Article Viii: The Story of Jeazel Pete

ARTICLE VIII

THE STORY OF JEAZEL PETE

By

C.B. Kerns

iUniverse, Inc.

New York Bloomington

Article VIII

The Story of Jeazel Pete

Copyright © 2008 C.B. Kerns. All rights reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

iUniverse

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

978-0-595-6-1850-7 (ebook)

978-0-595-5-1326-0 (sc)

978-0-595-5-0377-3 (dj)

Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 5/26/2009

For more about the author please visit http://www.cbkerns.com

For more content from this book please visit http://www.jeazelpete.com

Lyrics from There’s a Place I Go, Copyright © 1999 by Charles B. Kerns Jr. All rights reserved.

Lyrics from Broken Hearts and Broken Love, Copyright © 1992 by Charles B. Kerns Jr. All rights reserved.

Lyrics from I Know Why They Call You Heartbreaker, Copyright © 2000 by Charles B. Kerns Jr. All rights reserved.

Contents

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

XXII

XXIII

XXIV

XXV

XXVI

XXVII

XXVIII

XXIX

XXX

XXXI

C.B. KERNS

Dedication

To the love of my life, Lynn.

Special Thanks

To Bud, er, Chuck. Thanks for pushing me to complete this book. This story is mine but this book is really yours! I love you, Son.

ARTICLE VIII

THE STORY OF JEAZEL PETE

By

C.B. Kerns

I

JEAZEL PETE IS AT IT AGAIN. Today, from Tahoma, we hear … CLICK! Tina turned the radio off and the truck was suddenly filled with a windy silence and air gusting in through our opened windows. We glanced at one another, smiling until I was forced to look up at the road. Tina said, Did ju go to Tahoma today?

I looked at her again and we both laughed, and then I said, See what I mean? This has been going on for weeks. Every day I hear I’m someplace else. Then I giggled and sang, I’m here, I’m there, I’m everywhere; so beware.

We both leaned back and enjoyed the wind rushing through the windows as we drove along. Tina’s hair was blowing wildly and the sparkle in her eye told me that she just was glad to be with me. She smiled broadly and I imagined she was recalling the events of the last week or two; the events that brought us together and the events that put us on the road together. Then I smiled broadly and placed my hand on her leg.

I love you, Art, she said as she squeezed my hand.

I love you, too, Tina, I said. Then I leaned over and gave her a quick kiss as she turned, leaning when I did. Been quite a couple’a days, huh? I added.

I’ll say, she replied. I’m glad it’s over, but it was exciting at times … I’m just glad it’s over.

The eastbound stretch of I-64 which lay ahead of us was a four lane strip with well manicured grass medians and green shoulders, all the way to West Virginia. To each side of the road the forestry was lush and splayed the onset of fall colors without names or imaginings. The twin ribbons of asphalt stretched for miles across the valley floor and then over a ridge only to find another valley to stretch across and then another and then another, making this a pleasant drive and truly wondrous to witness on this beautiful day.

Occasionally a passing car’s occupant would say, Have a nice day, when I glanced at them and I knew they had read the bumper stickers displayed on my tailgate. You, too, I always mouthed back with a smile.

I remember Tina laughing at me when I told her how much I hated that phrase, her even saying, You’re weird. Now, every time I acknowledged another car, Tina smirked with a gleam in her eye and said, Serves you right Mister Smarty Pants.

Suddenly I immediately yanked my foot from the gas pedal when I realized that the reflection deep in my rearview mirror was a cop. I watched my speedometer until it dropped down to the posted limit and then I gave it a little gas to keep us at that speed. I think there’s a cop back there, I said to Tina, I think he’s too far back to tell if we were speeding.

We were filled with a slight tension as we sat in our seats looking straight ahead, glancing only to the side-mirrors. The more we glanced the bigger the reflection became, confirming that it was indeed a cop car. It was obvious that he was going faster than us by how quickly his reflection got larger and larger in the mirror. Not only did his reflection grow rapidly but so did the funny feeling in the pit of my stomach.

A real feeling of dread overcame me when I realized that the cop was actually slowing down as he got closer to us. When he was several car lengths behind us he had slowed down to match our speed and remained this constant distance behind us for many long, long minutes. Tina squirmed in her seat to see the reflection in the side view mirror and I knew she, too, felt uneasy. The cruiser finally began to inch closer to us as it began to pass us in the fast lane.

