end time events

When Gina and I were married (September 1, 1990) we relocated to Bowling Green, KY.  We were working off of one car that day.  Gina had to see some patients at a nursing home and I needed to get a Kentucky driver's license at the court house.  Gina dropped me off at the court house and drove off.

I had to wait a while before I was eventually picked up by my bride.  Gina pulled up to the curb and I got in.  She immediately asked to see my new license.  She wanted to see the photo.  The light had turned green and she was holding up traffic.  I urged her to move along, that there was nothing to see.

Nothing to see?  "I want to see what your license looks like."  I encouraged her to drive and I would explain it to her.  As she drove, I told her that the State of Kentucky was doing something entirely innovative and new.  I told her that the DOT was modeling a new system of identification/licensing for the entire nation that didn't require a card.

Gina listened.  She just wanted to see my new license.  I told her that she couldn't see it with her naked eye.  The more I explained, the quieter she became.   I told her that even though she couldn't see it - I did get a license.  I got a permanent number.  I could tell that she was all the more puzzled as I explained it to her.  I told Gina that the number was imprinted on my hand, but could only be seen by infrared light.  I told her that it was a great idea because you can't ever lose the number like you could lose a billfold.  I explained the benefits of having this personal bar code mark in great detail and with believable enthusiasm.

She made an illegal U-turn.  I asked her what she was doing.  She told me that we were going back to the Warren County Court House to have them take it off!  I laughed and told her that it couldn't be removed - that it's permanent.  I'll have it till the day I die.  I can't explain the look she had on her face.  She turned white and looked ill.  She stopped the car and freaked out. "David, what have you done!"

It was at that moment I pulled my new drivers license out of my wallet and showed it to her.

a good time for a story

A few weeks ago we buried our uncle Patillo Ainsworth Finlayson.  A few years ago we made the same trip to Cheraw, South Carolina to say good-bye to Pat's older brother James Murdoch Finlayson.  While at the old St. David's Church, I remembered a Thanksgiving Day back in 1997 that all the Burruss & Jennie Wait descendants met in Cheraw for a family reunion.  It was a little over ten years ago.  The three remaining siblings, Pat, Murdoch, and Jennie Llew met us there.  It was a beautiful day for such a gathering.  We spent a leisure weekend there walking around the old township, driving down old neighborhoods and visiting the cemetery at the Old St. David's Church.  Everywhere we went, we paid close attention to catch a shared memory among the last of Burruss' children.  This is where they grew up. 

There is an old Confederate memorial there in the quiet of the Old St. David's Church.   I read where originally the monument did not mention Confederate soldiers because the area was still occupied by Union forces.  Cheraw has a lot of Civil War history.  After all,  the first call for secession in a public meeting was made at the Chesterfield County Courthouse. John A. Inglis of Cheraw introduced the resolution for South Carolina to secede. General Sherman later occupied the area, but didn't strike a match. There was a terrible fire that burned down much of the downtown district because of an accidental munitions explosion.  The Yankees of course were to blame, but it was an accident.  Sherman and his troops had taken a liking to town's charm.

The Old St. David's Church was used as a hospital for both Union and Confederate troops during the course of the war.  The church was also used as a hospital for the British during the Revolutionary War.  It's a very small town with abundant history.

The Confederate monument reads:
"To the memory of our heroic dead who fell at Cheraw during the war 1861-1865.  Loved and honored though unknown.  Stranger, bold champion of the South, revere and view these tombs with love; Brave heroes slumber here, Loved, and Honored, though unknown."

It was there at the monument where I found my uncles Pat and Murdoch standing together talking.  After spotting them it took me several minutes to reach them.  At the time I had no idea as to the significance of the monument or the spot where they were standing.  The way there were standing there made me wonder what they were talking about at that moment.

When I reached them they were just standing there close together in quiet thought.  I asked them what they had been talking about.  Both smiled while looking reflectively at the monument.  They both shared the story, interrupting with their own memories of Memorial Day's past.  They told how when they as children would march from their school to this monument with roses.  When they arrived, they would all scatter the peddles around the white marble obelisk, singing a special song for the occasion.

