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  The Old Farts In Miami

  By Richard F. Hill

  Copyright 2016 Richard F. Hill

  Private Detective McKenzie Ford loves the adventure of strange cases. Still dealing with the impact of a war long ago, his buddies, a group of former Special Forces soldiers, take on a cartel and kidnapping. Vengeance for an old friend is worth the price.

  "The Old Farts in Miami" is the first in the series of novels which take our sometimes fearless group of old Vietnam Veterans into numerous interesting and odd mysteries. This first book is about a third the length of the others.

  Other books in The Old Farts Series

  The Old Farts In The Swamp

  The Old Farts in The Keys

  ____

  Other books by Richard F Hill

  Iron Soldiers In Vietnam

 

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  About The Author

  Other Titles By Richard F Hill

  Contact Richard F Hill

  Preview of The Old Farts In The Swamp

  Prologue

  Private Detective McKenzie Ford was once Captain McKenzie Ford who led a US Army Special Forces A-Team against elements of the 95th North Vietnamese Regiment.

  This is the back story of The Old Farts that presents the time that defined their modern day aging lives and where they are today. Like most Vietnam combat veterans, they find it difficult to escape memories of that terrible time.

  ***

  In 1961 the 5th Special Forces detachments were given the mission of training for a paramilitary force, which eventually came to be known collectively as the Civilian Irregular Defense Group (CIDG) program. The development of paramilitary forces among the minority groups became the primary role of Special Forces in Vietnam.

  McKenzie Ford was a Captain in the US Army, a Ranger, and a member of the Green Berets or 5th Special Forces. He commanded an A-Team of 2 officers and 11 senior non-commissioned officers. Ford and his team had trained together at Fort Bragg, NC where they became a replacement team for A-262 which had been overrun and annihilated by the 95th North Vietnamese Regiment at Dong Son in Phu Yen province of South Vietnam. Team 262 moved on emergency orders to rebuild the local CIDG force in the area and take over intelligence gathering, even though it was politically obvious that the Saigon government was weak, disorganized and bound to fail.

  This was one of the last such outposts still not transferred over to the Vietnamese Rangers. It was an important location from which to conduct intelligence gathering operations in an area totally under the control of the army of North Vietnam.

  The war had become an American war, one that the US government was fighting on behalf of the South Vietnamese and yet was afraid to win, fearful of Chinese intervention. This placed an extraordinary burden on the men located at isolated camps in the middle of enemy territory.

  Ford’s team was in Vietnam for 5 months mostly spent recruiting replacements and gathering intelligence about the enemy when they, too, underwent a savage attack by the same 95th NVA regiment. Five of the team were killed in action and virtually all the other received wounds of varying severity, some of which required emergency Medevac extraction. Ford had received two wounds, adding two Purple Hearts to his Silver Star for bravery and numerous other decorations and awards for service.

  He, like all “snake eaters” in ‘Nam, was a paratrooper, most of whom were qualified as Senior or Master parachutists. And, like the others, they had all received the Vietnam Special Forces Parachute Wings, a cherished award that few outside Special Forces had been awarded. It was known, however, that four officers from some Engineer Construction Battalion had made three or four jumps at the Dong Ba Thin airborne center. That was where Vietnamese, Laotian and Cambodian airborne troops were trained. Few knew how those engineers even got in the center, much less made jumps and were later awarded the coveted wings by the Luc Luong Dac Biet (LLDB) or Vietnamese Special Forces high command. But it did make a lot of other non-SF paratroopers both indignant and jealous. (The author is very proud of his set).

  McKenzie had an extraordinary kinship with his team and had made sure that he kept in contact with all who survived, regardless of their next duty stations. Not too surprisingly, some of his men chose to leave the Army at the end of their enlistments. Others chose to continue their military careers until retirement at 20 years of service, which meant they would be returning to Vietnam for another year-long tour.

  McKenzie went back to college for an advanced degree after retiring, but the isolation and age distance he felt between himself and his fellow students and professors soon ended his studies in failure. He just didn’t fit in. He moved all over the country for several years, seeking stability and acceptance. Finally, he decided to return to his roots in North Central Florida. His hometown of High Springs, however, felt strange to him largely due to the problems so many Vietnam Veterans were encountering at the time. He needed isolation, not condemnation.

  While still in service, he had received a small inheritance from his father which he used to purchase stock in Apple Computer. That worked out well so he had the money to build a small stilt house on 10 acres of land by the Suwannee River in Gilchrist County. The stilts were needed since the Suwannee floods fairly frequently in the summer. McKenzie found it amusing that Stephen Foster, the famous author of the song “Old Folks At Home”, in which there is the line “…way down upon the Swanee River,” a river never seen by Mr. Foster. And he couldn’t spell either…

  McKenzie and other residents of the area are surrounded by a profusion of undisturbed woods, natural springs, ponds, and rivers. It is a haven from the rush and bustle of city life, peaceful and tranquil, which was just what Ford needed. Old timers like to think of Gilchrist County as how Florida was “meant to be” before the tourism boom. The northern border of the county is defined by the Santa Fe River, a natural wonder which slips underground in a slow whirlpool in O’Leno State Park and reappears three miles away before merging with the Suwannee which then meanders gracefully, forging the county’s western border. These two rivers are punctuated by several world famous Florida springs, including Hart Springs with its long boardwalk down to the Suwannee, Ginnie Springs with its nine clear freshwater springs, and Blue Springs, with its deep, blue waters. A little bit of paradise, though it does draw a lot of tourists to the springs and rivers.

