Finding 52

by Len Norman

  What was not mentioned to the reporter was that a third dryer was also running when the customer made the grim discovery. A single playing card was in that dryer. That card had two baseball players on the back as well as two large circles with baseballs inside of each circle. A single baseball was between two baseball bats. The Ten of Clubs playing card was probably left in the third dryer by the suspect and the police were entirely oblivious as to the meaning of that card.

  The holiday break was over and Harley returned to school on Monday, January 2. He went to classes the first week but had no real interest. This would be Harley’s last year at the academy. He had a few friends and enjoyed some of the school activities, but for the most part he was bored to tears.

  In another twenty-five days, three Apollo astronauts would be killed in a spacecraft flash fire during a virtual launch of the Apollo-Saturn space vehicle. Lieutenant Colonel Virgil Grissom, Lieutenant Colonel Edward White, and astronaut Roger Chaffee would soon die in the abysmal accident.

  America’s armed forces were increased to nearly a half million troops serving in Vietnam. Thirteen U.S. helicopters were shot down in a single day on February 15, 1967. Peace rallies grew as the number of protestors increased. When President Johnson revealed his plan for a lottery for conscription into the military, Harley sat up and took notice. Later that year the Government eliminated draft deferments for those who disregarded draft laws, including burning draft cards or meddling with military recruitment for the war. Harley realized the powers that be were not dinking around…they meant business. While the first draft lottery was over two years away, Harley had already made his decision. He didn’t have time to fight in Southeast Asia. Harley was more concerned with his own ass. He knew in his heart of hearts most of the REAL people that could hurt him resided in America. He believed his personal killing fields would be in the good old U.S.A. On a personal level he wished the military good luck and sincerely hoped it would slap the piss out of the North Vietnamese and anyone else that interfered with America’s interest.

  Spring turned to summer and Harley traveled quite a bit. He was no longer restricted by bus terminals and train schedules. He had plenty of cash and a great-running car. He was off to see the U.S.A., as Dinah Shore was once fond of saying, only Harley would do so in a Barracuda and not a Chevrolet.

  He drove the entire East Coast and saw all the sites from Key West to Maine. The Jack of Clubs was left in Charleston, South Carolina, near a popular tavern not too far from Battery Park. Three men were found in an alleyway. All three of them were shot in the head execution-style. Harley felt nothing for the two innocent bystanders. His thoughts on collateral damage were simple. If you stand too close to the puddle, you just might get splashed.

  As he continued driving north he found another. The Queen of Clubs was placed in a box of half-eaten popcorn inside a movie theatre in Toms River, New Jersey. The theatre manager was shocked to find a body in the second to last row of seats when the late-night movie was over. The customer had been rudely strangled to death with piano wire for no apparent reason. Harley enjoyed watching Wait Until Dark, a movie starring Audrey Hepburn, and he connected with Alan Arkin’s character. Harley liked the way some violent criminals were portrayed in the movies, but even more, he especially liked how some moviegoers were able to do really nasty things themselves once the theatre lights dimmed.

  He took one look at Bar Harbor, Maine, and his two-day planned stay turned into two weeks. He’d never seen anything like it in his entire young life. Acadia National Park was the land of enchantment for Harley, the mountains, trees, and plentiful wildlife were more than he’d ever imagined. While the park area was less than fifty thousand acres, small by national park standards, Harley still believed he’d saved the best for last—Maine.

  He visited the ocean’s edge and rambled along trails that took him by creeks and streams as well as lakes and ponds, he reveled at the sight of cliffs and exquisite gardens. It was a magical place with panoramic views and it was more than a place to visit, it was a place where Harley could totally relax and think.

