WALK ON THE DARK SIDE
The tall, dark man with the trimly-cut beard was amongst a group of men who, one by one, stepped over the threshold of the open prison gate to freedom, on a cold, windy, March morning in Chicago. As he emerged he looked to left and right, as though he expected someone to be there to meet him. All the other ex-convicts were met by friends or relatives, but, with an apprehensive backward glance, Ben Blacker turned and, hefting a tattered suitcase, he wrapped his old coat around him for warmth, and walked away alone after having served his full 30 year sentence for the arson and murder he had committed these long years ago. With his head down and cap covering his eyes, he did not see the bewhiskered man sitting in a car opposite, watching.
As he trudged along, heading for a bus stop, the words of the Governor echoed in his mind. "You are being released into society, a society you have not been a part of for over a quarter of a century. It is your bounden duty as a citizen of Chicago to live a peaceable and honest life. If you step out of line just once, your parole will be rescinded and you will spend the rest of your natural life inside these walls. Here is a list of hostel addresses and the name and address of your parole officer. You will report to her twice a week initially, but for the first time tomorrow. Goodbye and good luck."
The Discharging Officer had returned to him his old suit, coat and cap, plus $100 for food and accommodation for the first week of his freedom, and with that, plus the few keepsakes he had treasured all the years, he caught the Downtown bus.
Although he had seen the changing face of Chicago through the eyes of television newscasts, he was totally unprepared for the radical alterations in the city's structure which had taken place while he was serving his prison sentence. New sights, sounds and smells assailed his senses, as coloured youths with ghetto blasters, punk hairstyles and clothing jostled him as he walked tentatively towards the first address on his accommodation list. A watery sun came out as he found the street and turned into the lobby of the hostel. The man sitting behind the reception desk was unwashed and unshaved with a sweet-smelling cigarette dangling from his flaccid lips. He was unwilling to tear his eyes away from the lurid photograph he was ogling in his magazine.
"Excuse me." Ben's politeness was ignored. "I said - excuse me!" The raised voice had the desired effect.
"Uh?" said Greasy.
"Do you have a room I could rent?"
"Five bucks a day, own food, own laundry, no gambling, no pets." came the litany.
Blacker peeled $35 from the money he had been given.
"Room 1010." Greasy threw him the key and resumed his ogling.
The elevator stank of sickness, urine and powerful food smells. He was gagging by the time he reached the tenth floor. The room was tiny, with a single bed which supported a filthy mattress, a table and chair, some drawers and a single, uncovered overhead light. He fed a dollar into the meter, then explored down the corridor. The bathroom was at the end furthest away from his room. "Better not be caught short." he thought with a grunt of amusement. There were strong, ethnic cooking smells and noisy radios and televisions blaring everywhere.
He realised it was lunchtime and he was hungry. He dumped his meagre belongings in the drawers and put a single framed picture of a girl on the dresser, then walked down the stairs and out into the March sunshine. Food - where could he go that he could afford? He had already spent $36 of his $100, and that was to see him through for the rest of the week. Used for 30 years to three meals a day served at regular intervals, the first pangs of hunger and the uncertainty of where the next meal was coming from struck him a forceful blow.
He discovered a Macdonalds Fast-Food store, and a hamburger and french fries with a coffee cost him another $5. He bought a jar of instant coffee, some biscuits and a cup at a Mini-Market on the corner and then walked back to the apartment, $10 lighter. Milk and sugar were a luxury he could not afford.
Leaving his purchases in the room, he again wandered around the block, trying to get his bearings from where he used to live. He turned into the street where he knew his old stomping ground of 'El Guitar' was situated, only to find the whole area covered in a bronze-windowed skyscraper. All changed - the world was totally different, and a lot less pleasant, than he had imagined. The noise of a Police patrol car whooping made him jump, though he had watched many cop shows during recreation inside. He felt a prickly sensation on the back of his neck, as though somebody was watching him. He looked around, but saw nobody, shrugged, and walked around some more to familiarise himself with the new neighbourhood.
Night-time was the worst. He found it impossible to sleep with the continuous noise of radio, television or whatever going on around him. For 25 years he had longed to be 'outside'. Now, quite suddenly, he wished he was back 'inside' again.
---oo0oo---
The next morning, bleary-eyed and exhausted from lack of sleep, Ben Blacker breakfasted on a cup of coffee and some of the biscuits he had bought, then made his way on foot to the Downtown Precinct to report to his Parole Officer.
The Precinct was another blare of sound, with uniformed officers bringing in arrested youths who had been indulging in a gang fight. There was a lot of shouting and some blood, and Blacker backed away, avoiding trouble. He eventually reached Reception, asked for his Parole Officer and was directed upstairs, where it was a bit quieter. There was a group of men and women milling dejectedly, and he pushed his way through to a uniformed girl police officer sitting at the only desk.
"Excuse me, I have an appointment to see Miss Jaronski, the Parole Officer?"
"So have all these other people, mister. Your name will be called."
Resigned to a long wait, he took off his cap, rolled it up and stuffed it into his coat pocket, then sat, arms resting on his knees, head bowed, waiting. He waited for over three hours until at last he heard "Benjamin Blacker!" He elbowed his way through the crowd of people who had come in after him till he reached the Parole Officer's door, knocked and entered. The room was tiny, crammed with files. The girl was tiny, too, five feet two or less, as she stood to put the previous file away and to get his out. She could not be more than 25, he estimated. With a grunt he realised he had been in prison for longer than she had been alive. Sobering thought.
"Mr Blacker, please sit down." she indicated the only other seat on the other side of her desk. "Now, Mr Blacker, you have just been released on parole after serving a 30 year sentence for-" she referred to her file, an expression of distaste on her face as she read the charges - "Ah - arson and murder. It is my duty as your Parole Officer to attempt to rehabilitate you into society as well as possible. Did you have a trade before you - committed your crime?"
