his bathroom, Domingo unwraps the Smith and Wesson Model 10 .38 Special. The revolver is loaded with standard 158 grain lead bullets. He removes the cartridges, wipes the gun and the ammo clean. He rewrapped the weapon, put it in his waistband.

He had a long wait before he saw the big black man approaching his building entrance. The streets were quiet and the traffic was light on the roadway. A light, misting rain was falling. The big black man was reaching into his pocket when he walked up behind him, and calmly shot him in the back of the head. The big man fell to the concrete walkway and he placed the revolver against his head, pulled the trigger. He dropped the gun on the concrete, then calmly walked away. His eyes were scanning left and right. No one was in sight. He turned the corner, saw a vehicle approaching, stepped back into the shadow of a building. The vehicle passed him, he continued on to his apartment.

The next day was a scorcher. Heat waves were rising off the pavement as he walked down the street. He stopped across from the restaurant. He lit up a smoke, stared at Gino who was sitting in front drinking a bottle of soda. From the corner of his eye, he sees Sal exit, and walk towards him. Domingo walks to their agreed meeting spot. Sal appears in front of him handing him an envelope, then walks away.

At home he opens the envelope, counts the money. Three thousand dollars in tens, and twenties. He has been paid more money than most workers in the Projects earn in six months. He puts a few, hundred in his mother’s cookie jar, and hides the rest.

He walked to a clothing store, bought a few decent pair of pants, a few shirts, underwear and socks, a good pair of brown leather dress boots. Good school clothes, nothing fancy except for the ankle high brown boots. He likes good boots on his feet.

Back in his apartment, he sees the shabby clothing his sisters are dressed in. Juanita was entering third grade and Isabel was going into the fifth grade. He told his mom to come to the store with them and buy the girls school clothing. Pick out what the girls need mom. She pleaded that there was no money to pay for them. He told her to pick out four outfits for each girl. He had her add shoes and socks and underwear, paper and pencils. They went to the checkout where he paid with no comment to his mother’s astonishment. His sisters were excited to get home, put their new clothing on. He smiled at their happiness.

On the walk back to their apartment he saw Sal give him the eye. He left his family at the entrance to their apartment, walked to their meeting spot. The big Italian handed him a small package, then walked away.

Back at home Domingo heard his mother’s worried voice, Where do you get the money Domingo?

Don’t ask me about money. Don’t ask me about what I have to do.

Your father…

He’s gone and he won’t be back. It’s just us now. You and the girls have needs. She was shocked to hear the firmness in her son’s voice. He had always been a good boy that loved his mother, and little sisters. She knew he was doing something he shouldn’t. She was afraid for him. Her son was a man now. Somehow, he had grown up without her knowing it.

CHAPTER 2

D omingo sat in his room and opened the package. It contained a picture of a man named Robert Fuller and a Colt .38 caliber Revolver. The man lived eight city blocks away. He left the apartment, walked to the target’s address. The street was full of Victorian style three story houses. A police car drove by and the officer eyeballed him but didn’t stop. Traffic on the avenue was steady. He saw a delicatessen across the street, went in and ordered a piece of apple pie with a slice of American cheese on it. He finished the pie, lit up a smoke to go with his coffee. Traffic was heavy. He barely caught sight of the man as he passed across the street from him. He followed the man down to a pawn shop where he waited for him to come out. He finally entered the shop where he pretended to look at the items in the display cases. He saw his target behind the counter. When he left the shop, he noticed the sign on the door that gave the hours. 10 a.m. - 9 p.m. He walked back towards the target’s house where he noticed an alley, with a six- foot high, gate just before the target’s house. He continued walking, turned the corner and walked back to where the alley exited. He saw a dumpster in the alley that would shield him from passer byes while he waited for the target to appear. He lit up a smoke, continued walking towards his home. He walked in the direction of his meeting place with Sal. He nodded at Gino as he passed by.

Sal appeared and he told him, Tonight after the shop closes. Sal passed him an envelope, walked away.

