When Charlie saw his charms had worked and their faith was restored, he instructed his disciples.
“I need to leave you for a while. I will see what Spider is up to and figure what we need to do next. Stay here in the room and wait for me until I return. Trust me. Do as I say. I am the only way you’ll be saved. The time is at hand for us to harvest the grapes of wrath.”
He left them. His flock never considered that their faith might be misplaced.
Charlie approached the chapel from across the traffic circle. He spotted Spider sitting on the top step just outside the church doors.
He’s still watching for Hiram, no doubt.
Charlie doused the fire in his eyes and let them glaze over slightly, as if bored. Like a chameleon, he changed his expressions to that of a less aggressive school boy.
Charlie mounted the first two steps, and seeing Spider’s wounds, pulled up short. The cut from Hiram’s wrench was no longer bleeding, but the swelling around it looked impressive. Diablo’s scratches across Spider’s eye caused it to water and blink constantly.
“What the fuck happened to you?” Charlie asked.
“Where’s Hiram?”
“I guess he messed up your face, huh? I heard you screwed up trying to catch him, but I didn’t hear about your fucked up face. Nope, had no idea he got to you.”
“Where’s Hiram, punk?”
“My name is not punk. Can’t you remember it?”
“Your name is Charlie. Now where’s Hiram?”
“I’ve got Hiram hidden away for now where he can’t hurt you again. You’d never find him in a million years.”
Spider gave a little laugh.
“Fuck you. You’re about to find out who you’re dealing with, kid. I eat shrimp bigger than you for lunch. Where is he?” Spider demanded.
“We have business first,” Charlie said. “Have you noticed you don’t have three hundred boys looking for you with baseball bats? No priest leading twenty cop cars to haul you to jail? You know why?”
Spider grunted.
“My guys ain’t put the word out yet. I’ve got Hiram right where I want him. So here’s the deal, Chicago-man. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot, but we can help each other anyway.”
Spider eyed Charlie trying to read him.
“I was just thinking,” Charlie continued. “I figure Hiram must be worth something to you. Maybe a couple of hundred bucks.”
“You offering to sell Hiram to me for two hundred dollars?”
“Yeah, something like that.” Charlie gave Spider a knowing grin. “Like my Grammy used to say, ‘The Lord helps those who help themselves.’ You come up with two hundred dollars and I’ll deliver your little nephew to you, maybe even tied up with a bow on top.”
Spider’s greed surfaced.
“What’s to keep me from beatin’ the truth out of you and leaving you in the bushes after you tell me where Hiram is?”
“Oh, you won’t do that. I’ve got my buddies watching us. If anything happens, or if I don’t leave here alone, they know what to do. And I bet you think your car will start when you’re ready to leave, don’t you? You’re in for a bad surprise, Chicago-man.”
Charlie’s confidence unnerved the gangster. The last thing Spider needed was to be stuck on foot in Omaha.
“Smart little fucker, are you?” Spider acknowledged. “I can afford two hundred bucks for Hiram. Bring him over. I’ll pay.”
“Show me your money,” Charlie demanded.
The gangster proudly pulled out a roll with at least 15 hundred dollar bills.
“Okay. You’ve got the cash. A hundred now and a hundred on delivery.”
Spider shrugged as if uncaring.
They closed the agreement for Hiram at the $200 price without words. Spider peeled off a crisp hundred dollar bill and handed it to Charlie who immediately turned to leave.
“If you’ve got a partner to help you, keep him under control. I don’t want two of you roaming campus calling attention to yourselves.”
“I don’t need no damn partner to help me with this piss-ant job.”
“Then I’ll be back with Hiram just after midnight.”
“Bring him down the hill to the trees by the highway.”
Charlie looked Spider in the eye and raised his hand in oath. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
You damn well better show up with him, or I’ll slice you from throat to dick and leave your guts on the lawn. Be there at midnight.”
“I know the exact place,” Charlie called from the street. “I just left your car. It won’t start. You’ll find your distributor wire in the tail pipe.”