"My brother and I were in business together, selling office equipment, is all." he smiled apologetically. His voice was deep and gentle, with an Eastern Seaboard accent. It was then that she looked at him for the first time. She saw a tall, very slim man in his late 40s, tired and beaten into submission. The pepper-and-salt beard suited his dark looks, and the smile unexpectedly lit up his sombre face. His still-brown hair was going white only at the sides, making him look distinguished. "You do realise we have a very serious unemployment problem here. Is there anything that you could do to earn a living wage?"
"I could drive, maintain cars." he suggested hopefully.
"Hm. Let's see." she delved into a circular filing system, took out three files. "Cars or trucks?"
"Both, I reckon. Don't think they'll have changed much in 30 years -"
"They have a bit, but you should be able to cope. Tell you what, if I give you the address of a garage, would you work as an apprentice mechanic to familiarise yourself with the workings of the modern car?"
"Yeah, sure, anything that'll give me a decent wage. I gotta get outta the place I'm staying at now - the noise ... " he trailed off - she wasn't listening, just scribbling down addresses and telephone numbers.
---oo0oo---
The first two garages he went to didn't want to know an ageing jailbird. The third garage was located down by the canal. Blacker squinted up at the name over the door. O'Rourke's Garage. The name rang a bell in Blacker's memory but he could not recall from where. Chicago had a large Irish-descent population. Yes, that was it - he'd shared a cell for five years with an O'Rourke. He shrugged his shoulders and walked through the open sliding doors. A well-built man in his 40s was bending over the open hood of a large car. Blacker approached hesitantly. "Excuse me!" he said to the man's back. The man grunted and rose from his task, wiping his oily hands on a rag. "What can I do for you, sir?" His accent was native Chicago.
"Uh, I was given your name by my Parole Officer for a job - my name's Blacker - Ben Blacker.
"Don't need no ex-cons, buddy." and he returned to his task.
Ben's shoulders drooped in disappointment and a rueful smile quirked his lips. "No, I guess you don't." and he turned to walk away.
Suddenly O'Rourke straightened. "Wait a minute - what did you say your name was?" He looked closely at his visitor, seeing him for the first time.
"Blacker, Ben Blacker."
"Yeah, that's what I thought you said. Well, mebbe I jest might be able to fit you in awhiles. You done this work before?"
"Some, before my sentence."
"Okay, start Monday." and he returned again to his task, staying hunched over the hood until Blacker had left the premises. If, however, Blacker had seen the expression on O'Rourke's face as he watched him leave, Blacker would not have been smiling.
---oo0oo---
O'Rourke also employed one other younger man, who Blacker just knew as Jackie. Jackie took the time to show him new techniques in car repair and maintenance and, after his first full day's work, he returned to the apartment room so exhausted that he slept through all the noise.
At the end of the first week, Blacker received his first pay check - $250!
Blacker was aware that O'Rourke was watching him closely, every minute of the working day. On the outside O'Rourke seemed to be pleasant enough, but the coldness in his eyes never changed. He felt O'Rourke was watching and waiting, and attributed it to a natural caution of someone released from jail and still not to be trusted. Once, late one evening when he and O'Rourke were alone in the garage, O'Rourke came up swiftly and silently behind him. He spun round and saw such an expression of hatred and loathing on O'Rourke's face that he backed off, alarmed. "Hey, O'Rourke, what is it with you? You tryin' ta spook me or somethin'?"
Without a word, O'Rourke spun on his heel and walked away, concealing something large, heavy and metallic in a pocket of his overalls.
---oo0oo---
Blacker worked there, somewhat uneasily, for three months, reporting every Monday and Friday to Miss Jaronski. He was soon able to seek better accommodation, nearer to the garage. He re-took his driving test, and passed. Suddenly, life seemed a little brighter for Ben Blacker - no more walking on the dark side of the street, in the shadows, avoiding the police. He was a free man, it was summertime and, for the first time in over a quarter of a century, he felt, he grudgingly admitted to himself, well, happy!
---oo0oo---
The day before Blacker was again due to check in to see Miss Jaronski, she had an unexpected, but distinguished, visitor.
Unannounced, the smartly-dressed man with the snowy white hair and beard came into her room. She looked up and did a double-take as she recognised him. "Commissioner Ballinger! To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, sir?"
"You have an ex-con, Ben Blacker, coming to see you tomorrow." His voice was deep and gravelly. It was a statement rather than a question.
"Yes, he comes in every Monday and Friday. Seems like a nice man, is doing quite well in the garage job we arranged for him."
"Good, good. I think it's time, now. Tell him I want to see him, that it's a job opportunity he can't turn down."
---oo0oo---
During his lunch break that Thursday, Ben Blacker wandered around a local supermarket, as he had done every Thursday since he took up the job, buying necessary food and supplies for his flat. The store was crowded with lunchtime shoppers pushing their rapidly filling trolleys around. Dressed in an orange T-shirt and jeans worn and dirty from working in the garage, he pushed his trolley to the fruit section.
'California Oranges - fresh today' the sign read. "Yeah," thought Ben, "I could do with some California oranges." and he reached out for the polythene bag roll, tore one off and sampled the softness. One orange rolled off the pile and away from him, and a little boy turned and ran after it, laughing. The boy, four or five years old, caught the rolling fruit and ran back to Ben, solemnly offering it to him.
"Well, thank you, son." Ben hunkered down to take the offered orange. "Tell you what, why don't you have that one on me?" and he gave the boy a half-dollar piece. A woman bustled up with her trolley. "Johnny, how often have I told you not to run off like that? You'll get lost and ... Oh!" she gasped as the tall man straightened. "No! It can't be!"
