Spook Smith

By Dale Mastarone

Who is Spook Smith?

The Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) consists of highly trained agents used by our federal government for a variety of purposes, spying on foreign governments at the top of the list. Many times the operatives are called spooks because they have an invisible image, just like ghosts. The vast majority of CIA agents abide by the law of the land and their sworn oath to uphold and live up to it--but some few do not.

One certain CIA agent swore an oath at one time that he kept. He swore that he would get more than even with that team of military police officers that interfered in an illegal drug-smuggling operation he was carrying out for personal gain. They would pay with their lives if they exposed him. His coconspirators reached all the way up into the White House, and he was given protection from prosecution. He was taken off CIA payroll, but that did not trouble him--he had already been working for a major criminal enterprise operating internationally and domestically, making megabucks! Among other evil deeds, he was heading up an operation of kidnapping young attractive girls for sale to foreign dignitaries to install in their harems. One girl he kidnapped and sold to a Saudi prince for a million dollars escaped the harem and found her way back to the USA, reported the crime to the FBI using a fake name for herself--then disappeared. She just happened to be the baby sister of the key man who interfered in Spook Smith's drug-smuggling enterprise.

Because she escaped, there was a hit order on her life. Was Spook Smith able to find her and kill her as he was ordered to do?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798885052702

Book preview

1

CHUCKIE, as he was called by his friends, was furious. Fifteen years old and his first bloody nose from a punch, given him by the neighbor kid. But he did not cry. Chuckie Furstins ran away up the dirt road from the pond and hid in the woods. Kirkie, after he punched him, said that Chuckie would get the same thing every time he tried any funny business. Chuckie wasn’t worried. His mother and her live-in guy were being evicted from their home in southern Indiana and they were moving to Chicago in two days. He had two days to keep out of Kirkie’s sight and two days to get revenge for the bloody nose. One regret Chuckie had about the whole thing was that he messed up on his timing. He reasoned that he should have stolen Kirkie’s nice Schwinn bicycle the same day as the family was moving, on their way out of town. Then chances were he would not have gotten caught. But it was such a nice bike! He could not resist taking it and then he got caught at it.

The big fear he had about the whole thing was that if his nose swelled up that his mother’s boyfriend would see it and ask him what happened. Of course he could create a lie about it but Ralph surely could tell when he was lying. And word would get around from the other kids that saw it go down about him getting caught red-handed stealing the bike and getting punched and running away. A sore nose would be nothing compared to what Ralph would do to him when he found out about his running away. And he knew Ralph would find out about it in the small town. So Chuckie Furstins did what he thought best to keep from Ralph’s potential wrath. He gathered up a half-dozen bottles and jars from a bag of trash dumped beside the road, broke them up and went back to the pond and waited in the brush alongside the road until Kirkie left at five to go home to milk the cows. He knew Kirkie and his friends would be back later that evening to take another dip in the pond because it was sweltering hot that day. Kirkie would be in for a surprise after he did his thing. Bloody nose for Chuckie? Bloody feet for Kirkie and his friends.

* * * * *

CHUCKIE DID NOT GET HOME UNTIL just before the ten o’clock news aired that night. He slipped in the back door into the kitchen and there met Ralph as he was getting a beer from the refrigerator.

Where you been, Chuckie? You better not have been down by the swamp sampling smoke from my plants.

I was at the movies. Here’s my ticket stub.

I heard you got your nose busted today.

It’s not busted.

But you got caught.

I’m not going to lie, Ralph. I got caught. But I got even.

Yeah, I figured you did. It’s been on the news all night. I put two and two together. You had enough sense to wipe your prints from that glass, didn’t you?

What glass?

"Good answer. We’re leaving tonight insteada in a couple of days. You get your stuff packed now. I don’t need any cops comin’ around and askin’ questions. And they ain’t gonna find us where we’re goin’. It looks like you ain’t a snot-nosed kid anymore and you know how to take care of business. I’m maybe gonna be proud of you someday, kid. Then you can be my boy."

* * * * *

THE TEN O’CLOCK NEWS that night was led with the tragedy that had occurred at a farm pond. Kirkland Kirkie Roberts died as a result of horseplay with his friends at the pond. They were in the water ducking one another when Kirkie was overwhelmed by two of his teen-age friends and fell backwards in the pond near the dock. Unfortunately there was a broken Mason jar on the bottom of the pond and it cut deeply into his neck, severing his spinal cord and other glass slicing through blood vessels. By the time that paramedics arrived, approximately twenty minutes after the incident, it was too late to save the young man’s life. Kirkie’s friends stated that they had been swimming in the pond earlier that day in that same area and there had been no glass or anything else on the bottom of the pond. And then they stated that some kid, Chuckie, got caught by Kirkie stealing his bike and that they suspected that he was the one putting the glass in the pond.

2

SALLY FURNSTINS, her son Charles, and Ralph Nemanski did move to Chicago within several hours, just before a detective came knocking on their door. Within a week of the move Sally Furstins abandoned her son and live-in boyfriend and disappeared, never to be heard from by either of them again. She could stand the abuse no more. Being beat on by both Ralph and her fifteen year old son was too much to bear. Both of them were rotten and evil.

