Brownstonelit's Blog

11/16/10

I doubt we will ever know what Charley had planned to do that night. He said he would not have left Hazel for G and yet, might he have left for another reason? The reason I ask is because inside his wallet, crinkled and stuffed into the upper corner of the billfold area I found a tiny piece of paper. When I used my tweezers to remove it and then pressed it out so that it could be read… this is what I saw:

“Two bedroom home in ______________, Ga. den, carport, wall to wall carpet central air and heat. $140 Owner transferring.”

Was this for Charley?

So many questions left. I await word from R about Hazel’s journey in all this. Perhaps Hazel will have more to say. Perhaps Charley will have more to say. The 11th of November was predicted as being significant and it was. The clock is ticking softly in the background and each day moves closer to December 17th. This date is significant as well… I just don’t know why yet, but Charley does.
If it has anthing to do with information from the 11th… all I can say is, OMG!

11/15/10

Today the numbers, 555 keep appearing in front of me. Car tags, calculators…if you look for the meaning on this number you will find this as the response:
“…555 — Buckle your seatbelts. A major life change is upon you. This change should not be viewed as being “positive” or “negative” since all change is but a natural part of life’s flow. Perhaps this change is an answer to your prayers, so continuing seeing and feeling yourself to be at peace…”

Thus far this month, I have had about all the change I can personally afford and/or absorb without pulling my hair out. But, if this is what the universe has in store for me, then I shall grit my teeth and forge ahead. I am fresh out of resistance, so if the cosmos has plans of change for me I am amenable.
But all kidding aside… I think I know what this is about. Last week I had two very important meetings. One of which should dovetail nicely into another later the end of this week. I pray that by then, my exams are under my belt and that I can move forward into Charley’s book and this holiday season with peace of heart.
This meeting is very important as information now being confirmed will catapult this case to where it should have been 44 years ago. Also, I am awaiting some further confirmation of certain facts and perhaps Hazel will be more forthcoming with information about Carlos and the other prison workers who kept watch over Charley as he began to investigate the rumors about certain law enforcement officers involved with Jessica and Roxanne. People who had a hard time explaining why these two girls were last known to have been with them- entertaining them, as it were. Then even harder to explain is why these two girls suddenly went missing shortly thereafter. And not only missing- but, flat out gone!
How do you explain that Grim? And you a married man… but then of course… they were all married men! Oh wait… all married, except for the shooter who was divorced at that point. Oh my! Now this just doesn’t look at all good for these men- two of which are still alive. Do their wives know? Did they suspect? Won’t they be shocked when they find out that Friday night poker sometimes led to Friday night trysts and Saturday morning burials?

Here’s another riddle for you. …
What three letters spell doomsday? Think hard…
ABC… CBS… NBC…???
No… no. Think harder!
CIA…CSI… IRS… ATF… FBI…???
Now you’re cooking!!!!!

Come back later in the day…
I will have more!

11/13/10

Cradled in a false sense of security…

Think about the calm before the storm. Think about how a tiny boat will cradle you in its womb and lull gently to and froe while traversing the waves that wander beneath its keel towards the shore… feel the gentle rocking that soothes your soul and brings composure to your thoughts.

Memorize its emotional echo, for that is only for today and not tomorrow. For tomorrow the winds will begin to pick at the leaves and tug at distant clouds- teasing them both to leave this pleasant sanctuary and dramatically alter their course. Can you feel it in the air all around you? The stench of imminent decay? The brittle crispness of truth as it settles like feathery strands of fog, low in the crevices and craters of your soul? Do you even recognize its warning?

It is coming Grim. The hour of reckoning… before the first blush of snowfall… before the first real nip of winter, the fear will begin to settle in your bones like a damp and unrelenting malady. An ache that radiates pain deep within your very marrow. The need to suppress your bulimic instinct–to purge yourself of unwanted mediocrity… to teach your ego to evade and not give you further away.

You will not go free Grim. Neither you, nor your minions. They know who you are now… what you have done. They know what you know… they see how it all was. The lure, the bait, the gun, the lights… The set of the tires and the foolish attempt to present as suicide. All part of the trap you set- all for the ultimate prize. The man who had to take a bath with blood on his hands, betrays you from the grave. His legacy points the way to the shooter who chased his fears across state lines. The red headed man who counseled- then codified. The MOT knew too. He and Charley both had to pay… knowledge is power. Power was concealed in vinyl… but how many were there? Can you count that high? Two… three… four… five… six?