Ben looked, and looked again. His eyes widened with recognition. The woman standing before him dressed in a fashionable blue tracksuit was blonde, blue-eyed, petite, and, although a little plumper, still very pretty. "Julie? Julie, is that you?"
Julie grabbed the child's hand and made to walk away. "No, Julie, wait! Please wait!" he ran after her, stopping her with a restraining hand on her arm. She turned around to face him, still clutching Johnny tightly.
"Nice man gave me money to buy this orange!" he asserted.
"I've warned you before about talking to strange men!" Julie admonished, looking at the 'strange man' with a number of emotions fleeting across her still pretty face. Very quietly she said "When did you get out?"
"Three months ago. Julie ... I ... often wondered how you were. You don't look a day older!"
"I'm afraid I can't say the same about you." she spoke abruptly, unkindly, looking him up and down. "Excuse me, I must go. My daughter is expecting us back."
"Julie - don't go just yet. Can I meet you somewhere, have a coffee?"
"I don't want anything to do with you, you murderer!" Some nearby shoppers' heads turned at her raised voice.
"Please, Julie, let me explain. It was a mistake - please!"
She walked away without another word, leaving him perplexed. He returned to his flat and looked for a considerable length of time at the framed picture he'd kept of her for 30 years.
---oo0oo---
"Ah, Mr Blacker, come in - I have a surprise for you!" smiled Miss Jaronski.
"A surprise - for me?"
"Yes. You have friends in high places, you know. Police Commissioner Ballinger wants to see you - you have an appointment with him here in, ah, ten minutes' time, this room number." She laid a slip of paper on her desk.
At Ballinger's name Blacker started, a red flush suffusing his features. "Ballinger! He's the sonovabitch who put me away! I don't wanna see him!" and he rose to go.
"Mr Blacker!" for such a small woman, her voice was powerful and commanding. It stopped him in his tracks and he stood, his back still to her, as she spoke. "Mr Blacker, I'm afraid you don't have a choice. It will be to your ultimate advantage to meet that appointment, and I suggest you make your way there directly - it's at the other side of the building. Good day, Mr Blacker!" Slowly he turned, took the slip of paper with the room number, and wordlessly left the room.
---oo0oo---
His heart was pounding as he reached the executive office suite of the Precinct. "Commissioner Ballinger!" thought Blacker. "He's come up in the world since he put me away! Wonder why he wants to see me?" He found the room number, knocked and entered. A secretary/receptionist was sitting at a desk. "Yes, sir?" she enquired.
"I - have an appointment with Commissioner Ballinger." He spoke hesitantly, reluctantly. "My name's Blacker - Ben Blacker."
"Oh, yes, Mr Blacker, the Commissioner's expecting you." She rose, knocked on a heavy wooden door, and announced "Mr Blacker to see you, Commissioner!" ushering Ben in.
The room was luxurious, with fitted carpets, television and a computer terminal. Behind the large oakwood desk sat Frank Ballinger, hair snowy white, beard luxurious. He was in civilian clothes. "Blacker!" the voice was more gravelly than ever. "Come in!" Ballinger extended his hand, but Ben did not shake it. "Sit down. Care for a drink?" He walked over to a drinks cabinet.
"No, thank you."
"Hm. Probably better. Too early in the day, huh?" As he spoke he returned to his desk, sat down and scrutinised Ben, who sat uneasily, eyes shifty, trying to look anywhere but into Ballinger's cold stare. "Blacker, I'll come straight to the point. I need your co-operation in a police matter."
"My co-operation?" His discomfort increased.
"Let me explain. Do you know where your brother is?"
"No. He - never came visiting his murdering little brother."
"So you ve had no contact with him since I put you both away. Hm. Well, he's running a trucking line between here, San Francisco and LA, but it's what he's trucking that we're interested in." Blacker's interest was caught. His brother Harry had served a ten-year sentence as an arsonist in the incident that Ballinger had caught and incriminated Ben. They had served in different prisons and Ben had not seen his brother since his release. Ballinger continued: "We suspect that he's a drug trafficker, but every time we try to put a police plant in to find out which trucks are carrying the snort, they meet with an unprovable 'accident'. If you go lookin' for a job from your big brother, chances are he'll employ you.
"Hey, you askin' me to spy on my brother, and shop him? Naaah, no way, Ballinger. It sounds real dangerous and I haven't spent all that time in the slammer to come out and get myself killed for the stinkin' cop who put me away." Blacker rose to go, anger flashing in his eyes.
"Blacker, wait. You got it wrong. I ain't askin' you to do this - I'm ordering you. If you succeed and we bust the ring, you go free of parole. Your brother and his cohorts will be behind bars for the rest of their natural life -"
"Yeah, and they put out a contract on me to make sure I don't have a natural life!"
"If we get the whole gang, that won't happen. Blacker - I'm offering you freedom - freedom to go wherever in the country -or the world - you want to go."
Freedom. The word sounded good to Ben. But at what expense? Family ties? Harry had ignored him completely ever since ... Harry didn't give a damn about his little brother. Freedom. "I need money - real bad."
"You drive a hard bargain, Blacker. Five thousand bucks of the taxpayers' money sound a good enough advance to you?"
Ben made up his mind. "What do you want me to do?"
---oo0oo---
With the money he bought a second-hand car, modern clothes and another change of accommodation.
The address on the card read: Juan Martinez Warehousing Inc., Pier 15, Wharfside.
It was a small, old-fashioned wooden warehouse, decidedly run down on the outside, with no signs of life. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he got out the car and walked up to the small wooden door, knocked and waited. A sliding hatch opened and brown eyes looked out at him. "Whaddaya want, bub?"
