A Prelude to Violence

By Kendall Graham Fox

Murder, drama and suspense abound in this thrilliling tale of a twelve-year-old boy and his fifteen-year-old as they try to unralve five murders that are somehow connected. Post WWII story reminiscent of the Nancy Drew-Hardy Boys mysteries.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kendall Graham Fox
• Release date: Apr 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201239978

Book preview

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

To Janelle Kauffman, Sue Sakorsky and John Bagwill: I owe them a debt of gratitude for their editorial skills and for being my friends.

K. G. Fox

In loving memory of John Bagwill

DEDICATION

I dedicate this story to the countless number of baby boomers whose lives were affected by the hardships brought about by World War ll.

It wasn’t only Americans who were affected by this tragic event, but also many other nations. Pain and suffering wasn’t limited to financial status or place of birth. Religious people and atheists alike still lay side-by-side in unmarked graves on foreign soil.

More than one hundred million men and women world-wide lost their lives and the number of wounds suffered on the battlefield staggers the mind. But the wounds that often heal the slowest are the wounds that only the heart knows. If you have felt that kind of pain, then I dedicate this novel to you.

Even though this story is a work of fiction it is based on a true story.

I know because it’s my story.

K. G. Fox

PROLOGUE

In the years following World War ll it was a difficult time for almost everyone. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers and sailors who hadn’t had sex in years got their wives pregnant within a matter of days after returning home. The sudden population explosion put a strain on the already fragile U. S. economy, and by 1947 more than a million women gave birth to one or more children. From the end of the war until the year 1950, 4.7 million babies were born in America. The age of the baby boomer had begun.

Jobs were hard to come by, and the stress of trying to make ends meet caused some men to revert to a life of crime. Illegal drugs became an easy fix to relieve stress and were in high demand. It seemed as though there was no way to curtail the rapid growth of organized crime.

Hardened men who killed their enemies on the battlefield found it easy to kill anyone who stood in the way of attaining a prosperous lifestyle.

Everywhere I looked tension was building. It was a prelude to violence.

Let the music begin.

This novel is rated R by the author.

Chapter 1

How do you measure success? Is it fame and fortune that establishes your position on the pecking order list of life? If that’s true, then we were at the bottom of the list.

Everyone we knew was living at or below the poverty level. Very few of our friends owned a car and even if they did they couldn’t afford to drive it. We had a car, but Dad took it with him when he ran off with another woman.

Most of the houses in our neighborhood weren’t much more than shacks and were in desperate need of repair. The word luxury didn’t exist in our vocabulary. To us, having a leaky roof was a luxury because it meant we had a roof over our heads. Having shoes with holes in their soles meant we had feet to put in them. Most of the time we didn’t have enough food to fill our bellies, but we knew about the starving children in China.

Our tiny two-room house had once been a chicken coup, but if any of us complained about our living conditions Mom was quick to tell us stories about others who had it worse than we did.

Even though I was only nine years old when she told us about our neighbor, Mr. Thompson, it broke my heart. His right leg had been blown off just below the knee and he sustained multiple shrapnel wounds after stepping on a landmine on the beach at Normandy. He was only 25 years old when it happened.

He was entitled to full medical and financial retirement benefits, but by the time the government finally got around to straightening out all the red tape it was too late... his house was already in fore-closure.

A compassionate man by the name of Oscar Peterson lived two houses away from us and was a police sergeant with the City of Los Angeles. He was wounded at Pearl Harbor, and when he found out that Mr. Thompson was about to lose his home due to a government screw-up it reminded him of his own long, drawn out battle with the Veterans Administration to collect his back pay. He was so upset that he literally picked up Mr. Thompson and carried him to the VA office, and in no uncertain terms he told them they were to have Mr. Thompson’s pension check sent to him before the end of the month, or they would hear from him again.

He had their full attention. You would be surprised how much influence the presence of a six-foot-four cop with his hand on the

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butt of his holstered revolver might have.

The VA promised that Mr. Thompson would receive his check in the mail on the twenty-seventh of that month and all back pay would be included.

They did as they promised. On the morning of the twenty-seventh Mr. Thompson was sitting in his living room staring out the window eagerly awaiting the postman. The familiar clang of the cast iron lid on the mailbox next to his front door brought a moment of joy, but that moment was short lived. Before he could pick up his crutches and hobble to the front door the metal lid once again clanged. He opened the door just in time to see a teenage boy running off with a brown envelope clutched tightly in his hand. It was his VA check.

He screamed for someone to help, but no one heard him.

