Jake felt relief. This meant his day of reckoning with Maggie was postponed.
“Maybe I can finish my tale tomorrow. I’m glad you came. And I’m glad you married a man who can take you to charity events. He’s a good person.”
“Jim went to the library for me yesterday. I asked him to pick up a couple of books about Manson. I scanned through them today.”
She paused.
“I want to know something, Dad.”
“Ask away.”
“You told me you took an oath of allegiance to Charlie. Tell me about it.”
“Ah. I never had greater faith than when Charlie told me I was his family, and that he would take care of me.”
Jake adjusted the intravenous tubes beginning to fall across his face.
“We pledged loyalty to each other as family members. Charlie arrived at Boys Town from a rough street life. His endless fight for survival made him view people differently than you or me. Charlie told me he had to constantly be ready to defend himself. That’s why he judged people in such unambiguous terms. He told me that people were either for him or against him. It was a clear-cut determination with no gray area. And with our family, it was the same. Are you with us or against us? That’s a pretty strong statement isn’t it?”
“It sounds exactly like something an egotistical maniac would say. It sounds like run of the mill mind-control crap. Manson is insane.”
“After Charlie said it at fourteen, I noticed every time I read about someone else saying it. ‘You’re either with me or against me.’ Do you know who else said the same thing?”
“I’m scared to ask.”
“Adolph Hitler said it: ‘Wer nicht mit uns, ist greegen uns.’ I think I pronounced that properly.”
“And now I get graced with Nazi-speak?”
“It means, ‘If you’re not with us, you’re against us.’”
Jake lifted his arm and pointed at the water glass.
“And Darth Vader said it too.”
“I’m sure a lot of bad guys say it,” Maggie said, touching the straw to his lips.
“But it’s not just bad guys Maggie. George Bush said it: ‘Either you are with us, or you are with the terrorists.’ The Iraqis thought he was stealing a quote from Saddam who said the same thing.”
“I’ll give you a point that President Bush was not a bad man.”
“The most notable person who said it was a good person beyond any question.”
“Who was that?”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Jesus never said anything like that.”
Her temper flared.
“Sure, he did. Matthew 12:30. ‘Whoever is not with me is against me.’ Read it for yourself, kiddo.”
“So now you’re a Bible scholar as well a Nazi-talker?”
“No, but those facts are there to read. My point is that Charlie made the statement when he was fourteen years old. He already knew he was outside society’s mainstream. He already knew ‘the man’ was after him just like Jesus knew the Jewish high priests were targeting him, just like Bush knew terrorists were targeting America. They all knew they had to constantly prepare to defend themselves against the people opposing them.”
“Uh huh,” Maggie said. “I have no idea where you’re going with this, Dad.”
“This leads to a critical question, my daughter. Is Jesus Christ responsible for inciting the slaughters of the Crusades?”
“No, of course not.”
“Is Jesus responsible for the torture and heresy trials of the Inquisition period?”
“No.”
“My point: followers, whether loyal to Bush or Jesus or Manson, can misinterpret statements and intentions.”
“If Charlie made a comment in 1969 that he wished a problem would go away, does it make him guilty when followers go out and butcher people on their own?”
“That is a sick thought, Dad. Next you’ll try to tell me Hitler wasn’t guilty because he wasn’t personally at Auschwitz.”
“Keep perspective, Maggie. Hitler was a true monster, the worst in mankind’s history. But Manson may be a manufactured monster. Lots of experts have doubts that Manson ever suggested murder at all.”
“How could you say that?”
“At the trial, he told the court, and this is a quote, ‘It makes me mad when someone kills snakes or dogs or cats or horses. I don’t even like to eat meat – that is how much I am against killing.’ That doesn’t sound violent to me.”
“Talk about media manipulation. That sounds a lot like Manson had a sound bite of his own,” Maggie said.
Jake persevered.
“I believe Manson knew what was happening. He probably knew several cult members were involved in copy-cat murders to save Bobby Beausoleil. I think he simply refused to rat people out, which is outlaw code and family code. It doesn’t make him as guilty as the people who committed the murders.”