"A - a job, I want a job." stammered Ben.
"No jobs here, bub, get lost!" and the hatch was banged shut.
Ben tried again. Brown-eyes came back. "Don't ya understand English?"
"I want to speak to Harry Blacker, mister."
"Wait here." and the hatch slammed shut again. Five minutes later, he was back. "Who sent you?"
"My name's Ben Blacker - I'm Harry's brother." Brown-eyes went to report this, came back and opened the locked door. Ben stepped over the threshold into the small, badly-lit warehouse. It took his eyes a few moments to adjust to the gloom as Brown-eyes led him to the well-lit office at the back of the warehouse and up a flight of stairs.
The interior was decidedly cool after the warm summer sunshine. Refrigeration, Blacker deduced. There was a squad of men loading a giant truck with boxes. Brown-eyes stopped at the foot of the stairs. "Up there, Mr Martinez' office." He turned and walked away.
He climbed the steep steps to the office overlooking the warehouse and knocked respectfully, as he saw two men through the glass door. The one at the desk called "Come in!" and the other man, keeping his back towards Blacker, left the office. Unknown to Ben, he went to make a long-distance phone call.
"I've come about a trucking job." opened Blacker.
"I'm Juan Martinez," he said between teeth clenched on an unlit Cuban cigar. There was a diamond stud on his tieclip, and his lightweight suit looked expensive. "And you are?"
"Blacker, Ben Blacker, sir." Martinez looked him up and down. He lifted an ornamental lighter from his desk and struck the flint. A long jet of flame leaped up and Blacker flinched involuntarily. Martinez, silently noting the reaction, drew on his cigar. Indicating the juggernaut he asked "Can you drive one of these?" Behind Blacker, the man stood at the top of the steps and gave a thumbs-up sign.
"I have my heavy goods licence, sir." He produced it from his wallet, and Martinez gave it a cursory glance.
"We transport refrigerated food between here, San Francisco and LA. Do you know the routes?"
"Sure." lied Blacker - he would have to buy maps and learn them, fast. "When can I start?"
"Monday. Be here at 7 a.m. prompt, Blacker - and here's a little - retainer - to keep you going till then." He handed over a $100 bill. "Go down and look round the place - familiarise yourself with it, meet the other drivers before you go, huh?"
Blacker nodded and left the office. The packers' eyes turned to him as he descended the stairs, pocketing the hundred dollar bill.
Out of courtesy, Blacker phoned O'Rourke and explained that he'd got a better-paid job.
---oo0oo---
Late that Saturday afternoon, Blacker was in a drugstore. At the other end of the store he spotted the now-familar figure of Julie, alone this time. He walked down a parallel aisle and turned to come face to face with her as she reached the end of the display.
"Oh!" she gasped in surprise and recognition, and again turned to go in the opposite direction.
"Julie, please - please let me talk to you!" She looked up into his dark eyes and saw only gentleness. "Coffee?" he indicated the coffee bar nearby. She nodded and he escorted her to a table well away from prying ears. He bought the coffee and laid the cups on the table, sliding along the upholstery. They eyed each other, uncertain how to start or what to say. Suddenly, Blacker laughed softly. "He still has a nice smile." she thought.
"Do you know I haven't talked to a woman - with the exception of my Parole Officer -" he laughed softly again "since I got out?" He looked into her eyes, but she looked down at her coffee, nervously sipping it. He paused. "Look - I'm sorry I got you into trouble with the law, Julie. I was a dumb, 18-year-old jerk who wanted a piece of the action. Oh, sure, Harry and I did torch some buildings, but I never meant to kill that old guy. But he shone a light in my face, he would've put the finger on me ..."
She watched him as he spoke. All his youthful, swaggering, self-confident arrogance had gone and had been replaced by regret and remorse. She realised he genuinely believed what he had just said, but it had been proved in court that Ben had first attacked and stunned the ageing man, then killed him with a single blow to the skull with a blunt instrument. The murder had been, if not pre-meditated, then certainly deliberate. "It's a pity they didn't fry you." her eyes flashed with venom.
"Julie, baby, there were times when I wish they had fried me."
"Don't you dare call me 'baby'. I'm a grandmother, and nobody's 'baby'!"
"A grandmother! That little boy?"
"That little boy. My daughter's son."
"Your husband?" he enquired. "Who did you marry?"
"You mean you don't know?" she asked, surprised.
"No, I don't know."
"Well, it doesn't matter now. He's gone off into the blue - I don't give a damn where. He sends me enough money to get by on - she looked at her watch. "I must go!" she rose to leave.
Blacker caught her hand in his. "Julie - I thought of you a lot while I was inside. Did you ever think of me?" She pulled her hand away and left him sitting there, his question unanswered.
---oo0oo---
He had sat alone at the bar all night, the bourbons tasting good. At last he had money in his pocket and he was going to enjoy himself. Girls had sidled up, perching themselves on the barstool next to him, their strong perfume assailing his nostrils, but he ignored them. Then Ballinger hitched himself onto the vacant stool next to Blacker. He was dressed to suit the area - lumberjacket, sweatshirt and jeans.
He ordered a whiskey on the rocks. "Well?" he grunted.
"I start Monday morning." replied Blacker, softly. Ballinger downed the whiskey and left.
Ben stayed, drinking. He didn't realise he was drunk until he left the bar and hit the cool night air. An old habit returned and he walked in the shadows, on the dark side of the streets, staggering slightly as he went. Brain befuddled with alcohol, he became disoriented and stopped, confused and lost, looking around him for a familiar landmark, when two men in black jumped out of an unlit, parked car, walked quickly towards him and stood in front of him, barring his way. They both wore face masks. "Hey, whaz' this?" Blacker slurred, swaying. "Lemme past." Quickly the two men bundled him back into the alley, one of them holding him in a painful armlock. "Stay away from your ladyfriend." hissed the attacker, "Stay away or you get this!" There was a smell of lighter fuel as the other man held the flame inches from Blacker's face.
