Dummers Lane

By L. E. Barrett

In the early 1960s, Hallowell, Maine was a sleepy small city on the Kennebec River. Dip Barrett ran a beer store where he socialized with local criminals and took bets for horse racing tracks around the state. Law enforcement agencies turn a criminal investigation into a hunt for a secret item gone missing. Phil, a local hoodlum, establishes unu

• Language: English
• Publisher: Snitch LLC
• Release date: May 31, 2017
• ISBN: 9780998834658

L. E. Barrett

L.E. Barrett originates from Hallowell, Maine and lives in Monroe, Maine. He served as a Marine Infantry Soldier in Vietnam, as a Colonel in the Army, and a Senior Analyst for the Department of Veteran Affairs before committing himself to writing.

Book preview

Chapter 1

ABLACK SEDAN PULLED OFF the pavement onto a dirt road. Just beyond a pile of granite rocks the driver spotted the glowing red brake lights of a parked white Cadillac. The two men in the sedan nodded to each other. They stopped behind the parked car. The duo in dark business suits and black fedora hats exited the sedan. They walked toward the parked Caddy. The door opened and a young man in tan slacks, a blue sweater, and a white dress shirt advanced toward them.

I thought you guys knew what the hell you were doing? I got the police questioning me, and Phil Demere, a local punk, threating to bash in my brains if I don’t play ball with him, Ricky asserted.

Kid as long as you keep your mouth shut nothing’s going to happen to you.

The same nothing that happened to Adrian? Ricky criticized.

He got greedy.

I’m not taking the blame for somebody else’s incompetence.

What are you proposing to do?

You know I’m only a few months away from leaving this shithole. I can’t be mixed up in a murder. I warned you Adrian had big plans. You didn’t listen until it was too late. Now he’s got you chasing your balls. If you don’t find them, it will surface and everybody goes down together. When the police locate whatever Adrian had, I don’t want to be around. You should’ve given him the money he wanted. I told him that was what you were going to do. I was as surprised as he was the way the whole thing went down, Ricky asserted.

Nothing will happen to you unless you do something stupid, but some of the group are concerned you can’t be trusted. If you can’t be trusted, I don’t have to tell you what happens next.

Would I be foolish enough to meet you in the middle of the night? In the middle of nowhere, if I thought you couldn’t trust me? Ricky appealed.

Lately you’ve brought too much attention to yourself. You got involved with the Bobby Hennessy suicide. You compromised his sister, and you caught the attention of Phil and his boys. Not a smart play. You know details about everybody. When a guy can put too many pieces together, he becomes a liability. You need to stay silent and invisible. If we want your help, we’ll ask for it.

Didn’t I come to you with what I saw the night of the train robbery? Can’t you guys just lock him up?

"Are you planning on taking the witness stand? There’s an old saying among convicts, a man who talks in court has no loyalty to anyone except himself. I think you already proved what kind of man you are. No one made you squeal on Adrian. He thought you were his trusted friend. What did you expect? A medal? A pile of money? Or maybe access to a prestigious ivy-league college? If it’d been up to me that night, there would’ve been two bodies in the river."

I’m not a rat and if somebody says so, they’re a lying bastard.

Kid are you calling me a lying bastard?

The man wrapped his hands around Ricky’s throat, walked him backwards, and slammed his head several times against the side of the Cadillac.

You fuck up again, I promise you, even your all-American image won’t protect you. You keep your mouth shut and your ears open. But you know, smart kid, I hope you become a problem.

The man turned Ricky’s bloody face around. He stared into Ricky’s scared eyes.

You do what you’re told, you may live long enough to make good on your promises. He then punched him twice in the stomach and released him. Ricky dropped to his knees.

The man yelled out his car window as he pulled away, You do what you’re told, keep your mouth shut and your ears open. You continue to do what you do best. You have a role to play. You need to show up when you’re told to, or I’ll assume you didn’t get the message.

