Judge Me Knot

By Julian Hutchinson

Forty years after WW II, Paul Knot, U.S. Marine Corps hero, becomes a blackmail target of Harv, a vulgar creep, seeking the fortune Paul may have illegally accumulated prior to becoming a born again Christian. As an old, experienced live theater consultant, Paul defends himself with his wits, moral beliefs and theatrical abilities. Other major characters in the story are: Ellie, a mysterious theater novice; Willie, an incognito FBI Agent; and Tammy, a hard living actress who becomes Pauls platonic friend and ultimately accepts Christ as her savior.

Various chapters of Judge me Knot are written by the characters themselves describing their inter-connections with Paul. The storys moral issues are: judge others by what they are now, not what they once were; and real love lasts forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 30, 2010
• ISBN: 9781456846572

Julian Hutchinson

The author, Julian Hutchinson, Sparta, Wisconsin, is a 80 year old semi-retired Consulting Forester whose 30 year hobby was live theater. He has contributed to over one hundred community theater productions as director, producer, publicist, set builder and veteran of most back stage duties. “Judge Me Knot”, a live theater adventure mystery with romantic overtones, is his second novel following the Xlibris publication of “Hack” in 2009. Artist Walter Knox, VA Hospital, Tomah, Wisconsin. 82nd Airborne Division veteran, drew the cover portrait. He said, “My talent is a gift from God. It is up to me to refine it and use it to celebrate HIS creation and relate it to others.” Kathryn R. Johnson, full time employee of a Kwik Trip Convenience Store in La Crosse, Wisconsin, enjoys the simple pleasures of life with her beautiful daughter and writes a poem from time to time. She believes that everything in her life has the finger prints of God upon it and all the glory in her life goes to HIM.

Book preview

Copyright © 2011 by Julian Hutchinson.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2010919611

ISBN: Hardcover    978-1-4568-4656-5

ISBN: Softcover     978-1-4568-4655-8

ISBN: Ebook          978-1-4568-4657-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

91178

I dedicate this book to

Reggie White, Green Bay Packer

A man of God

and

a man of controlled violence

Today, Tomorrow, Yesterday

Today is here.

Tomorrow is yet to come.

Yesterday will remain.

Life is full of treasures

You are among the rarest.

Topaz, rubies and diamonds

. . . cannot compare.

If by chance I miss you today.

And tomorrow comes and goes.

My yesterday will always remain.

                                                           Kathryn R. Johnson

For what judgment ye judge,

Ye shall be judged:

and with what measure ye mete,

it shall be measured to you again.

St. Matthew: Chapter 7-2

But if we do not forgive,

neither will your Father,

which is in heaven,

forgive your trespasses.

St. Mark: Chapter 11-26

Greater love hath no man

than this,

that a man lay down

his life for his friends.

St. John: Chapter 15-13

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I pay special tribute to:

Dr. Debra Crunkilton, who was the guiding hand

that led me to discover what I really wanted to say

and how best to say it;

Mr. Walter Knox, military veteran and artist who

designed the cover portrait;

Kathryn R. Johnson, herself a writer extraordinaire,

who composed the poems

Round and Round and Round We Go

and

Today, Tomorrow, Yesterday,

which became the foundation for my story;

Ms. Rose Bach, Xlibris representative, who made

possible, through her personal and staff assistance, the publication of this novel;

Cyndi Wise, advisor and reviewer, who gave me confidence to believe in myself;

And all the others who so generously shared their time

and talents by providing me the encouragement and inspiration required to write this story of fiction.

The list includes, but is not limited to, Robert Andersen, Father Bernard McGarty, Pastor Edwin Stigen, Jerry Rasmussen, Bonnie Fetzek, James Chinnock, Paul Hauser, Lyda Lanier, April Ammann,

Dr. Bryan Varichak,

and my family.

Last and most importantly, to God, the Father Almighty.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Paul Knot: Old WWII and stage theater veteran with a checkered past who is facing a crisis

Harv: Low-life criminal who has knowledge of Paul’s early life

Ellie: Suspicious down-and-out actress who seeks help from Paul

Jane: Paul’s deceased wife

Tammy: Promiscuous actress

who has retained her youth; becomes

Paul’s platonic friend and is trying

to start a new life

Purple Man: FBI chief

Willie: FBI undercover agent;

code name is Red Rooster

Harold and Gladys Hansen:

Black couple who are Paul’s friends

Ollie: Minor character who is a

longtime friend of Paul

Arnie: Deceased friend and WWII buddy

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

HI. MY NAME is Paul Knot. Well, it really isn’t. I mean, it is, legally. But that is not my given name—the one my parents gave me. That was James Myers. I changed my name in the fifties after World War II. I had no choice at the time. It is sort of a long story, but I suppose one that should be told so you will better understand me, my life, and the final outcome.

I grew up in central Indiana a long time ago. My parents came to tragic ends, and I was actually raised for the most part in an orphanage. It was suitable for my needs at that time of life. I had food and shelter, and many of the social workers were kind to me. But I was denied the typical family life of a father, mother, and siblings.