There were orations, choirs, and special guest - it was a very big day each year in Chesterfield County.  It was a tradition that started on Memorial Day of May 10, 1867.  The tradition ended in 1961.

But there was more to the telling.  Pat and Murdoch told me not only of those days but about the old Confederate veterans who were in attendance, quietly standing among children.  Murdoch looked at me and said that as children, those veterans seemed so old to us back then.  Now we are the old soldiers standing here.

That was my favorite moment during our reunion.

Finlayson Family Reunion 1997, Cheraw, South Carolina

long drive through a short weekend

Nothing much to say about this weekend.  We checked the kids out from school and drove-drove-drove.  The kids are great travelers.  We arrived around midnight at my sister Jennie's house in Fort Mill, SC.

There we hooked up with other family members, Mom, Brooky & Cindy.  Not much time to visit with each other...short or chopped-off conversations.  Little time to really  rest during the weekend.

We drove to Pat's funeral at Old St. David's Church.  It was a beautiful morning to see Pat off.  I took about 15 minutes to walk around downtown Cheraw with Katie.  There was little time for anything, but appreciative for the moments that I had.

We had to make too many stops back home to Alabama on Sunday.  We arrived in Etowah County as the sun was setting.  It was a good sleep last night after returning home.  I am very tired though...very tired.

While driving home I kept thinking how much I will miss uncle Pat.  We will no longer e-mail each other, no longer write each other, no longer talk on the phone.  Like my father - I will no longer see his sweet smiling face on this Earth again.  I will see him one day though.

Pat & Westbrook Finlayson

melancholy morning

December 28, 1920 - April 28, 2011

Patillo Ainsworth Finlayson, all of Westbrook's kids called him Uncle Pat.  All his siblings and friends called him Ainsworth.

Jennie called me this morning with the news that Uncle Pat passed away during the night.  This one hurts.  I'm sure it affects all my siblings on the same level.  Pat was a sweet and lovable fellow.  He is loved and will be missed.  He is well now. 

A few years ago, on this blog, I posted stories about Pat's wartime experiences aboard the USS LST-312.  Anyone who has kept up with this blog has come across his name on many occasions.  A while back my niece Sara Noojin had interviewed Pat for a school project.  I thought it well written and thought you all might appreciate reading it.

A+ for Sara

Yo, Narcissus

Gen Y's Most Perilous Trait?

The effort to improve a child's self-esteem has backfired.  I've been looking at studies where the younger Generation Y (aka: Millennial Generation) is self-absorbed, self-entitled, with an excessive helping self-regard.  Often rudeness is a trait of the Gen Y'er.  I hope you guys grow up to prove us old timer's wrong.  In the meantime, if you want the respect - show some respect.  If you want to get somewhere - do the work.  Your opinions really doesn't count for much - especially the snarky ones.  Snark doesn't compensate for lack of wisdom or facts. You really don't know how absurd you look from here.  Walk on down this road of life a little more and then we'll talk.

last place - where to next?

Last week I finished the story 'Places' off-line.  What you've read since September 19, 2010 was the first draft.  I don't know what I'm going to do with the story.  I have been thinking about starting another - a different kind of tale.  It might be from a Zombie dream I had last winter, a dream that was delivered with a great outline and unusual twist.  The only thing that the dream did not provide me with was a clear ending.  I am confident I can come up with one.  The other idea is a book I started writing over two decades ago that I never finished - about a serial killer.  The later is 'Dark Savior' which started out to be a novel, but after writing 'Places', I may revisit the old text and whittle it down to a novella.

'Places' isn't really that long of a read.   My good friend Dr. Clay Rowe was kind enough to help edit much of this book.  He stated on several occasions that I might want to beef up the noir a little if it's ever to be published.  I thought about it, but feel that the story has a nice pace to it.  I don't really see expanding it.  There's some stuff that I left out of the telling, and think it appropriate to leave into it a little mystery.  The story is what it is.  The story has been  told.


