To Probe A Beating Heart (10 page)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

An investigation was conducted . . .

Averell had seen recruiters at the high school during his senior year and
visited with an army recruiter in a strip mall near his house. Giving it serious thought, he envisioned himself the perfect soldier. He liked the idea of living in the wild, off the land, hunting both food and enemies. He would learn about weapons, he would become a weapon, a killing machine. The thought of combat did not scare him; it rather intrigued him. The opportunity to kill another man before he killed you excited him. He decided to enlist and see what the army could offer him, both while on active duty and after a discharge. A three year enlistment would allow him to save money and qualify for educational assistance. So, he took a bus to the strip mall, marched into the recruiter’s office and filled out the required paperwork.

             
When he returned home and told Ellie, she didn’t react, she just wanted to know how soon he would be leaving. He said that he had to go to another recruiting center downtown where he would be tested and be given a physical. After that, he would be given orders defining where he was to report. Ellie was not moved in any way, she did not comment and returned to her newspaper. Averell looked at her for a moment and thought how good it would be to no longer have to put up with this treatment. He was angry with her, but smiled, turned and walked out of the room.

             
He took a bus downtown later that week, went to the recruiting center, took the battery of tests and after finishing the physical, he was told, along with about twelve others, to report to the bus terminal on Erie Boulevard in one week.

             
“You can bring a razor and a toothbrush, don’t need much more than that. What you do need, we will give you.” said the recruiting NCO.

             
Over that last week of civilian life, Averell dreamt of growing taller, building muscle and becoming a killing machine. He was five foot eight and weighed one hundred fifty three pounds. He thought of the Green Berets, airborne, secret missions, danger and always, killing. The week passed and Averell showed up at the bus station, on schedule, along with eleven of the other young men. One was missing and the recruiter was not happy. He barked a few final instructions about behavior on the bus and how to act when they arrived, then gave the group a final look and ordered them onto the bus. The bus took them to Fort Dix in New Jersey where their basic training would take place. Boot camp was more difficult that he had imagined. He had a hard time keeping up on runs and doing all the required push-ups that the drill sergeants insisted on. Everything hurt, he had blisters, bruises, bumps, scratches and cuts everywhere. He stayed in the showers as long as they let him and began to lose his enthusiasm for the special forces training. His new goal was to survive basic training, then he would figure out the rest. He would not give up and quit, even if he could, he would finish what he started. He was actually rather good on the rifle range, shooting expert and able to strip down his weapon and reassemble it faster than most of the rest of the platoon.

             
Military basic training is by virtue of its purpose, dangerous, after all this was the army. There is risk in every exercise and people do get hurt on occasion. Averell was learning to be a soldier, to engage in combat, so the bumps and bruises here and there were to be expected. On a day when his platoon was learning about hand to hand combat, he took a solid hit to his midsection from Al Davis, a fellow recruit, and he vomited. The drill sergeant told him to sit down and relax. Take it easy, let the pain pass and he could rejoin the others when he felt better. Even though Davis was a bully, always pushing people around, this was embarrassing, degrading, and he had to show that he was equal to the others, but what could he do? The rest of the day passed with slight glances from the others and short laughs that made him feel smaller and inadequate. Over the following two days of hand to hand training, Davis cheap shot three others. Each time the teasing was less and the looks of disdain were directed at Davis rather than his victims. This was his thing, this was how he grew up. He climbed over others to get what he wanted and punching Averell in the gut was just another step to his goal. Nobody appreciated Davis’ approach and the entire platoon silently agreed that someday Davis would catch the short end.

             
While on a cleaning detail after the hand to hand training, Averell found a piece of wood about two feet long and hard as a rock. He kept it out of sight and secreted it back to the barracks. At night, he retrieved the stick and put it under his mattress where he could get to it quickly. It would serve him well if Davis, or anyone else ever tried to rough him up again.

             
“Let’s not wait for him to attack again. We could get him while he is asleep,”
suggested Stelian.

             
“We could,” thought Averell, “We might—.”

             
That night around 1:30 am while everyone was asleep, and the fire watch had walked into the latrine, Averell crept over to Davis’ bunk, with the stick. He hit Davis three times around his right ear as hard as he could. He was thinking Davis might die from the beating, but that would be okay. Davis deserved to be hurt, even to die. There was a slight movement somewhere in the room, the fire watch might be coming back, Averell left the stick next to Davis and quietly went back to his bunk, pulled the blanket up around his neck and shivered with excitement. It was almost eighty degrees in the barracks and he shivered. He laid there and listened for sounds, everything was quiet, no movement except the fire watch walking past. He waited for something else, but nothing happened. The fire watch never noticed Davis and the wounds around his bloodied ear. Eventually Averell relaxed, he had done it and now he could sleep, he mumbled, “Safe.”

             
“Yeah, safe,”
Stelian mumbled right back.

6:00 am, people were rousted out of their sleep and were standing at
attention in front of their bunks, everyone but Davis. Sergeant Connor yelled and screamed as he approached Davis’ bunk. He stopped, stared and yelled for someone to get a medic and moved to Davis to check him. There was a drying pool of blood on his pillow and the stick was laying next to him. Davis did not move, he was breathing, but not moving. Connor yelled again “Hurry up, someone get a medic—.”

             
Davis was still alive—, Averell was disappointed; he was safe because no one saw anything—, safe but disappointed. The medics arrived and Davis was carried out. Sergeant Connor was not in a good mood. It was obvious that Averell would be one of the suspects, perhaps a prime, but not the only suspect. Davis was a bully, big and strong, and had been asking for it for quite some time and someone had finally accommodated him with a few swift blows to his head. Nobody cried for Davis and some were actually pleased that “someone else” had nailed the S.O.B.

