“Oh, big deal. So I was one hour off. She didn’t even know what it meant,” Henry said, pointing to Scarlett.
I smiled. Henry frowned. Scarlett rolled her eyes. It was business as usual.
CHAPTER 4
The Weakened Warriors Caper
I was on my way to my bedroom after dinner to catch up on a little homework when I passed my dad, who was in the living room reading the newspaper while at the same time watching TV. My grandmother, dressed in an exterminator’s uniform, was busy spraying something all around the room.
“Lift your feet,” she told my dad. “Gotta get at some of those crawly things.”
“Mom, what’s in that thing?” my dad said, pointing to the canister strapped to her back.
“Just to be safe,” she said, “you’d better hold your breath for a couple of minutes.”
“What?!” he yelled.
Gram turned and winked at me. She always loved making my dad a little crazy, and he never failed to fall into one of her traps.
Gram turned and pointed at the TV. “Looks like they’re at it again,” she said.
“Police have released this closed-circuit video of the burglary at Jamison’s Furriers on East Lansing Avenue last night,” the newscaster announced.
“Another theft?” I said. Caught on tape was a pair of thieves wearing ski masks. One was stuffing furs into a large plastic garbage bag. The other one stood by the entrance and seemed to be watching for bystanders or police. When the suspect stationed at the door exited the store, he hobbled out.
“Can you believe this?” my dad said as he looked up from his paper. “What’s this town coming to?”
“Did you see that guy who limped out?” Grandma said. “He looks like the same one I saw at the beauty parlor.”
“Police say the thieves made off with an estimated fifteen thousand dollars in merchandise,” the newscaster continued. “No arrests have been made in this case or in any of the other robberies in the area during the past week. Although the suspects have all worn masks, witnesses have indicated that the thieves had young-sounding voices. Police believe that a well-organized gang of teenagers may be responsible for many of these holdups.”
“Told you,” Gram said. “Told you it was a young punk.” She waved me over to where she was standing. “By the way,” she whispered, “have you thought about what I said? Maybe you kids could lend the authorities a hand solving this one?” She glanced at my dad to make sure he hadn’t overheard her.
I leaned in and lowered my voice. “Actually, Gram, we just took on a new case.”
She smiled and raised her eyebrows. “Really? What’s it about?”
“It’s a missing persons case,” I said.
She motioned for me to follow her.
“These fumes could kill a body,” she said for my dad’s benefit. “I need a little fresh air. Charlie, why don’t you join me.”
I followed her out onto the front porch.
“So, missing persons, huh? I always enjoyed those kinds of cases,” she said. “They start out real slow—then before you know it, you’re running for your lives.”
“I’m not expecting anything dangerous, to tell you the truth.”
“That’s just it,” she said. “It always seems to be the cases that look so easy that get you into trouble.”
“I’ll remember that,” I said.
Grandma took the canister of pesticide—or whatever it was—off her back and set it down on the porch.
“Hey, did you know Eugene’s back in town?” she said.
I shook my head.
“If I were you, I’d bounce this one off him,” she said. “He just might be able to save you a little heartache in the long run.”
Now, that was an outstanding suggestion. Eugene had to have a bunch of experience tracking down folks for clients.
“You know, I think we just may do that,” I said. “Since this is our first missing persons case and all, I wouldn’t mind hearing what Eugene has to say.”
Gram put her arm around me. “Charlie, you and me—we’re kindred spirits. We think alike. We enjoy the same things. We need to stick together.” She hugged me.
I always enjoyed my time with Gram. She wasn’t anything like your typical senior citizen. She really had her act together. She was more with it than my parents—although it didn’t take much to accomplish that. Sometimes I would think about life without her, and I would immediately have to stop myself. It was just too painful. I hadn’t realized it when I was younger, but since Grandpa died about five years ago, I had become more and more aware that she had this wealth of knowledge.
It was at Grandpa’s funeral, actually, that I finally figured it out. My uncle Bill delivered the eulogy. He quoted an African proverb that went something like “When an old person dies, a library burns to the ground.” It was a great analogy. It isn’t until we lose someone—someone with a lifetime of experience—that we realize how much we could have learned from that person if we had just taken the time to do so. It was at that moment that I made a vow to spend more time with my grandmother and to try to learn from her as much as she was willing to teach me.
She squirted some of her pesticide—or whatever it was—into the air. “C’mon back in with me,” she said. “There’s a big ugly bug on the couch whose days are numbered.”
“I didn’t see anything,” I said.
“He’s reading the newspaper,” she said with a grin.
I laughed. That wasn’t exactly what I meant about learning from my grandmother, but it sure was entertaining.
“Why do we have to tell him about it?” Henry said. “It’s our case, right?”
While we ate lunch in the cafeteria at school the next day, I told Henry that it might be a good idea if we stopped by Eugene’s office and asked for a little advice. I didn’t expect his reaction.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Henry said, “Eugene’s an awesome guy and everything, but he’s pretty busy. I doubt if he’d even have time to see us. Listen, we’d be doing him a favor by leaving him alone. If we go over there, he’ll feel obligated to help us. And for what? A missing persons case? C’mon, how tough can it be anyway? You ask a few questions, tail a few people, plan a few stakeouts, and before long, you find the guy. Piece o’ cake.”