“Who’s Bobby Beausoleil?”
“He was a family member in jail for another murder. The prosecution’s chief witness, Linda Kasabian was in love with Bobby. Supposedly she hatched the copycat murder plan to shift suspicions away from her boyfriend.”
“Pretty far-fetched, don’t you think?”
“No I don’t think it’s far-fetched. Charlie never got to call his witnesses, because they were ‘brainwashed’ and banned from court.”
Maggie pointed a frigid finger at Jake, “You are so full of crap, Dad. The chemo drugs have your mind messed up.”
Jake smiled.
“Maggie, ask yourself a serious question, one of the basic questions of law enforcement. Ask yourself who would benefit from Charlie’s conviction? Who became a multi-millionaire from the idea that Charlie was trying to start a race war? I’ll tell you who benefited. It was Vincent Bugliosi, the prosecuting attorney, that’s who raked in a huge pile of money.
Maggie said nothing.
“Who fed the media frenzy with chilling tales of mind control and blood-thirsty teenagers? Vincent Bugliosi. Who was under pressure to find a mastermind to explain how supposedly good kids turned into vicious butchers? Vincent Bugliosi, that’s who.”
“Hmpf,” she said, arms crossed.
“Sure you know it, Maggie. Even in Omaha law enforcement officials have planted evidence and lied to get convictions. Open your mind, girl. You know that prosecutors twist facts to mold juries.”
Maggie said nothing.
“And Bugliosi’s willing partners? The media lapped up the horrific stories fed to them. They still promote the Manson myth. The public wants the horror, just like they want flaming crashes at a NASCAR race. Manson sold newspapers and magazines like no villain in years. The Manson myth gave the public the blood and entertainment it wanted.”
Jake’s rant was getting louder.
“All this attention is on an illiterate, homeless man who was not in attendance at the murders and who has consistently denied masterminding them. He never had a chance in trial. No wonder he was so frustrated. And now, no one wants the Manson cash cow to stop producing cream. Manson is still a media spectacle, an ongoing revenue stream for thousands of people including the extra guards paid to protect him.”
Maggie stood, rigid, her face stony. Jake coughed violently while his daughter made no move to help him. When he continued it was in a calmer tone.
“When you really think about it, Charlie has consistently presented his side of the story. If he is a monster, it’s clear to me that society created him by piling abuse on abuse.”
Maggie’s face had turned bright red.
“I’m going, Dad, before I say something I’ll really regret. I love you, but I think you’re a warped, sick man.”
Jake had ended his rant. He rested on his pillow, gathering his strength and feeling the pain of his own emotions.
“You know, honey, it hurts when you talk that way. I’m pretty darned sick, but not twisted.”
Maggie bit her tongue.
Jake said: “Before you go, I need ask
you for a favor.”
“What do you want?”
“I need you to go to my trailer and get two things. It’s important.”
“What are they?”
“First, a suitcase.”
“Planning on going somewhere? Maybe guilt trip?”
“No. I have things in it for you.”
“Where is it?”
“It’s hidden in the wall next to the water heater by the back closet. Find the wood panel and slide it aside. You can’t miss it. There’s also a packet of legal papers somewhere on the kitchen table, probably under the new mail by now.”
“Maybe I can swing by tomorrow or the next day. House key?”
“Over there in the dresser.”
Jake watched her retrieve the key. He waited for his goodbye kiss.
She was calmed now and adjusted his bed covers before leaning in among the IV tubes to kiss his cheek.
“I meant to tell you how nice you look, all shaved and hair combed. And I like your nurse. Louise is a sweetheart.”
With Maggie gone, Jake longed to rest. He needed sleep. The outburst had drained him. Within five minutes he was out. But the nurses had other plans and woke him. They returned in waves prodding, poking, and injecting.
Jake looked at his situation philosophically.
At least it will all be over soon. Time and fate have almost run their course.
