Chapter 21
Sunday came and went, and then it was another uneventful Monday morning in Gibsland.
Over at the Gibsland Mall, James was on the job monitoring the lower and upper concourse of the mall. He enjoyed this part of his job, as he felt that walking the concourses was his exercise routine.
James walked the upper concourse and saw the entrance to the Ton of Books Store.
He walked around the store, checking out all the books.
He found the Crime aisle and started checking out those books.
James walked up to one aisle and checked out the books on crimes. Nothing was of interest.
He walked down the other side and started checking out the books.
He made it halfway down the aisle when a book on the upper shelf caught his eye. He reached up and removed the book. It was, "Is Hud Hudson Alive?" By Peter Diesel that had a copy of Hud's old mug shot on the cover.
James' eyes lit up when he saw the old mug shot of Henry "Hud" Hudson on the cover. "This is a new one," he said then walked off down the aisle.
James looked excited about reading this book while he waited in line behind four other customers for the next available cashier.
Lunchtime rolled around, and James sat in the security office's break room, eating MacDonald's hamburger while he started reading his new Hud Hudson book.
Way over in Cincinnati, Ohio, that green 1953 Hudson Hornet, pulled into the weed-infested parking lot of a deserted plastics factory.
The Hudson parked in the middle of the lot and with its engine idling.
Behind the wheel was Bernard Sanders. He wore the 1950s styled horn-rimmed glasses and had a Camel cigarette that dangled out of his mouth. Next to him on the seat was an old faded black lockbox that kept memories of his past. The key was still in the lock.
Bernard rolled down his window and scanned the parking lot while he smoked his Camel. He coughed up some phlegm and blew it out his opened window.
Then his eyes widen a little with a smile when he saw a red 1977 Cadillac Eldorado pull into the parking.
The Eldorado drove through the lot and headed toward Bernard's Hudson.
The Eldorado stopped next to Hudson's right side.
The driver's door of the Eldorado opened, and eighty-year-old Bruno Lorenzo stepped out.
Bruno was now a fat Italian man with a horrible cheap black toupee on the top of his head. But the color of his rug did not match the black dyed hair on the rest of his head. It was so evident that Bruno wore a toupee, but he still thought he made him look like a swinging young man. He also wore thick flashy glasses to accent his swinging appearance and always had a Cuban cigar sticking out of his mouth.
Bruno opened the passenger door of the Hudson and sat inside with a vanilla envelope in hand. He closed the door.
Bernard and Bruno scanned the parking lot over and felt that the coast was clear.
"It's been a while," said Bruno in a thick, raspy voice from years of inhaling cigar smoke.
"Yep. It has been."
"How ya been?" Bruno added.
"I've been better," Bernard replied and looked a little concerned.
Bernard glanced down at the envelope in Bruno's hand.
Bruno noticed Bernard eyeing the envelope. "This should meet your satisfaction. The accommodations aren't the greatest, but it's secluded. The keys and directions to the trailer are also inside," Bruno said while he handed Bernard the envelope.
"I've always been satisfied during the past forty-four years," Bernard replied while he took the envelope.
"Good, as this is my last job. I'm now officially retired," Bruno replied with a smile then puffed on his cigar.
Bernard opened the envelope and peeked inside. "So, what are your plans for a life of leisure?"
I'm moving to Miami. I got a place by the beach and plan to soak up the sun and really make my golden years golden."
Bernard opened up his lockbox, reached inside and removed a bundle of cash. He handed it over to Bruno.
Bruno looked at his cash in his hand with a grin and puffed on his cigar. He looked over at Bernard. "Aren't you tired of running and hiding? It would get old for me."
Bernard thought for a second then got a grin. "Not really. It's been really nice seeing various parts of this world and America. But this is my final one. I'm sorta retiring also," Bernard said then coughed a little.
Bruno extended out his hand. "It was great doing business with you for the past forty-four years," he said while he shook Bernard's hand.
"Yep, enjoy the Florida sun."
Bruno smiled, then opened the passenger door and stepped outside. He glanced back inside the Hudson. "How's ole..." Bruno asked then paused for a second while his memory drew a blank. "Oh yeah, Wendy. How's Wendy doing?" he said when it dawned on him.
"She's doing great. She's living in Van Nuys, California at the moment."
"Give her my best the next time you see her."
"I will."
Bruno closed the passenger door and got back in his Eldorado, leaving a trail of cigar smoke behind.
Bernard tossed the envelope into the lockbox and closed it.
He watched while Bruno drove his Eldorado off through the parking lot.
Bernard made a U-turn with his Hudson and drove off in the opposite direction.
The sun dropped below the horizon, and darkness fell upon Gibsland.
James and Cindy had a nice chicken dinner and chatted about their uneventful day at work.
But it was now time for their routine of watching TV for the evening.
Cindy watched "Welcome Back Kotter" on the TV while James was in the den.
The den was actually one of the three bedrooms of the house. This was James' playroom, and Cindy had the other bedroom as her playroom.
Inside his den, James banged away on his crime story manuscript on an IBM electric typewriter at his desk. Near the typewriter were numerous index cards with notes on them about his story. The title for this novel was "The Gangster Killer" and James was halfway through his first draft.