Normally, Spider had a good sense for trouble, but his cockiness betrayed him. He felt superior, for he was dealing with boys, not men.
Spider didn’t know if he could trust Charlie, but he recognized it would be a mistake to rough the kid up only to find at the wrong time his car wouldn’t start.
Better to pay this punk a hundred even if he never shows up with Hiram. This way he’ll keep quiet. And I ain’t leavin’ here without that brat, no matter what.
For most of the way back to the dorm, Charlie enjoyed the thrill of having a hundred dollar bill in his pocket. Yet as he approached the dorm, Charlie’s eyes blazed with malice for Spider.
Then he thought of Hiram, and the scar tissues of his soul flared in anger. It was Hiram who had put him in this situation. Hiram had thrusts his problems on Charlie. He fought back the bad thoughts and hid his bitterness when he arrived at the room.
Chapter 42
The Residence Of Jim And Maggie Bryan, August, 2012
Jim Bryan awoke on the leather recliner in his den and glanced at the clock over the fireplace. It was almost midnight.
He debated whether to surrender to the drowsiness or get up and go to bed. He chose the latter. The recliner was comfortable, but it was his bed he really wanted. He stood stiffly and lumbered toward the hall.
At the bedroom door, he saw Maggie’s reading light was on. Their bed was empty.
He found Maggie two doors down the hall in their home office, focused on a computer screen.
“Everything alright?” he asked.
Maggie swiveled in the desk chair to face him.
“Have you ever heard of a man named Vincent Bugliosi?” she asked.
“The superstar prosecutor? Sure, I have. Famous guy.”
“Tell me about him.”
“He’s mostly known as the assistant district attorney who put Charles Manson away. Are you looking up something for Jake?
“No, I’m curious about Bugliosi for myself. What else do you know about him?” Maggie asked.
“He managed to piss off my entire VFW Post several years ago.”
“Bugliosi did?”
“Yeah. Did you know Bugliosi writes books?”
“So I’m learning,” said Maggie.
“One of the guys at the Post gave a book review for a Bugliosi book that brings charges and presents the case against President Bush for murder.”
“You’re kidding, right? Bush is no murderer.”
“The book is The Prosecution of George W. Bush for Murder. Bugliosi says Mr. Bush was criminally responsible for murdering 4,000 American soldiers and for aiding and abetting the enemy in Iraq. It made my buddies furious. They couldn’t believe the audacity of such a wild theory.”
“Did you read the book?”
“I don’t go for what I consider phony sensationalism.”
“Could Bugliosi be right about Bush?” Maggie asked.
Jim ignored the comment and continued.
“I browsed through another book he wrote called The Betrayal of America. It attacks the U. S. Supreme Court over their decision that named Bush president over Gore in 2001. Pretty wild, huh?”
Maggie sat back in her chair.
“Guess who Mr. Bugliosi has on trial in his most recent book,” she said.
“Should I brace myself?” Jim asked.
“He has
God on trial. The book is Divinity of Doubt: The God Question. Bugliosi presents the case that God doesn’t exist.”
Jim shook his head.
Maggie said: “When you came in, I was about to read a review of his Kennedy assassination conspiracy book. It’s probably sensational too.”
“Come to bed, honey. Trying to understand a guy like Bugliosi will drive you crazy. He seems to have a flair for sensational notions. His stuff can’t all be true.”
Maggie shut down the computer.
The implications of Bugliosi’s patterns of sensational and contentious theories, never came to her. She never saw the similarities to the Manson trial.
Maggie turned off the office light and took Jim’s hand as they left.
“Dad asked me to go to the trailer to pick up several things. I’ll probably leave work early tomorrow if you don’t mind.”
“Want me to go with you?”
“I don’t think you need to. I’ll just run up there and be home in time to fix dinner.”
Jim squeezed her hand. “Whatever you need to do, honey.”