When the police car was along side my truck I looked over at the officer and smiled as I nodded my head before returning my gaze to the road ahead. I only spied him for a second but I could tell he had something serious on his mind as he did not smile back and he stared at us longer than I thought was safe as we drove; I could feel his eyes on me even after I looked forward again, increasing my sense of impending doom.

The pounding in my chest began to ease as he slowly began to inch past us until he was in front of us. But the feeling grew again when I realized that he was now maintaining a set distance in front of us. Tina and I remained silent but I knew we were both feeling the same thing. We both kept our gaze fixed ahead on the state trooper.

That seems a little funny, don’t it? Tina whispered as though she thought the cop could hear her.

Yeah, but he’s probably just killing time. He’ll probably get off at Grayson and turn around and go back the other way, I replied. But when he drove past the exit we both felt uneasy again. As the ramp got closer I quickly dismissed the urge to take the exit and I almost swerved onto the ramp at the last second, but I stayed on the freeway heading east staying behind the cop.

After following the cop for about an hour the Kentucky/West Virginia border was within distant eyesight and the state trooper was still in front of us. As we neared the border he gradually slowed until he was only a couple of car lengths ahead of us and he seemed to be slowing down even more. In the mirror, just breaking over the ridge a few miles behind us, was a stream of police cruisers as I exclaimed, Holy shit!

Tina twisted around and, seeing the ever-growing line of police cars said, Somebody’s in trouble. Then she turned around and rigidly faced forward. I glanced at her and I could tell she was deep in thought.

We both remained deathly silent as the first cruiser pulled along side of us. When the first car in the line got along side the cruiser that was in front of us they all turned their blue lights on. I was shocked and when I looked over at the cruiser next to me he was pointing for me to pull over. The cruiser in front of me had already begun applying its brakes so I had no choice but to follow suit. We slowly pulled over to the shoulder and the line of police cars followed. When I came to a stop, the slow lane was still filled with a line of flashing blue-lighted cruisers which blocked any traffic from using that lane. There were also several cop cars behind me on the side of the road; they were making sure I wasn’t going anywhere.

This ain’t good, I said to Tina.

"Really?" she replied sarcastically.

In my mirror I saw two officers get out of a car and walk in our direction. As they got closer, they placed their hands on their revolvers and slowed their pace just a bit. I instinctively placed my hands on the steering wheel.

One officer leaned down slightly and asked, Are you Art Deleigh?

Yes, sir, I replied trying to keep myself calm.

He then opened my door and said, Mr. Deleigh, undo your seat belt and please step out.

As I slowly complied I glanced at Tina. She looked like she was about to cry. Another state trooper had opened her door and was saying, Miss Kloker, would you step out, ma’am, please.

Tina fought the tears as she removed herself from my truck. When she was standing on the side of the road she glanced across the truck at me and when our eyes made contact her tears began to flow freely. Wearing shorts, T-shirt, and flip-flops made it easy for me to be frisked. Other than the work boots she wore, Tina was dressed as I was, so the other officer simply ran his hand around her beltline just to be sure she had no firearms on her.

They led us to the back of the truck where I immediately wrapped my arms around Tina and tried to comfort her. I was surprised that we were not cuffed immediately not to mention my amazement that they allowed us to hug. When it became obvious that Tina had regained her composure the officers took us each by an arm and led us to separate cruisers where we were placed in the backseat. I twisted around to see Tina in the cruiser behind me and I could tell that she was crying.

What’s the charge? was the only thing I could think to say to the man in the front seat.

I don’t know, the officer said with a question in his tone, then he added, There’s a federal hold for your truck and we’re just holding you for now.

For now? What’s that mean?

We’re waiting right here for some federal agents … they’s about twenty miles behind us. When they get here they’ll take custody of you.

"Federal agents?"

Yep, that’s all I know. Then the officer became silent as we waited for the other cars to catch up with us; all the while, the officer stared at me in the rearview mirror.

You don’t know who I am and you pulled me over? What the …

Then without blinking he said, I think I know who you are. We’s told your tailgate would say HAVE A NICE DAY and, well it does. You are Art Deleigh ain’t cha?

Y’sir, I am.

The officer in the car with Tina was a female and was very comforting to her. It’ll be alright, honey, she repeatedly said to Tina as she handed her tissues through the fenced divider behind the front and back seats.