Some of my favorite reads as a young man were the short stories of O' Henry, Edgar Allen Poe and Robert Benchley.  I also enjoyed pulp fiction as a young man - books my brother had collected on his bookshelf.  I leaped from comic books to The Man of Bronze: Doc Savage!  It proved to be great reading for a Saturday morning and afternoon.  I read a lot of pulp that Brooky had left in his wake.

In a roundabout way, Clay has helped me to keep writing.  What if I kept pouring out short stories, novellas and simply combine as a collective work?  This way I wouldn't have to bulk up a story, but rather give the reader more stories to peruse?

My mind then went to how Steven King combined four very different stories in Different Seasons.  Three of the four stories were turned into motion pictures, Rita Hayworth and The Shawshank Redemption (Shawshank Redemption, The Body (Stand By Me), and Apt Pupil (Apt Pupil).  At the time King was writing  nothing but horror.  These stories were a completely different offering.  Different Seasons is one of my favorite of King's works.  I recommend you reading this book, even if you've seen the movies.  As always, the book is better than the movie.

At present, I don't really know where to go next.  I have this idea, but will probably take a break from writing another story...just do a little posting to cleanse my palate.  As of late, business has taken most of my time and attention.  I finished Places in my spare time late at night - early mornings - determined to finish what I had started.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed following Johnny Hale's black and white narrative - but I need to a little time to reset.  This break is also going to be used to polish the story I just finished.  At present, the manuscript is in the hands of my neighbors - one being an FBI agent.   I am looking forward to getting some technical advice and some editing/feedback from the story from them.  I'm sure I'll be doing some rewrites when they hand it back to me.  There's also some family members that I'd like to read it.

So for now I'm going to revert to what I did before.  I've missed making the day to day random posting.  I'll change the banner from the blog-noir back to Long Journey Home (or something else) and post about life as it comes.  You'll know when it's time for another story when the banner changes.  I hope you enjoyed the read.

P.S.  If you've read the blog-noir posts of Places, did you enjoy it?  Was it difficult to read?  Was the trail hard to follow?  I'd appreciate your feedback - any constructive criticism.

the little man

I saw that someone had been tailing me for three blocks. It was a lone figure trailing behind me. I drove a few more blocks just to make sure it was me he was after. It was.

I picked up a little speed to gain some distance, but not enough to make him think that I had caught on to him. I didn't see any other cars dogging me so I decided I was going to take a chance and let this guy catch up. I found a spot, a park not too far from an alley.  I quickly pulled in and exited the car. I walked across the street and went into the alley as if it had been original intended destination.

Once in the alley, I ran a good piece, and found cover. It was a good place to watch and wait. 

My shadow caught up with me within a few minutes. I first saw his small silhouette appear at the entrance of the alley. He had put out his cigarette on the sidewalk, lowered a hand into a pocket. It was obvious what he was reaching for.

I watched him walk the entire way toward me. All the debris in the alley, to my advantage, made it impossible for my stalker to see me. At one point he felt confident enough away from the bustling sidewalk behind him to pull out his gun.  He held it in front of him - ready to fire at a moment's notice.  He seemed a little on the jumpy side. I couldn't blame him.

I had my gun out too, but I wasn't feeling jumpy. Finally he reached the area where I was hiding, he gazed around, and moved passed me. Ten steps forward, if he looked around again, he could have a good gander at me. It was my turn to introduce myself.

I used both hands and aimed the gun dead center of his back. I couldn't miss.

"Drop it!" 

He didn't have time to respond. He knew if he moved to shoot, he'd be dropped like a sack of potatoes.

"Drop your gun now!"

The man was rather small in stature - not very threatening. I saw his revolver hit the brick surface. He slowly raised his hands to shoulder level.

"You're following me." 

"Why yes - yes I have - how very observant of you."

For a man that had had the drop on him, he didn't seem to alarmed or fearful.

"I didn't come to harm you Mr. Hale." 

"Doesn't seem like that's going to happen anyway." 

To my surprise he knew my name and I was flummoxed as to how he knew. He turned and faced me slowly. 

"Stay where you are mister - you know me but I don't know you!"

"Oh, please excuse me for not introducing myself. My name is Valentine, Clarence Valentine. I am a private detective. I was employed to find you - and give you a message."

