The shorter man questioned, “Why I got to go? This whole deal was my idea…you need to do the going in,”
“Look, Dummy, I weigh a good hundred pounds more than you. I would sound like a bull in a China closet! I don’t know the back of the store like you do,” the taller man replied.
The shorter man thought for a minute and said, “Okay, but I get more than you. I could have done this myself if I had known all you would do is give me orders and watch!”
Ignoring the comments, the taller man said, “I will meet you at the graveyard in a half-hour and split up the money.”
Above the men, Willy slipped into his heavy coat and started for the door. Bonnie had been watching him from under the covers aware that he was getting into one of his restless moods.
“Where are you going this time of the morning?” Bonnie questioned.
“Get some sleep, Doll Face. I’m just going for a stroll.” She watched as he stepped into the hallway and quietly closed the door.
Outside Willy followed the footprints in the snow as they made their way around the town buildings. Finding a secluded spot, he waited in the dark alley. The signal came from across the square. The shorter man, whose name was Dave, took a deep breath and eased himself in the rear of the store unaware of the watcher that had followed behind him. Looking around the dimly lit room he saw that fresh candy had been cut in pieces on the table and the old man had begun to wrap the individual pieces. Just as he had seen before, the safe was ajar. As Dave passed the freshly made candy, he grabbed a piece and slipped it into his coat pocket.
Dave licked his lips nervously and eased himself across to the safe. He heard the old man cough in the front of the store and quickly pulled the door to the safe the rest of the way open. He could not believe his eyes. There had to be several hundred dollars laying out ready for the taking. This was better than he had expected. Reaching in he scooped up all the green money and hastened out the back door making his way down the alley.
In his entire life he had never had this much money in his hand at one time. Consumed with the bounty of his evil deed and high on adrenalin, he didn’t notice the figure that eased from the shadows. The butt of Willy’s gun came down on the top of Dave’s head and instantly he slumped to the ground. Willy scooped up the money and disappeared down the alley trying not to leave tracks in the snow.
Dave sat up and rubbed the goose egg on his head. The money was gone. Now he was scared. He got in the old car that was his sole possession and headed out of Huntsville through the back alleys and side roads.
C11 - A Time to Die
Awrought iron fence circled the small cemetery west of Huntsville which was occupied by a smattering of majestic cedar trees and a variety of grey headstones, some even pre-dating the Civil War. Over the years the graves had been placed haphazardly without much thought of alignment or distance. All had one common denominator, the headstones all faced a rusty six-foot wrought iron fence. Normally a dusty, gravel road paralleled the fence. This morning, however, the road was a muddy mess hidden by a five-inch blanket of snow. In the rear of the cemetery a couple of mounds of snow indicated the latest arrivals. A few sunken graves gave a more forgotten appearance.
Ed Weeks eased his car up in front of the gate and sat looking out into the cemetery before turning his headlights off. Graveyards and old church buildings gave him an uneasy feeling anytime day or night. To his right stood an old white frame church that had stood for close to a century. Most of the occupants of this gravesite had passed through the white double doors on their way to the graveyard.
Shifting into neutral he eased out on the clutch and rested his left leg on the floorboard. ‘How in the world had he gotten to this state in his life, from working for Harlan Williams with money in every pocket to robbing a candy store?’ Shaking his head, Ed sat the bottle of gold liquid on the dashboard and watched it shimmer in the early morning moonlight. Ed knew full well the content of that bottle had become the ruling influence in his life. Dismissing the thought as he always did, he leaned his head back against the seat. The engine in his old car idled smoothly thanks to a valve job he had done the day before. His trained ear listened for any signs of trouble in his engine work. The heater kept the Hudson warm and his mind was dull from the effects of the strong liquor. Adjusting the heat down a notch, Ed sat and counted the tombstones through the front windshield. An hour passed and the moon moved across the early morning sky. Opening the glove compartment, he found another half full bottle. He cursed the cold morning and needed to relieve himself. He wasn’t about to get out of the car in a graveyard. Reaching back in the glove box he slipped his old pistol into his pocket.
