Charlie and the Secret Journey

Charlie

and the

Secret Journey

Book Four

Michael D. Massaro

Copyright © 2013 Michael D. Massaro

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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CONTENTS

Preface

Chapter One: Mysterious Message

Chapter Two: Travis Explains

Chapter Three: The Worst Disguise

Chapter Four: Finding Troy

Chapter Five: The Journey Begins

Chapter Six: Finding Jan

Chapter Seven: The Pact

Chapter Eight: Pittsburgh

Chapter Nine: Private Scrubowski

Chapter Ten: Jailbreak

Chapter Eleven: The Goldsmobile

Chapter Twelve: Deception

Chapter Thirteen: Act of Faith

Chapter Fourteen: The Hay Truck

Chapter Fifteen: Amnesia

Chapter Sixteen: Harmonica Pete

Chapter Seventeen: The Long Ride

Chapter Eighteen: Antoine

Chapter Nineteen: Fortunes are Told

Chapter Twenty: Brody McQueen

Chapter Twenty-One: Little Rock

Chapter Twenty-Two: Clues in Pools

Chapter Twenty-Three: Seeing Stars

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Mel-O-Tones

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Actress

Chapter Twenty-Six: Legend of Otawa

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Prize

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Frank’s Story

Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Church

Chapter Thirty: The Others

Chapter Thirty-One: Goodbyes

Epilogue

Preface

Pinball took one more drag on the cigarette before flicking it away. Big Al ain’t happy, he said, smoke curling past his lips as he talked. Nope, he ain’t happy one bit, Frankie Boy.

Frank, tall and lean, glared sullenly at the shorter but heavier Pinball. Look, he said, I’ll get the money. I’m good for it. I just need a little more time, that’s all.

Pinball contemplated the tall man for a moment, then said, What d’ya think, Knuckles? Should we give Frankie Boy more time?

Knuckles, the mountain of a man standing near the door, methodically cracked his fingers one by one. He was Pinball’s sidekick and did the heavy lifting while Pinball did the talking. Between the two of them, Pinball was the brainy one, which wasn’t saying much. They made a crude, but effective team.

Big Al ain’t happy, Knuckles said, parroting his partner. He had a voice like sandpaper. Coarse and raspy.

Frank’s eyes darted around the warehouse office, as if looking for an escape route. He knew he was in danger. The situation, as fine as a knife-edge, could go either way. Just a little more time, he repeated, a few more weeks.

It ain’t personal, Pinball said. In fact, if it was up to me, I’d give you all the time you need. But you know how Big Al is — he’s a businessman. And if one of his clients don’t pay back their loan on time, other guys might get the wrong idea. And that’s bad for business.

Bad for business, Knuckles repeated.

But I like you, Frankie, Pinball continued, so I’m gonna take it upon myself to offer you the extended payment plan. You got two more weeks to make good on your loan, at which time you will pay the full amount owed, with interest, plus an additional grand for the extension.

Another thousand? Frank said. For a lousy two weeks?

Take it or leave it, Pinball said flatly.

Frank had no choice. He nodded slightly to show his acceptance. Pinball and Knuckles turned and strolled toward the door. Two weeks, Pinball called over his shoulder as he left the building.

Frank, now alone in the warehouse, stared blankly at the dusty, concrete floor. He had been so stupid. Why had he borrowed $10,000 from Big Al, the biggest loan shark in town? It was supposed to be a sure thing, but he had not taken into account the bad luck that seemed to follow him wherever he went, and had lost it.

Ten thousand bucks — gone!

And now he had two weeks to come up with the original amount, plus interest, plus an additional thousand — or face the consequences. He had no idea how he was going to find the money. Ten thousand dollars was more than most people made in a whole year. He knew it was an impossible task.

There was only one way out. He would disappear. Change his name, maybe his appearance, too, and just skip out. Maybe go to Mexico, or South America. Big Al would never find him. No one would ever find him. It would be as if he never existed.

He had two weeks to decide.

— 1 —

Mysterious Message

July 1961

Charlie sat on the edge of his bed and studied the postcard again. On the front was a picture of a man fishing in a stream with the words Greetings From Tennessee superimposed across the top. On the back, the card was addressed to:

Charlie Applegate

23 Grand Avenue

Akron, Ohio

And next to the address, the sender had written these words:

Couldn’t write sooner — was tied up.