Did you really think that 44 years would erase the memory of Charley’s blood imprinted upon the asphalt? Did you really believe that all were so naive or so corruptible that your secret would remain securely buried along with their bodies? That greed and sexual perks would forever seal their lips or satiate their appetites for further compensation? Or even better… pay for their eternal loyalty? You were a foolish boy who tried to wear the pants of a man and now the fabric woven by your lies- gathers quickly around your ankles, stained with blood that refuses to wash free in the night’s rain.

Did you think they would not tell? Not whisper of your deeds to save their own skins?

Everyone has a price Grim and you no longer hold the currency to mollify.

Great truths inspire great loyalty… great brutality inspires only dismal fear. Who will wield your shovel now? Or press their fingers to another’s throat for you? Who will carry across their brow the enormous mantle of grief and regret? Who will trade their golden years for your sullied name? Who will honor the dead and their sacrifice, as they watch you dance upon the fires of your mentor? But even more… who will not remain silent from beyond the grave? What bones will share their tale of woe and point in your direction? Leading the way for all to come and gaze at the great failure that you now present…

Who will protect you now from those you can no longer reach? If they were alive, you could fight or discredit… dead you can do neither and they shall consume you.

This was the fatal flaw in your execution plan.
Think Grim.
What move do you make now and on whose chessboard do you now play?

I can feel it in the air… the chill is beginning to creep from the night into the dawn and the days while not truly shorter are feeling more eclipsed for reasons I cannot share with you now. Spirits are restless and they are chanting with added volume. The end is coming… Soon all will be revealed and you will gag on your own bile at what you learn. How could these crusaders of the light, wallow in such debauchery in the dark? Careful as you sleep. Careful as you speak… careful as you listen — the few of you still alive, for your days are numbered.

Can you not hear what it is they are saying about you now? The whispers and the stares that haunt your every move? You do not know who has spoken and who has kept your secrets… still they smile and nod their heads as if they are still one of you. Everything dies… even the brotherhood. One by one they betray for their own reward. Their hands are wrung of the blood you spilt. They claim ignorance and deceive you at every turn. The cross you carry is one of your own making. Splinter by splinter have you constructed its heft. Think naught of it as a sign of your religious fervor or martyrdom, but as the cross beam and support post construction to prop the lid of your coffin upon.

While Charley walks further away from his murder, he walks closer to justice for him and for you. I see you now Grim… wandering your halls at night and thinking… when will they stop… when will they stop?

The answer is you are already too late… it has already begun.

So what if I told you the clue that Charley gave me back in February has come true? Do you remember it???
“… the trail will lead to MOT…”

What he forgot to say in February, was what he has given me in November.

“… the trail will lead to…T…”

Sleep tight Grim!

11/10/10
Now comes the dawn…
Hazel has begun to speak. Her journal chronicles the last few months of Charley’s life. Who he talked to, what he did- projects he was working on. She talks about the house building and how she was tired of having prisoners forced on her. She said she felt like she was running a prison farm at the end, but was it really? I called R from my car on the way from one meeting to the next. She was on her way to a meeting as well. We talked briefly about the events leading to the MOT. I arrived at my meeting a few minutes early and as I was organizing my briefcase, she was getting her car washed. This is what I love about what we do… As the water began to blast her windshield, she apologized for the noise. A large school bus pulled up next to me and I apologized for its noise. Two seconds later the cacophony lulled and in the midst I began to speak about my gratitude for Charley’s help and that certain agencies now seemed to be stepping to the pate to help in re-opening this case. In my soliloquy I marveled at how Charley has been able to help alter the course of his history- change the timbre of his legacy from one of suicide and marital discord- to one who was trying to do the right thing. Someone who was following the bread crumbs to find Jessica and Rox. As we were commiserating on the collateral affects bringing this case back to life would have for Hazel on the other side and for Charley’s children still on this side… she broke in.

“…Go to pages 19, 26 and 42- there is information for you there…”

As we discussed the contents of the journal and my conjecture that the prison director and its workers were involved, more information came bleeding through. She began speaking about an energy known as Carlos- a prison worker.

“…A tall, thin young man…”, there at the construction site where Charley built his houses. “…He is between 19-23…only been in prison a few years… the kind who hurts animals, then moves on to humans… convicted of possible assault against his mother… he is very discreet- watching-always watching…soft spoken and smart… there is money… money in his hands…”, he is part of those who watch and inform.