The mind behind the bloodshot eyes began to imagine all manner of thoughts. His suspicions and fears grew by each passing minute. He was almost ready to give up and head back to Huntsville when he heard the old Studebaker of Dave’s coming up the dirt road. Cutting the engine off and getting out of the car he took the last drink of the powerful liquid before casting the empty bottle into the early morning darkness. Ed staggered out into the graveyard and relieved himself while leaning against an ancient cedar tree. Taking a few deep breaths to clear his foggy mind he found a flat-topped tombstone and sat down watching the headlights of the Studebaker navigate the slush covered road. ‘Watch this fool slide off the road and get stuck,’ Ed thought.
Stepping from the old car, a cold blast of wind caught Dave’s open coat and it caused his skinny frame to stagger. With both hands on his car he stood for a minute, regaining his balance before making his way into the cemetery.
“Well, what the devil happened to you? I half expected to see the law coming up that road instead of you!” Ed yelled.
“I was headed back to the meeting place when someone hit me on the head and took the money,” Dave explained.
“What did you say?” Ed let out a half-laugh and then stood. It took a minute for Dave’s words to sink in. Suddenly he grabbed Dave by his coat collar and lifted him off his feet. His whisky breath came in cold clouds against Dave’s face as he suspended him above the ground. “What you think, Dave? I’m a fool or something? How could that have happened? You are trying to rob me! That’s what’s happening here! I should have known better than to team up with a dummy like you. You are just as sorry as that drunken daddy of yours,” Ed exclaimed.
“Turn loose of me, you big drunk idiot!” That remark got Dave a hard slap.
Ed slid and almost fell trying to navigate the muddy ground. He exclaimed, “You expect me to believe that you was robbed when no one but the two of us knew what was going down? Give me my share of the money!”
“Put me down! You’re choking me!” Dave’s voice coming out in a weak whistle. The wild-looking eyes in a twisted face just inches from his face brought fear to Dave’s heart. Now he struggled even more near panic trying to breathe. Ed took a step back with his left leg, raising a large fist. The blow would have been damaging had Ed not slipped. Instead, the blow glanced off Dave’s back. Out of desperation Dave sunk his teeth into a big hand which only brought more rage and a curse of pain. The two slipped in the mud and fell to the snow-covered ground. The fall saved Dave from a wicked kick as he crawled away on all fours. Backing against a tombstone he pulled a knife. A second kick at him brought a quick response and Dave drove the knife through the side of Ed’s boot.
“You worthless little creep! You stabbed me!” Ed bellowed in a rage. A second later a gunshot split the morning air and for a moment Dave’s face had a look of shock then slowly his body relaxed, and he lay still against the tombstone. A look of horror covered Ed’s face as he looked down at the gun in his hand.
“What have I done? I killed this sorry good for nothing! It was self-defense…he stabbed me with a knife…I had no choice,” Ed said to the cold clouds of breath that formed at his face. Time stopped as if it was all just a dream. A drunken moment in time had been fatal for Dave Smith.
Wiping his lips with the back of a shaky hand, Ed s
aid weakly, “This was not my fault, he stabbed me.” Looking around he laughed a nervous laugh. At his feet, the dead man lay in a crumpled heap. Dave’s sightless eyes staring blankly into heaven.
Realizing his sock was wet with blood, Ed grabbed the dead man’s collar and dragged him to the back of the graveyard and heaped him on a freshly occupied grave. Quickly he searched the body for the money. Rising from his task he was even more distraught to realize that there was no money. Fear took over and he ran to his car swearing and cursing Dave for causing this disaster.
Click! Click! Click! A cold chill came over Ed as he realized that the engine would not turn over…the battery was dead. Half-crazy with fear he looked about. Jumping out of his car he slid and fell to one knee in the wet snow-covered dirt. Jumping up he raised the hood and stood looking around in panic. He had no jumper cables…he would swap batteries in the cars, that’s what he would do. Working feverishly, he had just about finished switching the battery’s when the sound of a motor brought his head up in a frightened stare. Looking around the side of the raised hood he saw an old pickup round the curve by the old church.
