Read an Excerpt
Cleo I Was, I Wasn't, I Am
By DOYLE JOHNSON
iUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2011 Doyle Johnson
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4620-1608-2
Chapter One
The blood curdling, bone chilling scream came even before the thundering blast ...
"Chad......!!"
Cleo Hertzwitz sat straight up, a strange and eerie silence gripped him. For a moment he sat there, his breath coming in short, hard gasps as if he'd been running. Shaking more from the dream than from the cold, it took several minutes of brisk rubbing and with the help of his hands flexing his knees, before he felt safe in assigning his legs the duty of propelling his body.
His thoughts going back to another time, but for now, a strong hunger pang gnawed at his gut, reminding him that certain things are required in order to keep the body alive, one was eating.
His worldly possessions consisted of one pair of jeans, very dirty with holes, one pullover sweat shirt, one pocket knife with a three and a half inch blade, a worn pocket rock with which to keep the blade razor sharp, one World War II GI overcoat, one sock cap, two socks with holes, one canvas and one leather shoe, all of which moved in unison with the man.
For many months now the hole he called home, dug with his hands and his knife, was located beneath the overpass at the rail yard in Mamelle. He had positioned it as close to the top of the incline as possible so only the train people had opportunity to see it. The long, hard digging last summer had finally paid off, now that it had grown bitterly cold. He seldom left his place until it was dark for fear of being discovered and dislodged.
Now his thoughts turned to Rico. Rico had come upon him one night as he was rummaging through the garbage behind the Black Angus Steakhouse.
"Senor, do you have no place to go?" Rico asked him; Cleo simply shook his head. "You wait maybe twenty minutes ... I bring you something very good to eat." True to his word, Rico soon returned with a huge t-bone steak, cooked a bit too long for some discerning patron, a baked potato that was already prepared with only a little of it eaten, a styrofoam dish filled with peach cobbler, and a piping hot cup of coffee." You eat good senor, you come again; Rico work here every night."
It had been such a long time since he had said grace.
The garbage rack was located in the alley behind the steakhouse. There was room to crawl beneath if the alley had traffic, Cleo knew this well. Several times Ruis and Rogers, two night beat cops, had found him plundering there. Ruis relished the opportunity to inflict pain on anyone, especially the homeless. If he found Cleo in the alley, he would chase him, hitting him across the back and shoulders with his night stick, gleefully yelling something in Spanish Cleo could not understand.
It was with great trepidation and caution that he approached the top of the incline, then over the retaining cable and on to the alley. The alley was dark but Cleo knew it well. Just as he was getting to the garbage rack, headlights appeared at the end of the alley. He made a dash for the rack and no sooner made it before another car appeared at the other end of the alley. Fear gripped him. Surely it was Ruis and Roger, but God only knows who is in the other car. This is my last day on this earth ... he thought. Ruis had made that very clear during the last beating.
The two cars drove within a few feet of each other and stopped, leaving the headlights on. Each driver emerged with a valise, meeting between the cars. Cleo could see them plainly now, it was not Ruis, Rogers, or anyone else he had ever seen. They were no more than a few feet from him as each man opened his valise and displayed its contents. He could hear them talking but couldn't understand the words. As they closed the valises and as if to exchange them, driver one quickly and adroitly drew a ten inch knife and before driver two could react, drove it to its hilt into his left side. A low, gurgling, guttural groan came from the driver's throat and he, out of sheer desperation, drew a Saturday Night Special from his pocket, fired, then crumpled to the ground as a melted candle. Unbelievably, the bullet found its mark, the two men died simultaneously.
Cleo crouched there, thoughts racing, Are they dead? Was that money in the valise? Who knows where they are? Do I have time to get the valises and back to my place before the place is alive with cops?
Quickly he crawled from his hiding, ran to the bodies of the dead men, grabbed the bags, ran down the alley, over the cable, and down the hill toward his hole. I can't stay here, he thought. Running, stumbling further down the hill, his feet became tangled in the old big coat and he fell, sprawling hands over head, a valise in each hand; neither came open.
Good merchandise, he thought.
As he made the tracks, a slow moving train was leaving the yard. Fortunately, there was enough glow from the city above enabling him to see an open door a few cars back. Trudging along with the train, he threw the valises aboard and managed to get on. Now what, came a sobering thought. He was shaking so hard he could barely lift the valises. Was he cold, scared, exhausted, or all of the above? He couldn't say.
In all the excitement his hunger had subsided, now the cold was a more pressing problem. If he didn't do something soon, he was going to freeze to death in that open boxcar. Finally, he managed to collect some loose packing material, raked it into a pile, put his feet beneath and in a fetal position, covered them with the bottom of his coat, pulled the collar over his head and lay very still ... bags in hand, and eventually fell asleep.