Sergeant Peterson came to our house later that evening asking questions about the kid who stole Mr. Thompson’s paycheck. The description he gave sounded a lot like my brother’s best friend, Gilbert Zamora. Charlie and Gilbert were two of a kind... trouble waiting to happen.

The Veterans Administration cancelled the stolen check and issued a replacement, but by the time Mr. Thompson received it, it was too late. His house had been repossessed. The loss he suffered at Normandy Beach on June 6, 1944 was nothing compared to the indignity he suffered when he lost his home.

In the years following World War ll everywhere you looked there was injustice. Mr. Thompson’s story was only one of a hundred that Mom told us.

Sometimes she would tell us stuff that I didn’t understand... like stories of the Great Depression. Tales of how rich men who lived in mansions lost everything in the Wall Street Market crash of 1929, and committed suicide. And other stories of men who made untold fortunes from the misery of people like Mr. Thompson.

She would say things like Life can be unfair. The rich get richer and the poor get the shaft. War is big business. How do you think men like Carnegie and Nobel got so rich?

Sometimes she would go on and on with her endless tales of woe until the last of us fell asleep.

I guessed she didn’t know any bedtime stories.

It’s been almost three years since I last saw Mr. Thompson, but I never forgot the hardship he endured. It made me sad to think about him, so I decided to think of something else.

A PRELUDE TO VIOLENCE       3

Tomorrow is going to be a special day. Birthdays are the only time when Mom makes dessert, and she knows my favorite is German chocolate cake. The thought of thick, gooey chocolate icing covered with gobs of vanilla ice cream made my mouth water. I knew there wouldn’t be any toys to unwrap, or a fancy dinner at some ultra-swanky restaurant, but it didn’t matter because it was going to be my day

My usual bedtime was nine o’clock, but I was in my pajamas and in bed by eight. I knew Mom had something special planned for my birthday because I heard her tell my sister that she wasn’t going to work tomorrow. She never takes the day off unless she has some kind of adventure planned. The anticipation of what it might be made it difficult for me to fall asleep.

I was still awake when Mom lowered the Murphy bed and got it ready for her and my sister, Janet. No sooner had they gone to bed when Janet started talking about boys. She was 15 years old, and that’s all she ever talked about. Most of the time I didn’t mind sleeping on the couch a few feet away, but tonight was different. She started getting on my nerves when she talked about how she was going to marry a movie star when she grew up.

I said quietly, Who would want to marry you besides Rin Tin Tin?

Go to sleep, Johnny! Mom giggled.

I looked at the clock. It was 10:13 p.m. The sound of Charlie and my other brother, Sonny, snoring in the kitchen added to my frus-tration. Their bed was an old dinette table and two benches that Dad salvaged from a wrecked travel trailer. By day it was a dinette and by night it was a bed. The sparsely-furnished kitchen made their snoring sound as if they were in a tunnel. It was driving me crazy, but there was nowhere to get away from their irritating sounds.

Privacy didn’t exist in our tiny two-room shack. The bathroom was so small that there wasn’t enough room for a door. A homemade curtain on a drapery rod separated the toilet from a small sink and a clothes bar. There was no bathtub or shower. We were lucky to have running water.

Hail began pounding against the roof of our flimsy house and drowned out everyone’s voices. Loud claps of thunder shook the walls violently and made everyone nervous. Janet cried out a shrill scream when a bolt of lightning and a clap of thunder struck at almost the same moment.

It wasn’t long before the hail gave way to the pitter patter of

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raindrops, and the sound of distant thunder growing fainter signaled the storm was passing.

We had been cooped up for the past six days because of the storm, and it had taken its toll on all of our attitudes... especially Mom.

Soon everything became quiet, and it wasn’t long before I fell asleep.

I awoke the next morning to the clanging of pots and pans and the sweet smell of cake baking in the oven. I raised my head as far as I could to see what time it was, but my vision was blurred. The rhythm of the windup Baby Ben alarm clock ticking near my head told me it was in working order.

I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hands and looked again. Oh my gosh! It’s almost seven o’clock. Why didn’t the alarm go off?

I sat on the edge of the couch trying to gather my senses. I heard voices coming from the kitchen, but they weren’t loud enough to make out what they were saying.

Mom started bellowing orders as if she were a drill sergeant, and as soon as she stopped, my brothers began quarreling over who was assigned the worst chore. Janet joined in and things went from bad to worse. The sound of Mom’s fist slamming against the Melamine dinette tabletop squelched their voices.

Happy birthday to me, I whispered.

