3 Cent Deposit

3 Cent Deposit

Adult Crime Fiction. 84,534 words. American English

Erik and Alan, were eight year old boys sitting in the balcony of The Opera House, when they witnessed two men they knew, shoot and kill a man they did not recognize. They told their fathers what they had seen and were warned to never say anything to anyone.

Erik talked to a neighbor he trusted Within weeks, that man died from from an apparent fall. He left behind a widow and an infant daughter.

Power and ambition are old themes, to be sure. In a small town they can be especially precarious. 'Nothing ever happens around here', becomes the perfect camuflage.

Erik grew up. That day forgotten, he left town. Alan, remained and never forgot that day. A class reunion will reconnect them with the past.

They will gain new respect for the strength of the pioneer spirit.

They will find men willing to betray their country for riches and power.

They will learn how a small town half way around the world was connected to the local events.

They will understand that friendship, integrity and honor are the most valualble assets anyone can have.

3 Cent Deposit

By

Peter Warner

Copywright 2018 Peter Warner

Cover Photo By heather e, high-jinxx photography

Smashwords Edition January 2018

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, Trademarked products, events and locations are fictitious or used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase it, or if it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank-you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

#THE HOMECOMING

#THE CHALLENGE

#THE SUNSET

#EPILOGUE

#ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

3 Cent Deposit

#THE HOMECOMING

I felt the prairie taking on the summer warmth as the days passed in miles under the vehicle and the nights went by in dreams. The odor of the rich, black soil was euphoric. Like an elixir, it brought on dreams of a childhood, now so far in the past it could only have been a dream. It rose out of my mind like the morning sun.

The years since had been filled by challenges, good and bad. Now, it was time to rest. I accepted my losses. I learned my lessons. I continue moving to the future.

I had grown up in a small town. When I think of those times, they seem so much simpler. I would go to to the Rexall fountain for a cherry Coke, fifteen cents. School was a short walk up the street. I could ride my bicycle across town in twenty minutes. I made money from the three cent deposit on pop bottles I could gather along the roadside. I am returning to attend a reunion. It's time to see what has changed and what remains the same.

It has been said that things don’t change, but that our way of looking at them does and that is what moves us to the next stage of life. It is the past acting as a catalyst on the present. They will react and create a future I could not conceive at this point

CHAPTER

In the past, an event is taking place in my neighborhood, though, I had gone on my own journey by this time: A girl of about twelve talking with her grandmother, thinking about life as an adult. Like many her age in that respect.

When she comes to visit her Grandma, she spends time looking at family pictures. She wants to hear the story of her father, and Grandma never tires of talking of her son.

He was a very studious person, with a sense of humor, much like you, she says to Malinda. "By the time he was twelve, he was writing stories of events taking place at school, and in the local churches and parks. They were stories for a small town and were popular with the readers of the paper.

His interest was photography, and his talent was apparent with the camera, and the dark-room. He learned to incorporate that talent with his writing abilities. It didn't take long for him to put together stories with pictures that were first class.

Malinda would be attending a camp for Girl Scouts this summer. She had written an essay that had been published in the state Scouting News. It was a history of the newspapers of the Northern Plains.

She had picked this topic because it would allow her to spend time with her Grandma. There was more she wanted to know of her father, her Grandpa and the paper he had founded.

She looked at the photo album. She asked questions. She wanted to know what her father felt, how he had viewed the world. She wanted to understand her father in an army uniform. Where were those pictures taken and who were the other men in the pictures. Where are they now?

Grandma explained that her father was facing the draft, as most young men did in those days. He decided to join the National Guard, so he could have his choice of jobs and be with people he knew. He would be able to stay home and run the paper. But as providence would have it, they were called up and sent to Korea. He was designated the unit photographer. Officially he was the Company Clerk.

Some of those people live here. Perhaps we can talk to some and find out if they would agree to your doing a story about them.

War changes people. When he came back, it was like he had a secret. He didn't talk about it. When he did, he was with his friends, the ones with whom he had served. When he would talk with us, it was about the things he could laugh about. There were times he became very quiet and would go off by himself. Then he would come back and be himself again. He missed the friends he had lost and always honored them in the paper on Memorial Day.

He used his G.I. Bill to finish college. He worked for the Minneapolis Tribune for a year and gained experience with a large organization. But he liked the independence he had with his dad and this was his home. He wanted to keep The Leader going forever.