A half hour before closing time he was behind the gate waiting. He was wearing a too large black sweatshirt, had the Colt in his hand. He saw the target leave the shop, pause to lock the security gate for the shop before he started his walk towards him. Domingo opened the gate and fell in behind the target. A shot to the back of his head put the target down on the sidewalk. Another shot through his head as the man lay crumpled at his feet. He dropped the revolver next to the body, then calmly walked to the alley. As he walked, he took off the hooded sweatshirt, dropped it into the dumpster. He walked past a couple necking just inside the alley as he made his way home.

The envelope contained five thousand dollars which he hid except for three hundred in twenties. He went into the kitchen where he placed the money in mom’s cookie jar. He thought about the couple he had passed at the end of the alley. He felt sure they hadn’t seen his face.

He walked out to the front of his building and lit up a smoke. The evening was cooling off. A cold wind was blowing between the buildings. Theresa Romero lived on the first floor and she shyly walked over to him. I don’t see you much anymore now that you’re going to trade school. He smiled at her but made no comment. Her mother was round as a tub and he didn’t doubt that Theresa would look the same way in a few years.

The police got a description of a slight man wearing a hooded sweatshirt. A woman in a car saw the slight man bend down, heard a loud noise, and then she told police, I slid down in the seat. The couple that were necking told them, He was not tall.

Sgt. Mathews didn’t put much credibility in the descriptions. Nobody said if the man was brown, black, white, or even if it was a man. The one thing that bothered him was that this was the second time a weapon used had been discarded. He turned to his partner. What do you think?

Let’s get a coffee, it’s fucking cold.

CHAPTER 3

D omingo had opted to attend trade school. He had no interest in academic studies. He chose machining because it interested him. The first time he had seen metal flakes falling off a piece being shaped really caught his interest. He is happily learning the ins and outs of lathes, milling machines, precision grinders, and the enormous amount of tooling that goes with it. He struggled with the math end of it and got special tutoring from one of the instructors and finally learned it. He keeps his demeanor quiet and serious for the most part, keeps to himself.

Eating lunch in the cafeteria he met a Polish boy named Paul, something or other, with a ski at the end of his name. Paul has an uncle who lives in Colchester, Conn. He owns a small farm of just over 150 acres. It’s enough land for a small dairy farm and growing enough vegetables to earn a good living. Part of the land is heavily forested and offers good hunting. A small stream runs through the property and Paul’s uncle made a small pond for fishing. Paul becomes Domingo’s only friend at school.

The leaves of September were vibrant with color when Paul invited him to go to the farm with him for the day. Paul was a tall heavyset boy. His dad was a house painter by trade and made a good living for his family of five children. They were driving out to the farm when the vehicle in front of them struck a male pheasant that landed in the road in front of them stunned. Paul’s father stopped the Plymouth. Paul and Domingo hopped out of the car and ran to the bird. Domingo jumped on the bird and gathered it up in his arms. He held the bird by its head, spun it around until its neck broke. Back in the car, Paul’s father said, Lunch!

Domingo enjoyed himself on the farm. He helped with milking the dairy cows, helped with the haying, and really enjoyed squirrel hunting with Paul. Exposure to the fields and woods opened a lifelong interest for him. For reasons he never found out, his friendship with Paul didn’t last.

He applied himself at school. He wanted to learn all that he could.

When he turned sixteen, he found a true love in his life when he purchased a Harley 48. The 1,000 cc rebuilt bike was like new and it opened up a new life for Domingo. He had soon traveled all local roads, and then found his way to the countryside. Once he found his way through the city to Blue Hills Avenue, Route 10 led to the tobacco growing town of Southwick, Mass. The countryside appealed to him. The local woods were full of small game and the State regularly stocked Ring Neck Pheasants.