"No! No, don't burn me! Nooo!" The man took Blacker's left hand and held it for a few seconds in the flame till he was crying with pain then, releasing him, the other assailant stood in front of him and punched him in the stomach. Blacker doubled up, coughing and disposing of his liquid refreshment. They kicked and pummelled him till he lay semi-conscious on the ground. Blacker was dimly aware of a cop car swooping, two blueshirts jumping out and bundling his assailants into the car, then he lost consciousness.
He came to lying on a couch, his whole body aching, his face bruised. She came in with a bowl of disinfectant water and a cloth, sat beside him and washed his injuries. "Julie? How did I get here?"
"Hush, now, you're going to be all right. I heard the commotion outside and when I saw it was you I got the cops to bring you here. Just - rest. The doctor's coming to check you out."
It hurt to talk, but he spoke, voice husky with pain. "They - warned me away - from you, Julie - why?"
"Don't you worry about them, Ben, they've been arrested. Ah!" the doorbell rang. "That'll be the doctor."
"You've been very lucky, Mr Blacker," the doctor said, concluding his examination, "no bones broken, just a few bruises. You'll be fine by Monday. In the meantime, I would suggest you rest. Here's some salve for the burn. Keep the bandage on for a week, and you should take these pills - they'll help you to sleep."
Julie called for a cab to take him home.
---oo0oo---
The next morning, stiff and sore from his mugging and swearing to himself he'd never get drunk again, he went out to an open bookstore and bought a pocket route map. He spent the rest of the day studying it.
When he got to the warehouse early Monday morning, Martinez was already waiting for his arrival. He gave Ben the truck's keys, the cargo manifest and address in San Francisco for delivery.
---oo0oo---
Three days later, Ben approached the City by the Bay late in the afternoon. The freeway across the Oakland Bridge was congested but the way to Fisherman's Wharf was clearly indicated. In the Bay, yachts were skimming across towards Mann County, tourist boats were shuttling their visitors out to Alcatraz (an involuntary shiver went down Ben's back at the thought of that prison) or to toss in the choppy waters under the Golden Gate Bridge, coloured burnt orange in the afternoon sunshine. Fisherman's Wharf was a riot of colour and aromatic cooking smells as the catch of the day, from red snapper to swordfish, was being served to the hungry tourists. Pier 50 was further along the waterfront, and Ben turned in as the sun was sinking into the sea. He drove the juggernaut right into the warehouse, jumped down and walked towards the office.
Before he reached it he heard a familiar voice. "Welcome, little brother!" He turned to see his brother for the first time in 30 years. "Harry!" Harry moved forward and they embraced, laughing. Harry's white hair was cut short and stylish. He wore an expensive light-weight fawn suit, open-neck orange shirt, sunglasses and a lot of gold jewellery round his neck and wrists. Even his belt buckle was gold. They stood, just looking at each other for a few moments.
"Well, well, Ben. When Martinez told me a guy calling himself Ben Blacker was lookin' for a job, I just couldn't turn you away, now, could I? Come on, come for a drink to my place after that long drive and fill me in. You must stay overnight with me, of course."
Harry's new red Mercedes slipped through the San Francisco traffic, across the Golden Gate Bridge to Mann County. His penthouse suite was luxurious in the extreme. Two heftily-built men were guarding the flat.
All bonhomie, Harry set up the drinks, ordered his men to get an expensive meal sent up and sat down on the leather-upholstered settee, drink in hand. "Well, little brother, as you can see, crime does pay, after all!" he smiled widely. A door in the flat opened and a young woman walked sinuously in, her red dress fitting in all the right places. Ben's right eyebrow lifted. "Ben, meet Mindy. Quite a girl, is Mindy, hey, baby?" and Harry slapped her bottom playfully. She parked herself on his knee and stayed there, filing her nails. Harry put down his drink on the coffee table and encircled his arms around her. "Fringe benefit!" he laughed. "Baby, meet my little brother, Ben." She gave Ben a cursory glance and, taking in his beard, dirty jeans and sweaty T-shirt, she mentally classified him in the low-level stratum of money-earners. She disdainfully returned to the more important issue of nail-filing. "Baby, come back in fifteen minutes, will ya? I want to talk to my brother alone for a while." She sniffed and flounced off, slamming the door behind her. "You like her, Ben?"
"She's beautiful." Ben said, staring into his drink.
"How are you - ah - off for girls, Ben? You want one? I can arrange that too, you know. Reeal pretty, just like Mindy! I'll get one up for you right now for the night, if you want, huh?"
"I'd - I'd rather not, if you don't mind, thank you." Ben replied, embarrassed.
"Oh, yeah, I'd heard you'd met up with Julie in Chicago. By the way, who roughed you up? These are some fine bruises you got."
"Oh, I got drunk last Saturday night and a coupla hoods mugged me. Cops got them, though."
"Well, let's just say that was a little warning."
"Warning?" asked Ben, surprised.
"For you to stay away from my wife!" The smile on Harry's face had disappeared.
"Your wife! You married Julie! No wonder she didn't tell me who her husband was - but she told me her husband had disappeared."
"Weeeell, I'm here, an' she's there. We are still married, though."
"I see." For 30 years he'd hoped ... But now his dream was in ashes. Shaking his head, he gulped down the remainder of his drink. "I'll stay away."
"Good, good. Anyway, continued Harry, changing the subject, as you can see, I've got a real neat little business going here, Ben. Now you're released you'll be needin' money, huh?"
