Jr. Part II: You Can't Live Forever - Softcover

Brown Jr., Victor C.

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1449026648 ISBN 13: 9781449026646

Publisher: AuthorHouse, 2009

Synopsis

This book is about a person’s brain and how it thinks.  Consider the captain of a battleship in the ocean dropping anchor without knowing how deep the water is because no one knows the deepest parts of the ocean.  It is the same with a person’s heart.  What makes a man love and not love?  Or is there a compromise?  People go to psychiatrists to search for answers about themselves.  But then there’s the man who doesn’t want to know the truth.  The one thing the man knows is that he has a Creator greater than himself.  He can identify with that.  But he can’t identify to the world who or what he is.  This is what Jr. Part II is about.  Jr. returns to Chicago.  His friends and relatives welcome and accept him, but his parents despise and fear him.  Why has he returned?  No one understands what is going on in the depths of his heart.  Will he succeed in exacting his revenge?  Will he find peace with his Maker and himself?

Other stories in the continuing saga of Jr.'s life include:

-Jr. Smiled, which traces his early life,
-Jr. Part I  Men Die, Nightmares Survive, which follows him to war,
-Jr. Part II  You Can't Live Forever, in which Jr. returns to Chicago to challenge his roots,
-Jr. Lied  Perception or Deception, which finds Jr. in an unexplainable marriage, and
-Jr.'s Angel, in which Jr's chess game comes to an end. 

Other books in which Jr.'s influence is felt include:

-Darkness Is My Shadow, in which Jr. assumes the role of mentor and coach and
-God Had a Breaking Point, in which Jr. assists in solving serial murders

About this title

About the Author

I stayed away from the computer room and the file cabinet because my husband’s health and needs took a lot of my time.  But like a magnet, the file cabinet attracted me.  It seemed to say, “Open me.”  I opened the drawers.  The notes and files were harder to comprehend.  As for myself, I started to understand this man to whom I was married.  He can be so stubborn when I give him his medicines or take him to the doctor.  But I still love him. I know something the world doesn’t know: how warm his heart is.  I did not try to change him when I married him.  But I truly didn’t know what I’d gotten—he was then and is today a real mystery.  The file cabinet has revealed some secrets, but there are parts of his past no one will ever know.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

JR. PART II You Can't Live Forever

By Victor C. Brown, Jr. Joan L. Brown

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 Victor C. Brown, Jr. and Joan L. Brown
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4490-2664-6

Chapter One

The morning mist crept over the grim buildings, high walls, and electrified fences. Men were locked in this matchbox. This was where the "bad" were. The "good" stayed outside these walls. This was where Victor Wolf passed one year of his life. This place was not what his foster mother and father had wished for him. This was not Cornell, Harvard, or Yale. This was Leavenworth Prison.

In the gymnasium, a solitary basketball echoed on the floor. The man that pounded the ball did not do it with loving care. An evil smile encompassed his face every time he shot at the hoop. Most of the shots went in, but when they didn't, the man wanted to rip the air out of the ball. Victor Wolf had found another world: not a country, not a continent, but a world that was his and no one was allowed in.

A guard escorted Victor Wolf from the gym. After showering, he was returned to his cell. His cell gave him the right to talk or not, as he chose.

The time had come for him to return to the world of rules and regulations. He changed from his prison uniform into a suit, packed his valuables, and prepared to leave his sanctuary.

In Nam there were no rules and regulations for Victor Wolf. He played the game by his own rules. To him there was a coin with heads and tails and when it was thrown up in the air, it decided who won or lost. The coin was his philosophy: it was either right or wrong, there was no in-between. In his mind, what happened, happened. No one could stop a hurricane. No one could stop life and death. And no one could change the path that God had determined.

As the guard and the prisoner walked away from the cell, a strange, otherworld smile came over Victor Wolf's face. When they reached the warden's office, the guard knocked on the door. A rough voice said to come in.

"Well, well, well, our little Indian boy is leaving us now. But I have a strong feeling you'll be back in an institution within a very short time," said Warden Wilton.