He had done a lot of jobs in and out of the area. He had taken jobs as far north as Portland, Maine and as far west as Philadelphia. He had worked in New London and the outskirts of New York City. He realized that Tony was farming him out, but he really didn’t care. He was 17 years old and he had over twenty-eight thousand dollars stashed away. He stopped along Route 10 just over the Mass. Line and looked at a house for sale. He liked the location. It was just a small three-bedroom house. It had cedar shingles for siding and the whole house was stained light brown with a pastel green roof which set the house off nicely. The setting was very private. Four beautiful maple trees along the roadway added to it charm. He put a deposit down on the house, contracted to add a two-car garage. He had the deed put in his mother’s name and the bank loan for the balance of four thousand dollars. It was a modest well-hidden place to live right out in the open. He had never seen his mom so happy. She was overjoyed when they moved in. His sisters were happy to share a room and they were anxious to start school. His sisters encountered a little racism in the school system, but it was a fraction of what they were used to.

Sal had set him up with a lawyer who helped him establish a machining business. It was all on paper, but it gave his mother an income to report and stay legal. Domingo claimed a small income to start the paperwork.

To make sure he kept in contact with Sal, all it would take was a post card announcing a sale with, the word, COME written on the back to notify him of a new job.

After he graduated from Trade school, he traveled to Providence, Rhode Island and bought the equipment he needed from the surplus stock of the U.S. Navy. His two-car garage was ready to accept the machinery. His lathe came with change gears and was so accurate you couldn’t even lean against the head without distorting the cut a thousandth of an inch. His milling machine was top quality and, turned out first class, work. He took over the whole garage with his equipment and he eventually installed a car-port for his bike and truck.

Isabel was entering high school and she attracted boys like fleas on a dog. He talked to her and made sure she understood what was required of her. He wanted her to be proud, but chaste. Juanita listened to all the conversations raptly. He was as much a father to the girls as a brother. He loved his sisters and only wanted the best for them. His mother was in love with the house. She prided herself on keeping it spick and span. She was not a wasteful person and she treated her daughters with love and care.

Domingo had sent off for the patents for two firearms. A single shot rifle and a, double barreled Derringer. He had bought a book devoted to single shot rifles and had decided to make copies of the original Browning single shot rifle. John Browning was a genius of simplicity in his design of firearms. He had no trouble making the rifle parts and assembling them. The Derringer posed more of a problem. By the use of modern stainless steel, he made a workable firearm. They were essentially, throwaways. One use and they would be tossed away in a convenient river or swamp. He made his rifles in .22 Savage Hi-Power, and used only 120 grain lead bullets.

It was a beautiful Fall day. He was hunting in the woodlands in the back of his house. He had bought a plain, Stevens Model 311 double barreled, 20-gauge shotgun that was just right for bird hunting. The migration flight of woodcocks was in full swing and he had no trouble getting his limit of five birds. He loved the way his mother cooked them in a spicy sauce that burned your tongue as you ate them. The girls had hot dogs.

CHAPTER 4

H e went to the mailbox and looked at the postcard. He turned it over and saw the word COME written on the back. He was waiting in his meeting spot when Sal handed him an envelope. They didn’t speak. He slid the envelope into his leather jacket and motored home on his bike. The job was in Springfield, Mass. The photo showed a heavy-set man with a white beard and a fat cigar in his mouth. He traveled to Agawam and took a motel room in the middle of town. As usual, he had used an alias to rent a car and the motel room. He spent two days checking the man out. It was apparent the man never appeared alone. Two men were with him at all times. The man’s residence was out. There simply was no way to make a good getaway. He decided he would shoot the man from the cover of a nearby building, walk between two buildings to get to his rental, then simply drive away.

He made his rifles with a one-piece aluminum stock held on with a single bolt. The peep sights were adequate for the less than 25 yard shot he was anticipating. He had two, home-made, Derringers loaded with 158 grain jacketed hollow points if he needed them. He took the rifle apart, slid the two pieces into the pants legs of his coveralls. He crab-walked to his shooting hide, assembled the rifle, and lit up a smoke to calm his nerves.

Forty-five minutes later, his target appeared in the back seat of a Lincoln Continental. He steadied the rifle and when the white head appeared in the aperture, gently squeezed the trigger. He saw the brain matter explode from the target’s head. The bodyguard closest to him knelt down by the fallen man. The second guard ran directly across the street towards him. He shot the man twice in the chest. He hurried to his rental and was on the interstate without hearing any sirens or seeing any sign of pursuit. A look in his mirror showed normal traffic for late afternoon. He exited in Enfield and turned west bound on a local road. He drove the speed limit carefully. He drove down to a fishing spot on the river, dismantled the barrels from their receivers. He threw the barrels into the river, got back in his rental and drove home.

