AKA: Hiddell

by

G. L. Payne

Phantom Orange Press

Copyright 2016 by G. L. Payne

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or
distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.
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Phantom Orange Press
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Printed in the United States of America
ISBN: [ISBN number with hyphen]

Authors Forward
This novel is exactly that: a novel. A work of fiction. It is humbug. Stuff and
nonsense and it pretends to be nothing more. While based on a foundation of
actual historical events, the story herein does not purport to be an accurate
depiction of history. Rather, it is a reinterpretation of events had history
occurred in a slightly different progression. Some of the characters in this
work are based on actual historical figures who, in various capacities, were
participants or witnesses to the real world events that have been re-imagined
for this tale. The author makes no claim that the representations of any of
these historical figures are accurate to the true nature, character or personality
of the individuals depicted. These are fictional characters and zero in-depth
research has been done and no interviews with any of the surviving participants
or any friends or relatives of the actual persons involved in the historical
episodes have been conducted, nor has any detailed examination of their lives
been made. No effort has been expended to ensure real world historical
accuracy in the depictions of these people as they are intended only to be
fictional characters in the service of the story being told. As such, no inference
should be made on the part of the reader that these characters are presented or
intended to be seen as reflections of their real world counterparts. The
characters shown herein are fictional and are simply borrowing names and
superficial details from the lives of those known historical figures and nothing
more. To be clear, this work is a novel of fiction and the characters it contains
are renderings of the authors imagination. Readers interested in an accurate
history of events related to this story and/or accurate biographical references
of those historical participants portrayed here are invited to conduct their own
research from the vast trove of public and commercial records and writings
that exist on this subject matter. If you are looking for references of historical
accuracy of these events or truthful and accurate biographical information
regarding the historical figures involved, this aint where youre going to find it.
Now, on with the show . . .