See you soon. (I hope)

BE COOL!!!

For the umpteenth time, Charlie tried to make sense of it. The card had been sent from Tennessee, obviously. Postmarked a week ago — June 28, 1961.

The problem was, the card wasn’t signed and Charlie didn’t know anyone in Tennessee.

It had arrived in the afternoon mail along with the usual bills and advertisements. Luckily, Charlie had brought in the mail that day because something about the mysterious message told him he should keep it to himself. So, not only did he not tell his mother about it, he didn’t even tell his older brother, Leo. And he certainly didn’t mention it to Aunt Agnes.

But what did the message mean? And who sent it? Of course, the obvious culprit was his friend Travis Marks, missing now for over a month since his foster family had skipped town. But, if it was from Travis, why didn’t he sign his name?

Couldn’t write sooner — was tied up.

What did that mean? Did he mean he had been busy with a heavy workload of some kind, or did he mean he had actually been tied up? Charlie had given the matter a lot of thought and he knew that only something really drastic would keep Travis from returning to Akron, or at least contacting him. He had never met Travis’ foster parents, but he gathered, from the bits and pieces Travis had told him, that they were not exactly model citizens. Could they have taken Travis by force and actually tied him up? And if so, did the arrival of this postcard mean he’s escaped?

But why didn’t he sign it? And, what did he mean by,

See you soon. (I hope)

Did that mean Travis was coming back to Akron? It certainly contained a heaping spoonful of uncertainty, to say the least.

And then there was the last line.

BE COOL!!!

All uppercase letters and with three exclamation points. Was it simply a friendly reminder to avoid the summer heat? Or did it mean something more sinister? Like,

STAY CALM!!!

DON’T FREAK OUT!!!

He absentmindedly pulled an old-fashioned brass pocket watch from the front pocket of his jeans. He had discovered it few days after the end of the school year, in a small box with several other watches in Mr. Turner’s workshop. It was not uncommon for people to leave things for repair and never return. What intrigued him about this particular watch was the fact that it was also an alarm clock. It could be set to alert the owner at the desired time with a single ring, similar to the ring of a telephone. After getting it running, Charlie had been using it for the last two weeks to stop the dreams.

He yawned and looked longingly at his bed. There had been a price to pay, he found, for stopping the dreams.

His thoughts were interrupted by his brother shouting at him from the driveway.

CHARLIE! GET OUT HERE. MOM’S LEAVING.

He tossed the postcard into the top drawer of his nightstand, shoved the watch back in his pocket and raced downstairs and out the side door.

Hannah Applegate was putting the suitcase in the trunk of the big, green Oldsmobile. She closed the lid, then turned to look at her sons. They had the same dark hair, but Leo, at fifteen, was taller and more filled out than his little brother. Twelve-year-old Charlie, while still shorter and thinner, had grown two inches in the last year.

Suddenly, overcome with emotion, she hugged and kissed them — first Leo, then Charlie, then both together. You two monkeys better be good and don’t give Aunt Agnes any trouble, she said looking gravely at each of them in turn.

Don’t worry, Mom, Leo said. I’ll keep the doofus in line.

Charlie punched Leo in the ribs, saying, Shut up, Spaz!

That’s just what I’m talking about, their mother said, grabbing them both by the arm. "You guys have to cut out this fighting and act like grownups — at least until I get back in two weeks. Do you think you can do that? Can you, Charlie?"

Yes, Mom.

Leo?

Yes, Mom. But why do you have to stay so long? Aunt Grace is there.

I already explained this to you. Aunt Grace isn’t as young as she used to be and Uncle Will had a serious heart attack. He can’t even get out of bed without help. I’m going to stay until he’s doing better. It might even take longer than two weeks.

Longer? Charlie asked. But, it’s the middle of July. You’ll be back before school starts, won’t you? He had recently graduated from Portage Path Grade School and would be starting middle school in September and was a little nervous about it. Portage Path was the only school he had ever known.

"It might take longer, but I’ll be back before school starts. I promise. Then she straightened up and hugged her aunt and kissed her on the cheek. I’m sorry to put this on you, Aunt Agnes, but if there’s any trouble just call me. Chicago is only seven hours away, so I can be back here in no time if you need me."

