6/6/66

by JN Lenz

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  6/6/66

  Copyright

  Canada Copyright- October 6, 2011

  Registration # 1090438

  United States Copyright, Registration Number:

  TXu001777506

  Chapter 1

  Some people say your life flashes before your eyes in the moments before your death. How it is, that anyone could possibly know this and still be alive?

  That, I could never understand.

  When it comes to final memories before one’s death, I can only speak for myself. When at the end of my life, the events of my past had not appeared to me like some mad flash racing thru my mind.

  Nope, not for me, my final visual images played out so much slower than that, more like some sixteen hour news reel.

  Almost like some tiny Edison film projector in the back of my mind, projecting the memories of my life across my mind. The projectors reels spinning away in the darkness as they displayed the memories of my life in a completely new light, everything was different now. The reality of my life, so much colder than I had remembered it to have been.

  After this day, the memories of my life had been altered forever, disturbing facts my mind had previously shut out. My life experiences forever distorted, replaced now by the documented facts spread out before me.

  The detailed accounts held within dozens of journals, authored by my life long best friend. A man who in reality lived a starkly different existence than the persona he projected to the rest of the world; his very private activities kept from all but me.

  Over the years Clyde had shown me only glimpses of the true darkness within his soul. Only now after almost sixty years of friendship, would I truly know who the real Clyde Drexler had always been. We had lived our lives as best friends; prospered financially, this life we had lived and prospered through together would ultimately bring me to this very place, and this stark reality.

  The day had been spent in Clyde’s high back leather office chair, consumed by volume after volume of the manuals that he had written. The complete series of these manifests lay spread out in front of me, on the large dark oak desk. Each manual consisted of a dairy of sorts, written by my oldest and closest friend, Clyde Drexler.

  It had been a long journey for the both of us, from the basement of a Catholic Church where we had both first met, to this cellar, Clyde’s own place of worship. Bizarrely this place of his making would also be contained in the confines of a cellar. How it is, this whole secret area had remained a complete mystery to me after all these years, made me feel more so stupid, than deceived. Sitting here now, just staring blankly at the confines of the four large concrete walls, my mind awash in the past.

  How it is that I could own half of this entire place, yet not know a thing about its existence?

  Me of all people, I stayed connected, I was wired to the business, I knew my shit, or so I thought. Brought down by gravity, sitting here now, bewildered. The existence of this place, these files, all of it had taken place for years, right under my nose. For the past forty years, Clyde had kept all if it tucked away from all but himself. I had not the faintest clue any of this part of the building even existed.

  Discovering the truth only now, due to a mix up of mailing addresses by our security company.

  The events which led me here, transpiring only because Clyde ordered a replacement security pass card for this location; the company mistakenly shipped the replacement card to my office in Largo.

  Instead of forwarding the card on to Clyde’s office directly, I decided to bring it down personally. Clyde’s office actually sat almost directly above me, on the main floor of the Funeral Home. That replacement card, which arrived at my office via courier, would activate a concealed power overhead door, the door being the sole point of access into this area of the building.

  I had no clue we had pass code card entrance at this location, let alone this hidden area. Not that I really ever spent time here, this was Clyde’s domain.

  Clyde was my business partner, but far beyond that he was my oldest and closest friend. It appeared that since our companies had other dealings with this same security company, they sent a pass card replacement Clyde had ordered to my main office in error.

  I had opened the envelope and checked its contents before realizing the card had been marked attention C. Drexler. His name was written in a small script directly below our company name, but it was my address they had listed on the exterior of the envelope in error. Inside the envelope, there was a simple manila colored business card. The replacement pass card was also inside, lying at the bottom of the envelope.

  The card was printed in a simple gothic font, spelled out the address which read 26666- Jane Street, Toronto.

  Since it had been some time since I had been to this Funeral Home location, I decided to take the card down and drop it off myself. This was one of our largest facilities; we built the place over thirty years ago now. This Funeral Home location was one of the few locations which also housed a crematorium.

  In need of a long drive, I decided to deliver the card in person down into the city. Take a look around when I dropped off the pass card for something to do. My choice for the drive south was my vintage nineteen sixty six Porsche three fifty six, it had not budged from the back of my garage all year. It had been month’s since the car’s cover had been removed, the old boxer needed a good drive.

  As much as the cars mechanical bits needed the run, I needed that blast of fresh air to clear my mind as well. The old open roof German car was sure to put a smile on my face and blow out a few cob webs from an old man’s mind.

  Besides, Clyde would be in the mountains with my son Sid, for another few days. Lilly my wife was having a weekend get together with some old friends. Leaving me free, to do as I pleased for the entire day.