“These are just the kinds of cases, the ones that look so easy, that end up being a lot more dangerous than you think. At least, that’s what my grandmother told me.”
“Again, Charlie, no disrespect to your grandma, but every case is different. There’s no reason to believe that this one’ll be any tougher than the others. I think we can handle it on our own.”
I knew that Henry was not about to budge. But I also knew that the name on the door happened to be mine, and so I decided to pull rank. I simply informed him of my plans to ride my bike over to Eugene’s office after school. And that was precisely what we did. Henry, Scarlett, and I rendezvoused at my house at sixteen hundred hours as planned and set out across town to Eugene’s. Interestingly, Scarlett liked the idea of asking Eugene for a little advice. I’m not sure if she really felt that way or if she was looking forward to visiting her grandfather, the barber in Eugene’s building. Or maybe she just wanted to get under Henry’s skin.
We pedaled for about twenty minutes and decided to stop at a park to rest. We were in the middle of town, about a block from city hall. We immediately noticed dozens of vehicles and at least a hundred or so people on the front lawn of the municipal building.
“What’s going on over there?” Scarlett asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “What do you say we ride over there and find out?”
“Do we have time?” she said.
“We won’t stay long,” I said. “C’mon, it looks interesting.”
When we reached the city hall grounds, we realized that we had stumbled onto a full-blown media event. Reporters and camera crews from various stations in town were in place for what appeared to be a press conference. We locked our bi
kes to a light pole and sat down on a curb, waiting for the show to begin.
Within seconds, a well-dressed group of city hall brass emerged from behind a curtain and moved briskly to the podium. Leading the group was the Oak Grove mayor, Andy Wilde, flanked by others I didn’t recognize. Mayor Wilde approached the microphone.
“Thank you all for coming today,” the mayor began. “I’d like to share some very exciting news. It involves our youth and their future. As you are well aware, there has been a series of robberies in our community in the past couple of weeks. Although no arrests have been made, witnesses have indicated that the suspects are all young people.”
As the mayor spoke, I found myself staring at one of the men on the stage. He was big. I’d say 250 pounds. But not overweight. He resembled a bodybuilder. His head was shaved, and he was dressed in military fatigues. His arms were folded as he listened to the mayor. The only way I could describe the expression on his face was intense.
Scarlett leaned over. “Who is that big guy up there?” She had obviously noticed him too.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I have a feeling we’re about to find out.”
“Our system of dealing with juvenile lawbreakers is failing,” the mayor continued. “But we think we’ve found a new, hopefully more successful alternative. And I’d like our distinguished guest, Colonel Harvard Culpepper, the director of Camp Phoenix, to share this with you.”
The mayor stepped back and yielded the podium to the colonel. The large man in fatigues shook hands with the mayor and smiled at the reporters.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Colonel Culpepper said, “a few days ago, I walked into the office of your fine mayor with a plan, a mission, so to speak—a remedy to bring about the salvation of our youth.” He nodded to the mayor, who returned a similar gesture. “As we have seen,” the colonel continued, “the current system of dealing with juvenile lawbreakers simply sucks up these young people and regurgitates them back into a life of crime. There is no rehabilitation. They feel no remorse. But there is a better way,” the colonel said, raising his arms into the air.
There was something riveting about this speaker. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. As the colonel spoke, my attention was suddenly diverted to a pair of individuals off to the side of the stage, seated in folding chairs. They didn’t appear to be very old—maybe teenagers. But it was hard to be sure because of their appearance. They were dressed in full army fatigues, with helmets and large yellow goggles that all but hid their faces. I was wondering if these were some of the kids from the camp that the speaker was referring to.
Colonel Culpepper pounded on the lectern. “Instead of incarcerating these lost souls,” he said, “let them spend time under my tutelage at Camp Phoenix, and like the mythical bird that was consumed by fire, let them rise from their own ashes—just like these fine young men.” The colonel pointed directly to the two boys seated on the stage. He turned to them, and then as if he were a drill sergeant, barked out orders. “Atten-hut.” The pair jumped from their chairs and stood motionless at attention. “Forward…march.” The two teens moved forward in perfect formation, although one of them had trouble keeping up with the other. His foot seemed to drag a little as he marched forward. The colonel looked out at the sea of reporters, his chest puffed up, and smiled. He then turned back to his recruits and simply waved them back to their seats.
I couldn’t help but notice the reactions from some of the reporters in the audience. With each gesture or refrain from the speaker, several members of the press reacted with raised eyebrows. They glanced at one another skeptically and rolled their eyes. I was sensing that they had little faith in the colonel’s proposal or in his demonstration.
“Through an intensive rehabilitation program at our compound,” Culpepper said, “I guarantee that the young hoodlums in your community will be awakened to a new dawn. They will finally understand that there are consequences for their actions.”
Culpepper stopped abruptly. It was as if he had paused to admire his own words. At that moment the mayor jumped to his feet and began applauding. His cheerleading effort was met with mild enthusiasm from a handful of audience members.