Now don’t worry about us, Aunt Agnes said, smoothing her shawl. "I’ve been through two world wars. There’s nothing these two ragamuffins can do that could top that! Now you go take care of Uncle Will. It’s just like President Truman said. Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country."

That was Kennedy, Leo said.

What?

Truman didn’t say it. It was President Kennedy, Leo repeated.

Kennedy?

Yes, John F. Kennedy. He said it in his inaugural speech last winter.

Aunt Agnes had that befuddled look on her face that the boys knew so well. Kennedy? Are you sure?

"Leo’s right, it was Kennedy, Aunt Agnes, Mrs. Applegate said, soothingly. But Truman probably said something very similar. Don’t worry about it now, dear. Just remember to call if there’s any trouble." Then she shot a look at her sons that said, You better not make her call me!

Okay, I have to go now if I’m going to beat the traffic, Mrs. Applegate said as she reached for the car door.

She climbed behind the wheel, turned the key and the car came to life. She rolled down the window and felt compelled to warn her sons one more time. Remember what I said, you two. Stay out of trouble and remember, Aunt Agnes is in charge while I’m gone.

Then she put the car in gear, glided out the driveway, up Grand Avenue, turned onto Market Street, and was gone.

All right, boys, Aunt Agnes said a moment later, squinting at the sky. No point lolly-gagging out here in the hot sun. Come on inside and start your chores. I’ll make some iced tea; it’s going to be a scorcher today.

They started back to the house, but suddenly Leo pushed Charlie aside and raced ahead saying, Bet I can make my bed before you.

Charlie ran after him, leaving Aunt Agnes shaking her head. Sure wish I could bottle some of their energy, she muttered as she headed for the kitchen. It’s going to be an interesting two weeks.

She thought back to when she first came to help Hannah and her sons almost three years ago now — ever since her nephew, Hannah’s husband, died of a heart attack. It came as a complete surprise considering that no one could remember him ever being sick a day in his life. Not to mention his age. Thirty-six is too young to die. Especially when you have a wife and two young sons to support. Many times she had secretly wished Death had taken her instead. I’m old, she thought. I’ve outlived my usefulness. No one would mind much if I kicked the bucket.

Anyway, I reckon I’ll do what I can while I can still do it. But those boys! They’ll be the death of me, yet.

After the boys made their beds (Leo did finish first) and cleaned their room, they went out to the backyard and began tossing basketballs at the hoop on the front of the garage.

It’s going to be weird without Mom for two weeks, Charlie said.

Yeah, Leo agreed. She’s never been away for so long. I guess she thinks I’m old enough to take care of things around here.

What do you mean?

Well, I’m the oldest, so I’m in charge while she’s gone.

"No, sir. Mom said Aunt Agnes is in charge."

Officially, sure. But you know Aunt Agnes can’t run things. Half the time she can’t even remember our names. Would you put her in charge?

Charlie didn’t have an answer for this. He didn’t like the idea of Leo being in charge, but he couldn’t disagree with him about Aunt Agnes. Ever since she had come to live with them, her mental condition seemed questionable.

Some days she seemed perfectly normal, but other days . . . not so much. Charlie remembered last winter when she kept asking Charlie to help her find her cat. He didn’t know what to say to her requests at first, since she didn’t have a cat. He tried to tell her that, but it only made her angry. So after a while, he learned that the best way to handle these situations was to humor her — pretend to look for the non-existent feline until she forgot about it.

Or sometimes he would make something up. I saw her chasing a mouse outside, he would say. He’ll probably come back after he catches it.

This would placate her for awhile. Oh, that darn cat, she would say. Well, I suppose I’ll take a nap until he comes back. Then she would go up to her room and lie down. Later, when she came back downstairs, there would be no mention of cats and everything would be back to normal.

Most twelve-year-old boys would have little patience with senior citizens. But Charlie Applegate was not like most boys.

Two years earlier, he had become friends with Mr. Turner, the 79-year-old man who lived alone in the house next door. Their friendship began when Mr. Turner offered to teach Charlie to use a lasso, a necessary skill for anyone hoping to become a cowboy as much as Charlie did.