AKA: Hidell

AKA: HIDELL
by G. L. Payne

ONE

4:27 AM
June 6, 1968
Dallas, Texas
He wasnt exactly hiding but neither was he making
any effort to be seen. It was a Thursday morning. The
weekend would start tomorrow night and by then it would be
plenty busy enough. The slow Dog Watch shifts during the
week though, these hours were often boring as hell. On such
dull nights, he frequently parked his squad car in a secluded
spot where he could hunker down in the seat and catch a few
quiet winks. At the 4 AM hour most of Dallas was still sound
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AKA: Hidell
asleep and it would be a while yet before the morning rush got
rolling.
Right now, he had his black Ford cruiser parked under
a large elm about three quarters of the way down the block of
East 10th near the intersection of Patton Avenue. The tree was
huge. Ancient, no doubt, it probably dated back to at least the
turn of the century if not earlier. The branches were flush with
early summer greenery, reaching well out over the street to
provide a thick canopy that shielded his unit from the acid
yellow glare of the city street lamps. More importantly, the
shadow kept his car in darkness and away from the eyes of
any random passers-by who might not appreciate seeing one
of Dallas Finest napping on the clock.
Okay, so that wasnt exactly how the job had been
taught at the Academy but hed been eleven years on the
Dallas PD and by this point in the game a veteran of his
minting knew more than a few angles to play in order to keep
the job tolerable. Anyway, the location was his favorite
nesting spot. It had been for a few years now on this beat and
for some unknown reason it just seemed to him to be an
uncommonly restful place where he could comfortably settle
back in his seat, tip his cap down over his eyes and catch a few
Zzzs. Dispatch would buzz him on the radio if anything
needed his attention.
And, speak of the devil. The radio crackled and he
screwed shut his eyes, hoping it would be another officers
squad that got the nod but, sure enough, hed barely closed his
eyelids and there it washis number came up in the call like
hed just won at Bingo.
Unit 78thats Unit Seven Eight: Investigate a
report of shots fired. Location, 1026 North Beckley. Proceed
with caution. Please acknowledge.
He keyed his mic, trying to keep the irritation out of
his voice. Unit 78, ten-four. 1026 North Beckley. Check
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AKA: Hidell
out a report of shots fired. The week was flying by and it
might already be Thursday but this kind of shit had no
business going on until the weekend. Especially not where the
call was coming in from. The Oak Cliff area wasnt exactly
well-to-do but it was a solidly stable quiet neighborhood.
Definitely an unusual place to have a report of gunfire. As
such, the morning might yet prove to be an interesting one
after all.
78 in route, he radioed back. ETA: 2 minutes.
He added, sounding sullen, Proceeding with caution.
His foot hit the gas and the squad car peeled off down
th
East 10 , headed toward Patton. At least the address wasnt
far. Maybe a mile or so. Close enough he wouldnt bother
running the red lights and siren. No reason to wake up half
the neighborhood on the way, he figured.
Dispatch acknowledged his response and then
continued to drone in a dull, flat mid-Texas drawl. Unit 26
thats Unit Two Sixback-up Unit 78 at 1026 North Beckley
on a report of shots fired.
Twenty-Six was Cosmo Lucidos squad. He was a big
Italian cop, originally out of Chicago who had experienced the
gangs of the 1930s. As that scrawny folk-singer with the bird
nest hair suggested, the times, they were in fact achanging,
but there still were not yet many ethnic cops on the Dallas PD.
Thus, Cosmo stood out in a crowd. He was a decent enough
sort though and his colorful accounts of his adventures in Old
Chicagotales that often sounded like something from an
episode of The Untouchablesmade him well liked.
Cosmo loved to tell of the time when no less than Capone
himself saw him walking his beat in his rookie uniform and
had actually spit in his direction, cursing him a traitor in the
old Mother Tongue. The punch-line to the story every time
was the admission by Cosmo that hed didnt really speak
Italian and, thus, had no idea what Scarface Al had said to
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AKA: Hidell
him. The confession never failed to elicit a hearty, booming
laugh from the big cop. After always said and done, it turned
out that somehow, Cosmo was actually a good cop though and
if Dispatch was sending him for back-up, the odds increased
considerably that this was going to be more than a false alarm.
An instant later, the radio burped again. Officers be
advised a City Ambulance is also headed to the scene,
Dispatch reported. There had to be pretty good reason then to
suspect that someone was at least injured. They werent going
to run an ambulance at this time of morning without a damn
good reason.
A curt acknowledgment came back from Cosmo. Car
Twenty-Six, ten-four. ETA: seven minutes.
He knew Cosmo well enough to recognize a hint of
irritation in his voice. He, too, was obviously annoyed at the
intrusion upon his otherwise quiet night.
The address on North Beckley took a smidge under a
minute and a half for him to reach. That was one of the perks
of being a cop. He loved tearing through these city streets at
break-neck speed. He loved the roar of the squad cars heavy
engine pulling hard and reverberating off the buildings and
houses and the sound of tires squealing on asphalt as he took a
corner just a fraction under too fast too hold control. And he
loved the wail of the siren and the dizzying kaleidoscope of
flashing red lights making a carnival of the night as he sped to
the next scene. It was all so exhilarating. Made him feel so
very alive.
It was also a bit reckless to be ripping through the
streets of a quiet residential neighborhood right now without
the siren and cherries. Even so, the risk of encountering
another vehicle or anyone out at the early hour was minimal
and an added element of peril, no matter how slight, enhanced
the thrill. It wasnt quite true that he was an adrenaline junkie.
World War II had seen to that, thank you very much. The case
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AKA: Hidell
was more that his reaction to stress was a coping
mechanisma means whereby he could deal with the
lingering ghosts of the Wehrmacht still haunting in his head
after so many years. Ever since his time in combat in Europe
it seemed that whenever the shit hit the fan and the urge for
fight or flight kicked in, his brain had exactly two stark
options: either read it as mind-numbing terror or thrilling
excitement. Hed tried very hard to make thrilling excitement
the default. He rather had to if he was going to be a cop. And
he did love being a cop.
He needed a moment to collect himself though when
he pulled up to the address on North Beckley as he couldnt
tell at first exactly how he should react.
The house itself was normal enougha squat, broad
brick home with a half-dome overhang above the front porch
that ran the width of the place. A trellised open-air carport
stood above the short drive that was empty of any vehicles and
a long, immaculately trimmed hedge filled the space between
the drive and the front walk leading to the door. All in all, it
was a quite nice, normal kind of dwelling that fit right in with
the decor of the neighborhood around it.
What was disturbing though was the small army of
peoplemost all of them men it looked, at least at first
glancestanding in the front yard. They were just . . .
milling. Lingering there, silhouetted into shadows by lights
through the windows from inside the house. At least 18 or 20
souls stood on the lawn, standing motionless or gently shifting
side-to-side in uneasy postures, maybe taking a restless step
forward and then back again. They were just staring toward
the house.
An atmosphere of anticipation hung over the scene as
if these people were either expecting someone to arrive or
waiting for some event to happen. If there was any
conversation going on between them, he couldnt hear it from
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AKA: Hidell
the drivers seat of the squad car and he hesitated there a
moment behind the wheel, unsettled. Gawkers were a normal
part of any scene when the police were called and were to be
expected. This was a flat out mob though. More, they
seemed to have barely noticed his arrival so if it was a person
they were waiting for, it wasnt him. Whatever it was about
the house that had seized their attention, it appeared to have
them transfixed.
He emerged from the squad car and stood next to the
still open drivers door, giving brief consideration to the
thought of stalling there until Cosmo arrived. But the big
veteran cop had come from a place and a time where policing
was more like full-blown urban combat and hoods wearing
pin-striped suits and fedoras were armed with Tommy guns
and ran in gangs like full battalions, motivated by allegiance to
a sworn blood oath. He didnt want Cosmo to see him rattled
by this rag-tag clutch of middle-aged men dressed in their
underwear, cooling on somebodys front lawn an hour before
daybreak. He rested the heel of his right his hand lightly on
the butt of his holstered service revolvera nervous habit he
had that went on display during tense circumstancesand
stepped around in front of his squad car.
Somebody call to report a shooting? he asked. The
abrupt loudness of his own voice shattering the quiet early
morning air startled him.
A couple of the figures turned to look at him briefly
but most ignored him.
Well, he thought, that response was disappointing.
His hard-soled shoes clicked on the asphalt as he
consciously took a couple of determinedly purposeful
confident steps in front of the car and up onto the median by
the sidewalk to stand at the trailing edge of the group. A few
