CONTINUOUS CONFLICT
Chapter 1
He locked his office door. Dinner at home was calling.
Pleasant anticipation of chicken-n-dumplings buoyed his spirits.
The last few weeks of the election had been trying, but he had won.
The opposition had been brutal.
The bulk of someone hastily approaching him was not recognizable.
The early evening dusk hung close.
“Who’s that?” Albert’s heart went on a rampage His mood darkened.
He tightened the grip on his cane.
He retreated a single step, and then another
“I said who’s that?” An icy chill suddenly owned his body.
A realization of impending disaster struck home.
The parking lot was empty; he was alone.
A fleeting glance documented the hand gun.
No relief in sight, his brain blasted the essence of his life before him.
The bulk snorted, and invaded Albert’s space. His breath was foul.
Albert opened his mouth to scold.
The barrel of the pistol hit the hack of his throat hard.
The bullet blasted out the back of his skull.
June eighteenth nineteen fifty four
Albert Patterson, the Attorney General elect of the state of Alabama was dead.
Chapter 2
I heard the shots… three of them. It was my 23rd birthday. I was only a block away. Phoenix City is known far and wide as “Sin City U.S.A.” Here, the mob reigns supreme. Such things as missing persons, and worse, are acceptable.
But this murder is over the top. I could be wrong, but I figure Hoyt Sheppard is somehow involved.
Hoyt Sheppard could occasionally be found playing cards at The Golden Rule. I have set in on a few games where there was a gun or two, and always some knives in play, either on or under the table. The real games were upstairs. Young GIs from Fort Benning are relegated to the downstairs, where the predominate game is Seven Stud Dr. Pepper. This game is played with all jokers, tens, twos and fours wild, and is favored by the house because gamblers not familiar with the game, especially young GIs from Fort Benning, often over extend their bets on a losing hand which would be a sure winner in other poker games, but a throwaway hand in Dr. Pepper.
The house cuts the pot on each round of bets, whether the deal is passed or not. All the game rooms are complete with a cadre of “B” girls who kinda attach themselves to a known regular, or a player enjoying some longevity. Becky is my favorite. She’s good at fetching drinks, or a sandwich, and maybe administering a timely shoulder rub. A chip of an adequate amount is awarded for such attention most every winning hand.
Many games have an unknown house player besides the dealer. I know it’s a little shady, but I really enjoy playing with the house – it’s hard to lose that way. In Phoenix City the house always, always wins. In the unlikely event that a non-regular does win, he will probably encounter a little hurt upon leaving, a loss of winnings, and most likely be treated to a complimentary swim in the murky Chattahoochee River. Survival or recovery not guaranteed.
Downtown Phoenix is not a family friendly town. Many Alabamans frown on the goings on in our city. General Patton, while he was at Fort Benning, threatened to take his tanks and “Smash Phoenix City Flat.”
It seems as if Patterson was about to do things which the real powers that be in Phoenix City did not appreciate. He is, or rather was, a reformer who campaigned state wide on a platform of cleaning up Phoenix City. Such fine notions got him shot dead.
The Governor and all the state government became enraged. They shut our whole city down. The governor sent National Guard Troops to Phoenix City.
The lifeblood of the city, soldiers from Fort Benning, which is just on the other side of the Chattahoochee River, were ordered not to come across the bridge into “Sin City.”
Chapter 3
With armed soldiers all over the place and really no customers for my little eatery, Whitey’s Place, and no card games, I wondered just what to do with myself. I knew the GIs would be back when the dust settled, and business would be as good as ever, but it would take time.
I called home, Northfield, New Jersey, and talked to my mother. She wanted me to come home, at least for a visit, but I didn’t really want her to know about my kinda shady doings right now.
What to do?
