Assassin's Redemption: Stolen Memories, #1

by Richard Allen Evans

  “You're nothing like Bobby Kennedy,” Jefferson said.

  “And thank God for that!” Gene said.

  Jefferson waved hand as if he was surrendering before a fight started.

  “I will of course cooperate,” he said in defeat. “And I fear you will get the nomination and be handed a Senate seat,” he added as Gene smiled. “But you better pray no one finds out you're the one that had your own brother murdered.”

  “Why Jeff, what an ugly thing to say considering you have no proof of such an unwarranted allegation,” Gene said coyly.

  “Alright. I have my marching orders. When do I start?” Jefferson asked.

  “Tomorrow morning should be soon enough. Arrangements have been made for you to be interviewed via satellite from Knoxville. TV stations in Memphis, Nashville, Knoxville, Johnson City, and Chattanooga will be interviewing you. And given your status as a former cabinet member, there's a chance you will appear on at least one national broadcast,” Gene said.

  ***

  When Adam woke up, he no longer felt sick but his head throbbed. His body felt better, but still weak. The cheap vinyl on the bathroom floor felt cool against his head. He looked up to see the bowl of the white porcelain toilet.

  Adam shakily stood up, trying to remember what happened. He staggered to the sink and splashed cold water on his face and looked into the mirror.

  For the first time since 1967, he could remember his family, his childhood, playing high school football, his buddies in Vietnam, and how he became Adam Eastland.

  For a split second, he was thrilled to know why those memories were dormant for so long. Then the anguish settled in. He nearly collapsed again as the hurt and sorrow flooded his very soul. His mind swirled. Everything he missed. Questions. So many questions. He needed answers.

  Forcing himself to calm down and focus, he realized what he needed to do and where he needed to go.

  He walked back in the living room and looked at the television which was still broadcasting coverage of the assassination. It was 3:45 a.m.

  He sat down on the couch and picked up the newspaper. He read the article about Beau Fullbright several times. His index finger traced the picture of the young investigator. Equal amounts of rage and sadness filled him. Tears filled his eyes.

  He put the paper down and picked up his laptop. For two hours he searched the internet, bits and pieces of missing years were filled in but not nearly enough. He showered. By 6 a.m., he was on I-75 heading north. An hour later he passed through Crystal Springs, Ky. Another forty-five minutes found him in downtown Silver Point, Ky.

  The sleepy little town was just starting to stir. He parked his truck in front of the Evans County Courthouse and walked across the street to Angie's Coffee Shop, “serving Silver Point since 1945,” according to the lettering on one of the two large plate glass windows in front of the store.

  He looked around and saw most of the booths and tables full. Several stools at the counter were empty so he opted for one of those. The menu was on display over the large griddle. And the aroma - freshly brewed coffee, eggs cooking, and bacon frying combined to make his stomach rumble.

  A heavyset waitress close with brown and mostly gray hair turned to him.

  “What'll you have hon?” She asked.

  He noticed she was looking at him funny. He read her name tag — “Irene.”

  “Coffee black, three eggs over medium, bacon, and toast,” he said.

  “Coming right up,” she said as still stared at him.

  He looked around the coffee shop. Pictures of high school football players adorned the walls.

  Irene came back with a cup and saucer and a pot of coffee. She filled his cup.

  “I'm sorry, I don't mean to stare. It's just you remind me so much of a boy I went to high school with,” Irene said.

  He smiled.

  “No problem. I get that a lot, uh, Irene,” he said.

  “Are you from around here?” She asked.

  “Oh no, I'm just passing through. My name is Dr. Adam Eastland. I'm a history professor. I'm on a sabbatical from my school and I'm traveling across the South for a few weeks,” he said.

  Irene smiled.

  “How nice,” she said.

  “You have a beautiful little town here,” he said.

  “We think so too. I've lived here all of my life. I don't know of a better place,” Irene said.

  “Order up!” Yelled the older woman manning the grill.