Victor smiled. "Before I leave here, Warden, I'd just like to know, what's the problem. I never caused any trouble. And yet you've always got something nasty to say to me. What is it? What's your turn-off about me?"

"What turns me off about you? Wolf, I have a file on you that tells me there were so many opportunities open to you and yet you chose to turn your back on them. There are young men who would have given their right arm to have been an athlete like you. Your high school file says that scholarships were offered to you from some of the best schools in the country, plus offers from pro teams. But I also read that you always had to be the tough guy who defied the rules. I have the reports of psychiatrists, intelligent men who cannot figure you out. Some say it's because you were raised in a foster home. Then there are those that say you were born a bad seed.

"Oh, but you did play pro, just long enough so they could fire you." Then the warden smiled, "Or did you quit? You also were a good boxer, but you used dope to ruin that career.

"Your service report shows you didn't have to go to Nam. You could have played baseball at Fort Dix. They were going to send you to West Point to teach the cadets hockey. I don't even want to discuss hockey with you. I have a grandson who loves the game and you are an insult to it.

"The only thing you never quit was Vietnam. They say you were a good soldier, but myself, I think you fucked it up on purpose. The judges gave you temporary insanity. There are crazy people in this prison and they're not insane. But you're labeled insane? No, you're as smart as a fox. I have my own personal feelings about you, Victor Wolf. You'll win to lose."

Victor Wolf gave him that evil smile.

The warden slammed down his hand on the desk and shook his head. "Why don't I like you? It's because you had success knocking on your door and you slammed it shut. A man that's a waste is a man headed for trouble. Now get the fuck out of this office!"

Victor turned to leave. He stopped at the door and said. "Oh Warden, you forgot something. I made it in baseball and told them to get fucked, too."

The warden shot him a hateful glare.

Wolf was given the few dollars that the prison provided and decided to return to Chicago because the war of hatred wasn't over. The hatred he had for his real mother and father. He could have done anything he wanted, but all he wanted was to be a pile driver to prove to his real father that he was more of a "man" and could do things his father couldn't. He understood that in this day and age, it was hard to define the word man, but there were a few who deserved to be called men because of the way they made their living. Their occupation: pile drivers, the men that built bridges and laid foundations under the tallest buildings all over the world. They were a breed apart.

* * *

Victor sat by himself on the Chicago-bound bus engrossed in the farms, remembering his grandfather's springtime planting and the horses. The memories intensified. The unbroken horse that remained that way. The horse was like his grandfather: tough and mean, not kneeling to anyone. Then Victor thought to himself how that was a thousand years ago.

A woman rose from her seat and sat next to him. "Hi, my name is Dawn. I'm so lonely sitting by myself and since I saw you sitting alone, too, I thought we might have a conversation."

He said nothing, his face showed annoyance. Dawn was too dense to figure out he wanted to be left alone.

"I don't want to talk to those soldiers sitting over there," she said pointing to a group of men in uniform. "To tell you the truth, I wouldn't want to sit next to a baby killer. Oh, I hope you weren't a soldier!"

Victor flashed her a smile. His brain was tickled and the sarcasm flowed. "I wouldn't want to be a person who had kids and couldn't take care of them." His smile became sweeter and more endearing, hiding his anger at her cheap come-on. "Actually, I believe in love and peace. I believe in the Bible. You know, turn the other cheek. Killing is evil. Men should make love, not war."

"Well, I guess there are still some good men around."

Once again Victor simply smiled. In his mind, he threw away Vietnam as he had thrown away everything else in his life. He really believed that, but it would never leave him. He never looked back.

Dawn persisted, "I'm from Indiana," and thus continued chatting away for about ten minutes.

Victor finally had enough of her annoyance and out of the blue, asked her, "Hey lady, what do you want, you want to get laid?"

She was stunned for a second. Then an eager smile replaced her shock. "Why, that's not a bad idea."

"I'll tell you what we can do. The next stop we come to, we'll get off the bus, find a motel, and catch a later bus."

Just like that, Dawn thought how clever she was to have snagged Prince Charming; he was such an easy fish to hook.

At the next stop, motel signs abounded. Victor helped her off the bus and waited while she asked the bus driver for her luggage.

