Jack's Mess (Prt1 - Thirty Days To Kill)

He leaned his weight against the side of the open door of the
boxcar. Looking out at the passing scenery, he wondered where
he was. It had been two nights since he left Montgomery,
Alabama, and all Jack Carter knew for sure was that he'd been
headed west. On his way to Jackson, Mississippi, he hoped. At
least there, he could get himself something to eat and,
hopefully, find himself a job.
At six-foot four, Jack was considered a large man by most,
but he wasn't just tall, he was very strong. He knew he was
capable of bending thick steel reinforcing bars in his bare hands
or lifting great weight, and he looked every bit the part.
By now, Jack's latest new friend lay slumped over in a far
corner of the train car. He looked very tired, when in fact, he
was just very dead. Jack had a tendency to wear out new
relationships awfully quickly.
Jack liked the practice of changing identity. It gave him a
chance at a fresh start and a way to avoid conflict with the law.
A person might think that killing someone would create that
conflict, but to a man like Jack, it became a good way to cover
his tracks as he went from town to town. That way, he rarely
attracted attention to himself. There was always a different guy
who worked on Jack's behalf, and always a different town to
work in.
He walked over to the man he'd just finished choking. Jack
had seen death many times before. He'd learned to take the time
to stand back and enjoy his handiwork. He carefully studied the
expression on the corpse's face. The poor guy looked so
surprised, thought Jack, as he put his fingers over the man's
eyes and closed them. "Good, he said to himself. "Now he's
only sleeping. Jack had a talent for rationalizing his actions.
He was just a bum anyway, Jack thought, as he rifled through
the man's pockets and pulled out his wallet.
The first thing Jack noticed as he opened the wallet was a
black and white photo of a young woman. She had her hair
brushed up over her forehead and wore the sides long and curly,
down to her shoulders. Her features were sharp, and her
cheekbones and jaw line appeared to be more chiseled then
most. She was a good-looking girl. Better looking than most of
the girls he'd seen. He pulled the picture out completely, and
tossed it out of the open door of the moving train.
There were two other photos inserted in the wallet that
caught Jack's attention. One was a picture of a little boy, about
six or seven years old. The other, a girl with a doll held draped
over her shoulder, probably ten or eleven years old. Jack looked
as if he were studying the pictures very carefully as he pulled
them from the leather billfold and methodically tore them into
small fragments. He held the pieces of shredded photos in his
hand and let them go, out the open door, in the passing breeze
of the train. One by one, the shreds left his hand like confetti
from a parade. Jack didn't have a very deep regard for human
life.
The next thing he noticed, as he pulled the rest of the wallet
open, was thirty dollars in cash. He could always use the
money. He removed the three ten-dollar bills from their
compartment and stuffed them into his pants' pocket. He also
removed the man's driver's license that he hadn't noticed until
now. It was a Georgia state license issued to a Mr. Bill Bradley.
The expiration date read July 15, 1936. It was still good for
another year, and from the description on the license, Jack
could see that the deceased Mr. Bradley was six-foot two
inches tall and weighed two hundred pounds. The physical
description wasn't far from his own, and Jack grinned,
knowing that he'd soon be passing himself off as Mr. Bill
Bradley. "Maybe I should tell people to call me William? he
said, as he laughed aloud to himself. "I could do with a little
respect. Hell, who knows, that might just do it.
Just then, Jack turned his head to listen to the loud shrill
whistle of the train. He knew it was either near an intersection
with a road, or near a town, or both. He didn't have a watch on
and couldn't tell what time it was, but he remembered he saw
one on the corpse's wrist. Once again, he walked over to where
the body lay, picked up the lifeless left arm of his victim and
removed the time piece from its wrist. "Hey, it's still ticking,
he said to himself. "Looks like two-forty. Hope it's right. I can
still get dinner somewhere. God, I'm hungry.
Some minutes later, Jack found himself right where he
wanted to be. As the train pulled into its station, he saw a sign
which read Welcome to Jackson, Mississippi. He could hardly
wait, he hadn't eaten anything in two days and his stomach
reminded him constantly. Before the train came to a stop, he
jumped from the car, but before he did, he made sure he closed
the boxcar door as much as he could. The further away he could
get from the dead man he left behind, the better off he'd be. "No
sense in them discoverin' old Bill before I can get dinner, he
said to himself. As long as he could put a few miles between
himself and the late Mr. Bradley, he knew he wouldn't have to
worry about getting caught.
He walked down Bailey Avenue and looked for a
restaurant. He spotted a place called Mary's Diner and made
his way inside. Sitting at the counter, he helped himself to a
menu.
A pretty young lady strolled her way toward Jack. She had
long blonde curls that she assembled behind her head in to a
bun, and over her forehead, long bangs lay lightly, very nearly
touching her eyebrows. Her skin was smooth in appearance and
milk white in color. She had an aura about her of a very pretty
woman, which she was.
She liked young, tall guys, and Jack fit the bill. She smiled
at him as she came toward, and Jack reflexively winked in
response.
"You don't waste time do you, she said as she squeezed
her shapely torso behind the counter.
"What?
"You got yourself a menu before I could give you one, but
that's okay, it doesn't matter, she said as she smiled. She bent
at the waist and put her elbow down on the counter, coming to
a rest with her chin in her hand, she gazed into the eyes of a
killer. Her unobtrusive lipstick and make-up giving emphasis
to her already naturally pretty lips.
"Gee, sorry. I guess I wasn't thinking. I'm just so hungry,
said Jack. "I feel like I been working in the field all day.
"We'll fix that. Do you know what you want yet?
"It's standin' right in front of me, said Jack. Even though
his stomach gnawed at him, he was in a playful mood. After all,
he had at least fifty dollars in his pocket, a pretty girl standing
before him, and not a care in the world.
The waitress smiled again and blushed.
"Oh, I suppose you could get me two eggs scrambled if you
wanted to. A side of bacon would be nice. Hash browns with
onions sound good, and if you throw some toast on it, I'll leave
you the biggest tip you ever saw. By the way, what's you're
name? Or do I just call you Beautiful?
"Laura Preston, she said as she finished writing down the
order. "How about you? What's your name? Or do I just call
you Handsome?
"You can call me anything your heart desires, but my
name's Bill. Bill Bradley and I'm very glad to make your
acquaintance.
"Glad to make yours. Just let me get this to the cook, Bill.
Give him twenty minutes, he's fast. Sit tight and I'll be right
back.
As Laura made her way to the kitchen, the train conductor
back at the station was just discovering the body Jack left
behind in his wake. The lonely dark, together with the smell of
death, gave the conductor the feeling he'd stepped not into a
train car, but a tomb. How long the corpse had been there was
anyone's guess.
He started to go through the man's pockets, but almost as
quickly as he'd made his decision, he reversed it. He knew he'd
better leave this to the police, and as soon as he got back to the
station house, he called them.
About half an hour later, two officers and a detective
arrived at the scene. While the train conductor stood and
watched, the policemen searched the body for identification,
and the detective calmly walked around the train car until he'd
made two complete passes. Kneeling now and then to brush
away debris and old leaves that had blown into the car, he
finally came to rest, hovering over his two assistants. No
incriminating evidence could be found, and no identification
could be found. Jack was good at his craft and learned through
experience.
The detective turned to the conductor and asked, "Is this the
way you found him? Did you change the position of the body or
handle it in any way?
"No, I almost started to look for his wallet, but my common
sense stopped me. All I did was call you guys.
The detective's eyes darted to the corpse, and then to the
officers. "Al, Tim, you two sure we got nothing to go on?
The policemen looked at each other before answering.
After a brief pause, one of them spoke. "If you ask me, either
this guy was a complete bum and just didn't carry any I.D., or
the killer got rid of it before he left.
"Yeah, those thoughts occurred to me too, said the
detective. "But look at the way he's dressed. His clothes aren't
torn, he doesn't look half bad considering the shape he's in
right now. I'm guessing he wasn't a bum and the killer either
took the I.D. with him, or he threw it out somewhere between
here and Alabama.
The second cop looked away from the detective and spit out
a large brown pool of saliva mixed with tobacco. "Then what
was he doin' riding the rails if he wasn't a bum? he said.
"Kinda strange, ain't it?
"Sure, I agree. We just don't know enough right now to
answer that. But Tim¦ The detective hesitated.
"Yeah?
"Don't spit that crap in here, okay? Don't take a chance
messing up the crime scene. And while I got your attention, call
the morgue. Tell them we got a body out here at the train station
to pick up. With that, he turned his attention to the other cop.
"Al, you get your camera and take some pictures. Cover the
whole floor area in here. Every corner of the car, got it? And of
course, take some mug shots of our friend here, he said, as he
pointed to the dead man laying on the floor.
The detective wheeled slowly around and walked
purposefully toward the train conductor. He reached into an
inner pocket of his coat, and with his arm outstretched, offered
the conductor a card.
"Stark, Detective Larry Stark. Take this card. If you find
anything in or around the train, or if you hear anything, don't
hesitate to call me. If I'm not around, somebody will take a
message, okay?
"Sure.
"And what's your name? I need it for my report, he said, as
he took a pencil and small notebook out of a pocket of his trench
coat.
"Art Shaffer. That's S-h-a-f-f-e-r, no 'c' in it. People
always wanna put a 'c' in my name, but there ain't none.
"How about a phone number where I can reach you?
"Liberty 4 - 1212. Easy to remember, ain't it? Call me
anytime, but I don't know any more than you. Wish I could
help.
"I wish you could too, said Detective Stark. "Just keep
your eyes and ears open. Something might come up, you never
know.
As the police were leaving the train depot, Jack was just
finishing up his late lunch.
"Why don't you look me up sometime? I'm here five days
a week, said Laura.
Jack pushed his empty plate forward and patted his full
stomach with both hands. "I think I'll just do that, he said.
He picked the bill up that Laura gave him for his meal. A
dollar fifty seemed reasonable for what he'd eaten. He reached
down into his pocket and pulled out the fifty dollars he had on
him. With a careful, concerned expression on his face, he laid
three dollars and fifty cents on the counter and waved goodbye
to his pretty waitress. "Keep the change, Laura, he said, as he
walked past the tables and booths and made his way out the
door.
Standing just outside the restaurant's entrance, he noticed
his reflection in the storefront glass and took the opportunity to
adjust his hair and comb it back into place. Glancing down, he
recognized a sign taped to the window. He hadn't seen a sign
like it since he was a boy. It read:
RINGLING BROTHERS AND
BARNUM & BAILEY CIRCUS
In town for three weeks only!
July 18th to August 8th ¦
Jack wondered about working for the circus. He needed the
money and it seemed like a good way to make some cash. He
didn't take jobs that required him to pay taxes. At least not
while he was using an alias. Jack couldn't risk the possibility of
being tracked down by the government.
He decided to start walking his way south on Bailey
Avenue until he got to Capital Street. All he had to do then was
travel east on Capital, to the state fairgrounds. Jack started
walking with his thumb out, hoping to get picked up by
someone. As luck would have it, he made it as far as Wilson
Avenue when a shiny new Cadillac pulled over to the side of the
road and beckoned him. The car was a brand new nineteen
thirty-five convertible. Long and sleek, its polished steel body
reflected the rays of the sun back into Jack's eyes. He raised his
hand up to his forehead to shield them as he strode toward the
car. Walking to the driver's side, he still couldn't tell who was
driving as he peered into the window. The fancy chrome frame
that enclosed the glass impressed Jack, as he tapped on the
window with his right hand and waited for a response. The
window began its slow descent downward, and soon revealed
the driver of the car.
"What are you waiting for, an invitation?
"Sorry, said Jack in an apologetic tone. "I guess I just
wanted to find out who was driving. I've hardly ever seen a car
like this up close, and you can bet I never been in one.
"Does it meet with your approval? asked the driver.
"I ain't really in no position to disapprove. Mind if I hop
in?
"That is the general idea.
Jack walked around to the passenger side of the car and put
his hand on the door handle. The shiny chrome had heated in
the sun and burned his fingers as he touched it.
"Ouch! That dang door handle burned me. God, it's hot
today, ain't it?
Jack took a long look at the young lady driving the car. In
his mind, she seemed to be every bit as much a part of the car as
its fine leather seats or highly polished wood. The fur collar
trim she wore, her expensive sunglasses and long black gloves
all became accessories to the car. All were rich appointments
that spoke for themselves, and Jack couldn't help feeling out of
place and small.
"I suppose it's hot. I haven't been walking in the sun and I
don't have far to go, but tell me, where are you off to?
With her left hand on the steering wheel, she opened her
purse and pulled out a gold cigarette case. Popping it open with
her thumb, she offered one to Jack.
"Thanks, I'll take one. Got a lighter?
She fished for the cigarette lighter in her purse and handed
it to him.
"I was just on my way to the fairgrounds. I hear the circus
is in town. Name's Bill. Bill Bradley. What's yours?
"Martha Langtree. The Langtree's have a long family
history here in Jackson. We've been in the area for more then a
hundred years. She looked at Jack for emphasis.
"I don't live far from the fairgrounds, she said. "Why don't
I just take you there?
Martha turned again to look at Jack. She lowered her head
so that her chin almost touched her neck, and peered out over
the top of her sunglasses. "What do you think? she asked.
"Sounds good to me. You're saving me a lot of time. I'm
glad we met, I just don't want you to go out of your way for me,
said Jack.
"Don't worry about it. In fact, when you get to the
fairgrounds, tell the circus manager Miss Langtree sent you.
The circus sets up on land my father owns. The manager knows
him well. You are looking for a job aren't you?
"Sure am.
"You shouldn't have any problem. I'll give you my number.
If he doesn't hire you, just call me. My father will set him
straight.
"Must be nice, said Jack.
"What must be nice? Miss Langtree took her sunglasses
off and revealed an angry glare.
"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, I just meant it must be
nice to have a dad who sticks up for you. My dad got killed in
a poker game when I was twelve. I could'a used someone in my
corner. All these years I been on my own. My mom went and
ran off. Ain't seen her since I was fourteen.
"Must be rough.
"Yeah, but you get used to it, said Jack. "I didn't have
much choice. Anyway, all I got now are these two hands.
"They look like fine strong hands to me, replied Miss
Langtree, as she pulled the car past the fairgrounds sign and
parked to the side of the dirt road.
Then, with an innocent expression on his face, Jack turned
to her and smiled. "What's to do in this town at night? Do they
roll up the sidewalks?
"There are a few places where my friends and I meet. Most
of the time we like to go to Ramone's. They have a band and a
dance floor there. Here, she said, "why don't you take my
number and look me up. You can meet us sometime if you
like. She opened her purse again to look for a pencil and some
paper and wrote out the number for Jack.
"Thanks, he said, taking the slip of paper from her. "I'll bet
we can have ourselves a time. You mind if I call you tonight?
"No, I don't mind. That will be fine.
As Jack got out of the car, he folded the phone number in
half and put it in his shirt pocket. He waved goodbye to Miss
Martha Langtree, and wondered where he'd be calling from
that night. He only knew he couldn't pass up a chance like this.
His genuine curiosity had gotten the best of him, and he wanted
to know what it was like to be among Martha Langtree's circle
of friends. Up until now, all Jack could do was wonder what life
was like on the other side of the tracks.
Walking toward a big white tent he noticed a short, fat man
with a mustache shouting orders. If he ain't the man to talk to,
thought Jack, I'll eat my hat.
"Say, said Jack. "I'm new in town, looking for a job and I
was wondering if you might be able to use me?
"Use you? Are you kiddin'. I got big tents to raise with only
days to do it. You bet I can use a big, strong kid like yourself.
Hey, you ever pound stakes?
"I helped lay railroad tracks once, said Jack.
"You're on. That is, if you don't mind the travel. We're in
a different town every four to five weeks. Whaddya say?
"I say great. What's the pay?
"Ten bucks a day, but you get meals if you want them and
a place to sleep. Grab yourself a sledge hammer and get busy.
You see those guys workin' on that tent there? Jack's new
boss pointed to a tent in a partial state of completion. He
motioned Jack to join the four men who were already there,
pounding stakes into the ground in the blazing hot summer sun.
Walking up to the men, Jack announced himself to the
group, "I'm supposed to help you guys, I'm new here. Just been
hired. Name's Bill Bradley.  He rested his hands on the top end
of the handle of the sixteen pound sledgehammer and waited
for a response. There was a pause as the four men in the group
looked at each other and then at Jack.
Finally, one of the men broke the silence and spoke¦
"We're just a little surprised is all. Nobody told us you were
comin'. My name's Tom, I'm foreman here. He pointed out
the other three men one at a time and introduced them to Jack.
"This here's Jim, he said as he pointed to a well built, stout
fellow on the far left. "That's Gene there in the center, and
Steve on the far right.
All the men were sweating profusely, and none of them
wore a shirt. It was much too hot a day to be wearing anything
they didn't need.
"You look like you can really do a job out here. Can ya
handle a sledge? Tom looked questioningly at Jack. He had to
know if Jack could handle the job. Less time wasted, the better,
he thought.
Jack humbly answered, "I think so.
"Let's see ya finish this spike here, said Tom. "I was just
gettin' a start on it when you walked up. The ground's pretty
hard. Lots a rocks in the way. Just do what you can.
Jack eyed the spike Tom pointed out. He carefully aligned
his body to the target, and taking a boxer's stance, with his feet
slightly more then shoulder width apart, he took a practice
swing, stopping just short of the head of the spike.
"This one's for real now.
As Jack spoke, Tom looked over at the rest of the men and
grinned. But with one great arcing swing, Jack brought the
hammer down on the spike with such force that splinters of it
went flying like pieces of shrapnel from a bomb. The remainder
of the spike lodged itself deep into the ground.
"Damn, how'd you do that? said Jim.
"Practice, I suppose. I helped lay railroad tracks a few years
back.