‘If the farmer will just pass on by, I can get out of here,’ Ed thought. Cursing deeply, he leaned against his car as the headlights of the approaching pickup bathed him in light. The farmer had seen the cars at the cemetery with the hoods up and was coming to offer assistance.
“Why can’t people just mind their own business?” Ed muttered.
C12 - No Way Out
Jack Parker had missed helping his wife into her wheelchair and rolling it next to his easy chair each morning. It had only been two weeks since she had gone home to be with the Lord. It had been a tough couple of weeks for him. Jack’s life had centered on Sara and he enjoyed taking care of her. His military career was over. The little farm they owned west of Huntsville kept him busy and he and Sara enjoyed country living.
They had laughed and enjoyed the simple life of the farm until two weeks earlier. Jack had walked to the mailbox down by the main road only to return and find Sara slumped over in her wheelchair. The disease that had taken her strength had finally taken her life. It was a sad time for Jack for he dearly missed caring for Sara and would give anything to have her back, wheelchair and all.
This morning Jack drove down the snow-covered road headed for the mailbox. He had neglected to get the mail the day before. The road rounded the old church and as Jack made the turn, his headlights illuminated Ed Weeks as he stood next to his car with the hood up. ‘Now that’s ironic,’ Jack thought, ‘The best mechanic in Huntsville with car trouble.’ Rolling down his window Jack asked, “What’s the matter, Ed?”
“I have a dead battery and I don’t have a set of jumper cables, so I was changing out the battery.”
“What on earth are you doing out here this time of morning?” Not waiting for the answer Jack maneuvered the old truck to shine his lights on the front of Ed’s car.
“The fellow that owns this car is looking for someone who might have some battery cables back at the main road. I was going to get mine running then swap the batteries back,” Ed said trying to make up a good story.
This didn’t sound right to Jack. His military life set off a flag in his brain. The Hudson started up and Ed put the car in neutral and raced the engine a couple of times. With his head down, Ed Weeks cursed under his breath, ‘just a couple of minutes more and he would have been down the road, now this!’ He sighed as he set the park brake and jumped out of the car, saying, “Thanks for the assist, Jack.”“Don’t mention it,” Jack said distractedly. He was trying to focus his eyes on the back of the graveyard where an odd lump lay and without his glasses, he could not quite… Jack’s countenance changed, and Ed saw the look on Jack’s face as he slowly turned his eyes back to the tall man. Jack’s years of military action had built a sense of warning that today he had not bothered to heed. He reached for the gear shift as Ed jerked the truck door open and shot him. The bullet entered Jack’s heart and ended his life instantly.
In the back of the cemetery the blood of Dave Smith soaked in the fresh dug earth that Jack had piled high on his wife’s grave just days before.
Cursing his luck, Ed raced away from the cemetery passing snow covered fields on his way to Huntsville. He needed a drink in the worst way. Pulling another half-pint from under the seat, he calmed his shaky nerves and slung the empty bottle into the snow-covered weeds at the side of the road.
This road was the only way into Huntsville from the west and all he could do was hope he didn’t pass anyone he knew. A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered nights when the lights in his office had dimmed as someone was executed down the street at the Huntsville State Prison. Ed’s size and strength had been his downfall, always getting his way by bullying and intimidation of those around him. Today his drinking and lack of self-control had reached a place he did not think himself capable of. Fear came over him as he thought of what he had done. A cold mist fell which would soon dissolve the snow. His knuckles turned purple as he gripped the steering wheel, ‘how could he have let this get so out of control?’ At the city limit sign, he slowed his car and worked along the back streets where no one would be awake. Pulling up behind his garage without meeting another car relieved his troubled mind. He backed the Hudson into a row of old cars he used for parts. He sat for a long time in the dark gathering his wits.
