President Kennedy has been shot!

In the drawer he read a scribbled note. All it said was,

"You owe me!"

The next day Johnny woke up wishing he hadn't. Not only did he feel nauseated, but he also felt a little and frustrated. Darlene was going to have an abortion and there was nothing he could do about it. He pulled the covers back, sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the calendar on the wall. It was November 22, 1963. He had written on it that today was the day he had to collect $200 from one of his dealers and give half of it to Lips. But he could hardly gather the enthusiasm to do anything, even though he had slept in his clothes and didn't need to dress. He rolled back into bed and went back to sleep.

Around eleven he woke up and fumbled with a packet of cigarettes that he had left beside the bed. His nicotine-stained fingers trembled as he struck a match, and then took a deep breath of smoke. He sighed loudly as he exhaled, and at the same time picked up a notebook he kept by his bed. In it were a few addresses and about a dozen depressing poems he had written about life. One was penned a few days earlier after a deal fell through and he began to withdraw. It was called "Heroin." The poem seemed to flow from his pen as he wrote.

Just after noon he got out of bed, walked into his living room and turned on a huge old television that was obviously too heavy for Darlene to steal. Then he slowly walked into the kitchen to make some strong black coffee.

He never finished making that drink. From the kitchen he heard words that sent shivers down his spine:

"President Kennedy has been shot! I repeat, the President of the United States has been shot . . . "

Johnny rushed into the room hoping it was some sort of sick joke, and sat on an old couch in front of the TV.

A man stood with a microphone, directly in front of Parkland Hospital and said,

"Just after noon shots were fired at the President's motorcade as it drove through the streets of Dallas." The reporter stopped speaking for a moment and looked slightly to one side. He began again,

"I have just been . . ." His voice cracked with emotion. He composed himself and said again, " . . . I have just been informed that President John F. Kennedy has been pronounced dead. He was killed today, just after noon by an assassin's bullet. It happened as he was being driven through Dallas to the sound of cheering crowds. Suddenly, shots rang out and stunned the masses as the 46‑year‑old president crumpled in the seat of an open limousine. We have also been informed that Governor John B. Connally Jr. of Texas, who was riding in the same car as the Kennedys, was severely wounded in the chest, ribs and arm."

Johnny sat glued to the television for the rest of the day as the media kept the public informed about the assassination. Some time later, they reported that police had arrested Lee Harvey Oswald and charged him with the murder.

To be continued.

Gone!

The next day, Johnny sold his near new car for about a quarter of what it was worth. When that money was gone, he stole a car from a parking lot three blocks from his apartment and sold it the same night to someone at the club.

When Lips found out that he had hot‑wired an auto, he advised him on ways to raise some cash without so much risk. He told him that it was far easier and less perilous to unload electrical goods through the nightclub, rather than a stolen car. He said that one of the best times he found to lift goods was on Sunday mornings. He smiled as he said,

"Almost every houth ith empty becauth people are at church!" When Lips needed cash for his habit, he would carry a bunch of fake circulars in his hand and go door to door. It was easy to check if anyone was home. He said that many religious people didn't even bother to lock their doors, so he would just go right on in and take cash and things that were small enough to hide under his jacket.

But Lips had a better suggestion for Johnny. He could work for him, selling smack. He said that it was real easy and the money was good enough to support his habit and give him a very comfortable life. What's more, he would trust him with credit with the first shipment, and give him his own risk-free territory. Johnny could take over the college district, where there were no worries about undercover narcotic agents. He said that it was an easy market. All he had to do was befriend some prospective buyers by showing them a little porn, gain their trust, then give them their first hit free…and they will be back for more. He laughed and said,

"It's sthoooo good to be able to have that thort of confidenth in your product!"

Two weeks later, Darlene walked up to Johnny as he sat at the club. She would normally have crept up behind him and rubbed his shoulders or stroked his hair, but this night she simply called him to a corner table. He sat down opposite her and said,

"What's wrong? I haven't seen you for three weeks!"