So a prison farm it may have looked like, but a network of spies is what it was. Prisoners who were on payroll, paid to watch Charley’s every move. Paid to keep tabs on what he did, where he went. Who he talked to and what he did in the hours of his day that were occupied by working at home- so that Gerrie could keep an eye on the rest of the hours he was not! It was all staged…

See how this all begins to fit together? In the beginning it all seemed so disconnected. The moonshine, the porn… the murder… the players. Charley having a fling- prisoners being used a would-be carpenters- the big come on by G…everyone up to their eyeballs in coffee… the parties… the booze… the card games and the women…the blood.

It was all a little odd from the start. The folks I talked to- everyone with his own agenda. All not wanting to share information, but wanting to know what I knew. Well my friends, I could not have imagined what I now know and I am a fiction writer! Common, ordinary people who go to church on Sunday, profess allegiance to the flag, their God and their spouses… sleeping with young girls, killing them and leaving their bodies to rot. Good Christian men who pound their chest and speak about honor and the brotherhood… all rotting from the inside out with evil and lust.

Lust for money… lust for power… lust for the sake of lust.

I worked on my psychology paper this week, along with my Criminology paper. I chose serial killers for one and for the other a most curious psychological approach to the question:

How can ordinary people, who are good and kind in their daily lives…become capable of the most vile and inhumane things?

The answer has now become the new focus for this book…

11/08/10
I received aerial photos today of two places of supreme interest…
I received confirmation of a name…
I received a phone call from a number that cannot be redialed… and sent an update that cannot be retrieved…

I also received confirmation of a location and an intention.

The MOT would be proud!

Today I received an address; 2223_______________________.
It is a specific kind of building. The roof has what appear to be thick wooden or wood-like shingles. Like a hut or a shack… has to do with the lockbox, #____________.

Do you understand?
I do….
Are you sweating yet, Grim?

11/7/10
So who was in charge of the railway back then? Who was the one who coordinated with law enforcement to get millions of gallons of hooch to travel across the South, traveling northwest out of Valdosta?

And what of the lockbox? Lockbox #________ that holds the precious papers? I will continue to search for that, but there is so much more to search for before I get there. Like the black ace of spades and the seven of spades which still hold significance… or, the name of the hotel/motel where Jessica lived and her last name so she can be identified. Previously I had received information that brought me closer to where she is buried. At first the #7 made no sense at all, but now…I believe I have narrowed it down to a small concentrated area. Still needing confirmation however; I decided to reach out to Charley. Remember I promised that I had a very important meeting last Friday. In that meeting I received further information that confirms my suspicions about her location and also her last name. Confirmation coming from Charley who through R, directed me to seek a slip of paper still inside his wallet. Having reviewed documents, credit cards and various other wallet paraphernalia… I could not think of anything I had seen in it before that would provide such an epiphany- but Charley has never proposed without delivering. I could not locate the wallet at the time, but promised R that I would look as soon as I could reach it. An hour after our conversation, I went to my office and finding Charley’s wallet began my search. The leather was old and crusted and so with absolute attention to its fragile condition I took extra care in opening. R had told me, Charley was instructing to go to the last piece of paper in his wallet. I should disregard anything that was plastic or laminated. I educated her that Charley’s wallet had two sides and a bill area once fully extended. She told me to trust my own instincts- that Charley would guide me and that I would recognize what he wanted to show me as soon as I saw it.

It is because I trust him so implicitly that I can trust his trust in me. The leather creaked as I opened it. Once splayed, I chose to let Charley guide me. I slid the contents from the left side out onto the plastic bag I keep his wallet in. Carefully I began to deal from the bottom of the deck, so to speak. The first was a plastic card from Shell that had the calendar on it. Recalling R’s instructions that neither plastic nor laminate would contain what it is I needed… I pulled the next thing from the bottom. As crazy as it seems… I had no idea what it was that was to be answered by this action. I had given so many questions to Charley that I had no idea what clue I was even working on at that point- but it didn’t matter. R had said that I would know “it” when I saw “it”. The red cardboard had been handled so many times; it felt like flannel under touch. Faded and folded I read carefully what was printed on one side. It was a State Farm Insurance card. You know the kind you fold and keep in your wallet? I looked at the card disappointed. What was Charley trying to tell me?