* * * * *

RALPH NEMANSKI had no desire to raise someone else’s kid. He had already turned his back on eight children he had sired with three other women. But he sought to go ahead and raise Charles Furstins. For one reason only. Chuckie was a moneymaker for him. Chuckie worked in his retail business for him. Ralph had diversified business interests.

Part of the retail business was dealing drugs. He would use Chuckie to handle the trade. Chuckie was a juvenile and if he was caught nothing much would happen to Chuckie unless he opened his mouth and Chuckie knew what the consequences would be for that.

Then there was burglary. Ralph cased the houses and stores and drove Chuckie to the sites but he had Chuckie do the break-ins and robberies of the VCRs and other items of value. And Chuckie was good in the third category of retail, going into big box stores shoplifting. Then Ralph, nicely dressed and clean-shaven, would bring the stolen merchandise back and say that he had lost his receipt. The stores would not refund the price of the goods in cash without a receipt but instead would give him a credit slip. He would in turn go to local bars and sell the credits at a discount, for fifty percent of face value. Chuckie would steal five hundred dollars worth of goods a day and Ralph would end up with two-fifty. Not bad for a couple hours of work. He’d give Chuckie ten bucks for it.

Ralph was not one having any corner on the brains department. It was not long that he was caught at his newest racket. Once or twice? Little problem. Ralph was doing it weekly. Witnesses interviewed photo-identified him as the one obtaining the credit slips. His fingerprints were on the paperwork and his photo was put on file with the authorities. Ralph really messed up one day when he met a man in a bar and offered him the great deal. The man he attempted to sell the fifty dollar credit to was Cook County, Illinois, Sheriff Deputy John Bigley, with Deputy Bigley keeping a careful eye on alerts published.

* * * * *

UPON the arrest of Ralph Nemanski, Deputy Bigley obtained a search warrant for the apartment that Nemanski resided in. Fifteen year old Charles Furstins was in the apartment when Deputy Bigley came in with two other deputies. Numerous stolen goods were found in the apartment along with several grams of cocaine and a half pound of marijuana.

The young man asserted he had no knowledge. Deputy Bigley did not judge the young man except for seeing that he needed to be out of the environment he was in so that he might have a chance in life. Subsequently, based upon Deputy Bigley’s urging, Charles Furstins was placed in foster care with a wealthy couple that stated they would adopt this bright young man and see that he was properly cared for and have opportunity for the best of education. The McGregors went to court and had Charles Furstins’ name legally changed to Charles McGregor upon his adoption.

3

ONCE CHARLES FURSTIN’S last name was changed by the family court to McGregor he no longer existed as Charles Furstin. Records were sealed, not necessarily by law but by demand propped up by several thousand dollars handed to the clerk.

The McGregor family was Not-So-Old Money, gained from mostly bootlegging in prohibition times. Scalus and Kathleen McGregor did the best they could to live down the rumors of Scalus’ father’s illegal enterprise and finally gave up on it. Word was out. But now, a half-century since Prohibition, it was not so bad. People involved in bootlegging booze during those times were now looked upon as good businessmen filling a need of society that government had outlawed, against the will of the people because Prohibition had been repealed.

What the McGregors did not want was for any hint of illegal behavior by their adopted son to get cranked into the rumor mills and some know-it-all do-gooder reporter leak it into the society columns and then it could be said that the McGregors were still up to funny-stuff. They suspected that the boy was guilty of the same crimes his former stepfather was serving time in prison for.

Mac, as Scalus called his adopted son as a tribute to Scalus’ father, his nickname, also, said to the youth, It isn’t bad to do something that the government says is wrong as long as fifty-one or more percent of the people say that they don’t believe it is wrong. Now let me tell you how your grandfather kept ahead of the law and made it so that we could enjoy life like this.

He wasn’t my grandfather.

He is now. You are a McGregor. Don’t you forget that. You’re going to get what’s left of your grandfather’s estate. Your mother and I worked hard over the years living down the rumors of how your grandfather made his money that he left to me. It cost us plenty of the inheritance to do it. It will be yours someday. Now the biggest and best investment I think we made with it was political. This family is now well respected in Chicago and in Washington. You’re no dummy, Mac. I saw that the moment I set eyes on you. You can go places and do things on your own that would make your grandfather look like an amateur. I’m going to start working on getting you into the power center in Washington. You’re sixteen now. You graduate high school and college and in ten years you will be on top of the world. In the middle of power and where things are really happening.

* * * * *

MAC’S adoptive parents were in their late-fifties then. Mac remembered that little lecture he was given by Scalus. He recalled that Scalus told him that he would get what was left of Grandfather McGregor’s estate. What was left rang in his mind. The way they spend? They’ll be broke in ten years.