"Sure, I need money, Harry." Ben's eyes did not meet his brother's.
"Well, you come in with me and you'll have all this in no time at all!"
"I didn't realise the trucking business was so - ah - lucrative."
"Don't be a fool, Ben, the trucking's only a blind for the real business, just the same as our office equipment shop was just a cover-up. Kids in San Francisco and LA can't get enough of drugs, pay top prices for the stuff. If they're mug enough to get hooked, I sure won't stop them buying!"
"Drugs!" Ben feigned surprise. "Was I carrying drugs?"
"Ten kilos of smack, worth a quarter of a million bucks on the open market. We get the stuff from Canada. Couldn't be simpler, like taking candy from a baby!" he laughed derisively. "Well, little brother, are you in?"
"Sure I'm in, Harry. What's the cut?"
"Well, I got all my overheads here - say 75-25%?"
"Come ooooon, Harry - if I'm driving the stuff, I'm takin' a big risk. If I get caught again, I'll be put away for good." Harry thought for a moment. "Okay, okay, 60-40% - and that's my final offer.
"Reeeal fine!" drawled Ben. The smile on his face did not reach his eyes.
"The next consignment's due in to the warehouse in Chicago in two weeks' time. It's a big one, so I'll come through to supervise its entry. In the meantime, little brother, you enjoy the - ah - facilities, take the truck back through tomorrow, huh?"
"Harry - there's just one thing I gotta ask."
Harry leaned back in the settee, drawing on a cigarette. "Go ahead, ask me."
"Why didn't you keep in touch with me after you got out?"
"Oh, Ben," his tone was embarrassed and trying to sound reasonable, "I had my own life to lead. You were - out the game - until now. Now, I'll make it up to you, I promise. You can catch up on the life you've missed."
"I can never do that, Harry. Never."
---oo0oo---
That night Ben took a look at San Francisco nightlife and did not like what he saw. Drinking, drugging and men dancing with men. He was glad to be returning to Chicago the next day.
---oo0oo---
Back in Chicago, Ballinger was sitting in Ben's apartment, waiting for his return. Tired, in need of a shower and food, Ben jumped in surprise at his unexpected visitor. "When's the next one, Ben? Did he tell you?"
"Two weeks tonight." Ben dumped his sports bag full of clothes onto the floor. "And Harry's coming to oversee it - it's a big one."
"Good, that gives us time to set it up. We've got him now."
"It's dangerous, Ballinger. He employs two gorillas to protect him."
"Let me worry about that, Blacker. You just go on like nothing's happened."
---oo0oo---
In the interim, Ben drove legitimate food consignments to St Louis, Indianapolis and Cincinatti. He longed to see Julie again.
---oo0oo---
The evening before the next consignment was due, Harry arrived at the warehouse, his two henchmen flanking him. The very image of a prosperous businessman come to inspect his Chicago depot, Harry was dressed in an expensive coat which he was wearing on his shoulders. The suit and jewellery were just as expensive, as his smile was expansive. This was big business - over a million dollars' worth of heroin. Ben was there, ready to drive the half-loaded truck out. Harry stood over a trapdoor, waiting. There was the splash of a boat being rowed in the canal which ran underneath the warehouse, then two loud taps on the other side of the trapdoor. Harry leaned down and lifted the lid. A face popped up and the man climbed up the metal steps into the warehouse. "Ready?" the stranger asked. Wordlessly, Harry passed him an envelope full of money. He returned to the trapdoor and shouted down "Okay, Rico." Two large cardboard boxes were passed up, then the anonymous man climbed down the steps and clanged the trapdoor shut behind him. As silently as they had come, they left.
"Right!" Harry said. "Where are the packers? Let's get this show on the road."
"Uh, Mr Blacker -" Martinez spoke hesitatingly. "One of the packers went sick - one of his pals has volunteered for the job."
"And you let him in, you fool?"
"We needed the extra man, Boss."
"Where is he? I want to see him!"
They all stood in a pool of light from a single overhead bulb. Slowly, very slowly, a man in a lumberjacket and dirty jeans, bearded, his white hair covered with a woolly hat, walked into the circle of light. Harry Blacker saw him, then gasped in shocked surprise as he recognised Frank Ballinger. "It's a raid!" he yelled, "He's a cop!"
"Freeze! Police! You're all under arrest!" Ballinger had a gun pointing at Harry. The other three 'packers' were armed policemen, too.
Harry made to go for a gun, but decided against it. "It's a setup, some pig squealed on me! If I find him, I'll kill him!" Harry screamed in a frenzied rage.
"You don't need to look very far, big brother." Ben's tone was mocking.
"You! Why you ... you double-crossed me again!" One of Harry's henchmen had backed up and reached the light switch. At that particular moment, he switched the light off. The warehouse was plunged into darkness. Guns went off and bullets ricocheted off wooden boxes. There were, however, barrels of kerosene lying in a corner, and a ricocheting bullet penetrated one of the barrels and it exploded in a blaze of light. The explosion caused the other barrels to ignite as well, and in moments the warehouse was blazing.
Harry Blacker yelled at Ballinger, gun in hand. "I see we have another problem - Lieutenant, or whatever you are now. So - the police are onto us, are they? Well, there's going to be no evidence, or witnesses, left. You put my brother and me away once, Ballinger, but you sure ain't gonna do it again!" Harry threw the two boxes of heroin into the flames.