I was now wide awake. I folded my blankets, then placed them in the wooden box that doubled as a window seat. I leaned forward and pulled the window curtain to the side, then pressed my fore-head against the frosty glass. I was glad to see it had finally stopped raining. The sound of bird’s chirping happily as they bathed in the chuck hole in front of our house brought a smile to my face.

Before I fell asleep last night the radio weatherman said the Los Angeles River was almost at flood stage. It had overflowed its banks only once in the past one hundred years and was due to flood again. Our house wasn’t more than 50 feet away from the edge of the river, so if it overflowed it would probably wash our home away.

That must be why Mom’s been so tense lately.

Seeing the bright August morning sunshine and the clear blue sky gave me a moment of peace, but that peace was short lived. A crashing sound and several loud shouts came resonating from the kitchen. I rushed in and saw Sonny lying flat on his back on the floor with Charlie sitting on his chest. When Charlie drew his clenched fist

A PRELUDE TO VIOLENCE    5

ready to punch Sonny in his face Janet grabbed a handful of Charlie’s hair and tried desperately to pull him off.

Mom grabbed a cast iron skillet from the top of the stove and threatened to bash Charlie’s brains out if he didn’t stop.

He dared her to try and hit him. She took a swing at him, but he jumped back and started laughing. Mom pointed to the dinette table and told him to sit his butt down and behave himself.

He replied snidely, Make me.

Her face turned beet red. She raised the skillet once again and said, Next time I won’t miss.

He reluctantly sat down.

She shook her head in bewilderment and was at a loss for what to do about his growing hostility.

When she went to put the skillet back onto the stove she saw me standing in the doorway wiping the tears from my eyes. The angry look on her face turned to one of sorrow.

She forced a smile and said, Happy birthday, Johnny!

I lowered my eyes and stared at the floor. It was anything but a happy birthday.

I’m hungry! Sonny shouted and startled everyone. There was a tense moment of silence.

Who wants mush? Mom asked, trying to calm things down.

No one answered.

As far as I was concerned Cream of Wheat cereal was good for only one thing... quicksand.

Mom was the only one who liked it, but it was cheap and on cold mornings it made your belly feel warm.

She asked again, but no one answered. When she saw the sad look on my face she came over and wrapped her arms around my neck and said, Today is Johnny’s twelfth birthday. This is supposed to be a day of celebration, but you guys act as if you’re at a funeral.

She flashed me a smile, then shifted her eyes toward the others and asked, When’s the last time any of you had cake for breakfast?

We shouted almost in unison, Never!

Then I think it’s about time you did.

We were stunned by her kind offer. Maybe this was going to be a happy birthday after all.

She opened the cupboard door above the sink and took out the brown sugar, vanilla extract, coconut flakes and a large chunk of semi-sweet chocolate, then placed them on the counter. The mixing

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bowl and the egg beater were already out.

Janet asked if she could help.

Mom nodded in approval.

Charlie came over beside them and smirked.

Mom asked, What do you want?

I want to help make the frosting.

She shook her head. Your idea of helping means that by the time you get through tasting it there won’t be enough frosting to cover the cake.

He started laughing hysterically, but he was the only one who thought it was funny.

The timer on the stove started buzzing. Mom took two potholders from a drawer next to the sink and used them to open the oven. The cake was a beautiful golden brown. She took a toothpick from a shot glass on the counter and poked the center of each pan.

Perfect, she said and smiled.

She removed the pans from the oven and placed them on a wire rack on the counter. Then she measured the necessary ingredients for the frosting and put them into a large mixing bowl. Janet started blending them together with a whisk, and then used the eggbeater until the frosting became so thick that it would no longer turn. When Mom started pouring the hot semi-sweet chocolate into the mixing bowl my stomach growled. The thought of German chocolate cake for breakfast made me feel rich.

The cake layers were still hot when she removed them from their pans, and a steady stream of vapor rose and filled the room with a heavenly smell.

No one wanted to wait for the cake to cool before frosting it. Mom picked up a spatula and scooped a glob of sticky, gooey, thick dark chocolate frosting and started making swirls all over the bottom layer. She placed the top layer on the bottom layer and frosted it, and in a matter of minutes my dream cake was ready to eat.

She handed me the frosting laden mixing bowl and said, Happy birthday, Johnny!

I gladly accepted her kind offering and headed toward the dinette table. Charlie stuck his foot out and tried to trip me, but it didn’t work. I stopped right in front of him and ate every last speck of frosting and didn’t offer to share.

Sonny reached into his pants pocket and took out a half-eaten Big Hunk candy bar. He cradled it in his hands for a moment, and then

A PRELUDE TO VIOLENCE      7

handed it to me and said, Happy birthday, Johnny! I didn’t have the money to buy you a present, so I saved this for you.

