I'll See You In Your Dreams (14 page)

“Amen to that!” the sheriff acknowledged, blowing a huge puff of smoke to the ceiling.

“I need you to get them both picked up and Bessie delivered to the asylum in Sacramento and Tillie delivered to my house where I can work with her in a more familiar surrounding. The young ones respond better this way. Bessie, on the other hand, may need the help of orderlies to fully respond to treatment.”

“I can do that for you, Paul, although it may take some orderlies to arrest Bessie.” He laughed and his belly shook.

“One more thing, Bill.”

“Sure, Paul, what’s that?”

“Could you set up a meeting between me,  Sam and Colton at the jail? From a distance, of course, but private. I need some preliminary information for any attorney I may find for them.”

“You’re too good, Paul, but sure. How about tomorrow morning at ten?”

“Perfect.”

Bill drew in another puff of smoke, and then reached across the table to shake Paul’s hand as he exhaled and hissed. “Always willing to help a good man.”

Paul left Angelo’s in a good mood. He envisioned Tillie being delivered to him in restraints. If she screamed that he had raped her, she would probably be gagged as if a hysterical woman undergoing a delusion. He couldn’t wait to be alone with her and slowly remind her of the promise she broke.

He could mentally torture her for days at his leisure, and enjoy her each step down into the oblivion of total mental collapse. At that point, of course, she would be of no threat with her babblings. Naturally, there would be the pleasures of the flesh he and Ludwig could enjoy while escorting miss promise breaking Tillie to lala land. He felt a stirring in his loins and a growing erection at the thought of this mind torture, more even than the rape du jour being handed him. All, courtesy of a society of little mice, easily herded through a carefully crafted maze of pretended authority.

The future looked bright indeed. He would make a fortune with the foundations he could set up to handle almost any illness. He was certainly onto the leading edge of an avalanche of illness mining. It would surely put gold mining to shame.

The golden emotion was fear. Anyone in fear would
believe
if they were promised some hope of relief from that fear. ‘Science tells us’ gave instant legitimacy to any statement. No one ever asked, specifically what science are you referring to? Who would ask? Not the poor fear-drenched mouse that lived by the proverb, ignorance is bliss. It was that proverb that was the golden brick paving the way to hell for the ignorant masses, and the very same brick Paul planned to melt down and use as pure gold to line his life with.

Another tool Dr. Freud gleaned from his research was that people wanted someone they could trust, and the trio began to develop the folksy sincerity and brow wrinkling concern that would avert suspicions and lower guards. Faking sincerity was an art form, and Paul was Rembrandt.

He once worried about the police catching on to his game, but realized that insanity scared almost everyone, as all they wanted was the crazies gone. The police, judges, and even newspapers looked the other way. They were just glad to be rid of those who were just a bit too different.

Paul pondered at some of the tools he, Ludwig, and little Eddie Bernays had developed from the vulnerabilities and weaknesses gleaned from Sigmund’s little mice. Thank God for the cocaine Freud was on daily. It made him quite chatty, and he constantly expounded to anyone who would listen on all he found. Fortunately, he seldom left his house. Others may have stolen these ideas if it wasn’t for Freud’s clever nephew, little Eddie Bernays listening to Freud’s babblings, this was Paul and Ludwigs ticket to acquiring the tools they needed.

Paul sauntered down to the Republican Newspaper. He went in and crossed the lobby to the receptionist. “Hello there, my name is Paul Hawthorne, an old family friend of Bill’s. Is he in just now?”

“Bill Brass, the owner?” the receptionist asked curiously.

“Is there any other?”

“Actually, there’s a reporter, Bill Snodgrass, but somehow I guessed you as seeking Bill Brass.”

“Your powers of discernment are commendable, and about Bill?”

“Oh yes, just one moment.” She rose, and then stepped through a door behind her.

A moment later she reappeared and told Paul that Bill Brass would see him in one moment. The words had barely left her lips, when suddenly a bulldog-faced and jovial Bill Brass burst through the door. “Paul, you scallywag, how in the hell are you?” Brass extended his meaty hand and took Paul’s. He shook Paul’s hand emphatically while his jowls jiggled over his collar and tie. “Step into my office, and hell, we’ll open a keg, of nails, that is.” He laughed at his joke even though all had heard it many times. They went into Brass’s office. Bill sat behind his desk, and Paul sat facing him.

“How’s your father, my favorite hanging judge?” Bill said, laughing.

“He’s fine, Bill. Still seeking justice in this untamed wilderness. Which is why I need your help with a problem.”

“Hey, if it’s that phony rape allegation, you have nothing to worry about. This old reporter’s nose can spot a frame in less time it takes me to fart after peeing.” He laughed and Paul joined in.

“Well, thanks for the confidence. It’s not my good name that I worry about as much as my father’s. I couldn’t live with myself knowing that I may’ve tarnished his impeccable reputation.”

“You’re a good man, Paul. You can count on the Republican to squash any nasty rumors and defend the truth and the Hawthorne good name.”