Ed’s mechanic shop was down the hill from the main square of Huntsville and held a good view of every car entering or leaving town from the west side. He had to accept what he had done and as bad as it was, there was no one to blame but Dave Smith. Ed’s conscience had been seared by years of his bullish, brutality under the influence of alcohol. He must simply put what had happened out of his mind. What was done was done; besides, there was no evidence that could incriminate him except the pistol in his pocket. Looking at the cars moving in and out of Huntsville in the predawn light, he rubbed his chin. What if someone had robbed Dave and the fool had been telling the truth? He could be linked to the killings by that person. Ed rubbed his normally clean-shaven face and ran over the activities of the early morning once more. Getting out of the Hudson he moved to the rear door of his shop.
C13 - A Joke Turns Deadly
Above the diner, Willy grinned to himself as he counted the money. ‘There’s four hundred dollars here. This was no small robbery.' Laying the money on the table he considered what he had just done. Thinking back along his teenage years, ‘Wasn’t this the very behavior that had kept him in trouble?’ Groaning to himself he thought, ‘I’m too old to start stealing again. It was poetic justice to take from a crook.' Still he grinned to himself. 'I would like to hear the guy called Dave explaining how he had been robbed.’
Bonnie was awake and sat up in the middle of the bed. She asked, “Willy, what have you just done? Where did you get that money? I guess what I should ask next is how much trouble will we be in when you get caught?”
“We are as clean as that snow outside, Babe. I just lifted this roll off some crooks after they robbed a store. This is the slickest thing I have ever pulled,” Willie chuckled.
“Do you think that stealing money from crooks makes it right for you to steal? You can put me on a bus back to Chicago! I can see where this is headed, and you will be right at home; you may even get your old cell back! We haven’t been in this town but a few hours and look at what you’ve done,” Bonnie scolded.
Willie replied, “Your memory is mighty short. Do you really want to go back to Chicago? You and I wouldn’t last two minutes on the streets of Chicago. The Irishman would like very much to know where we are. We have lived pretty well off the money I took from him. By now McDonald has a contract out on us and every gangster in Chicago is looking to cash in on it.”
“That may be, Willy. I had started straightening out my life with Alice and Billy. I should have listened to Alice. She knew you would never change. When I die, I would like to know I was living right and people respected me,” Bon
nie stated.
Willy responded, “Honestly, Bonnie. I thought there would be thirty or forty dollars, not four hundred!” Dropping the money on the dresser he began to rub his temple. “Bonnie, I’m always in the clear in anything I do. I took this money from crooks that stole from honest people.”
“Don’t give me that! If there is one thing I know…you are not in the clear! I was raised to believe there would be a payday someday and there are no exceptions!” Bonnie exclaimed as she wrapped her arms around her knees. “Willy, what you just did was foolish, irresponsible and downright dangerous! Don’t ever try to justify stealing just because you are stealing from someone that is dishonest! Oh, what are we doing here? … of all the places you could have chosen! We didn’t need to come to this town where you were in prison!” Bonnie continued to take Willy to task.
“Go back to sleep, Bonnie! I’ve heard enough from you,” Willy stated trying to put an end to Bonnie’s nagging.
“I guess maybe you have,” Bonnie said resolutely.
West of Huntsville, Ken Ward drove to a row of mailboxes that lined the main road leading from Huntsville to Bryan, Texas. Retrieving a week of mail from his box, he noticed his neighbor’s truck with the lights on sitting at the cemetery alongside a car he did not recognize. He had been out in West Texas for a week and was glad to be headed home. Ken rolled down his window as he pulled up beside Jack’s truck. Jack was visible through the frosty window and appeared to be asleep, but something didn’t look right. Ken hated to have to get his new boots muddy, but he couldn’t get Jack’s attention.
“Neighbor, you okay?” Ken pulled a flashlight from his coat pocket as he walked around the back of the truck. The glow instantly illuminated the sightless eyes and blood that had puddled in Jack’s lap.
Doing Time In Texas, Book 2 Page 5
