6/6/66

by JN Lenz

  It would be a full three hour later for Bruck to once again appear this time he was no longer wearing the police uniform and instead was wearing jeans a plaid shirt and a rather large cowboy hat. Walking down to the car Bruck removed the hat before jumping in the Chevette and backing the car onto the road before heading back towards town, just as Clyde had expected.

  The motorbike sprang to life on the first kick; Clyde would leave the lights off until slowly maneuvering the dirt bike back onto the road. Remaining several hundred feet back of the trundling little Chevette as it poked its way across town, Clyde thought for sure Bruck was heading to the liquor store or a bar. The stories Clyde and I had heard from Fred and some of the residents around town all told the same story of the man being a drunk, Clyde wanted to walk closer to the Chevette as it sat down the road from the townhouse one night earlier to find out the plate number and see if Clyde was drinking then, but Clyde did not want to risk the chance of Bruck seeing him. If Bruck was in fact a drunk than the chances are pretty good that he was drinking yesterday slouched down in his little Chevette watching the townhouse, waiting for Clyde to leave.

  As Clyde followed well behind the blue Chevette it turned out that Bruck stopped not at the liquor store or a bar but instead at a small corner grill, one of those old style diners that used to be in every town but have now almost disappeared. The Olio’s was the name of this diner, I remember passing the place a pile of times when we first moved to Largo but I never did eat there before it burnt to the ground a few years later.

  The large windows gave any passerby a full view of the layout, the kitchen was open to the restaurant and sat directly across from a counter with round swivel bar stools that ran the length of the restaurant. Beside the large windows sat a series of booths that would each seat four, any family or patrons in groups larger than four would be required to either take more than one booth or line up along the counter across from the grill and fryers. By the time Clyde drove by with the bike Bruck had parked the Chevrolet close to the front door of the diner and was sitting on one of the stools at the counter next to the cash register Cowboy hat and all.

  The black helmet and tinted visor gave Clyde the confidence to fully stare into the restaurant as he drove the bike past Bruck sitting himself down in the Diner, besides neither Clyde nor I had ever talked to Bruck about our motor bikes. Nor had Bruck ever seen the either of us ride as we had only used the sport bikes a couple of times in the late evening after arriving in Largo, the pair of sport bikes along with the dirt bikes had remained locked and stored in the back shed until this day so there was no fear of Bruck recognizing Clyde on the bike.

  Parking the dirt Bike a couple of blocks down the road Clyde sat on the bike and waited for Bruck to finish his dinner which ended up taking not much more than a half an hour. After leaving the diner Bruck pointed his little Chevette south towards the edge of town, the sun had now completely disappeared as darkness began to set in. Bruck’s choice of roads leaving town meant only one thing to Clyde, he was heading to the Duke’s Bar and Grill.

  The run down country bar was a handful of miles out of town and was usually Bruck’s last stop on a night of drinking, looks like he was heading straight there on this night. Situated on the corner of two intersecting county roads the bar was originally constructed in the days before cars and served as a stopping point for those traveling by horse or foot, now it served as a watering hole away from the preying eyes of the town’s gossip mill. Watching as the Chevette turn onto the country road that led out to Duke’s, Clyde decided not to duplicate the turn Bruck had just made but continued across town. Taking another series of back roads that would leave to the same country bar Clyde would spend an extra twenty minutes longer than Bruck by taking this route.

  The absence of the town’s street lights meant the county roads were in complete darkness before the lights of the bar could be seen in the distance as Clyde approached the bar on the motor bike. The complete darkness of the surrounding countryside made the illumination from the pair of Molson neon signs appear that much brighter, the signs would be the sole exterior lighting at the bar. The dim head light of the motor bike barely illuminating the silhouettes of the vehicles parked along both sides of Duke’s two story structure.

  The majority of the vehicles parked at the bar being pickup trucks making it easy to pick out the lone little hatch back parked at the end of a line of Ford and Chevy pickup trucks. Once again Clyde brought the motor cycle to a rest in an area of trees and underbrush, the bars remote country location provided easy cover and allowed Clyde a clear view of the entire building and adjacent parking lot. It would be a long wait until the bar shut down and Bruck would exit, Clyde knew if Bruck was as much of an alcoholic as everyone said he was he’d be shutting the place down with the rest of the hard core chronic drinkers.

  The wait turned out to be long enough that Clyde would fall asleep for some time as sat perched up against the base of a large tree while he waited for Bruck to emerge from the bar. Clyde would wake shortly after midnight, it was odd that he had fallen asleep it was unlike him having spent countless hours perched in tree stands over the years without falling asleep once.

  The fact that Clyde would make reference to it here in the file, to me meant it must have surprised him as well. The depth of all the details Clyde recorded for each and every murder including his own miss steps, was truly remarkable to me. The parking lot and the handful of parking spaces that sat along each side of the old Hotel had cleared itself of over half of the vehicles which had been parked there earlier in the evening. The night’s sky which began as overcast had now cleared and the new moon afforded Clyde a clear view of the remaining few trucks and the sole car, a Chevrolet Chevette.