I thought about Heinz; he owed me money. Years back when we were roommates, he never paid his share of rent or the electric bill, and besides that, he had borrowed some cash money. We had gotten out of service at the same time, me and Heinz, and had traveled together in spite of the fact that he was only Air Force, and I was a proud, and bad, Paratrooper. We didn’t really get along. He was 30 and I was only 23 so he acted like he was my boss. I felt that I had gotten the short end of the stick, and that bothered me a mite.
I heard he was working at Sears in Miami and living in Miami Beach. I tried calling him. It took a coupla days, but we connected. I decided to drive to Miami Beach to collect my due and maybe have a little fun. The day was young when I left. I was in a hurry, and gee, the trip went fast. My bran-new Red Chevy Convertible blustered down the highway at speeds only considered acceptable to the young at heart and definitely disapproved of by the law. The top was up because, being a bit vain, my finer clothing hung on the cross member supporting the convertible top, while lesser things nestled in the trunk along with some restaurant stuff and a business ledger, fresh from my accountant.
As the evening came lightly to my moving world, my thoughts meandered through the ramifications of my stationary world back where that brazen murder and martial law set sway. Even though I was quite far removed from the circumstances, I wondered how far outward the peripheral pain of that murder would be felt.
The periphery, I considered, was my place. I knew, or knew of, most everyone, and I was known. Shortly things would change. Much had already changed, but it would be prudent for me to watch my step. The mess in Phoenix City was in all the papers and all over the radio. The Murder and the Troops in Phoenix City was national news.
Heinz was living in a beach hotel. I think it had some thirty-two rooms and the Jewish owners lived onsite. Dusk was really moving in with its particular inclination of subterfuge and uncertainty as I parked next to the curb almost in front of the hotel. Hank Williams was wanting someone to “Take These Chains From My Heart and Set Me Free.” I left the engine running and turned the radio down a bit. It was loud. I let Hank finish his song before I shut everything down and locked up.
Heinz was at home and having a go at a quite large pizza. I set to helping him as we began a conversation. At first it was friendly remembrances: the twins we dated, the furniture we pilfered, the not exactly legal way I got the money for my prized, brand new Red Chevy Convertible, and on and on.
I didn’t mention the money he owed me, but I could tell he remembered by the way he kept looking at his feet every time Phoenix City came into the conversation. Then, since I was staying the night, I figured that I had better register, but Heinz said the owners had probably settled in for the night. Most tenants were weekly, and the owners appreciated doing business at a more comfortable hour. I could register in the morning. This being settled, I enjoyed a cool shower.
There came a knock at the door accompanied by voices muttering incoherently. I had just gotten out of the shower and as a guest; I let Heinz handle the door. Maybe the owners were not settled in after all. Indeed the owner was there, her hands clasped as if in prayer. With a mighty worried frown she asked, “Heinz?” I could tell she knew and liked him. “Do you have a guest?”
The two cops behind her both saw me at the same time and kinda lightly, but firmly, pushed her aside, and came indignantly into the room.
Chapter 4
The big cop demanded, “You own that red convertible with the Phoenix City plates on it?” He cocked his head and rolled his bloodshot eyes at me. “You’re parked illegally!”
Right on top of that outburst the little cop allowed, “That there’s a bad place, ya know. Lot of trouble down there.”
Now, immediately, it came to me that Phoenix City is way north of Miami so why is he was saying “down there.”
But that thought was lost as the duo came menacingly close to me. Heinz shuffled out of reach, as it was very clear they were concentrating on me. I kinda hitched up my trousers which were the only cover I had on…nothing underneath.
“Sure, it’s mine… what about it?”
“Well, what you doing here?” came from Big Cop, mighty well emphasized.
“Visiting.”
“Visiting Who?”
“Him…Heinz,” nodding at Heinz I hitched my trousers up again. I was becoming even a little more annoyed. I was used to being respected while in service and especially in my current situation, although maybe more than I deserved.
“You registered?”
“No, but Heinz said it would be okay in the morning.”
“That’s all right, it’s all right,” came from the hall as the owner started to enter the room, still praying.