"Still, replied Tom, "I ain't never seen that before. You're
gonna be a big help on this job. We got a lotta stakes to pound
before the day's up, so let's get a move on.
As the day went on, the team made substantial progress,
with two tents raised to their credit.
Jack proved to be a very big help and sped up their effort
considerably. When evening came, even though he was tired
from the day's work, he still wanted to keep his date with
Martha as he planned. He asked Tom where he could find the
nearest phone.
"Just keep walkin' down Capital the way you came in.
There's a diner two blocks down called The Restaurant. You
can't miss it.
"If you got a date on your mind, why don't you take a clean
shirt. I keep 'em in a big trunk if you ever need one. You can
wash the one you wore today and let it dry for tomorrow if ya
want.
"Thank you, Tom. That's right kind of you. said Jack.
"You musta read my mind, I'm gonna go meet a gal by the name
of Martha Langtree. I hope she ain't forgot me in between this
mornin' an' tonight. She told me she'd meet up with me.
"Did you say Martha Langtree? Boy you really can pick
'em. Her daddy's just about the richest man in Jackson. Where
the hell did you meet her?
"Just hitchin' a ride, an' there she was. I'm just lucky I
guess.
"Hey, said Tom, "you got money on you? You're gonna
need some where you're goin'. You can pay me back on Friday
when we get paid.
"I sure appreciate it, Tom, but I got a little saved up. I'll be
okay, don't worry about me.
"It ain't so much the money I'm worried about as it is you
comin' back in one piece, Tom said as he smiled and pointed
a finger in Jack's direction.
"You be careful around her, watch your step. I hear she's a
real man-eater. She likes to treat guys like new toys. When she
gets tired of 'em, she just throws 'em away.
Jack looked puzzled, but he appreciated Tom's concern. He
never met a girl with a scorecard like Martha Langtree's. He
was usually the one who called the shots in a relationship, and
he was always the one who decided their fate.
After Tom showed Jack where he could take a shower, he
gave Jack a clean white shirt.
"A little small, but it'll do, said Tom. "You remember
what I said now. Mind your p's and q's around that girl, and
don't say nothin' to offend her. Her daddy owns this land and
can have you fired off the job if he feels like it.
Once more, Jack assured him that he'd be okay and once
more, he told Tom not to worry. After shaking hands, Jack
started off down Capital Road to begin his evening journey.
When Jack called Martha from the diner, she sounded at
first as if she'd forgotten they'd even met that morning¦
"Hey Martha, it's me, Bill Bradley. Where ya think you'll
be hangin' out tonight?
"Who is this? I'm very busy now, said Martha, as she
hurriedly filed her nails to perfect translucent points. The
bottom of her long white silk bathrobe fell to the ground, as she
stood to finish her thought. "What did you say your name was?
"Bill, Bill Bradley. You remember me. I'm the guy you
picked up hitchin' this morning.
"Bill? She hesitated as she tried to recall the days events.
Obviously, remembering the various men she met was not of
great importance. "Oh, that Bill. Now I recall. Yes, what can I
do for you?
"We were gonna meet up at one of those nightclubs you like
to go to. Are you still interested? Jack wondered how anyone
could lose interest so quickly. He wasn't used to this kind of
treatment from the opposite sex. After all, he knew Laura, the
waitress he met at Mary's Diner would go out with him in a
snap.
Jack heard nothing but silence over the phone, he thought
she might've hung up.
"Hello, he said. "Are you there?
"Yes, I'm here. I think that would be all right. I'm meeting
a few friends at Ramone's tonight, why don't you come along?
We'll have fun.
All Jack heard after that was the click of the phone going
dead on him. As he was hanging up, he noticed a sign for a cab
service on the wall. He called and sat down at a booth to wait.
When Jack arrived at the club, he was surprised to find a
gathering of so many people. Most of the men were wearing
suits, and it made him feel out of place in his plain white shirt,
but he didn't want to leave. Instead, he looked around the big
room for Martha. As he searched for her, he realized he hadn't
been in a place like Ramone's in a long time. There was a long
bar with a mirrored wall behind it, equipped with every kind of
alcoholic beverage imaginable. A dance floor dominated most
of the room, and a band played music he'd only lately heard on
the radio. It was an impressive array of well dressed wealthy
people having fun drinking, dancing and mingling, amongst
others of their own kind. Jack nervously wondered to himself
how well or how badly he'd be treated in a crowd like this, and
he didn't have long to wait to find out.
He spotted Martha sitting at a table in a dimly lit, far off
corner of the room, with two other men and a woman. As he
approached, he could see Martha puffing away on a cigarette in
a long pearl white holder which accented the string of pearls she
wore around her neck. The men who escorted her had suits on,
and the lady, a loud red dress.
"Hello, Martha, Jack said. "Nice to see you. You look
great tonight. Jack was feeling more than slightly embarrassed
when he noticed how smartly dressed the other men were.
"Hello yourself, Bill. Everyone, this is a friend of mine,
please forgive me, Bill, I've forgotten your last name.
"Bradley, William Bradley. Jack inserted the William
before his last name as an effort to blend in with the members
of high society now seated in front of him.
"Say, William, spoke one of the men as he motioned to
one of the waiters. "Let me get you a jacket. I'm surprised
nobody said anything to you. The place has a dress code. What
is your jacket size? Jack fumbled for words as he tried to
remember his coat size.
"Forty-eight long I think.
"Bring this man a suit coat in a forty-eight long, would
you?
"What do you mean you think, old man? replied the other
man sarcastically. "Don't you know your suit size?
"Of course I know my size. Jack was getting flustered and
angry now. Anyone could tell by looking at Jack just what the
truth was, but the mean joke went on.
"This man seems to have trouble with numbers Martha.
Where did you find him?
"Never mind him, Bill, said Martha. "Jonathan loves to
tease. By the way, Bill, I never introduced you. The wise guy to
my right is Jonathan Thorndale. He works for the Jackson
News-Leader, don't you, Jonathan? Sitting next to him is
Robert Dayton. Robert is rich and doesn't have to work.
"What's the point? answered Robert. "I have all the things
I need, don't I? I make an excellent martini, he proudly
exclaimed. "And I surround myself with the prettiest and most
charming girls in Jackson.
"Ah, William, he said "Here comes your coat.
Jack put the coat on and sat down at the table in between the
two ladies.
"Before I forget, Bill, said Martha gesturing to the lady
sitting next to her. "This is Dana Andrews. If you ever want to
know who is giving a party in Jackson, just ask Dana, she
knows everything and everyone.
"Don't listen to her, Bill. We can't have Bill thinking I'm
some sort of gossip now can we?
As Dana finished speaking, Jonathan raised his glass,
gulped down some of the smooth, expensive brandy he had a
habit of drinking, and prepared to be rude once again. "What's
the matter, William? he quipped. "Why not sit here with your
buddies? Isn't our company good enough for you?
Jack's hands started to sweat and his face got red. He never
could handle being picked on very well. He looked at Martha
for support, and she calmly came to his aid.
"You're going to make me sorry I invited you here, aren't
you, Jonathan? I think you've had enough to drink, don't you?
"Oh c'mon Martha, the party's just getting started. Say
Billy boy, are you on the wagon today? Cat got your tongue? I
bet you're just thirsty. Waiter! shouted Jonathan, "Our boy,
Bill, here will have a scotch and soda. You look like a scotch
and soda kinda guy to me, doesn't he?
"I'm really not, said Jack, "but I'm willing to try it.
Jonathan took another long gulp of his brandy and seemed
to grow more obnoxious and terse each time he did.
"Say, Jonathan, said Robert, "let the man breathe will
you? Aren't you riding him a bit much? Do you want him to
think we're bullies?
"Right, said Dana. "Let's talk about something else.
Dana turned to Jack and asked, "What is it that you do for a
living, William?
Jack took a sip of the drink the waiter placed in front of him
and grudgingly answered the question. "Right now I'm with the
circus.
Dana thought for a moment and responded politely with,
"How interesting, working with all those exotic animals. Jack
still couldn't help feeling shame and embarrassment for
admitting he worked on such a low level. Robert saw the
insecurity in his face.
"No need to be embarrassed, chap, said Robert. "It's a job,
isn't it? At least you're employed, these are tough times. Many
people are out of work.
"Yeah, replied Jonathan, "there's nothing wrong with
shoveling elephant crap is there?
"That's enough, said Martha, glaring at Jonathan. "I will
not put up with you when you're in one of these moods.
Jack could see Martha was on the verge of becoming
emotional. "Maybe it would be better if I left, he said. "I could
always meet you some other time when things cool down.
"Right, old man, said Jonathan mockingly, "when things
cool down. What you really mean to say is, when Jonathan's
cooled down, don't you? Why don't you just say it?
"All right, said Jack as he stood up from his chair. "I'm
saying it, when Jonathan's cooled down.
Jack began to walk around the table, and it seemed as
though he was about to make his way toward the door, but
instead, he walked to where Jonathan was sitting, and grabbing
him by the lapels on his coat, pulled him up out of his chair, and
further on into the air until his feet dangled in space, three
inches from the floor. As Jack held him, the rest of the people
in the club began slowly to take notice of the odd event. It
wasn't long before every head in the nightclub had turned in
Jack's direction, but in his anger, he didn't feel the tension in
the room, or the many pairs of eyes staring at him.
Jonathan couldn't explain it in words, but in the seconds
that followed, he learned he'd come face to face with someone
very much out of the ordinary. Jack was a kind of human
predatory animal who didn't just think he was a predator, he
really was one. As Jonathan began to realize who or what he
was dealing with, all the tiny hairs on his back stood up, and like
a gazelle on the African plain, adrenaline coursed through his
veins while the feeling and the need to escape raced through his
mind.
Jack stared relentlessly into the large, round glossy eyes of
his prey and all the while, out of fear, his victim stared back.
"You are a very rude man, said Jack, while the part of his
brain that turned thoughts into words grew more and more
clouded by anger and a natural inclination to kill.
Jonathan was fast becoming the most humble man in the
county as he uttered the words, "I know, I know. I'm sorry, I
was rude.
Martha began calling to Jack as he was known by his alias,
Bill Bradley. Jack's raging mind needed time to comprehend as
the words "Bill! Bill! slowly began to regain their meaning to
him. Finally, with Robert hanging on one arm like a child's play
toy, trying to persuade Jack to put Jonathan down, he relented
and gently set him back into his chair. Now the tables were
turned, and it was Jonathan who grew flush with
embarrassment and not Jack.
When Jack released his control over the shaken journalist,
the crowd of people in the room gradually lost interest and
began to turn their heads away. Coming to his senses, Jack
turned to Martha and locked eyes with her as if to say¦ forgive
me. Walking to the bar, he took off the borrowed suit coat,
handed it to the bartender and left the nightclub. Although it
was a long way back to the fairgrounds, Jack decided to walk
the distance instead of hailing a cab. He'd built up a lot of
nervous energy that he needed to get rid of, and he couldn't help
wondering about the event that just took place. While walking,
he thought he might be able to resolve some of the trouble he
felt between himself, Martha, and her friends.
Jack rolled his shirt sleeves back to his elbows, and looked
up into the clear night sky. He took a deep breath of fresh air and
began taking large strides toward his destination. He was
feeling better already, he thought, as he came to a major
intersection on Robinson Street. Walking through it, he noticed
the shape of a woman in the distance. As she got closer, it
became apparent to Jack how pretty she was and how good she
looked in the dress she wore.
"Hey mister, don't I know you? she said as she
approached, "Pretty night, isn't it? Need a date? That was the
last warm summer evening she ever saw.
Opening the purse of the girl he'd just finished choking to
death, Jack helped himself to the cigarettes he found. Lighting
one up in the stale air of the motel room, he stood and looked
pensively from the window overlooking Robinson Street. The
light of the store-front street signs dimly lit the face of the
attractive, lifeless prostitute, as she lay sprawled on the double
bed they made love in only minutes before. The silhouette of
her perfect looking body projected its shadow to the wall
behind her, and as Jack gazed at it, his curiosity began to get the
better of him. He began to wonder about her background, and
what she was like when she was alive, but maybe, Jack thought,
those were questions better left unanswered. Taking his
handkerchief out from his pocket, he went to the door and
wiped the handle clean of any fingerprints. Opening the door,
he took one last look at the girl, and left.
The next morning, Jack awoke feeling well rested. He had
fallen soundly asleep on a cot circus management let him use.
It was part of the same room and board deal Ringling Brothers
gave to all of its employees. The more important workers, and
the ones who'd been employed the longest, got the better
sleeping arrangements. But Jack was happy with his cot for
now, even though his long legs dangled over the edge, he felt
reassured knowing that he at least had a roof over his head”for
now, anyway.
The circus crew ate breakfast every morning at six-thirty,
and when it was over, Jack helped to unload a big sixteen
wheeler. The truck pulled up next to the animal cages to deliver
its shipment of feed and hay for the many horses and elephants.
Jack was a good worker, and proved his worth to Tom, his
foreman, and the rest of the men. His size and strength were
advantages that worked in his favor, and his helpful attitude
made him a popular co-worker. If anyone needed help lifting or
carrying anything, Jack was always there to lend a hand. It
didn't take long before the entire circus crew began to think of
him as their own, reliable, big friendly helper they could count
on, or trust with anything, or any job that needed doing.
That day, as Jack and the crew began to break a sweat in the
hot July morning sun, the Jackson city police department
received a homicide call from the Pickwick Motel. The same
three policemen who were dispatched to investigate the
obscure train car murder, arrived on the scene at the Pickwick.
The manager of the motel showed the three to the room in
which Jack and his unfortunate date had spent the night before.
All four men issued into the room, now lit by the morning sun,
and gazed at the naked prostitute spread out on the double bed
before them.
"Al, said Detective Larry Stark, "do your thing would ya.
Start taking pictures. Tim, call the morgue, tell them we got
another stiff. Can he use your office phone?
"Sure, replied the manager, "that'd be fine.
As the policeman left the room to make his phone call,
detective Stark walked to the side of the bed to inspect the
corpse more carefully. Noticing her handbag, he picked it up
and looked inside for her driver's license.
"We got a name here at least, Laura Preston. Hey, said the
lieutenant to his subordinate, "didn't she work at that diner on
Bailey avenue? Mary's Diner, is that right?
"That's right, said the cop. "I remember her. Looks to me
like she was workin' two jobs. Waitin' tables by day and
workin' the streets by night. Did you know she was a hooker?
"Maybe she was, and maybe she wasn't. The killer
might've just invited her into the room here. They could've
been on a date, you never know.
"She's got the same marks on her, continued the
lieutenant. "Look here.
"Yeah, I see what you mean, said Al, the camera still
hanging from his hand like an extension of his arm.
"What marks? questioned the motel manager.
"See those black and blue marks? The detective gestured
to the victim's neck. "We're investigating another homicide
that took place a few days ago. The victim had the same marks
on his neck that this lady has here. That tells me they were both
strangled the same way. With no other weapons around, no
cord, nothing else he could've used, tells me the killer used his
hands.
"Unless whatever he used he took with him. said the
policeman. "Some guys carry a knife, maybe our man carries a
garrote?
"That's a good point, Al, but look how the marks are bigger
on the sides then they are in the middle. I still think what we got
here is one big guy who likes to use his hands.
"Is that why they pay you the big bucks?
"Right, Al, I must be makin' five more than you per week.
Seriously, continued the detective, "I still can't be sure I'm
right. Maybe the medical examiner can fill us in? You
remember her name? Elizabeth something, isn't it? I'll call her
when I get back. In the meantime, be sure and have the room
dusted for prints. I gotta go. See ya back at the station.
On his way out, Detective Stark couldn't help pausing at the
open door. Looking on at the naked girl's body, as if the
incoming natural light might shed new information on his case.
He watched as the rays of sunlight revealed their nearly
microscopic particles of floating dust.
"Whoever he is, said the lieutenant, "I'm gonna find him.
"Dr. Elizabeth Galler, how can I help you?
"Hello Doctor, my name is Larry Stark. I'm a detective
working two homicide cases here in Jackson. I was wondering
if I could come down to the hospital and visit with you for a
little while? It won't take much of your time.
"Sure, that would be fine. I'm familiar with one of the
cases. We have a John Doe here, about twenty-five years of age;
six foot two; green eyes; dark blonde hair. Arrived here two
days ago. Is that who you're talking about?
"That's the one, said the lieutenant. "There's another on
the way. You're gonna meet her today. Pretty young girl, real
shame. Say, I've got just about noon here, what if I come down
about two o'clock? I wanna give the ambulance time to drop the
girl off, so she'll be there when I arrive.
"That's fine. Just tell them at the desk that I'm expecting
you, and be sure to show the nurses your badge.
"I know, unfortunately doctor, I've been through this
before. See you at two.
When the detective arrived at the morgue, he found both
bodies laid out on tables with sheets draped over them, ready
for inspection. After introducing himself, he couldn't help
pointing out the fact that Doctor Galler was female. "Excuse
me, but, it's not every day you find a lady doctor in this necka
the woods. In fact, it must be rare to find a lady doctor
anywhere. Your parents must be proud of you.

"Yes, it is rare, and I imagine they are, remarked Elizabeth
curtly.
"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I probably should've
kept my big mouth shut. Honestly, I just need your opinion
here, said Detective Stark as he pulled back the sheets to
reveal the faces and upper torsos of the two cadavers. "I know
you've seen the marks around both victims throats. What do
you think?
"The obvious, that's what I think.
"And that is¦?
"That the killer was a large, very strong male who murdered
both victims with his bare hands.
"Is that all? No weapon involved? No piano wire, nothing
to look for?
"No, it's as I've said. You needn't look further for any
weapons. Whoever your man is, he doesn't need one and
prefers not to use one. Some killers prefer the close, primitive
contact they make when they murder someone with their bare
hands. It's a sign of very great pent-up anger.