  Once he decided where he wanted to settle, McKenzie began contacting those team members he could find. John Fairchild was the first since he lived in nearby Gainesville, home of the University of Florida and their famous Gator sports teams. John had been the A-Team’s Assistant Medical Specialist and a Staff Sergeant. He had been wounded twice and would have died the second time if not for McKenzie. He continues to have rather severe PTSD, mainly survivor guilt, wondering how and why he survived when so many of his friends and patients did not. He knows he is not responsible but, like so many others, carries the guilt anyway and for some reason that only his brain understands, he is often quite nervous. Once these two got back together again John became even more devoted to McKenzie.

  It took about a year to locate the other men, though Mac knew Samson Jones had died in a terrible car wreck soon after he returned to the States. Some said it was suicide since he had hit an Interstate bridge abutment head-on at high speed. All too often, suicide was the end game for so many combat veterans. And Sandy Hampton, who had been the team Communications Specialist, had gone homel
ess, as did so many Vietnam Vets, and had completely disappeared. A background check showed minor criminal activities, but nothing serious. And then nothing.

  Phil Bailey, who had been a Master Sergeant and the senior NCO on the team and had been a tremendous advisor to Ford. He had a second sense for danger that was extremely reliable. He served 2 tours with Mac, was wounded, divorced 3 times, and tends to see women through a dark lens. His sensing danger obviously didn’t apply to women. He had returned to his native New York City where he became an NYPD policeman and then a private investigator in the city.

  Chuck Travis had been found out in the wilds of Colorado where he and his girlfriend had a small ranch. Chuck had been the Light Weapons leader, a Sergeant First Class, and the team sniper. That was a skill he enjoyed and maintained using his bolt action Barrett M99 .50 cal with a 29” fluted barrel and QDL suppressor – a sniper rifle. On his second tour he operated in the Phoenix Program of assassination of the Viet Cong infrastructure. He has frequently worked as a civilian contractor for Special Operations Group (SOG) of the CIA, spending a lot of time in Africa and the Middle East. He remained proud of his skills and kept them honed with regular target practice on tin cans and coyotes. He was seriously wounded once and still has problems with PTSD, having nightmares about his experiences.

  Cliff Cassidy was the team demolitions expert and a Sergeant First Class, wounded three times. Ford located him in Norfolk, VA, where he was working on a building implosion, his current job. Cliff developed a serious drinking problem, which hardly went well given his vocation, but he usually managed to keep it under control when a job was coming up. Fortunately for the owner of his favorite hometown vodka store in Asheville, NC, his job was off and on since making tall buildings fall down was not a day-to-day occurrence. This allowed Cliff the time at home to continue his search for the perfect vodka. Or the closest one at hand. All of this was the cause of his long-term separation from his wife, something he regrets, but there is always the pursuit of his advanced spiritual education.

  In checking on Cliff, McKenzie heard a rumor that he and the liquor store owner were partners in a bootleg liquor operation a few miles from Asheville. That made sense, given the long-term and well-deserved reputation for bootlegging in Western North Carolina. And in reality, there wasn’t much difference in good moonshine and vodka anyway, other than the law. The final product of a still could be more than 180 proof, or 90% grain alcohol, and vodka was mostly bottled at 80 proof or 40% alcohol. Adding 125 gallons of water to every 100 gallons of shine, well, that makes 80 proof shine (vodka). Just add bottles and labels and get paid in cash! Don’t tell the Feds, but the Sheriff knows and is a junior partner, of sorts, in the business, not an uncommon thing in the mountains of Western Carolina.

  The most successful member of the team was Rob Andrew who had been the team’s Intelligence Sergeant He was also wounded twice and still carried shrapnel in his right hip. But that hadn’t stopped him from becoming a police officer and then a private investigator, a very wealthy snoop if you will. He’d made good use of his intelligence training and had carried it over into civilian life. His firm was responsible for several cases that paid well, very well. He is headquartered on Brickell Avenue in Miami, one of the poshest parts of that little burg. His client list was quite impressive. The firm is known as AIS or Andrews Investigative Services.

  Becoming a P.I. seemed like a good way to earn a living, and so McKenzie took the necessary 40 hours training plus the training for a concealed carry permit and worked under an already Florida licensed investigator, Rob Andrews, to obtain a Class CC investigator’s license, as per the law. Of course, he did that work out of a small office near his home. After all, he certainly couldn’t afford to live in Miami. And there were too many people there already.

  McKenzie soon set up shop as AIS Gilchrist and opened for business. He and Rob had agreed that a license fee of $100 plus the office rental fee per month would probably meet the legal needs of the state and Ford would put the rest of the proceeds into his own bank account as a sole proprietor. Rob’s firm had to pay the rent on the office to assure that it was, in fact, his branch office.

  AIS had a nice ring to it, but it probably wasn’t a good thing to put in big letters on the back of a blue windbreaker. Somehow the state would probably think that might look like impersonating a law enforcement officer... Never.

  It wasn’t long before John, too, completed the necessary training and got his CC license as well, and he, too, went to work as an intern for the main AIS, but in Gilchrist County and not Miami. Shows how confusing can these laws be, though they are written by legislative sharks for working sharks. But then, confusing laws allow entrepreneurs to flourish.