"You found me."

"Yes - I'm quite good at my job."

Valentine started to reach into his pocket.

"That's not a good idea."

"I was only going to give you my calling card."

"I'll get it myself - move over there and stand facing the wall."

I frisked him and made sure he wasn't packing anything else. I also checked his wallet. He was who he said he was. 

"I don't have a lot of patience, and you're in a very bad situation. Who hired you?"

"I'm sorry, the little man smiled a creepy little smile, "I can't divulge that information to you."

"I can make you."

"That would be most unfortunate, and besides, you know very well who hired me."

"I have a vague idea."

"Like I said, I was sent to find you, to give you a message by the man you know as The Russian. It's my understanding that you've been in his neighborhood going door to door selling matches."

"What's the message?" I pushed firmly.

"There's no reason to be so rough Johnny.  I am of no threat to you whatsoever."

"I doubt that."

He slowly reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

"This is for you - an address."


I looked at the paper and recognized the address scribbled on it. It was one listed in Clayton's book.

"This is a trap."

Valentine looked up at me - I didn't like his calm demeanor.

"But of course it's a trap."

"What am I supposed to do with this - I'm no idiot!"

"No Johnny, I am a good judge of people and can clearly tell that you are indeed not an idiot...but you will go."

"Why's that?"

"Does the name Camille mean anything to you?"

Within a split second I knew that he saw in my face that the name definitely meant something to me. He saw in my face fear and desperation.  He probably witnessed the color of my flesh turn pale."They have Camille, and if you aren't at this address by six o'clock tonight, she will die."

Valentine's calm demeanor quickly faded as I shoved my gun into his mouth and to the back of his choking throat.

Now it's my turn to see his flesh turn pale.

places: speaking of a stranger

Angelo started by asking Weems about the fires. 

Agent Weems responded, “We drove out, talked with the police on the scene. Like I told you, there were dead bodies in and around the place. It’s definitely more than arson. We found shell casings nearby. An unknown, a sniper had set himself across the street where he could pick his victims off as they came out of the burning building.”

“Check out the casings.” instructed Angelo.

"Already working on it." 

“Have you finished talking to all the people in the neighborhood?”

“There’s a little more than what I was able to tell you earlier.” answered Weems. “At first the house on Cherry Lane looked as if it was some kind of gang that had attacked it. I was figuring that a couple of guys ran up to set it on fire while one of them played sniper. There were only two houses on that street. One house was vacant, the family had left town for a couple of days.  There’s an old couple who lived in the house across the street from the scene. The old man said he didn’t see a thing. His wife who was inside said that she saw a lone man walking down the road and get into his car.  She was looking out a window. The old man said he had a better view of the incident and said he didn’t see anyone. He said his wife was always seeing things and wasn’t well in the head. The woman seemed fine to me. I’m inclined to believe the old woman. For some reason I think the old fellow is keeping something to himself. I'd like to bring him in and talk to him some more.”

“Do it.  Is that all with the Cherry Lane location?" asked Angelo.

“No. I’ll probably have more for you. It's a possibility that this was done by a lone gunman. If so, it had to have been done by a professional. The grounds are still being checked - I'll let you know what I find out.

"Okay -keep looking." Angelo turned to agent Ted Smith. “What about the Pope Street arson?” 

“Gunfire too. I think it’s the same gang - or the same guy. Walking around the place I got the feeling like the killer - or killers weren’t as efficient. There were three people dead on the premises, but not clear if anyone escaped.”

“Smith, why do you say that the job wasn’t as efficient?” asked Weems.

“Well, I walked around both sites. You came by and walked around there  Cherry Lane is the same kind of attack, only sloppier.  It was very unlikely that anyone could have escaped the first location.  Cherry Lane, just didn't seem as efficient."

Weems nodded and Smith continued.

“The Pope place looked as if a gasoline cocktail had been thrown at two sides of the building. The Cherry location had been strategically burned from all sides. The fires at the first location had been started directly beneath the windows as to limit the chance of escape by its inhabitants.”

Weems added, “I can see that. Like it was just one guy.”

Angelo looked at Smith and Weems. “Do you think that it’s just one man doing this?”