more sets of eyes turned to look at him and he suddenly felt an
all-too-familiar ground dropping out from under him sense of
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AKA: Hidell
panic that hed first experienced in early 1945 while on patrol
in the Rhine Valley of the still breathing Third Reich. A vein
began thumping in his left temple and the pounding of his
heart and rush of his own blood filled his ears as a wash of
self-loathing coursed through him.
Hed been a goddamned airborne trooper during the
war with who knew how many jumps. Had helped seize
bridges and towns from Nazi control and hammered the Rhine
Valley into submission. For the love of God, hed received a
Bronze Star for meritorious achievement in combat. Yet here
he was breaking into a cold sweat, scanning a rats nest of
middle-aged and elderly men standing in their underwear on a
lawn in Dallas, Texas a quarter century later, wary of any
sudden movements and listening intently for the distinctive
guttural sounds of any words uttered in the coarse German
language.
For Christsake, he thought. Pull your shit together,
man.
Somebody want to tell what the fuck is going on
here? We got a report of shots fired. His voice was a little
too loud, his manner too aggressive. He was
overcompensating. Even beyond his usual post-war trauma
nerves, the zombie-like manner of the group of old farts was
giving him some straight up heebie-jeebies. It was like they
were all themselves shell-shocked or something.
Finally, a short, slightly rotund man dressed in a wifebeater tee shirt and clearly soiled boxer shorts addressed him
softly with a single word. Inside, he said, almost whispering.
Almost at the same instant, he heard a womans voice
call from the front door of the house.
Up here, she said.
He hadnt seen her arrive in the doorway but she stood
there now, a dark, pear-shaped figure backlit from the light
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AKA: Hidell
inside the house. She pushed open the storm door to admit
him.
He flushed, slightly embarrassed at his language as he
moved past the crowd and up the short steps onto the porch.
The woman was a plump, matronly sort wearing a
dressing gown and robe. Her short curly graying hair was
tousled from her obviously having been recently driven from
sleep. She looked weary, though alert and peered expectantly
at him sternly over the top rims of her cats eye bifocals.
He stepped by her and into the front room of the house,
glancing around quickly. In contrast to the clutter of people
on the lawn, he and the woman were the only ones present
here.
I hope youll pardon my word choice, Maam, he
offered, genuinely contrite. He felt like he'd cussed a blue
streak right in front of his grandma and couldn't tell if he'd
offended the old lady or if her querulous demeanor was her
usual idling speed. Her steady, disapproving gaze was
unsettling, though.
There was a report of gun shots fired at this address.
Yeah, sir, that was me that called on the telephone,
the woman said. But it werent shots. They was ajust the
one. She had a deep south Texas drawl that immediately
marked her as born and bred in the state. And, unlike those
restless, timid characters outside, who seemed more and more
like rats desperate to desert a sinking ship, the woman had a
brusque, almost irritated manner about her. Her deportment
was like that of a kindergarten teacher vexed nearly to the
breaking point by a classroom of unruly kids
Such foolishness, she carped. And at this time of
night too.
Maam, he spoke sharply, trying to get her to focus
on the business at hand. Who fired the shot?
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AKA: Hidell
She fixed him with a look as if she thought he was
dead stupid.
Now, how in heavens name am I sposed to know
that? She rolled her eyes and sighed, exasperated. I was
sound asleep, now, wasnt I? I heard it. They heard it, she
flapped an annoyed hand in the general direction of the people
in the yard. They all lit outta here like a flock of skeert ol
hens, she spat. I expect whoevers missing is who fired the
shot. She made it sound like such a simple equation.
Where did the sound come from? Was it inside the
house? Outside? He swallowed hard, trying to quash a
growing irritation rising in him that quickly rising up to
compete with the jittery nerves he'd arrived with. Is there
anything you can tell thats, you know, useful somehow?
That Are-You-Stupid? look on her face advanced to a
new level of intensity and the woman looked irritated herself.
Son, if the shot hada come from outside, dont you reckon
them fraidy-cats out there would have stayed their sorry butts
inside the house instead of running out into the yard?
His lips pressed together in a tight, annoyed line and he
studied the room, trying to get a sense of the circumstances
before risking another bite from her.
It was a typical front room, tidy but obviously well
lived in. A large white brick fireplace occupied one wall, the
mantle piece above it smartly decorated with a tasteful
collection of knick-knacks and odds and ends. A long,
patterned-fabric davenport cut the space nearly in half,
standing next to a low coffee table that was scattered with a
number of newspapers. Several chairs set up around the table
made it look almost like a reading room.
He picked up a paper and glanced over the front page.
It was last evenings edition and something just wasnt adding
up here. Every copy on the table was from the previous night
and there had to be at least eight or ten of them. Following the
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AKA: Hidell
news the last day or so had, of course, been the major activity
of the entire city since the recent shooting of Robert Kennedy
in California. Most everyone was anxious to see if the senator
and heir apparent to the democratic nomination for president
of the United States was going to live or die. The bold
headline on the Dallas Times Herald proclaiming RFK
FGHTS FOR LIFE above a photo taken seconds after the last
shots were fired of the stricken Kennedy, his face contorted in
agony, made the forecast look especially grim though. The
city of Dallas was taking it all quite hard, still feeling raw after
the assassination of President John Kennedy here nearly five
years ago. That day had been a blow to the spirit of the
community and the citys reputation had never fully bounced
back. This recent attack on the late Presidents brother tore
open a lot of wounds that had only just begun to scar over.
Even so, an armload of copies of the same newspaper
scattered on the table seemed a bit, well . . . overkill.
Maam, can you help me out here a bit and please tell
me whats going on? He dropped the newspaper back to the
table. Whats all this commotion about?
The woman watched the paper back down to the table
and made a dismissive gesture in the air like she was trying to
scare away a stray cat.
Chu!, she said, waving at the headline. Its too bad
what happened to Bobby but maybe now folks will stop
blamin Dallas so much for the president.
Clearly there was no imminent peril here but the old
woman was turning out to be quite a piece of work and she
was managing to find a host of ways to vex him to an
infuriating degree without even trying. Maam, he barked.
"The gun shot? If you please.
She didnt hesitate to match him for volume and
shouted right back. Like I tolt you, I dont know which of
the rooms it came from. I was sleeping the sleep of the dead
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AKA: Hidell
when it happened. All of us was. Exceptin for whoever it
was playin with a durn fool gun.
Rooms? he repeated, unsurely.
She saw him glance toward the front door, a befuddled
expression fluttering over his face. Something about the
group of men on the lawn was starting to register and the
pieces were beginning to form a picture in his head but they
werent quite connecting enough yet to make a clear image.
The old woman finally noticed his confusion.
Oh my Lord in heaven have some mercy, she
snapped, irritably. Rooms. Yes, ROOMS. You dont believe
I have a load of men standing in my yard every night, do you?
Yes, room. Cause this here is a rooming house. She spoke
in an exasperated tone as if the fact should have been as
obvious as an apple is red and tapped her right temple with her
index and middle finger like she was trying to kick a sticky
brain into gear, suggesting maybe he should try thinking just a
little bit.
He gave her a glowering look, not appreciating the
sarcasm.
Do you have any idea who fired the shot? he asked,
his tone flat and formal.
Im guessing, she began, then broke off and
offered a sneaky appraisal around the room as if worried
unwelcome ears might be listening in. She continued in a
hushed, conspiratorial whisper. Im guessing it was one of
the residents.
He honestly couldn't tell if her manner was intended as
more sarcasm or if she just had an odd penchant for drama.
He was trying to find a way to rephrase when she shushed him
and put up a hand to stop him from speaking even before he
had a chance to open his mouth.
Now, like I told you. I dont know which one so
dont keep askin me. Its your job to figure that out.
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AKA: Hidell
She shrugged and bent over the table to tidy the array
of newspapers, sharply anticipating where he was going next.
And I got no idea why anybodyd carry on so, neither. Could
be somebody was cheating at cards for all I could say.
Her tone suggested she was finished with his
foolishness and it was time for him to take it from here. But
then she stopped suddenly and stiffened above the table, her
eyes glowing brightly with a new thought. Her gaze met his
with a curious gleam. My lands, she said. You dont
spose some durn fool had a gun hid under his pillow and
rolled over wrong and shot hisself in his sleep, do you? She
said it in away that made it sound like the arcane idea almost
pleased her somehow.