Ballinger had taken cover behind the massive truck and ducked as Harry fired off shots in his direction as he disposed of the evidence, the bullets ricocheting harmlessly off the bodywork of the cab. Harry, gun in hand, ran half-way up the stairs leading to the small office to gain a better vantage point, but the hungry flames were leaping ever nearer. Seeing the danger of Ballinger getting shot from an angle he was not covering, Ben leaped up the stairs two at a time, but Harry saw him coming, turned and fired at Ben. Ben spun back and fell down the stairs, a bullet in his shoulder. He lay on the floor at the foot of the stairs, groaning, the dark stain spreading on his shirt. Ballinger saw Martinez jump over Ben and run up the stairs to be with Harry. Martinez, gun in hand, quickly took aim and fired at Ballinger but missed. However, Ballinger did not miss. Martinez fell over the handrail and crashed to the concrete floor, dead. Harry's two henchmen ran towards the sliding warehouse doors, screaming to be let out of the inferno, but a sudden further explosion caught them. They were dead in an instant. Ballinger was trapped behind the juggernaut. If the flames reached it, the petrol tank would explode. Harry was manoeuvring from his elevated position to get a straight shot at Ballinger. He came near to Ben, who was still lying on the floor. With a supreme effort, clutching his wounded shoulder, Ben struggled painfully to his knees.
Anticipating Ben's intention, Ballinger shouted to distract Harry's attention: "You'll never get off with it, Blacker!" The warehouse is surrounded - your contacts have been arrested, there's no escape!"
"There's something you've overlooked, cop!" yelled Harry in triumph. "There's more than one way outta this place!" The flames were leaping, catching the wooden boxes and igniting them. Harry ran down the stairs and evaded Ben - he had remembered the trapdoor leading directly to the canal, where the motorboat he had arrived in still waited. The fire approached the foot of the stairs where Ben was struggling to his feet. Terrified of fire since Ballinger had dragged him, screaming, out of the inferno of his own making 30 years ago, he could see the wall of flame licking ever closer to him and he felt terror. His brother's back was to him as he pulled at the trapdoor with one hand, the other still holding his gun. With the last of his remaining strength, Ben threw himself up onto Harry's back. Harry half-turned as he saw the movement out of the side of his eye, but he was too late and they fell to the ground together, Ben kicking and punching with his good hand. Harry's gun skittered away and Ben got to his feet and made a lunge for it, grasping hold of it before Harry could recover. Harry tried to wrench it from Ben's grasp but he twisted Ben's wrist and the gun went off. Both men jerked at the explosion and looked at each other. The gun clattered to the floor and Harry staggered back, then fell to his knees, an expression of disbelief on his face, as Ben stepped back, shocked. Harry looked up at his brother as he knelt, grimacing, clutching the bullet hole in his body, blood seeping through his fingers, then he toppled to the floor, dead. A burst of flame engulfed him. The flames licked at Ben's clothing, too, as he grasped the trapdoor handle. It was their only chance.
Outside, the helicopters circled, the squad cars howled to a stop and a SWAT team took up strategic positions around the flaming warehouse. They waited and waited for someone to emerge from the inferno, but nobody did. As the flames engulfed the warehouse and the roof collapsed, the watchers turned away.
---oo0oo---
At home the next morning, Julie sat, still stunned at the newscast she had just seen. All killed, the bulletin said. The front door bell rang. She slowly got to her feet, opened the door and gasped with surprise in recognition of the man with singed, snowy hair and beard, resplendent in his police commissioner's uniform.
"Commission Ballinger! You're alive! But I thought ..."
"I have some good news and some bad news for you, Mrs Blacker." said the Commissioner as he entered the apartment. "The bad news is that your ex-husband was killed whilst attempting to escape arrest."
"I know - I just saw it in the news." She spoke flatly, tears welling in her eyes. "He was no-good - always told him he'd come to a sticky end!" she tried to put a face on it, but broke down.
"Don't you want to know what the good news is, Julie baby?" The tall, dark man leaned tiredly on the door, his left arm in a sling.
"Ben! But you're hurt!"
"My brother shot me." he stated flatly as he walked in and stood before her. "He tried to kill me - would have, too - we fought, the gun went off ..." As he looked down into her tear-filled eyes he suddenly felt grief welling up inside him too and he quickly turned away and sat down, allowing the tears to come at last. "He ... pulled the trigger on himself, Julie." Ben covered his eyes, unable to regain emotional control, great wracking sobs shaking his whole body.
Ballinger, standing at the door, said "Ben's telling the truth, Mrs Blacker. Not only that, he saved policemen's lives in getting us out of that inferno. He's quite a hero. You've earned your freedom, Blacker." Balllnger walked out the door, leaving them alone together.
Julie came to sit beside him, and they held one another in a comforting embrace. Gradually their tears subsided "Julie - I didn't know Harry was your husband - why didn't you tell me?" Ben said, wiping his eyes.
"Why? He was a rat, he ditched me and I didn't love him any more, that's why." She wiped away her tears with a small handkerchief.
"Julie - I know you liked me once, long ago, and I was fond of you. Do you think, now this is all over, you could like me again? I've been in the darkness long enough, Julie. I think I've earned my chance to walk in the sunshine again." He tried to smile, his voice still catching. "You heard Ballinger - I'm a free man now, and the news says I was killed in the fire. That means I can start afresh, make a new life for myself, for whatever time I have left. If you can forgive me, do you think you can walk the rest of the way with me?"
She looked at him. He was obviously exhausted, his face drawn and haggard. In his dark eyes was both mental anguish and physical pain, but he had such an expression of hope on his face, his eyes large and gentle as he looked at her, that her heart went out to him. Still she did not reply.
"I - I want to show you something, Julie." From his arm sling, he produced a photograph. "I kept this photo of you in my prison cell all these years. It was the one thing that kept me from going insane in prison, the hope that maybe I would see you again. I loved you then, Julie, and I love you still. I always told you you were 'the best'. Please, can I stay awhile?"