  “Got it Edna!” Irene said as she stepped away and picked up the plate of food. She it in front of him.

  “It looks wonderful,” he said.

  “Enjoy,” she said.

  And he did. In a matter of minutes the plate was clean.

  Irene came over and refilled his cup.

  “You people sure love high school football,” he said, nodding to the framed photos on the wall.

  She chuckled.

  “Those are the Mustangs that have made the All-State team over the years. If you'll notice, each player signs his picture before it goes up on the wall,” Irene explained.

  “Nice tradition,” he said.

  “I just can't get over how much you look like my friend,” she said.

  “Out of curiosity, what is his name? Our paths might cross one day,” he said.

  “I'm afraid not. Chuck Fullbright died in Vietnam in 1967,” Irene said.

  His face darkened.

  “That was a bad time for all of us,” he said.

  “If you'll look right there over on that wall,” she pointed to the left, “that's Chuck, number 99.”

  He looked at the old photo of himself with the crew cut and the blue jersey with white lettering.

  “And that picture over there,” Irene pointed above the door, “that's his son, Beau Fullbright.”

  “So he never got to know his son,” he said.

  “No, it's really sad. Chuck was married to the prettiest girl in Evans County. Her name was Patricia. About two or three years after he was killed she died from cancer,” Irene explained.

  That answered one question.

  He cleared his throat, hoping the tears wouldn't come just yet.

  “Who raised the boy?” He asked.

  “His grandfather, Sam Fullbright. Did a good job too, all things considered,” she said.

  “What ever became of the young man?” He asked.

  “Last I heard he was a cop down in Tennessee. I haven't seen him in years. But I guess he don't have any reasons to come back,” Irene said.

  “When did his grandfather die?” He asked.

  “About ten or eleven years ago. Heart attack if I remember right. More coffee?” She asked.

  “Ah, no. I need to be on my way. But thank you for a delightful conversation. It was nice meeting you,” he said as he placed a twenty on the counter. “No change.”

  Irene's eyes widened.

  “Thank you. If you're ever back this way, feel free to drop in,” she said.

  He grinned.

  “I'll make a point of it,” he said as he left.

  He hurried to his truck and crawled inside, tears filled his eyes. The only woman he had ever loved had long since died. Chuck reeled at the thought of the suffering she endured with only his father there for support. It had been nearly thirty years but it literally seemed as though he hadn't seen her in a few months.

  He sobbed uncontrollably. He would never see Trish again. There was so much he wanted to tell her. The words would be left forever unsaid.

  And then he thought of his father, struggling to raise another son — alone. His father was now dead. There was much he wanted to say to him too and “Thank you,” topped the list.

  Chuck dried his tears and drove a couple of streets over. It was still there after all these years — The Town and Country Flower Shop. He parked his truck and walked inside.

  Minutes later he drove out of town, heading west toward Silver Creek. He remembered Irene and her older sister Edna. Their grandmother
and mother ran the coffee shop when he was in high school.

  He remembered them as good people. He didn't have to drive far. Chuck turned off of Hwy. 92 and took a little gravel road to the right that went up about forty degrees. The Fullbright Cemetery - no doubt the final resting place of both his wife and father.

  It didn't take him long to find the double tombstone with his name and that of his wife — Sgt. Charles Beauregard Fullbright and Patricia Chambers Fullbright. He kneeled on his own grave and placed a dozen red roses on his wife's grave.

  Chuck reached out touched his wife's name on the tombstone.

  “I'm so sorry Trish,” he sobbed. “I let you down and I let our son down.”

  He fell face first across her grave as his tears continued unabated. For nearly ten minutes he cried as never before. Remaining on his knees, he raised up and looked at her tombstone.

  “I'm not the man you remember honey. I've done so many awful things. I'm ashamed of what I've become. I wasn't strong enough to fight them,” his voice choked, “I wasn't strong enough to come home to you and our baby. I'll never be able to make it up to you. But I promise you this: I'll watch over our son. I'll spend the rest of my life trying to help him. I love you and I always will,” Chuck said as he continued to cry.