Am I going to jail? Tina asked.

Sweetie, I don’t really know nothing, the female officer said in a calming tone. We’s jus’ s’pose to hold y’all till they come and get cha.

"Who is they?" Tina asked.

The feds.

"The FBI is coming to get me?" Tina said as she began to weep.

Honey, I don’t really know … really … so don’t think that, ‘cuz I don’t know fer sure.

I sat in the center of the backseat and my mind was racing so fast that I could not hold one thought, one mental image appeared for no more than an instant before it was nudged away and another replaced it and then another and then another. When suddenly I realized that not only was I not cuffed but I did not hear anyone say that I was under arrest.

Am I under arrest? I asked the trooper.

Uh, arrest, no. Y’alls being detained. Then he added, I don’t know what the feds are gonna do … ain’t got a clue. Don’t you go gettin’ squirrelly on me, now.

What about Tina? I asked.

She’s alright. Shirley’s back there sitting with her so’s she don’t get scared. Shirley’s good … she’s got three girls a’her own, so she’ll know how to calm her a bit. She’s alright, don’t worry ‘bout her.

Will the feds take her, too?

I ‘spect they will. I ‘spect they’s gonna be real gentlemanly to her. If’n they ain’t, you let me know an’ I’ll raise blue hell!

I was focused on his expression in the mirror and I sensed the truth in his voice. I actually felt somewhat relieved and a little more relaxed. I looked back at Tina and her head was upright and not bowed as when she cried. It dawned on me that these people were being rather nice to us and, despite the long line of police cars, it was much less frightening than it could have been. But poor Tina, she was not involved in any of this stuff and didn’t really deserve to have this happening to her.

I began to think about how she came into my life, what an accident it was; for her and for me. No … accident is not the right word because that denotes something bad; it was really chance that we came together, not an accident.

It was chance that I stayed at Cumberland Inn that night and not at a Clantell Inn as I had been doing every night for the last three or four weeks. It was pure chance that Tina waited on me that night and it was surely chance that we went to Shorty’s, and if that night at Cumberland Falls was not chance I don’t know what was. Tina was not chance; she was my fate.

I heard a distant siren coming from behind us and I turned in my seat. I could see that Tina, too, had turned to see what was making the siren sound. After several long minutes, the sirens getting louder all the while, a black limousine crested the hill with five other limos in quick pursuit. When they saw the line of state trooper cars encircling my truck they slowed down until they were barely at a crawl when they passed the cruiser I was sitting in. They slowly went forward until they were the front cars parked on the side of the road.

Two of the cars had doors opening before they came to a complete stop. Two men exited one limo while two females exited another. The men were both dressed in dark suits and they were wearing dark sunglasses, as were the women who wore dark colored pantsuits. The four agents huddled together for several seconds, mostly keeping their backs in our direction. They all turned in unison and walked towards us, stopping at the front of the cruiser I was seated in.

Finally they took the last few steps to my car door and they opened it; one man’s voice saying, Please step out, Mr. Deleigh. As I rose to my feet all four of the agents stood in front of me and introduced themselves but all I heard was ‘Justice Department.’ They spoke to me for several minutes but their words had no meaning.

Am I under arrest? I finally asked when they were silent.

Well, no, not really … not yet, said one of the female officers.

What about Tina? I said looking back in Tina’s direction.

Well, no, not really … not yet, said the other female officer.

That doesn’t sound very encouraging to me, I said and when I realized that Tina was still in the cruiser I asked, Can you get her out of that car?

One of the men waved at Shirley and she got out and opened Tina’s door. Tina came walking towards me in a rapid pace and when she was close enough to me I wrapped my arms around her and I knew that she had been crying because I could feel her body shutter in my arms as she exhaled.

By this time there were over a dozen state troopers standing nearby and listening to each word and gathering as much information as they could about this unusual car chase that they had just been involved in. One of them finally mouthed, "It is him," to another officer and a sense of relief seemed to settle on all of the officers.

One of the women from the Justice Department said, What’s the chain of custody … what do I need to sign to take them?

Shirley said, No chain. We’s just detaining them until jurisdiction caught up. Then Shirley went over to Tina and hugged her and smiled, saying, It’ll be alright, sweetheart, just remember to pray. Jesus will protect you.

Where are you taking us? Tina asked one of the men wearing sunglasses.

Our orders are to debrief you while we take you to Washington to meet the President, the tallest man replied.

