My dad,cousin, and myself had to arm ourselves and go to Sinaloa to rescue my aunt and uncle. My uncle and aunt helped run a clinic there, and spent most of there time picking up dead bodies off the streets. Hell they had a dead gut show up on ther lawn one morning. The dealers controlled everything and the cops were powerless, when we showed up we could tell they were keeping an eye on us. My cousin a war vet said " this shit aint right, lets do our shit and move out" this is an Iraq war vet.
The first rule of survival. Hearing a little voice telling you you have an elsewhere to be and listening to it. This is what seperates dead heroes from living practical men.
It ain't nearly as dramatic, but it supports your point. In the early '90s there was a stream of car jackings on the road out of the Miami airport. Governor Chiles showed up (in body armor surrounded by the Highway Patrol) to demonstrate that it was "perfectly safe"
. They would bump your car on the access road, then, when you pulled over, jack you. There was even a local band called (I shit you not) "Dead German Tourist".
. My dad and I went to pick up a cousin coming in on a red eye fron Seattle. We'd just made it to the highway when I realized "Dad, I left my .357 back at the house, we should turn around". The reply? Don't worry, I've got a .38, the High-Power is under the left passenger seat and the Remington (7400, 30/06 with a ten round mag), is by the back door (to the van). Just another night out in in South Florida.
The weird thing? It didn't strike either of us as weird. Gas? Check. Map? Check. Time of arrival and flight number? check. Enough ordinance to put two hundred or so rounds downrange? Check. Just going to the airport. Another day in paradise
When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro. Best to avoid the weirdness before it sneaks up on you.
FQ13
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