I ran for the Duster, threw the bag of cash in the back, started the engine and pulled out. I even fucking signalled. Down the street at about 30 mph,...nice and easy, attract no attention. Somebody saw though, the big police cruiser hung a yewie and headed after me. I put my foot down. Under the hood of my Duster was 346 cubic inches of badass shit, I built the thing myself. Special shocks and springs, 490 horsepower on tap and more if I pushed the red button. Even the tires and wheels were. None of them had a future. Then my sister came home on leave.She had enlisted in the Army as a clerk-typist the summer she graduated. She had just made Specialist 4th class and had the news that she was being assigned to a recently reopened post only an hour and a half from home. She had a car, nice civilian clothes and actual money in her pocket. A week later she and I went to the recruiter’s office.This was 1977. Vietnam was finally officially over. The Army was, frankly, a wreck and. More

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