"The President?" Tina shot back.

The state troopers went back to their cars. The four federal agents became silent and Tina and I were put in separate limos. A female and male officer accompanied each of us. The windows were shaded too darkly for me to see Tina in the car ahead of us, but I knew she had to feel just as helpless and pitiful as I was feeling.

I’m Agent Hubert, said the man to me, and this is Agent Becker. I’m Secret Service and she’s DOJ. We’ve got orders to present you to the President and it’s a long way to Washington. We were hoping we can debrief you along the way … it would save a lot of time, believe me.

Hey, I know I’m in a shit load of trouble, but Tina was not involved in anything, I immediately said.

First we gotta know: Are you Jeazel Pete? Becker coldly asked.

Upon entering the limo the agents removed their dark sunglasses and I looked directly into Becker’s eyes and then Hubert’s eyes and then back to Becker’s and I said, Yes. I am. I am Jeazel Pete.

Both agents seemed to relax and show the slightest hint of a smile when Hubert said, Are there two of you? Were you working with anyone else?

No, sir. It’s just been me; all by my lonesome.

"Well, Mr. Deleigh, here’s the skinny. I need you to tell me everything that happened … and I mean everything … the absolute truth. You are in trouble, make no mistake, but we want to know everything good or bad. We really want to help you," Hubert said.

I ‘spect they’re doing the same thing to Tina, too.

Yes sir, we need to know the truth from both of you. This isn’t some little B&E, y’know, the whole government changed and we have to know if your role is criminal or, uh, what, Becker softly said, adding, please just tell us the truth.

Can I have a Jack and Coke? I boldly asked when I noticed what looked like a mini-bar. The agents looked at one another and after a few seconds, Becker nodded her head in approval; it was easy to see who was in charge.

Hubert opened the glass door to the mini-bar and began to act as a bartender. He filled a plastic glass with ice and handed it to me along with a can of Coke. Then he handed me two little bottles of Jack Daniels and I prepared my drink.

I sipped long on the drink and coughed a little indicating that it was strong enough. The two agents started laughing and Becker said, Too strong for ya?

"NO, I think it’s Diet Coke," which caused them to pause and glance at the can from which I had poured the soda and got a smirk when they realized that I was messing with them too.

Hubert said, I know you’re prob’ly scared … but we need to know the truth. The ‘truer’ you are with us the less trouble you’ll be in, believe me.

How’d you know it was me? I asked in a quizzical voice as I sipped my drink.

Becker cleared her throat and said, "It was the desk clerk at Cumberland … seems you mailed a bunch of envelopes and when she was putting them in the slot she happened to notice they were all to the same name. Then when she saw the Larry Karey show with all those Ralph Landrum’s callin’ in she put two and two together and came up with you being Jeazel Pete."

"Huh! Well, Tina had nothing to do with anything. She didn’t even know it was me until she saw the tape on Granite and Mohl. I watched that tape with her and I could tell by her reaction that that was really the first time she’d seen it … y’know, the tape with my song on it?"

How’d you know that? Hubert asked.

Because she cried like a baby … that’s how.

We think we know all about Tina … and, at worse, if anything, she’s an accessory after the fact, Becker interjected.

I thought for a second and then I said, She ain’t nothing … she knows nothing and if you want me to tell you the complete truth you have to promise me that you ain’t gonna do nothin’ to her; I want her to have complete immunity. Deal?

Becker, who was from the Department of Justice, meekly spoke and said, I have that authority and I give you my word. Then she did something that I did not expect, she extended her little hand for me to shake on our deal.

Before I reached for her hand I said, That’s all it takes, huh? No paperwork, no nothin’ … just a hand shake?

That’s right. I’m in charge of this investigation and it is up to me to decide what charges are filed and against whom … I trust you … can you trust me?

When she placed her little hand in mine I was amazed by the death-like grip she exerted. Not only did she grip my hand like a man but she also did something else that men do when they shake on a deal, she looked me dead in the eye without a blink. When our hands released I felt that I could trust her words.

I said, Deal! First of all, it was an accident that that cop got killed. He fell into that well in the dark, an’ I tried to warn him, but it was too late; he stepped in the hole and, uh, he was dead down there, I softly spoke.

Do you have his firearm? asked Becker.

What about an ex-felon with a firearm charge? I queried.