Weems shrugged. “It’s very possible.”

Angelo agreed with Weems. “We’ve all seen what just one man can do. If it is a gang, what gang?  There's been no evidence of a organized group of vigilantes in our area...highly unlikely. It’s a possibility that we’ve got some unwanted help from private citizens - but I get the feeling that we are dealing with one man.”

"So Agent Forte’", Weems asked, “Who is this guy you met the other day?  Did you get a look at him?” 

The room filled with laughter. Forte’ rubbed the back of his head and smiled.

“I sure wish I did. I wasn’t in the position to interrogate him.”

“Or did he interrogate YOU?” another agent joked. 

“Put your mind at ease fellas - I didn’t talk. He did tell me where to find Robert.”

The chuckling subsided.

“So who is this guy?”

“I wish I knew. I’m sure we’ll catch up with him. He told me that he was not with the Russians. I am inclined to believe him. He really didn’t have to tell me anything. He had the drop on me. He could have easily killed me. If he was really with the Soviets, he wouldn’t have talked like he did.”

“What did you find out about him?” asked DeMint. 

“Only that he said he was not a Soviet...and that he found himself in a scenario in which he couldn’t walk out.”

“He might have been the arsonist at Clayton’s. We found bodies in there too.” said Weems.

“This John Doe said he was with Rod, saw him shot and took him away from the scene. The guy is the last one who was with Robert when he died. He is either the killer or is a civilian in the middle. If he was with Townshend, he probably had dealings with Clayton. If we could get hold of him, we might find what information Robert gave his life searching for.”

“But sir, we don’t have a name or a face. The rendering we have is a man with a bruised and bandaged face.  There’s not much to go on.”

"If this John Doe isn't with the Russians, why didn't he simply come to the authorities? Why does he feel he's in the middle?" asked Weems.

"I've given it some thought and only have a hunch or two," answered Angelo. "First hunch - and he would be right in thinking it - our John Doe is the prime suspect in the killing of Special Agent Townshend. He is after all the one who told me where the body was dumped. My second hunch is that he's steering clear of the authorities because his hands are dirty in some way. Either way, we've got to get hold of him. He's got information that we don't have, because he's hitting places that we didn't know about. He's ahead of us and we need to catch up with him. We need to find out who he is and nab him as soon as possible. I don't want him dead, we need him alive. There's a chance that he was telling me the truth. If so, we might be able to work out a deal.  I want this to turn around soon.  I don't want to be following this man's wake!"

"So what do we do now?" asked DeMint. 

“Everyone out on the streets, follow every lead. Our John Doe has left a big trail of dead bodies behind him. There's got to be more clues.  Keep your eyes and ears open. Go over the information that we’ve got. While on the phone earlier with the Washington bureau, it was decided that Townshend’s acquired names were to be rounded up immediately. I wished that this had been done the night we raided the local locations. I don’t know how many across the nations have scattered to the winds by now.”

“Frustrating!” said agent Phelps.

“The good news is we’ve got J. Edgar Hoover himself behind us. I don’t think we’re going to have any more bureaucratic setbacks. This magnitude - the size of this exposed spy ring has given this case top priority. If any of you men run into any snags - just let me know.”

places: angelo's office

There were six agents in the room. The coffee pot was perking - working on its second batch of joe. Angelo was one of the agents. He was sitting on the edge of his desk for lack of enough chairs in the room. He was ready to get the crew up to speed and on the case. 

On the day S.A. Robert Townshend was buried, the Director Hoover himself called from Washington and asked agent Forte’ what he needed to get the job done.  The Director was angered by the death of an agent and assured Forte’ full support. “The people responsible for this will be captured and will be punished for this! You just let me know what you need Angelo and you’ll get it.” 

Angelo had the bandage off his head. He was an easy going guy. There wasn’t much that could rile him. The bump on his noggin still ached - yet his ego wasn’t bruised by his encounter.

One of the agents in the room spoke out before the briefing started. 

“Just who are we looking for?  What’s the M.O.?” 

The coffee was too hot to drink. Angelo blew on it slowly and took a few careful sips. 