  The drive down to the city, with the Porsche’s boxer motor providing the sound track to the open air was fantastic. The Electric and Hydrogen cars of today had lost that musical beauty that emanated from the back of the old convertible.

  The thermometer outside the garage read twenty six degrees Celsius, I would head south along the hilly two lane roads back roads north of the city, traveling down every twisty country roads I knew of that would eventually lead me here, into the basement of the unknown.

  After arriving at the funeral home, I checked the immediate front and side entrances of the building with the new key card in hand. None of locks required a pass card; instead, each of the Funeral Homes entrances were controlled by a simple commercial grade touch pack locking mechanism, with thumb scan hardware. There was not a card lock in sight, why would there be? I hadn’t seen one of those systems in twenty years.

  Being early Sunday morning, none of our employees on site yet to ask about the pass card location. I was sure the Funeral Home would have a visiting this afternoon, so the staff should be here in the next hour or so. They would know what the card lock would be for.

  I should have checked the main frame ledger on my epad before leaving the house this morning, to check for any funeral services taking place today, at this location.

  I had no way to call or BBM a director, I had left my Black Berry at home. A rare break from everything electronic, I had decided to leave the phone at home.

  For a change I wanted no interruptions so I could truly enjoy my open air tour down to the city, in
the old vintage roadster. For the past thirty years I have been way too attached to those damn things twenty four, seven.

  Feeling slightly miffed after taking a walk through the Funeral Home, I climbed back into the three fifty six and exited the buildings parking lot. Turning right I followed the building wall (which along a single lane of a one way alley), the building ended within a series of moderately tall trees, and dense large gardens. The bush was dense enough to cover the entire side of the Funeral Home property and building. The thick foliage continued for approximately one hundred feet beyond the edge of the building, a tall wooden fence was barely visible in a few spots.

  Within this dense over growth, sat a partially hidden laneway. The path was covered in pine needles and leaves, making the road barely visible from the street. Slowing as I approached the lane, I peered down the opening in the trees and could see a small box on a pole. Beyond the pole stood a solid wooden, yet weathered looking wooden gate.

  The road appeared to be rarely used. The needles and leaves were so thick it covered all evidence of a lane; it may be paved or was a simple gravel path. I cranked the big thin steering wheel of the old speedster towards the laneway. The three fifty six sputtered and gurgled slowly down the path towards the post and gate.

  The sun’s brilliance was quickly replaced by the cool shadow of the imposing pines and dense brush. The absence of the crunching sounds of loose gravel, made we quickly realize it was in deed pavement beneath the deceased foliage, which completely blanketed the drive. The thick smell of the pines surrounded me, as the Porsche pulled along side of the small square metal box. The front of the box was covered by a tiny panel with a round knob. Pulling the door open on the box, revealed a touch pack, off to the side was a slot for the card to be inserted.

  Pulling the card the security firm had shipped to me in error from my pocket, I stuck it into the slot beside the touch pad of numbers. I began to guess at the required touch pad number and letter sequences. My first attempt of four sixes resulted in a small red indicator on the top of the touch pack, which flashed several times.

  Not so surprisingly, my next guess of selecting the word “double” followed by pressing the number six four times produced a green light on the touch pad. I discovered Clyde’s favorite password years prior, he used it far to often if you ask me.

  Instantly a section of the wooden fence began to open before the diminutive little German car. As the two panels began to slowly open, they began to disappear behind the surrounding trees. As the gate retracted a narrow lane could be seen continuing past the now open gate.

  Engaging the gear selector into first, I slowly crept past the opening in the wooden fence, the puffed little bits of blue smoke as it followed the road winding its way through the stand of pines, maples and dense shrubbery. The trail began to turn sharply towards the right, heading back towards the rear of the Funeral Home. Rounding the sharp corner of the thin road, I was confronted by what first appeared to be the back wall of the Funeral Home.

  Each side of this back section of the building was obscured from the alley by the numerous trees and shrubbery. There was another small box on a post; it was identical to the one which moments earlier had opened the wooden gate off the alley. The touch pack and post sat a dozen feet out from the back wall of the funeral home.

  Stopping the three fifty six at the second post, I was staring directly at a section of the back of the funeral home’s structure. The closer I looked, the more it appeared not to be a solid wall at all. Instead it appeared like it might be some kind of camouflaged entrance; I noticed the seams which ran up each section of the wall, and within the seams the materials colour and texture did not match the surrounding stone and stucco perfectly.

  This open area of the building had a multitude of trees and dense shrubs butting up to both sides of the building and the lane. The dense brush completely hid this part of the building from both the buildings main parking lot, which sat on the opposite side of the property, and the nearby alley. A tall wooden fence also extended from the each side of the lane, from within the dense bush, it effectively cut off the back of the buildings view from every direction.

