The Car, The Kid, and The Schizophrenic

By Robert Weldon

The lives of a teenager, a schizophrenic, and career criminal all intervene in this action adventure novel set in the late 20th century. Enlisted in the U.S. Army, a man is stationed on watch duty for a top-secret facility; once discharged, he searches down south for a fellow soldier who went AWOL, where he begins to question his reality as his schizophrenia intensifies. After reuniting with a family member, he returns home, only to have his life spin out of control through crime and drug use in his never-ending search for a man who may or may not even exist. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Weldon
• Release date: May 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798218211059

Book preview

Prologue

Russell

1

For the past four years, Bruce Andrews, a student from Purdue University, had been working hard in order to make straight-A’s. He had done just that, and was now being rewarded for it. His father had promised him a new car for his efforts, and Bruce had chosen a bright orange 1980 Monte Carlo, fresh off the assembly line – his dream ride.

Now he was being forced out of it. He had been waiting at a light when a man had opened his door, shoved a gun into his face, and told him to Get the hell out! Bruce had no time to respond or choose to leave the car himself – he was pulled out and thrown to the ground. From the street, he watched as the man jumped into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. Another man ran towards his car, opened the passenger door, and hopped in. His car sped away immediately, and as Bruce got up off of the ground, two squad cars followed, nearly hitting him as he stared in confusion.

The next day, a reporter from the Hammond Times asked Bruce if he could interview him about what happened and take a photo of him standing next to his recovered Monte Carlo. A day later, the story appeared on the front page, along with the photo of Bruce standing next to the car. Proud of her son for making the paper, his mom framed the article and hung it on the wall.

2

When everything happened, it happened quick. Before hearing the sirens, he had seen the giant orange car slide onto the park’s frozen pond and skid to a halt. The boys who were playing hockey had scattered in all directions, screaming. The passenger door flew open and out came a short man wearing a black ski mask. He was running straight at him.

Oh man! Russell thought. He took off running towards the end of the park, which was connected to another field that was situated next to a large brick building offset by a wooded lot. Not daring to look back, Russell ran as fast as he could towards the building’s fenced parking lot, found an opening, and slipped in without much effort. The man followed.

The lot was full of cars, and as Russell ran between them he could now hear the sirens. Cops! he thought. Whoever this guy was, he must have done something! Sprinting as fast as he could, his sides began to hurt and his legs could not keep up. He ran into the bumper of a Cadillac, slipped, and fell to the ground.

If you don’t shut up I’m going to blow your head off! the man had screamed.

Russell heard this and got to his feet. As his heart raced, he looked around the lot and did not see the guy who was following him or any cops. Afraid to move, but realizing that he had to keep going, he continued through the lot and exited into an alley.

A fleet of squad cars raced down the adjacent street. Never in his life had he been so frightened; it was simply too much. In fear, he sat on the snowy ground, not knowing what to do. Another cop car flew down the road, oblivious to anyone that may have been in the way.

Night fell fast, and Russell did not want to sit any longer. Getting up, he began walking home, having to backtrack quite a bit since he was so far off course. The sirens continued, faded, grew louder, and faded again. Whatever happened, it had hit the fan, and he did not want to be a part of this anymore. He put his head down and his hands into his jacket and started to exit the alley.

Before he entered the street, a hand reached out and grabbed him by the back of his jacket and he was thrown into the wall of the building. It was the man who had been chasing him, still wearing the ski mask, and all Russell saw were his two bright eyes.

What’s your name, kid?! the man asked. He had sounded just as frightened as Russell. Tell me!

Russell! the boy screamed. Russell!

Take the gun, Russell! he shouted, removing his hands from the boy and taking a sawed-off shotgun out of his jacket. He unzipped the kid’s coat, lifted up his shirt, and shoved the gun under his belt. He then ran out of the alley, right into traffic and back out onto the street, jumping up and down and waving both arms hysterically. The Monte Carlo he had seen before now screeched to a halt onto the sidewalk, with the driver opening the passenger side door. The man got into the car and they hauled ass out of there.

Chaos ensued as a band of cop cars soon followed, with one stopping right in front of Russell, who had walked out onto the sidewalk in a daze of confusion. Two officers jumped out and drew their guns on the boy.

Get on the ground, now! one yelled.

Russell held both of his hands into the air and passed out.

3

The next day, a reporter from the Hammond Times asked Russell if he could interview him about what happened and take a photo of him standing next to the alley where the cops had found him. A day later, the story appeared on the front page, along with the photo of Russell of standing next to the alley. Proud of her son for making the paper, his mom framed the article and hung it on the wall.

Chapter 1

The Junkyard

1

In 1920, two men who had met at trainyard in Houston robbed a bank. They got the money, but Geno was the only one to make it out alive. Traveling north to Chicago, he met a woman and they had two kids, Ben and Ronnie. Neither would know their mother, since she died in childbirth. Geno used the cash from the robbery to first establish a butcher shop, then later a junkyard.

After running each for nearly thirty-five years, he would retire to Florida in the mid-1950’s, dying of a heart attack while lying on a beach only a few years later; Ben got the butcher shop and Ronnie inherited the junkyard.

Following their father’s funeral, Ronnie started to notice changes in his brother; once happy and vibrant, Ben become dark, brooding, and quiet. When he did talk, he used few words, and would often mumble to himself. Within these mutterings, Ronnie would hear nothing more than nonsense at times - gibberish that had no coherent meaning. Ben gained weight, would not brush his hair, and often wore the same clothes for days on end. His regular customers noticed this change as well, but because of his low prices, remained loyal.

A year after his dad’s death, only minutes before closing for the night, Ben heard the entrance bell while he was back in the freezer. Assuming it was a last-minute customer, he walked out only see a grocery bag instead, sitting on the counter. In the bag were two newborns, whom he and his brother would raise as their own; Ben would take Henry, while his brother would raise Lonnie.