Cindy walked into James' den with a cup of coffee in hand. She walked over and placed the cup on the desk by the typewriter. She glanced at the manuscript paper in the typewriter.
"Thanks, baby," James said while he picked up the cup and took a sip of coffee.
"When are you going to start sending these manuscripts out to some publishers?" she asked while she continued to glance at the manuscript.
James placed his cup down on the desk. "I don't know. Maybe soon," he replied while he glanced at this completed words on the paper.
"You've completed two manuscripts so far. It's time to send them out to some publishers," she replied.
"But what if I get rejected?" he replied and looked a little concerned.
"Well, if you do, try another publisher."
"What if they reply that I suck at writing?" he replied while he still glanced at the stack of completed pages of this manuscript.
"They're not going to tell you that. A publisher would probably reply that they would pass on your work. But they would never tell you that you suck," she said while she placed a hand on his shoulder to show her support.
"Yeah, well, I don't know. I might need to spend additional time editing what I've completed. I want to make them perfect," James replied while he continued to glance at the stack of completed pages.
"Like they always say, no guts no glory," she said then gave James a kiss on his cheek.
She walked off and headed to the door.
James returned to typing his manuscript.
He stopped and thought for a second.
He glanced back at the door.
He looked at what he typed and frowned.
He yanked that page out of the typewriter. He crumpled it up then dropped it into the trash can where it landed on numerous other crumpled up pages.
Hours had passed, and it was in the middle of the night.
About twenty miles west of Columbus, Indiana, Bernard drove his Hudson down a two-lane country road. He kept his car pegged at forty-five mph, which was the posted speed limit. Bernard did not want to give his money to the state officials for speeding, so he was a law-abiding citizen when it came to driving.
Inside Bernard's Hudson, the old Glen Miller Moonlight Serenade song played on the AM radio.
While he drove down the street, Bernard hummed and tapped his fingers to the beat of the song. He had another Camel dangling out of his mouth.
A couple of packing boxes filled the back seat of his car.
Bernard hummed then coughed a wet cough. He rolled down his window, removed his Camel out of his mouth, and shot out phlegm into the wind. He rolled up his window and shoved the Camel back in his mouth and continued his drive down the road humming along with the song.
A few seconds later, Bernard cringed in a little pain, and he rubbed the bottom of his right jaw.
Back in Gibsland, James and Cindy lay in bed for the night.
Cindy read her Beauty book while James read his new Hud Hudson book.
This was your typical evening in the Randall household. Cindy always read romance stories, while James always read either true or fiction crime stories.
Two hours had passed, and Bernard still drove his Hudson down that two-lane country road.
The song Moon Glow by Benny Goodman started to play on the radio. Bernard whistled along with the song.
He yawned.
He drove down the road a little farther. He yawned again.
He drove down the road a little farther.
His eyelids started to droop. They closed. The Hudson started to veer over into the left lane. Bernard opened his eyes, and it took a few seconds for it to dawn on him that his car was heading off the road toward a tree. He swerved the Hudson back into his lane.
Bernard rolled down his window and let the cool night air wake him up.
A few minutes had passed, and he headed into the city limit of the small town of Beatrice, Indiana. Beatrice was about ten miles from the Illinois state line.
He drove down the street a little farther and saw the Beatrice Motor Court on the left side of the road. Next to the motor court was an International House of Pancakes restaurant.
Bernard turned his Hudson to the left and pulled into the parking lot of the motor court.
He drove over and parked under the large overhang of the office.
He turned off his car, got out, and headed inside the office.
Ten minutes later, Bernard was in Room 32 of the motor court at the far end of the building. Like all of his stays in hotels, he requested to be at the far end of the building for privacy.
In his room were two suitcases, and his old lockbox.
Bernard lay in bed in his clothes and shoes.
He sipped from a half-full Jack Daniels whiskey bottle. His stomach growled.
Bernard got out of bed and walked over the two suitcases against the wall by the TV on the dresser.
The suitcase on the bottom was locked with a small padlock. He removed the bottom suitcase and unlocked it.
He opened it up and inside was a smaller suitcase also padlocked and a Colt 45 in a brown leather shoulder holster. He removed the smaller suitcase.
He unlocked the smaller suitcase and opened it up. It was stuffed with cash mostly twenty-dollar bills.
He grabbed two twenty-dollar bills, closed and relocked the smaller suitcase.
He proceeded to replace the suitcases back to their original configuration.
He shoved the two twenties into his pants pocket, walked over to the bed, and slipped his feet back into his shoes.
He grabbed his pack of Camel's from the dresser by the TV, removed a Camel, shoved it in his mouth and lit it.
He headed off to the room door, leaving a trail of cigarette smoke in the air.
Once Bernard walked out of his hotel room, he headed across the parking lot.
He walked over to the International House of Pancakes that was opened all night.
Near the entrance of the restaurant was a payphone that hung on the building wall. Bernard went over to the phone, deposited some coins.
After going through the operator, Bernard's connection went through. But all he heard was the phone ringing and ringing at the other end. The party he wanted was not at home.
So he hung up the phone and went inside the restaurant for a midnight meal.