He was looking for some reasonable way to respond to
that random thought when she added, pointedly, All right.
You can go look around if you want.
It wasnt permission. It was dismissal. He'd gotten all
he was going to get from her at that moment.
The third room he checked was where he found the
body. The first two rooms along the hallway had been
evacuated by the occupants in a hurry, left with the doors
hanging open wide. It took only a glance through the
doorways to see no one was in either room.
The third door was closed though. The hallway was
long and narrowclearly not a part of the original layout of
the placeand it filled him with a claustrophobic sense. The
old woman bumping along just steps behind him didnt help
matters much. She knew the layout of the maze-like house
though and that could be important if things got hairy. The
floor plan seemed to be a jimmied up, jerry-rigged nightmare.
While the front room of the place looked like a nice normal
area, the deeper he went into the house, the more obvious it
became that every possible space here, no matter how small,
had been cobbled around in a way to make a private area and
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AKA: Hidell
lodging space for renters. There looked to be as many as
twenty rooms staged all around the house, which went a long
way toward explaining the underwear-clad malingerers out on
the front lawn.
So this is a rooming house, he said, approaching that
third door. That makes youwhat? The caretaker?
The old woman actually snorted when she laughed.
Baby sitter, she chirped the words like the thought just
amused her six ways to Sunday.
How many . . . he hesitated, looking for the right
word. People? Guests . . . ?
The old woman gave him the term before he was able
to find it.
Residents, she stated. Theyre residents. More like
vermin, if you want my opinion, she grumbled, then
continued. We can manage up to twenty but right now we
got seventeen rooms let out. She snorted another chuckle and
corrected herself. Well, it might be sixteen now.
He turned his attention back to the room and rapped
his knuckles lightly on door Number 3, his right hand once
again resting on the butt of his holstered revolver.
Police. Open up he called and leaned close to the
door, listening intently to see if his knock had elicited the
sound of any activity inside the room.
Nothing. He reached down to lightly jiggle the brass
doorknob that felt very cold beneath his fingers.
Then the woman jumped in again, startling him.
Now, dont you go breaking down that door if its
locked, she scolded. I got a full set of keys to every room.
Dont do nothing stupid.
You want to maybe go wait in another part of the
house while I check this out? he asked her, half suggestion
and half command.
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She eyeballed him like she couldn't imagine why on
earth he'd ever suggest such a thing.
No. I don't believe I will, she said, with a flat
finality that allowed no room for further discussion.
It wasnt necessary to break down the door or fetch the
keys. The knob turned easily and the door swung gently open
with a long, sighing creak.
The room was dark but even without lights, the fact of
a body sprawled across the bed was readily apparent. It
looked to be a man of about average height and with a slender
build and there was no hurry here. It was clear beyond doubt
that he was stone dead.
From the look of things, hed been sitting on the long
side of the bed and had fallen backward against the wall
behind him, then slumped downward into an awkward
reclining position. A dark spot on the wall where his head had
smacked gave the impression some vandal had splattered a fat
tomato right there. Runnels and chunky bits oozed down the
wall in rivulets, charting a path through the floral patterns in
the wallpaper to converge at the back of the dead mans head.
A significant dark stain had pooled in his long, scraggily hair
and on the sheets beneath his head, no doubt soiling all the
way down to the mattress. The mans arms were splayed at
his sides as if hed been anticipating a warm embrace when he
went down but it was clearly the result of a recoil effect. The
pistol on the bed near his right hand left no room for doubt.
And another goddamn newspaper was on his left side,
like hed spent his last moments checking up on the latest
before checking out of this life.
The old woman shifted urgently, trying to see around
the cop. She needed only an instant to take in the scene then
she humphed, sounding almost disappointed. Guess he didnt
roll over and shoot hisself in his sleep.
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AKA: Hidell
Suicide, the officer said. He kept his right elbow
crooked, blocking the doorway both to keep her from pushing
past him and also so his nervous hand could maintain contact
with the comforting butt of his service revolver. Do you
know whose room this is?
Nope, the woman said. This here place is short
term only. Folks stay a few days, maybe a week or so.
They're here and they go and then they come back. Some of
these fools been bouncing in and out of here for years.
Sometimes they swap around their rooms on their own. It's all
good so long as we get a check from each of em every
Monday. She caught the cops gaze and gave him a knowing
nod. In advance, ocourse.
The officer spider-walked his fingers along the wall
beyond the door frame, feeling for an overheard light switch.
And you say you don't know none of these renters. It was
more a statement than question His skeptical tone caused her
to take exception.
Yeah, I know some of em a bit, she snapped.
None of em too chummy. This here is a business and,
anyway you seenem outside. Anybody there you'd want to
call friend?
He thought it better not to comment.
No switch on the right side of the door so he reached
over and began to explore the opposite wall. There, he found
a switch and flipped it. No light came on though so either the
overhead ceiling fixture had no bulb or it was burned out.
His eyes were adjusting to the darkness and a window
near the end of the bed was fitted with curtains sheer enough
to allow in some ambient light from the street lamps outside.
Between that and the slice of weak light leaking in from the
dim hallway he began better to see shapes and the basic layout
of the very small room but little in the way of details. He
started for his flashlight hooked on his utility belt but then
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AKA: Hidell
made out the shape a small electric table lamp modeled after a
kerosene hurricane lantern on a bedside table. Hed just
started toward it when flashing red lights pulled up outside. It
had to be Cosmo because the ambulance guys loved their siren
way too much to arrive in silence.
The old womans eyes had been adjusting as well. Just
before the cop pulled the lamp chain, she let out a little grunt
of recognition and, looking at the body on the bed with a
somber gaze, she said, Oh. It's the Squirrel. And for the
first time since the officer had encountered her at the door, she
sounded like she actually gave a damn about something.
Maybe it was only a slight damn but it was still a damn. Then
she added, Prolly gonna have a dickens of a time rentin this
room out again.
From outside came the slam of a car door and the
sound of heavy shoes moving up the walk. No doubt it was
Cosmo. The rhythm of his stride was unmistakable and few
men walked with such a heavy tread.
The cop pulled the lamp chain and a low watt bulb
fired up with a weak glow. It was a really weak bulbno
more than 15 or 20 wattsand the sallow yellow
incandescence served only to deepen the shadows and the
stronger contrast just made the room seem darker.
The front screen banged and Cosmos booming voice
called out. Police officer.
Back here, Cosmo the first officer shouted. The
scene is secure.
You sure about that? Cosmo answered back. His
voice grew louder as he approached. Cause if I walk in there
an somebody shoots me inna dick, it's gonna be your ass an'
not his I'm coming after. The lyrical dialect of old Chicago
filled Cosmos voice. Then he had the same reaction as the
first officer when he entered the doorway to the room and saw
the old woman there.
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Oh, shit, he sputtered awkwardly. Scuse my
language, lady. I didn't realize you was present.
Whether it was because he was big, Italian or crude,
she fixed him with a ferocious glare.
Cosmo, huh? she echoed mockingly, chewing on his
name like it had a nasty flavor.
He ignored her attitude.
Ah, looky there, He said, instantly recognizing the
severity of the victims condition. We aint gonna need no
ambulance. We're gonna need a meat-wagon. It would have
been a hard-core rude thing to say if the woman next to him
had been close to the deceased but Cosmo was a sharp cop and
an outstanding judge of people and he'd already sorted out
from her calm reaction to the circumstances that the woman
wasn't exactly busted up to be standing here over the body.
And if he was wrongwell, tough shit for the old bat, he
figured. She'd managed already to rub him the wrong way.
The first officer put his index and middle fingers on
the carotid artery of the man on the bed and, as he expected,
he felt nothing. In fact, the body had already begun to cool.
Yeah. Nothin. Hes gone.
Cosmo didnt seem moved. What's with all them
geezers on the lawn? he asked. Every neighbor on the block
fall out in his skivvies to gawk? He loomed over the woman,
leaning down to peer at her, making the question almost an
accusation. Or maybe this place is some kind of half-assed
rooming house or somethin?
The quick realization on Cosmo's part caused the first
officer to grit his teeth a bit. Yeah, Cosmo was a really good
cop. Maybe a bit too good sometimes. Now and then, it could
be a bit irritating.
Were a rooming house, all right, the old woman
chuckled. It was a less than kindly sound and she was
18