“You know we are dealing with alien subversives - Soviets."  Some of you in here know some of what I’m about to tell you. We’ll go over all the ground to benefit everyone here." 

Angelo warmed his hands on the cup while trying not to spill it.  He seemed to be more occupied with it than the meeting.  His eyes gazed down into his distorted reflection in his coffee.

He didn’t just bury a co-worker, he buried a friend. He had to put his emotions aside and focus on the case. If he seemed calloused or indifferent it was his way of dealing with his loss.

The new agents had good reason to question Forte’s manner, but the older agents were accustomed to it. Those who knew Angelo, knew that he was a man who stayed on task. They had seen it before, from Angelo as well from fellow agents.

“Most all of you personally knew Special Agent Robert Townshend. His job with a supplier for the Soviets was to deliver false documentation for Communist infiltrators. Townshend had given us names of many of these infiltrators. The names he supplied are now part of a nationwide manhunt for the bureau. I am confident we are going to be able to apprehend those who Townshend had identified as to date.” 

Another agent spoke, “I've been on the outside of this. I thought we were just dealing with illegals. But you just mentioned Soviets. We’re not talking just a massive illegal integration. We talking subversive activity, saboteurs, spies?” 

“You’re Sam?"

“Yes sir, Sam Clark from San Francisco.”

"Glad to have you here Sam." said Angelo, “To answer your question - yes.”

“Agent Forte’, asked Clark, “Why did Townshend remain undercover after securing the names?  What more was he looking for? Where there more leads?”

“When Robert went undercover, we were not expecting to find an underground railroad. Most cells consist of half a dozen communist.  We thought we were fist dealing with communist sympathizers.  Townshend was the one to discover that this was a point of entry and had acquired trust with Clayton's forgery outfit. Robert infiltrated the network, he opened a vein of intelligence for us. We had been processing an overwhelming amount of information for the past six months. This is a very large spy ring. We have a lot of leads, a lot of names, but Townshend knew that there were more out there.  Robert’s sacrifice has taken us to gate. It’s our job to finish his job - close that gateway where alien subversives are entering our country.”

“Most of you in this room have been brought into this investigation at different times. As of today - you  will each be completely dedicated to this case. Washington is sending more agents from out of state. It’s going to be kind of crazy here the next few days. I’m counting on everyone in this room to be cooperative by helping me coordinate this investigation. Just  plan on our having frequent meetings like this. Consider yourself my lieutenants.”

Weems asked, “So where did these illegals heading once in the country...the spies that Robert Townshend had identified?”

“Different places Doug. They’ve mostly been headed to industrial cities. We’re pretty sure they’ve got inside help with local unions throughout the country. If they don’t have inside help, they’ll be finding ways to infiltrate in order to establish Communist cells. Most of us have seen this before.”

“Are the unions all they are trying to infiltrate?” asked Sam.

“No.” Angelo answered, “New York, California, even Washington, DC – political influence. 

“By the size of this list - it's more like an invasion!" exclaimed Weems. "What's behind all this?"

Angelo continued. “We’ve heard a lot of hearsay, but no one knows exactly what the Soviets are up to. 

"What do the higher-ups think is really going on?"

Their intentions have always been to overthrow the American government. It’s apparent that the Soviet Union is planting seeds to grow roots...to start more cells. Their planting ears to generate influence. No matter what their intentions, great or small - they are aggressively attempting to establish a foothold here in the United States.” 

Another agent chuckled, “We’ve got the bomb. Ol’ Ike ought to just threaten to drop one on Moscow as a message not to mess with us.” 

Another agent said, “I was in the 3^rd Army with old Blood and Guts himself. General Patton told us that we needed to deal with the Ruskies then. DC wasn’t interested in continuing the war.  Now we’ve got communists in our own backyard.” 

Forte’ took back the conversation. “You guys can talk about this on your own time. I need to get back on point.” 

Angelo took a drink from his coffee as the men in the room watched him quietly.

Angelo continued. “I was tempted to pull Robert out, but he was confident that he wasn’t suspected. I don’t know how his cover was blown. I knew Robert, he wasn’t one for taking unnecessary chances. He would have bailed if he had the faintest notion that he was in trouble.” 