  On the third day of his visit, he was returning to the inn where he was staying when he first saw her. She was on the front porch and she immediately caught his eye. She was strikingly beautiful in her mini tent dress and the pink and shock-orange colors complemented her dark shoulder-length hair. Harley couldn’t help staring at her. She looked up from her magazine and saw him and smiled. The Life Magazine was a three-month-old issue and the May 12 cover showed Truman Capote with actors Scott Wilson and Robert Blake. It promised the article inside would revisit the nightmare filmed on the scene of the crime in the movie, In Cold Blood. The movie dealt with the shocking murders of a Kansas farmer, his wife, and two children in 1959.

  Harley said, “I read the book and those murders were gruesome. The guys that did it were executed two years ago.”

  She was confused at first and then she looked at the cover. “I wasn’t reading the cover story. I was actually reading a review about the movie, Two for the Road. I’d like to see it because Audrey Hepburn’s in it and I like her a lot.”

  “What a coincidence. I just saw, Wait until Dark. She was in that and she was great. The movie was intense, but I liked it just fine. Are you staying here?”

  “No, the owner’s daughter is a friend of mine and I’m waiting for her to get back. She went with her mother to do some shopping.”

  The attraction was immediate and mutual. Harley pointed at his car and said, “That’s my car over there, the Barracuda. I’m taking a break before I go back to school.”

  “I like the way it looks. Is it fast?”

  “It has decent speed. Let’s go for a ride and you can see for yourself.”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t even know you. Can I trust you?”

  “My name’s Harley Ames; of course you can trust me, I haven’t killed anyone in days.”

  She laughed and said, “You’re funny Harley. My name is Ginny Kagel, pleased to meet you.”

  They went for a ride around Bar Harbor and found a waterside lobster shack. They visited, and before long it occurred to Ginny that she’d forgotten all about her friend. When she and Harley left the lobster shack they were holding hands.

  The Flamethrower

  1967

  For the next two weeks Ginny and Harley were inseparable; it truly was love at first sight for both of them. They agreed on most everything from Beatles music to current events. On a drive to Cutler, Maine, the Bangor radio station played, “Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.” They both knew the words and sang along. A little later the disc jockey played, “When I’m Sixty-Four,” a song on the same album as Sergeant Pepper. When it was over, Ginny asked, “Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m sixty-four?”

  “That’s a long time from now. I hope we’re both around in 2013.”

  “Do you think we’ll be together?”

  “I’d love that, but you’ll be off to the University of Maine next week and I’ll be back at school.”

  “I don’t want to lose you, Harley.”

  “You won’t. We have nothing but time, all the time in the world.”

  Cutler Harbor was the last protected waterfront before the Canadian border and the Little River Light Station satisfied the need for a lighthouse. The steep, jagged cliffs reminded him of Hawaii, the Halona Blowhole, and Evelyn Gale. He wished he could stay with Ginny, but there was plenty of work to do. He had to rid the world of all the REAL people first. It was as if Evelyn was calling from the gates of hell and begging him to send down the rest of them.

  Ginny spent that night with Harley and they fell asleep in each other’s arms. For once in Harley’s life the bad dreams took a night off.

  Harley did love Ginny but his concern with the REAL people trumped any possibility of giving love a chance. No way could Harley spend his life looking over his shoulder for them.

  He needed to go on the offensive and find every last o
ne of those bastards. A few days later he was back on the road, only this time he headed south, toward North Carolina and the academy. He stopped for breakfast in Danville, Virginia, and figured he’d arrive at the academy well before dinner, but that was before he stopped to help the motorist.

  Dewey Parsons cursed the day he bought the 1954 Mercury Monterey. He loved the sleek lines and only paid nine hundred dollars for the car in 1958. It never ran worth a darn, but he couldn’t bear the thought of getting rid of his first car. Keeping it on the road became a hobby and a quest.

  Once again the car was alongside the highway with the hood up, only this time it was all Dewey’s fault. He’d run out of gas, and never mind how the gas gauge never worked since the day he bought it. He always kept track of his miles with paper and pencil and had been certain the tank had another fifty miles worth of gas.

  He was a long way from the nearest gas station and there he sat, hood in the air and his empty gas can close at hand. Traffic was sparse, but surely a Good Samaritan would soon stop by.