  The five men walked out of the bar together at one thirty six, one of the five locked the door behind him, the man who locked the door and was presumably the bar tender left first in one of the pickup trucks with another one of the five. Watching as the last three made their way back to each of their vehicle’s, Clyde would see one of the black figures began to move towards the Chevette. It was very apparent that Bruck was in no particular hurry either; he swayed back and forth half staggering towards his little Chevette.

  It was not that Bruck chose to drive this diminutive little Chevrolet on his own volition, the red neck cowboy in him cried out to be driving a pickup truck instead of the little piece of shit he was driving. A messy divorce including alimony payments for two children combined with a drinking habit that consumed more than half of his remaining disposable income added up to not the vehicle of choice but the car of necessity. There was no reason for Bruck to be in a hurry, although many of his fellow officers had little use for Bruck they also would not drive in and bust him for drunk driving either. Without question every last one of them had witnessed a drive by of Bruck at some point during their night shifts as he putted home completely drunk from an evening of full on drinking.

  Lighting a cigarette as he walked past the car Bruck stopped at the edge of the parking lot to stand and smoke as the last of the two pickup trucks turned and headed back towards town. Maybe Bruck was always the last to leave and drive back into town in case one of his drinking buddies gets pulled over on the way home so Bruck can pull over and smooth things over with his fellow officer. Regardless of the strategy it appeared to Clyde that this was a typical evening for the heavy drinking Bruck, Clyde watched as he weaved back and forth standing there for several minutes as he smoked his cigarette taking a piss halfway through the smoke.

  Watching as the sparks from Bruck’s tossed butt flicked across the night’s blackness, Bruck would climb into his little hatchback and slowly chug down the road back towards town. Waiting for a few minutes after the red tail lights of Bruck’s car had disappeared beyond the first corner, Clyde kick started the dirt bike to life and rode off in the opposite direction and entered the town close to the Funeral Home on the west side of town. The funeral home and back coach house sat in complete darkn
ess as Clyde rode the bike around the back of the garage and locked it back up in the shed with the other motorbikes.

  Clyde returned to the city early the next morning for class and had decided then to once again drive back to Largo that very afternoon, he would time the drive back to Largo with the end of Bruck’s shift. Going on a hunch Clyde predicted that the constable was going to travel back down to Toronto on Thursday to watch for Clyde parked on the street in front of the rental townhouse.

  The biggest effect Bruck’s actions would have on Clyde would be the scrutiny he placed on everything he had done which was associated with the murders. One such realization for Clyde was of course the revelation of his scratches to Bruck, another was the pattern that he had not given much thought to but he had killed every one of his victims in the city on a Thursday while each one in Largo had been on a Sunday. Then there was the torn thumb on the glove, maybe Clyde’s plans of murder had been fallible after all and not nearly as prefect as he had led himself to believe. Bruck may have realized this connection along with the registration for the .306 that Clyde had completed as a young teenager at the Sears Store where he had purchased it with money Clyde had hidden from his drunken father Skip.

  Turned out the hunch about Bruck’s travel plans proved to be correct as halfway back on the drive to Largo Clyde noted the dark blue Chevette with Bruck who was trying to keep his head from turning as he watched through his sunglasses as his Ford 150 drove by in the opposite direction. Clyde detailed how he was also wearing dark sunglasses and would watch Bruck drive past before carrying on straight to the Funeral Home where he would spend the night remaining in our upstairs apartment the entire evening.

  I remembered that night myself now reading this, I thought after coming home the night before to take off on the dirt bike and now being back here again Clyde just missed the place. If Bruck had spent part of his evening sitting in his little car Clyde did not make mention of it here, the next entered date would be two days later on the Saturday.

  Following the afternoon funeral service Clyde drive the old pickup to an area twelve miles out of town on a small road that wound its way up and down the Niagara Escarpment. Before leaving the Funeral Home in the Ford 150 he had walked through several of the back yards that were adjacent to the Funeral Home checking to ensure Bruck was not parked off to the side of the road watching for Clyde to leave. With no sight of Bruck Clyde returned to the Funeral Home loaded the Enduro dirt bike onto the back of the 150 and left once again for the escarpment.

  Traveling the same winding roads which traversed up and down the steep gorges of Limestone rock created by the shifting masses of ice thousands of years in the past. There was one remote section of road which snaked its way from the bottom of the valley up to the top of the ridge through a series of tight bends with the sharpest corner residing at the top of the steep hill, Clyde liked this section the best.

  All the corners including the sharpest turn had rusted flex beam guardrail held in place by a series of rotting wooden posts between the edge of the road and the three hundred feet drop to the Valley floor. It would be here that Clyde set about the work of removing the nuts and bolts which attached two of the metal sections of the railing to the wooden posts that had been anchored deep into the limestone decades earlier.