Chapter 43
The Long Wait - Boys Town, April 1949
The rest of Sunday afternoon, Charlie and his brothers hunkered in their room. They agreed that it was best to stay out of sight.
Charlie stretched out on his bed and lay like a stone. His glazed, unblinking eyes stared at the ceiling. Charlie’s mind churned. A dangerous plan was gestating.
“What’s he doing?” Hiram mouthed to Jake.
“Thinking,” Jake mimed with a finger to his head, and then to his lips to ensure quietness.
It didn’t take long for them to realize they couldn’t figure out what was spinning in Charlie’s head, so they went about other business.
Jake kept watch at the blinds. If Spider showed himself, Jake was ready to sound the alarm. The entire time he watched, the campus was boringly normal. Few people passed, and there was no sign of Spider. Jake wondered if there was anything to worry about at all.
Hiram shoved his spare clothing into an army backpack that had been his father’s. He wanted to be ready to flee. When his backpack was stuffed, he searched out smaller items, cramming in a pen, a fork, rubber bands, and a small roll of wire.
They spoke in whispers. Jake consoled Hiram even as he tried to coax from him more information about Spider.
“Whatcha think’s gonna happen?” he asked.
Hiram replied by pointing to himself then jerking a thumb toward the window.
“Dunno about youse two, but I’m outa here.”
He was terrified. The stinging nick on his throat was a constant reminder of Spider’s intent.
The longer Charlie remained in a trancelike state, the more his brothers began to worry. Hiram, who had the most to lose, felt irritation building. The hours dragged by.
Eventually, Hiram nerves gave way to anger. He kicked Charlie’s bed just enough to shake it.
“Did you ever think that Spider might have a partner out there?” Hiram blurted. “Can’t we do something? You’re just lying there while they’re out there trying to kill me!”
Hiram stood over Charlie, trying to read his face.
Charlie remained catatonic a few moments longer. When he finally spoke, the voice was tight.
“Spider is alone. But that makes no difference except saving me the trouble of dealing with two of them.”
“How do you know Spider’s alone?” Surprise showed in Hiram’s face.
“I asked him, and he told me.” Charlie said.
“So, you just walked up to a dangerous killer and asked him if he had a partner?” There was a skeptical, almost challenging tone in Hiram’s voice.
“That’s about it,” Charlie said. “I asked him.”
“How do you know he wasn’t lying?”
“I searched his car. Trust me; he came alone. Let me do the worrying, Hiram.”
“You searched his…” Hiram started to repeat, but the words faded away as Charlie resumed his silent staring at the ceiling.
“I know what must be done with Spider,” Charlie said. His tone suggested a bitter reluctance. “In the meantime, try not to shit your pants. Now let me think.”
Late in the afternoon, as the sun dipped to the west, Charlie rose to find his disciples depressed and staring out the window at nothing.
“What’s with all this gloom?” he asked. Their charismatic leader was back. He spoke energetically, face alight. “We’ll take care of business when we need to, but for now, I’m friggin’ starving. Let’s go to dinner.”
They left the dorm and walked among other boys to the dining hall, scanning the campus as they went. Hiram and Jake saw nothing, but Charlie knew where to look. At the bottom of the hill, he saw the shape of a man sitting against a tree.
Charlie said nothing until they were sitting with their food under Father Flanagan’s portrait. As they devoured soup and sandwiches, he spoke.
“Just so you know,” Charlie said between bites. “I saw Spider on our way here.”
“Where?” asked Jake, startled. “I was looking everywhere.”
Hiram’s face fell as a wave of fear overcame him. He pushed his sandwich aside.
“Why do you look so surprised?” Charlie asked. “Did you think the devil would simply give up and go away? I saw him in the trees by the highway. He’s down there nursing his wounds.”
“Show me where he is when we go back to the room,” Hiram said. “Do you think he recognized us?”
“I’m not trying to scare you, Hiram. I’m just telling you that I see things you don’t. My plan is almost ready. For now you need to eat. There’s no telling when you’ll get your next meal.”