Mr. Turner ran a repair shop in his basement and taught Charlie how to repair things. It was there that Charlie and the old man spent many happy hours repairing radios, lamps, clocks, waffle irons, toasters and just about any other mechanical or electrical appliance you could think of.

And, as if in response to a great cosmic scale, Charlie saved Mr. Turner’s life when the old man crashed his car into a tree on Christmas Eve on a lonely country road where he would have frozen to death if Charlie had not found him.

And yet, the great equalizer would not be cheated. Death claimed the old man even as he was recuperating from his injuries, leaving Charlie to continue the tradition of repairing things on his own.

But Charlie’s first solo repair project was not a toaster or a radio. It was a boy, battered and broken by society.

His name was Travis Marks. With his mother dead and his father in jail, Travis and his brother had been placed in an orphanage at a very young age. Then later, when his brother had been adopted, Travis had to fend for himself in a world where no one seemed to care about the lonely cries of an orphan boy.

By the time Charlie and Travis met in the 6th grade, Travis had become a streetwise petty thief, shoplifting to supplement the meager allowance given to him by his mostly absent foster parents. Friendless and hopelessly behind in his schoolwork, Travis was heading for another failed school year when he was plopped in the middle of Charlie’s class — and life.

The boys became friends and Charlie began to follow in his new friend’s footsteps, shoplifting from stores in downtown Akron. But after Mr. Turner died, Charlie realized that Travis was not as he should be. He wasn’t a bad boy — just broken. And someone had to repair the broken boy. And so, for the next several months, Charlie and Travis worked hard to pay back the stores for the things they had stolen while also repairing Travis’ faulty education enough so that he could pass the final exams and move on to middle school.

They paid off the stores, and when final exams came around, Travis passed all subjects, even getting his first A on a math exam.

But on the last day of school, when they were to get their diplomas and final report cards — exactly what they had been working toward for so long — Travis did not show up at school. At first Charlie was angry, thinking Travis had simply blown it off. But later, he found that Travis and his foster family had skipped town. As suddenly as he had come into Charlie’s life, Travis was gone and Charlie did not know if he would ever see or hear from him again.

That was a month ago. Several times Charlie rode his bike to the dilapidated house where Travis and his foster family had lived. But no one answered his knocks. Junk mail piled up. And the few blades of grass that strained to survive in the front yard grew tall, turned brown, and finally died under the hot summer sun.

Charlie often wondered what had become of his friend. Where could he be? Was he even alive?

And then, the dreams started. Not normal dreams — Charlie’s special dreams. The kind that seemed almost too real to be dreams. They started only a few days before the post card arrived and always the same. Each time leaving him feeling so afraid and confused, he wanted nothing more than to make the dreams stop.

That was when he got the idea to use the pocket watch. He had read that dreams only came when you’re in a deep sleep, which takes at least an hour to reach. He figured that if he could keep himself from going into a deep sleep, maybe he wouldn’t have any more dreams. At least not that kind of dream.

So, every night, before going to sleep, he set the alarm on the pocket watch to wake him in one hour. Then he slid it under his pillow so the alarm wouldn’t disturb Leo in his bed on the other side of the room. When the alarm woke him, he would reset it and sleep for another hour.

And so on until morning.

And so far, it seemed to be working. He had not dreamed for almost two weeks. But there were side effects.

Hey! I’m talking to you.

Charlie was jolted from his reverie by Leo’s voice. What? I didn’t hear you, he said with a yawn.

You got a screw loose or something? Leo demanded. I said Mom wanted me to remind you to water Mr. Turner’s flowers. Go do it now before they all drop dead in this heat.

Oh, right, Charlie said, absently. He was still lost in his thoughts, but the mention of Mr. Turner’s flowers brought back to mind the bizarre turn of events that occurred just a few weeks earlier — shortly after the disappearance of Travis.

A car had pulled up in front of their house and a man got out and introduced himself as Mr. Turner’s lawyer.

He explained to Charlie and his mother that Mr. Turner had hired him to write a will shortly before he died. Much to everyone’s surprise, the will named Charlie as the sole beneficiary of all of Mr. Turner’s possessions.