Mac did the best he could to insure that his adoptive parents were not broke by the time they hit their sixties. He did it the day before his seventeenth birthday. Mac arranged it that his adoptive parents never got to see their sixties. What a terrible tragedy that they just happened to both be in their Jacuzzi when that electric bug-zapper just happened to fall into it and electrocute them both.

The coroner mentioned privately to the detectives looking into the deaths that it was indeed unfortunate that Scalus McGregor sought to live up to his Scottish heritage and save money on fuses by inserting a penny into the fuse receptacle.

He invested a penny to save a quarter. But that penny cost him and his wife their lives. Sad. So sad. From what I’ve heard about his father he was not law-abiding. This Scalus, the son, seems to fall into the same category. If it was him that put the penny in the fuse-box, then he’s guilty of killing not only himself but his wife, too. Sad. It’s really too bad for the boy they adopted. What can the boy do now that the people taking him in are dead?

4

ONE THING MAC DID, once he had the inheritance, was to invest it wisely, at least the way he looked at it. He bought a connection in the illegal drug business in Chicago. He worked his trade and he made money at it. He was a distributor. Not peddling the cocaine but supplying the street-corner vendors. The connection he had could not supply him with enough powder to meet the demands of his dealers so he worked to find an additional connection. Enter Mark Warden. Word had gotten to Warden through channels that Mac might be useful to him and his Company. Warden was a twenty-year veteran of the Central Intelligence Agency then and trusted by his superiors to operate domestically, opposed to what is in the law governing the CIA that some very few in the agency seemed to seldom pay attention to.

Warden set up a meeting with Mac but did not reveal the name of his employer. But he did recruit Mac then, unknown to Mac, as an asset of the CIA. Mac was provided a Company loan of twenty kilos of hash-hish, delivered to him, and on the condition that he got to buy it for thirty-three percent less than the going market but he had to deliver the cash for all of it within thirty days. The floor for the deal was three thousand a kilo. After that, if he produced, Warden promised him that he could go on to bigger and better things.

Mac had that front of twenty kilos delivered to a storage locker he rented for the occasion. Mac looked the product over. It was packaged in red plastic-wrap and even came labeled. "Burn the Russians, Product of Afghanistan" was across the face of each kilo package. Mac now had a good idea who was fronting him on the deal. He did not bother to go out and hit the bricks to sell the product to raise the cash to pay for it.

He met with Warden on the thirtieth day and handed him a briefcase, the money in it profits from his cocaine trade.

I was able to get three thousand a K for it. You get two thirds. There’s forty thou in that briefcase. I can maybe get three and a half thou a K for any more now that I’m a little established in the hash business. Can you get me two hundred K on the same terms?

Warden smiled at him.

Mac, I’ve been keeping an eye on you. You haven’t moved one gram of it yet. But you have been making discreet inquiries and you found that you can probably get four or more thou per K for what you have on hand. So you tried to scam me and say all you got was three for the first twenty kilos? And the market is four? What you’re trying to do is beat my people out of, the way I figure it, about thirteen grand.

How do you figure that?

You were fronted twenty K that sells at four a K minimum. That’s eighty big ones. But you said you only got sixty. That’s twenty thou difference. Two thirds of twenty thou, roughly thirteen-two. That belongs to us.

Wrong number. You called the wrong number. Basically what I did was take your product on consignment to go to the highest bidder. That’s what happened. The thing is, I was the highest bidder. I just gave you the cash. That closed the deal. A deal is a deal. Nobody said that I couldn’t be the highest bidder. Lowest bid offered? Three thou. Highest bid offered? Three thou. Isn’t that what it is? Tell me it isn’t and I’ll kiss your butt in front of the post office at noon tomorrow. And you prove to me that you’re not CIA then I’ll kiss your butt on national television right in the middle of the Super Bowl television spectacular.

What are you Mac? Just turned seventeen? You’re already doing drug deals getting close to a hundred thou. And just how do you get into position to do that, Mac? You knock off your adoptive parents. You listen to me, Mac. You have two places to go. The pen for life or to work for us. It won’t be me or my associates putting you in the pen for life. The way you’re going you’ll take care of that all by yourself. You’re still a minor. And what you’ve done already? You might get treated as a minor in the courts. Now you’re not likely to change in the near future and the near future runs you into adult status. Then you get slammed real good when you get caught.

"Big deal, Mister Warden, Mister CIA agent. Who says that I did anything illegal or intend to do anything illegal in the future?

Who said I was CIA? How did you arrive at that?

The packages you delivered say it all. About Afghanistan and burn the Russians. Now who else is there in Afghanistan other than the CIA trying to burn the Russians? And the CIA needs cash to operate its secret wars. Now that twenty K of hash in my storage locker that you’ve been keeping tabs on? You think that I can be charged with possession with intent? Oh, boy. Big deal. Intent is the critical element of the crime. I still have the smoke. Does it look like I intend to distribute it? I can always say that I was setting you up for the narcs. That’s beside the point. We have something going for both of us. You have your immunity as a government agent carrying out orders from your higher ups and I have my limited immunity as a minor into the next year.