  With my car idling alongside the second post, I reached over and pulled open the little door on the box on a post. I would follow the same procedure, entering the same series of letters and numbers as I had moments earlier. For a second time I slid the card into the key pad mechanism and entered the same access code. Immediately, a series of panels began to separate along the same seams I had noticed sitting in the idling speedster. The panels of foam stone and fake stucco began to rise up before me, disappearing in succession into the roof area of the building.

  The opening panels revealed a large room of concrete floors and walls which could easily house six cars, three wide and two deep. Presently two cars resided inside the garage, both of which I had never seen Clyde drive. The first was a plain black mid size panel van, the colour of choice for all our funeral vehicles. The second vehicle was a dull green, vintage Land Rover Defender 90.This was a true off road vehicle which Range Rover had stopped production on decades ago, this vehicle was more Clyde’s typical ride and it was in impeccable condition.

  Releasing the clutch from the floor of the three fifty six, the Porsche rolled through the opening and into the cavernous garage. Turning the small key to the left of the steering wheel, the old boxer motor released one final fart of blue smoke, before leaving me in complete silence inside the concrete garage.

  I pulled myself out from the low seats of the German speedster and walked over to the wall next to the open garage door. There was a control box for the door and the pair of buttons, one with an arrow pointing down and one up.

  Depressing the down arrow, I watched as the fake stone and stucco panels closed back into place in front of me. Turning for a full view of the garage, I could see that besides the two vehicles the garage contained two man doors. There looked to be a pair of closet doors in the far corner of the garage as well.

  I headed for the first door which was straight ahead, against the back wall. The second man door was to my left, maybe six feet from the back wall door. Choosing the door to the left which contained another swipe and touch pack security system, for a third time I entered the same code. This time the sound of an electronic lock being disengaged followed the entering of the final number six; I pushed down on the heavy metal door handle. As the door swung in it revealed the top landing to a set of industrial steel stairs, the steps made their way down, disappearing into the darkness.

  The lights sprang to life above my head as I stepped into the stairwell, revealing more of the curved metal staircase as they spiraled down close to twenty feet down. There was another metal door a short distance away from where the last stair ended.

  Counting the steps as I descended, there would be twenty six before I stood before a second non-descript commercial metal door. Pushing down on the cold metal handle the opening door gave way to a cavernous concrete room. The entire basement area spread out far beyond the dimensions of the above garage.

  Turned out there were three rooms which covered about twice the area of the garage. Without even thinking I quickly found my way here, in this same leather covered chair I was now swiveling around on, the chair was stationed behind the large Mahogany desk. I was surveying the contents of the large main room, trying to absorb everything at once like some giant sponge, but I was already soaked to the bone.

  Clyde was my business partner, along with being my oldest and closest friend. But seeing these secret chambers, made me realize, I had never really known him. Turned out there was much I did not know, as I knew, about my oldest and closest friend. Perhaps I just did not care to know, “preconditioned yourself” was always the way Clyde described it. Not like I was ever an innocent bystander, count me in on the numerous illegal activities that we had taken part in over the years. Illegal yes, but this place goes well beyond anything we had done together.

  Once inside the bu
nker I quickly made my way to the leather office chair, I’m not sure why, but one by one as the overhead lights came to life they seemed to lead me to the office desk in the far corner of the large concrete room. Seconds after sitting down on the leather chair, I began to snoop through the drawers of the large Mahogany desk and the accompanying cabinet which sat against the near wall. Soon I was to realize there were many details in the last fifty plus years of friendship and business partnership that I had been completely oblivious to.

  Opening the door of the wall cabinet, its front panel was hinged at the top. I slid back the panel into the cabinet after swinging it open; I could see the cabinet was filled with a series of thick cardboard file holders. Each holder had a small white placard attached to the end of the box, a series of numbers starting with the first box, numbered one to three. This was the first in a series of boxes, listed in numerical order up to and including the final box which listed the numbers sixty two to sixty five.

  I pulled the first box from the neat row numbered 1-3. Opening the top of the file box, I extracted the three thin binders contained inside, setting all three in front of me in the center of the large desk. While opening that first of the binders, I knew they would explain the purpose of these secret rooms, that and much more I feared.

  Clyde would have had to have spent considerable time here, to accomplish everything that surrounded me. It was in reality a cavernous concrete bunker of sorts. How Clyde had accomplished the construction and its existence without detection from anyone, for all these years? Clyde had never discussed this area with me in the past, not even a hint of a hidden chamber. I had not the slightest idea of the existence of this; Clyde’s most secretive of places.

  Why had I stumbled across the place by chance? Was there something more happening here? All this at the very time when Clyde was scaling a mountain in the Andes Mountains with my son, that instant jab of fear flushed the blood from my head.