The colonel leaned into the microphone. “Now, an undertaking of this nature would be impossible without the cooperation of our citizenry. Therefore, I am happy to announce that late last evening, in a closed-door session, the mayor and council accepted my proposal and have instructed the city treasurer to redirect the necessary funds to Camp Phoenix to help defray the costs of this program.”
With that announcement, some of the reporters shook their heads as they wrote down the colonel’s words on their legal pads. Others let out long, loud sighs. From a few feet away, I could hear one reporter say, “So there’s the rub.”
“Let me close by saying that we are confident and exhilarated.” Culpepper turned and smiled at the mayor.
Oak Grove’s chief executive jumped from his seat and encouraged the crowd to join him in applause. Like before, a lukewarm response followed.
“Colonel, we are excited to be embarking on this historic journey,” Mayor Wilde said as he looked to the reporters. “Now, are there any questions for our distinguished guest?”
Henry leaned over. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I hate to agree with him,” Scarlett said. “But let’s go. It’s getting late.”
“In one minute,” I said. I’m not quite sure why I wanted to stay. Maybe it had something to do with Grandma suggesting that we take an active role in finding out who had committed the current string of robberies. Or maybe it was because of this dynamic speaker. Whatever it was, I was unable to move.
“Mayor, I have a question for Colonel Culpepper,” one of the reporters shouted out.
“By all means,” the mayor said. He stepped back and yielded the microphone to his guest.
“Colonel,” the reporter said, “what do you have to say about reports linking you to a paramilitary group in the area?”
Culpepper’s expression turned deadly serious. “I’d say you have your facts wrong, friend. I’ve never participated in such a group.” He paused. “Next question.”
A second reporter waved his hand. “Mr. Culpepper, this Camp Phoenix of yours has been called nothing more than a boot camp for bad boys. What do you have to say to that?”
“If that’s what you want to call it, then fine,” Culpepper said. “But I’d prefer if you would refer to it as a rehabilitation program for wayward teens. I’m fine with that.”
“And you think your approach will be more successful than the social workers and counselors now working with those same young people?” the reporter said.
“Have you read the papers lately?” the colonel said. “Watched the news? Whatever our system of justice is doing for these young people, it isn’t working. What these kids need is some tough love. They’ll come out of my program in better shape physically and mentally. And they’ll have respect for authority. I guarantee it. And if you don’t believe me, all you have to do is ask Mayor Thompson over in Clifton City, just past the interstate. Our program has virtually cleaned up the juvenile crime in that community.”
I was spellbound by this colonel fellow. I could have listened to him all day. He was so positive. I was beginning to think that he might be on the right track with this program of his. And if it were to cut down on crime in the area, then what would be the harm?
“Are you ready?” Henry snapped.
“I guess so,” I said.
We snaked our way through the crowd and walked back to where we had left our bikes. Scarlett pulled her cell phone from her pocket and glanced at the screen.
“We shouldn’t have stopped,” she said. “We’ll never make it to Eugene’s and back before I have to be home. I have to go. I’m sorry.”
“What are you talking about?” I said. “If we hurry, we’ll make it.”
“I better get going too,” Henry said.
I threw up my hands. “What’s goi
ng on here?”
“My folks have really been on my back about being late for stuff,” Henry said. “This isn’t worth getting in trouble for. We can just as easily go see Eugene tomorrow.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Well, you two can go if you want, but I’ve got a job to do.”
“So you’re still going?” Scarlett said.
“Listen, we have a client,” I said, “who’s looking for some answers. We can’t just stop when it’s inconvenient.”
“Yeah,” Henry said, “a nonpaying client.”
So that’s what this was about. Henry’s interest in this case had been diminished by the fact that we—or rather I—had offered to take it on for nothing.
“I should have known,” I said. “Have you forgotten how Sherman helped us get out of Rupert Olsen’s basement? Without him, we all might still be in there—permanently.” I could feel my blood starting to boil.
“Have you forgotten,” Henry said, “that we never would have had to go to that farmhouse if Sherman hadn’t been kidnapping those birds for Olsen?”
“Stop it, both of you,” Scarlett said. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. Charlie, if you still want to go to Eugene’s, then go. But all this arguing is just wasting more time.”
She was absolutely correct. We had work to do. Or at least I had work to do.
“You’re right,” I said. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” I turned my handlebars and started off in the direction of Eugene’s office.
I could hear Henry’s voice trailing off. “You’re gonna be late for dinner, and you’re gonna get grounded. See if I care.”
After I had pedaled for about a quarter of a mile, I looked back. Somehow I had expected to see them following me. But instead, there was no one. They really had gone back. And to make matters worse, Henry was probably right. There was no way I was going to be able to make it to Eugene’s, share the details of this missing persons case with him, and get back home in time for dinner. For just a second I thought about turning back. But then as I always did in cases like these, I thought about Sam. What would Sam Solomon have done if he had found himself in a similar situation—alone and abandoned? And then it hit me—Episode #24—The Weakened Warriors Caper.
The Camp Phoenix Caper Page 4