She got up and closed the door Ballinger had left open. "Yes, Ben, you can stay."
---oo0oo---
It was night when Ben returned to his flat alone. As he walked tiredly along the corridor to his apartment a small smile played on his lips. They had comforted each other in their grief. One thing had led to another, and ... It had been good, real good. He was sure now that Julie still loved him. They had a future together. Now, maybe, he could get on with making an honest living and live the rest of his life in peace.
The key seemed to stick for a moment in the lock, but it clicked open and he walked in and closed the door behind him. He leaned for a moment against the closed door, waves of pain and exhaustion engulfing him. He reached for the light switch and turned it on, but it stayed dark. "Damn!" he swore. "Now where the heck is the fusebox?"
"Don't move, Blacker!" The voice in the darkness was familiar.
"O'Rourke? Is that you?" Ben became aware of the smell of petrol.
Suddenly O'Rourke lit his cigarette lighter and the flame sprung up, illuminating his face in contrasting light and shadow, as he walked swiftly towards Ben. "They said you were dead, but I had to make sure - thought I'd missed my chance, after all."
"Your chance, O'Rourke?"
"I'm gonna kill you, Blacker. I'm gonna give you just as much chance as you gave my father, you bastard!" He threw down the lighter, which ignited the petrol O'Rourke had splashed around the room, and lunged at Ben, a heavy spanner now in his hand. Exhausted from his ordeal, Ben was unprepared for the sudden attack and slow to react. He half turned, trying to open the front door, but the spanner caught him a glancing blow on his temple. He was stunned and fell to his knees. O'Rourke stood over him, raising the spanner to strike again, his hate-filled face lit by the leaping flames. "My father was the warehouse guard you killed! You left me and my invalid mother with nothing, nothing but charity. She died soon after, of shame and a broken heart!"
Dazed, his head pounding, his wounded arm throbbing, Ben Blacker could not defend himself. A moment before the final blow fell, as the hungry flames licked around him, he wondered if Julie would cry for him, too.
---oo0oo---
GENTLE READER, IF YOU WOULD LIKE A HAPPY ENDING TO THIS STORY, PLEASE READ ON:
He was floating, in blackness. Could he hear muffled sounds? "So this is what it's like to be dead." he thought as he returned to darkness. Then again, the sensation of floating, of light filtering through his closed eyelids. He was reluctant to return to a world that did not want him in it. He tried to open his eyes ... but he hadn't the strength. His brain ached so ... He slept. T ime passed. Muffled sounds that were unfamiliar filtered into his awareness. Did he feel - a hand, holding his? Did he feel a welcome coolness on his brow? He tried to return the pressure on his hand, and felt the warmth of a response.
"Ben! Ben, can you hear me?"
He fought to regain full consciousness, to open his eyes, but it hurt, it hurt a lot. He tried to speak. "Ju-Julie?" his voice was a croak. He slitted open his eyes. Light lanced into his brain, causing him to groan in agony. He felt a sting in his arm, and he sank again into welcome unconsciousness.
The next time, as wakefulness returned, he felt stronger. The warm hand holding his was still there. He squeezed it, and she squeezed back. He opened his eyes. She was there. He knew she had always been there. He tried to smile. "Julie. Wh-where am I?"
"In hospital, Ben dear. You're going to be all right." Her other hand was cool and comforting as she stroked his forehead.
"He was - killing me. No!" He became agitated, tossing his head from side to side on the pillow, but it was painful, and he subsided, closing his eyes again with a groan of anguish, both mental and physical, that tore at Julie's heart.
"Sh, sh, you're all right, Ben. Can you hear me?"
"Yes." It was spoken like a sigh. "Who ... got me out?"
"Ballinger - he's in the next bed."
Ben turned his head slightly and saw the singed beard and white hair of the police chief, who tipped a bandaged salute.
Ben's smileless chuckle sounded deep in his throat. "Might've - guessed. Gettin' to be - quite a habit, huh? Haulin' me outta the fire. How bad - am I hurt?"
A nurse had bustled up and leaned over him, taking his temperature and pulse. "You suffered third-degree burns to your legs and chest, Mr Black -"
Black? thought Ben. Oh, yeah, I'm dead and I've got a new identity. Smart.
"And, apart from your shoulder gunshot wound you have a fractured skull, but nothing a little rest and love won't cure!" and she bustled off again after putting the results of her examination on a clipboard at the foot of the bed.
"O'Rourke?" Ben asked hoarsely.
Ballinger, both hands bandaged, leaned over. "I arrived as he was making his escape, Ben. I saw blood on his face and his clothes were singed. One of my black-and-whites apprehended him. He thinks you're dead, and that's the way it's gonna stay. I broke into the blazing flat and pulled you out. I thought you were a goner ..."
"So did I." whispered Ben, closing his eyes against the pain.
"But the paramedics and the surgeon fixed you up real good. Your apartment's a write-off, though."
"Reckon I'm gonna be stuck here for a while, anyway." he sighed, resignedly.
As Julie looked down at him, his head swathed in bandages, the arm of his injured shoulder in a sling and his other injuries covered by the bedclothes, she felt the tears spring into her eyes. He's suffered enough, she thought, it's time to give him the promise of happiness. So, with a watery smile, she leaned forward and planted a kiss on his forehead and said "When you're better, then, you'll just have to come and stay with me."
Opening his eyes when she kissed him, he reached up to wipe away the tear he saw glistening on her cheek. She was crying for him, after all, but he was glad she was crying for happy, not for sad. "Heeey," he said, "what's this? Me, living in sin with a single woman! Can't have that! I reckon, then, we'll just haveta make it legal!"
And six months later, with Commissioner Frank Ballinger as Best Man, that's exactly what they did.
---oo0oo---