Jack's Mess (Prt1-Thirty Days To Kill) (standard:action, 31026 words) [1/2] show all parts
Author: Reid Laurence	Added: Dec 10 2005	Views/Reads: 4607/3016	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A psychotic murderer, Jack Carter earns his place among serial killers of his day amidst an era of machine-gun-wielding gangsters, crooked cops and beautiful women. He learns to kill indiscriminately, leaving behind a trail of blood and a stack of bodie

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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.”


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