Becker said, Don’t worry ‘bout it. I’m really trying to help you … just tell me the truth … what about the weapon?

Yeah … I got it, it’s in a locker at Union Terminal, in Cincinnati.

Tina sat centered in the rear bench seat of the limo. Her eyes darted from one officer to the other and then finally she said, Who are you people again?

I’m Holly Hunter with the Justice Department. I’d like to talk to you about what has been going on these last few weeks, said the female officer as she settled into her seat.

I’m Benjamin Doughver. I’m with the Marshall Service, ma’am, said the big man from behind his shaded glasses as he handed Tina one of his business cards.

Tina, we need you to tell us everything that you know … and I mean everything. I really want to help you because I admire what Mr. Deleigh did and I want to make sure that you and him are treated fairly … honest, Holly said as she placed her hand on Tina’s, stretching across the limo.

I took a sip of my drink and said, Well, first of all, I had no intention of stopping at Cumberland Inn … not really. I had been driving all over the place staying at Clantel Inns and I just wanted a change of pace. I took a long sip from my drink and began to tell the story the best I could remember.

II

JEAZEL PETE IS AT IT AGAIN. The investigation into the death of a local undercover agent continues. Wildfires are ravaging the west. The Vice President’s ahead in the latest polls. And it looks like it’s going to be clear for the weekend, the TV announcer said although nobody was really listening as the sound softly filled the almost empty hotel lobby. We’ll be back in two minutes with the details here on KYT-27, he continued. I glanced down from the TV perched on the wall as the commercial began.

What channel is that in the room, I asked the receptionist as I glanced at her name tag adding ... Debbie?

That’s channel eight, sir.

OK. Also, can you mail these for me, Debbie?

Surely, sir ... $52.25 is your change and here’s your key. Have you ever stayed here before, sir? she asked with a smile. I nodded in the affirmative and she continued. Well good, you’re in room 315, which is in the first building on the right as you come into the parking lot, it’s the one next to the indoor pool. Check out is 12 noon. Enjoy yer’alls stay at the Cumberland Inn.

I counted out my change like a miser and then picked up the key-card from the counter top. Thanks, I said as I turned and walked out to the parking lot.

When I glanced around the lobby I saw a double spiral staircase, baby grand piano, and an elegant portrait of the founders looking stately in their golden years. Upon the tables, strategically placed around the lobby, were books which had elegant and multi-colored bindings. I really don’t know how I missed all this cool stuff the other times I had been here. But that was work and I was always in a hurry to check-in and get to my room so I could get to bed.

As I walked through the double set of glass doors I saw the grounds keeper standing by my ’85 Nissan pick-up. He turned and looked at me and said, Goo’ afternoon.

Afternoon ... uh, Doug, I returned after glancing at his nametag.

I was just admiring your bumper stickers, you’re sure getting around, he said motioning to the tailgate of my truck with his eyes and a slight nod of his head. They look kinda new.

On my tailgate were eleven bumper stickers of various tourist traps indicating that I was a tourist. Some were placed horizontally, some vertically, and others were at angles. The stickers appeared to be placed haphazardly but there was a grand plan to this madness.

Yeah, they are, I chuckled. I’m doing some sightseeing and I want to see if I can cover the whole tailgate before I head back home. That wasn’t quite the truth, but he would never know.

He chuckled as though he understood why I was doing it but I could tell he didn’t share my enthusiasm for my effort. We got some in the lobby, want me to get you one?

Sure, I didn’t even see ‘em in there, I said, I was too taken in by the setting. Man, this is a pretty nice place, especially for being so far in the middle of nowhere. What’s the scoop here anyway?

Well, it’s actually owned by the college, Cumberland College that is, and one of the main focuses of the college is accommodation and comfort management. Hotel/motel management, you know? he said like I was having trouble understanding his meaning. Then he added, Most of the people workin’ here are students workin’ through the summer and gettin’ some extra credits t’ boot.

That’s pretty cool, I said as I nodded my head and looked him in the eye.

Lemme get that sticker for you, he said as he turned to walk into the lobby.

After what seemed like an hour Doug came struggling through the heavy glass doors. That door is tough, he mumbled as he walked up to the back of my truck where I waited. We’ve got two of them, take your pick, he said

Gimme the one that says CUMBERLAND INN – KENTUCKY.

As he peeled the back off Doug asked, Any place pa’ticular?