“We got it, Ma’am,” accompanied a sweep of Big Cop’s arm that slammed the door in the owner’s face.
Damn cops. What the hell’s going on? They’re treating me like some criminal just because I’m from Phoenix City. Geez!
“You got papers on that vehicle?” Big Cop was doing most of the talking.
On the way down here I was pondering the ramifications of just being “on the periphery.” Now this!
“Sure!!” I became even more annoyed, and showed it. “They’re in my car.”
“In your car,” Big Cop barked.
“Yea… my Red Chevy Convertible!
“Ppppuuuttt,” Big Cop sputtered and rolled his eyes again.
Little Cop opened the door; he was unconcerned that he bumped into the owner. “Let’s see them!” came with a threatening shrug.
“Okay, let me get some clothes on.”
“Now!” came from Big Cop along with a grab for my arm. I jerked away and moved to the door.
“Let’s go!” from Little Cop as I passed him and dodged his move to grab my arm.
The warm Miami Beach dusk was actually a little too warm, even with only my trousers on and bare feet. The car door was locked. I made a gesture of disgust and allowed that the keys were with my stuff on the dresser in the room. Little Cop was dispatched to retrieve them. Everything seemed to stand still until he came back smiling and bouncing my keys in his hand.
While checking things out, they exchanged several observations as to how bad things were in Phoenix City, what with the murder and all. They concluded that I needed looking after, and how it would be trouble for them if they had a bad guy and mishandled things. Big Cop got on the radio and called for some detectives.
The detectives arrived with a rush. The uniforms backed off to watch. One detective was much overweight. The other one was skinny and had one leg shorter than the other. He walked with a limp and a hitch in spite of the very thick sole on his right shoe. Fatso took charge of my driver’s license and registration. He asked repeatedly my name, address and such until he was satisfied. Naturally. I became more and more perturbed.
“Where you running to with all them fancy clothes?” The Gimp had checked out some of my clothes hanging above the back seat. After discharge I had become very concerned with the extent and quality of my wardrobe. Now, neither my mother, nor my sergeant could tell me what to wear, and since business was good, and money wasn’t a consideration, I was able to be very particular about my wardrobe.
I was getting considerably upset and concerned. I showed it in spades!
“Let’s open the trunk and see what’s in there.” The Gimp was getting into the program. He thumped on the trunk with a closed fist.
“You got the keys,” I said with contempt, and showed it by turning away and taking a few steps into the darkened street.
“Hey! You come back here!” Fatso said pointing to the pavement at his right side.
I had only taken a step or two and retorted, “I ain’t going anywhere…you got my darn keys, ya know. What is your problem anyway?”
“You the one with the problem,” the Gimp prompted, as the trunk popped open. “Wow!” He said, “He must have stole this stuff.”
The Gimp grunted and made gestures as he plundered the contents of the trunk. Then he turned to face me. He had my ledger book in hand and shook it menacingly at me.
“Where you steal this…” He didn’t finish because I let him have a strong straight one to the jaw.
Now, I was not long discharged from the U.S. Paratroopers and my young-self was in hard muscle shape, so one solid shot landed him sprawled out in the gutter. I guess you could call it a sucker punch because he sure didn’t expect it.
Although I resisted with all my might, Fatso and the two uniforms got the best of me. I was handcuffed before The Gimp stirred, shook his head and struggled out of the gutter. I was off to jail in Miami Beach.
Chapter 5
The big cop demanded, “You own that red convertible with the Phoenix City plates on it?” He cocked his head and rolled his bloodshot eyes at me. “You’re parked illegally!”
Right on top of that outburst the little cop allowed, “That there’s a bad place, ya know. Lot of trouble down there.”
Now, immediately, it came to me that Phoenix City is way north of Miami so why is he was saying “down there.”
But that thought was lost as the duo came menacingly close to me. Heinz shuffled out of reach, as it was very clear they were concentrating on me. I kinda hitched up my trousers which were the only cover I had on…nothing underneath.