So what you’re saying is that we operate until then and you get out? Once you’re not a minor anymore?

I didn’t say that, did I?

No, you didn’t. One thing is, Mac, if you want to keep working with us you’re going to have to move to Green Bay where you’re needed now. Any problem with that?

Yeah, I got a problem with that. I don’t have connections there.

But we do. The distributors are already in place. You stay in and graduate high school and there are bigger and better things for you besides menial tasks. Just don’t get busted and I’ll see that you’ll get into a training program that will let you travel the world and have lots of fun doing it.

5

DEPUTY BIGLEY had been assigned the Nemanski case ultimately involving Chuckie by his superior because his superior was tired of Bigley’s mouth griping that the way things were being handled in the Sheriff’s Department did not quite meet muster when compared to the Constitution according to the deputy’s point of view. So Senior Deputy Bigley, instead of being used as a real force in apprehending big-time criminals, was sent out on the nickel and dime stuff. He served subpoenas. He transported prisoners.

The sheriff, however, could not keep Deputy Bigley from apprehending criminals. At times there were no subpoenas to serve, no prisoners to transport. That deputy was put on patrol in Cook County. That deputy had an eye for crooks and mischief-makers and stopped several armed robberies before they got started. Just so long as Deputy Bigley was on the street he was dangerous to active criminals.

Opportunity knocked and John Bigley answered the door. There was an opening on the Green Bay, Wisconsin, police force and he went for it. At least he would not be fighting toe-to-toe with a politician in Chicago, the elected sheriff. Bigley often joked about the elderly woman, next to death in Cleveland, Ohio, who compelled her children to move her to Chicago or else they would be cut out of her will. She said that she was close to death but she wanted to keep voting for the liberal ticket. Twenty years after I’m dead—guess what? I’ll still be voting the ticket in Chicago. They’ll see to it, trust my word.

Being in Green Bay also put John Bigley near to his son and daughter-in-law and grandson. Bigley’s wife died giving birth to their son, Harry. Harry and Agnes Bigley had a farm on the outskirts of Green Bay. Pop Bigley was invited to come and live with them but declined, saying that his proper place to live was in the community that he policed.

GREEN BAY POLICE SERGEANT JOHN BIGLEY was paired up with federal agent Max Heidelberg, DEA, on a stakeout to capture a suspected drug dealer. Bigley was in the basement of the building it had been reported by reliable sources that the target was working out of. It was a long night. Getting near to dawn Bigley tried calling Heidelberg several times on his radio but got no answer. Bigley became concerned about Max and went out to check on him. Bigley found Max sound asleep at his post. Seconds later Green Bay Police Sergeant John Bigley was shot in the back, falling on Heidelberg, keeping his body unseen by the shooter.

* * * * *

APRIL 15, 1980. Harry Bigley, son of John A. Bigley, was in the trauma center. John Jacob Bigley, Harry’s son and John’s grandson, was at John’s bedside. In that same hospital at that same moment, Agnes Bigley, Harry’s wife and John Jacob’s mother, was in labor.

Son, you stay here with your grandpa and I’m going to go up with Mom. She’s due any time now.

Forty minutes later Harry was back carrying his newborn daughter. John Bigley’s granddaughter Sarah was cradled in his arms for several minutes before he passed on. Sarah’s brother held her for the first time as tears trickled down his cheeks. Some sad tears for his grandpa and some happy tears for the sister he was looking forward to. He spoke to her after kissing her, Hiya, Toots.

* * * * *

APRIL 18, 1980. John Jacob Bigley, big for his twelve years of age, was walking up the sidewalk to the entrance of the funeral home. A group of five teenagers came walking toward him from the other direction.

Look here, Mac, this is where they got that dumb Jew cop that got himself killed.

I heard it on the news. He almost got another cop killed. That’s too bad. Two dead cops is better than one dead Jew cop. The words came out of his mouth loud enough for John Jacob Bigley to hear them. Bigley stopped in his tracks two feet in front of the one saying the vicious words. The other four were howling in laughter at the remark.

What did you say?

Who’s asking?

You said two dead cops is better than one dead Jew cop?

Yeah. What’s it to you, punk?

The leader of the little gang was about seventeen and about five nine, a hundred and seventy pounds. Young John Bigley was five ten, a hundred and seventy pounds. The gang leader raised his fists, aiming to deck his challenger. Bigley took a swing at the leader and caught him square in the nose. Then he went for the next biggest teen in the group and punched him in the stomach, knocking the wind from him. The remaining three boys piled onto young John Bigley and took him down to the sidewalk. Bigley threw one of them off him and worked to get back on his feet. The melee was stopped by two police officers who were on the porch of the funeral parlor. One of them was the Chief of Police of Green Bay. He knew the grandson of his sergeant laid out inside. After sorting it out he talked to John.

Son, I know it hurts to hear that kind of trash. But you’re going to have to get used to it. You’re not going to be able to punch everybody out that spills that kind of garbage. Come on, Son. Let’s go inside where the good, decent people are.