  An hour and countless tears later, he stood and walked one grave over. He looked at the tombstone. “Samuel Beauregard Fullbright, Beloved Father and Grandfather “

  “That sounds about right,” Chuck said as knelt next his father's grave. He pulled a .50 caliber bullet from his jacket and pushed it into the ground over the grave.

  “I figured you'd appreciate that more than flowers old man. I know you're not here anymore than Trish is, but I hope you're together. More than that, I hope you both can hear me. Thank you for everything you did for me and everything you did for Beau. From what I've been able to find out, he's a fine man. That's your doing. I'll make you the same promise I made Trish. I'll watch over him now,” Chuck said.

  ***

  Beau cleared away the tray and put it on the floor beside the bed as he sat down next to Haley.

  “Need some more coffee or orange juice?” He asked.

  “No, I'm fine. Thank you for breakfast and for last night,” she said.

  Beau shook his head.

  “You must think I'm the most boring man in the world. All we did was talk and as for breakfast, well pancakes and sausage are not exactly rocket science,” he said.

  “It was wonderful - last night and this morning. I especially enjoyed room service. No one's ever made breakfast in bed for me,” Haley said.

  Beau smiled just enough for his dimples to be seen.

  “I'm glad you enjoyed it,” he said.

  A thought crossed her mind causing to furrow her brow.

  “Mind if I ask a question?” Haley asked.

  “Not at all,” Beau said.

  “Are you disappointed we didn't, uh,” she blushed.

  “No, no. I'm not. I mean the other night was amazing, don't get me wrong. I never imagined anything could be so great. But last night, I just needed to hold you - to feel you in my arms; to feel your heart beating next to mine. Sharing kisses and making each other laugh - to be honest, it was pretty great in its own way,” he said.

  She smiled brightly and reached out and took his hand, pulled it to her lips, kissed it.

  “You're so good to me. You make me feel special,” Haley said.

  “That's only because you are,” he said as leaned over and gave a quick kiss.

  “I have another question: Why are you already showered and dressed?” Haley asked.

  “I thought I might run by the office and check on things. It shouldn't take long,” Beau said.

  “Do you honestly think I'll let you go without me?” She asked.

  “I was hoping you’d stay here and sleep a little,” he said.

  “No chance. If you're working, so am I,” Haley said.

  “What if I promised you a legitimate full body massage?” Beau asked.

  “Mmmmmmm. I'd take it — but after we get back from the office,” she said.

  “Okay, if you insist,” he said.

  “Let me get a shower and we'll be on our way,” Haley said.

  Beau slid off of the bed and she swung her legs from under the cover and put her feet on he floor. He took her hands and pulled her to her feet.

  She stepped in and hugged him and he returned the embrace. Beau kissed the top of her head.

  She tilted her head back and looked up at him.

  “If you're going to kiss me, there are better places to kiss,” Haley said with a wink.

  “I guess you're right,” Beau said as dropped his head and met her lips with his own. His hands drifted lower and rubbed her round backside.

  “Mmmm. That's nice too,” she purred as he kissed her again.

  “Better than nice,” he said.

  “Can I ask you something else?” Haley asked.

  “Anything,” Beau said.

  “Did you really mean what you said last night?” She asked.

  He looked at her quizzically and she blushed again.

  “About being wrapped around my little finger,” Haley said.

  Beau smiled and nodded.

  “Every word,” he said as a shiver went down her spine.

  “Let's not stay too long at the office,” she said.

  ***

  Dal sat looking at the glass of bourbon in his hand. He held it up to the light and looked at the ornate crystal chandelier through the amber liquid. Outside the sky was dark and gray. A heavy fell and the crisp air had turned cold. Temperatures had fallen to forty-three degrees.