The candy bar had to be at least a week old. His birthday was five days before mine and the only thing he asked for was this candy bar. He may have been a little slow mentally, but what he lacked in brains he made up for in heart.

No thanks, Sonny! I want to save room for my birthday cake.

Okay! was all he said, then he sat down and began eating it.

I didn’t understand how someone who was supposed to have been brain damaged since birth could be such a loving, giving per-son. He was by far the kindest person I had ever known.

Charlie was once again up to no good. He tried snatching Sonny’s candy bar out of his hand, but Sonny pulled his hand away quickly and accidently hit Charlie in the mouth. Charlie grabbed him by his throat and another fight broke out.

Something inside Mom snapped. She rushed over and slapped Charlie in his ear so hard that it swelled shut in a matter of minutes. She had given him a cauliflower ear. We were shocked. This was the first time she ever hit any of us.

Charlie stood there holding his hand over his ear, and did every-thing he could to hold back the tears.

Mom told him to sit down and keep his mouth shut.

He didn’t move. He just stood there glaring at her.

She stared at him for a moment, then picked up a box of birthday candles and took out 12 and placed them on the cake. She struck a match, but before she lit the candles she bowed her head. The match burned her fingers, so she let it drop into the sink.

Janet and I stood nervously waiting to see what she was going to do next.

Mom raised a clenched fist, and through streaming tears she shouted, I’m at my wits end with all of you. From now on you will do what I say, or I‘ll put you in an orphanage. Do you hear me?

Her knees buckled and she dropped to the floor like a wet noodle.

Janet rushed over to help, but Mom shouted, Leave me alone. Don’t touch me.

Janet began crying and Sonny and I joined in. This had been the worst day of my life.

Charlie bent forward and whispered into my ear, Happy birthday, asshole!

Mom remained sitting on the kitchen floor sobbing until there

8  Kendall Graham Fox

were no more tears to cry. None of us knew what to do.

She got up and walked to the freezer and took out a tray of ice and dumped the ice cubes into the sink. Then she opened a drawer next to the sink, and took out an icepack and filled it, and handed it to Charlie.

He gave her a dirty look and ran out of the house without saying a word.

Mom’s face became eerily pale. Her puffy, bloodshot eyes and swollen cheeks made her look as if she had just gone ten rounds with Joe Lewis.

She pulled a dishtowel off the towel bar and patted her eyes dry.

The air became so thick with tension that you could cut it with a knife.

She straightened her hair and asked in a quivering voice, Who wants cake?

Sonny got excited and yelled, Me, me, me!

His exuberance brought a faint smile to her face.

She looked at me with tears rolling down her cheeks and said, I’m sorry, Johnny! You deserve better.

I rushed to her open arms and melted in her warm embrace.

Everyone started crying again.

I’m hungry! Sonny shouted.

Mom smiled. Somehow she managed to find humor in his de-manding tone of voice.

She squeezed me tightly and said, I love you, John Martin Kennedy.

She pointed to the table and told me to sit down beside Sonny, then she told Janet to get plates and silverware and set the table.

Mom brought the cake to the table, but before she cut it she bowed her head and said a silent prayer. She never said prayers. She must have been desperate.

This was supposed to be a celebration, but it was far from it. We ate quietly and somberly.

When we finished eating, Mom lowered her eyes and stared at the tabletop.

Janet and I sat nervously waiting to see what she was going to do.

Suddenly, Mom arched her back and held her head high. As if someone had put a nickel in her ear she began singing the words, We’re off to see the wizard. The wonderful Wizard of Oz.

I didn’t know what to make of it and by the look on Janet’s face

A PRELUDE TO VIOLENCE    9

said she didn’t either.

Sonny joined in and before long so did Janet and I.

Charlie came into the house to see what the commotion was about, but Mom didn’t acknowledge his presence.

She looked at me and smiled. How would you like it if all of us went to the beach? You’ve never been to the ocean, and if we hurry we can catch the 8:00 a.m. bus.

Everyone but me cheered. I seemed to be the only one who wasn’t excited about this idea. I didn’t know how to swim, but I didn’t want to disappoint them, so I said, Yes.

Everyone began rushing around gathering the necessary items for the beach. Mom and Janet made peanut butter and jelly sand-wiches, and packed them in the picnic basket.

I stood watching as everyone scurried around, but it wasn’t long before I was having second thoughts about going on this adventure.

Janet scolded me. What’s the matter, Johnny? Hurry up and get ready. We don’t have all day.

Charlie rummaged through his dresser drawer and took out a swimsuit