             
An investigation was conducted and Averell denied everything. He said that he was asleep and knew nothing. He further stated that he thought he heard something around 3:00 am, but it could have been the wind. He really didn’t know. Another of the recruits, Ed Crane, that Davis had pushed around was also a prime suspect and the investigative team found him to be the least believable in his denials. He was arrested and charged with several offenses. He seemed pleased to be recognized as the one who nailed Davis. Even Averell gave Ed a thumbs up when he was arrested. The next week Davis was awake and able to talk. He didn’t remember a thing. Another week and he was back in training with another platoon.

             
Ed was arrested and the others in the platoon were questioned. Averell repeated to the investigators, “Yeah, I heard something at about three in the morning, but I don’t know what it was. Maybe I was dreaming.”

When questioned further he said that it sounded like someone dragging
a duffle bag across the floor. Ed was convicted of hitting Davis and was sent to a secure lock up pending his sentencing. Averell was pleased with himself, he had gotten away with it and someone else would spend time in prison for his action. Two lives directly affected negatively and Averell was pleased. He had retaliated and nobody knew it was him. He was safe.

             
Time passed and Averell made it through the several phases of basic training. The running, push-ups and other physically demanding activities were no fun, the rifle range, however, was fun and there he did excel. He enjoyed this part, the shooting, even though he was only killing paper targets, he could imagine a field of combat, enemy soldiers running at him and he killed them all. The exercise with the bayonet was sort of fun, but not as much as the rifle range. He was praised by his drill sergeant for the cleaning, care and use of his rifle, but when that phase was over, so was the fun and the praise. After graduation from basic training and a brief stint in an advanced training program, he was assigned to a supply clerk’s job in Georgia. He learned about the world of supply, including everything from pencils and paper to heavy equipment and parts for everything in between. As time passed, he was given more and more responsibility anddealt with buying and distributing materials and equipment for the entire base. The job was easy for him, it was not physical, but required a certain amount of organization. He became more of a detail oriented individual, fussing over sloppy requisitions and any disorder in the storage facility. His bookkeeping was near flawless, and he knew where everything was in the warehouse and how much had to be ordered at the end of each month. He was efficient, but very quiet. It seemed as though he was invisible. Nobody noticed him, no one bothered him. He went about his business and got by. His life in the army was very routine, he did his job, lived in the enlisted men’s quarters, had few expenses, saved most of his money, enjoyed a game of pool periodically but was not a very social person. In the summer of 1987 he noticed an ad posted on the bulletin board in the enlisted men’s club. ‘For Sale, 1983 Chevrolet Impala.’ A sergeant who was being deployed, had no family locally and wanted to unload his car. He made Averell a reasonable deal. This car was his one and only major purchase, and he was determined to make it last. He spent the majority of his free time in his quarters watching television or reading, occasionally venturing out to a movie or to the library and he put very few miles on the car, but he kept it clean and followed the recommended maintenance procedures, changing the oil every three thousand miles and taking it in to a dealer each year for a thorough check-up.

             
The time seemed to pass quickly, and after three years, his enlistment was over. In all that time Averell had not heard from Ellie or Sarah, no letters, no birthday cards, nothing and he did not write to them. The two vacations that he took were brief visits in a state park in Florida, where he had rented a one bedroom cottage and took a tour of the swamp and visited an aquarium. The army had an up-side, Averell was physically fit. He exercised regularly, having learned to get up in the morning and run a mile before breakfast every day. He grew another inch in the three years and now stood at an even five foot, nine inches and he now tipped the scales at an astonishing one hundred seventy eight pounds, the biggest he had ever been. So, three years of being attached to a supply company and working in a warehouse and no more thoughts of heroism, of winning medals, only thoughts of a discharge. He had not seen combat, did not have to travel, saw no adventure, did not get into trouble, and he was ready to become a civilian again. He took his honorable discharge in July of 1989, loaded his car with all his belongings, drove back to Syracuse and went to his mother’s house.

             
Ellie and Sarah had moved to a town home. The new residents, Hank and Carrie were nice enough and told Averell that Ellie wanted a smaller place and a town home development called Charter Woods was perfect for her. It was located a few miles west on route five. Averell thanked them for the information and asked if he might check in the garage for something he had hidden there years ago and wondered if it was still there.

             
“It’s in a little bag hung behind a piece of wood between two studs.”

             
“Let’s take a look, if it’s there, it’s all yours,” said Hank.

             
They went to the garage and Averell went straight to the spot where he hid his probes. The bag was there guarded by a spider, he retrieved it and smiled as he opened the bag. All six were there, dirty and rusty but all there.

             
“I used these to pin drawings to a wall so I could work on them,”

said Averell. “Made them when I was about nine. Thanks.” With that,

Averell said good bye, wished them luck in the house and drove away.

Averell calculated that since neither Ellie nor Sarah had written and told
him of their relocation, he was not welcome in their home and decided to leave town. First he would drive by their new residence, he was curious. The Charter Woods development was newly completed by Danker Construction according to the sign at the entrance. Averell was looking at the numbers wondering which was their specific unit when a pick-up truck pulled into a driveway about five units down. It was Steve Danker. After all those years, Steve was back in touch with Ellie. Averell sat there for a few minutes watching as Steve went up the stairs and unlocked the door and went in.