He was surprised to see a blue Chevy parked in the yard. He pulled around the vehicle and parked in the car-port. Inside the house, he was introduced to Michael Baron who was Isabel’s long-time boyfriend. He kissed his mother, shook Michael’s hand, then retreated to his workshop. He quickly washed his hands to get rid of the residual gun powder and threw his coveralls into the gas stove and lit it off.

He had a pleasant ride to Hartford on his Harley 48. He loved the thousand cc bike, he toyed with the accelerator as he traveled down Route 10. He parked the bike, walked past the restaurant and gave the high sign to whomever was watching. He met Sal, was handed an envelope.

When he returned home, he counted the money, and was surprised to see it amounted to ten thousand dollars even. He put the money in his hidden safe in his office, returned to the house. Mom was writing out bills and Juanita was talking on the phone. After she hung up, she said, How come you don’t have a girl friend?

I don’t have time to court a girl.

You have time to go hunting, why don’t you hunt for a girl instead? He grinned at his sister and poured himself a coffee. Mom said, The electric bill is very high this month. He nodded.

We’ve had a lot of work lately.

Where have you been these last few days?

Business ma, business

Your sister really likes this boy, Michael, he seems like a nice young man.

Domingo grunted.

CHAPTER 5

H e made a mistake when he accepted a box full of milling cutters that needed to be sharpened. He had done the work, returned them and the result was that different companies were sending more and more tooling to be sharpened. He solved the problem by hiring a local man, Joe Basset to do the work. Joe had been driving thirty-six miles to a machine shop in Hartford, and jumped at the chance for a good job so close to home. He was a highly experienced machinist, had no trouble performing the work. He was surprised that Domingo was so young, but kept his mouth shut.

Joe’s world consisted of raising his three children and building his dream home in Stoddard, N.H. He had two daughters and a son who was an avid hunter. Joe was an ideal employee for Domingo, he was highly capable, and more importantly, kept his mouth shut. He was a very intelligent man and he quickly saw that Domingo was making firearms. He asked no questions. His priority in life was his family and he liked his new job. When Domingo told him, Don’t ever talk about your work here. he simply nodded.

Sal had enclosed a note with the payment. The note stressed the next hit had to be taken from a long way. He assumed that meant distance. He sat down at his drawing board and worked up a plan to enable him to build a rifle for the 7 mm Magnum cartridge. Short of the specialized Magnums, it was the best choice for long range shooting with bullets weighing more than 160 grains. He felt he would have to incorporate a safety lock to handle the immense pressure of the Magnum cartridge. He made his plans and sent out an order for the best and strongest stainless steel he could find and a pair of barrel blanks.

He knew from the increased amounts of hits he was doing that either the entire mob organization knew of him or Tony was farming him out and was the only one to know his identity. He hoped the latter was the case. He hadn’t attracted any law enforcement attention and he wanted to keep it that way.

He was shocked when he picked up the paper and saw that Tony had been arrested and charged with criminal enterprise. He got on his Harley, drove to his meeting spot with Sal. Sal assured, Nothing has changed. You’re still on tap if we need you. He handed him an envelope and they parted. When he opened it, he was shocked to see a picture of Tony along with ten thousand and a promise for fifty more when the job was done.

He spent the next few days working on his rifle. The receiver was oversized and the bull barrel was heavy. He milled two flats on the barrel to accept the scope mounts. He unwrapped the, brand new Weaver ten power scope and mounted it on the barrel. He bore sighted it and adjusted the scope. At his shooting range he fired three shot groups at one hundred yards. They all grouped under an inch. Some groups were under a half inch so he fiddled with the handloads, and came up with a combination just under a half inch at one hundred yards.