"It's against company rules," the driver told her. "But okay. I guess it's all right. You've paid your fare."

When she turned to Victor and asked him where his luggage was, he responded it was on his back.

Victor and Dawn checked in. "Why don't you fix yourself up a little bit while I get us something to drink," he encouraged her.

"That sounds great."

As Dawn was changing, she heard the bus pulling out, and thought to herself how she'd really lucked out.

Back on the bus, sitting in his same seat was Victor. His brownish green eyes glanced out the window as a snickering smile crossed his face.

Chapter Two

As soon as he got off the bus in Chicago, Victor headed for the Wilmont Hotel on Sheffield and Belmont to get himself a cheap room. This wasn't a great neighborhood, but in that hotel lived a few pile drivers he knew.

While paying the clerk for his room, he asked, "Say pal, do you have a room 9, 4, or 1 available?"

"Those are all taken."

"Well, do you have a 49 or 94?"

"I have a 49."

"I'll take it."

Perhaps the desk clerk thought Victor was weird, but those numbers meant something to him given that he had worn them on his uniforms in different sports and was superstitious about them.

As he turned to go upstairs, he asked the clerk, "What room is Checkerboard in?"

"You mean the construction worker?"

"That's the one."

"Well, he's in room 38. Are you a friend of his?"

"Yeah, you could say that."

Victor strode up to his room. Since he had nothing with him, he had nothing to put away. He walked to the little sink, turned on the cold water, and soaked his face. He stared at himself in the mirror. The warden's words rang in his head. "Yeah, you're a fuck-up." After he dried his face, he left his room and walked down the hall to room 38. As soon as he knocked on the door and Checkerboard opened it, his name was no longer Victor.

"Jr., how the hell are you? Where have you been?"

"Away."

"Are you gonna go back to the trade? There's still a lot more I can teach you." Checkerboard wouldn't let Jr. get a word in edgewise.

Jr. smiled at the old man. "The only thing you could teach me is how to cheat better in cards."

With a southern drawl, Checkerboard explained, "It's not cheating. It's the other guys' stupidity for being in a game where they don't belong."

Both men laughed.

Finally Jr. said, "I need to borrow a few dollars to get my union book back and buy some work clothes."

"Sure, how much you need?"

"Well, whatever you could lend me."

"How about a thousand? Will that get you going?"

"That should do it." If Victor had wanted to, however, all he had to do was make a call to his foster mother in New Jersey and she would have sent him money. But she was the last person Jr. would ask because he did not want her to know his whereabouts. Or he could have gone to his Chicago relatives, his Uncle Bill or Grandma Wolf. But Jr. felt he was already indebted to them for all the times they stepped in and took care of him when his real mother and father deserted him.

Checkerboard trusted Jr., but asked him to leave the room and wait in the hall while he got the money from one of his hiding places. Too many times in his life a friend had stolen money from him. Checkerboard never did believe in banks. He must have had about $15,000 stashed all over that room. Finally, he opened the door for Jr. to come back in. Checkerboard gave him the money and they sat and talked for a while. He told Jr. that as soon as his union book was updated, he'd have a job for him.

Jr. left the hotel and walked about four blocks to McFagen's, a bar on the corner of Clark and Sheffield. With a name like that the place should have been Irish, but it was an Indian bar. As usual, inside the bar at this time of night, a fight was in progress. This time between Johnny Shield and Joe LaBatte. They were so drunk that half the swings they were taking at each other were hitting bystanders. These were the games that were played in Indian bars, only in these games somebody usually got hurt.

Even though the jukebox was blasting, some people were sleeping at the bar, intoxicated. As Jr. walked through the door, it was as if all the Indians had seen a ghost or perhaps a spirit had materialized. The excitement within McFagen's was unbelievable. There were a few who always felt he was the devil himself because of the way he had stared at death so often and walked away each time. They knew he could be smiling, but evilness always seemed to surround him.

The fight stopped and everyone who was half-sober wanted to buy Jr. a drink. The first to approach were Johnny Shield and Joe LaBatte. They started arguing over who would buy Jr. the first drink. To avoid another brawl, the bartender poured Jr. a glass of scotch on the house. "We've heard so many stories that you were dead."