  Harley drove around a curve and slowed down when he saw the car parked alongside the road. The driver looked pitiful, and Harley decided to see if he could help him out. He pulled over and got out of the Barracuda and walked across the two-lane highway.

  “Well, at least you picked a highway to have car trouble. You need a lift?”

  “Sure! There’s a gas station a few miles in the direction you’re headed. I ran out of gas.”

  They chatted most of the way and Harley was beginning to get bad signals from Dewey. By the time they reached the gas station Harley knew for sure. It wasn’t the first time he’d routinely happened on one of them, and it wouldn’t be the last time either. Dewey put a couple of gallons of gas in the can and thanked Harley for the lift.

  “I can walk back, I guess. You should probably head out if you want to make North Carolina soon.”

  “I’ll drive you back and make sure gas isn’t the only thing you need.”

  Harley’s thoughts were already on the new task at hand. They drove back and Harley pulled in behind the Mercury and they both got out. Dewey picked up the gas can and Harley reached under his seat and grabbed the tire iron he kept for protection. There were so many bad men and women out there, he thought.

  He walked up behind Dewey and there were no cars in sight. Harley swung the tire iron in a wide arc and clipped Dewey alongside his neck, knocking him to the ground.

  “What the hell are you doing?!?!”

  “You know what I’m doing, and why I’m doing it, so just shut up.” Harley kicked him in the side of the head and pulled him thirty yards away from the shoulder of the road near a wooded area. As always, his luck held and there were still no cars in sight. He dumped the entire two gallons of gas on Dewey and reached into his shirt pocket and grabbed the card. The hissing sound of the match and then the flame soon set fire to the King of Clubs. He dropped the card onto Dewey and said, “Oops,” and began laughing as the gas ignited. Dewey screamed not unlike one of hells hounds had just been let loose. The smell was divine and Harley sensed the presence of demons that were easily distinguishable because of their rotting garbage stench; always a telltale sign they were near. Harley thought they were sent to watch and observe his artistic savagery.

  ******

  Simon Benchley held the third suspicious letter he had received in the past two weeks. There was never a return address or postage stamp. The plain envelopes must have been placed inside the mailbox soon after the regular mail arrived. He was terrified Caroline would ask him about the envelopes. The second one was sent to Mr. and Mrs. Simon Benchley, and the contents didn’t bode well for him. After the first one arrived he made sure he was always around when the mail appeared.

  The first letter was a plain sheet of stationery with the word “Bastard” written on it, and it was signed by Evelyn Gale. It wasn’t actually signed by Evelyn; someone had cut letters out of a magazine, spelling out the words and gluing them to the stationery. That one was sent to Simon Benchley with more letters glued to the envelope, spelling his name out.

  The next one was sent to both him and Caroline. It was a heart stopper for Simon. The contents were far more troublesome. Colorful letters from magazines and pasted to the stationery and envelope. The message on the second letter was vulgar and to the point: YOU FUCKED ME IN HAWAII AND LEFT ME THERE TO DIE – EVELYN.

  Simon was sweating abundantly as he opened the third envelope. His hands were shaking as he looked at the bright letters pasted to the paper. He read the words: Bring fifteen thousand dollars in cash or else! Next Tuesday at noon. Clinton, NC, at the diner next to the bowling alley. Love – Evelyn.

  Simon sat at a table in the diner directly under a picture of Richard Clinton, a Brigadier General of the North Carolina militia during American Revolution. Evidently, the guy in the picture founded the small town. There was a large manila envelope with cash inside, fifteen thousand dollars to be exact. He stared at the cup of coffee and wondered again how anyone knew about his affair with Evelyn Gale. He’d given up all hope that she could be alive. She’d been gone for six years and was surely dead, as the private eye’s investigation revealed. Simon was convinced that if Evelyn were still alive she’d have made contact with him. Someone was blackmailing him and Simon would pay.