AKA: Hidell
obviously deriving no small amount of amusement over
Cosmos catch of something the first cop had missed.
Thats enough, the cop grumped and began a patdown of the body on the bed.
Maam, you said, its the Squirrel. Do you
recognize this man?
He turned the dead mans head slightly so she could
better see his face and the body released a long, rasping moan.
It was not an indication of life but, rather, the shift of
positioned had opened the dead mans trachea enough to allow
an out-gassing of air and the sound was his last breaths
escaping lungs that were no longer functioning.
The old woman gave a start and stared, looking pale.
The cop gave the body a once-over, looking for any
signs of trauma other than the obvious or any other suspicious
indicators. The dead man had a thick beard and long, stringy
hair. His eyes were glassy and half-opened and the hole in the
back of his head looked big enough to put a fist through. There
was a gamey smell to him that suggested he hadnt bathed for
at least several days. He was dressed in tan khaki trousers and
a red and white checkered button shirt that was now speckled
with flecks of his blood.
No, nothing too remarkable about him other than the
cavern in the back of his head. These kind of grungy hippie
characters had been popping up more and more often in
Dallashell, all over the countryfor the last couple years.
Drug over-doses were usually the most common event of any
emergencies where they were involved. Starting to get a bit
too common, as a matter of fact. A self-inflicted gunshot was
rare unless it was some fool who blew off his toe, looking for
an escape from a call-up by his local draft-board. This guy
though, clearly, he was seeking to escape more than the
Selective Service and a tour in Viet Nam.
19