  Dispensing the removed nuts down into the deep gorge below, Clyde balanced the steel beam on the post using just the bolts and a small amount of thin wire to keep the railing balanced on the post giving it the appearance of still being secured in place. Returning to the pickup Clyde would unload the dirt bike from the back of the pickup truck box, after kick starting the motor bike to life and throwing the backpack he had brought along over his shoulder Clyde would ride the dirt bike deep into the surrounding bush on the top of the Niagara Escarpment.

  Finding a suitable location to conceal the bike, Clyde removed a small hand saw from the back pack and cut several Cedar tree branches from the surrounding trees which he would use to completely conceal the bike and the back pack. Making his way back through the brush on foot Clyde would return to the Ford parked at the side of the dirt road and follow the slow twisty drive road back towards the town of Largo.

  The following Tuesday morning Clyde was long gone by the time I emerged from my bedroom. The Monday had been spent recovering from the celebratory drinking binge the pair of us had gone on after the murder of Mrs. Worthington. The smell and density of the coffee left brewing in the kitchen would suggest that he had been gone for well over two hours, the arms of the clock on our apartments early sixties vintage electric stove pointed at a quarter after eight. I remembered almost everything of that day; Clyde made no mention in the files of when he had left the Funeral Home apartment for the city and school that morning.

  I had remembered the details of that morning so clearly because unlike Clyde I had no real reason to get out of bed early and plenty of reason to stay put, I was still recovering from all the alcohol from Sunday night. We had spent the previous evening out for diner and back to apartment for drinks, we had retired into my room which sat around the opposite end of the homes second floor.

  When I had a chance to talk to him about it on the following weekend he said he had no idea I had company over, he had been so tired that night he just passed out after hitting the mattress still fully clothed. My mind and heart now officially determined that this girl was hands down the one; it couldn’t be any more obvious if it slapped me like a mallet. That had been why I recalled that morning so clearly, the two of us frolicking around the kitchen making coffee and frying bacon dodging the flying spits of grease with only our briefs or less on. It was the perfect ending to a stunning night, we spent all morning in apartment not emerging downstairs together, Sally would need to head home to change into her uniform for a three pm start and I had only today to complete a shampoo of the carpets.

  The remainder the week would be completely booked at the Funeral Home, between both visitations and services so today was the only opportunity to clean those carpets and they needed it. After a series of kisses and good byes she was on her way and I began to clean, Fred had taken the recently rare day off to get a day of Pickerel fishing in with an old buddy of his.

  The file on Bruck would pick back up with a brief summary of that Tuesday night, the first entry for Tuesday explaining that Bruck showed back up down in the city as Clyde had expected he would. There was a note in the file of the precise time Bruck would park the Chevette down the road from the rental townhouse at seven twenty three pm. I could envision that piece of shit Chevette with its underpowered engine making its slow climb thru the hills south of Largo on the road down to Toronto adding to Bruck’s drive time and the later than expected arrival in the city. The constable was almost getting completely predictable even within a week Clyde would note, waiting for darkness to fill the streets in front of the townhouses Clyde remained sitting on a park side bench a couple hundred feet behind Bruck’s parked car.

  Bruck had purposely attempted to park the car an equal distance from each light standard in order to sit partially in the shadows so as not to be seen as clearly as parking directly under the overhead lights glare. This was still the late nineteen eighties and tinted windows were not tolerated by any of the provincial or city police forces in the province, unlike today when tinted windows are common place and can even be had as a factory ordered option.

  This area of the street with its low light would work to Clyde’s advantage as well as Bruck’s, waiting until the suns last gasp had long disappeared Clyde made his way down the sidewalk towards the little blue hatchback. With a hoody pulled up over the ball cap he was wearing to cover the features and shadow his face while he checked what inquiring constable was up to while sitting in the car.

  As Clyde approached, he noticed Bruck raising something up to his face but the distance was too far to be positive. Walking slowly towards the car staying as far out of the cars mirrors as possible and with his head down slightly Clyde made his way pa
st a slouching Bruck Myers. The car’s interior done all in black provided cover for whatever items he had spread throughout on the seats and floor of the interior, what he could spot was the top of a paper bag protruding through the darkness resting between Bruck’s legs and the bottom of the steering wheel.

  Clyde continued on past the Chevette having also finally made note of the plate number on the blue Chevette as he carried on down the street turning left after disappearing from Bruck’s view, he doubled back on the road which ran behind the townhouse and entered the rental through the back patio doors. There would be no wild goose chase through town tonight with Clyde leading the constable on a slow speed pursuit; instead Clyde wanted to leave Bruck to drink in peace so he could check on him later on that evening. After watching the end of David Letterman, Clyde turned off the TV, and all the lights of the townhouse.

  Thirty minutes later he walked out the back patio doors, taking the same path around several blocks leading him past the Chevette for the second time. This time as Clyde approached from the rear of the car there would be no movement inside the car as he slowly approached the Chevette; pulling the hoody slightly back to gain a clearer view of Bruck whose slouch was now more exaggerated than before. His head lying firmly against his chest, Bruck was soundly asleep the paper bags top still protruding from between his legs barely visible through the darkness. The following morning when Clyde left for school at shortly after eight there was no sign of the little blue Chevette.