ONE MAN witnessing the event was from western Wisconsin. He was a dear friend of Police Sergeant John Bigley. Len Piller was an assistant county attorney. Len Piller wiped away a tear from his eye and swore to himself that someday, somehow, he would find the truth of how his friend was killed and he knew in his heart that his friend’s death was not the result of him messing up as had been in the newspapers and on TV, that story told by the DEA Agent.

* * * * *

MAC just had a chewing out from Mark Warden for being trigger-happy and especially for losing the shipment of hash and cash. Then Warden changed the subject.

Mac, nice bruised nose you have there. You going to get the guy that did it to you? Or was it a gal?

Mark, you should know me by now. Nobody gets away with hitting me.

6

"RACHEL, PLEASE! You can finish that later. We have to get ready for church. And you know that Gramper isn’t going to like to have to scold you again about that."

Seven years old Rachel was not going to submit to her Gramper’s long-standing order to stop drawing pictures of her imaginary big brother she called John. And she was not about to give up on calling herself by the only name she liked and signing her artistry with that name.

My name is Sarah. Please don’t call me Rachel, Grammer.

All right, Sarah. Now look at this pretty dress I made for you for church. Will you put it on, please? You’ve been a big girl for a long time now. You can dress yourself.

No!

No what? You’re not a big girl? Or it’s not a pretty dress?

No, I am not going to wear a dress. It’s very pretty. But I want my new jeans and my new yellow sweater you knitted for me. That’s prettier. That’s what I’m wearing. Case closed!

Case closed? Miss Independent! Daughter, you know what? You are the best thing that ever happened to me. But you are going to turn me prematurely gray. You know that, don’t you?

What’s prematurely gray mean, Grammer?

It means that my hair won’t be red anymore. It will turn gray and make me look old.

That’s not so bad, Grammer. Then the bull won’t chase you because Gramper says that’s why he chases you, because you have red hair.

Daughter, you are going to have to be a lawyer when you grow up. You have an answer for everything. All right, if you want to wear your new jeans and yellow sweater then go put them on. You hurry, now, so you have time to write out what you want to put in the prayer basket.

No.

No what?

No, I am not going to write a prayer this week.

Why not?

Because God never answers my prayers.

"Now, Daughter, don’t you say that. God will answer your prayers."

He didn’t give me my big brother and my Mom and Dad back. I asked Him to but He didn’t.

He answered your prayer that our colt didn’t die.

Okay, Grammer, but only one more time. That’s it. Case closed.

"Rachel, I’m sorry, Sarah. The reason for you putting a prayer in the basket isn’t for what you want from God. You speak to God personally when you pray to Him. The reason is for other people in our congregation to think about the same thing you want. God has a perfect memory. He doesn’t forget. All you have to do is ask Him one time for what you want. He’s working on it. It might take time but He will get it done. Now, Baby, you remember the real reason you put your prayer in the basket, don’t you?"

I know, Grammer. I didn’t forget. That’s so we get free advertising in case anybody in the congregation might know anything. Then they might tell us about John. And about my Mom and Dad, too.

Yes, Baby. Now this week, instead of signing your prayer with Sarah, why don’t you sign it Toots like you remember John always calling you?

Okay, Grammer. You sure are full of good ideas. Are we going to practice Karate moves after church?

If we can get Gramper to get out of the house for a while.

Then I suppose I’m going to have to trick him again?

* * * * *

RACHEL was not a mischievous girl, to go and trick her Gramper. It was just a little game the family played several times a week. Rachel was raised to be polite and sensitive to the feelings of others. She had been in the Carville household in western Wisconsin under foster care since she was a bit over thirty months old.

* * * * *

IN EARLY March 1983, Walter and Dolores Carville were approached by the minister of their church, he knowing of their continuing love for children, even after raising four boys who joined the military and were long gone from the home.

The pastor over in Baldwin told me of something and I suggested that you might be able to help. They have a child there that needs special attention. She’s with the Carlsons now. But they say they haven’t been able to do anything with her and Social Services is looking for someone else to place her with. Something more permanent than what she’s had so far. Two foster homes in a month and a half.

She needs special attention? Well, nobody gets that around the Carlson place with all those kids they have running around. What’s the problem with her?

"She hasn’t spoken a word since she was removed from her family. Her parents were convicted of abusing her. Her older brother was also charged but charges were ultimately dropped.

How old is she?

About thirty three or thirty four months. Maybe thirty-five months.

Well, some kids don’t start talking until they’re three or so, other than Mama and Dada, that kind of speaking. Not in sentences.

The psychologist who examined her thought that she could talk in sentences but was so traumatized with the abuse that she just withdrew inside herself.

Where’s the family from?

The authorities won’t say. But it doesn’t seem to be from around here or there would have been some publicity on it when it’s child abuse.

Okay. We’ll talk it over and get back to you this afternoon.

* * * * *

THE NEXT afternoon the toddler called Rachel was taken to the Carville farm by a county social services worker. Papers were to be signed and Dolores Carville got right down to business as Walter took the little girl for a walk to the barn to see the new colt.