Without thinking too much, Hiram had a feeling Charlie was right. He pulled his plate back and slowly choked down the sandwich, hoping this was not his last supper.
After dinner, students dispersed to attend evening Mass, watch a movie at the gym, or lounge in the dorms and cottages. Charlie, Hiram and Jake knew they would be safe in the throng at the movie or at Mass, but felt no need for entertainment or religion. They hurried back to the dorm.
Charlie remained energized and optimistic. The last thing he wanted was for despair to set in again.
“We need to relax,” said Charlie. “Nothing happens until midnight, so we might as well try to forget things for a while.” Picking up his guitar case, he announced, “I want to play a song for you.”
“Well, that’ll be better than watching you in another coma,” Hiram said dryly.
Charlie smiled at the jab and pulled his guitar from the case. He held up the gold-lettered guitar pick for them to see.
“Did I ever tell you this guitar pick belonged to Gene Autry?” Charlie asked.
“Only about a thousand times,” Jake said.
Charlie sat on the bed and strummed soft chords for a few minutes and then broke into a pleasing ballad about life on the road and riding trains with friendly hoboes who would feed a guy and never ask for anything in return. His voice resonated through the room like that of an angel.
When he was finished, Jake said, “I like that song. Did you write it?”
“Yeah,” said Charlie. “It’s just a memory of old times. I thought you guys might like it.”
Most people, when faced with a dire threat like Spider, would fret the entire night, but with Charlie to guide them, Hiram and Jake relaxed.
After evening Mass, Father Gallagher visited the sick and checked facilities. God’s work was almost done for the day. He was at peace, walking in the soft breeze and breathing the sweet smells of yesterday’s fresh cut grass.
At sunset, he looked to the south and saw cumulus clouds on the horizon. He smiled appreciatively.
Perhaps the Lord will give us rain tonight. It’s good our boys finished the corn planting yesterday.
Leaving the dairy barns, his mind turned to Klara. How he longed to see her exquisite face and feel the touch of her precious hand. He was ignorant of the crisis t
hat Hiram, Charlie, and Jake faced.
On campus, there were few signs of activity. Ahead he saw a boy returning to the cottages after kitchen duties. A pickup truck passed with a farm hand returning to his home near the dairy. The driver and the priest exchanged friendly waves.
Gallagher reached the dormitories and was surprised when Diablo suddenly darted across the street in front of him, not twenty feet away. The infamous cat was pointed toward the dorms. In the twilight, Gallagher saw a dead squirrel in the cat’s mouth.
Gallagher stopped and watched the cat disappear into the shrubs that dressed the dorms. He stood in the street for a moment and realized he was looking at the dorm window where Charlie should be at this hour with Jake and Hiram.
But are they where I think they are?
Perhaps he sensed trouble in the air, or maybe it was just the sight of Diablo with a fresh kill that brought Charlie to mind with a feeling that something ominous was in the wind. He recalled Hiram’s earlier antics and his flight from the store room. A thought struck him.
I should swing by the dorm to see what those lads are up to. Charlie and Hiram need to know they’ll not get the best of me. And Jake? Too often it’s the quiet ones who pull the most unexpected shenanigans.
Gallagher left the road and stepped with determination into the dormitory. He passed through the recreation room, stopping briefly to chat with the fifteen boys gathered there. Charlie, Jake and Hiram were not among them. He marched down the hall to his objective and knocked firmly on the door. He waited, wondering which of the three, if any, would answer.
It was Jake who opened the door to face a priest already bristling with the assumption the boys would be absent or into other mischief.
“Father Gallagher,” Jake sputtered in surprise.
“Good evening, Jake. I was in the neighborhood and decided to stop by for a little visit.”
Impressive and formidable as ever in long black robes, Gallagher pushed his way into the room. It was not that Jake offered resistance, for he did not. Gallagher merely asserted his right to gain entry.
Before He Became a Monster: A Story Charles Manson's Time at Father Flannigan's Boystown Page 24