Chapter 39
Charlie Meets Spider - Boys Town, April 1949
Charlie followed the big Cadillac and watched it park outside the chapel. He scrutinized the strangely dressed black man as he left the car and disappeared into the church. Charlie’s alarm increased.
He’s an outlaw if I ever saw one.
Charlie walked to the empty Cadillac and circled it slowly, checking for clues about the driver. The car surrendered ample information. When he finished his inspection, Charlie leaned against a nearby tree to think and wait for the driver.
It has a Chicago dealer emblem. Hiram is from Chicago. What if this has something to do with Hiram. What are the odds a black gangster is at the orphanage about someone else? Extra clothes and a box of bullets thrown on the front seat. Cans and papers all over the floors. He didn’t even take the time to toss his trash out the window. No respect for the car. It’s not his.
Charlie was intuitive about the meaning of these things. He figured the driver wasn’t much different than the thugs he had faced in the underbelly of Indianapolis. He’d have to be careful.
The wait was short. After ten minutes, the driver came out the side door, looking very unhappy. He was a slick-dressed gangster alright. Shiny shoes, tight pants, loose flowered shirt and a slicked back hair style that showed a devil-could-care attitude. Then Charlie noticed the bulge under his shirt at the beltline. The obvious hit home.
Jesus. This guy is packing.
Charlie left the tree and sauntered toward the car. The stranger reacted by turning and eyeing Charlie suspiciously. The two made eye contact.
Spider forced his sneer into an unconvincing smile, revealing a bright gold tooth. He stopped just short of the automobile when Charlie stepped into his path.
Charlie watched the gangster’s feet shift, as if preparing for flight. He saw the nervous eyes that belied the tough expression. This was a man out of his comfort zone.
Charlie’s opaque eyes revealed nothing.
“My name’s Charlie. Can I help you, sir?”
“Looking for my sister’s boy. Name of Hiram Hubert. You know him?”
“Maybe.”
“You know where he is? My poor little nephew?”
“What do you want him for?”
“We have family business.”
Charlie struck a smug pose and scoffed. “You ain’t no kin. If you’re his uncle, I’m the new fuckin’ pope. Maybe you ought to get on back to Chicago, tough guy, and leave things here alone.”
Charlie’s challenge surprised the gangster.
“Why you think I’m from Chicago?”
“I know more than you. You need to get the hell out of here, before you have three hundred not-so-nice boys dancing on you. I don’t think you’ll get along to well with our home-grown boys.”
Spider was not intimidated easily. His temper flared. He casually pulled up his shirt just enough to display the pistol butt.
“I can take care of myself, boy. I’d say you are the ones who oughta be careful.”
“Tell you what, pal,” Charlie said. “If you need to see Hiram, I’ll see if I can find him for you. Maybe we can work something out.”
“Whatta ya mean ‘work something out?’ You know where he is or not?”
“I’m not sure where he is, but if I track him down, that ought to be worth something to you. You bring any Chicago money with you?”
“I got enough money to buy fifty punks like you.”
Spider made a show of patting the money roll in his pocket.
“Alright, then. How long will you be around?”
“I’ll be here until I find Hiram. I ain’t leaving til I talk to him. To my nephew,” Spider added hastily.
“Meet me back here at the chapel in a couple of hours. I’ll talk to you then. Maybe I’ll have something for you.”
Spider eyed Charlie. He opened the Caddy door and gave Charlie a final thought.
“If you help me, fine. I’ll pay. If you don’t help, I’ll find him anyway.”
Charlie held his ground at the end of the chapel sidewalk and watched the Caddy back out and pull away. As it disappeared around the corner in the direction of the ball fields, Charlie heard footsteps behind him. He wheeled.
It was Gallagher, beginning his mid-afternoon campus check. The sight of Charlie standing at the end of the sidewalk annoyed him.
Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and all the saints deliver us from evil.
“Back for more confessions?” Gallagher asked, not knowing what to else to say. It sounded saltier than he intended.