  Harley walked into the diner and smiled at Simon. Harley sat down across from him and said, “Well shoot me for a duck! Uncle Simon has brought cash money to pay the extortionist. Money stolen from me, no doubt. Have you ordered lunch yet?”

  “I’m not hungry and haven’t been since the letters arrived. Why are you doing this?”

  “Let’s take a ride and I’ll show you.”

  “Why should I? Tell me what you want right here.”

  Harley pulled his jacket open slightly and Simon saw the gun. “I think we can play Simon says and the rules are simple. I tell you what to do and you do it because your name is Simon. I say it and you do it. Grab the money and walk outside with me.”

  They walked out of the diner and across the street where Harley’s car was parked. “Get in the car and drive. Nice and slow; we wouldn’t want the police interrupting us would we?”

  “Whatever you’re thinking, Harley, I can explain.”

  “Shut up and drive.”

  They drove out of Clinton, and Harley made sure the barrel of the revolver was sticking in Simon’s ribcage. Harley turned the radio on and Tommy James and the Shondells were singing, “I Think We’re Alone Now.”

  “How appropriate is that? We’re finally alone, Simon. Just me and you and Evelyn’s ghost.”

  “What’re you talking about? Who’s Evelyn?”

  Harley slapped Simon across the head with his free hand. “You know damn well who she is. You did her plenty of times while we were on vacation. I hate your guts, old man. Turn right at the next crossroad.”

  Simon made the turn and a few more after that—he had no idea where they were. “I think we should head back, Harley.”

  “Stop the car.”

  Simon pulled over and stopped. Harley took the key out of the ignition.

  “Get out.”

  “Whatever you’re planning to do, it isn’t too late to stop. You can just drive away and leave me here. I never saw you today.”

  Harley hit him with the end of the revolver and opened a gash above his eye. Simon started crying.

  “Get out before I shoot you.”

  Simon got out of the car and looked around. As far as he could tell there wasn’t another person for miles.

  “Whatever I did to you, I’m sorry. Don’t hurt me, we’re family.”

  Harley shot him in the kneecap and Simon fell to the ground. “Shut your mouth and stand up!”

  “I can’t.”

  Harley shot him in the other kneecap. “Now you can’t stand up. Feel free to keep your seat.”

  Simon was writhing in pain, twisting and struggling to get away. Harley stood over him and held the gun to Simon’s ear
.

  “You ready to die yet? Or should we talk?”

  “I want to talk! Let’s talk. What did I do?”

  “You son of a bitch! You cheated on my aunt…my only living relative in the entire world. You rutted with one of THEM….one of the REAL people, one of the fifty-two, and don’t you dare play stupid just because you are. Admit it, you sniveling pup. Admit what you did to me.”

  “I don’t know what you mean. I never stole—”

  Harley shot him in the hand. “You bit the hand that fed you, so how do you like it? You’re one pilfering, dishonest two-timing sonofabitch.”

  “Don’t kill me, Harley. Please…don’t kill me.”

  “And when you get to hell tell that floozy—the one I pushed off the cliff—that Harley sends his regards.”

  “Please…”

  He placed the gun in Simon’s mouth and let the next one rip. He did it for his aunt and he did it because he felt like it. Most importantly, he did it so Simon could relay the message to Evelyn Gale. He figured right about now they were both in hell burning together for all eternity. Because Simon wasn’t one of the REAL people a playing card wasn’t left at the murder scene.

  Harley drove back to school and placed the cash, his cash, in the safe. The gun had already been tossed in a river not far from Clinton. He slept well that night and knew that his aunt would eventually get over the loss of a husband. How long did someone mourn someone like Simon Benchley? Not too long he figured.

  Simon’s bullet-riddled body was discovered a week later and the local police were oblivious as to motive or much else for that matter. Simon’s wallet was still in his back pocket and there were a couple of hundred dollars in it so robbery was ruled out. The funeral was largely uneventful and Harley stayed at his aunt’s side.

  “We’re the only family left, Harley, just us.”