He was happy here, it was safe and peaceful. And there was your mother. They had known each other in school at State. When he came back from the war and returned to school she was nearly finished with her studies. They were married whern he finished school. After the year with the Tribune, they came to live here. She was offered a job teaching 4th grade, so it all worked out.

We insisted that they live with us, it is a large house, and they would be able to save money for the future. The paper paid the bills. They were very happy and good times for us. Especially after you came along. We didn't know then, how short the time we had left together would be.

You are so much like him. You can be serious like him and you have his sense of humor. When it comes to research and writing you have his talent, and his insight. This camp you are going to in a few weeks will be just the beginning, you'll see.

CHAPTER

I drove down the hill into the tree filled valley. Elm trees, that lifted their branches up and over the streets like giant leafy awnings. In the summer they provided shade. In the fall they were a pageant of changing color. In the winter, they became dark shadow contrasts against the white snow and cold sky. In the spring they brought a renewal of life as their leaves emerged to take in the summer light. The trees have grown larger, as had my world since my youth.

When I was growing up the trees seemed large, and I thought the world was so vast. Now, I know how large the world is and yet the trees seem even larger. Nature is telling me, its a small world after all.

When I crossed bridges, I remembered the hot summer afternoons fishing along the winding river bank. I had memories of walking through frigid snow blizzards, with ice crystals that felt like driving sand, and the times the snow fell gently in huge soft flakes that seemed to absorb all sound.

I thought of how peaceful this place had been. Now I know that that there are events that occur that are inhuman, or kind, none predictable by persons, place or time.

The road was guiding me. There was new architecture, modern, but attractive against early twentieth century structures. The old clock tower still an icon of the college.

I recognized the area where I had delivered the Minneapolis Tribune in the early morning. It was my income, with which I proudly purchased my new 1964 Schwinn Traveler. Hand brakes, Sturmey-Archer 3-speed, and a generator powered headlight and taillight.

I continued past Don’s mechanic shop, His mechanic, Greg, and I took breaks together on the dike overlooking the river. He would sing with Mick Jagger on the radio. He joined the Army and was killed in Vietnam the next year. Dad and I took flowers to the funeral home. His mother came to thank us. She hadn’t realized that her son would have known my father. He was that way. He felt all people had value and was truly sad to see this young man killed in a war. By the time I was out of high school there were more killed, and more who served.

The memories went through me like the prairie wind, sometimes hot, sometimes cold. I continued past the A&W Drive-in, 'NOW OPEN' for the season.

I arrived at the Valley View Cemetery and drove through the entrance and parked.

No funerals today, not like the big city, or the Veteran’s cemeteries. I walked over to my friends resting place. I thanked him for the time he came and showed me the way out when I thought all was lost.

I walked to where my parents lie side by side. They died together. In their story, I suppose that was poetic. As a child, I had wanted it to change, to not turn out the way it had. There was an early snow. It was just a dusting, moist and turned to ice on the road. It could have happened to anyone, but it shouldn’t have happened to them. George would ask me if I could have accepted that it would have been the parents of someone else. That if I could, would I want it to be that way instead. How would I feel to see one of my classmates and know that I willed their parents to die instead of mine? I accepted the loss in time.

I sat in peace with the sound of the wind through the trees. The air was fresh and full of the scent of Lilacs that grew throughout the cemetery. I heard the call of the Meadowlark.

Sitting in the quiet solitude I went into thoughts of years gone past. I remembered when I learned to ride a bike. My Dad holding me up, until I was able to maintain my balance. It had taken one afternoon. I was four years old. I soon broke the boundary lines that were established for me.

As a teenager I went to work early and came home tired. Those were days of school, friends, activities, and times that I cherished being alone. I could take the time to reflect, to contemplate the future, to reach inside and find my soul. A place I could go when trials of the world would press on me. The memory has been an escape since leaving this small quiet world.

When I opened my eyes, I had to do a double take. I expected to see him sooner or later, but not now, not here.

Alan began to chatter. He likes to come here. People won’t argue with him or criticize him. He is someone who took a lot crap from a lot of people most of his life, including his father. He had always been welcome around my home. And so he remains a trusted friend.

Come over here he said, you remember don’t you?. We walked over to a grave marked with only a simple stone John Doe. The stone had been kept clear of overgrowth. Remember?, he asked again and stood there waiting. I just couldn't get a hold on the memory.