While at the home, my uncles on my mother’s side tried to provide me with a degree of father influence. They had grown up in the mountains of Tennessee before moving to Indiana and were natural outdoorsmen. On occasion, one or the other would pick me up and take me hunting or fishing for days at a time. I learned a lot about wild country and how to live off the land. That kind of experience was in my blood, and I enjoyed it.

Not to make a joke, but it is a fact that I never found a home until I joined the army. Or rather, the marines. I remember clear as a bell that day on December 7, 1941, when we heard about the attack on Pearl Harbor—a day of infamy, as the president had said. I had just turned seventeen that November but was big for my age. I was not husky but tall and lanky with broad shoulders. I was a quiet boy but quick-witted and physically well-coordinated.

The horror suffered by the sneak attack in the Pacific was especially significant to us orphans. A youngster without parents may naturally feel insecure, so this major change in the nation was very upsetting to us. I remember thinking to myself, What will ever happen to me?

About two weeks went by, and I had a little tiff with one of the cooks in the home. As I recall, he had inspected one of the big kettles I had washed and accused me of not doing a good job. Of course, I took it personally as a teenager would normally do and decided I’d try to get permission and leave the home to strike out on my own. I’d make my own security.

I got a room in the local YMCA until I could find work and get settled. Jobs were plentiful since so many young men were joining the armed forces. The attitude was, If you don’t join up, you’ll get drafted anyway. I was a quick learner and creative, so I quickly found work in a canning factory. It was okay; but I did not like the monotony, noise, and stench of the place.

I did meet an older man named Otho who took me under his wing and quietly showed me the ropes. I moved in with him and learned about other people—how they thought and why they were that way. I learned some folks are naturally a pain in the ass and others are natural-born leaders who always seem to know the right thing to do.

I was not religious but had always believed in God and knew there were right and wrong ways to live. Otho became a role model and somebody I trusted. In later life, I became a born-again Christian.

One day the shift boss had a hangover and started to take his misery out on Otho. He walked up to him and said, Hey, you old son of a bitch! If you can’t do your job the way I say, then get the hell out of here!

Without thinking, I moved between the two of them, faced the boss, and said, I know you don’t feel well. But that ain’t Otho’s fault. He does a good job. I know he does because I’ve been at his side for several months and have seen his good work.

The boss looked at me in the eye and had this funny expression around his mouth, like he had just tasted something new. I added, I’ve also seen you do a good job. You have been a good leader. I think the workers respect you. Why don’t we just forget about this morning and get the work done?

Well, the boss did a 180 and walked away. Otho gave me a surprised look and went back to work. So did the other workers who had gathered around. Later the boss came by and said I had been right to speak up and thanked me for cooling off the situation. Everybody treated me different after that day.

Thinking back, I did what I did because when the boss said what he did to Otho, I suddenly was gripped with the memory of when the cook had unjustly accused me of doing a poor job. If only someone had stood up for me, I would have felt better. So that was why I had stood up for Otho.

By May 1942, the war situation was severe. The Japanese had control of the Philippines. American soldiers had been killed or tortured by the thousands. One day Otho told me he could not take it anymore and was going to enlist even if he was too old to do much. To his surprise, he was accepted into the army and left for training in a matter of weeks.

The last day on the job, he told me, Jimmy, you are made of good stuff. It has been a pleasure to meet you and work with you. I know you will be a man and join up soon. So I want to wish you the best of luck. I think you will always do the right thing. We hugged and shook hands. That was the last time I ever saw him.

On July 15, 1942, I joined the marines. I’ll probably tell the details later but for now, just let me say that I was placed in the 1st Marine Division and assigned to one of the early sniper and scout units. Mostly we were trained for knife fighting, close-quarter combat, using weapons of all kinds, working with demolitions, orienteering, and how to kill—by experts.

I guess I was a natural because soon I was designated as an unofficial instructor and promoted to corporal. It seemed second nature for me to shoot straight, read maps, and know what was needed to be done at any time, no matter what the mission. To me it was nothing special—just doing business. In September, I got my first taste of combat when sent as a replacement to Guadalcanal.

I don’t like to talk much about what happened to me in the war. But that is where it all started—this story, I mean. Right there on the ‘Canal, in the jungle, where men cursed, where men cried, where men bled, and where men died.

There are other characters in the story. Some are good people; some are bad; one in particular becomes even worse. Some started out good but ended bad. Others started out bad but ended good. And some just stayed the same. I’ll let you read it and decide who fits in which category.

Looking back, my life had been like ocean waves striking the shore. At times, gently, making only rhythmic murmurs as they landed upon the rocks. Then periodically as time elapsed, winds increased or other factors developed, and unimaginable forces created horrifying experiences.

So my life has seen more than one tsunami. This story is about one of them late in my life. I didn’t write it, only lived it, and now is too late to change anything. The other characters can fill in the details.

