Chapter 27
Typically James does not work on 'Sunday's, but one of the guys was on vacation, so James welcomed the extra overtime pay.
Cindy would use this day to clean the house since James was not there to get in her way.
While James left for work, he did not notice 'Bernard's peering eyes out his kitchen window while his Impala backed down his driveway.
The second 'James' Impala was down the street 'Bernard's garage door opened, and then his Hudson drove out to the driveway.
A little while later, James parked his Impala in his usual parking spot.
He got out of his car in his security guard's uniform and headed to an entrance.
He did not notice Bernard's Hudson that parked in a spot down the row from his Impala.
Bernard sat in his Hudson, smoking another Camel while he eyed James going inside the mall entrance.
Bernard turned off his car and waited while he smoked on his Camel.
About twenty miles north of Joplin, Missouri, another Greyhound bus headed north on Interstate 44 with “Saint Louis” on the front marquee.
Inside the bus, Wendy sat by a window near the rear of the bus. She continued to read her Hud Hudson book while the Missouri countryside passed by.
Then she turned the page and saw that photo of Willie 'Gates' dead and bullet-riddled body on the floor of the Pines View Lodgings outside Abnerville, North Carolina. She felt saddened about that picture.
The lower concourse of the mall was skimpy with patrons.
James sat on a bench and looked depressed while he drank a cup of coffee.
Footsteps were heard walking up to the bench from his right side. James did not listen to them, as he was still depressed from last 'night's failure.
Bernard sat down on the bench next to 'James' right.
James glanced over to his right, his eyes widen, and he got startled, almost spilling his coffee in his lap at the sight of Bernard.
Bernard looked over at James. “So, I had someone rummaging around my trash last night,” he told James then paused while he gave him a serious stare. “Do you know who that could be?”
James looked caught, got a little nervous, and fidgeted a little on the bench. “Ah, no. I don't,” he replied then looked away from 'Bernard's serious stare.
“Well, I hope I don't catch this person the next time. I mean, I have a right to protect my home. Don't I?”
James started to shake a little while 'Bernard's stare started to frighten him. “Ah, yeah. We all do.”
Bernard just glared at James, and it continued to make him a little frightened.
“Now, I want you to promise that if you notice anybody snooping around my house, that you'll be a good neighbor and tell me. Okay?”
“Ah, sure.”
“Good, now let's do a gentleman's shake to seal the deal,” Bernard said then extended out his hand to James.
James hesitated for a few seconds then he shook Bernard's hand. Bernard then squeezed James hand really hard with his stone-cold severe stare.
James cringed in pain and almost dropped his coffee cup from his other hand. He tried to free his hand, but Bernard was too strong and nearly cracked the bones in James' hand.
"Thank you, friend. I hope 'you're my friend,” Bernard said then released his grip from James' hand.
"I am,” James replied.
"Good,” Bernard said while he stood up. “Have a good day chasing the criminals out of the mall,” he said and gave James a smirk.
Bernard walked off down the concourse.
James placed his coffee cup on the floor. He rubbed his tender hand while he eyed Bernard walking off down the concourse. James looked a little frightened.
A little while later, Bernard pulled his Hudson out of the mall parking lot and drove off down Harrison Avenue.
He drove off down Harrison and pulled into the parking lot of “'Larry's Liquor Lounge” and parked.
Bernard walked into the liquor store to purchase two more bottles of his beloved Jack Daniels whiskey.
About fifteen miles south of Saint Louis, the Greyhound bus headed north on Interstate 44.
Inside the bus, Wendy still sat by a window near the rear of the bus, and she read her Hud Hudson book.
The afternoon rolled around, and Bernard was back at his home.
His garage door was opened, and he worked under the hood of his Hudson. His hands were greasy while he changed the spark plugs on the engine.
Back at the mall, James moped around the concourse while he pondered his situation with Bernard.
Back at 'Bernard's house, he was finished with changing the spark plugs of his Hudson and had the garage door closed.
Bernard coughed while he closed the hood of his Hudson and started to feel ill. He did not notice his greasy prints left behind on the hood.
He walked around to the left side of his car.
He opened up the passenger door then reached inside the car. He removed the lower half of the rear seat.
Tucked under it was a violin case.
He grabbed the case and removed it from under floorboard.
After reinstalling the lower half of the rear seat, he closed the passenger door. He did not notice his greasy prints left behind on the door and handle while he closed it.
He headed to the kitchen door with the violin case in hand and went inside his house coughing.
The bus station in St. Louis was packed with travelers.
In the restaurant at the station, Wendy sat alone at a small table for two. She read her Hud Hudson book while she ate a roast beef sandwich and drank a cup of black coffee.
Back in 'Bernard's kitchen, he had the violin case on his table near some gun cleaning supplies.
He walked up to the table and opened the case.
Inside the case was a broken-down Model 1921 Thompson sub-machine gun with Type C magazine drum.
Bernard sat down at the table and removed the gun from the case. He proceeded to clean it with the gun cleaning supplies.
