I have so many flashlights I don’t know what to do. I have a really nice rechargeable I carried for years until quite recently, when I pruned down the stuff I keep on my belt. I have a sort-of-slightly-bigger-than-a-penlight that I carry currently. I have 2 old EDC flashlights here in my desk drawer, 3 or 4 cheap flashlights in my junk drawer, at least two more in my ammo drawer, 2 on or in my nightstand, seriously, I’m up to my ass in flashlights.
I only ever paid serious money for one of them, and I keep it on the business end of my bump-in-the-night rifle. Like the rifle itself it’s very seldom of any use because I’m not at all a night person but I keep it handy and in good repair because when I need it I need it right f’ing now and nothing else will do. Every now and then something goes bump in the night, and there’s nobody to call about it. Like last night, for example.
Around 8:30 last night Tobie got very excited and hostile about something outside. It’s his only real job, and to his credit he takes it seriously. I seldom know what he’s on about but I do at least look to see if I agree as to its importance, right? Turned out this time he was barking at something I could see and hear: It’s bedtime for sane people and some idiot is vrooming back and forth in the wash with an ATV. Made a couple of passes and then disappeared downstream. I figured that was that. A little while later I took off my leg and settled down on my bed with a book. Not quite ready for lights-out but pretty much done with the day. And about 9:30 Tobie started up again. And I didn’t have to look out the window to know why: That damned ATV was back! What’s more, judging from the sound it wasn’t just passing by.
Pro-tip: I don’t have any friends likely to do that, at least not without a warning phone call. And if you make me put my leg back on after I’ve taken it off for the night – well, I’ll willingly do it for a friend. For anybody else, I’m gonna be cranky.
So now I’m vertical and bipedal and out on my porch with my brightest flashlight but I didn’t need it to see where my intruder was because he had every light blazing – out at my rifle range, where he stopped, got out of the ATV, and walked around. And then that person got back in, did a u-turn in the sand, and drove away.
Okay: Now you’ve gotten me out of bed, made me put my leg on, and you’re screwing with my stuff. Now I’m pissed.
I had a fair idea who this was, though no proof. We few who live in the roughly four-square-mile little valley I call the Gulch used to say we’d gotten awfully lucky with our neighbors: Well, in the past couple of years the view hasn’t been quite that sunny. In particular there’s a guy sort of at the edge of the Gulch who has fallen really seriously into drinking and whose behavior has become peculiar to the point of concerning. And it’s not the first time he has taken it upon himself to cast his eyes upon my or Ian’s belongings uninvited. And among other vehicles he has an expensive ATV that sort of matches the silhouette that this one cast against the wall of the wash with its own several brilliant headlights.
I’m a retiring kinda guy. I’m not looking for trouble with anybody. But I live very alone in the frickin’ middle of frickin’ nowhere, there’s no cop I can call when things go sideways in the middle of the night, and for the record that’s why my brightest flashlight is coaxial to something with a 30-round magazine. And now my nocturnal visitor has me tossing it into my Jeep to go see for myself what mischief he’s been up to. After I checked out the range – nothing out of order – I knew I wouldn’t rest until I’d ensured that nobody had been screwing around halfway up the ridge at Ian’s place. Which I did, while I should have been asleep, because settling my mind about that was the only way I’d ever get to sleep now.
While poking around alone in the dark I was, at least, comforted by the fact that my only really bright flashlight was not only high in lumens but also in ammo capacity. Which is why I arranged it that way. Seriously, just don’t do that.