Chapter 2

EMMA HENNESSEY SAT IN HISTORY CLASS staring out a window to a brown barren field. Her thoughts rapidly shuffling through the faces of her brother Bobby, Phil, Ricky, and her father. Her dream of being a popular student and graduating at the top of her class no longer mattered to her. She felt her senior year would pass in time. A time to be endured and then forgotten. She still felt guilt and shame for helping cover up her brother’s suicide. At the time, she thought she was protecting her friends. Now her reasoning seemed painfully empty. The same friends who had berated and encouraged Bobby to jump off the chair no longer mattered. She understood, no one anticipated the lengthy rope getting tangled on a wooden beam. But, she felt their indifference wasn’t an excuse for the role they played in Bobby’s death. When she thought of that night and the actions taken by her friends, she repeatedly heard the loud, sharp, crack of Bobby’s neck and visualized his limp body hanging at the end of the rope.

There had been a time when Emma convinced herself Ricky cared for her. He had chosen the girl with the withered leg over all the other pretty girls. The sex they shared had been further proof of their special bond. To her, it felt like love. Then Ricky drove her to a secluded spot in the woods, threaten her and her family, and forced her to have sex. After that, she avoided Ricky and his friends.

Emma met with Phil. She warned him Ricky might be dangerous. Phil acted as if Ricky’s threats weren’t such a big deal. Though at the time, she didn’t tell Phil that Ricky carried a gun. Ricky having a gun might have proven her point. She wanted badly to convince Phil that Ricky wasn’t just a high school braggart and bully, but instead somebody capable of doing unthinkable things.

Most afternoons after school, Emma spent time at the Hubbard Free Library. She read dusty old leather-bound books with yellowed parchment paper and decorative borders written by dead authors. Their dusty literary personas filled the need she had to connect with ideas that had stood the test of time. She was especially fond of French writers. She’d read all the works of Voltaire, Hugo, Dumas and Zola. Her favorite French author was Michel de Montaigne. His ability to simplify complex ideas resonated in her. Montaigne’s quotes, though hundreds of years old, still ruminated optimistically or logically within her mind. When Montaigne wrote, "Of all the infirmities we have, the most savage is to despise our being. She felt he knew her and her life growing up. When he wrote, If you press me to say why I loved him, I can say no more than because he was he, and I was I." Emma felt through his words, she knew the true meaning of love.

Emma in her tartan skirt, classic white saddle shoes, white blouse, and green button sweater embodied the spirit of any girl who had just turned eighteen with their whole life ahead of them. After Bobby’s death, she lied to her parents. She still wanted them to know the truth. Why she felt powerless to help Bobby. Why she moved his body. Why she let them think Bobby had died alone and desperate, that his death had been a drunken stunt that ended badly. She lived in constant fear of the police and Ricky. She reasoned she might have to leave Hallowell before she would ever be able to feel safe again.

Emma stepped through the library doors. At that same moment, she bumped into a seated Phil Demere. He sat in the middle of a granite step smoking a Lucky Strike and blowing smoke rings into the air. Though the weather was cold, he wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, black dress trousers, and pointy black shoes. His coiffed head of hair was lightly oiled. He smelled of sandalwood and leather. He grinned.

Fancy meeting you here, he said.

You don’t seem like somebody who reads books, or even has a library card, she inferred.

Why don’t you get to know me? I think you’ll find out there is a lot you don’t know, he declared.

I suspect getting to know you comes at a pretty high price, she disparaged.

Why such a dim view of Phil? Haven’t I promised to take care of you?

Seriously! Emma teased.

Let’s say you and I have a cold beer. You must like beer? We can go to a quiet place where we can get to know each other, he suggested.

Emma quickly surmised going anywhere with Phil might not be in her best interest. She knew Phil had a criminal pedigree, a reputation for seducing young girls, and was rumored to be a guy that had a tendency toward violence. She heard others say, people who went out of their way to anger Phil did so at their own risk. But, he gave her a look that seemed to say—you know I like you. Phil’s cologne filled her senses. Emma felt confused. She’d never known an older man who wanted her in an intimate way. The thought thrilled her. But a nervous tick in her eye she strived to keep under control, revealed her inner feelings.

Emma was also tired of pretending to be good when she no longer saw herself as good. The daughter, student, and friend who went out of her way to act well and please others didn’t seem sincere anymore. She looked into Phil’s eyes. He was in the moment. She was stuck in the mind of a young girl who no longer existed. Emma had always been a rule follower. Now the rules chafed and challenged her.

You know I’m still in high school? No bar is going to serve me a beer, she tested.

Phil will, he mumbled.

You want me to come to your place? she asked.