So at the age of 12, Charlie Applegate became the owner of an old Model A Ford (that was in need of major repairs) and a furnished, two and a half story, three-bedroom house with a workshop in the basement. Since taking possession, he often spent time in the old house, checking the mail, watering the plants, and reading the books in the well-stocked library.

He kept the inside of the house exactly as Mr. Turner had left it and did his best to keep the many flowers and shrubs outside the house looking as good as when Mr. Turner took care of them. It required regular trimming, weeding and, in the heat of summer, daily watering.

Charlie uncoiled the garden hose, adjusted the sprayer to simulate a light rain and watered the foliage on the sides and front of his house. Most of the plants needed only a light sprinkle, but there were several hydrangeas along the front that seemed to never get enough to drink.

After watering, Charlie checked the mailbox and found some advertisements and a magazine. He unlocked the front door with the key he always carried in his pocket, and felt the cool, but slightly stale air as he crossed the living room to the kitchen.

To make the house look more lived-in, Charlie had put a few houseplants in the kitchen window, and after dropping the mail on the table, filled a glass with water from the sink and gave some to each plant. He knew he was just making up things to do. No one lived there anymore, so what did it matter? But somehow it helped him deal with the loss of his old friend, if only for a little while.

BBBRRIIINNGGG . . . BBBRRIIINNGGG. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the old-fashioned doorbell.

Walking through the living room, he could see the silhouettes of two small figures through the sheer curtain that shielded the glass of the front door. When he opened it, he saw two girls, about 9 years old, wearing Girl Scout uniforms.

Greetings, Sir, one of them said a little stiffly. We’re selling cookies to raise money for our Girl Scout troupe. The money will be used to teach girls like us many useful things, like cooking, sewing and taking care of the elderly. They’re only fifty cents a box. Would you like to buy one?

Um, okay. What kind do you have?

The other girl set a cardboard box on the porch floor and reached in and showed Charlie the different kinds. We have shortbread, chocolate mint and peanut butter.

I’ll take a box of peanut butter, he said, handing her fifty cents.

Thank you, sir, they said together as they ran, giggling, toward the next house.

Charlie returned to the kitchen, sat at the table and opened the box of cookies. He munched one as he looked at the magazine that had come in the mail. It was the latest edition of Popular Science. On the cover was a picture of a man sitting in an easy chair in front of a huge metal contraption that had rows of mysterious lights across the control panel. Mechanical arms were handing the man a cup of coffee and lighting his pipe. Charlie read the headline across the top of the picture:

Computers — How They Will Serve Us in the 21st Century

He had heard of computers, but wasn’t really sure what they were. He opened the magazine and turned the pages one by one, looking at the pictures and reading the headlines. He had just reached the article about computers when the doorbell rang again.

BBBRRIIINNGGG.

When he opened the door, he saw two different girls in uniforms. Good morning, Sir, one of them said. We’re selling cookies to raise money for our Girl Scout troupe. The money will be used to teach girls like us many useful things, like cooking, sewing and taking care of the elderly. They’re only fifty cents a box. Would you like to buy one?

I just bought a box from two other girls.

Not deterred in the least, she said, Oh, they were probably from a different troop. What kind did you get?

Peanut butter.

Well, you should get a box of chocolate mint! They’re our best seller.

Charlie handed her fifty cents.

Back in the kitchen, he opened the box of chocolate mint cookies and started reading the article on computers. He was fascinated as the article described how, in the future, every home will have a computer that might be no bigger than a refrigerator and which will control everything in the house and do all the chores while the homeowners spend the day lounging in front of their wall-sized TV screens. He barely reached the bottom of the first column when the doorbell rang again.

BBBRRIIINNGGG.

Is every Girl Scout in town working Grand Avenue today? he muttered.

He yanked open the front door, and was about to say he didn’t want any more cookies, but stopped short. Instead of Girl Scouts, he was staring at a lanky boy with shaggy hair, dirty clothes and a big grin on his tired-looking face.

TRAVIS!

— 2 —

Travis Explains

The boys stared at each other through the screen door for a few seconds before either spoke. Finally, Travis said, I bought some cookies from some Girl Scouts. You want one, man?