"Well, I can't be dead because I'm here looking at you."

"Are you coming back to work?" Shield asked. "Things haven't been the same since you went in the service. There's no more fun on the jobs. Your old man is now a superintendent. He's a smart man, your father."

"Yeah, he's a smart man," said Jr. with a smile.

The pile drivers and the Indians knew better than to ask Jr. why he hated his father. Only Jr. knew the true reason. Buster, as Jr.'s father was called, was one of the best pile drivers. He had boomed around the country when Jr. was young. It was during this period that Jr. was taken away from his parents by the State of New Jersey because Buster drank so much and neglected and abused his child. He was placed in a foster home. But was that a good enough reason for Jr. to hate his father? And what about his mother, Carol. How did he feel towards her? Everyone in the bar knew her litany: she tried so hard, it wasn't her fault, he was born that way. Yet she never mentioned why Jr. had been taken away from them. She only knew him as Jr., but in New Jersey he was raised as Victor Wolf, a well-bred and well-to-do young man. The bar patrons were skeptical, but remained silent. They often wondered why nobody else's children were taken away. It didn't make much sense for Jr. to come back from the East Coast to Chicago to become a pile driver. The opportunities out East were endless for him. And, why did Jr. ever get married to Danielle? She must have been a strong woman to put up with him during their short marriage. She loved Jr. in the beginning, until the love dissipated. But did Jr. love her? When they had their child and she was in the hospital holding their baby, Jr. never once asked how she felt. His eyes and thoughts were concentrated on the baby, as if the image he saw were a reflection of himself, as if he were being born again. The baby became his entire world. Danielle was excluded. And what about all those years he lived in the foster home? His foster parents, Mary and Tom Coniglio, loved him very much and truly worshipped the ground that he walked on. Any sporting event that he was in found them there to watch him. They sent him to special tutors to improve his reading and gave him almost everything he wanted. But during his teens, while his friends were out dating girls and having fun, Victor would either go to the football field to run or sit in the bleachers and stare down onto the field and smile. But when he played football or any sport, the spectators saw an angry young man. He took out his fury on the opponent. He'd rather be booed than praised. He enjoyed punishment instead of kindness. His foster mother hated his smile. The only time Victor didn't display his smile was when he was staring at a crucifix or worshipping the Lord. No one ever saw a tear drop from his eyes, even when he had learned of his foster father's death. But Mary knew that deep down in Victor's heart he did feel something for her husband. Over the past four years, Mary had asked him many times to come back home to live and she would help straighten out his life. His reply each time was "Someday," and then he smiled.

Jr. had consumed quite a few drinks before two Indian girls came in. Elaine Whiteyes noticed Jr. sitting on a barstool. "I don't believe it!" she said to her friend Sharon. "Is that Jr. sitting over there?"

"It's him. Only the devil can smile like that." Both girls sauntered up to Jr. and gave him a hug.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," said Elaine. "Where in the hell have you been?"

"I've been away to give all you girls a rest from me."

Sharon laughed and said, "You know, Jr., you're fulla bullshit. You drink with us and tell us how you'll make love to us, and then you leave us drunk at the bar. Some of us wonder if you're a faggot. Even if you are, I'd give my right tit just to go out with you."

Jr. answered, "Someday I'll give you that chance."

For the rest of the night, Jr. sat and drank with the two girls. But it was as Sharon had said earlier-the two girls passed out and there sat Jr. staring into the mirror behind the bar. Suddenly he caught a glimpse in the mirror of a familiar face: Buster came through the door. Buster's head turned and he fixed his eyes on Jr. Jr. stared at his father with that "smile" of his, stood up and walked past him-right out the bar, never uttering a word.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from JR. PART II You Can't Live Foreverby Victor C. Brown, Jr. Joan L. Brown Copyright © 2009 by Victor C. Brown, Jr. and Joan L. Brown. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Edition details

• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Publication date: 2009
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 1449026648
• ISBN 13: 9781449026646
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 708