Unless you prefer to drink a beer on the riverbank, or sit on a ledge at the Granite Hill quarry? But, it might not be a wise decision given all the cops in town. I can’t promise you we won’t have visitors, Phil surmised.

Okay, then show me your place, Emma declared.

Phil took two Rheingold beers out of his refrigerator. He opened and poured the beer into two glasses. He then sat close to Emma on the couch. She gulped a mouthful of beer from her glass. He sipped his beer. He watched attentively as Emma continued to gulp her beer until her glass was empty.

I didn’t know this was a race, he kidded.

I must have been thirsty, she acknowledged.

Phil went back to the refrigerator and returned with a beer and refilled Emma’s glass. As he poured the beer, Emma locked onto Phil’s eyes. His blue eyes drew her into him. She turned her head.

I’ve been thinking about lover boy, Phil said.

Ricky?

Yes, you know I want to teach him a lesson, Phil reflected.

What kind of lesson?

The kind of lesson he won’t misunderstand. How’d you feel about me teaching Ricky a lesson? You know I’d be doing it for you, he declared.

Emma took a large gulp of beer. I suppose I might like it, she teased.

It would be a present from me to you. Ricky would never bother you again. Would that make us good friends? Friends take care of each other. You know what I mean? Phil probed.

Emma chugged the remaining beer in her glass. Phil had barely touched his first glass. The beer had diminished her initial nervousness at being alone with Phil in his apartment, but her mind remained clear. Emma fully understood Phil’s proposal.

Phil you might be a lucky man. Maybe I don’t go to the police and tell them you stole a train load of booze, or rehung my brother, and then gave me beer so you might seduce an innocent school girl. Maybe the police don’t throw you in jail. Maybe my father’s friends don’t beat you to a pulp before you go to court. Maybe you don’t end up in prison until they have to put you in an old folks’ home. Phil, the way I see it, you already owe me, she teased.

You might be the prettiest girl in high school. You’re definitely the smartest. You’re eighteen years old and you’re smart enough to know, at least in your brother’s death, you don’t have the cleanest hands. The smart girl doesn’t go to the police. You tell me what the smart girl does. he entreated.

Phil looked intently into Emma’s eyes. He kept a slight grin on his face. Emma became acutely aware of his closeness. The room turned into a humid, heat saturated, narrow space. She placed her empty beer glass on the floor and sat up as straight as she could.

Kid do you want another beer? Phil asked.

Her hand moved and rested on Phil’s thigh. He seemed unaffected. Emma moved her hand in a small circular motion as she softly rubbed his inner thigh. Her eyes locked onto his.

Is this your answer? If Phil is a good boy he gets rewarded? I won’t lie, you know I want you. I have ever since the night in the cemetery when I first saw you naked in the car. I’ve constantly thought of you and me together. I want to believe you’ve been having the same thoughts about me. All the time playing innocent, wondering what it might feel like together, at the same time wondering if I wanted you in the same way. Trust me, it’s the only way the bad girl in you will ever be satisfied, Phil whispered.

His words awoke something in her. At that moment, she knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Phil was the bridge spanning her past to her future. Emma needed his body to feel something with her own that she couldn’t imagine with her mind. She closed her eyes and moved her head toward Phil. He passionately kissed her lips and neck. His hands slowly unbutton her blouse. He reached behind her and unsnapped her bra. As he kissed her, he cupped her naked right breast and gently massaged her nipple. She reached down and unzipped his pants. Emma reached into his pants and gently stroked his penis. His tongue explored the inside of her mouth. She realized they both were breathing loudly. His left hand went under her plaid skirt. She opened her legs as far as she could and tilted her hips up to meet his hand. His hand softly rubbed the cotton fabric. Her breathing came loud and fast, with every movement of his hand. Phil’s hand went under her panties. Her hips began to jerk uncontrollably.

Phil pushed away from her and stood up. Baby let’s move the party. I think we’re going to need more space. He pulled her by her hand. She got to her feet, dropped her blouse, bra, skirt, and panties to the floor.

That’s my girl, Phil said.

Emma crawled across Phil’s bed. She spread naked in the center while Phil took off the rest of his clothes.

Phil do you really want me like you said you wanted me? Or am I just another school girl conquest? she asked.

