Powder Monkey of Cape Fear

Episode 1


I suppose you could say I stumbled over my inheritance. After all, I stumbled over everything else in life. I stumbled over my college grant and wound up majoring in horticulture instead of theater. I stumbled over my job making television commercials when a favor to a friend turned into a career. Planning was obviously wasted on me.

Let’s go back. It was not too long ago that I received a call from my grandfather Thomas, age 89, saying that he would like to see me before he “moved along in the great scheme of things”.

Grandfather Thomas Wilfred Donnalson was the colorful old man of the family who was always fond of saying things like that, or “It’s Earth, y’know – no one’s gettin’ out alive.”

I was named for my eloquent grandfather, as he was named for his grandfather and he was named for his. The last name, however, seemed to change with every voter registration. Grandfather Thomas’s grandfather was Thomas Wilfred Donnallton and his grandfather was Thomas Wilfred Donnally, and before him the enigma of the family, Thomas Wilfred Donny, 1698-1763.

The finer points of a cloudy family history, missing certain parts and shrouded in mystery, had been pretty boring to me even as a child. Now at twenty-six I had other things on my mind; but being a dutiful grandson, I made some time and headed down to Grampa Tom’s place in Wilmington.

As I pulled my Jeep off Oleander, the familiar off-white sand and long-needle pine trees reminded me of earlier days visiting Grampa. The house had since become his ‘Hermitage’ and was sorely in need of repair.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me!” I said aloud, noticing the overgrown yard and neglected porch. Grampa’s boat sat in the yard, not looking very seaworthy.

“Don’t sell ‘er short,” said a scratchy voice from within. “She’s withstood everything Ol’ Lady Nature could throw. Come in, Tom.”

“Grampa Tom?” I said, pulling open the storm door.

“Come in and sit down. There’s a few things to go over and I feel something powerful pulling at me.”

“How are you doing?” I tried to sound like I could do something about it if the answer was bad.

“Oh! Me? I’m doing great! I just can’t stay long. Got places to go and I’m packin’ light. No one takes a knapsack into heaven.”

I smiled – I was in the right place. Gramps was his old enigmatic self.

“What’s up, Grampa?”

“Sit down. There’s history to impart.”

I pulled up a straight-backed chair, the only one in sight, and sat down to await the ramblings of the colorful old dodger with a patient smile.

“Don’t gimme that smile; that’s your father’s smile, I’d know it anywhere. It’s that ‘Go on, rattle away’ smile I always get from him. Listen up, this is important.”

“OK, OK, sorry,” I said, pulling my chair a half-inch closer and trying not to do my father’s cynical smile.

“Why do you think you’re a Donnalson?” He flashed an elfish twinkle.

“Never thought about it.” It was true. I hadn’t.

“Why not a Donnallton or a Donnally or” he paused to be sure he had my attention, then said with great import, “a Donny.”

The old man sat back, smiling, waiting for the light bulb to go off in my head. When it didn’t, the luster faded from his face.

“Alright, boy, I can see I’m in for it. It was easy for me to change it to Donnalson. It was wartime, records were slippery – Giuseppe Verde became Joe Green due to anti-Italian sentiment, Viktor Schmidt became Vic Smith, and so on. Lots of people changed their names, but I changed it because Donnallton was getting a bit familiar in these parts.”

“Why?”

“For the same reason that my grandfather changed it from Donnally and his grandfather changed it from Donny – Blackbeard’s treasure.”

My eyebrows went up.

“I see I have your attention.” He sat back with a satisfied smile.

Luna Nightmares

From the collection: Murder at Thompson Bog
Episode 5

Not drinking the night before agreed with me. I felt better.

“Rensler's in the office. Better come,” said Ted as I poured a cup of coffee.

I felt a chill run through me. Charles Rensler was the board liaison. When they wanted to tell us something, it was Mr. Rensler who came out of the elevator and into our lab. Not Charlie or Chuck, but Mr. Rensler. He didn't know a test tube from a shoe horn but he gave the orders, or at least relayed them.

In the lab, Rensler was leaning with one hand on the table, as if he had been waiting for me to finish playing with myself. He looked disturbed, but then he always looked that way.

“Gentlemen, we are going into testing in a week.” (“Ready or not,” said the word-bubble over his head.) “You have been playing with this new concoction long enough. It's time to take it to the subjects. We want this ready for market before the snow falls.”

Rensler's eyebrows were furrowed, admonishing his wayward children who never did as they were told. He had already decided that we were holding up this project on purpose. He had made up his mind about us; we were bad.

“It's not ready,” said Ted.

Rensler flared, his eyes wild. “Well, get it ready! The board wants to know if we've made a mistake with you two. The holidays are a stressful time and we want our new anti-depressant out and on the market in time to deal with it. You get it ready to go or it's you who will be going. No more hold ups, no more excuses.”

Rensler strode to the door, turned and put one hand on the door, he was making his grand exit. “We're calling it 'Lunaxapryn' and it had better be ready by the time the box is printed.” Rensler exited with a flourish, punctuating his commands with a loud march to the elevator. 'Click, clack, click, clack!' The sound of our doom.

“That man has no idea what he is doing,” said Ted, shaking his head. “If the six o'clock news mentions our product it won't be good for anyone.”

“Are we sure about it? Is there something we don't know?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Ted, as if it was obvious, “We don't know how many will die when they start taking this!” Ted turned his back to me, walking forcefully to the back of the office, picking up samples of “C” in green envelopes. He was trying to compose himself enough to actually do something. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him slump. His shoulders dropped; Ted was shaking his head.

“You OK, buddy?” I asked.

“Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just peachy!” Ted stood up, squaring himself around and picked up the daily log. “I'm logging out, leaving a little early.”

“OK, Ted. You've put in enough hours to do that. Say hi to Alice.”

“Yeah,” said Ted, taking off his lab coat. “Tomorrow, same time.”

“You bet!” I replied, trying to be as light and casual as I could. I watched him go down the hall.

The pad caught my eye. There was a corner still attached to the top where the paper tore off. Ted had ripped a piece off and left a corner. My thoughts went back to my dream, to the paper with the missing corner.

I looked over the line of envelopes on the desk: colored envelopes with the active ingredient of each generation, concentrated for analysis. There were three green envelopes of “C” and one pink of “A”. The blue envelope was missing. I remembered my dream, Ted slipping that envelope into his pocket. A chill ran through me.

Returning to the pad, I recalled an old movie I saw on one of those sleepless nights, where the detective used a pencil to discover what was written on a pad. I took the pencil from the drawer and lightly ran it over the pad. There, in the impressions left by Ted's pen, was the note he had taken with him. “I love you and the kids.”

My heart went to my throat. I couldn't breathe. I steadied myself against the table. There had to be a way to stop him! I took the remaining envelope of Luna-A and put it into my pocket. I threw my white coat over the chair and ran to the nearest exit, my short-cut to the parking lot.

It was before rush hour and the traffic was still light. I figured Ted wouldn't be driving fast, but I was. My hands were shaking and there was sweat on my forehead. I couldn't think where the tissues were. The radio was on and a distraction. I switched it off and veered to the right, narrowly missing a car slowing to turn. I tore through the last intersection on a yellow light, beating the red by the skin of my teeth.

At Ted's house, I pulled up and turned the car off. Ted's Cherokee was already there. The quiet was thunderous. I could hear myself sweat.