  “Jack was too much like his mother. He came to realize too late the things he needed to do if he wanted to be his own man. He would have been far too weak to effective in the Senate,” Dal said. He never mentioned he always doubted Jack was actually his son. Tom and Gene looked like younger versions of him. Jack, well Jack didn't resemble him, his late wife, or any member of either family.

  “You're absolutely right. And he almost screwed us anyway because he couldn't keep his pants zipped,” Gene said.

  “And in a county where Chet Thurman is the sheriff! He knew our history with that man and he still couldn't resist a piece of ass - well, him and that dumbass Tackett. Bob knew better than anyone. You share in the blame for that,” Dal said.

  Gene's reddened a little.

  “Bob and I had a falling out a few months ago. I thought he understood not to meddle in family business. I should have had him taken care of it then,” he said.

  Dal coughed and wheezed.

  “No your mistake was in helping that little bitch get out of trouble. It's not like you to have such compassion. I raised you to avoid those kind of distractions,” he said.

  “It wasn't compassion. It was business,” Gene said.

  “Whatever. It was a mistake,” Dal said.

  “It's a mistake that's been corrected,” Gene said coldly.

  “How's it going on getting the nomination?” Dal asked.

  “In two days, the party will make it official. We've got people in every corner of the state creating a groundswell of support for me. All that's left is a mere formality,” Gene said.

  “It should be for what it's costed,” Dal said as he took a sip.

  Gene smiled.

  “It will be. The good and decent white people of this country will have a voice. We'll get this country back on the right path,” he said.

  “Any word from your man on why Thurman had a search warrant to serve on Jack?” Dal asked.

  “Not yet. He should have it soon. D.C. knows what he's doing,” Gene said.

  “You don't need to wait take care of Thurman now. Contact the Ghost. I don't care what it costs. Pay him and take care of this thing now,” Dal said.

  “You know, we have a pretty good assassin on our payroll right now. D.C. can handle the job,” Gene said.

  Dal slammed his drink
down on the desk and expensive bourbon splashed.

  “Dammit boy! You've not learned anything! We had the best in Memphis and two pretty good assassins almost screwed everything up because they didn't wait for the best. No, get the Ghost and spare no expense,” Dal said as the wheezing flared up.

  “I have D.C. make the arrangements today,” Gene said.

  “And offer him a bonus to take care of Thurman's family here too. I want to send a message. The Ravens are the law in Butcher County. It's time to remind these people who butters their bread,” Dal gasped in between wheezes.

  ***

  Chuck Fullbright, now the former Adam Eastland, left Silver Creek, his eyes still wet, red, and swollen. His mind was reeling. What to do next? He made his way back to the state line and into Jellico. He pulled into Fee and Allen Ford. After some dickering, Chuck traded the F-150 and thirty-five hundred dollars for a 1988 Ford Bronco II. He resolved to register it in Anderson County as soon as he made it back to Clinton. A local license plate wouldn't draw as much attention as a drive-out tag.

  As he got back on I-75 south, he thought about what he wanted to do next. Chicago would never be his home again. The skies opened up and the rain fell hard. The windshield wipers and the defroster worked well. There was a definite chill in the air.

  He wanted to get to know his son and make up for lost time although he knew with every fiber of his being that wasn't possible. He tried to remember the newspaper article. There was no mention of a wife or children. That didn't necessarily mean anything. They could have been left out of the article for the sake of privacy. Then it struck him he could be a grandfather. If he couldn't be part of his son's life, at least he could watch from a distance.

  Chuck thought about it. He needed to find a place close enough to keep tabs on his son and a job which would give him the freedom to track those responsible for stealing his memories and a huge portion of his life.

  He smiled as a thought crossed his mind. Chuck had to place a few calls and check in with his agent.

  ***

  “Just as we suspected. No more results on any other cases until the FBI is through with the initial work on the Raven assassination,” Haley said, looking at the e-mail.

  “Any idea on when we'll get some results from the lab?” Beau asked as he read the overnight reports on his computer.