"Thanks, Doctor, that's just about what I thought. You've
been a big help, said the lieutenant. "Just in case though, if you
have anything you'd like to add to your theory, here's my card.
"Just one thing, said Doctor Galler. "It's not a theory, I'm
absolutely sure about what I told you.
"Okay, he said, "you're the doctor.
Leaving the hospital, detective Stark paused outside the
vestibule doors to light a cigarette. Standing on the front steps,
he watched as the magnolia bushes around the building gave
way, and swayed in the warm summer breeze. Almost a clamor,
the rustled leaves spent their wind driven energy, and as the
detective listened, he wondered if rain might be on its way.
Reflexively, he pulled his hat down until the brim felt tight
around his forehead. "We do get our share of shit around here,
don't we? he said to himself as he walked down the concrete
path back to his car.
With the circus about to open for business, Jack and the rest
of the crew had very little time for anything else but work, but
at sunset, on the last day before the grand opening, Jack got a
visitor.
"Yo, Jack, said the circus manager in his normally loud
voice, "somebody here to see you.
"Who, what? Jack responded slightly dazed as he rested
on his cot with one arm over his forehead.
"It's a girl, not a what. Shoot, you oughtta know the
difference by now. C'mon, get outta bed, you're keepin' her
waitin'.
Jack rose from the cot and put his shirt on. He thought he
knew who it was but still couldn't be absolutely sure. As he
walked through the tent doorway, he recognized the shiny new
car glimmering in the light of dusk and walked toward it.
"Martha, he said, "what's going on? I didn't think you'd
ever want to see me again.
"Nonsense, Bill, last night wasn't your fault or mine, but I
did come to apologize for the way Jonathan acted. He was
drunk and just looking for someone to pick on. As Martha
spoke from inside the car, Jack could see the reflection of the
setting sun and orange clouds in the dark glasses she still had
on.
"Are you sure? said Jack, momentarily looking away from
eyes that he couldn't see. "I'm thinkin', if any one should
apologize, it oughtta be me. I got a little carried away when I
yanked on his coat like that. Created a scene and all. I gotta
learn to act my age.
"You're fine, really. If I didn't think so, I wouldn't have
come out here. Call me again, Bill, and I'll make it up to you.
This time, Jonathan can stay home. What do you say?
Jack smiled and stared as if to penetrate the dark lenses
Martha wore. "Lady, he said, "you drive a hard bargain. How
can I say no?
"Good then, it's a date. Call me tomorrow at about six.
We'll go to dinner, my treat and don't say no, it was my idea.
"You're on, said Jack. But before he could get the words
completely out, Martha had already put the car in reverse and
started it on its way down the dirt path road. Pulling away with
great urgency, as if she were late for an important meeting,
Martha sped off in the direction of her home. Jack felt better
now about the night before. He really didn't know for sure if
Martha would ever see him again or not, but he knew there were
always other fish to fry. There was always another girl down the
road, and all he had to do was wait. That's all the planning for
the future Jack ever did, he waited. Like a patient fisherman, he
waited.
On his walk back to his tent, he wondered what Martha's
house looked like. Was it the grand palace he had dreamed up
in his head? He knew pretty soon he was due to find out.
July eighteenth fell on a Friday, and it found Detective
Larry Stark busy feeling sorry for himself. For all the shit I have
to go through, he thought, I should be making twice what
they're payin' me. He sat at his desk and slammed his bottom
file drawer closed. The drawer was filled with unsolved murder
cases that spanned over the last ten years, and the prospect of
not being able to solve the latest two cases he was on began to
weigh heavily on his mind. "I need a break, he said to himself,
as he leaned back in his chair and stared at the blank white
ceiling of the police station. "I need a break, beginning now.
Getting up, he announced to the police sergeant on duty that he
probably wouldn't be back after lunch. Although he didn't
know where he was headed when he left the station, he thought
any place at all was better than being at work right now. As he
wandered down the avenue, a sign posted to the side of a street
light caught his attention¦
RINGLING BROTHERS AND
BARNUM & BAILEY CIRCUS
In town for three weeks only!
July 18th to August 8th ¦
Its been a long time since I've been to a circus, he thought.
That outta get my mind off of things for a while anyway. He
decided to walk back to the station parking lot and pick up his
car. The detective's five-year-old nineteen thirty Buick was
still pretty reliable, and whenever he got in to start it up, he
expected it to turn over most of the time. Not just on a good day.
Leaving the lot, he headed out east in the direction of the city's
fairgrounds. As the detective looked for a space among the
many cars parked in the makeshift circus lot, Jack's manager
came running up to meet him with an emergency on his mind.
"Hey, Bill, help me out here, will ya? The strong man just
up an' quit on me, I got no one to replace him. You're a pretty
strong guy, ain't you? Ah bet you can do it.
"Geez, I never performed like that in front a people
before,Jack said, as he self-examined his ability to keep
people entertained.
"Oh c'mon, there's nothin' to it. A fella like you can do it
easy. Hell, I'll just announce ya an give you a big build up an'
everything, an' then you come out in your outfit and lift the
barbell. Just make it look like it's real heavy an' all, but really
it ain't. Then after that, I got some little steel bars for ya to bend.
Just make it look good, that's all you got to do. Whaddya say,
we got a deal or what? Pays twice what you're makin' now.
"Twice? Really? Jack anticipated what it would be like to
have that much cash in his pocket. He knew he could always
use the money. "Okay, he said, "you got yourself a deal.
"All right, said the relieved sounding manager as he
slapped Jack on his back, "c'mon along with me an get your
outfit on. I know you'll like the job just fine once you get used
to it.
Putting his outfit on, Jack noticed there was more than a bit
of loose material in the mid section of the nylon suit.
"The last guy had a little more belly than you got, but don't
worry about it, Jack's manager was in a more hurried mood
now. "Just you pull up that shoulder strap an' put this here belt
on¦. There you go. You look great. I bet you'll be the best
strong man we ever had. Now just stand here back of this
curtain an' wait for me to call you out.
Jack stood waiting behind a big red curtain, listening for his
cue to walk out on stage.
"¦And now, said the familiar voice, "right here on our
show, the strongest man ever to set foot in the beautiful
sovereignty a these here glorious southern states of
America¦William ,The Terrible Titan.
Jack knew that must be his cue, but he came out on stage
with a bewildered look on his face. He'd never been described
by any one as a terrible titan before, but he shrugged it off as a
promotional stunt. He supposed circus MCs had to be good at
that type of thing. Its just that he wasn't ready for it.
Raising his hands up over his head as if in a rage, he shook
his arms until his biceps seemed to flap forward and backward
by themselves, and then at once, he flexed his arms until every
sinew became as motionless and stiff as rock. The crowd was
awestruck by Jack's physical power. Some faces in the crowd
showed astonishment at the sight of someone so tall and so
strong. Strangely enough, Jack was unmoved by the crowd's
reaction and began to feel more natural on stage with every
passing moment. He looked around the stage for props and
began his act without waiting for a prompt from his boss.
Spotting a wooden chair, he grabbed it by its back and by the
front of its seat, and with one flowing motion, crushed it into
splinters. The crowd grew hushed as Jack became himself on
stage. There was no need for him to act the part anymore. He
was fast becoming the dangerous animal he'd been so many
times before in private, only this had quickly become a public
display.
Searching the stage for his props, Jack spotted a bunch of
four foot long, round steel bars, used to reinforce concrete. The
bunch consisted of assorted thicknesses, ranging from a quarter
of an inch in diameter to one inch, and without knowing or
caring, Jack selected the thickest bar in the group. Calmly
picking it up, he positioned it behind his neck, and for several
moments, Jack appeared to be resting. His mood seemed
tranquil, and his eyes were shut. The crowd grew almost
restless as Jack prepared himself mentally, and shut out all light
and sound from his senses. Then, just as some of the audience
were beginning to lose faith in Jack's abilities and maddened
energy, his eyes suddenly popped wide open. As they opened,
his thick bulky arms flexed with a great storehouse of latent
energy, and almost immediately, the thick solid steel bar began
to bend and change shape around his neck. Jack continued to
bend the bar until it formed a tight crescent, and as the audience
cheered him on, he continued to shape the bar until it returned
to its original unbent condition. With a smile on his face, he
offered the inch thick piece of steel to a lady in the crowd. She
then passed it around to the many onlookers, so that any skeptic
would have to agree that this was no phony act.
Trying not to lose momentum in the show, Jack again
searched the stage for something impressive he could use in his
performance. His boss was trying to attract his attention to a
seven-foot-long barbell tucked away in a corner of the stage.
There were painted numbers on it which read 300 lbs, but Jack
was not deterred. Moving it out to the center of the stage, he
grasped the bar in his hands, and bent at the waist and knees to
ready himself for the lift. This time, with barely any mental
preparation, he smoothly swept the bar up to the top of his
chest, and while unlocking his knees, pressed the massive
weight up and over his head. Again, as the crowd cheered him
on, he took a leisurely walk around the stage with the great
weight looming over him. To Jack, pressing more then his
weight over his head was no big deal, but to the crowd, it was
nearly a superhuman feat of strength. Walking back to center
stage, Jack dropped the immense weight almost like a child
who'd suddenly become bored with its play toy. The floor joists
under the stage were never designed for this type of sudden
impact, and when the barbell came crashing down, the floor
sustained two terrible impressions. Looking down from the
impressions, which were actually deep holes, Jack could see
the broken joists and ground beneath the stage. When he looked
up, he wondered if his boss was angry with him, but instead, he
got nothing but cheers and smiles from everyone watching.
Grinning from ear to ear, Jack left the stage and closed himself
off from the crowd as he stepped behind the curtain. He could
still hear the clapping of the audience as he changed back into
street clothes and began his way down the backstage stairway,
but waiting at the bottom of the stairs stood one lonely looking
figure in a trench coat. It soon became obvious to Jack that this
person was waiting for him and no one else.
"Hey I saw your act, said the man. "Terrific! How did you
do that stuff? You must be the strongest man in Mississippi.
"Don't know if I can take that much credit, said Jack,
"seems like there's always someone stronger around, but
thanks for watching my act.
"Well anyway, I'll just get to the point. I'm a detective here
with the Jackson police department, name's Larry Stark, an' I
just wanted to ask you a couple a questions. The detective
searched the inside pockets of his coat for his badge, as Jack
looked on with an anxious look on his face. "You got a
minute?
"I guess so. What's goin' on? What did I do? I just work
here with the circus, hell, you saw my act.
"Ah know I saw your act an' I wanna tell you again how
much I enjoyed it, but we've had some trouble around here and
I got just some routine questions on my mind, okay?
After listening for a while to the persistent detective, the
thought of answering a few routine questions gradually wore on
Jack, and he grudgingly gave in. After all, he knew he really had
no choice in the matter.
"Where ya from? began Lieutenant Stark, "I can't say I
remember seein' you around here. You new here?
"Yeah, I'm new in town, but there ain't no law against bein'
new, is there?
"Nope, said the detective, "I'm not gonna pick on you for
visitin', but I gotta know where you're from. Got any I.D.?
Jack thought for a moment and nervously avoided the
detective's eyes. Glancing back at him, Jack replied, "Sure I got
I.D., here ya go. Removing his wallet from his back pocket,
Jack carefully unfolded it, and searched for the driver's license
he kept for just such an occasion.
Taking it from Jack, the lieutenant began carefully
scrutinizing the license.
"William Bradley, mind if I call you Bill?
"Not at all.
"This ain't your home state, is it Bill? What brings you out
here?
"Oh, I'm just here with the circus. I like to see different
towns every now and then, an' I never seem able to get the
money together to move, so I just take off sometimes and get a
job where I can. I seen quite a bit of country that way. Takes the
boredom out of my life, you know?
"I can imagine anyway, said the detective, "I'm stuck here
in the same old town all my life, but some day I'll bust loose.
There's a lot to see out there, that's for sure. I'd like to see that
Mt. Rushmore when it's done, and if I could just get away for
the day I'd go fishin'. Now ya see what you did? I can't get
vacation off my mind. The detective started to laugh as he
returned the phony I.D. to Jack. "I oughtta run you in for makin'
me think about the time away I never seem ta get. You go on
now, I don't wanna take anymore a your time.
Jack was relieved when the detective stopped questioning
him. It seemed that for now anyway, he was safe, but he
couldn't help wondering why he was chosen in the first place.
His curiosity got the better of him, and before the detective
could walk away, Jack broke down and asked him.
"Say, Lieutenant, I just gotta know one thing.
"What's on your mind? said the lieutenant as he turned
around to face Jack once more.
"Not a lot really, I just wanted to know why you'd want to
stop and question me out of all the people here today.
"Well, Bill, if you must know, then I'll tell you. We've had
two murders here in the past few days and that's rare even for
around here. Accordin' to the medical examiner, the killer was
a big man and very strong. Seems he likes to choke his victims.
You just fit the description that's all, but I know that don't mean
you done it. Just relax now, said the lieutenant as he smiled
and turned to walk away, "if I need you again, I know where to
find you.
The answer didn't exactly set Jack at ease, but for now at
least, he felt he was safe. He also knew that if he ran now, he'd
be a prime suspect, and that was something he just couldn't let
happen. Besides that, Jack had some unfinished business in
Jackson to attend to.
When six o'clock came around, Jack remembered his
dinner date with Martha and took off down the road toward the
little diner his foreman called, The Restaurant. While dialing
her number, he couldn't help wondering about what kind of
night it might be. He hadn't been alone with her yet, and he was
interested in finding out what she was like in private. He'd had
a belly full of her obnoxious friend Jonathan, but besides that,
he knew that by herself, he'd get a much better sense of her
availability, and of her interest in him. Intimate conversations
were difficult to engage in with others around, and Jack looked
at this as a chance to begin one.
"Hi Martha, it's me, Bill. What's goin' on?
"Not much, just sitting by the phone, breathlessly waiting
for you to call. Martha was in a good mood and didn't mind
sharing it with Jack.
"Sure, I believe that. I'm such a great guy and all, said
Jack, playing along with her. "How do you keep your hands off
me?
"I don't know. Maybe because you're five miles away from
me now, or maybe its because I hardly know you. Just who is
the real Bill Bradley anyhow?
Jack was a little shocked at Martha's question.
Coincidentally, she came too close to the truth for his liking. He
replied by saying, "You don't think I'm trying to hide
something do you?
"No, said Martha, "That's not what I meant at all. I just
don't know anything about your past, or if you've got a
girlfriend, or if you're married. There are so many things about
you that I just don't know.
"Okay, said Jack, "don't worry about it. I get a little
defensive sometimes. I have to watch that.
"Look, Martha said, "Why don't you tell me where you're
calling from and I'll come out and pick you up. How does that
sound?
"Sounds great, I'm so hungry I could eat a horse, or eat like
a horse. Oh, what's the difference, I'm hungry. Where do
starving people go in this town?
When Jack got off the phone, he ordered a cup of coffee and
sat down at a booth to think things over. He was actually
starting to like Martha Langtree, but like all other times in his
life, Jack never let his emotions get in the way of his other
interests.
After a while spent trying to persuade Jack to return to
Ramone's, Martha got her way. The couple waited at the bar,
smoking cigarettes and nursing their drinks while busboys
scurried around the room and hurried to keep up with the
growing crowd.
Suddenly, Jack began to speak more from his heart than his
head, and without hardly thinking blurted out, "You know
you're really a very pretty lady.
"Sure, that's a great pitch, but I've heard it before,
answered Martha. "I bet you say that to all the girls.
"Nope, I don't. I wouldn't have said it if I didn't believe it.
And I'll tell you something else, some guys must look at you
and see dollar signs, but when I look at you, I see just a girl. A
pretty, young, maybe just this side of spoiled, little girl.
Looking flustered and uncertain, Martha was just opening
her mouth to speak when the host of the restaurant arrived to tell
them their table was ready. Reminiscent of the table they shared
the last time they were there, Jack and Martha warily took their
seats and did their best to look forward to the evening ahead.
Jack made good on his remark about eating a horse, and just
about did when he ordered a big twenty ounce sirloin. Martha
ordered lobster tail, and the next thirty minutes they cheerfully
spent getting to know each other.
"You got me a little angry back there, said Martha, "I
thought I might just put my hands around your big handsome
neck and squeeze.
"Why, what did I say? answered Jack nervously.
"You know, you said I was a spoiled little girl back there at
the bar.
"Oh c'mon Martha, I didn't want to hurt your feelings, but
who else here drives around in a brand new Cadillac? Jack
searched her eyes with his as if to add sincerity to his reply.
"I hate to admit it, but I suppose you're right. I just rarely
think about my good fortune. After growing up the way I did,
you just begin to expect the material things that come your way.
Unfortunately, everyone hasn't had my good luck, but I have
learned to appreciate the more interesting knick-knacks I find
from time to time.
"Just what kind of knick-knack are we talking about here?
Anyone I know?
"If you hang around, said Martha as she drank the last of
her vodka gimlet, "you'll find out.
"I don't mind hanging around, but some day I'll be moving
on.
"Why do you feel you must move on? she asked curiously.
"Oh, it's a mix of reasons, I guess. Not just one thing
really.
"You're afraid you might get attached to someone, aren't
you? You're the kind of guy who just can't settle down. I know
your type.
"I have to give you at least partial credit, said Jack. "I know
I'm not ready to settle down. I need to see more of our fine
country, and then maybe, I don't know. I'm more like a stray cat
than you know, Martha. I like to visit with people and enjoy
their company and hospitality, but then at times, I just leave
anyway. It doesn't even matter how good you were to me or
how bad, I just end up on the road again. It's not you, it's me. I
don't want you to blame yourself if all of a sudden I come up
missing one day.
"But what if you don't?
"Then you got me all to yourself, replied Jack with a grin
on his face. "If that's what you want.
"Oh, I don't know, answered Martha, "I like to keep men
in the dark. Hey, she said, calling Jack's attention away from
their conversation, "here comes dinner.