2

Due to a bum leg, Ronnie would get around his junkyard by an old golf cart that someone had dumped years earlier, and it was with this that he patrolled his estate of junked cars, scrap metal, old tires, and God-Knew-What-Else. Attached to the dash, he had installed a makeshift monitor/walkie-talkie in which he used to communicate with the front counter. When anyone entered, his pit bull Sanders would go berserk, and if the button on the counter was pressed by the customer, Ronnie’s walkie-talkie would squeal. He would then use it to tell the customer that he would be right there. Worked like a charm.

It was on a hot summer afternoon in 1960 that he was negotiating the aisles of old cars when the walkie-talkie squealed. He grabbed the mouthpiece and pushed the button: Be right there, fella. By the time he had reached the front, Sanders was quite riled. Ronnie got off his cart, told the dog to relax, and walked behind the counter.

The fella looked familiar, but Ronnie could not quite recognize him, at least not in these street clothes. If the guy was wearing his blues and badge, he would have remembered. It was Frank Rosen, a young hotshot cop that knew his father.

Hey Buddy, the man said. I heard your dad died. My condolences.

You still on the force?

Yep. How’s the place? Turning a profit?

Enough to live on and enjoy life. I thought you would’ve forgotten us by now, since he passed.

Oh no. I didn’t forget...just waiting for the right time. I need something to disappear.

Not a problem.

3

For two seven-year-olds, having free access to an entire junkyard was pretty cool. Roughly a square mile, it was split in two halves. On the right side of the main access road were the rows of cars, the crusher, and the crane. On the left side was everything else from old engine blocks, spare parts, piles of used tires, and enormous mounds of various trash...broken pieces of wood, glass, metal, and everything else one could imagine.

Each day would be another adventure that summer, and they were finally old enough to enjoy it. There was so much to take in and discover; one never knew what one would find, especially in the junked cars. They would frequently come across cash, jewelry, and even girly mags...usually in the glove compartment or tucked away under the seats.

The biggest find, one that they absolutely could not tell their dads or anyone else about, was that of a black metal cigar box, found inside an old Roadmaster. The box was pristine, with a bright red Chinese inscription on the top of it that neither of the boys could read. A small silver lock was placed at the mid-point of the box where the lid covered the base, and it was Lonnie who had discovered the key...right in the car’s glove box taped to the inside of the car’s manual.

Open it up, Henry said. Let’s see what’s in it. Both kids stared at the ornate box, wondering what was inside. Lonnie used the tiny key to open the lock, flipped the lid open, and what they would find inside would intrigue them for the rest of their lives.

The inside of the box was lined with dark red satin, perfectly matching the exterior inscription on the lid. Under the satin was what felt to be packed cotton, used to raise up and fill the bottom area of the box. Placed in the center was a small black leather bound book, with another red Chinese inscription on the cover.

What is that? Lonnie asked. Some diary?

Laying on its red bed of satin, they gazed at it in astonishment, wondering what it could possibly be. Come on...it seemed to say to them. Pick me up!

The first thing that struck them by surprise was the thickness of tiny book. It was easily a hundred or more pages, with very thin pages, like a pocket bible. On the first page, perfectly centered, was a lone Chinese character, with a word scribbled in pencil underneath it:

Secrets

There! Lonnie exclaimed. See, it’s some fancy diary, like the older girls use.

Maybe, Henry said to him. Let’s look.

He flipped the first page over, only to find a hand-drawn picture of what appeared to be two naked men, lying on a bed, embracing each other and kissing. Under the crude drawing was a single line of Chinese writing.

Gross! Henry said, dropping it back into the box.

Laughing, Lonnie picked it up and began to look through it. After the page with the picture of the two men kissing, several pages of more Chinese writing followed. Small pencil marks were made in the left and right margins, as if whoever was reading the book prior to them was checking things off. Several pages later, there was a drawing of a man was sitting on the edge of a bed while another man was on the floor before him.

Put it down, Henry had said. If we got caught looking at it, we’ll get in trouble. Worse than some Playboy. Let’s just get rid of it and pretend we never saw it.

But it was too late; they had seen something they could not un-see.

Lonnie ignored him and continued to page through the book. Even though he could not understand the writing, he was able to look at the dirty pictures. Hundreds of them, all carefully drawn by hand, and each more explicit than the next. Henry stood up, grabbed it, and tossed it away.

Hey! Lonnie yelled. I wasn’t done...we’ll keep it, and make sure it’s hidden. Okay?

I don’t want to get in trouble.

Lonnie picked the book up. No one but us will ever know about it.

Reluctantly, Henry agreed; over the entire summer the two would each keep it for a few days before giving it back to the other. It wasn’t the pictures or the writing that either liked...it was the mystery of it that fascinated them. The Chinatown Book, as they would later call it, seemed to be nothing but some sex manual - but whose? That was just part of it that enthralled the two boys.

4

Henry would spend most of his day at Ronnie’s junkyard, exploring and playing with Lonnie. Then at night, he would sit and watch movies with his dad. He loved old action films, car movies, and monster flicks. But his absolute favorite were always the gangster movies, by far.

Over and over and over he would watch these films. He would pretend that he was Al Capone, or that he was on an airplane shooting down the Germans, or that he was sneaking into a top-secret government facility, where, behind the dark curtain, scientists were performing surgery on a super-human soldier that would eventually turn on them all. And of course, it would be up to Henry to kill this monstrosity before it could take over the world. These are the fantasies that he would lose himself in, often falling asleep in the living room lying next to his father with the television on the entire night. Since these movies were the only things his dad would really talk to him about, he cherished these times.

Yet when the movies were not on, Ben would complain to his son about the customers