She frowned and said,

"I need $600 quickly. I'm pregnant. If I don't get rid of this, Jack will fire me."

Johnny was stunned. It was the last thing he expected to hear. Also, he didn't like her "If I don't get rid of this" attitude. As far as he was concerned this was a potential child she was speaking about, and there was no way he was going to pay for an abortion. He reached out, put his hand on hers and gently said,

"Darlene, I care about you. I also care about our kid."

Darlene winced as though he had just slapped her face. At the same time she pulled her hand from under his. Her voice became a little louder,

"Don't be stupid. I told you that Jack won't like this!"

She then rose from the table and walked away.

Later that night when Johnny returned to his apartment, the door was unlocked. Darlene was the only other person with a key, so he hoped that she had changed her mind about the abortion and was waiting for him inside. When he opened his door and walked through the small apartment, he found that she wasn't there. Neither was the new stereo he had lined up for sale the following day. He rushed to his room and opened the drawer where she knew he kept his cash. The $400 he had left there was gone. So was his .38.

To be continued.

Chapter Seventeen: Risk‑free Territory

A month had passed since Johnny put the first shot of heroin into his arm. In one month he had been fired from his job, and secured another one. This one was selling heroin. After his first hit, he found his friend Lips, and spent every penny he had on some more heroin, then raised money for the next week's supply by making another visit to his dad. He borrowed $500 by lying about wanting to fix his car. When that ran out he became involved in something he never thought he would stoop to--theft.

He picked up his grandfather’s short‑barrelled .38 and drove to a suburb of Dallas.

It was late at night. No one was around as he peered into a liquor store. Johnny sat in the parking lot for over an hour watching an Oriental man undo boxes, and then stack cigarettes and other things onto the shelves. At one stage, there were no customers for more than 40 minutes.

Johnny decided that he would wait until midnight, then rob the store. His hands were shaking as he checked the gun to make sure it was loaded. He removed the safety catch, opened the car door, got out and cased the area. Not a soul in sight. He tucked the gun into his belt and partly zipped up his black leather jacket. Even though he felt terrified at what he was about to do, there was a sense of excitement, both in the robbery itself and in the fact that by morning he would have enough smack in his hands to last him a month.

As he quietly pushed open the door, the man behind the counter greeted him, then carried on stacking his shelves. Johnny nodded and walked to the back of the store as though he was looking for something special.

Minutes later he burst towards the terrified man. Holding the .38 in both hands he yelled,

"I don't want to hurt you! I need money now! Give me everything you have in the cash register and I promise you won't be harmed!" The frightened man moved quickly and gave him everything in the cash register, then, without being told to, put his trembling hands in the air. Johnny then said,

"If you move from here, I will have to come back and shoot you!" As Johnny quickly moved towards the door, he stopped, turned towards the paralyzed man and said,

"I'm sorry . . . "

He felt physically sick as he drove home, partly because he was beginning to withdraw from the heroin, and partly because he couldn't get the image of the man's terrified eyes out of his mind.

When he arrived at his apartment, he pulled the wad of bills from his pocket and counted them. His heart sank as he totaled the cash and found that they were all one-dollar bills with an occasional five, two tens and a twenty. Everything he had gone through that night yielded a mere $86.


To be continued.

LSD

Johnny did need the gun. Not only was his apartment in an area of town that often erupted in violence, but he regularly frequented a nightclub that had a few rough visitors. He didn't want any of them to make unwanted visits, and the gun gave him a sense of security. The nightclub was actually a strip‑joint, but Johnny maintained that he went there more to meet people. "Good conversation," he said.

Furthermore, the apartment was convenient in that it was only two miles from the newspaper where he worked. It also meant that he and his girlfriend Darlene could be alone. Darlene worked at the club and she wasn't the sort of girl one would want to take home to meet mom and dad. She also introduced him to a whole new world--the world of drugs. At first Johnny refused to have anything to do with the scene, but one day she convinced him into trying a new "psychedelic" drug called "LSD." A week earlier he watched her for three hours on a "trip," and listened to her rave about its mind‑opening qualities. When she showed him a newspaper cutting of a number of respected doctors actually recommending it for therapy, he succumbed.