There isn’t anything on these papers about where her parents are.

That’s confidential. But I can tell you this much. They’re in prison now and will be for a couple more years. And their parental rights to the child have been taken away from them. So you needn’t be concerned about that.

Well, I am concerned about that. You said this is temporary. Then they might sue for reinstatement of rights once they get out of prison. So I would like to write to them and let them know how their daughter’s doing. And send them pictures of her.

I am sorry. The judge ordered that none of that was to take place. They are not to know where she is at unless it is finally adjudicated that they are allowed custody once again. Or visitation rights. Frankly, I don’t know who her parents are or where they are from myself.

That doesn’t sound right to me.

That’s the way it is.

* * * * *

THREE days after she was taken in by Walter and Dolores, Rachel began to speak to them. She asked where her Mom was. Then her Dad. Then John.

I’m sorry, Rachel. We don’t know.

I’m not Rachel. I’m Sarah.

Sarah what?

Sarah Toots.

* * * * *

WALT, she couldn’t have been abused by her family. They taught her to say the alphabet and she can count to a hundred. An abusive family doesn’t do that.

They teach that stuff in day care, too.

She said she was never in day care. She said her big brother John taught her that.

Miss Carlisle never said anything about her having any brothers or sisters.

Rachel says that she does have a big brother. I believe her.

Look, Dolores, if she had any other family don’t you think they’d of told us?

They haven’t told us anything. Not even when her birthday is or where she was born or her last name. And I believe her when she says her real first name is Sarah.

I suppose it’s for her own good. The parents are in prison so they must be guilty. We’ll find out in a couple of years when they get out and see if they sue to get her back.

7

"DANNY, did you get a letter this week from John?"

No, Missus Mazzetti.

It was the second month in a row that Danny Rizzo said that he had not received a letter from his interstate school pen pal, John Bigley, that week. Danny felt that what he said was not a lie. He did not receive a letter from his pen pal that week. It had been the week before that the letter was delivered.

December 12, 1984

Dear Danny,

Sorry I didn’t call you. My new foster parents won’t let me make long distance calls. Thanks so much for your help in getting Major Finnley to contact the people here. They really respected what he had to say about how the police are supposed to operate and how they failed when they made those false accusations against me. It worked out that the prosecutor didn’t charge me with anything. I wanted to let you know that. If Mrs. Mazzetti wants to know why I haven’t written, tell her I’m running away from home. That’s what I’m about to do. I need to find Sarah and I can’t do it with them watching every move I make. I will keep in touch with you one way or the other.

"John" was the signature at the end. Danny had the letter in his shirt pocket when he told his little white lie. At lunch in the cafeteria he was sitting with Ann Jacobs. Her hazel eyes were next to boring a hole through him. She stood up in front of him, placing a hand on hip of her slim body, her pretty face not smiling, her lips pursed, the fingers of her left hand tugging slightly at her ear lobe. That was a signal Danny had learned to receive several years ago, a tacit signal from Ann that said she meant business.

"Danny, you did get a letter from John, didn’t you?"

You saw me get red in the face? My ears were burning.

"Danny, you are not a good liar. If there is such a thing as a good liar."

Ann, John has a lot of trouble. Stuff that doesn’t need to be told to Missus Mazzetti or anybody else. You had a chance to read his other letters.

I want to see that letter you just got if you don’t mind.

Okay. But keep it to yourself.

* * * * *

DANNY, HE’S GOING TO RUN AWAY! Write to him. Tell him not to. Major Finnley can help him again. It’s just going to get worse if he runs away!

How bad can it get for him if he does? Criminy, they threw his mom and dad in prison already. How much worse can it get?

All right. They dropped the abuse charges on him. But they can always bring them up again. Can’t they?

Not if they can’t find him.

Missus Mazzetti came into their view then and both stopped talking about Danny’s pen pal from Green Bay, Wisconsin.

Danny, would you come with me to the principal’s office, please?

* * * * *

ANN, a junior in Monessen, Pennsylvania, Senior High School, rose and left the cafeteria with the belief that Missus Mazzetti also knew that Danny was not being up front about what was going on with the pen pal program initiated to inspire students to develop good writing habits. That Danny would be questioned about why he was hiding the truth was foremost in Ann’s mind. Tell her, Danny. She’s your friend. She’ll help. Please, Danny, Ann said silently to him.

Danny, Mister Armstrong just told me some bad news. He asked me to talk to you and Gloria.

Bad news? Me and Gloria?

Danny, I already spoke to Gloria. She knows. Jim’s with her now. I’m so sorry to tell you this. Your mom and dad were killed in an accident this morning. Your grandparents are on the way here to pick you up. I’m so sorry, Danny.