Why don’t you ask me later? Right now I need to take care of business, he responded.

Phil’s penis descended deep inside her. He wrapped his arms tightly around her. She could hardly breathe. His arms firmly held her upper body in place as he repeatedly thrust in and out of her. She bucked hard against him. She moaned and bit her lip in an effort to deafen her moans. Then in a split second all her anxiety, fear, and self-loathing she had dutifully carried and protected for years climaxed, and her body convulsed uncontrollably as she began to laugh hysterically.

Chapter 3

DURING THE MONTHS OF OCTOBER AND NOVEMBER the red brick building with its peeling, rusty, green shutters and hinges stood like a silent vagrant waiting for a handout. Gawkers, as people in Maine refer to anyone who stops for more than a few seconds, stood shielding their eyes from the sun’s reflection and peered through the store’s large front windows. The store’s contents silently collecting dust. Depending on the time of day, areas of the store were either cloaked in shadows or differentiated in light. A person might observe the interior as the ruins of an ancient civilization that had mysteriously vanished, or the rotting remains of a dinner left too long on the table. Near the front door, a yellowing newspaper in the sunlight, the October 2, 1961 Kennebec Journal proclaimed MARIS HITS 61, BEATS THE BABE.

The store hadn’t changed since the night the Maine State Liquor Inspector Tim Mooney arrested Dip for selling beer to an underage service member on leave. He ordered Dip to lock the front door. The next day Inspector Mooney placed a large notice on the door. It read: THESE PREMISES ARE CLOSED TO THE SALE OF ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES AND OTHER GOODS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE BY ORDER OF THE CHIEF, MAINE STATE POLICE.

Dip had fallen into a pattern of watching the 11:30 nightly movie on television, eating a late morning breakfast, and an occasional trip to BEANO with Jean. He stopped taking racing bets. Though few tracks operated in the late fall months, in the past Dip took bets from his regular bettors for tracks as far south as Florida. But, in October Judge Winslow ordered the store closed for ninety days and fined Dip two hundred dollars for selling beer to a minor. Judge Winslow warned Dip a conviction of the same sort would result in his beer license being suspended indefinitely.

Dip responded, Judge, I don’t have any intention of breaking the law in the future.

Mr. Barrett, you are not in court because of your intentions. If I passed sentences on felons based on their intentions, the jails and prison would be empty. Maybe I haven’t made myself clear, you chose to disregard a state law and if you do it again, you will not be able to sell beer in the State of Maine. Do you understand my decision? Judge Winslow admonished.

Yes, your Honor.

Bailiff, escort Mr. Barrett to the County Clerk’s Office so he can pay his fine. I order his alcohol sales license suspended and his store to remain closed until January 9th, 1962. Unless there is any other business regarding this case before the court, I order these proceedings concluded. Judge Winslow hit his wooden gavel several times on the little round wooden sounding block at the top of the bench.

As Dip exited the courtroom, Inspector Mooney approached him. He appeared pleased with himself.

Dip, you got off lightly this time. Judge Winslow has a tendency to only follow the letter of the law when it supports his political interests. I’m sure a different judge would’ve taken your beer license for good, Mooney said.

I didn’t get a different judge, Dip responded.

You know I’ll be watching you.

I wouldn’t expect anything else, Dip replied

Good. I guess we know where we both stand. When you get your license back, I’ll come around with an inspection team to verify the quantity and condition of the merchandise on hand in the store. I expect you’ll follow the requirements of Maine law, Mooney stressed.

Dip smiled, You can count on it.

Dip had no intention of opening the store. Not because he couldn’t use the extra money from beer and cigarette sales, but because as long as he kept the store closed he wouldn’t be subjected to a state merchandise audit by Inspector Mooney. The inspection would surely find the stolen liquor from the train heist. He couldn’t risk somebody deciding to take a look in the basement. Plus, most of the people he did business with were subjects in an ongoing police investigation. He figured once Phil and the boys moved the liquor, everything would go back to the way it was before the boy’s body was found in the river.

Dip was about to unlock the front door of his 1957 Ford Fairlane 500 when he felt a muscular hand on his shoulder. He turned and his eyes met those of the Kennebec County Sheriff. Though startled for a moment, Dip remained in control. He’d known the sheriff for many years and during the fair season he either came into the