“Thanks again, Bill, but the main reason I came here today is to ask you to help me help Tillie, Bessie, and yes, even Sam.”

Bill Brass’s eyebrows rose. “Help your accuser? Are you nuts, Paul?”

“Well, I may be, but I’m a professional and must do all I can to help these unfortunate creatures. They can’t help themselves. I’m volunteering my time and medications to help Tillie and Bessie. The course of treatment will be expensive to affect a cure, as is happening daily in Germany for Dr. Freud.”

“Yes, I get the reports and have published them in the paper. The miraculous results are irrefutable.” 

“We must also assure Sam gets a fair trial, so money for his defense must be raised. Ludwig and I have set up a foundation to raise money for all, called, SCAT. Stands for Sam, Colton and Tillie.”

“What’s Colton included for?”

“He attacked a police officer and has obviously succumbed to the hysteria suffered by Bessie and Tillie, not to mention his anger issues. He’s also suffering denial syndrome; which often affects those closest to a perpetrator. I have several treatments lined up for him.”

“Why isn’t Bessie’s name included?” Paul studied Bill for a moment and decided he must interrupt this reporter’s line of questioning. “Well, for one, that would make our acronym SCAB.” They both laughed.

“We wouldn’t want anyone picking on the name. It might bleed!” added Bill. More laughter ensued. “We had a similar problem with the Fresno Area Rail Transit, FART!” Bill continued.

He burst into a belly laugh and bent over until his forehead was resting on his desk. Paul watched and knew he was home free. Bill Brass finally composed himself. “I’ll help you any way I can, Paul. You’re a good man; a foolish man, perhaps, to help an enemy, but I respect your good intentions.”

“Thanks, Bill. Maybe some publicity for the foundation would get us off to a good start.”

“You got it Paul, and if you ever need to ship anything just remember, in our town we can FART it to anywhere in the country!” Bill Brass screamed with laughter once again. Paul was happy, too.

When Paul got back to his house, he found Ludwig sitting in the swing on the front porch. “So, how’s the adventure shaping up, Paul?”

Paul gave him a thumbs up and sat in a chair on the porch. “I can safely say we have police protection and free publicity for the foundation. And a potentially staggering future income.”

“Yes, I’ve calculated the revenues possible in cocaine sales alone. The worldwide promotion heroin and cocaine are getting will make us rich. All we have to do is align ourselves as the local representatives and suppliers of the cure for mental illness, and more important the cure for a cough. There are more coughers than coo coos and, until now, only prunes were used for a cough.”

“Prunes for a cough?” inquired Paul.

“According to my grandmother, if you eat enough prunes, you’ll be afraid to cough!”

They both chuckled and Paul added, “I must remember that for Bill Brass.”

“So, what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” asked Ludwig with mild interest.

“Ah, tomorrow I have a little fun.” Paul looked off into space, and a smirk formed on his lips. “I’m going to pay a little visit to our friends Sam and Colton. I hear they’re in adjoining cells.  Perhaps I will expound on the treatment you and I have in mind for Tillie. It might be amusing to study their reactions.”

“Science can be amusing, indeed,” Ludwig agreed.

“I will, of course, keep just out of reach,” added Paul, coolly.

Paul arrived at the Fresno County Jail at 10:00 A.M., on time. He strolled into the jail and went up to a deputy behind a desk. “I’m Paul Hawthorne and have an appointment to see Sam Novak and Colton Johanson.”

“Oh, yeah, Bill said you’d be by this morning.” The deputy stood and took some keys from his desk.

“Right this way. My name is Jim; most call me Jimbo.”

“Thanks for your help, Jimbo.”

“Glad to help you, Mr. Hawthorne, even though these child rapists sure don’t deserve any help. They need a hanging. Yes, sir, a neck stretching is just the thing for these two.”

“Thank you, Jimbo, but this is America and a fair trial and all that.”

“That little girl didn’t get a fair trial.”

“You’re right, Jimbo, it is a waste of money and time, but it would take a better man than I to, uh, how do I say it, speed up justice.”

“I know some likely volunteers.” Jimbo laughed.

“Well, good luck with that, Jimbo.” He winked at him.

They arrived at the door to the foyer that faced the cells. “Okay, Paul, just stay against this far wall. It’s ten feet from the cells, so they can’t reach you, but it’s close enough to talk.”

“Got it,” said Paul.

The deputy opened the door, and Paul stepped into the foyer and leaned against the back wall. The deputy relocked the door and returned to his desk.

Sam and Colton bolted from their bunks at realizing who had just entered. Colton’s hair fell into his face as he shook the bars of his cell. His eyes blazed as he set his jaw and hissed, “I will get you, Paul, if I have to come back from hell to do it!”

“I plan to send you there, Colton,” Paul responded in a calm and bored way.

“You’ll not get away with this, Paul. Rational minds will prevail at the trial,” Sam added.