He had clearly instructed it would be the last thing in his wallet- infact he had been precise, stating it would be the last paper document in his wallet. No t knowing what to do, I rolled the folded card over and over in my hand contemplating my next move. Maybe it was in the other pocket? Maybe I had chosen wrong? Maybe my connection to Charley was not as strong as what I had felt it to be… In the moment I resolved that the error must have been mine, and that I had somehow not understood…I set the red card down on top of the Shell card and contemplated  pulling out one more thing just to be sure. As I laid the card down, I realized I had flipped it wrong side up. Wanting to keep everything in its exact order, I began to turn it over. Just as I did, I saw what was printed on the tiny lines before me- my heart leapt within my chest.

There it was… black ink on red cardstock:
State Farm Insurance Agent:_____________________________.

The last name of this agent confirmed the last name of the first victim: Jessica S____________.

And that’s not all Charley told me…

11/6/10

Today was the first frost and in the air was a poignant sense of purpose and the understanding that with all endings come new beginnings. This week I truly began to understand the moment of Charley’s betrayal- when someone you think you know turns out to be different than who you thought they were. But on the flipside, I also received confirmation that someone else was just as they have always been and always will be… there, quiet and supportive in the background. Always watching out for me and picking up the pieces when they begin to fall and so in a way I should be grateful for the betrayal delivered.

This has been a challenging week, full of unexpected events and revelations. You cannot possibly begin to know how personal this journey has been for me- how connected to Charley I have become and how much he has taught me. By the time the book is ready for publication, I expect Charley will be well on his way to discovering the rest of heaven and as long as he tosses a smile back to me every now and then… I think I will be ok. Is it odd to say that in the last year, my best friend was a man that died 44 years ago? Maybe… but then you may never come to know everything that Charley and I have been through together this past year. I will tell you this; things are winding down and there is closure in the future. Yesterday I received so much information from Charley that I am still trying to process how to navigate it all. Caution is the word for the day… caution and gratitude. It is mind boggling some days to think of the manner in which all has transpired. R has been the conduit and I the receptor and unless you are intimate with this type of experience, you cannot begin to grasp the impact it has upon your soul.

So let’s talk trash for a moment, shall we???

Let’s talk about the small white kitten. What kitten is that, you say? Oh…That would be the small white kitten that Charley was going to surprise his family with that week. The tiny ball of fluff that never made it home to Julie’s arms, because someone else’s need to know where the other tapes were hidden was more important. You know… the men who decided it was necessary to take Charley out. The men who were so deviant in their sexual prowess… the men so smitten with G that their brains fell several feet to rest inside their pants that they couldn’t think straight. The men who could not afford for the rest of the world to know about what they had done to Jessica and Roxanne. The men who set others up to take the fall each time Charley got close.

So let’s talk about the men who stood beside the train and watched as it was loaded with moonshine…The law men who collected the money for protecting box car after box car of white lightening that rode the rails at night. Ahhhhh…. to be a hobo in Valdosta in 1966! Murder, mayhem, money and sex-all for the simple admission price of a badge! What kind of a badge, you might ask? Who cared? Every one of them had their dirty little fingers in the pie-stars and shields all mixed up together… or all in a row, lined up with their hands out, waiting for the payoff. Grim, the card player with the pocket protector and G’s boy-toy. All patiently waiting for their cut of the profits at the edge of the tracks and where was the train headed- this train of illegal booze? Why northwest my dear… northwest! Shall we look at the railroad lines out of Valdosta in 1966 and follow the route? Of course…we could do that, or we could just look up and find where they arrested the engineer that year. Golly… the things you can find in a newspaper is just amazing!

But even more amazing, the things they never even knew to print. Things like… blood on the hands of someone meant to protect… someone who was there that night-twice. Blood on the hands of someone who had to take a bath to clean himself up, before he could return to the scene that night to act as a pillar of justice. And the other one- Grim, who had blood on his sleeve from wiping Charley’s face. Who drew Charley’s car off the road… who smiled like the Grinch Who Stole Christmas when I told him I knew things he didn’t know, I knew. And he replied, he knew things I would never know.

Silly, Grim…
He didn’t know about R.
He didn’t know about the file… or the lockbox filled with rolled documents…the insurance card… or the other tapes… or that Roxanne and Jessica would not remain silent in their makeshift graves. But I guess that’s the thing about ego. You can never see beyond yourself. Never think that someone else is smarter… or more tenacious. Or in the words of a very favorite author of mine…never distracted.

“Life is a bitch; waiting at a picture window of a house for her cheating husband to come home. Karma is the name we give his mistress…Revenge the illegitimate child!”

Oh the things we do for lust…we might never do for love!