Well, hello to you, too. How you been, nice to see you.

Oh, sorry, hello, good to see you. Got your letter, figured you’d be showing up soon. Didn't know it would be today. I come here and clean off the markers now and then.

He led me to another area, the headstone read 'GOODWIN', and below, Bertram, Miriam, and to the side, Malcolm. They had been neighbors of mine as a child.

It was a mother, father, and a son. There were more spaces available, as if waiting for the next family member to arrive for their final rest. I observed all this while seeing foggy, distant events. I noticed that there were only two deceased dates, Mariam must still be alive. I didn't grasp the significance of this, either.

Then came the sound of a vehicle approaching, Alan turned and said, let’s walk over here, and proceeded towards the front of the cemetery. He kept watching the approaching vehicle.

We arrived at a familiar spot, he seemed to know that I would want to go there. It was the grave of my old friend and neighbor, Wesley. He always had a good word, and a joke and he had one of the first color TV sets. We watched as the troop build-ups were announced by LBJ with a heavy heart. He died at home. Who can know when the time has come? No man.

My thoughts were brought back to the present by the vehicle that was approaching. It slowed and turned in. It was local police. He looked familiar, but I didn’t remember his name. Well, I’m not breaking any laws here. Maybe he has come to visit a friend. Alan seemed to act as though we were somewhere we shouldn’t be. I didn’t get that.

He strolled towards us with a casual air and greeted me. He gave Alan a 'hello', Alan returned the greeting.

"Just get here?’ he questioned. Of course, he is a cop, there is usually more than idle chit chat going on. He meant, 'why, for how long?' How would he know anything about me, or care?

Yeah,... been on the road a few days, wanted to pay my respects, before going to the house. I added , haven’t seen him in a while either.

I can understand that, A perfectly normal question, especially for a lawman, yet there was some kind of an edge to the question. I couldn’t quite place my concern.

Just taking some time off. I plan to enjoy the reunion.

Oh yeah, that’s still a few weeks off. And that seemed to have some meaning. He turned to leave.

I said goodbye as he sauntered back to his car got in and drove away. Alan had made himself busy visiting graves while I had my visit with the deputy. I was sure I would be seeing him again. If he was from here or nearby, I had probably seen him any number of times. I just couldn't place where.

I went back to my visit with my departed friends, now just wandering through saying hello here and there.

I met back up with Alan, and stated that cop seemed to have a predatory edge to his visit. Alan just responded with a sly grin, and said That was Bob Gackle. You don’t remember, do you.

No, I don’t, and decided it was time to continue to what had been my boyhood home. If home is where the heart is, then this is still my home, and probably always will be. Alan seemed to think there was a conversation to continue, but let it go.

I drove off with the feeling that this was not just some happened along, how are you sort of thing. It had a much more deliberate feeling to it. I continued to mull around in my memory, trying to make the connection between John Doe, the family and what significance it held. In the back of my mind a small light was telling me that this meeting, and the graves were connected. What on earth was that visit, why was Alan in the cemetery, and how did that deputy arrive while I was there? Alan probably knew I would go to the cemetery as soon as I arrived in town, he went there to meet me…and to show me graves. Who had those people been? Had he deputy followed him, Why?

I would see Alan at the house. The house my parents had built. I was ten years old when they died. Uncle George, my father’s older brother became my father. He moved into the house and raised me until I left home. George owned rental property and taught me construction skills. He had a car hobby, so I learned auto mechanics. He was a mailman, letter carrier in today’s world. He lived a good life and raised me with all the care and love of my own parents. When he died, everything was left to me. I had nothing as far as family ties, only property and a friendship or two, Alan being one of them.

Alan lives in the house and looks after the rentals. He keeps a project car in the garage at the house. He works as a mechanic, general maintenance, driver in the local city-county motor pool. His hours are somewhat flexible, and he’s been there since high school. They respect him for his abilities, and see him as a bit of an oddball. I'll give him eccentric. He is a very loyal and trustworthy friend. He is also one of the most intelligent persons I have ever known.

As I grew I felt as though my father was still there, I miss my parents to this day. Of course, Alan became a brother, his parents were good people, but more odd than Alan. Both were educated and made a good home and gave him encouragement.