Charlie opened the screen door and questions began pouring out of his mouth like water from a fire hose. "What happened to you? Where have you been? A neighbor said you skipped town. Why didn’t you call? Are you all right? How did you know I was here? Why are you so dirty?

Long story, man. What are you doing in Mr. Turner’s house?

It’s my house now.

What?

I’ll explain later. Come inside and tell me where you’ve been.

Okay. You got anything to drink? These cookies are making me thirsty.

Yeah, come into the kitchen. There’s some orange juice in the fridge.

Travis followed Charlie into the kitchen, took a seat at the table, and carefully placed a dirty, green duffel bag on the floor next to him.

Charlie quickly got a glass out of the cupboard, filled it with juice and handed it to Travis who gulped it down.

When the glass was empty, he plopped it on the table and said, Man, that hit the spot! How about some more?

Charlie poured another glassful, sat down and said, Ok, so what happened to you? I went to your house when you didn’t show up on the last day of school, but the place was deserted. A neighbor said he saw a truck pull into your front yard in the middle of the night and in the morning it was gone. He figured you skipped town.

Travis took a gulp of his juice and said, Yep. That about sums it up.

What do you mean? You skipped town? Why? Where did you go?

I don’t know why, exactly. All I know is I went to bed that night as usual — I remember I was kind of excited about finally getting my graduation papers the next day, so I couldn’t get to sleep at first. But I guess I finally did, ‘cuz next thing I know, Darryl and Doreen — that’s my foster parents — are going through the house waking everyone up and telling us to pack up our stuff ‘cuz we’re leaving.

They didn’t tell you why?

Nope. They just told us kids to pack up some clothes and stuff and get in this big moving-truck they had. I got dressed, grabbed my things and when I got downstairs, they already had some couches and chairs and a couple of mattresses in there. We were all kinda half asleep, but we climbed in. Then they shut the door and we drove off.

All the foster kids went?

Well, Travis said, counting on his fingers, there was me; Joey and Roy, they’re about eight or nine; Tommy and Mary, they’re about six; and Jeffy, he’s five I think.

Didn’t you ask where you were going?

Of course I did.

What did they say?

They said, ‘Shut up and get in the damn truck.’ They’re not exactly the chatty type.

So then what happened?

"Darryl and Doreen got in front, us kids got in back with the furniture and, like I said, we drove off. The kids laid down on the mattresses, I spread out on a couch and we all went back to sleep.

A few hours later, the truck stopped and the big door rolled up. Darryl was buying gas and Doreen told us to use the bathroom if we had to, but she told us to make it quick. The sun was just coming up and we were at some hayseed gas station in the middle of nowhere. Everywhere I looked, all I could see was cornfields. When we got back in the truck, Doreen shoved some candy bars and soda cans at us and told us to keep quiet. Then she rolled the door back down and we drove off again. Wherever we were going, they seemed to be in a big hurry to get there.

Travis stopped talking and took another sip of his orange juice.

So then what happened? Charlie prodded.

"Well, we kinda dozed some more, the kids and me, for a few more hours. The little one, Jeffy, kept asking where we were going and I kept telling him I didn’t know, cuz I didn’t.

After a while I could tell the sun was up because sunlight was coming through the cracks and stuff, but we didn’t stop. Also it started getting hot. The kids were getting antsy and spent most of the day wrestling and jumping on the furniture. One time Doreen pounded on the wall and yelled, You brats keep quiet back there!"

The kids settled down for awhile, they’re really afraid of her. But about five minutes later they were at it again. It was kind of annoying, but I couldn’t yell at them. We were like prisoners, man!

What happened? Where did they take you?

"Well, we kept on like that for the rest of the day, stopping only for gas and bathroom breaks. Finally, it started getting dark. Then we stopped again and I thought we were going to get more gas, but when they opened the door, we were parked in front of some kind of farmhouse or something. It was hard to see much in the dark, but it looked like no one had lived there for a while.

"So we went inside and Doreen and Darryl seemed real happy that the lights were still working, but, as I found out later, the phones had been turned off. But at least we could see, so we helped Darryl unload the truck while Doreen fried up some wieners they had bought at one of the stops.

We spread out the mattresses and stuff in the living room and then we all sat in the kitchen and ate hotdogs.

But why were you there? Charlie asked. Why did you skip town?

"I think they might have got