>>4114
They were offended when I bought this land. They used to think of it as their own private hunting preserve.”“Tell me about the run-ins,” Jeff persisted.“We used to keep a hunting tent at the top of the canyon. After we asked them to stop trespassing, one of their clan broke into our equipment locker and crapped all over the handles.”Jeff lowered the binos. “They literally shit on your equipment locker?”Jason shrugged. “They’re rednecks. Down on their land, they’ve built a ghetto survival retreat—they’ve got foxholes, buildings made out of pallets, tripwires. It’s like a scene out of Deliverance.”“What did you do about them shitting on your locker?” Jeff drilled down.“We let it go. Eventually they quit coming over the mountain to hunt.”
This pissed me off, because they bought the land without even talking to the people that lived there and they most likely owned the land beforehand and got the land they owned pull out from under them, and yet they are a bunch of "inbred hicks"? fucking whatever man.
Jason’s answer made him feel self-conscious, like he had compromised his “man card” by not making the Beringers face consequences for their disrespect. By all accounts, Jason was a man’s man. Tall and broad of shoulder, he had taken care of himself, working out daily, lifting weights and completing a handful of half-ironman triathlons over the years. He had been an Eagle Scout and, since boyhood, he had spent a large chunk of his life in the woods. But even a “man’s man” felt self-conscious around Jeff Kirkham. No amount of civilized outdoorsmanship compared
with two-and-a-half decades living in the muck as a Green Beret.“Those Beringer people can’t stay,” Jeff concluded, not inviting discussion.“I’d like them gone, too, but they own that land. I don’t see how we can run them off their own land without inviting others to do the same to us.”“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” Jeff handed back the binoculars with a blank smile. That smile made Jason uncomfortable. It implied gamesmanship. It hinted at a desire for a chess match, like something out of a Kipling novel, a penchant for cheating, a pleasure at defeating others through superior maneuvering. Nothing implied by that smile put Jason at ease with Jeff Kirkham. Jason was well aware that American Special Forces operators cheated. They fought at night with night vision and air support. They used technological advantage to win with grotesque dominance over the enemy. Top-tier Green Berets were often loaned to the CIA, where the deeds ran dark and deep. Jeff had almost certainly triggered foreign insurgencies by employing carefully set layers of intrigue and connivance. He had spent a lifetime in the mind-bending juxtaposition where an operator’s personal reputation and integrity among Americans was everything. That same operator would smile at a terrorist across the table, call him brother, use him like a dishrag, then radio in an air strike to kill him.During the decades Jeff fought for his country using every trick in the book, Jason built wealth and honed his ability as a leader of enterprise. He made a career out of full disclosure and fair dealing. He had been taught early on that virtue won most battles on the fields of commerce and had made a great deal of money through cooperation, collaboration and respect.Jason didn’t know the half of Jeff’s career, and he suspected Jeff had spent time within the shadowy elements of the United States government. Jason worried that the same subterfuge might someday be turned on him.He looked at Jeff for a long moment. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. What befell the Beringers could easily befall the Ross family, Jason thought to himself. And then after that there's a gigantic circlejerk on how cool jeff kirkham is, i actually feel sorry for the other author jason ross lmao. THIS IS JUST A DEVIANT ART FANFIC.