The shot was to be taken from an elevated parking garage that his range finder told him was 446 yards away from the courthouse steps. The parking spot was private, paid for six months in advance. He would make the shot from the bed of a pickup truck loaded with a few hay bales. Tony would most probably be wearing a bullet proof vest. The heavy bullet would retain enough energy to punch right through and kill the wearer. He had a hard time finding a place that enabled him to shoot 446 yards. He found a gravel pit that just barely allowed him to test the rifle at the needed distance. He had installed a bi-pod on the barrel, he was ready to begin testing. The image through the scope was bright and clear. His three shot groups fell into less than three inches. A blustery wind picked up, the groups opened up a little, but there was little he could do to correct that problem. He carefully stowed the rifle in his truck and headed home.

The day for the hit was fast approaching, he was nervous. He drove into the parking garage, snuck into the pickup bed. He moved a few bales, and got ready for the shot. An accomplice was going to drive his truck to a popular fishing spot on the Connecticut River. The time was drawing near. He watched through the scope as the Marshals delivered Tony to the front of the courthouse. He took careful aim, then fired the shot that ended Tony’s life before he could testify.

He covered the rifle, climbed out of the truck bed and got into the truck cab. He fought his impulse to speed away. He drove slowly out into the traffic. He fought his nerves as he drove carefully away from the scene. A number of police cruisers passed him as he made his way to the interstate ramp, he got on the northbound lane. Twenty minutes of driving brought him to a boat landing where his rifle was put into a waiting boat. He exchanged trucks with his accomplice. While driving home, he noticied a bag on the seat that held fifty thousand dollars.

CHAPTER 6

J oe was just finishing packing an order to be sent out when he drove in. Joe didn’t know, or care, what Domingo did, or didn’t do. He was receiving good pay and treatment from the young man. Domingo said, Good to see you finished that order. He handed him two hundred dollars, told him, Bonus. Joe pocketed the money, thought about what he could buy for the camp he was building in Stoddard.

Domingo was hunting along the creek bottoms in the alders growing along the banks. The woodcock migration was winding down and the birds were getting scarce. He rounded a clump of tall grass, a woodcock flushed to his left. He started to swing on the corkscrewing bird when a shot rang out and the bird tumbled to the ground. He saw Joe’s son bend to pick up the bird. The boy was small, like him. He had that wiry athletic look about him. He was built like his dad, but shorter and slighter. His dark brown hair was cut short around his ears and longish on the top. His nose was too big and he had a receding chin. Domingo lit up a smoke and the boy said, My father works for you. Domingo nodded. They talked a bit before they joined together and hunted through the alders. Between them they limited out on the scarce birds.

Do you need a ride home?

I usually meet my father on the road after he finishes work.

Come on Don, I’ll give you a ride home.

Domingo liked the boy and they made plans to hunt the next day. He dropped the boy off at his home in the housing development off Route 57. The boy had walked about five miles to the alders where they had met.

Back at the shop, he told Joe he had hunted with the boy, and brought him home. Joe lit up a smoke, poured them coffee from the, ever present, percolator on the counter. Joe told him six more orders had come in. Domingo nodded. Joe invited him to drive up to meet his family at his camp in Stoddard.

I’d like that, I’ll come up on Saturday next.

He spent the weekend hunting with the boy. They drove to Otis and hunted for stocked pheasants. The boy was tireless in his eagerness to hunt. They managed to shoot three cock pheasants, and a few grouse. They stopped at the General store, they bought drinks and snacks before calling it a day.

Domingo was surprised on his way home when he saw for sale signs on either side of his house. A three-acre lot and a five-acre lot. He called the relator and put a deposit down on both properties. He didn’t want any neighbors. Across the road from his house, the land sloped down. He overlooked a, three-hundred-acre tobacco field. What he actually saw was the white top of the tobacco netting. An ocean of white rising and falling with the wind. His home brought him great peace. He would keep it that way.

Life was good for Domingo and his family. His mother was happy. He had sent her to driving school and she had been thrilled to get her license. He bought her a used Chevy two door and the car added a new dimension to her life. She was busy ferrying the girls back and forth to school functions, and shopping in Westfield. His sisters were happy, and involved.