AKA: Hidell
The officer peeled back the dead mans upper lip and
saw blood and that several of his upper front teeth had been
knocked out by the kick of the barrel of his pistol on recoil.
Shot himself through the mouth, he commented.
The pistol on the bed next to him was a snub-nose .38 caliber
Smith & Wesson. The dead man obviously knew what it took
to do the job and he hadn't left the outcome to chance.
Cosmo stepped past the old woman and started rifling
through some odds and ends scattered across the top of a
cheap dresser standing against the wall. Got some tablets
here, he said. Might be amphetamines. He eyeballed them
a little more closely and then added a reappraisal. Might be
sleeping tablets, too, he shrugged.
The first cop began digging though the dead mans
pockets. He pulled out a set of keys and a few coins, followed
by small packet of folded aluminum foil. Something here,
he reported and tossed it to Cosmo.
The old woman was staring blankly at the body, her
mouth hanging open, the expression on her face a mix of
fascination and revulsion. Maam? The cop tried to call her
back to Earth. You called him the Squirrel . . .
She just continued to stare and he let her be for a
moment, taking a small pleasure from her obvious discomfort.
It might have required a blown open cranial vault to shake her
but the sight of the mans brains leaking out had been just the
thing to finally throw her off her stride.
Cosmo peeled open the foil pouch and sniffed the dry,
leafy contents therein. We got some pot here, he concluded
without hesitation. It was only a small amount of marijuana,
clearly intended for personal use.
The first cop resumed his exploration of the dead
mans pockets. Maam, do you know this mans name? He
spoke firmly this time in a tone that demanded a response.
Whyd you call him the Squirrel?
20