She had also introduced him to Jack, the owner of the Ruby’s nightclub. Mr. Ruby was a quiet man, about 5'6" tall. He was originally a "hustler" from Chicago who liked to wear his black‑banded hat everywhere he went.

It wasn't long before Johnny found himself taking more and more LSD, and during that time there was a subtle change in his personality. It was truly a "mind‑altering" drug. It turned a bright outward personality inward. He also found himself in direct contact with drug dealers who sold more than "acid." They were forever encouraging him to try "smack," the ultimate "rush." Johnny vowed that he had too much self-respect to put a needle into his body, but as time passed LSD changed him even more. He found that without it, life was dull; so dull it became depressing. It didn't occur to him that the drug was causing his depression. Rather, he saw it as the cure.

It was during one of his times of despondency that he decided to go down to the club during the day, rather than to go to work.

The door was partly open, so he walked in to find a man he knew who talked with a lisp. It was because of his lisp that his friends called him "Lips." Lips was a pusher, who, by the way he dressed was obviously successful in his profession. When he saw Johnny open the door he stood to his feet and said,

"Hey Johnny, good to sthee you. What are you doing here at thith time of the day?"

Johnny managed a smile and said,

"I got sick of work. It is boring. Besides, my cash is a little low and I can't afford any acid."

Lips smiled warmly and said,

"Hey man, what are you doing on that junk anyway! I told you, you gotta give sthmack a chanth. It'th the ultimate buzth, I'm not lying to ya."

Johnny didn't say a thing. He just sat there and listened to the salesman do his thing.

"I'll tell you what. I will give you sthome at no costht. " He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a small folded piece of white paper and an outfit wrapped in plastic, put it on the table and walked off.

To be continued.

Chapter Sixteen: I Need a Favor

The sight was momentous. More than 200,000 people--peaceful people, filled Washington to demand the passage of civil rights legislation. It was an evening in August 1963, and Jerry watched his television as the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King spoke to a great throng that stood before him. His voice resonated with inspiring conviction.

After the news that night the only words that remained in Jerry's mind were, "I have a dream." His mind flashed back to Otley the night of the fire so long ago, to the dream that he had had that was so vivid. He had often thought about it, and the consequences had he not been awakened by the sound of Faithful, his barking dog.

Suddenly, his thoughts were broken a car pulling up the driveway. A few minutes later, the key turned in the door and Johnny entered the living room. He was warm and friendly, somewhat different from the last time the two exchanged words.

As Johnny reached his teenage years, the relationship between him and his father changed. It was as though the dad he always looked up to had suddenly become "uncool." Then his mother became concerned about the type of company he was keeping, and asked Jerry if he could somehow mention it to the boy. Much to his sorrow, the conversation escalated into a full‑blown argument, at the height of which Johnny contested,

"What about you and your friends during the war? Some of them weren't the 'best of company,' and while we are on the subject, I'm sick and tired of hearing you talk about 'back then."'

By now he was yelling at his father. As he walked toward the door he turned and spat out,

"The days of glory are gone dad! All you have from them are some faded medals. I'm getting out of here before I end up an old man with nothing but faded memories!"

With that, he walked out and slammed the door. Jerry knew he was right about the medals. There was a strange irony about the war. He contended that he hated it, but at the same time missed the glory of living for what he believed was a just cause. The medals given to him by the French government were faded, and the "days of glory" had, over the years, become a pale memory.

Two days later, Johnny called and told his Mom that he had an apartment in Dallas. Now, more than three months after the blow up he had shown up at home as though everything was just fine.