Juanita was growing up and was watching as Domingo drove off in his truck. It seemed he was always going someplace. Life was so different when she compared it to the Projects. Domingo never shouted or ranted and raved like her father had. Mom was quiet and happy. Her hand had never healed properly, but she never complained. She could talk to Domingo. He understood her desire to go to college, he encouraged her to study hard and make a plan for her life. Her sister was involved with her long-time boyfriend. Mom liked the young man. Knew they were planning on getting married as soon as Isabel graduated. Juanita had a few dates of her own, but didn’t want to get involved with anyone. She was quiet like her brother, for the most part, kept to herself. She heard mom starting to vacuum the rugs. She hurried to help her.

CHAPTER 7

D omingo decided to visit Joe. It was a warm morning. He had checked the mail, no messages. He packed a change of clothing, a very hot thermos of coffee in his saddlebags. Juanita kissed him goodbye as he kicked the Harley over, and headed north on Route 10. He would follow Route 10 until he hit the city of Keene in New Hampshire where he would switch to Route 9 and travel about thirty miles to Route 123. West on 123 a few miles to Stoddard. First right after the lake, follow to first left, where he would see Joe’s Chrysler 300 parked. Simple, he thought as he drove north on scenic Route 10.

He pulled over to the side of the roadway right before the, WELCOME TO N.H. sign. As he reached for his thermos, the smell of the evergreen trees flooded his nostrils and he breathed in deeply. He paced a little as he drank his hot coffee, relaxed his leg muscles. He liked to take a break after a couple hours riding. He preferred the solitude of a roadside pull-off. Back on the bike, he motored straight through to Joe’s camp. He was highly impressed by the surrounding forest. He really enjoyed the ride north.

When he arrived, Joe was working on the roof, he gave him a wave of welcome as he parked his bike. Joe’s wife, Lucy, met him, and walked him down to the edge of the lot on the lake. He looked out over the water at the distant shore. Joe’s wife served coffee and he met Joe’s two daughters. Seventeen, year old, Claire and the youngest, eight, year old, Diane. Don sat next to him as Joe joined them. He had a good time meeting Joe’s family and was amazed that time had passed so quickly. He wanted to get home before dark, so he said his goodbyes just after four. He had a nice uneventful ride home. He felt he had learned a lot on the trip. The area was big and wild. He felt a strong affinity to the dark woodlands.

He was impressed with Joe’s family. He didn’t think he’d ever go that way, but you never know. He liked country living. He liked the peace and quiet most of all. You could walk the fields, woods, never see a another living soul.

The parcel that his lots had been subdivided from came on the market. He didn’t hesitate to put a binder on it. He hired a surveyor, had a plat drawn up showing house lots varying from three to five acres each. He wanted to get the subdivision approved before more stringent regulations were enacted. He had learned that there was a lot of money in housing. The most important thing he learned was, land appreciates. He was determined to create a high-end development. His land was private and secluded yet had easy access to the population center of Springfield. He was prepared to hold the land ten years if necessary, to achieve his goals. He vowed to himself, I’m going to make a lot of money from these forty-two lots.

He was discouraged when he got a quote from an excavating contractor. He was very reluctant to put out that amount of money on speculation. He was in the Projects talking to an old friend from school. Juan was known as a wheeler dealer, he boasted he could get anything you wanted at bargain basement prices. Over drinks, Juan told him, I can get you a D6 almost dirt cheap.

How much?

Maybe three thousand would do it.

Domingo thought, three thousand, that’s a drop in the bucket compared to the quote he had received. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became. Get me one!

A week later he was awakened by Juan’s call. Juan simply said, I got it. He told Juan where to deliver it, and hung up. Who in the hell gets up at three in the morning?

He hired Don to operate the dozer. The boy had a good understanding of the plat. He spent the day with the surveyor to better understand his markings. By two that afternoon, he was off and running. Domingo hired two laborers, Don was to supervise them in the cutting of trees and the piling of brush. The boy had grown into a man, and he had his trust.

Before the Town would accept the roads, they required that they be graded, and oiled by the road agent. He agreed and was pleased when the Town accepted the roads. Don worked another month with a helper marking out the roads and