AKA: Hidell
Digging in the dead mans back pocket, he found a
wallet. He flipped through it quickly, then tossed it also to
Cosmo so he could focus on the woman.
That aint . . . she began, then backed up to correct
herself. That werent his name, acourse. Just what I called
him. She began unsteadily but picked up steam as she again
found her emotional footing. He was an oddball, she
explained. Some kind of weirdo. She seemed frustrated,
looking for a clearer way to put it. He was just, you knowa
squirrel.
Are you saying he was some kind of pervert or sexual
deviant? he asked. The question elicited a soft chuckle from
Cosmo, who now flipping through the dead mans wallet
himself.
The question shocked the old woman out of her stupor.
Land sakes, no, she sputtered, aghast at the thought.
He was just a little . . . off somehow.
From outside, in the distance, the whine of the
ambulances siren appeared. By the sound, it was a couple
minutes away yet but it didnt matter. It had been too late for
anyone to do any good for this man before the call for help
had ever been put in.
The first cop again saw the newspaper on the bed and
noticed it was actually a different copy than all the other
papers on the table in the front room. He looked it over
absently, at the same time asking the woman, How was he
different? Can you help me out with that?
Cosmo pulled a few crumpled bills out of the wallet.
Six bucks, he said. Then a small card in a side pocket
caught his attention. He pulled it out and scanned it,
frowning. Then he pulled out a second card. Then a third.
The woman rolled her eyes up toward the ceiling,
searching or the best way to express what she was trying to
say.
21

