I woke up in a McDonald’s parking lot on the Jersey Turn Pike. We were bound for Washington, DC and stopped to rotate drivers after traveling south through the night. I rubbed my eyes and stretched in the sunny parking lot. Tourists from Georgia stared and snapped pictures as they filed into their coach bus.

The driver of the tour bus next to us, a Haitian man named Silver, questioned us enthusiastically about the potential to grow fuel on his home island. We talked about the benefits of energy independence and exchanged contact information. I’ve since learned of an organization called BODDI and their efforts to “develop Bio-sustainable communities in both the Dominican Republic and Haiti.” Using biofuels from sugar cane, jatropha and other plants, as well as solar, wind, geothermal, and other renewable energy resources, they aim to bring about a rebirth of the island by building a locally controlled industry, improving the general standard of living, and reducing dependence on foreign oil. That would be a good thing for Haiti, the first slave colony to gain independence, only to be continuously attacked and exploited for centuries since. Neocolonialism, economic imperialism, or whatever one calls it remains, and Haiti is still the poorest country in the hemisphere.

****

Halfway through Maryland we found a good batch of grease behind an almost barren mini-mall. A bearded old man in a jean jacket stumbled out of the door in the back of a dive bar into the asphalt lot. It was about 11 am.

One of the restaurateurs, Dave, pale and slight with combed brown hair and a moustache, told us about his aspirations to get out of the restaurant business, maybe start brewing his own biodiesel and get back into bounty hunting.

Dave told us a little about his history in law enforcement. “What’s the most interesting case you’ve worked on?” Ethan asked him. He related to us a story about the three bank-robbing thespians who dreamed of starting their own theatre company, and would not let lack of funding stop them. So they robbed their local bank, opened their theatre with the cash, and began producing shows. A year later, and broke again, they went back to their unwilling benefactors this time taking the vault and walking away with over $180,000. When they returned a third time the pirate thespians were caught off guard by a bank that had learned its lesson. The robbers shot and killed a guard to escape and they and their money were marked when an ink bomb detonated inside their currency. They washed the money with a large amount of solvent from a local beauty parlor. Demonstrating their passion for the stage, they spent the washed money locally and continued to produce shows. It wasn’t long before the FBI, with the help of Dave, and the beauty parlor tracked down the dynamic trio.

“You’re making me think that it’s not that hard to rob a bank and get away with it,” I said.

“It’s not,” Dave replied shrugging his shoulders.

“We are looking for funding” I mused. “What do you think E?”

“I don’t think that our blue school bus with the giant silver stripe and a top speed of 65mph is the right getaway vehicle,” E replied.

Dave hung around as we topped off the veg-tank and wrapped up our hoses. He offered us the bathroom of his bar for us to wash up.

“Yeah I disagree with our criminal justice system,” said Dave. Ethan, Burkie and I nodded in agreement thinking of the millions of people mired in the US Prison System.

“Yeah I think we should be able to shoot someone if they run,” Dave said.

We looked at one another incredulously then politely nodded our heads. Who wouldn’t run if someone like Dave was chasing you?

We finished cleaning up. Dave gave us a bag of bulkie rolls, cold cuts and sliced cheese, and we bid the bounty hunting restaurateur farewell.

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