“Sure, it’s mine… what about it?”
“Well, what you doing here?” came from Big Cop, mighty well emphasized.
“Visiting.”
“Visiting Who?”
“Him…Heinz,” nodding at Heinz I hitched my trousers up again. I was becoming even a little more annoyed. I was used to being respected while in service and especially in my current situation, although maybe more than I deserved.
“You registered?”
“No, but Heinz said it would be okay in the morning.”
“That’s all right, it’s all right,” came from the hall as the owner started to enter the room, still praying.
“We got it, Ma’am,” accompanied a sweep of Big Cop’s arm that slammed the door in the owner’s face.
Damn cops. What the hell’s going on? They’re treating me like some criminal just because I’m from Phoenix City. Geez!
“You got papers on that vehicle?” Big Cop was doing most of the talking.
On the way down here I was pondering the ramifications of just being “on the periphery.” Now this!
“Sure!!” I became even more annoyed, and showed it. “They’re in my car.”
“In your car,” Big Cop barked.
“Yea… my Red Chevy Convertible!
“Ppppuuuttt,” Big Cop sputtered and rolled his eyes again.
Little Cop opened the door; he was unconcerned that he bumped into the owner. “Let’s see them!” came with a threatening shrug.
“Okay, let me get some clothes on.”
“Now!” came from Big Cop along with a grab for my arm. I jerked away and moved to the door.
“Let’s go!” from Little Cop as I passed him and dodged his move to grab my arm.
The warm Miami Beach dusk was actually a little too warm, even with only my trousers on and bare feet. The car door was locked. I made a gesture of disgust and allowed that the keys were with my stuff on the dresser in the room. Little Cop was dispatched to retrieve them. Everything seemed to stand still until he came back smiling and bouncing my keys in his hand.
While checking things out, they exchanged several observations as to how bad things were in Phoenix City, what with the murder and all. They concluded that I needed looking after, and how it would be trouble for them if they had a bad guy and mishandled things. Big Cop got on the radio and called for some detectives.
The detectives arrived with a rush. The uniforms backed off to watch. One detective was much overweight. The other one was skinny and had one leg shorter than the other. He walked with a limp and a hitch in spite of the very thick sole on his right shoe. Fatso took charge of my driver’s license and registration. He asked repeatedly my name, address and such until he was satisfied. Naturally. I became more and more perturbed.
“Where you running to with all them fancy clothes?” The Gimp had checked out some of my clothes hanging above the back seat. After discharge I had become very concerned with the extent and quality of my wardrobe. Now, neither my mother, nor my sergeant could tell me what to wear, and since business was good, and money wasn’t a consideration, I was able to be very particular about my wardrobe.
I was getting considerably upset and concerned. I showed it in spades!
“Let’s open the trunk and see what’s in there.” The Gimp was getting into the program. He thumped on the trunk with a closed fist.
“You got the keys,” I said with contempt, and showed it by turning away and taking a few steps into the darkened street.
“Hey! You come back here!” Fatso said pointing to the pavement at his right side.
I had only taken a step or two and retorted, “I ain’t going anywhere…you got my darn keys, ya know. What is your problem anyway?”
“You the one with the problem,” the Gimp prompted, as the trunk popped open. “Wow!” He said, “He must have stole this stuff.”
The Gimp grunted and made gestures as he plundered the contents of the trunk. Then he turned to face me. He had my ledger book in hand and shook it menacingly at me.
“Where you steal this…” He didn’t finish because I let him have a strong straight one to the jaw.
Now, I was not long discharged from the U.S. Paratroopers and my young-self was in hard muscle shape, so one solid shot landed him sprawled out in the gutter. I guess you could call it a sucker punch because he sure didn’t expect it.
Although I resisted with all my might, Fatso and the two uniforms got the best of me. I was handcuffed before The Gimp stirred, shook his head and struggled out of the gutter. I was off to jail in Miami Beach.