M. Forsythe - While Rome Was Sleeping

Then Monte simply applied the gun indiscriminately not bothering to let either of them get back on their feet. They were crouching with their hands over their head trying to ward off the blows. It was obvious Monte was out of control.

“Please,” Leo yelped, “ya’ gotta believe us, we don’t have any of the guy’s stuff—we don’t even want the rest of the money—you keep it, Monte, just leave us alone.”

“Yeah,” echoed Jake. “We’ll get out of your life. Just, just leave us alone” he stammered.

“And I don’t like being talked to like I was your lackey either,” Monte raged on. “You need a lesson in telephone manners,” emphasizing each word with a blow.

“We’re sa… sa… sorrry.” Leo stammered. He was sure Monte would kill them.

Monte slowly came out of his blind rage; he realized he really might do them in right there in the hotel room.

He stopped pistol whipping them, but still held onto the gun as he looked them over. They were bleeding from some cuts and would have plenty of bruises from the beating, but they would survive. They would probably have a good headache in the morning, Monte told himself.

“Okay,” he said, he was shaking now as he pointed his finger at them. “You stay away from me; if I ever hear of you tossing my name around, you’re dead meat! Understand?”

Jake and Leo just nodded.

He left them on the floor in a state of fright and apprehension. Monte had reason to be apprehensive as well; Jake and Leo didn’t have the merchandise, but he had to find it. And he had to get rid of Jake and Leo. No matter how scared they were now, it would be temporary; they were definitely liabilities. It was time to call in a favor.

Arriving home he entered the house quietly; Dora was still asleep. Monte went to the den and closed the door. “Those two are gonna’ pay for their bungling stupidity,” he muttered.

Picking up the telephone he dialed the Atlas Window Company to arrange for payment. The night watchman Monte needed to speak with would be there. “Hello Sal, this is Monte Maxwell. You know the favor you owe me? I’m calling it in now. You need to arrange for an accident… and don’t worry, I will see to it that I will personally handle the investigation.”

Wednesday night had been a long night for Charlene Thayer. As she reconstructed the evening in her mind she felt as if she had been caught in a time warp. What could it mean? The date of the letter indicated that Paul had written it eight months after she had been notified of his death. How could it be? She read and reread the letter looking for some clue, something that she might have missed. Paul seemed more real to her now than he had for years.

She could almost hear his voice speaking from the yellowed page of the tattered letter in her hand. But no amount of reading gave explanation. Betrayed! He said he had been betrayed… by whom? And who is George? Questions that didn’t make sense and the hurt was there all over again. The stabbing pain of knowing Paul was gone forever and nothing could change the loss.

Shivering she walked slowly to her bedroom. Undressing and wrapping herself in an old blanket robe, she took a bundle of letters from her closet shelf and returning to the living room she sank into Paul’s old chair and began to read them one by one. Tears came and dried and came again as she read and reread the letters; images emerging in her memory.

She met him for the first time at the San Francisco Air terminal. It was August, 1965. Charlene had flown to San Francisco with two friends to attend a business meeting and was looking forward to a free weekend of sightseeing. A transportation union strike that affected much of the service to and from the airport was in full swing.

They stood in line together and chatted casually while waiting for buses to take them into the city. She learned he had just returned from his first tour in Vietnam as an advisor. As the passengers were pushing their way to catch airport buses, the three friends piled into the last bus in line; when looking back they saw Paul still on the curb with his duffel. Charlene instantly made the driver stop to allow him to board the bus. There was standing room only and so he stood next to where she was seated, talking and studying her.

It was easy to close her eyes and see his sun-tanned face under the close cropped dark hair. Lines at the corner of gray green eyes showed a depth of humor, but there was something else reflected in his eyes, unrest or even sadness.

Later they would laugh when she commented that he had smile lines and he told her they were probably caused by squinting in the sun due to the loss of his sunglasses on two separate occasions while engaged in observation from a helicopter.

Even though she had participated in a number of peaceful demonstrations against the war, she could not support anti-American pro-North Vietnam demonstrators. As the war continued and the demonstrations grew more violent and ugly, Charlene struggled with her own objections and conscience. She believed the flag burning and radical anti-military extremists were more threatening to the country than the war itself.

She remembered how strained he looked as their bus passed a group of anti-war demonstrators who waved a torn and scorched American flag as they drove past. Charlene felt ill at ease that he should see them… bits and pieces of memories came together in a ragged scene. It would be played again and again in different cities and places, but now they all ran together in her mind like a multicolored river.

He smiled at her and inquired if she thought he would need a reservation to stay in town that evening; his flight was scheduled for the next afternoon. Charlene said it was likely and suggested he inquire at the hotel where she and her friends were staying. His open appreciation at her suggestion left little doubt of his interest.

She cancelled her plans for the evening and she and Paul had dinner together and talked and talked like old friends all through the night. She learned he was on his way to Carlisle Barracks for a year at the War College. It was a relief to know he wasn’t going back to Vietnam for at least that long or more.

He found out about her family in Seattle and that she often traveled in her work to the East Coast suggesting that it might be possible to get together on one of her trips. By the time Paul left the next day they both knew that there could be no one else for either of them.

It seemed now as though they had loved each other instantly and without reservation. Always comfortable together, they intuitively understood one another without pretenses. Once, a short time after they were married they were just walking, Paul squeezed her hand, pulled her next to him and said, “You know I feel as though we have always known each other. It’s like one of us had been away and now we’re both home. We fit together…”

She had kissed him and laughingly added, “Yes, we fit together like two old spoons,” silly things in the montage of memories came back to her. She thought of their hurried marriage, the whirlwind trip, meeting his mother and family and his friends, Brad and Olivia Coleman. Paul and Brad had been at West Point together. Brad’s wife, Olivia and Paul had grown up together and were as close as brother and sister. The Coleman’s became as close to Charlene as they were to Paul.

Meeting Paul’s family included cousins, aunts and uncles all proud and supportive of Paul and eager to meet his bride. Her family was a bit alarmed at the hasty decision to marry Paul, but was easily won over after meeting him. She was thinking of the cold Pennsylvania winter and visiting… Charlie heard the alarm in the bedroom announcing it was Thursday morning.