Yeah, right under the one for Niagara, up and down, I replied. I knew that he had no idea what pattern I was trying to achieve but the way he said it I sensed that he knew there was an underlying plan to my disorder.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wad of change from Debbie. From the crumpled bills I fished out the two one-dollar bills and tried to iron out the wrinkles with my hand by pulling the bills, one at a time, through my first two fingers. After three or four swipes of each bill I handed them both to Doug saying, Thanks.

No, thanks, Doug said with a tone of genuine wholesomeness. I just had a feeling he was a country boy and that he was a little embarrassed to take my gratuity.

Hey man, if you’re going to make your career in the ‘accommodation and comfort management’ business you’d better get use to accepting tips. That’s part of the fringe benefits of the profession … the perks, y’know, I said as I looked at him trying to get him to take the money from my extended hand. I didn’t want to make the kid feel bad, but I did want him to accept this tip.

Thanks, he said as he finally relented and accepted my money. It seemed like this was a big step for him. I’m Doug Chaster. If you need anythin’ jus’ let me know. He took the bills and stuffed them into his pocket.

Ok, Doug, I said as I opened the door and sat behind the wheel. Through the opened window I said, I’ll be here for a few days, so I’ll see ya around.

As I pulled out of the loading zone I heard a faint Have a nice day, coming from Doug.

I glanced at him and waved briefly saying, Thanks!

That is one expression I absolutely hate!!! Half the time the sentiment seems false and, frankly, I don’t know what to say in response. I don’t feel right saying, Have a nice day, because I don’t know most of the people who say it to me and I really don’t care if they have a nice day or not. The people that I know don’t say that to each other. Usually the best I can get out in response is a feeble, You, too. This was my response to Doug.

I struggled to slide my key-card through the scanner to unlock the exterior door of the building because I had to keep adjusting my position so the straps didn’t slide off my shoulder. After about the third or fourth swipe, I finally saw the little green light indicating that access was granted.

I stepped inside and I was immediately overwhelmed with the smell of chlorine in the air. I glanced through the glass door at the bottom of the stairway into the pool area. Very nice indoor pool … I’ll have to have a cup of coffee down here in the morning, I said aloud and proceeded up the stairs.

After struggling up the three flights of stairs and wrestling with the heavy fire door at the top, I was in the hallway. A beautiful carpet with a flower pattern extended forever, vertically golden striped wallpaper with roses winding their way up the stripes reached from floor to ceiling, elegant Queen Anne tables were evenly spaced between each room door and the over-head lights were tiffany drop lamps with gold trim.

I dropped all my bags at the door and swiped my card getting a green light on my first try. I swung the oversized door open wide to make my grand entrance in this grand room. I dragged my bags in just far enough to let the door swing closed. The whole time I was averting my eyes from looking at the room.

I wanted to take this in all at once because I knew that if the rest of the hotel was any indication, this was going to be good. I say this because, even though the hallways are identical, every room has a different décor and I’ve never stayed in this room; I was not disappointed.

I was also greatly impressed with the room safe. It wasn’t this little box designed only to hold the contents of your pockets or perhaps your purse; this was huge and I thought that I could easily stuff both of my duffel bags into it.

Aware though I was that I needed to sleep, I turned the TV on to channel eight, adjusted the sound, and sat in the rocking chair and slowly started to rock as a commercial about some new fangled ink jet cartridge refill kit for your computer printer came on. I had seen this commercial on numerous occasions and practically knew it by heart. Just when the relief of it ending came, the one thing I hate happened; the station ran the SAME commercial again! I closed my eyes and fought sleep until I heard the newscaster’s voice pierce the air and I focused on the image on the TV.

The Vice President has moved ahead of the Texas Governor in the latest polls. A spokesman for the Governor said today, ‘We all expected the Vice President to get a boost after the convention so, really, this is exactly what we expected to happen,’ the announcer read in his monotone voice.

The whole time that he was reading, above his right shoulder, was superimposed an unflattering picture of the Governor. The picture looked like someone had gone through a film of one of his campaign speeches, frame–by–frame, until they found this unflattering image.

Typical, I thought. But I was surprised that the TV stations in Kentucky would give this appearance of railroading him with this type of political diatribe. That’s why I don’t even think about watching the national news from ABC, CBS, NBC and especially CNN, I said aloud to myself.