Paul smirked. “I somehow don’t believe you’ll make it to trial. You have made some good folks pretty angry. They may take justice into their own hands.”

“You can only hope for that, Hawthorne, but eventually Tillie will be believed, and it’ll be you those angry people will seek,” Sam responded with the same calm and certainty as Paul.

“Who would believe a white saddle tramp and his nigger, and little nigger whore against the good word of a prominent citizen like me?”

“I’LL CUT YOUR FUCKING HEART OUT, YOU FUCKING CHILD RAPIST!” Colton screamed from his cell. Paul looked bored and responded to Colton’s outburst with a lackadaisical tone.

“You’re a lowlife, Colton. You’ve far out-stepped your place. You’re a servant, nothing more. Here to serve the upper class, like me. We permit you to enjoy our presence only because you can serve us. An example of just how low you are is the disgusting language you just used. I would never use such language! You’re of inferior breeding, Colton. You should know that from the horses. A plow horse can never become a race horse.”

Colton’s eyes blazed. “A race horse would never fuck a colt,” he said with gritted teeth. “I hope you will forgive my fucking language, fucking pervert!”

Paul turned to Sam, ignoring Colton. “Well, Sam, I thought you might like to hear the treatment Ludwig and I have in store for Tillie.”

Sam gripped the bars and stared fiercely at Paul.

“My, my, Sam, I believe you do not like me.”

Sam’s eyes bored into Paul’s. Paul looked away uncomfortably. He then looked upward as though in reverie.

“Yes, I can see it now, in a few days they’ll bring Tillie for her next treatment, and Ludwig and I will take turns treating her. Were I as crude as Colton I would lower myself to use the lowlife ‘f’ word. However, I am educated and a professional and will not sink to Colton’s level.”

Paul suddenly laughed, then continued. “I will give her your best during treatment, Sam.” Sam’s fingers were beginning to swell from his intense grip on the bars, and his eyes didn’t blink as they continued to bore into Paul.

Paul calmly looked at Sam. “How do you feel, Sam, knowing there’s nothing you can do about it? The funny thing is I will get paid for it.”

“As a matter of fact, my friend, we’ve set up a foundation named after you and your lowlife friends. It is called SCAT. That stands for Sam, Colton and Tillie. Isn’t that an ultimate great idea? I get to, okay; I will lower myself to your standards. I get to fuck Tillie.” He looked toward Colton. “And I get to fuck Anne, too, Colton.”

He paused for effect until Colton kicked the bars.

“The beautiful part is I will become rich while doing it, while you lowlifes rot in the grave. That’s why servants should never try to match wits with their master. You will lose, because you are losers!”

“Game’s not over yet!” Sam replied with a steely voice.

Paul banged on the door and, after a moment, the deputy unlocked it, letting Paul out into the office.

“How did it go, Mr. Hawthorne?”

“Sadly, not well. They show no remorse and told me they’ve concocted a foolproof story to get them off. I’m afraid they just may be successful.”

“To hell they’re getting off. No way. These foreign devils will die for what they did to that little girl,” the deputy said angrily as a vein in his forehead rose into a pulsing snake.

“Hope you’re right, Jimbo, but my dad’s a judge, and he well knows how juries can be manipulated.” Paul sighed and continued. “It’ll be troublesome using any of the money we’re raising for SCAT to pay for their lawyer. It should all go to help Tillie, but I gave my word.” Paul sighed heavily. “Well Jimbo, thanks for your help, and perhaps you’re much wiser than I.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Paul. You’re a good man, and I’m sure I can promise you they won’t get off. I’ll personally see to that.” Jimbo paused with his eyes still on Paul. “And Paul,” he said with an intense resolve.

Paul didn’t move. “What is it, Jimbo?”

“I’m a man of my word, too!” Paul smiled and shook Jimbo’s hand.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Colton sat heavily down on his bunk. He put his face into his hands and his elbows on his knees. His hair hung down, obscuring his hands. He let out a small sob. He sat there for several moments, finally raised his head, and looked toward Sam with a hollow, apathetic mask upon his face. “He’s right, Sam. There is nothing we can do to help Tillie, Bessie or even ourselves.” His voice was devoid of emotion.

Sam stood in his cell and walked to the bars facing Colton’s cell. “It is not over Colton. Even though it seems hopeless, that is only an illusion. We must look for opportunity. It will come.”

“I wish I could believe in a hope like that.”

“I have had a bit more practice as a black man. Sometimes it is only hope that a black man clings to, that keeps him facing each day. The hope to one day rise above the oppressor and the key to that rise is opportunity.”

Colton’s apathy began to fade as he pondered Sam’s words.

Sam knew his story would inspire Colton, so he continued.  “My descendants, the Zulus, are historically considered, the most formidable force Africa has ever produced. Not because of physical stature or skill with weapons, but because of ancestral wisdom passed down through history. The basis of that wisdom is to set a course and then look outward, and the thing to look for is opportunity. The wisdom is, that all opportunity is outward.”