Chapter Two
"H
as the jury reached a verdict?" "We have, Your Honor."
"Will the foreman please read the verdict."
"We find for the plaintiff, the sum of $150,000 property damage and $100,000 punitive damages."
"Does the defendant wish to say anything?" the judge asked.
"No your Honor," his attorney answered.
Again Cleo was awakened abruptly, slowly realizing it was just another dream, causing him to relive those dreadful days and events.
* * *
Chad was an only child, bright, athletic and charming. His mother doted on him excessively. His achievements were many, making his parents very proud. There was Tee-Ball, pee wee league, little league, and the school play in which he had the leading part. As Chad reached puberty, his parents began to notice a change. They assumed it was his way of establishing independence. Soon it became evident there was more to it. He became withdrawn and seldom wanted to be in the presence of his parents. He had his own living quarters, a second garage located on the same property which was converted into living space for him. There was an intercom system installed by which he could both reach and be reached by the family in the main house. A similar structure, belonging to the neighbor, lay just behind Chad's. Those living there had never been very friendly, causing some concern for Chad's parents.
* * *
The telephone rang, a look at the clock revealed it was one forty-five in the morning. Shaking, the woman grabbed the receiver and said, "Hello."
"Is this Ms. Hertzwitz?" a strange voice asked.
"Yes!"
"This is Captain Flores at the police department. We have your son Chad and some others in custody; he's asked me to call and have you come to the station."
"What?? Why do you have Chad in custody? ... We assumed he was in bed asleep."
"If you can come to the station, I'll be glad to discuss the situation with you." the captain said and hung up. Maggie sat, staring at the dead telephone, "Who was that?" Cleo asked in a troubled tone of voice.
"It was the police, they have Chad and asked us to come to the station." she said.
They dressed as quickly as possible and drove to the station. They walked inside where a very overweight man sat looking over some papers. He appeared to be ignoring the Hertzwitzes. Highly agitated, Maggie cleared her throat in an affirmative way.
The fat man, callously and indifferently, without looking up, asked, "Can I help you?"
Maggie felt a rage building she could hardly contain. "We're the Hertzwitzes to see a Captain Flores", she said.
"Have a seat ma'am, I'll see if he can see you" the fat man said, continuing to shuffle papers, he didn't look up or move-right away.
"It's two o'clock in the morning, they have our son and we'd like to see the captain right away, please!" Maggie insisted.
"Yes ma'am, please have a seat," he replied in a more authoritative voice.
Finally the indolent slob laboriously and with great difficulty, got up from his chair and disappeared into another room. Maggie became more and more frantic as the seconds seemed like hours. What on earth could Chad have done to get himself arrested? Surely there has to be some mistake. As soon as we explain to the captain, we'll be able to take him home. Why doesn't he come tell us something?' She wondered if the slob had gone somewhere and fallen asleep.
Finally the door opened, "The captain will see you now, this way please." He spoke as though he had said those same words a million times.
Captain Flores was a salt and pepper gray, fifty-five perhaps, dressed neatly in shirt and tie but without his coat. He rose to his feet as the Hertzwitzes entered the room. He extended his hand, took Maggie's and then Cleo's, "Let me say I'm sorry to have you come down here at this hour."
Anxiously Cleo asked, "What on earth is this all about? Is Chad hurt? Is he alright?"
"Oh, he's fine; no, he's not hurt. But first, before we get to yours, I have some questions of my own. Has Chad been in trouble with the law before?" he asked.
Quickly and in perfect harmony, they exclaimed, "Of course not!!!"
"How did a sixteen year-old boy happen to be out on the street at this time of morning?" the captain asked.
This time each waited for the other to answer; neither did ... right away.
Finally Cleo said, "Sir, that's a question we're asking ourselves and don't have an answer. You see, he has his living quarters on our property but in a separate building. It's a long standing arrangement and has never been a problem. His custom is to come and say good night when he retires, but not every time. He doesn't have a car and no other means of transportation ... we're baffled."
"Do you ever inspect his living quarters?" The captain asked.
"For what?", Cleo asked anxiously, "No, he wants his privacy, and we feel he's entitled to it. He brings his laundry to the house but does his own house cleaning."
"Have you noticed a change in Chad's personality-any change in his relationship with you as parents?" The captain watched the response of the parents very closely on this one. There was a long hesitation before either of them spoke.
"We have noticed a change, but didn't suspect there was anything wrong", Cleo said, defensively.
"Have you ever felt he wasn't telling the truth about something?" the captain asked.
"A few times," Maggie said, "but don't we all keep some things to ourselves?"
"Please don't be offended at the next question, but I have to ask. Have either of you ever used illegal drugs?"