Missus Mazzetti, in addition to being his English teacher, was a close family friend. Their grandparents asked the principal for her to break the bad news to Danny and his sister because it would be another couple of hours before they would arrive from their business trip. They were concerned that the kids not hear the news from the radio or from television once they arrived home. Danny, sixteen, and Gloria, fourteen, were ushered into the school nurse’s office. Carrie Mazzetti and her husband, Jim, another teacher in the school, sat with and consoled the two until their grandparents arrived several hours later.

* * * * *

THE FUNERAL WAS HELD THREE DAYS FOLLOWING. Major Alvin Finnley, United States Army Military Police, sat next to Danny during the memorial service. Finnley was a stocky man, muscles, not fat. His short brown hair was flecked with gray. His voice was soft as he spoke, not the usual grating tone of gravel across steel.

Danny, there isn’t a lot I can say to you. I haven’t lost my parents so I don’t have that experience under my belt so that I can say something meaningful. Something like it means I know what you’re feeling because I went through something like it.

You don’t have to say anything, Al. What I know right now is that I’m going to have to get used to it. There ain’t any other choice. That’s for me. I don’t know about Gloria. She’s having a tough time accepting it. Carrie Mazzetti told me that if she doesn’t start crying pretty soon that it might be rough for her later on.

* * * * *

DOROTHY FINNLEY was holding Gloria’s hand. Dorothy was closer to Gloria than her two remaining aunts and one uncle.

Dorothy and Al Finnley met the Rizzos and became friends with that family when they visited a RV park near Gettysburg National Monument in Pennsylvania. Both families were on camping trips. Danny was four, Gloria two at the time. Al and Dorothy’s two daughters, Angela and Jennifer, were respective ages. Angelo and Laura Rizzo had a problem setting up the new folding camper trailer that they had bought and Al came to their rescue.

Probably we might need to rely on the instructions, Angelo.

Yeah, if all else fails, read the instructions.

Angelo Rizzo was a masonry contractor. During most of the foul weather, December through March, he worked bidding jobs for the coming year or he built fireplaces. The Finnleys would drop in unannounced and the guestrooms of the big house were always open for them. During summers the families would meet at historic sites for enjoyable times together.

Don’t forget to bring the instruction sheet, Angelo.

Don’t forget to bring the girls, Al.

* * * * *

GLORIA, you stop it. You are not responsible for what happened.

They were going to pick up that stupid Nintendo game I wanted.

And the drunk driving the truck was going to pick up a load of freight his boss wanted. His boss didn’t have any idea his driver was drinking all night and you didn’t have any idea that they would meet at the intersection. If you had known that you would have forgotten about the video game, right?

Damn it, Dorothy, it wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for me.

Damn it, Gloria, get that out of your head.

8

A YEAR AND A HALF after the tragedy of his parents’ deaths Danny Rizzo graduated from high school. Sponsors of the open house for the graduate were Al and Dorothy Finnley. They arrived with their daughters from Fort Gordon, Georgia, two days before the graduation ceremony and rented the ballroom of the Best Western in Monessen. Only because it was Al and Dorothy making the arrangements and setting things up did Gloria come to the party.

So, Danny, what are you going to be up to this summer before you start college?

Stick around and keep helping Grandpa on the farm.

And how’s Gloria doing?

She’s talking about not going back to school. Al, do you think that you can get Dorothy to talk to her?

Look over there, Danny.

Hey, she’s laughing! That’s something she hasn’t done for a long while.

Dorothy can do wonders. Angie and Jennie have been calling her in case you didn’t know that. She agreed today to come and spend the summer with us. At least with the ladies of the family. It’s probable I’ll be sent to El Salvador for a while. Hey, Danny, here comes Ann. You better get out there and dance with her for a while. This is your night to spend with your friends, not with old fogies like me.

El Salvador, you said? That’s not so good down there, is it?

Safer than the streets of Pittsburgh right now. Hello, Ann. How are you doing?

Not too good, Major Finnley. Danny hasn’t asked me to dance yet tonight. And if he doesn’t then he’s not going to be welcome at my open house tomorrow night. Are you going to be there?

I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Ann.

* * * * *

DANNY, YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED. What in the world has you turned against Slippery Rock University?

I’m sorry, Ann, it’s just that Duquesne appeals to me more. I want to get into police science and the curriculum is better in that area.

Why? Just because Major Finnley is in police work in the MPs? I know you look up to him and all but you can do a lot better than being a policeman. You told me that Mister Farnsworth said you have the intelligence and aptitude to be a lawyer. And that’s what my Dad says, too. Why the change all of a sudden?

Change? Not me. I never said I wanted to do what everybody thinks I should do. And anyway, if I want to go to law school a good background in police science ain’t going to hurt my chances anyway.

"If you insist on saying ain’t then that might turn somebody off."

It doesn’t seem to bother Al.

So?

I mean, he’s tops in his field. The only thing about language he gets on me or anybody that’s in his command about is not to cuss.

He’s not dean of a law school, either. But it’s as if you’re already under his command. All right, Danny, I’m not going to say any more about this. I was really looking forward to us going to school together and I am disappointed.

Hey, we’re only going to be about fifty miles apart. That ain’t any ocean.