As the waiter set their dinner on the table, Jack exclaimed,
"Every time I see you, I'm in the dark. Don't they have lights in
this place? I can't see what I'm eatin'.
Martha trimmed off a piece of the giant lobster tail and
replied, "Ramone's has created a special ambiance by dimming
the lights. Don't you like it?
"No, if I can't spell it, I don't like it. Besides, I didn't bring
my miner's hat.
It didn't take long for Jack to change his mind about the
nightclub. The food was excellent, and it was no surprise to
Martha, she knew it would be. As they ate, the band began to
play a song that was just getting popular. A vocalist suddenly
walked onto the stage, and taking the microphone in both his
hands, he began to sing¦
I had the craziest dream
last night, yes I did.
I never dreamt it could be
yet there you were,
in love with me¦
As he sang, Martha suggested a stroll around Lake
Catherine after dinner. "It's a small lake just southwest of the
city. A very picturesque spot, I know you'll like it. If we hurry,
we can watch the sun set over the lake.
Jack agreed to a walk around the lake. "It might help me
burn off some a this steak, he said as he downed the last fork
full. Martha couldn't believe her eyes, she'd never seen a man
eat so much in her life.
"I do believe you've broken my father's record, she
exclaimed, "even he would have left something on his plate.
How did you do that?
"Practice, I guess. Then again, you get mighty hungry
workin' in the sun the way I do. I always believed a little hard
work never killed anybody. I even like working with my hands.
There's something about it that makes me feel good about
myself. People who make money sittin' at a desk all day,
thinking are losing out in my opinion. I don't think they get the
same feelin' of accomplishment that I get after I've finished a
task. When I'm done sometimes, I just like to stand back and
look. To me, it's almost a creation.
"Martha, he continued.
"Yes.
"You ever think about life an' death?
"Sure, what about it?
"You ever think that death isn't just an end of things, but
somehow, a new beginin'? I mean, I'm not talkin' about
religion, I think what I'm talking about is the strange afterlife
appearance a body takes on when it's gone cold. It almost looks
like art, like stone, like a statue.
"Well, said Martha, "I don't think I've ever thought about
it quite that way, but what you're saying sounds interesting. I'll
bear that in mind. C'mon Bill, let's get out of here, we've got
some walking to do.
Jack reached down into his pants' pocket and took out the
now more than fifty dollars he kept. On seeing this, Martha
insisted he put it back. "It was my idea to come out here in the
first place, she said, "so you put that money back in your wallet
right now.
Stubbornly, Jack relented and stuffed the bills back down
into his pants' pocket. "I don't like the idea of you payin' for
me, but if you insist.
"I do insist, she said. "You can take me out next time, but
this one's on me.
"Okay, tell you what. I'll just meet you in the car. And with
that, Jack rose from his chair and walked out through the
restaurant's impressive glass double doors.
Jack always liked to stargaze, and now the clear sky of July
made it easy to do. Looking up, he noticed the three stars in the
belt of Orion, and the other points that described the
constellation's hands and feet. Jack had come to know and
respect the story of the great giant Greek hunter who was killed
by Diana, the goddess of the hunt.
"Killed by a woman, Jack said, mumbling to himself.
"Don't that just figure.
Jack never did trust, confide in, or appreciate the ladies very
much. That might account for the many he'd murdered.
"What are you looking at up there? said Martha, as she
exited through the doorway of the nightclub. She surprised
Jack, whose gaze was still fixed on the stars above.
"If you really want to know, said Jack, with his finger
pointed at Orion's belt. "I've been looking at a constellation.
You see those three stars up there all in a row?
"Yes, I do.
"That's Orion's sword belt. In Greek mythology, he was a
great hunter who chased the daughters of Atlas and Pleione for
seven years. When Zeus realized what Orion was up to, he
changed the sisters into doves and placed them in the night sky.
When Orion died, Zeus put him up there close behind them. I
guess the chase just goes on and on forever. Some guys don't
know when to quit do they?
"You said it, said Martha. "But tell me, I don't mean to pry
or hurt your feelings, but how does a guy who puts up circus
tents for a living seem to know so much? I declare, Bill, you
surprise me sometimes.
"Everyone has interests Martha, don't they? Some a mine
are just a little more comprehensive.
"Bill, said Martha, as she hesitated in the parking lot of the
club. "You must have some education that you're not telling me
about. Either that, or you've done a lot of studying on your own.
C'mon, she said insistently, "spill the beans.
"Okay, Jack looked as though he was getting ready to
make a confession. "I've done a lot of studying on my own. I
like to read sometimes. I like to answer my own questions.
When I was a kid, I had a teacher who told the class we'd be
answering a lot of our own questions some day, and that's
exactly what I do. I don't like to rely on others when I don't have
to. The best work I've done in my life, I've done when I was
alone. That's just me, I'm a loner. Don't like people much.
"You like me, don't you? replied Martha as she unlocked
the car doors for Jack and herself.
"Sure, I like you all right, said Jack, getting into the car.
"But let's face it, Martha, we come from two different worlds.
You're rich, I'm poor. I don't think your daddy's gonna like
that much do you?
"Don't you worry about my father, he knows I've a strong
will and a mind of my own. Now let's forget that stuff for now
about who's rich and who's poor. People with brains in their
heads like you shouldn't be concerned with little obstacles the
way you are. C'mon now, it's nearly eight o'clock. We'll miss
the sunset if we don't hurry.
When the two arrived at Lake Catherine, they parked and
walked to the eastern shore, and stood watching the falling sun
with their feet in the sand. The clouds appeared orange and then
grew gradually red as the minutes passed by.
"One of nature's greatest shows, said Martha, "and it costs
nothing and goes on daily. Isn't it a wonder?
"It's beautiful, remarked Jack. "Nice to have someone to
share it with too, sometimes.
"Just sometimes? questioned Martha.
"Well, you know that side of me now, Martha, sometimes
I just want to be alone.
"Everyone wants to be alone at times, that sounds normal to
me. But when you're alone, said Martha, as she pulled Jack's
head down to meet hers, "good things like this never happen.
As the wealthy socialite kissed Jack's lips, she felt a cold,
indifferent mood come over him. He seemed distant at a time,
she thought, when he should've felt closest. She couldn't tell
exactly what had come over him, so she couldn't help
questioning it.
"Don't you like kissing girls, Bill?
"Yeah, I like it fine. Just not always in the mood, I guess.
"I swear, said Martha, "you are one difficult guy to figure
out. I don't know what to do. Do you want me to drive you back
to the fairgrounds, or would you like to come over for coffee?
The night's still young, if you could just loosen up a little.
It didn't take Jack long to answer. "Let's see your place, he
said. "Is it the palace I've imagined all along?
"Some people think so, all I know is, it's home to me.
"It's home to your parents too, ain't it? What are they gonna
say when they see what you brought back with ya?
"They're not even home, so don't worry about it. But when
they are, we don't bother each other. I have my own four room
suite which keeps me pretty much secluded from the rest of the
home.
"Sounds like a house in a house to me, said Jack. He was
even more impressed by the truth than he was by what he'd
imagined. "I'd like to see it.
On the way to Martha's parents' house, there wasn't all that
much to see. A few run-down old homes lined the road, but
every now and then, a nice looking farm house stood out like a
rose among thorns. Freshly painted Victorian style homes
which never lacked for the care and attention they deserved. It
was difficult to tell exactly how old some of them were in the
well preserved condition they were in. Some, thought Jack,
looked like post-Civil War era. Some, he guessed, may have
been built simultaneously with the war's end.
"I like some a these houses, said Jack, "but they look like
a bunch a antiques to me.
"Funny you should say that, answered Martha, "they are
antiques. Some of them date back to that little conflict we had
between the North and the South. She turned and smiled at
Jack as she drove the big car off the main road and onto the
beginning of what was to be a long and winding gravel drive.
"By the way, Mr. Bradley, asked Martha, "where does your
sympathy lie? Who have I been drivin' around with? A yankee
or a johnny reb?
Jack hesitated for a moment while he watched the tall oak
trees go by on the way to the house. "Hard to say, he said. "I
ain't really one or the other. You can't blame southerners for
fightin' for the homes they grew up in. And neither can I blame
Mr. Lincoln for wantin' to preserve the Union. Looking into
her eyes, he continued his explanation by repeating what he'd
been thinking to himself for many years. "Slavery was a cruel
and unjust crime against humanity. I don't never want to see it
happen again.
"Well put, Martha replied, "I agree, but let me put it this
way. If you had to choose between fighting for the North or for
the South, which would it be?
"Good God! said Jack as he noticed the huge mansion
getting closer and closer. "For a house like that, you know
which side I'd be fightin' for. Looks like a fancy hotel.
"It is, sort of. It was designed in eighteen eighty-five by a
landscape architect. That's why the grounds are so swell.
Beautiful trees and flowers you can't really see at night. You
must come back in the daytime. We have a pool too if you'd like
to see it.
At last, coming to the end of the drive, Martha made a left
turn and parked the big Cadillac in front of the four car garage.
As the couple walked from the garage to the house, they
were greeted at the front door by the Langtrees' maid. She wore
a warm, friendly smile as she took Martha's coat and asked if
she could get them anything.
"No thank you, Celia, we're stuffed. We just got back from
dinner. This is Mr. Bradley, said Martha, waving her hand in
Jack's direction. "I'm going to show him around the house.
You can go home now if you like. I'll see you tomorrow.
"Thank you, Miss Langtree. I'll see you in the morning.
Watching the maid exit from the big double doors of the
rustic mansion, Jack took the time to look all around the huge,
spacious home. His eyes wandered in every direction, but it was
still impossible to take in all, or most of the house's features
from one vantage point.
"You get your exercise just walkin' around this place. I just
can't believe the size, Jack remarked, as he stared up at the
ceilings which were in most cases, well over ten feet in height.
"And the ceilings are so high. I don't have to worry about
bumping my head. It's great, and look there, you even got a
piano.
Jack made his way to the big baby grand piano that
occupied a distant corner of the living room to his left, and sat
down at the piano's long bench seat . Martha smiled to see him
enjoying himself so much, but never expected Jack to actually
begin playing the complicated instrument.
Starting off very slowly and softly, he played Beethoven's
Moonlight Sonata as if he were born to play it. Martha was
astonished, and couldn't help talking over the music as he
played.
"You are full of surprises! You play like an expert. Where
did you learn to play like that?
"I took some lessons when I was a kid, answered Jack, as
he played on. "Just kept practicing over the years whenever I
could. Do you like it?
"Of course I like it. Anyone would. What a silly question.
You should play for our friends some time. You'll impress
them all, including my parents.
"I will if you want me to, he said, as he suddenly stopped
playing to look up at Martha. "Can I see the rest of the house?
"You surely may. Her answer ushered from her lips easily,
as her feelings for Jack grew deeper by the minute.
Taking him by the hand, feeling now more than ever as
though Jack were one of her more distinguished friends,
Martha gave Jack a complete tour of the still-great old home,
which ended in the four room suite she lived in.
"Now that you've seen it all, what do you think?
"It's the most beautiful place I've ever seen. You must be
very happy here.
"We are relatively happy, I suppose. But money really
doesn't buy happiness. I've had my lonely times here. The
house is so big, you can get lost in it. It helps when other people
are around, but I was an only child, and my parents are so often
on vacation, well, you see what I'm getting at, don't you?
"Sure I see, but how come a gal like you hasn't married yet.
You're pretty, you're rich. I was thinkin' you even remind me
of Barbara Stanwick. Strong will, attractive, you really fit the
part. I can't see how you'd be lonely. What about those friends
a yours I met? Robert and Dana seemed like nice folks.
"They are nice, but none of them are very special to me. We
get together to escape our boredom. That's about all it is.
While Jack listened, he found himself looking out one of
the rear windows in Martha's sitting room. He remembered the
pool she spoke of, and thought the timing was right to change
the subject.
"Excuse me, Martha, ain't that the pool down there you
were tellin' me about? Can I see it up close?
"Why not? C'mon into my parents' room, I'll get you a pair
of my father's swim trunks.
"Great, said Jack. "I haven't been swimmin' since I was a
kid. It's been at least ten years.
They left Martha's suite and walked down the long corridor
of rooms to her parents' bedroom. Jack couldn't believe her
father's clothing selections which he kept in a closet space
large enough to serve as a bedroom. Rows of suits lined the
walls, and perfectly pressed shirts hung on spaces above. Shoes
of all types lined up like soldiers took up formation underneath
the suits, and casual clothes, all neatly folded, filled drawers of
several armoire.
"When does your daddy ever get the chance to wear all this
stuff? I never seen so much clothes in all my life.
"You think that's something, said Martha, "look at this¦
Martha walked over to another door which led to a small
room connected to her father's bedroom. As she opened the
door, a look of astonishment came over Jack.
"I can't believe what I'm seein'! There must be more gold
here than Ft. Knox. What does he do with it all?
"He's a collector, said Martha. "He does wear some of it
though. Mainly the watches and rings. My mother of course,
wears many of the necklaces and bracelets. Some of the pieces
are priceless. Please don't tell anyone you've seen them here.
My father's always been afraid of theft. So far, we've been
lucky. The police are here from time to time, just to make sure
everything's okay . My father gives them extra money to call on
us and shows his appreciation when Christmas time comes
around. He also keeps this, just in case. As she spoke, she
reached into a nightstand drawer and pulled out her father's
hand gun.
"That's a forty-five automatic you got there, remarked
Jack. "Army and police issue since World War I. Where'd he
get it?
"He was a lieutenant in the war. He saw combat in France.
My mother says he was never really the same when he came
home. The war changed him a lot. He put all his energy into
making money. We saw very little of him for many years, but
then, these are the fruits of his labor, said Martha, as she raised
her hands in the air and looked about her. "This is where his
hard work got him.
"Looks like it paid off, replied Jack. "He must be a tough
old bird. Anyway, don't worry about me, I won't say nothin'
about what I seen. C'mon, give me any old swim trunks and
let's jump into that pool.
Jack was happy to get the trunks on that Martha handed
him, despite them being slightly big in the waist and a little too
short. He walked up and down the hallway, looking at the oil
paintings that lined the walls as he waited for Martha to change
into her swimsuit.
"That didn't take long did it? she said as she came out of
her bedroom. "Last one in's a rotten egg. As she spoke, she ran
down the long, winding staircase which descended to the first
floor, with Jack trailing after her. Opening a pair of wide, glass,
french doors, the couple ran out of the house and jumped into
the center of the Olympic size swimming pool.
After splashing around a little and swimming a length, Jack
came to rest next to Martha.
"Hold on, said Martha, "what we're missing is an afterdinner
brandy. Give me a minute, I'll be right back.
Jumping out of the pool, Martha darted across the
fieldstone pool deck and back into the house. In no time at all,
she was back with two glasses and a whole bottle of aged
French brandy.
"Is you're daddy gonna miss this stuff? It looks expensive.
"No, he won't miss it, and yes, it is expensive, and stop
worrying about my father. He has a lot more to worry about than
one lonely bottle of hootch.
As Martha poured the fine liqueur into the glasses, Jack
noticed how fragrant the sweet smelling alcohol was. He'd
never had a brandy this old and this good before, and was
anxious to try it.
"That's not the swill I'm used to drinkin', that's for sure.
"At the time when I was born, my father couldn't afford this
either. But that was twenty-five years ago, things have changed
quite a bit since then.
"Things certainly have.
Putting his drink down at the pool edge, Jack put his hands
around Martha's slim waistline and pulled her close to his
body.
"Well, now we're getting somewhere, she said, as Jack's
hands changed position from her waist to her shoulders. While
Jack gently held her by her shoulders, Martha also slid her glass
to the pool edge and waited for Jack to embrace her. His hands
slowly traveled from Martha's shoulders to the base of her
neck, and then finally, reaching their destination, they stopped.
With a firm grasp around the beautiful, white, flawless,
skin of her throat, he began to add gradual pressure.
"When are you going to kiss me, asked Martha, in her most
innocent voice.
"Right now, said Jack.
And with that, he bent his head down toward hers, and
kissed her as he'd never kissed a woman before.
"Not bad, said Martha. "That didn't hurt did it? My only
complaint is, you're hands are a little tight around my neck.
"Oh, sorry, he said, "I got a little carried away. I didn't hurt
you, did I?
"No, no. It was nice, I liked it. I want you to know you can
do that more often if you want. Just try it with your hands
around my waist, like this, she said, as she pulled Jack's arms
from his sides and loosely wrapped them around her body.
"There you go, that's more like it. As she finished
speaking, she pulled Jack's head to hers and kissed him again.
This time, after a few seconds, Jack slowly pulled himself
away. The familiar, uncomfortable feeling of being close to
someone had risen in him as usual and prevented him from
continuing on.
He told her, "I think I should go.
"But it's only nine o'clock, she said, with a touch of
annoyance in her voice. "We were just having fun. Do you
really have to leave?
"Yes, I really do. I've got a full day of work ahead of me
tomorrow, and I better get some sleep.
"Okay, if that's what you want to do. Just let me change my
clothes, and I'll drive you back to the fairgrounds. I have to say
though, you can be quite frustrating.
"Sorry, how about if I take a rain check. Next time I'll stay
a little longer, I promise.
"You better, she said with a laugh, "or I'll tell my daddy.
In the car, Jack's mood was still uneasy. He felt like he'd
been physically and emotionally too close to Martha that
evening. Psychologically impaired, Jack was prevented from
any deep feeling or sincere emotion toward the few women he
dated, and, as a result, ran his life accordingly.
"We're almost at the fairgrounds, Martha said, breaking
the silence between them. "Is there anything you want to tell
me?
"Yes, there is something, he said, almost glad she'd asked.
"I think I got too close to you tonight. I don't think that should
happen again.