"Did you see the news tonight; the protest at Washington? Incredible huh?" Jerry put the vivid memories of the last time they exchanged words out of his mind, rubbed his forehead, then his eyes, yawned and thoughtfully said,

"Something big is stirring in the nation. That man King is a born leader. He reminds me of a man I knew in the, ah. . . " He stopped himself from finishing the sentence.

Johnny walked into the kitchen, helped himself to a bottle of coke, took the cap off and called back,

"Yeah. Dad, I need to ask you a favor."

Jerry smiled and as Johnny entered the room he said,

"How much do you want?" He shook his head and said,

"I don't want money. I've been concerned lately about the violence in Dallas. I think I need a gun."

Jerry was suddenly no longer tired. He tried not to betray his surprise and calmly said,

"What do you want a gun for?" The subject was material begging for another blowup. It seemed odd that his son entered the room talking about a peaceful protest in Washington, and in the next breath he said he wanted a gun.

As the young man sat in front of him sipping his coke, Jerry said,

"Are you in trouble?" Johnny looked directly at him and said,

"Dad, I don't want to clash with you on this. I need a gun for protection. I'm not in trouble, and I'm not going to do anything illegal, but I feel defenseless when I'm in Dallas at night. You know what it's been like recently with the increase in violence. You have the shotgun, how about letting me borrow Granddad’s .38? I promise I will take care of it."

He had grown up with guns and he knew how to handle them, so without another word, Jerry went to his room and came back with his father's .38 and a box of bullets, handed them to his son and said,

"I know you will look after this." He took it from his father, placed it on the table in front of him and said,

"Thanks…I knew you would understand."

To be continued.

It's a gift!

As Jerry entered the lavish room, he felt overwhelmingly wretched. The last time they had looked at each other had been when Jerry cursed him to his face. Theodore sat at a large oak desk. His clear eyes seemed to look right into Jerry's heart, but it wasn't a look of condescension. It was one of warm welcome. All Jerry could think of was the way he had insulted and ridiculed this truly good man. Theodore had always done business with the utmost integrity, something Jerry had scorned. As he sat down in front of the desk he could hardly lift his head. He took a deep breath and said,

"I have come for your help . . . "

When he confessed what he had done and that he was greatly in debt, Theodore asked for the exact amount of liability he had incurred, including the loan from the Mafia. The total was in excess of twenty million dollars, but if Theodore could lend him even half of that, it would give him some respite. Without hesitation, Theodore called for Grace, gave her a key and quietly spoke into her ear.

A few moments later, she appeared holding a check. Jerry noticed that her hand was trembling as she gave it to him. He whispered,

"Thank you," then glanced at the amount. He couldn't believe what he saw. The check was for the entire amount of the debt. He didn't expect them to lend him anything, let alone the full amount. He had an idea what these people were worth and knew that this check represented their entire fortune. This display of kindness was utterly undeserved. He felt humbled, and at the same time unspeakably grateful. This payment represented his very life. The loan would mean that he wouldn't be publicly humiliated and thrown into prison. It would mean that the Mafia would leave him alone, and that he could stand up once again and look his friends in the eye. The loan meant that suicide was no longer an option.

He looked into the eyes of the man he once despised and thought of as his enemy and said,

"You had every right not to lend me this money and throw me off your property." Theodore smiled and said,

"Oh, Jeremiah. It's not a loan. It's a gift."

To be continued.

Chapter Fifteen: Glimmer of Light

The visit from the Mob scared Jerry. Really scared him. It brought back fears reminiscent of Nazi Germany. For three days he soaked himself in alcohol from the time he got up until the time he went to bed. As he pondered his dilemma, he began to contemplate the unthinkable: suicide.

On the morning of the fourth day there was a knock of a different sort at his door. It was the law with a warrant for his arrest. His overseas creditors had begun the proceedings they warned him about.

This once rich, happy, proud and generous benefactor was about to be arrested and no doubt with much publicity, humiliated and dragged to prison like a common criminal.