CHAPTER 1

IT WAS ONE of those early spring rains, with no wind but on the chilly side, yet feeling so good when the small droplets fell on any exposed skin. And on this June Monday night in 1996, the smell of clean, pure ozone mixed with the aroma of fresh moisture made your head almost dizzy and your heart and mind conclude it was good to be alive.

The water was beginning to pond in the low spots on the sidewalks and streets. As taxis passed through puddles, a spray of water would cascade upon any unlucky passerby. One of the pedestrians, an older man, dressed almost dapper and sporting a scotch plaid umbrella, decided to duck into his favorite newsstand and wait until drier conditions prevailed.

The owner nodded a greeting as the customer stood in the foyer and folded his umbrella, gave his shoulders a little shake like an old sheepdog to shed the moisture, returned the welcome with a two-fingered salute, and walked to the magazine rack lining the far wall with stacks of daily newspapers on the bottom shelf.

The man behind the counter said with a degree of humor, Hey, Paul, did you bring this rain? A man your age should know the old joints will stiffen. But maybe you just like to be miserable!

Many headlines announced the refusal of the Iraq government to allow inspection teams access to WMD sites and a huge bomb explosion in London was reported to be the work of the IRA. Paul thought to himself, Why are people so consumed with wars? I guess conflict is a part of being human.

As he glanced over the publications, he replied to the man behind the counter, Now, Ollie, be respectful! I’m a regular!

How is the show going? Going to open on time?

Looking good. From the few rehearsals I’ve seen, it will be fine.

How’s that new leading lady?

She is something else, just your type!

Do I get in introduction?

Paul ignored the question. He stood and glanced over the magazine and newspaper selections. Soon Paul became aware of his space being invaded by another. He moved a half step to his left and picked the recent edition of a national publication off the middle shelf. The stranger moved with him and now stood even closer by his side.

In a big city, crowded conditions go with the territory, but threatening social situations must be respected. However, he had established his space, so Paul refused reaction to the stranger’s movement. As he flipped thru the pages and absentmindedly viewed the article’s titles, he became aware the stranger was speaking to him in a low, almost whispered, voice.

"I know your real name is not Paul. I know your true identity and your fee. I need your help and will pay for it. I’m going to lay a three-by-five card with a phone number on that pile of U.S. News. It is in both of our interests for you to call that number between seven and ten tonight." Paul detected the odor of stale tobacco and scotch whiskey exuding from the speaker.

With that, the stranger bent over and as he shuffled through the papers, laid the card as he had said, turned, and left the store. Paul stood in a daze for several minutes. His heart racing, his mind fogged. He asked himself, How could this be? After all these years, I have been so careful. It must be a bluff. But can I take the chance?

He glanced over his shoulder. All other customers seemed innocent of any involvement or acknowledgement of the stranger’s actions. He heard Ollie’s voice over the quiet chatter in the store, Hey, Paul, you see anything there you like?

Jokingly, Paul answered, "When are you going to get something in here worth reading? I suppose I’ll have to try a U.S. News."

He noticed the card had been laid precisely on the paper’s edge so both could be picked up in one unsuspecting movement.

At the counter, he also purchased a Mars bar, bid Ollie a pleasant evening, and moved back into the noise and neon lights of the street. The rain had stopped. He paused there in the foyer and while seemingly to review the headlines on his purchase, managed to cautiously survey the street. Satisfied dangers did not exist, he walked off at a fast clip to the familiar bus stop.

After arriving home, which consisted of an unpretentious second-floor apartment, Paul flicked on the tube and tried to rid his mind of the surprise encounter with the stranger. But regardless of how hard he tried, the events at the newsstand kept creeping back into his mind.

It was ridiculous to think he would call the number. The whole thing was no doubt a scam. Probably a large segment of the population uses a different name. The stranger just made a lucky guess. Ollie had called him Paul, so anyone standing close by would realize who he meant. It really was nothing to worry over.

And besides, he was an old man, over seventy years old. If his past was discovered, so what? He had only a few years left at best. Nobody would really care. Yes, his kids would be shocked to hear the sordid, shocking early life their father had led. But they would survive. So who cared if the stranger was legit, and in the course of events, Paul’s true identity was known?

But the more he thought about it, the more concerned he became. He had prided his whole life on being careful, using common sense and helping others. And his financial situation might be in jeopardy. The man had said, I know your fee. I need your help. Did he say that because he knew those were the keys to unlocking the door to Paul’s involvement? Or was it a case of really needing help that he thought only Paul could do—like for so many others in the past? It made him stop and think.

After eating the deli meal he had brought home and tidying up the kitchen, he returned to the living room to watch his favorite sitcom. But as he sat there, glued to the one-eyed monster, his mind drifted back over the years. He began to recall how it had all started. And the chain of events that, link by link, had created his multiple life.

He had been discharged from the marines over two years and was still unemployed. Nobody’s fault but his own. He hadn’t wanted to work. He had wondered several times why he should keep on living. He was unable to sleep. When he closed his eyes, all he could