"Oh, nonsense. What did you do? You kissed me, that's all.
What's the big deal? Why do you feel you must run away and
hide now? I don't understand you.
"It's more than that, Martha. I'll tell you sometime if you
like, but I really do need to get ta bed now.
"No Bill, I want to know right now, before you get out of
this car. What's eating you? Is it me? If it is, I have a right to
know.
Jack paused and took a few seconds before he answered.
"No Martha, it isn't you. It's just everyone. I don't feel
comfortable around anyone. I'm not saying I don't like you, I
do. It's just I can't be around anyone for very long, before I start
feeling like I don't belong, or they don't belong. It's hard to
explain. I felt this way since I was a kid. Nothing I can do about
it now.
"Okay, said Martha, feeling let down and misunderstood.
"I'm trying to understand, but it's going to take me time to sort
this out.
"That's another thing, Martha. I don't even know how long
I'll be in town. It ain't right to get attached to me now. When the
circus folds up its tents and leaves, I could well be on that train
with 'em.
"Very well, Bill. Maybe it's just as well. Will I see you
again?
"I think so. The circus is still in town for another few weeks.
I'll see you around. Why don't you stop in sometime?
Remember Martha, it's not your problem, you're a good
person. It's my problem.
When the car stopped and Jack got out, a strange feeling
came over Martha. The feeling that she might never see him
again. As he walked away, he turned back to find her watching
him. There she sat, a silk scarf wrapped around her neck to keep
her fair skin warm in the cool night air, and all the while gazing
at him, as his image got smaller and smaller, finally
disappearing into the doorway of the big tent he shared with his
co-workers.
Crying, as she put the big Cadillac in reverse, she couldn't
help feeling that Jack was throwing her away for no apparent
reason.
When Jack entered the tent, he found more waiting for him
than just an empty cot.
"Have fun? said a voice in the dark. "Just thought I'd
warm this here bed up for ya a bit before you got in it. That
okay?
"Who are you? said a much-surprised Jack.
"Lieutenant Larry Stark. Ring a bell?
Jack paused for a moment, wondering what the detective
had on his mind this time.
"Been on a date? continued the detective. "That Martha
Langtree is one helluva gal, ain't she? Kinda reminds me a
Barbara Stanwick. Don't she remind you a Barbara Stanwick?
"Yes, she does, replied Jack, growing more annoyed with
each passing moment.
"Anyway Bill,”that is your name isn't it, Bill Bradley?
"Yeah, that's my name.
"I'll just get to the point, but first, let's get some fresh air
and go someplace where we can talk in private. Anywhere
outside the tent works for me, that okay with you?
"Sure, that's fine, but I do have to get some sleep. It won't
take long will it?
"Won't take long at all, assured the lieutenant, as he
opened up the tent door with his right arm, and politely gestured
Jack to walk out in front of him. "I hate impolite people, don't
you Bill? I like to show visitors how hospitable we are here in
Mississippi.
"I appreciate it, said Jack as he walked through the tent
door and into the cool night air.
Following Jack through the door, the detective began
speaking bluntly and to the point¦.
"Now Bill, what we got here are some facts that just don't
add up, and in my opinion, some that do. One thing that don't
add up is that they ain't a lot a folks around here can easily
choke someone with their bare hands. In fact, I got to say, that
in this town, you the only one. As the detective spoke, he
pointed at Jack with his forefinger for emphasis. "Now another
thing that don't add up, continued the detective in a stern tone,
"is that none a this business had gone on before you got here.
"I don't understand, said Jack. "You never had any murder
cases here before I got here?
"Sure, we had our occasional mishap, replied detective
Stark, "but neva two bodies at a time showin' up with the same
black 'n blue marks on their necks the way we do now. You
follow?
"Yes, I follow, but I still don't see why I'd be the only
suspect to the case. My co-workers can account for every move
I've made in the past few days. I'm a reliable man here, just ask
my boss.
"Oh, I don't deny that, and you ain't the only suspect. I just
got to know that you ain't goin anywhere for the next week or
so. Tell me you ain't leavin' and that'd make me feel a whole lot
betta.
"My job's here with the circus, I can't leave.
"Good, good. That'll work. Now if ya want to know, there
is anotha thing botherin' me, an' that is that the marks we found
on the bodies go practically around their necks. You know what
that means don't cha? That means the man who did this would
have to have very big hands, and I can't help but notice you got
quite a pair a meat hooks there.
"Lieutenant, are you through yet? Just because I have big
hands doesn't mean I killed two people. Now like I said, I'm not
goin' anywhere an' I do have to get to bed.
The detective stared at Jack for a moment with a discerning
expression on his face.
"I guess that's enough for now, he said. "I'll be sure to
keep in touch, an' I do want you to know that I hope you turn out
innocent. You seem like a nice guy, an' I like you, but I got to
do my job an' follow this thing through. You see my side of it
dont'cha?
"I do, replied Jack, offering his outstretched hand as a
gesture of goodwill. "You have a good night now, I realize
you're just doin' your job. And with that, Jack turned and
walked back through the tent door to his cot.
Laying down, Jack looked at the watch on his left wrist. It
read ten o'clock, nearly to the second. As he turned his arm
over, he decided to detach the band and remove the timepiece.
On the back of the watch, he noticed an inscription. It read: To
Bill, with love. Mary and the kids. Taking the wristwatch in his
powerful right hand, Jack bore down on it with enough force to
crush a golf ball. Breaking the watch into tiny bits and pieces,
he got up from his cot and walked out into the night toward a
forest which lined the fairgrounds. Once there, he threw the
small fragments into the woods as far as he possibly could, and
without as much as a whisper to anyone, Jack walked to the
train station, found an empty box-car, and left town, bound for
Shreveport, Louisiana.
On the way, later on in the night, Jack picked up two
passengers in tattered clothes who were also looking for
passage west.
One of the men was tall and thin, the other, short and
stocky. Both had short beards and appeared as if they hadn't
taken a bath in weeks. Both had bad teeth and terrible breath
from not having brushed in months. Finally, both had designs
on killing Jack for whatever money he might have on him.
"Didn't expect ta find you here, said the taller man. "We
been up all night, waitin' for this here train. Ain't that right,
Jeb?
"That's right, Wallace. Up all night. As the shorter man
spoke, he nodded his head in agreement.
"An' I'll tell you right now, continued the tall man,
speaking as he scratched his beard and stroked his mustache.
"We don't share box-cars. You gonna have to go. Ah tell you
what, you empty your pockets, an' give us what you got, an' Jeb
there won't have to jump on ya an' take it.
"Is that a fact? said Jack, and as his words came out, his
muscles tensed like a jungle cat ready to pounce. "You tell Jeb
he can take whatever I got and stick it in his ass, would ya.
When the tall man nodded to his shorter friend to put their
plan into action, his forehead grew stiff and furrowed. Jack read
the body language passing between the two, and was ready. He
had his own plan in mind which didn't take long to act out.
As the shorter man ran toward Jack, he jumped up and hung
his right arm around Jack's throat. Suspended momentarily
with eight inches of empty space between his feet and the train
car floor, he waited for help from his friend, but help never
came. In an instant, Jack had smashed the body of the smaller
man into the train car wall, using his own weight as a driving
force in momentum. Sliding off of Jack's neck, the smaller man
slowly relinquished his grip and fell unconscious to the floor.
Without a moment to spare, Jack picked up the lifeless body by
the neck and proceeded to pound his assailants head into the
wall of the car, again and again until blood and bits of brain
tissue emerged from it.
With one great heave, Jack threw the now dead man from
the train and turned around to find the other, cowering in fear.
"Empty your pockets. I don't like to share cars much
either, said Jack.
"Here, take it, said the now desperate hobo. "We only
meant to scare ya, honest. I never thought it'd come ta this.
Even when the tattered, shaking man laid his wallet on the
floor, Jack felt no remorse as he took the man by his throat, beat
his head against the floor until dead, and threw him from the
train, finally sharing in the same fate as his unfortunate friend.
"I declare, said Jack, aloud to himself, "they just ain't no
peace around here. When will people learn to leave each other
alone? Maybe never.
And what was the bounty, Jack wondered, opening the
wallet like a Christmas present to a child.
Jack counted to himself, "Looks like a dollar sixty-three all
told. Oh well, better luck next time. But what came to his
attention more so then the pocket change the man carried, was
of course, his identification. One of the cards Jack found read:
Wallace Leery, 1215 Ivy Lane, Minden, Louisiana. I'll take it,
thought Jack to himself. He won't be needin' it where he's
goin'.
And so the impersonation and persona of Bill Bradley
finally came to rest as it had begun, in the bleak, lonely space of
an empty box-car. And in so doing, a new life took its place.
The life of one Mr. Wallace Leery. "Hmmm, Wallace, said
Jack softly to himself in the dark, "I kinda like it. Not as nice a
name as William, but it'll do for the time bein'.
Maybe I can get some sleep now, he thought. I'm beat. It's
a tough world we live in.
When the train pulled into its station, Jack guessed it was
sometime in the late afternoon.
Looks like I get either a late lunch or early dinner, he
thought. A booze drink ain't a bad idea either. All this fussin'
an fightin's got me thirsty.
Jumping out of the train car, Jack made his way to the first
bar he spotted on Commerce Street.
A big blinking neon sign drew him in like a new catch on a
fisherman's hook. Casey's Place read the sign, Fine Spirits at
Fine Prices. Anxious for a drink, he walked through the door
and sat himself at the bar. Looking around, he noticed there
were only two other men in the bar with him. One of them sat
at a table across the room from Jack. He had his head down and
appeared to be sleeping. The other man sat at the far end of the
bar, and as he whistled, I'm just wild about Mary, he poured
whiskey out into five shot glasses he arranged in front of
himself like a chorus line.
When the bartender, a large burly fellow with a pencil thin
mustache, finally made his way to where Jack was sitting, the
whistler was just finishing a complete lineup of five shots, and
as he reached for his bottle to replenish the chorus line of booze,
he realized Jack was watching him.
"What's a matter, said the man, "ain't ya never seen a guy
drink booze before?
"I have, said Jack, "just not quite the way you're doin'.
"An' what's wrong with the way I'm doin'? Maybe it's my
whistlin' ya don't like, is that it?
"No mister, I meant no offense, said Jack, "just go back to
what you were doin'.
After some grave deliberation, the feisty whistling man
turned away and resumed his serenade with renewed vitality.
"Sure is a touchy guy, ain't he? said Jack to the bartender.
"Mister, you ain't seen nothin' yet. He comes in here to
whistle, drink and fight all the time. Daily in fact. An' I gotta
tell you, you got lucky. He don't like to give up. He's nuts all
right. Nutty as a fruitcake. Hey, what ya want to drink? I almost
forgot ta ask you.
"Whiskey, and could ya make it a double? After my day, I
need it.
"What kinda day is that, or am I gettin' too nosey? You just
tell me if I'm gettin' too nosey, hey, I know when to quit. Unlike
some people around here.
After some pause, Jack answered, "Just some good old
boys makin' a fuss earlier today, but we got things sorted out.
Then the guy down there at the end botherin' me. I swear, I feel
like I'm just alive to be picked on sometimes. Why don't I just
wear a sign says Kick Me on it. You ever feel that way?
"Mister, I think we all feel that way sometimes. Ah know ah
do. That's just normal. You sound normal ta me, don't worry
about it.
"Yeah, I'm normal. I gotta remind myself sometimes that
I'm just a regular guy. Just like anyone else. Ain't that right?
"Why sure, that's right, said the bartender. "Now let me
give ya an example a who ain't a regular guy. And as the
bartender spoke, he gestured with his head in the direction of
the whistling drinker at the end of the bar.
"You make a good point, said Jack. "I gotta agree with ya
there.
After the bartender walked away to wash some glasses,
Jack got a chance to look the place over. There was a pool table
in the center of the room that looked like it had seen better days.
There were pictures on the walls of prize fighters from the late
twenties and early thirties. One that caught Jack's eye was a
photo of Tony Zale. The bartender couldn't help noticing how
interested Jack appeared, and walked back in Jack's direction
to reminisce over some of the photos.
"He was here you know.
"Huh?
"You know, said the bartender, "Tony Zale. The
middleweight over there on the wall. I thought ya were lookin'
at his picture. He's a terrific guy. I met him. Packs a real wallop
for his size. Don't mess with Tony if ya meet him. He can knock
just about anyone on their ass.
"Hell, I wouldn't mess with him, but seein' his picture did
get me to thinkin', said Jack. "You got a boxing gym around
here? I was just thinkin' about trying my luck.
"Mister, replied the bartender, "you got the size an' you
look pretty strong, but I'll tell ya right now, it takes time to
become a good boxer. It don't happen overnight.
"Yeah, I know, said Jack. "But if I can't catch the guy with
my fist, I can always grab him by the throat and choke him to
death.
The bartender laughed at the jest he thought Jack intended,
but for a moment, Jack's face grew expressionless and cold,
almost brutal.
"Buddy, that was a joke, right? You look as serious as a
heart attack, but you're kiddin' right?
"Why sure I'm kiddin', answered Jack, whose demeanor
now turned slowly from grievous to pleasant.
When Jack finished his drink, he took one last look around
the room and before leaving, walked over to where the
whistling man sat, and gave him a good, hard pat on the back
that nearly knocked him off his seat. "You have a good day
now, said Jack, as his smile gave way to laughter.
"Why you crazy son-of-a-bitch! If I was ten years younger
I'd beat the hell outta you. You'll get yours wise ass, you'll get
yours.
The aged boozer was still shaking his fist at Jack as he
headed out the door, on his way to the boxing gym. Using the
directions the bartender gave him, he arrived at Joe's Boxing
Gym in a little under half an hour.
It was a typical gym, Jack thought. A small area to lift
weights in; two heavy bags, suspended from the ceiling; two
small speed bags; a place to jump rope, and last but not least, the
boxing ring itself. Yes, it was typical, right down to the bad
odor in the room. It was still July, and with only two open doors
and a few fans going, it was never going to smell like a perfume
counter. You either got used to it or you gave up boxing, and in
a neighborhood that reeked of poverty, the smell of sweat went
practically unnoticed.
Jack looked around for someone he could talk to about
beginning. He spotted a short, fat man wearing a hat and white
shirt, sitting alone in a corner of the room, reading a newspaper.
He decided that since the man was one of the only people in the
room who was physically at rest, that might be a good place to
start asking questions.
"Excuse me, sir, said Jack. "Who do I talk to about
becoming a boxer?
"What? Who? Can't ya see I'm busy? Come back later.
"Well, said Jack, feeling put off by the short man's bad
mood. "I'm really serious about it. Do you know who I could
talk to today? I'd sure like ta get started.
"So you'd like ta get started, would ya? said the man in a
mocking tone. "Do you know anything about what a boxer has
to put up with? You ever been hit? I mean, not jus' punched out,
but hit agin an agin?
"No sir, but I think I can handle it.
"You think you kin handle it, do ya. Okay, I'll tell ya what.
You see that man a standin' there in the blue shirt coachin'
those boys? The man pointed with a cigar in his hand, toward
a small crowd gathered around a well built man, about five-foot
nine inches tall. The man had short hair that appeared plastered
to his skull with grease. One look told Jack that the man was an
accomplished boxer. As the man explained good balance and
technique to the gathering of boys, he turned his body this way
and that, seeming to duck punches. Bobbing and weaving, up
and down and from side to side, revealing his own perfect style
and execution of form.
"You go talk ta him an' tell him you wanna start boxin'. Got
it? He'll start ya all right. The short fat man began to giggle to
himself, and soon the giggle gave way to loud laughter. "He'll
start ya all right. Yeah, c'mon, I'll walk ya there maself. I wanna
watch ya when ya hit the canvas. Five bucks says that's the only
action ya'll be seein'.
"You're on, replied a not-so-confident Jack.
Walking over to the boxing coach, the fat man took the time
to introduce himself to Jack.
"Ma friends all call me J.P., he said. "What do you call
yourself?
"My name's Wallace, Wallace Leery.
"Okay Wallace, mind if I call you Wally?
"Nope. I don't mind, said Jack.
"Hey Jake, yelled J.P., "C'mon ova here for a minute.
Surprised to hear his name, the athletic, middle aged coach
looked up and excused himself to the small crowd of potential
boxers.
"Jake, this here is Wally Leery. Wally, this here is the finest
trainer south a the Mason-Dixon line, Jake Thomas. If ya can't
learn boxin' from Jake, ya might as well give it up, ain't that
right Jake?
"I don't know about that, but I helped some pretty good
boys in my day.
"I don't know that I need much help, but I sure could use the
money, said Jack. "I like to get paid in cash. About how much
could I expect to make in one fight anyway?
"That depends on how good you get, said Jake. "But bouts
around here starting out, fifty bucks.
"Sounds good to me.
"Let's see what you got then. I got a sparring partner about
your size here today. You want me ta tell him to go easy on you
or what? It's up to you.
"I'm fine. Tell him to treat me like anyone else.
After reassuring Jake that he'd be all right in the ring, Jack
went to the locker room to find a pair of shorts he could wear
and some gloves. By the time he came back, his sparring
partner was already warmed up and ready to go. About as tall as
Jack, he was used to the fight game and in a relatively short
time, had already acquired a brief but impressive list of
victories. Not as strong in appearance as Jack, but as far as
speed and technique, he was light years ahead.
"This is Tony, said Jake, as he stood between the two
fighters in the ring. "He'll show you what you don't already
know, that's for sure. Anytime you guys are ready, just begin.
Touching gloves, the fight began.
Both boxers were right handed and led with their left foot in
front of their bodies. Around the ring they went, trading
glancing blows that hurt neither one, until suddenly, out of
nowhere, Tony caught Jack with a hard right hook that sent
Jack's head reeling back. Smelling blood, the experienced
sparring partner followed up with a lightening-quick flurry of
punches that had Jack seeing stars. Luckily for Jack, the three
minute bell rang and he thankfully sat down, surprised and tired
in his corner.