Outside my window lay a serene side street in a lazy southern Kentucky town. Immediately across the street from my window was a football field. I opened the window and I could hear the faint sound of Jimi Hendrix playing somewhere nearby.

I put my face close to the wall as I looked through the glass and I could see the gas station next door. There were a few Mexicans standing around putting gas in the old car that was radiating with the sound. It struck me as odd that these guys would be listening to Hendrix, but Rock on, I said.

The announcer, Jim, smiled into the camera. His smile did not have the same appeal as his co-host, Debbie, but still it was reassuring in a fatherly way. He spoke, We’ll be back with the weather after this commercial on the 6 O’clock Report, here on Kentucky-27.

I heard a car going down the street and quickly got up to glance out the window. It was just an old Ford pick-up with loud pipes. The bed of the truck was covered with little bits and pieces of hay that were blowing around in a cyclonic fashion, occasionally escaping the confines of the truck-bed and leaving a cloud of fine hay-dust in its wake. Its blue paint had faded and rust was eating away at the wheel wells and doors.

When I opened the room-safe I, again, was amazed at the size. I could sleep in there if I wanted to, I said aloud. Then I walked across the giant room, kicking my shoes off and into the bathroom. I picked up my canvas bag and tossed it on the bed before I stuffed the other two bags into the safe, having to fold and shape them to form before the door would close without problems.

Oh, yes, I said as I lay back on the bed and stretched out. Fifteen hours on the road and I should be more tired because I hadn’t slept in I don’t know how long; only an hour here or there.

Jim got a solemn look into the camera when he began to read the story I was interested in, or at least one of them, The investigation into the death of local federal undercover agent, Lieutenant James Jonathan Price, is expected to conclude this week. Price was part of a multi-state, federally funded operation to penetrate the drug traffic within the interstate prison system. Lieutenant Price had been undercover inside the Kentucky State Reformatory, at La Grange, for the last two years. Since his death, Officer Price has been credited with supplying information that broke up a cocaine ring operating in Kentucky prisons. Officer Price had also given secret testimony that resulted in the conviction of two prisoners involved in the murder of Corrections Officer Herbert History, who died after being burned on over 80% of his body by inmates at the Reformatory.

Jim ad-libbed, His heroic work will be sorely missed, and then he continued to read the script, Officer Price’s body was found at the bottom of an abandoned well on the prison property. Initial reports were that he had escaped because only a handful of prison officials were aware of Officer Price’s true identity. When they finally found the body, his pistol was missing which prompted a prison wide search for the weapon.

Did they ever find his gun? Debbie asked.

After shuffling frantically through his papers, his eyes moving back and forth as he skimmed his copy he replied, It doesn’t say.

Debbie smiled after showing a mournful, remorseful expression for Officer Price and then read the story I was really interested in, Well, to the news of a more curious nature: Jeazel Pete is at it again. John Hansoon, Deputy Prosecutor for Dade County, Florida, said that last Tuesday he had received one of those mysterious envelopes from Jeazel Pete. Mr. Hansoon said that his envelope contained ten one-hundred dollar bills along with what we have now become accustomed to hearing about, the simple card with a computer printed sticker on the inside saying, ‘Thank you for kindnesses rendered. Jeazel Pete.’ Mr. Hansoon, like many of the other recipients of Mr. Pete’s generosity that we’ve heard of, said he has no idea who Jeazel Pete is and has no idea why he would want to send him any money.

The image on the TV of Debbie reading was replaced with a clip of Mr. Hansoon saying, The FBI has been called into the investigation and I feel that, with their considerable resources, they will be able to put a face to the question about who Jeazel Pete really is.

Jim and Debbie looked at each other and smiled. I’ve been hearing a lot about this, but I thought it was a hoax. I wish Jeazel Pete would send me one of them envelopes, Debbie said as she greedily rubbed her hands together.

Jim chimed in, There are a lot of us wishing just that very thing, Debbie. Then he added, We’ve heard reports of more than two dozen people who got something from Jeazel Pete, no telling how many didn’t report it. I just think he is some rich guy who is enjoying the stir caused by his generosity. I wonder if it’s the Vice President … anyway, I’d like to add, where’s mine? Jim, too, was now greedily rubbing his hands and giggling like a schoolgirl and he said, Till then, good news and good night Kentucky.

I stretched and, for a second, fought the notion of falling asleep. Even though I had been on the road for almost fifteen hours and I was stiff and all knotted up, I hadn’t eaten since