“It’s good to see you again too, Father” Charlie said, ignoring Gallagher’s sarcasm. He held out his hand and shook the priest’s hand like a tent revival preacher welcoming a new convert to the flock.
“Truth is,” Charlie said, “I just met Hiram’s uncle. Interesting guy, that one is. He’s trying to find his long lost nephew for a reunion.” Charlie cocked his eyebrows at the priest in a sardonic gesture. “Maybe I’ll try to help him.”
“Uh-mmm,” Gallagher mumbled, not sure whether Charlie was thinking about helping the uncle or the nephew.
“Gotta run, Padre. I’ll see you soon.”
“Behave yourself,” Gallagher answered, inwardly relieved that Charlie had things to do other than torment him.
Charlie found the double doors of the Boys Town garage wide open. He entered and pulled them shut behind him, flipping on the light switches by the door.
With Charlie’s arrival, the shop changed from shadowed gray to dark, then to the yellowed dimness of artificial light. The change brought Hiram to the surface from under a hood. He was surprised to see Charlie.
“Charlie? What are you doing?” Hiram called out. “You got a problem with fresh air?”
“Something’s going on you need to know about.” Charlie motioned Hiram to the wooden chairs between the desk and the tire rack … away from the window. They sat amid the broken down trucks to talk. The more Charlie told about the big Cadillac and the Chicago stranger, the more worried Hiram became.
“Did you catch the guy’s name?” Hiram rubbed his head. “The way you tell it, sounds like Mr. Spider Webb himself has come for me,” Hiram said.
“Didn’t give a name. ‘Hiram’s uncle’ was all he ever said.”
Hiram’s face tightened as the reality of Charlie’s story sank in.
“One thing’s for sure, the guy you described ain’t no uncle. And if it’s Spider, I’m in real trouble. He’s a bad one, the worst Boog has. He might even be the one who killed my Pa. He can be a slick talker too. I’ve seen him at the pool hall, shinin�
�� folks on. I hope Father can see through all that shit.”
“Father Gallagher is smart,” Charlie said. “We know he hasn’t given you up so far. The problem is we don’t know what he’s thinking. Gallagher might be looking for you right now.”
“No priest could know how bad these guys are. Maybe I should get out of town before things get worse. It’s about Papa’s money, Charlie. I can feel it. They’re looking for me. Gonna make me tell them where it is. That’s why he’s here. He thinks I know something about Papa’s stash.”
Charlie listened in silence, his face serious. When Hiram finished, Charlie put a hand on his shoulder and spoke gravely.
“We’ll get through this,” Charlie said. “This guy, Spider, ain’t as smart as us. Finish your work here. We want things to look normal. I’ll wait an hour or so then go talk to Spider again. Meanwhile, you try to stay out of sight.”
“You going to talk to Spider again? Why?”
“I’ll give him a story to buy us time. You can’t run. What are you gonna do, escape in one ‘a these trucks?” Charlie slapped the hood of a torn apart work-in-progress and smiled grimly. “You have no plan, no money. You can’t hide for very long in a corn field.”
“You ain’t gonna give me up, are you Charlie? Ain’t selling me out, are you?” Hiram’s voice was suddenly tense.
Charlie squeezed his shoulder.
“Have faith, Hiram. I’m the only way you’re gonna get saved. Finish your work here. Be careful when you go back to the dorm. I’ll meet you there in a couple of hours.”
Charlie gave Hiram a wink and grin then checked out the front window before leaving.
“Trust me,” Charlie called back as the big door closed.
Chapter 40
Sunday Afternoon - Boys Town, April 1949
In the almost-completed field house, a construction crew labored to install balcony railings above the playing field.
Ten hours into the workday, the job had become a series of repetitious tasks that demanded frequent refocus to keep the project moving ahead. The crewmen alternated tasks—working the big ratchet wrench, inserting bolts, hauling materials, and anchoring the backup wrench. They pushed to complete the job, for only then could they go home.
Before He Became a Monster: A Story Charles Manson's Time at Father Flannigan's Boystown Page 22