"That guy's pretty good, said Jack.
"I would've told ya to watch out, but you acted so sure a
yourself, I thought you knew what you were up against,
replied Jake. "He's got a couple years experience on you. You
wanna keep going or ya wanna quit?
"No, I wanna keep boxing. Sooner or later, he's gonna
make a mistake.
"That's true, said Jake, "but if and when it happens, it
might be too late for you.
"Don't worry about me, said Jack as the bell rang. "I'll be
fine.
Coming together again in the center of the ring, Tony
wasted no time in penetrating Jack's weak defense, and as Jack
momentarily dropped his guard to catch his breath, his assailant
caught him with a devastating uppercut that landed him flat on
his back. As Jake and J.P. discussed stopping the fight, Jack
rose to his feet, dazed and angry, and pleaded with them not to.
"Don't stop it, I'm okay
"You sure? You don't look so good, said Jake.
"I told ya this would happen, said J.P. "Now you believe
me?
"Just don't stop it. I'm fine.
"Okay then, go on an' git your head knocked in, said the fat
man, waving his cigar in exclamation. "Do what you want.
As the two fighters faced off again, Jack knew now he must
act quickly or run the risk of getting really hurt. After a few
more left jabs that hardly grazed his opponent, Jack let fly an
extremely hard right to his opponent's left temple. Dropping
like a stone, Tony fell to the canvas, and never got up.
"I don't feel a pulse, said Jake. "Get me some smelling
salts.
Like ants with a single purpose, the whole gym scurried to
find a way to revive the young boxer but each attempt was to no
avail.
"You killed him, said an astonished Jake. "What'd you do
that for? You didn't have ta do that. He had a mom and two
sisters. How am I gonna explain this? What'd you do it for?
"You act like I planned it, replied Jack. "All I did was wind
up on him. Shit, he had it coming. You saw what he did to me.
"He's dead. He's dead, and you killed him. Don't you feel
any remorse?
"No. Should I? Boxing's a rough game. Maybe he didn't
belong in it. Maybe I do.
"Maybe you belong in jail, said an angry J.P.
"It was an accident, said Jack. "You know it was an
accident. You were here, you saw it. Do I get to box here or
don't I?
" don't know right now, answered J.P. "Give it some
time. I woulda said yes before, but now this. I don't know. Just
wait a few days till this blows over. It wasn't your fault, I guess.
We gotta try an' realize that. It wasn't his fault. Boxin' is a
rough game.
"I suppose, said a mournful Jake. "I suppose.
Angry and disgruntled, Jack answered, "You can take as
much time as you like, I'm going lookin' for a hotel room.
Jack walked out of the boxing gym that day and never came
back. He had other, more important things to attend to.
Walking down Grimmett Drive, Jack had his choice of
hotels. The only problem was finding one cheap enough. It was
the end of a long, eventful day, and he was getting pretty tired.
It wasn't that he felt bad about what happened at the gym, he
felt quite the opposite. It was just that all the action had drained
him physically, and he needed a place to lay down and rest for
the night.
As he stood on the sidewalk, wondering which hotel might
give him the better deal, a long, shiny black Lincoln limousine
suddenly pulled up alongside the curb. A large, fat man with a
mustache emerged from the driver's seat and began to walk
toward him.
"You, said the large man. "What's your name?
"What's it to you? asked Jack, in a defensive tone.
"My boss wants ta talk to you, that's all I know. He's in the
car waitin'. You want me to introduce you as what's his name
or should I give him a real name?
"Wallace Leery, that's my name.
"Okay Wallace, why don'cha take a walk with me ta the
car, it won't take long.
Waiting in the back seat of the car sat a rather unpretentious
looking little man. He didn't seem to put on airs or dress in
flashy styles. He even seemed warm and friendly to Jack as he
opened the back door from inside the car where he sat, and
gestured for Jack to come in and take a seat beside him.
"Would you like a drink?
"Sure would, said Jack, "I could use it. I'll take a scotch if
you got one.
Even before Jack was finished speaking, his host had pulled
open a door from behind the back seat to reveal a small bar
filled with bottles of assorted types of alcohol and impressive
looking glasses. But before he found the right bottle for Jack, he
reached for a button beside him that operated the window
between the driver and himself. As the window came down,
Jack's host began to question the bold, rotund driver¦
"Lou, you haven't introduced us yet. Just what is the
gentleman's name?
"My name is Wallace Leery, said Jack, not waiting for the
driver's response. "Who are you?
"My friends call me Vince, but my enemies call me by
many other names, you can be sure. As the mysterious host
spoke, he poured Jack's drink into a fine, antique lead crystal
glass and handed it to him. "I think we could be friends, he
said. "I saw what you did back there at the gym. I'm impressed.
That guy boxed rings around you, but you came out on top. I
like that in a man. You got nerve.
"I don't remember seeing you there, said a slightly
incredulous Jack.
"Don't worry, I was. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here.
Anyway, he continued, "It's too bad that guy died. You don't
feel bad about it?
"No.
"Good, that's the kind of quality I'm looking for. I don't
hire mama's boys. I've got a job for you if you want one. It
doesn't pay much starting out, but if you prove to me that I can
trust you, you'll go right up the ladder.
"What kind of job? asked Jack, sipping his drink.
"You watch my back. You take care of me, and I'll take care
of you. You see Mr. Leery, I'm involved in a number of
entrepreneurial enterprises and I need people to help me run
them and keep track of incoming cash.
"What kind of enterprises?
"Let me give you some idea. Take for instance, all the
nightclubs and bars that are open until late at night. With us
around watching over them, they can be pretty sure they won't
be robbed or taken advantage of in some other way. But for this
service, we ask a small fee. Every Friday night, somebody from
my establishment will pick up that fee. You see? That's were
you come in. I want you to pick up the money every Friday
night. Now, let me forewarn you, every week won't go
smoothly. Some people I know would prefer not to pay me and
take their chances, but you have to convince them that it's far
better to pay, then face the consequences.
"Okay, said Jack, "I catch on. What other kinds of
businesses are you involved in?
"For now, said Vince, "don't concern yourself with those
other matters. In time, if you prove yourself, you'll know all
about me and what I do. What I need to know is, are you
interested?
"Yeah, I'm interested. It sounds like something I'd enjoy.
"Great, said Vince. "Why don't we seal the deal with
dinner. I'll take you around to some of the places I watch over
and introduce you to a few people. You like corned beef? I
know a guy who makes a great corned beef. Lou, he continued,
"take us to Ryan's, it's right on the river, very nice spot. In the
meantime, Mr. Leery, would you like another scotch?
"Don't mind if I do.
As the limo sped through traffic down Grimmett Drive,
Vince Morgan, entrepreneur, decided to continue questioning
Jack. He was the kind of boss who liked to get to know the
people who worked for him.
"You don't sound like a Louisiana native to me, he asked,
"do you mind my asking where you're from.
"No, I don't mind. I just don't like to talk about it very
much. It brings back bad memories.
"I'm sorry to hear that, replied Jack's new boss, "I don't
mean to pry. I just like to get to know the people on my payroll.
There is one question I have to ask you.
"What's that? responded Jack curiously.
"Do you have a police record? If you do, it's not a really big
problem. I'm sure we can sort things out. I know a couple of
excellent lawyers who I pay handsomely to keep us clean. I'm
also a close friend of the mayor, Mr. Huey Lane. You see, you
don't have much to worry about when you work for me. Just
stay honest, that's all I ask.
"Okay, here we are. The place doesn't look like much from
the outside, but wait till you taste the food. Lou, see Mr. Leery
to the door, will you? Park and wait for us, we won't be long.
"Right, Mr. Morgan.
The restaurant had a casual dining atmosphere. There were
candles on all the tables and bottles of wine came delivered in
wicker baskets with bread sticks and small plates of butter. The
people dining looked like they were enjoying themselves, and
the patrons were dressed neatly but no one had gone to great
lengths to dress beyond their usual street attire.
When they were seated, a cigarette girl came around to their
table to ask them if they'd like something to smoke while they
waited.
"I'll take a pack of Camels, said Jack.
"Make mine a cigar, said Vince. "I'm in the mood for a
Macanudo.
"That's a pretty big cigar there, Vince. said Jack. "Must
take all day to smoke it down.
"I've got time, my friend, and I'm in no hurry. You should
try one, learn to relax and enjoy the good things in life.
"Thanks, I'll stick to cigarettes. Anyway, was there
anything else on your mind you wanted to tell me?
"It's not so much what I wanted to tell you, but who I
wanted you to meet. C'mon with me to the kitchen. I'll
introduce you to the owner, Timmy Ryan.
Entering the kitchen, Jack couldn't help noticing a tall, thin
man with red curly hair standing over a big steaming pot of
corned beef. The aroma was all over the room. It filled Jack's
nostrils and gave him sudden hunger pangs.
"Hey Timmy! shouted Vince over the clatter of the kitchen
noises. "You old son of a gun. How are you doin'?
"Oh, Hi. I'm okay. Hey, it's not Friday yet, I'm not late,
right?
"Sure Timmy, no worries. You're not late, we're just here
to sample some of that great corned beef you're famous for,
okay?
"That's fine, Mr. Morgan. I'll see you get your regular
booth in the back of the restaurant.
"Great Timmy. There is one more thing. I want to introduce
you to a new employee of mine. His name is Wallace. He'll be
picking up on Friday nights from now on, but I want you to
know, if anyone gives you trouble, you tell Wallace. He'll
straighten things out for you, okay?
"Yeah, sure. I gotta tell you though, there just may be some
trouble. There's a new guy in town, name of Carbello. He wants
a bunch of us to start payin' him instead a you. Haven't you got
word yet? Things might get ugly, you know what I mean.
"Don't you worry, Timmy, this is why you pay me. As long
as I'm around, things ain't gonna get ugly. I'll keep this
Carbello outta your hair. Hey now! said Vince, slapping his
hands together for emphasis. "I'm starved, let's eat.
When the restaurant owner sat Vince and Jack at their
booth, the conversation that started between them soon became
more like instructions from a quarter back to his defensive
lineman than any superficial small talk¦.
"From time to time, Wallace, things like this are gonna
happen, you know, like what Timmy's talking about.
Somebody always want to muscle in on a good thing. That's
why I need a good man like you. You know Lou, my driver,
right? He used to pick up on Friday's same as you, but he went
soft. He lost his nerve. Let's face it, the job gets a little
dangerous, but when I look at your face, I know you're a guy
who can handle it. You got a killer look to you, you know that?
It's not just what I saw back there at the gym that impressed me.
I seen a lot of boxers. It's in your eyes. Those eyes a yours tell
me everything I need to know. I don't see weakness in them. I
don't see anything in them. That's what I like about you. I know
you could kill someone, and feel nothin', and never look back.
Am I right?
"I guess, was all the answer Jack bothered to give. He
knew that what Vince was telling him was the accurate truth.
There was no reason to argue the point.
"Good, said Vince. "I'm not here to give myself a pat on
the back for knowin' I'm right. I'm just glad you threw in with
me. Here, Vince continued, "take this, you might need it. And
don't be afraid to use it if you have to, that's what I pay lawyers
for. Under the table, Vince handed Jack a loaded forty-five.
"Always keep one in the chamber, said Vince. "That way, it's
ready to go when you are. After lunch, we'll go back to my
office, and I'll get you a shoulder holster. You don't wanna
carry that thing in your pocket, it's too heavy.
"I'll find out who this Carbello asshole is and we'll pay him
a visit. Lou can come along too, but I wouldn't count on him too
much. He's just for show.
After calling around town, talking to some of his friends,
Vince found out Carbello's office was on the south side of town
near Garden Street. And while fitting Jack with a shoulder
holster, he tried giving Lou the kind of pep talk that would get
him motivated enough at least to back up Jack and himself, in
case something went wrong.
"You're a big guy, Lou, take a look at yourself in the mirror
there.
The burly driver turned to study himself in a full length
mirror Vince kept behind his office door. He looked cautiously
into his reflection, as if there existed the possibility of getting
hurt physically, or suffering damage in some other way.
"Yeah so, I'm a big guy, but how many a them you think
we'll have to tangle with?
"Would you relax, chances are we won't have to tangle
with anybody, said a reassuring Vince. "We're just goin' over
there to talk things over. If this Carbello is a reasonable man,
I'm sure he'll listen to me. Hell, I been here for years, he's the
new guy on the block. Besides, we got Wallace with us now,
he's tough aren't you, Wallace?
"Yeah sure, said Jack.
"Look at him, Lou, he's not nervous at all. Ain't that right?
"That's right, I'm not.
"In fact, continued Vince, "he acts just like he's been
through this before. What about it Wallace, you ever been a
strong arm before?
"No, Mr. Morgan, answered Jack, "but I've been in so
many fights, if one breaks out, it'll just be one more.
"That's the spirit! That's the stuff. See Lou, he ain't
worried about it, why should you be? Am I right or what? Okay,
let's go. Get in the car, I'm right behind you.
As Jack and Lou made their way to the car, Vince took the
time to check the weapon he carried underneath his suit coat. It
was a forty-four caliber Smith & Wesson he kept on him at all
times. He practically slept with it. You never can be too careful,
he thought to himself, as he checked each chamber for a bullet,
and slid the gun back into its holster.
On the way to Carbello's office, Vince's curiosity got the
better of him, and he began questioning Jack, knowing Lou
couldn't hear them talking with the rear seat dividing window
up all the way.
"Hey, Wallace, he asked. "You can tell me now. You ever
been afraid?
"Afraid of what?
"Afraid of what might happen if some bastard gets the drop
on you. What do you mean, afraid of what? asked Vince,
thinking all the while that the only fear that ever mattered, was
the fear of another man.
"No, answered Jack, as tranquil and calm as an
undisturbed deep pool of water. "I just don't give a damn who's
around at the time or who might be waiting for us now. I just
don't care. It's not in me to care. I'm different I guess.
"Yeah, but that's the kinda different I like. Dammit
Wallace, I wish I had a hundred men just like you. Where'd you
come from anyway?
"I was raised near Montgomery, but I traveled around so
much these past few years, I can't really call any one spot home.
Every place I been to seems to blend in with the last one before
it, and the last one before that. Hard to remember all the people
I met. Seems like I never get to know them for very long before
somethin' happens an' I just end up movin' on.
"What do you mean something happens? What happens?
"I just lose my patience, I guess. Then I end up leavin' town.
But one thing I can say for sure¦
"What's that? asked Vince.
"I never have no hard feelings. Things like that just work
themselves out.
"That's nice to hear, Vince said, as he thought over Jack's
answer. "But I was hoping you'd stick around for a while and
help me out. If things go right, I can get you all sorts a work.
"I ain't refusin', said Jack. "I'm just sayin' what kinda guy
I am. It's just my luck. Someone always ends up dyin' on me.
"Where I come from, said Vince, "that's not always bad
luck.
As the car pulled up in front of Carbello's store front office,
Lou announced, "We're here, Mr. Morgan.
"Okay, said Vince. "You guys check your guns just in
case. Everybody look nice an' calm. No reason to get all excited
over a little visit. I'll go in first and do the talkin'. You guys just
take it easy unless somebody looks like they're goin' for their
gun. If that happens, don't ask questions. Start shootin'. You
with me?
"I'm with you, replied Jack in the friendliest tone he could
summon.
"I hear ya, said Lou, in a somewhat shaky voice.
"I know you hear me, Lou, said Vince. "Are you with me?
"I'm with you.
"Good, let's go.
As the three exited from the limo, Jack's mind couldn't
help wandering. He wondered what exactly went on inside the
modest, even shabby hardware store this gangster did business
from. By the looks of things, not much, he thought, as they
walked through the door.
Noticing a small old man on a ladder, reaching for some
paint on a top shelf, Vince announced himself to the proprietor.
"Sir, are you busy right now? Can you come down? I've got
a question for you.
"Why sure, sonny, said the older man as he descended
from the ladder. "What's on your mind?
"I want you to announce me to your boss, Mr. Carbello. Tell
him it's Mr. Vincent Morgan, and I have urgent business to talk
over with him. Tell him this is a friendly visit.
"Hmmm, let me see what I can do. He don't usually get
visitors, but I'll ask.
When the old man left the room down a short hallway, Lou
was looking more nervous than ever.
"Hey Lou, relax, would ya? said Vince. "Didn't you hear
me? This is a friendly visit remember?
"Yeah sure, I remember. A friendly visit.
A little while later, the slow moving, aging clerk came back
with the message Vince wanted to hear.
"Mr. Carbello says he'll see you, but he doesn't have much
time to spend with you. You'll have to make this brief, okay?
"Sure, sure. We can make it brief, answered Vince. "I
know how he feels, I got a schedule too.
Following the clerk through the short passage to the rear of
the store, Vince was feeling sure of himself, and fairly sure that
Carbello would want to merge with him instead of continuing
to work against him. After all, a feud between them that could
very well go on for years would only cause more damage to
both, than any good. Vince was willing to work together, and he
was more than mildly sure that Carbello would listen to him
and do the smarter thing. Vince was acting through his past
experiences as a young man, growing up in the world of
underground crime. He knew that nothing good would come
from a war with the new kid on the block, and through the
powers of persuasion Vince had acquired through the years, he
thought Carbello might see things his way. The smart way.
When they got to the door of Carbello's office, Vince stood
for a moment to adjust his hat and straighten his tie. He was
always of the opinion that a well dressed man got more respect
than a guy who looked like he didn't care. His father once told
him, "If you look like you respect yourself, and let others know
that you respect them, then respect should almost certainly
come to you. The part that went almost certainly was due to
the number of assholes out there who don't respect anyone or
anything. "That my boy, his dad continued, "no one can do
anything about. Unfortunately, that's life, but it's worth a try.