As I grew, George encouraged me to study, participate in athletics, date, grow and find my own person. He never let me forget my parents, always reminding me something of my mother and father. How in some ways I was just like one or the other. And if he gave advice it included this is what your father or mother would have told you to do or not do. That was authentication I respected.

Having guidance, I was able to navigate. I was taught how to weigh choices and outcomes. I believe it was a good youth. Time will tell. Time has brought me here and Time will carry me forward.

Today brings the memories ever present, the pleasant, the happy times. But time and the mind, have a way of hiding memories. I didn’t know yet just what kind of memory lane I was about to stroll down.

I drove out of the cemetery, back into town to see what I could recognize. It had small town nostalgicic charm. At least for now.

These were streets where I spent my boyhood, grew into a young man. I continued driving until I was outside of town on the other side. I followed section roads, that I had driven when I worked on farms, went on dates, and raced my bicycle with the winds and my imagination.

I was driving Central Avenue as I had a thousand times. It had a different feel. Some buildings had changed, colors, additions, some were gone. Funny, it was the missing places that I noticed. They were places now, only in my memory.

Small Town America. Maybe I’ll stay...This time.

Within minutes I was in front of my boyhood home. I sat for a few minutes, melding my memory with it, now, right in front of me.

It has a finished basement apartment Alan chose as his home. He insisted that the upstairs always be ready for me to return. Having him here not only gives him a place, but helps to keep the old home safe and sound for me. He cleans, runs water, and makes sure the upstairs is always livable. He even painted it when it was needed.

He uses the garage for his projects and is always restoring a vehicle of some sort. He pays utilities, and keeps up the other rentals in exchange for his rent. If he knows I’m coming, I can count on having food available, and cold beer in the fridge.

CHAPTER

Bob went to the station to report that I was back in town. State Senator Benjamin Anderson expected I would be returning for the reunion. He made sure he was notified when I was around. He didn't like me. That may have had to do with my dating his daughter in high school. I don’t think Dad or George got along with him. It seemed there was something in the past.

After Bob arrived, Ben went to the radio and called all deputies to come in. Bill Nowitski, the local Highway Patrolman arrived. He had been a local police officer before taking the state job. Ben had something to do with that appointment. They had been together going back before their time in Korea. The next to arrive was Sheriff Jim Heitman, he and Bill were fast friends and had moved up from local cops to their present jobs. Same history same helping hand. The last deputy to arrive was Ben’s Son-in-Law, Barry Franken. Ben began to speak, you know Erik Meppo was seen in town today. We thought he would come for the reunion, so it’s not a surprise. What I need is for everyone to keep an eye on him, especially you, Barry, we don’t need him getting any ideas about Michelle.

Barry replied, aw, Ben that was in high school, we got kids, now. He's been gone a long time.

Yeah, well that’s fine, you keep on eye on both of them. I don’t want this to be a surveillance type of watch. We don’t want him to know he’s being watched. Just keep an eye on him in a general sense. If you see him doing something that seems odd, let me know. I think you all know how to handle this. Give him distance, he’s wise to things looking out of place. So, just act natural, if you see him in the store or somewhere around town, just say hi, and move on, only small talk. Got that?

With that, they left except for Jim and Bill. Jim asked, you really think we have anything to worry about? We’ve never really been sure if it was him.

Yeah, but we’re pretty sure, and I don’t want to take any chances that he might suddenly try to be a big hero or something. And I’m pretty sure that the other one was that crazy friend of his. You never know what might be in his head.

CHAPTER

I walked through the garage. The current project was a 50’s Porsche. Well, that ought to be something special when its done.

I had stopped at the local market for a few things. I wanted to get my feet on the ground, and reconnect with the local culture. I put the groceries on the kitchen counter. I retrieved a couple pieces of luggage from my pick-up and went down the hall to my room, and took a deep breath. It was still a teenager’s room, I liked it that way. It gave me a feeling of peace and the innocence I had left here.

I pulled out my S&W 9mm, cleared and checked it, tucked it away in its place behind the bedside stand. Put out the picture.

It was time to empty the luggage, first, running gear, shoes, shorts, shirt, watch, get changed. I returned to the front room, stretched, drank some water, and went out the back door.

I warmed up with a trot. It's good to get out, breath deeplyand pick up speed. How many times I did this, past these houses, up this street. I trotted north, over the bridge across the