He got a coughing fit that causes him to turn beet red. Some blood dripped out of his mouth to his chin. He felt it, got up, and walked over to the sink.
He rinsed his chin off and noticed the bloody water in his hand. He rinsed off his hands then grabbed one of the two bottles of Jack Daniels on the counter. He opened it and took a big swig.
He took the bottle with him and headed back to the table and sat back down. He continued with cleaning the sub-machine.
It was now Sunday evening.
James walked out of the entrance and headed to the parking lot in deep thought.
He walked over to his Impala and got inside.
Over in the St. Louis bus station, Wendy stood in line with other travelers for the gate for the "Mt. Vernon, Illinois" bus that was ready to leave in twenty minutes.
James was in deep thought while he drove down another street in Gibsland on his way home.
The rock and roll song What A Fool Believes by the Doobie Brothers played on the radio.
“...But what a fool believes...he sees,” the Doobie Brothers sand out from the speaker.
James glanced at the radio. “That song says it all. What a fool believes. Me.”
Then James' eyes widened a little when he saw Grant Avenue up ahead.
He thought for a few seconds then he made a sudden right turn down Grant Avenue and deviated from his regular drive home.
Back in 'Bernard's kitchen, he sat at the table and that Thompson sub-machine gun in one piece and it looked spotless.
He stood up, held the machine gun in his hands. He then made gunfire sounds while he pretended to spray the kitchen area with bullets. He looked like he reminisced about some old days while he played a gangster.
He smiled while he started to disassemble the machine gun. He placed the pieces back in their assigned slots in the violin case.
James parked his Impala in a parking spot in the parking lot of the Gibsland Cemetery.
He got out and walked off to the entrance of the cemetery.
James walked through the cemetery, glancing at all the headstones.
He walked by a headstone for Jimmy Peabody and did not notice it.
He continued his walk through the cemetery.
He finally walked to a headstone for "Homer Randall, Born September 9, 1896, and Died April 17, 1934" on it.
James glanced down at the headstone. “Grandpa. It's me. Your grandson James that you never met.”
James paced a little while he thought about the recent events. “We thought that your killer was killed after he killed you, but it turns out he faked his death. Now he's back here in Gibsland. I was hoping to turn him into the police, but I'm failing. I mean, I don't want to end up next to you. Well, not now. Maybe fifty years from now,” he said then stopped pacing and glanced down at the headstone. He suddenly started to feel a little brave. “Grandma told me you were a brave man. That you were not chicken to fight it out with the bad guys.” James paused while he looked down at the headstone. “It's about time I act like you. I won't be afraid of that old man anymore. I'm going to make sure your killer gets what he deserves, the rest of his life behind bars.”
James walked away from the headstone and looked brave and determined.
The cemetery caretaker stepped out from behind a large tree. He heard all of 'James' conservation to the headstone. He watched while James walked away through the cemetery. He made motions with his index finger near his right temple to indicate he thought James was loony.
Back in 'Bernard's bedroom, he entered with the violin case in hand.
He walked over to the bed, leaned down and slid the violin case under the bed between his suitcase and the lockbox.
He stood up, walked back to the door, and headed out of the room.
Up on Interstate 64, a Greyhound bus with "Mt. Vernon" was on the front marquee. The bus raced south on the Interstate in the left lane.
Inside the bus, Wendy sat by the window at the rear of the bus. Her eyes were buried in that book. She was near the end of the book and was on the story about The Hudsters vacationing down in the Florida Everglades in 1934. She took her eyes off the book and gazed out her window. She looked homesick while she watched the Illinois countryside race on by.
Back at 'James' home, he walked into the kitchen. He noticed that Cindy was not there preparing dinner. “Cindy?”
“'I'm in here. You're late,” she called out from the dining room and sounded a little upset.
James walked into the dining room and saw Cindy at the table with spaghetti and meatballs dinner, ready to eat on two plates.
“I was about ready to start without you,” she said.
James saw that she was a little upset with him. “Sorry,” he said while he sat down at the table next to her.
“A phone call that you would be late would be nice,” she said in her normal scolding tone of voice.
“I know.”
Cindy placed some spaghetti and meatballs on his plate. She put some spaghetti and meatballs on her plate.
They started eating their dinner.
“You know, ever since that old man moved in next door, you've become obsessed with him. Why?”
James hesitated for a few seconds, as he knew he could never bull shit, Cindy. “Honey, I really believe he's that famous public enemy Hud Hudson. I can feel it in my gut.”
Cindy rolled her eyes, thinking that was the stupidest answer he ever gave.
“I also find it strange that our neighbor drives and old Hudson. You know, like in Henry Hudson.”
“Stop this stupid nonsense. That gangster died a long time ago. Go ask the FBI and the history books.”
James thought for a second then his eyes widened with an idea.
"Work on your manuscript tonight. You would spend every night working on it in the past, but stopped when he moved in next door. You'll never get a book published if you don't work on your manuscript.”
"Yeah, I guess.”
It was quiet at the table while they continued eating their spaghetti and meatball dinner.