That was a piece of advice Vince always lived by and never
forgot.
When the old man knocked on the door, a small hatch
opened up and two eyes peered out to look them over.
"Mr. Vincent Morgan is here with two of his associates,
said the trusted clerk.
"By all means, came a confident sounding voice from
behind the door, "let them in.
As the door opened and Vince, Jack and Lou entered the
room, a strange silence fell. Vince hoped that this wasn't an
omen of moments to follow. He was a strong believer in good
and bad fate, so he was the first to break the silence of the room.
"How do you do, Mr. Carbello? My name is Vincent
Morgan. You may have heard my name around town. I've come
by because I think we have a few things we need to talk over.
Did I catch you at a bad time?
As Mr. Carbello stood up from behind his desk, a loud shot
rang out that astonished everyone in the room. A tenth of a
second passed, and Vince could see blood trickling down a hole
in the crime boss' forehead, almost perfectly balanced between
his eyes and the beginning of his hairline. Another shot rang
out, and pierced the chest of a body guard whose job it was to
watch over the now dying Carbello. Precisely through the heart,
there was no mistake as to the shooter's intent, and as the two
men lay bleeding on the floor, gasping for last breaths of air, a
second body guard began a slow retreat toward a pair of
windows, behind the now deceased crime boss' desk. While
walking backwards, he raised his hands in front of his body as
if to protect himself, and began to beg for his life.
"Don't shoot me. I didn't do nothin' to you. I only done
what Carbello told me to do. That's all I ever done. Please don't
shoot me, I'll do whatever you want.
A third shot rang out that again found its way through the
humbled bodyguard's chest, piercing his heart and emerging
from the other side of his body with a force that pushed him
through the window, and knocked him to the asphalt pavement
outside.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, uttered Vince, completely
surprised by the brutal assault. "Wallace, what the hell'd you do
that for?
"That's just me, Mr. Morgan. That's what I do. I tried to tell
you back there in the car.
"Well one thing's for sure now, answered Vince, "we got
no opposition to worry about. C'mon, let's get outta here. The
cops will be here for sure. We gotta take the old man with us. He
knows we did it. Lou, he continued. "Lou! Listen to me!
Lou's mouth still hung widely open at the sight of the three
dead men, and by his appearance, he looked as if he'd lost
control of any and all of the muscles in his body. Turning
slowly, his gaze turned in Vince's direction.
"Get the old man and put him in the car, do you understand?
Do it now!
"I understand, said Lou, almost to quiet for anyone to hear.
"I'll put him in the car.
"Christ, Wallace, let's get outta here. Where the hell did
you learn to shoot like that? You shoot like a marksman. I gotta
watch you. You're even more killer than I thought you were.
C'mon, let's go. We got no time to waste now.
As Vince and Wallace rushed outside to the limo, Lou
could be seen pulling the old store clerk by his arm from behind,
with one hand over his mouth to muffle any cry of hysteria.
Shoving him into the front seat of the car, the four sped off on
their way back to Vince's office.
With the moveable dividing window all the way down,
Vince began questioning the old man in a threatening tone as
Lou drove on.
"Hey old man, you know what you heard back there, don't
you?
"I didn't hear nothin'. I know enough to keep my mouth
shut. You don't have to worry 'bout me. I don't say nothin' to
nobody.
"Is that right? continued Vince. "I want some insurance on
that, you understand me? I wanna know where you live. I
wanna know who your wife is, and I wanna know the names a
your kids. If I hear one word a this ever leaking out, you can kiss
them all goodbye, you understand me? Am I getting through?
"I understand perf¦
Before the old man could finish his sentence, a terrible,
loud shot rang out. In the confinement of the car, it sounded like
a cannon going off. Slumped over into the dashboard, and
bleeding from a gaping head wound, the hardware clerk lay
dead. Blood and bits of human brain flew all over the
windshield, and suffering from shock and amazement, Lou
brought the speeding limousine to a sudden, lurching stop.
"What now Wallace?! the surprised and angry Vince cried
out. "Jesus! Who's next? What the hell was that for?
"He would have talked. You know he would've. I did it
because I had to.
"Yeah, said Vince, "I know you had to. You had to cause
that's just you right? That's just the way you are. Look, he
continued, "how about if the next time you give me a little
warning before you go shooting that cannon off okay? That
damn near scared the crap outta me. Now look at the mess we
gotta clean up. And where are we gonna get rid a the body?
Now we got even more trouble.
"We don't got more trouble, replied Jack, "we got less.
But you don't see it like that, do you? We couldn't leave him
alive, and you know it.
Frustrated, but inwardly impressed with Jack's complete
disregard for life and desire to kill, Vince turned his attention to
his driver.
"Lou! he shouted at the still shaken driver. "Lou! C'mon,
get this car movin' and get me back to the office. I got a lot on
my mind.
Vince's mood cooled down rapidly as he considered Jack's
future with his organization. After all, he knew Jack would
come in very handy at times, knowing he had no conscience or
regrets about his actions. The only thing that worried Vince was
Jack's sudden willingness to take drastic action without
discussing it with him first. Whenever he could, Vince liked to
plan things out as best he could. He believed he was a thinker
who didn't act on impulse but knew exactly what he was going
to do, and when he was going to do it. Maybe communicating
with Jack enough to explain what he expected from an
employee would smooth things over. It was worth a try, Vince
thought, as he opened his office door and asked Jack to come in
and have a seat.
"Wallace, sit down and relax. I want to talk to you. Vince
spoke calmly as he reached for a box of Havana cigars and
offered one to Jack. In Vince's mind, the cigar became a peace
offering and a token of good will and intentions.
"Don't mind if I do, said Jack, acting as if the day's events
were nothing out of the ordinary, and in fact, just another runof-
the-mill day in the life of a cold blooded killer.
"You know, you almost gave me an' Lou a heart attack back
there, but after thinking it over, I think you did the right thing.
I just wanted to tell you, I hope we can go on working together.
I want to pick up where we left off. As Vince continued, he
blew smoke rings into the air that gently appeared and
dissipated as a settling in his mood took place. "No hard
feelings right?
"Mr. Morgan, you know me by now. You know I don't have
any hard feelings.
"Good then. Today's Thursday, he continued, as he
reached down into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet full
of hundred dollar bills. "You take this three hundred, get
yourself a room and come back an' see me tomorrow. You got
a big day ahead of you, and it might be a long night. Just
consider this money a small token of my appreciation and a
little bit of the salary I owe you anyway. I just want to make one
thing clear, Wallace.
"What's that? answered Jack, removing the expensive
cigar from his mouth, and adding an expression of wonder to
his face.
"I want you to remember that at all times, you're working
with me, not against me. And there's something else. I don't
mind your tendency to act on impulse, I just want you to make
damn sure before you pull that trigger, that you're killing
someone who has it coming to them. Last thing we need is
unnecessary trouble with the law or some other mug who thinks
he has to take revenge on us. I seen it happen before, Wallace,
said Vince. "You kill some guy's brother or father and the next
thing you know their bangin' on your door wantin' to even the
score. Just be a little more tactful, okay? That's all I'm sayin'.
I don't like to give guys I like long speeches. It could wear down
a relationship, you know what I mean?
"I know what you mean, replied Jack, "and thanks for the
money, I could use it.
"Yeah, sure, said Vince, "get yourself a steak and a good
night's sleep. Be here at noon. That'll give me time to go over
things with you so you know where you're goin'. You take care
an' watch your back now. You mighta made somebody angry
today, you never know.
"You don't have to worry about me, Jack said, as he stood
up to open the office door. "I'll be fine.
The next day found Jack well rested and ready for just about
anything. He'd checked into the Mt. Bayou Hotel on Grimmett
Drive when he left Vince's office and found it very
accommodating. The room service was convenient and the
food was good. He was feeling revitalized and had no qualms
about his new job. In fact, he was looking forward to it. He
thought it might give him the opportunity to be himself. Most
jobs didn't offer opportunities like that, so he realized what
he'd found was indeed rare.
He arrived at Vince's office exactly when he was expected,
at twelve noon and found Lou outside, in the rear of the
building, still cleaning the mess up in the limo from the day
before. The body of the old clerk was of course gone, and Jack
didn't bother asking about it. For one thing, he didn't give a
damn, and for another, he thought it best to leave the driver
alone. After all, it was Jack's mess Lou was forced to clean up,
and that alone created some mild tension between them.
Washing away bits of human brain and fragments of skull
didn't sit very well with most people, and Jack had enough
sense to know it.
When Jack walked into Vince's office, he found him
quietly reading the newspaper, smoking one of the expensive
Cuban cigars he'd offered him the day before. After a brief
moment, Vince set his paper down and groped for the familiar
crystal ash tray he kept on his desk. Once found, leaning back
in his desk chair, he looked up and smiled at Jack, thinking he'd
finally found the right man for the job.
"You're here, said Vince. "No offense but, I wasn't sure
you'd show. You are kind of a free bird, you know.
"I know, Jack replied, "but the job has its good points.
Things I usually can't find in other work.
"I know what you mean, replied Vince, acknowledging
the fact that Jack would soon be able to exercise his own,
dangerous, free will. As long as he acted within a few certain
boundaries, and didn't kill anyone without some kind of good
reason, he was more than welcome to remain on the payroll.
"Let me explain what I need you to do first, continued
Vince, and in the hour or so that followed, he mapped out all the
bars, restaurants and nightclubs Jack would be visiting that day
and on into the night. Jack was about to become one busy man,
and even though Vince knew he was capable of the task by
himself, he wanted to send Lou along with him. All the spots
were familiar to Lou, and Vince thought the whole thing would
go smoother with Lou taking him from place to place. Also, the
sight of the two of them together was imposing enough to make
most of the restaurateurs get down on all fours and bark like a
dog without even asking.
Vince wanted to make things as easy as he could for Jack in
order to avoid any unnecessary violence. Maintaining a clean
slate meant a lot to Vince. He'd been in this business for many
years now, and he knew that if things went bad, word would
circulate that he was an unreasonable man and he couldn't
allow that to happen.
When Jack and Lou left, Vince felt a kind of relief, mixed
with a deep feeling of concern. He asked them to call in every
few hours just to make sure things were going smoothly. He
knew that wouldn't be a problem, there was always at least one
phone in any of the places they had to go to.
Things were going smoothly. By two o'clock in the
afternoon, the job was already becoming routine. Lou would
park the car in an unpretentious spot, someplace out of the way
so as not to attract attention, and the two of them would walk in
through a rear or side entrance. Patrons never saw them come
and go, which was exactly what Vince wanted. The money was
usually waiting for them. Jack never saw so much cash in his
life. It was enough to turn most anyone's head, but not Jack's.
He wasn't in it for the money. It was the danger and the chance
of something going wrong that appealed to Jack. He would
have welcomed a snag in the procedure, but none came, that is,
not until evening fell and the two began visiting the many clubs
and nightspots around town. Many of those places employed
bouncers, eager to test the nerve and will of someone they
didn't have to be courteous to.
It was at Milano's on Fullerton Boulevard where things
started to go wrong. As soon as Jack and Lou walked in the back
door, they could tell something was wrong. The kitchen was as
busy as ever, and the cooks were scurrying around like they
always do, but there was no bag waiting for them and Lou was
the one who noticed it first.
"No bag, Wallace. Maybe they just forgot.
"Where do they usually put it? asked Jack, already feeling
the heightening sensation that some kind of danger might
present itself.
"Right over there, answered Lou, as he pointed to a long
kitchen counter near one of the big oven grills the restaurant
used.
Just as Jack started to wonder who he ought to question
about the mix up, a bulky, large man in a black suit and white
shirt entered the kitchen and began a slow determined walk
toward the two.
"You guys got business here? There's a sign outside says
No Trespassing, did ya read it?
Not recognizing the man, Lou realized he must be new on
the job. He began to think that might account for the missing
payoff.
"Don't you know who we are? questioned Lou. "We work
for Mr. Vincent Morgan.
"Yeah, I wasn't born yesterday. I'm wise to you two. I'm
the bouncer here now, continued the strong looking new
employee. "I'm makin' a few changes ta this place, an one of
'em is you. For emphasis, the bouncer directed his finger to
Jack's chest, and began on and off to apply pressure to it as he
spoke. "We don't pay you guys anymore, get it? Now why don't
you leave while you can still walk outta here?
"We'll leave. As soon as we get what we came for, said
Jack, his anger rising by the second.
"You'll leave when I tell you to, said the bouncer, "and I
just did. Not only can't you read, but you don't hear so good
either, do ya?
Unwilling to comply with the stubborn new employee and
by now, becoming as angry and wound up as he ever was, Jack
grabbed the large forefinger that pressed against his chest and
began to bend it backward until a painful grimace appeared on
the big man's face, and a loud snap emitted from the now
broken finger bone.
Angered even more, and in terrible pain, the bouncer began
to shout swear words that would make a sailor blush, and as he
wound up his one good arm to deliver what would have been a
devastating left hook to the head, Jack raised his right arm to
block, and swung with an effective counter punch to the
bouncer's chin. Now stunned and laying helpless on the floor,
Jack picked up the once outspoken, gruff man by his lapels and
told him to go get his boss.
Arriving back in the kitchen where Lou and Jack waited,
the bouncer hesitantly handed a bag filled with hundred dollar
bills to the still fuming Jack.
"That's a good start, said Jack, "but we're not through
doing business yet.
Making his way to one of the oven ranges where a tall bottle
of cooking wine stood, Jack took it in his hand, knelt, and with
one swift blow, cracked the bottle on the hard kitchen floor
leaving practically nothing in his hand but the top of the bottle
and six inches of jagged broken glass beneath it. Walking back
over to the now sorry looking man who stood before him, Jack
once more grabbed the bouncer by the lapel and began to
speak¦.
"You've been such a warm host, I couldn't leave without a
farewell toast could I?
"No! No! screamed the shaken bouncer, "I didn't mean no
harm to you guys¦.
But before he could get any more words out, Jack had
already plunged the jagged glass deep into his victim's chest,
breaking through the sternum, passing through the lungs, and
severing main arteries issuing to and from the heart. Releasing
his grip, Jack let the now dying man fall audibly to the kitchen
floor, and with a growing pool of dark red blood issuing from
the wound, the bouncer passed the last few seconds of his life,
staring at Jack, softly muttering the one last question that stood
out in his mind¦
"Why?
"I'm just like that, said Jack. "Really can't say why. And
as Jack finished speaking, he stepped on the bottle neck that
protruded from the unfortunate man's chest, driving the sharp
glass deeper until it reached backbone, and finally, the
unforgiving surface of the hard kitchen floor.
"Holy shit, Wallace! said Lou. "Don't you ever get
enough? C'mon, let's get the hell outta here. Wait, he
continued, "we can't leave him like this. Grab his feet, we gotta
get him to the car.
As Lou spoke, Jack finally realized all the busboys and
cooks who'd been witness to the crime, and who looked on
with horrific expressions on their faces. Feeling uncomfortable
knowing that all eyes were on him, watching his every move,
Jack took Lou's advice and grabbed the corpse's feet.
About to show his worth, which at times shone through his
faint heartedness, Lou spoke out to the small crowd of
onlookers in the most serious tone he could summon. "Anyone
who talks to the cops about what happened here today is gonna
wind up just like this guy here! Everyone understands me right?
Shake your heads up an' down so I know you get it. As far as
I'm concerned, said Lou, "this guy, whoever he is, never
showed up for work today, got it? You don't have the slightest
idea where he is either. Am I clear?
About ten scared people shook their heads up and down in
unison that evening. All believing it was better to comply now,
than risk more terrible consequences later on down the road.
After all, Jack didn't have to convince them anymore that he
was an indiscriminate killer who could strike at any time.
Leaving from the same door they entered from, Jack and
Lou brought the body out to the car and deposited it in the ample
trunk space of the big limousine.
"This guy weighs more than he looks doesn't he? was all
Jack said, as they closed the lid of the trunk.
"Yeah, right. I don't know, answered Lou. "I just wanna
get the hell outta here. Now what are we gonna tell Mr.
Morgan? You know he don't want this on his hands. You were
outta control back there. You got any ideas what we can tell
him?
"Tell him it was just one a those things, Lou. Just one a
those things.
"Just one a those things could cost us our jobs and a ten year
stretch in the slammer. Don't you ever think about things like
that? Lou tried to underscore the danger and risk involved in
the crime Jack had only minutes before committed, as he turned
the key in the ignition of the big car and began the long drive
back to Vince's office.
"You worry me, Wallace, said Lou. "You really make me
nervous, you know that?
Jack said nothing in response to Lou. He only turned his
gaze toward the big driver and stared. For a moment, eyes
locked, Lou could feel a cold chill run down his spine. He felt
as if he'd walked into the cage of a big jungle cat by mistake,
and couldn't wait to be let out. Jack's dark brown, mirror-like
eyes told Lou one thing, nobody knew what Jack was thinking
until it was too late.
Arriving at the office, Lou knocked once on the door to let
his boss know who it was.
"Come in, it's open, said Vince. "You're early, what's
going on?
Putting the money they'd so far collected on Vince's desk,
Lou started slowly to explain what happened at Milano's, as if
to try to cover up what Jack had done with a treatment of fine
gauze.
"Well, Mr. Morgan, it's like this. We were doing fine.
Everything was goin' like clockwork, but we hit a little snag
when we got to Milano's.
"What little snag? What are you talking about? Get to the
point.
"There was this guy, continued Lou. "He didn't wanna pay
us. He was new there, I never seen him before.
"So, said Vince, showing concern in his voice. "What
happened?
"He said he was makin' changes ta the place, and we were
one of 'em. Then, said Lou, "he started pokin' his finger in
Wallace's chest, bein' real obnoxious. He told us to leave while
we could still walk out the door, didn't he, Wallace?
"He did. That's the truth, said Jack, in a calm, poised
manner.