He paused...reflecting...thinking. 

“Robert was working close with the counterfeiter, the supplier to the Soviets - a Mr. Clayton Tyler.” 

“That’s the guy who’s body we found in the creek, whose house burned down?” asked agent Ralph DeMint.

“Yeh.” answered Angelo, “His place had been torched just prior to our moving in. The four houses that were used as drop-offs had been evacuated by the time we got there. Our entire bust was a bust. It was Tyler Clayton’s place that Townshend said we would have found needed legal evidence.”

Angelo stood up and stretched his legs. “We’ve got more to talk about, but I’ve got to eat something.

“How about that guy that hit you over the head?” asked Weems, “How does he fit in this?”

Yeh, we’ll get to that.  DeMint and Smith checked out a couple of arsons that happened last night - more dead guys with guns in and around the place. We’ll get to that after lunch. One of you guys get a sandwich order together and the office’ll pay for it. Whoever goes to the delicatessen, make sure you bring everybody back a soda-pop. I’m going to step out for a minute and see if I can scrounge up an aspirin.”

places: killing

I’ve seen men die a thousand ways. I have lost men that I loved and likewise have taken lives that others have loved. 

It's all bad. 

Tonight I have moved up to the front-line, where the bad men live. Clayton’s book has paid off.

The place was a two-story job in a seedy side of town. I drove past it and noticed a guy standing in the bushes on lookout.  He didn’t look the neighborly type.

I kept driving. I know good and well that to go knocking on doors wasn’t going to be the way to stay alive for long. These are the kind of doors that you don’t walk through if you’re not invited.

I had some time before dark. I drove back to my place and picked up some gear.  I also made Molotov cocktails.  I made six.

I really didn’t have to think of a plan after seeing the house and location.  I knew what I was going to have to do within a block of leaving the place.

Chances are they would have at least one or two lookouts.  My gut tells me that there would be one, but I’d keep my eye out for others.

I waited in my car looking at the last light of day disappear.  For a while, I felt drowsy, as if I could just go to sleep.  I’d felt this way before in times before combat. I don’t know why.  I rubbed my eyes and got out of the car.

I found a spot in the brush to lay my rifle. I loaded it and left it there.

I walked back to the car for the cocktails. I left them in a ditch at the edge of the property. I crouched in there for a bit – to see if I could spot anyone outside.

I cocked my .45 and gripped a bayonet. My hands were shaking so I gripped the bayonet even tighter. It seemed to help a little.  I casually walked around the left side of the house.  I kept the knife to my side and the .45 aimed ahead.  I moved silently and controlled my breathing.

I made my way around the back of the house.  I then walked around the other side of the house. Nothing.

Good.

I then walked back around the house, staying close to the walls.  I was walking around the corner when I heard a screen door open on rusty springs.

Not good.

I stepped back and hunched down. Peering around the corner, I looked to see what he was up to. He stood there for an eternal minute. He lit a cigarette and took a couple of drags. I was hoping to do this quiet if he walked out. He wasn’t holding a gun. I locked my piece and switched the bayonet to my left hand.

Finally the guy stepped off the porch.

He was coming my way.

I was still crouched in a corner. I didn’t leap. I just let him walk toward me in the shadow of the brush.  I could barely see his face in the darkness, but I heard his gasp. I pushed the knife deep as I rose to my feet. I put my warm blood wet hand over his mouth to keep his mouth from crying out.  His arms flailed helplessly.

Killing him was quick. I slid the knife into his chest cavity and then drew it out to slice his throat.  He lay still within moments.

My hands were wet with his blood. Just moments and I felt I had him all over me. It was dark, I couldn’t tell. I felt through his coat pockets. He had a weapon in a shoulder holster. I tossed his .38 in the bushes. I found his wallet and stuck it in my coat pocket. The blood on my hands stained his white shirt. His still form looked eerie in the illumination of the pale moonlight.