As the dark figures of two law‑officers stood in his doorway, Jerry desperately searched his mind for someone in his past that may be able to help him. The banks had pulled tight their purse strings and he now owned nothing of material value with which he could negotiate. The situation was utterly hopeless. His heart sunk into even deeper despondency. What was happening didn't seem real.

Suddenly, he remembered a man named Theodore Lawson, who lived near the property where he first struck oil. This neighbor was exceptionally wealthy, but the two had become hostile enemies, mainly because he frowned on Jerry's infidelity. One night, years earlier, when the two families gathered for an evening meal at the Adamson’s, Jerry had greatly insulted Grace, Theodore's wife, by making an unwanted and drunken advance towards her. This had caused terrible ill feelings between them because she was a delicate and virtuous woman. When Theodore confronted him about his low moral ethics, Jerry told him in no uncertain terms that his life was none of his business, and had had him physically thrown off his property. The two had been at enmity ever since.

But Jerry knew that Theodore was a religious man, and there was a chance he would forgive him for what he had done. Perhaps he would lend him the money he needed to get the law off his back and rescue him out of his terrible nightmare. In the light of the way he had treated him, it would be very humbling to ask, but it was his last and only hope. He obtained permission from the officers to make one call. He slowly lifted the phone and dialed the number.

When Grace answered the phone, Jerry nervously said,

"May I please speak to your husband?" She immediately recognized his voice and warmly answered,

"Jerry. Why don't you come in person and see us? Theo has often spoken of you. He has closely followed everything you have been doing."

Jerry couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was amazing that Grace remembered him and that her husband had actually shown an interest in what he had been doing. He put the phone down, walked over to the law‑officers and pleaded that they allow him to visit his old neighbor. When he explained that there was a chance that he could raise some of the money to pay his creditors, they agreed that they would escort him, explaining that if he made one wrong move he would find himself in deep trouble.

He sat quietly in the back of the police car, grateful that the law had at least allowed him to follow this last glimmer of light down the very straight and narrow road to Theodore's house.

After he knocked on the large door, it opened to reveal Grace in all her innocent beauty. She looked deeply into Jerry's weary eyes, reached out compassionately and took him by his hand. It was as though she knew what he had come for. Then she gently took him into Theodore's study.

To be continued.

Knock, knock...

One evening there was a knock at the door. Instead of opening it, Jerry sat in the living room chair with a drink in his hand and hoped they, whoever they were, would go away.

Suddenly, there was loud crash as the door was smashed in. Three well‑dressed men stood directly in front of a quickly sobered‑up and wide‑eyed Jerry. The spokesman said calmly,

"You should have opened the door Jerry. My boss won't be too pleased to hear that we had to break down it down just to speak to you." He then smiled and said,

"We had hoped this would be a pleasant visit."

"Who are you and what do you want?" snapped Jerry. The man smiled again, calmly inhaled his cigarette and said,

"My name isn't important. My boss is Mr. Luciano, a name with which you are evidently not familiar. You should be; you owe him a great deal of money. We hear through the grapevine that you are in a hole."

The man forced an insincere smile through his yellowing teeth, reached up and picked a photo off the shelf, took his burning cigarette and stubbed it into the face of Elizabeth, Jeremiah’s beloved daughter. His smile disappeared as he said,

"My boss doesn't like to hear that people who owe him money can't pay up. It would be sad if something happened to your kid. You have one week to settle things with Mr. Luciano. I understand your accountant knows how to contact him."

At that, the three men left, leaving Jerry stunned. He quickly picked up the phone, called Vance and said,

"Who the blazes is this guy Luciano!?" Vance was quiet for a moment, then he said,

"I didn't know until this afternoon. I'm sorry Jerry. When I got you that corporation loan, I thought they were legit. He’s a cousin of 'Lucky' Luciano, who, back in 1936 was sent to prison for twenty-five years for running a $12 million‑a‑year prostitution ring in New York City. I had no idea that this guy in Florida was a big wig in the Mafia."

To be continued...