Maggie's breath caught in her throat and for a moment felt as if she would pass out.
Cleo answered, his voice quivering said, "Heavens no! What kind of question is that? And what does it have to do..?" His voice trailed off as he realized the implication. Oh NO! Surely not Chad, his thoughts going so fast his head was swimming.
Maggie's pale complexion was such that the captain asked if he could get her a drink of water and she answered, "Yes."
The captain didn't immediately continue. It took Maggie a few minutes to compose herself. She took a sip of the water he offered and found it difficult to swallow.
Finally Cleo said, "Can you describe the situation for us? Can we take Chad home now?"
"I'm afraid it's not quite that simple," Flores said, "these boys are in some serious trouble. Nothing can be done until we can go before a judge and that'll be sometime later this morning. As to why they were brought in, the boys were pulled over for speeding. It's standard procedure, if the officers are suspicious, they give the drug dog a trip around the car, if he indicates there are drugs aboard, the officers then have a legal right to search. Upon the examination of the car, officers found a considerable amount of meth and cocaine and we suspect they were on their way to deliver it."
"You keep saying they-who are 'they'?!" Cleo asked irritably.
Flores, keeping his voice calm and with Maggie in mind said,
"There were four boys in the car. I can't reveal the names of the others because they are minors. I can give you their ages according to their ID's. One of the boys, the driver of the car is seventeen; two of the others are sixteen. Chad is sixteen, is that right?"
Maggie nodded, the paper cup shaking so as to spill its contents.
"Can you give us an idea what to expect now?" Cleo asked.
"Of course it will depend on the judge. The prosecutor will most likely charge them with possession with intent to deliver; that's a felony. The judge will then decide what to do. Usually, if they have not had prior offenses, he'll set their bond at $25,000 each and remand them to the custody of their parents". At that news, the paper cup collapsed in Maggie's hands, the contents spilling on the floor. Maggie lost her composure-the captain was not impressed.
Chapter Three
Rico heard the shot and the noise out back and opened the door in time to see a fleeing individual wearing a dirty overcoat with a valise in each hand and two men lying dead between two cars facing each other. What on earth could all this mean? Could a man whom he had befriended, somehow be involved?
Soon the alley was alive with cops, sirens blasting, emergency lights flashing, along with a crowd of onlookers.
One of the officers yelled, "Did anyone see what happened?" When no one answered, "Do any of you know these men?" Still no one answered. Then, "If you're not part of this investigation, get out of here now or you'll find yourself at headquarters trying to make someone believe you had nothing to do with this crime!"
Rico quietly retreated to the kitchen, not willing to implicate his friend just yet.
As the officers worked to secure the crime scene, Watson, the chief investigator, turned to Sgt. Radley and said, "There's more to this than meets the eye; there's something missing. It has all the markings of a drug deal gone bad, but where's the money? Where are the drugs?" Pausing briefly, he said, " Seal off the area, get the coroner down here, and get in touch with Chief Browning."
Chuck Browning, 53 years old and with the police force for more than thirty years, twenty five of those in homicide. He joined the force fresh out of college and soon became noted for his astute perception. Arriving at the scene, "Anyone see anything?" he asked.
"No one will say anything." Watson said.
"Do any of you know of any regular, illegal activity in this particular alley?" Browning asked, turning to the officers. No one responded.
The coroner arrived and pronounced both men dead after which they were taken to the morgue.
"Watson, stay on this, get these men's I.D. as soon as possible," Browning said, "Have these cars taken to the pound and sealed until I can go over them.
"Right, Chief."
Chapter Four
Cleo awoke and found the train stopped. Although it was cold here, he realized it was warmer than where he'd been. Near morning now, he could see lights of a town a short distance away. He began to stand, and for a moment thought he wouldn't be able. After taking a few steps in the boxcar, everything seemed to be working. He focused his attention on the briefcases.
What is in there that cost two men their lives? He pondered, as he decided to take a look. But try as he would he could not get them open. It occurred to him he had to find a way to hide them until he was more familiar with the area. A man of his appearance, with two very expensive briefcases, would certainly arouse the curiosity of the cops.
He couldn't remember when he had bathed, certainly not since winter set in and it had been even longer since he'd shaved or had his hair cut.
Leaving the train, looking both ways, toward the rear he saw a bridge spanning a small creek. Being familiar with such a place, he made his way to it. Under the bridge, huge rocks lay against the bank to prevent erosion.
He decided by removing few of the rocks from the top, (and with the help of his knife), might dig a hole large enough for one of the valises and then replace the rocks. He decided to keep them in separate location.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Cleo I Was, I Wasn't, I Am by DOYLE JOHNSON Copyright © 2011 by Doyle Johnson. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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