I could hear voices inside. Just talk.  I could tell that the inhabitants didn’t have any idea that they were going to die. They were talking, chuckling, and laughing. I put on the dead man’s fedora and picked up his smoke.  It was still lit. I stood up and looked around.  I took a few puffs and dropped it.

It sounded like they playing cards. Poker. I peered into the window and counted three men. Beneath the window I found and cut the telephone line.

Work fast.

I took a chair and wedged it underneath the doorknob of the back door. I placed an unlit cocktail next to the chair.  I started placing cocktails around the house. I placed a cocktail beneath each of the two windows on each side of the house.

I grabbed my Zippo and gave it a couple of flicks.  I lit the first one and quickly lit the second.  I ran.  I didn’t care how much noise I made.  I had my .45 drawn.  I focused on lighting the cocktails as fast as possible.

Each time I felt as if I was going to blow myself up.

The first two went within the minute.  Then the one at the rear of the house exploded. Even though I knew what was happening, the noise of it made me freeze up a little.  Startled and stunned, I failed to light the last two.

I stumbled away from the house and saw figures running in the house. They were yelling. They were of course completely surprised. I saw someone in the window on my side of the house.  I heard glass break and a man yell, “Someone’s out there!” 

I fired three rounds into the window, but wasn’t sure I hit anyone. I ran back to the ditch and threw the last cocktail against the front wall of the house.

I ran across the street hoping no one was looking out the front window. I stumbled to my position and lay down behind the cover.

It was my plan to torch three sides of the house and leave the front door as the only exit. I had to take my chances with the upper floor.  I failed on the right side. I could see the flames starting up the back and rear. A minute or two more and the night would light up.

A man rushed out the front door. He was firing blind.  I nailed him as he ran across the front lawn. A chair came out the side window, the side I failed to torch. As he jumped out another one followed. I squeezed off two more rounds.  They both fell.

I don’t know how many people were in the house. I was expecting them to come out like rats on a sinking ship. I’d kill as many as would show themselves.

It’s a possibility that someone could have climbed out an upper window and would be able to flank me. I was only one man. I couldn’t keep my eyes on the darkness surrounding the burning building. I’d keep my ears open and my eyes on the house.

I heard gunfire. I figured they were shooting at shadows. It was clear that they didn’t know where I was positioned. I waited. I watched. I listened.

I lucked out and saw someone moving in an upstairs window.  I fired. He dropped.

I reloaded and rolled over to another position. I could see the left side of the house now. The wall was consumed in fire. The roof was starting to burn. I couldn’t see what was going on in the backyard. That would be too risky.

I sat there watching the fire take hold of the house.  I was thinking there would be more, but maybe that was all, a body count of five.

The neighborhood seemed to come alive. Lights came on, dogs were barking.

“I think I woke the neighborhood.”

I pulled back and stood behind a tree. I heard the distinctive sound of a shotgun being cocked. I turned. An elderly man was standing in the doorway of his home. He was looking straight at me.  He had his gun aimed straight at me.

I stood there knowing that he could shoot at any moment. He had me dead to right. In the porch-light of his house I could make out his features. If I raised my rifle – I would be shot. Even if I could pull it off, I didn’t want to kill an old man defending his property.

A blood-curdling scream rose from the burning house.

He looked at the house for a while. I was afraid to move.  His shotgun was still aimed in my direction. After a minute, I thought I made out a grin on his face. He looked at me and then looked back at the flaming house.

He then dropped his gun to his side. To my dismay he looked over at me and then turned and walked inside. Dumbfounded, I stood there as he turned off his porch light. A minute later, I noticed that he had turned off an upstairs light, presumably his bedroom light.

I left.

Perhaps the Russians had been bad neighbors. Who knows, I was lucky.

I briskly walked to my car. I don’t know how many people watched me walking down that street. My legs were shaking. I felt as if they’d fail me at any given moment.

I threw the rifle into the backseat. I got in and closed the door.  I fumbled for the keys. I nearly flooded the engine pumping the gas like I did. I thought I heard Rod from the backseat say, “Idiot.” I looked over my shoulder to find no one there.

Your imagination can run wild on a night like this.

The car cranked and I swerved out of there.  I don’t know if I was made, but I got out clumsy and fast.