"What if we don’t talk about it anymore? What if I change the subject so we don’t have to talk about it? What about John? Have you heard from him lately?"

He graduated. He hung in there. He’s going to the U in Madison. He’s majoring in police science.

Oh, now I get it, Ann said coolly.

Get what?

Why you’re gearing up for police science instead of law. Two against one. Major Alvin Finnley and John Bigley versus Ann Jacobs.

Danny had been on and off again with his pen pal, John, a letter or two a month and a phone call now and then.

November 18, 1988

Dear Danny,

One of these days we’ll get to meet. I look forward to that. Regarding your last letter, no news about Sarah. Mom and Dad are out now. We had a good visit last week. They were disappointed that I couldn’t stay longer but I had to show up for an upcoming game. Keep in touch.

John

* * * * *

FIFTY MILES MIGHT WELL HAVE BEEN AN OCEAN between Danny Rizzo and Ann Jacobs. The anticipated weekly get-together did not happen. They saw each other only during breaks when they would both be back in the Monessen area with their relatives.

YOU LOOK BETTER, ANN. You got kinda a glow to you now. Man, I thought you were flirting with the undertaker last time I saw you.

I told you I was worn out, Danny. We had upcoming quarterlies and I wasn’t going to settle for anything less than an A straight across the board.

Hey, I heard from Jake last week.

"Jake?"

Oh, John. You know, John Bigley. Middle name Jacob. He got nicknamed Jake by his English professor.

"Well, what is he up to?"

Just like you. A in everything.

Impossible. Not in English. Never.

Hey, just ’cause you talked to him once and you weren’t impressed with his country bumpkin talk doesn’t mean he ain’t got it upstairs. Here, look at this news clipping I found in the sports pages. He’s only a sophomore and already the pros are looking at him. They call him the ‘Mastermind’.

I’m impressed, Danny. Please forgive me for not doing flips over it but I’m not feeling that good. Would you go up and get me a bottle of sparkling water, please.

When Danny returned to the table Ann was gone. She returned two minutes later. She was pale.

You okay, Ann?

No.

What’s wrong? You got a bug or somethin’?

Do you mind if we leave and get some air?

They left the café and were walking in the park that Ann insisted they go to in spite of the thirty-eight degree temperature. They sat on a bench after dusting the snow from it. Then Ann broke the news, not looking Danny in the eyes.

I’m pregnant, Danny. I’m thinking about having an abortion.

What? To who? I thought that…

You thought that we would wait for each other? I’m sorry, Danny but…

No. That’s not it. I was always sure that you were opposed to abortion.

I am. But…

Ann, you can’t have it both ways.

Aren’t you the least concerned with who the father is?

So what does that matter?

It doesn’t matter to you?

"What matters to me is that you are thinking about doing something that you are dead set against. Who the guy is? That’s done and can’t be changed. Oh, yeah, who he is matters to me. You bet it matters to me. But it’s done. That ain’t gonna change. And you have an abortion? That ain’t gonna change. You got it with you the rest of your life."

It’s Al Finnley talking, isn’t it? Not Danny Rizzo. Your mentor has his words in your mouth. And I see it now. You say you bet it matters to you. That’s what Al Finnley would say, too. Then his old-fashioned values…

This is Danny, not Al. And what’s wrong with old-fashioned values? A value put on a life? What’s wrong with adoption if you don’t want to keep the baby? That guy putting pressure on you to have an abortion? Who is it? Tell me. I’ll go talk to him.

And what would you accomplish if you did that?

If he’s putting pressure on you to do something that I know you always been opposed to then…

Then it might just be too bad for him?

I didn’t say that, Ann. I’m just concerned for you.

If you’re concerned for me then please keep what I told you to yourself. I’m not going to tell my parents or anyone else.

If that’s the way you want it.

That’s the way I want it. Please don’t ever tell anyone.

You got my word on it if that’s the way you want it.

9

THE COLLEGE YEARS flew by for both of them. They saw each other on breaks and in the summers except for the summer when Danny was receiving postcards from Ann from Europe. But they did not continue their sweetheart relationship. Not that Danny did not try to restore what they once had. It was Ann that said no, there was to be no man in her life, not even Danny Rizzo. Ann would never allow their conversations to get to the point of argument. She would simply get up and walk away when Danny spoke of their old love that he wanted to rekindle. Ann could have a very sharp tongue with others but never did she orally demean Danny, she merely kept him at arm’s length. She was treating him like dirt for refusing to talk things out.

Ann Jacobs graduated Magna Cum Laude from Slippery Rock University. Danny Rizzo graduated first in his class from Duquesne University. Surprisingly to Ann, Danny applied to and was accepted in the University of Pittsburgh Law School, the same school she would be attending.

DANNY, MEET JOHN BAXTER, an old friend from Slippery Rock. He graduated number one last year and finally decided to go to law school. I think the three of us should form our own study group.

Good to meet you John, Danny said as they shook hands.

Danny liked John’s firm grip. This was a man he could learn to really like was