"So, what's the deal here. Did the bum pay up or what?
"Yeah, after a while, said Lou. "Wallace got him ta pay
up.
"Then I don't see the trouble. Somebody draw me a picture,
I don't understand.
"Well, it's not real easy to explain, ya see, said Lou, now
straining for every word.
"He's dead, said Jack, not one to mince words.
"He's what? Did I hear right? My hearing ain't so good in
this ear, said Vince, pointing to his right ear for emphasis.
"How in the world did this guy wind up dead, Wallace, after I
told you to watch yourself?
"One thing just led to another, I guess. He aggravated me.
I don't like it when people aggravate me.
"Yeah, said Vince, "we know that. Okay, somebody tell
me where the corpse is now before I lose my marbles.
"It's in the trunk a the car, said Lou. "You wanna see it?
"Yeah, I wanna see it.
The three men walked outside to the parking lot behind
Vince's office, and Lou put the key in the trunk and turned it. As
the lid popped open, Lou could see the change take place on
Vince's face. The anger in his expression was replaced by
astonishment at what he saw.
"What the hell, said Vince, "the poor guy's got a bottle
stickin' out of his chest! I gotta admit, Wallace, when you go,
you go all the way. He's bleeding like a stuck pig.
"Lou, start cleaning up this mess, it's disgusting. Wallace,
c'mon back inside, I gotta talk to you.
During the walk back to his office desk, Vince thought over
the different case scenarios that played through his mind. The
bottom line, he thought, was what to do about the growing
problem he'd encountered with his new employee. So many
deaths in a small town like Shreveport could begin to stack up
and cause him trouble, but basically, he liked Wallace and
didn't want to get rid of him. What he didn't like about him was
the strong initiative he took when he was confronted. He was
antimagnetic, and proved it in the choices he made. That began
to grate on Vince's nerves. He'd hoped his new employee
would make more friends than he lost, but from the looks of
things, that wasn't going to happen.
"Have a seat, Wallace, said Vince, a bit calmer now than
he was a few moments before. Settling down in a comfortable
chair in front of the desk, there was no reply from Jack. Only a
look of discomfort on his face as he thought over the prospect
of listening to a long, drawn out speech from Vince. Jack
realized a long time ago that human relations was not his forté.
"Wallace, I'll be brief. I don't think of myself as a
disciplinarian. I'm just a guy trying to make a buck. I'm not
even looking to expand on what I do here. Vince paused, took
a deep breath, leaned back in his chair and continued. "I make
out just fine the way things are. I got only one thing to say, you
know as well as I do that this is not working out between us. We
start stacking up bodies in a town like this and we all got one
thing to look forward to, and that's a ten year prison stretch.
You seem like a smart guy, but if you don't mind my saying so,
you got problems. Problems I didn't foresee. In other words
Wallace, I'm gonna have to let you go. Look, said Vince, as he
reached into the bag of cash on his desk. "I wanna pay you for
the work you did for me today. Here's two hundred. Take it,
have a good life, but if you want some friendly advice, Wallace,
if you could ever find a way to curb that temper a yours, instead
of just gettin' angry all the time, you'd go a hell of a lot further
in life. You read me?
"I understand, said Jack, "and I appreciate the money.
Rising from his chair, Jack reached for the door knob and
looked back at Vince, who was, by now, smiling, feeling
relieved that Jack took it so well, one last time. It'd been a long
time since he'd fired anybody, and didn't really feel
comfortable with the procedure.
As for Jack, he was out the door and down the road toward
the train station before Lou ever got close to cleaning up the
mess left behind. A trail of blood and a stack of bodies. That
was what Vince had wanted to avoid, but to Jack, it was
unavoidable. To Jack, killing was part of living, nearly an
involuntary body function, like breathing. There was no
changing Jack, or the habits of a lifetime of murder.
Finding an empty train car, Jack settled in for a long ride
headed west again. For a full day and night, he slept and woke
to watch the passing scenery. Passing farms and cattle ranches,
through flat plain and occasional valleys of lush green grass,
the freight train chugged on to its destination. And finally,
when he felt he'd put enough distance between himself and the
chaos he left behind, he got off the train and began searching for
a good place to eat, the way he usually did. The one thing that
was different, was the money that he had in his pocket, the likes
of which he hadn't seen in a long time. He carried the five
hundred dollars Vince gave him in his left front pocket. It gave
him a feeling of security knowing that the money was well
within reach.
The sign at the train station read Welcome to Albuquerque.
He'd never seen New Mexico before, and when he arrived in
August, he got a good idea of what dry summer heat was all
about. The air temperature wasn't that hot, in the eighties, but
it still felt to him like he was living in a sauna.
Looking for some kind of action, besides a meal, he
wondered what lunch at the Albuquerque Country Club might
be like. He read about it in a brochure he picked up at the train
station, and decided to take the bus that ran up and down
Central Avenue. He thought that would get him close enough,
and when the bus left him off at the corner of Lomas and
Central, he started off walking southwest down a busy street
that ran directly in front of the country club.
When he arrived and walked through the impressive glass
vestibule, he felt as though many eyes were on him. He finally
realized how shabbily he was dressed compared to the rest of
the men who were wearing mainly white golf shirts and black
slacks, when an attendant from the front desk came sauntering
toward him.
"Sir, began the attendant, clearing his throat in readiness
for what he had to say, "we have a dress code here that we must
all adhere to. I'm afraid you'll have to leave.
"Hey, look, said Jack, while he looked around the room to
find out who was watching. "I got five hundred dollars here in
my pocket says I'm as good as anyone here. Why don't you take
ten bucks, he said, reaching into his front pocket, and stuffing
the bill into the chest pocket of the attendant's coat. "And tell
me where I can get a shower and some new clothes. I'd like to
fit in here without a bunch a snobs staring me down.
"Very good, sir. I think you made the right decision. We
have clothes for sale in the men's shop down the hall, and when
you're finished, you may shower in the men's locker room on
the lower floor. I'm sure you'll find things to your satisfaction.
If you have any further questions, I'll be at the front desk until
five this afternoon.
"Thanks, I'm okay, said Jack as he walked off toward the
men's shop and left the young desk clerk ten dollars richer for
his trouble.
Before dressing in what seemed to be the same casual
uniform as the other men at the club, Jack took advantage of the
shower facilities in the locker room. Soap and towels were free,
and Jack was feeling pampered in comparison to the long,
arduous train ride he'd been through. It was one crummy way to
travel, he thought, but at least it didn't cost him anything.
Finding his way to the country club's restaurant was no easy
task. The building was bigger than he realized, and some of the
corridors took odd turns. But once there, he got a first class seat
at a large bay window overlooking the eighteen hole golf
course. It was a beautiful clear day, and Jack could see for miles
beyond the course. With his gaze fixed out the window, he was
startled by the pretty, young waitress who suddenly appeared to
take his lunch order.
"Hi, she said, smiling radiantly. "Enjoying the view?
"Now more than ever, answered Jack, smiling in return.
"Here now. Here's a menu. My name's Ellen if you need
me. Ellen Vargas.
"I know, said Jack. "I read the name tag on your dress. I
don't think I need the menu though. I know what I'm having.
"You sound pretty sure of yourself. I didn't catch your
name. What do you call yourself?
"I call myself Wallace, and I'm sure I want a BLT with extra
bacon if you can. Also, if you have the time, I'd be interested in
getting to know a pretty young thing like yourself. What do you
think?
Looking around herself nervously, as if to find out who
might be watching or listening, Ellen remarked, "I hardly know
you, let me think it over. In the meantime, let me get your food
order, hold on.
Minutes went by as Jack took in the outdoor view. He
watched the evergreen trees on the golf course gently sway
back and forth in the light summer breeze, while all the wealthy
people waited in lines to take turns hitting a little white ball
with a long wooden stick. The whole scene made Jack feel
more alienated than ever. He never could understand people, or
why they played such games. Why would anyone want to chase
a little ball all day in the hot sun? It was beyond him.
The other view Jack was busy taking in was the indoor. He
hadn't met a girl as tall and pretty as Ellen in a long time. She
must have been at least six feet, and her fluid grace of motion
complimented her natural beauty. He enjoyed watching her,
occasionally exchanging smiles and nodding his head in
admiration as she passed by his table, taking down food orders
at surrounding tables, hurriedly moving back to the kitchen to
hand the cook more orders, or to pick up another completed
tray.
"Here you go, said Ellen, as she suddenly seemed to
appear out of nowhere. "Anything else?
"Yes, replied Jack. "I want to know what you think about
having a drink with me after work.
"Where? What exactly did you have in mind?
"Just wanted to get to know you. Just like I said. That's all
it is. We could go anywhere you want. Dinner if you like.
"Okay, tell you what. You only got lucky 'cause I got a
thing for tall guys, she said, as she reached for a paper napkin
and quickly jotted down her phone number. "I get off at five, so
give me at least till six to get ready. That should give me enough
time. Let's go somewhere for dinner. I'm starved by the time I
get outta here.
"Great, Jack said, breathing a sigh of relief. He really did
want to go out with her, but not necessarily to get to know her.
"It's a date then. I'll call you around six.
As Ellen walked away from the table to serve the other
customers, Jack returned his thoughts to the outside world and
continued to watch the people play on the course until he was
finished with his meal and bored with the scenery. Why would
you chase a little ball all day? he thought, as he paid for his
meal and looked around for a pay phone.
Finding a booth near the restaurant bathrooms, he searched
the phone book for a taxi service. He thought the driver might
know a good place to stay for a week or so where he could relax
and think about his agenda, and the new girl he just met. It felt
good to be young and free, he thought. He remembered the
speech Vince Morgan gave him just before he left town. He
never thought about the threat of jail time, or about how it
would impact his life. Jack was very good at thinking about life
in the present tense. He rarely bothered himself with events of
the past, and barely ever thought about what the future might
bring. He was free of the guilt and conscience that other
everyday people might feel from time to time. Jack never
questioned his own actions. That was why he was so good at
what he did. That's what made him the perfect killer that he
was, and as quickly as the memory of Vince came to his mind,
it left. Never to be dealt with or considered again.
The taxi driver who picked Jack up was named Vince. He
read the name plate above the meter and thought it was a
strange coincidence. After all, he'd just parted company with
one person named Vince, and only days later, met another. He
wondered to himself, if there is a God, is He trying to tell me
something? No, it couldn't be. Especially because Jack didn't
believe in God. Most of the time, Jack made his own rules.
Religious rules just got in the way.
"We're here, said the cab driver. "Hotel McClellan, that's
what you wanted right?
"Huh? Oh yeah, said Jack, slightly drowsy from his lunch,
not realizing they'd reached their destination. "I could use
some shut eye, I'm glad we're here. How much do I owe you?
"Meter says two dollars and ten cents. I'll let you go for the
two bucks. How's that for a break, huh mac?
"Swell, replied Jack, reaching into his front left pocket for
the roll of bills. "Here's five, keep the change.
"Hey, thanks a lot, mister. You have a good stay now. Call
me back if ya need me. Just ask for Vince.
"I'll do that, said Jack, as he opened the street side door to
get out of the cab, and was immediately side swiped by a
speeding Ford sedan.
"Holy shit mister, are you all right? asked the very nervous
driver as he came to Jack's aid. But Jack said nothing in return.
The driver didn't know if Jack was dead or alive as he looked
around to assess the damage done to his passenger and his cab.
All he knew was what he could plainly see, and all he could see
was that the cab door had been ripped clean off by the speeding
driver who left the scene. "Probably some drunk, said the
driver aloud, as he dragged Jack's body to the curb and called
for an ambulance.
When the ambulance came, the emergency medical
technician picked up Jack's left wrist to see if he could feel a
pulse. There was a faint rhythm coming from Jack's heart, and
once the EMT knew that, he put an oxygen mask on Jack and
rushed him to the University of New Mexico Hospital. A shot
of adrenaline kept his heart from failing on the way there while
the technician kept a close watch on his battered patient.
"I don't know what kept this guy alive, said the doctor
assigned to treat Jack. "Being so big might of been to his
advantage, but he's got more broken bones than Carter's makes
pills. Look at this, continued the puzzled physician, "smashed
clavicle, three broken ribs and a busted arm. That's just for
starters too. Why, the shock alone of being hit like that
would've killed most folks. He's lucky. Real lucky.
"You think he'll be okay, Doc? asked the worried cabbie
as he stood near the patient, watching for some sign of life from
Jack's motionless body.
"Can't say for sure. I know he'll need complete rest for a
few weeks. He's also in a coma, there's no telling when he'll
come out of it.
"Wait, said the cab driver, "I seen somethin'. He's try'in to
say somethin'. Look here.
As the doctor bent at the waist to put his ear to Jack's
mouth, he could hear a faint whisper. A whisper so soft, it was
hard to tell if Jack was saying anything at all, or if he was just
moving his lips.
"Got to get back, said Jack. "Got to. Got to get back.
"What is it? asked the cabbie. "What's he say'in?
"It sounds like he's saying, got to get back. What exactly he
means by that is anyone's guess. Look, continued the doctor,
"You can go. You didn't do anything wrong. I'll talk to the
police. If they need to, they'll get in touch with you. Don't
worry about this. It was an accident and accidents happen,
you're not at fault.
"Thanks, Doc. Take care of him, he seemed like a nice
guy.
"I will. Don't worry, he's in good hands here.
After a week of recuperation, and in a cast that covered his
right arm and lower neck, Jack grew more and more restless. He
got out of bed and looked around for the street clothes he was
wearing when he came in, along with Wallace Leery's
identification card. Opening the little closet in his room, he
found the golf shirt and black pants he bought at the country
club, both neatly hanging.
Jack knew that dressing himself was not going to be an easy
matter, as he first inserted the arm with the cast on it into the
shirt's sleeve. At least it's a short sleeve shirt, he thought, as he
slipped the rest of the shirt on and reached for his pants.
"I've got to get outta here, said Jack quietly to himself, as
he opened the hospital room door a tiny crack to see if anyone
was in the hallway. He knew the hospital wasn't going to let
him just check out. He wasn't sure how many days he'd been
recuperating, but he didn't want to stick around to find out
either. After he was sure there was no one in the hall, he made
his way to the stairs and, determined to make it out the door,
walked past the front desk and out the entrance into the outside
world.
Nice day to be travelin', thought Jack, as he hailed a cab on
Central Avenue near the hospital, and made his way back to the
train station. During the cab ride, one of the things that ran
through his mind was that he knew he was a long way from
Montgomery, Alabama, his destination. A good four to five day
trip ahead of him at least, but Jack didn't seem to mind. Even
with the accident that nearly cost him his life, he was in good
spirits and ready for adventure as always.
Finding an empty car at the station, he dug in for what he
knew would be a long ride, but Jack had been on many such
rides, one more didn't bother him in the least. In fact, he looked
forward to it. He sat himself in the doorway of the box-car,
resting his cast in his lap and adjusting the hair that blew in his
eyes with his left arm. He waited anxiously for the train to start
rolling so he could feel the warm breeze and watch the scenery
change. One of the things he liked most about traveling was
watching the outside world change its appearance, it was a
reminder to him that nothing ever stayed the same. He thought
about Ellen, the girl he met at the country club on the day of his
accident as the train lurched forward and started to move along
its thin, narrow track. "She must've thought I stood her up, he
said quietly to himself. "Oh well, maybe it's better this way. No
tellin' what would'a happened. No tellin' at all. And as he
finished his sentence, he reached into his pocket for the phone
number she wrote down on the napkin she gave him. He
unfolded it, and stared at it for a few moments, and as the train
started to pick up speed, he began to tear the napkin slowly and
methodically, into nearly perfect symmetrical pieces until he
reduced the napkin to nothing but shreds, letting go of them bit
by bit, in the breeze of the train.
Five days and four nights passed. The sun was still high in
the sky, not yet late afternoon when Jack reached the train depot
in Montgomery. Feels good to be back, he thought as he
jumped down from the train to solid ground. The first solid
ground under his feet in five days.
Walking over to where the taxis were waiting, he got in and
gave the driver directions to Cramer Avenue, and after finally
arriving at his destination, he tossed the cabbie a five dollar bill
and told him to keep the change. After all, he could afford it
now, so why not? He still had most of the cash in his pocket that
Vince had given him and didn't have anything special to spend
it on, so he figured he might as well. Jack never did live for
money, he only knew he needed some to survive.
Stepping out of the cab, he looked up into the bright blue
sky and stretched as best he could. The cast on his right side was
impossible to move, but in a few weeks, he thought, it'd be
coming off and he'd be back to his old self.
Now focusing on the big building before him, Jack strode
up the many steps from the sidewalk and read the bold, black
letters on the shiny glass doors:
City Of Montgomery, Alabama Police Station
Precinct No. 5
Let's do it, he thought to himself, as he walked through the
big vestibule, passing by the information desk near the
entrance.
"Hey Jack, came a voice from behind the desk, "what the
hell happened ta you? You look like a train hit ya.
"Just about, said Jack, "it's a long story, I'll tell you later.
"I got time, replied the officer.
Now walking up two flights of stairs and passing through
several long corridors, Jack approached the door of an office
with his name neatly lettered on it:
Detective Jack Carter
Precinct No. 5
"Hey you old son-of-a-gun, came another familiar voice.
"Looks like that thirty day furlough really took its toll on ya.
Were ya run over or what? Remind me not to go wherever it is
you went, will ya? I like my arms an' legs the way they are, in
one piece!
"Yeah, sure, said Jack, sitting down at his desk to rest for
a moment. "Fill me in, will ya? How's homicide been doin'
without me for the past four weeks?
"We missed you, but the damn killers on the street, that's a
different story, remarked the officer, as he pensively studied
the outside world through Jack's office window. "Glad you're
back. I got some files I wanna go over with you. We really got
our work cut out for us.
"I'll bet, replied Jack. "I'll just bet.