AKA: Hidell
He was They was something just . . . off-kilter
about him. Hes been coming in and out of here since long
before I was here and I been here two years.
She scrunched up her face, hunched her shoulders and
leaned forward like she had some juicy gossip she was dying
to reveal. I believe him an his wife had troubles from time
to time. Fightin and all, she whispered. I believe he came
here when they wasnt . . . You know . . . gettin along.
The cop gave a little grunt of acknowledgement but his
attention was more on the newspaper. This one wasn't the
Dallas paper from last night, like all the others, but it was this
mornings edition of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. The
most recent news available. A banner headline read,
KENNEDY FIGHTS FOR LIFE; BULLET TAKEN
FROM BRAIN. The accompanying article didnt present any
brighter picture. The likelihood of the senators survival was
slim and, if he did continue to live, severe incapacitation was
an almost certainty. Live or die, Robert Kennedy was not
going to be the man he had been. At the very least, it
appeared his presidential ambitions were burned.
The woman chattered on, oblivious to the fact that the
cop was now more interested in reading the paper than
listening to her.
The Squirrelhe didnt seem . . . She was still
having trouble articulating her thoughts. When he smiled, it
didnt seem genuine. Like he was puttin on airs. He was
pleasant enough. Didnt talk much but when he did, it was
more like he was talkin at you or through you. Not to you.
That stupid smirk of his, she said. She shook her head and
uttered a disdainful grunt. Whenever he thought no one was
lookin he just had this . . . this shit-eating . . . grin . . . on his
face. Like he thought he was just a hundred miles smarter
than everybody else in the room. Or maybe had some secret
that nobody else knew.
22

AKA: Hidell
Outside, the sound of the siren grew louder as the
ambulance drew close.
Studying the three sets of cards, Cosmos brow knitted
in a furrow. Then he muttered, goddamn, and pulled a
fourth card from the wallet.
Who the fuck was this guy? He sounded both
irritated and slightly amused.
Whats up? the first cop asked.
Fuck if I know, Cosmo said. We got different sets
of identification here.
What?
Five sets of I.D. All of them look legit but we got
He took a quick second to count under his breath, then
announced, Four. Yeah, we got four different names here.
At that moment the old woman brightened, so pleased
with herself she all but jumped up and down with excitement.
Alek! she said, remembering. Sometimes he wanted to be
called A. J. but his name was Alek.
Well, thats two of the names, Cosmo said. He
shuffled the ID cards like he was setting up a poker hand.
We got a Selective Service card for one Alek James Hidell.
And we got a Certificate of Service from the Marine Corps.
Also for Alek James Hidell. The draft card has his photo on
it.
The old woman looked annoyed that no one had
acknowledged her remembering the name. I told you that,
she snapped. I said his name was Alek. Sometimes he said
he was A. J.
The first cop shrugged. So sometimes he went by
Alek and sometimes he went by A. J. That didnt seem
overly outrageous. But then he caught the conundrum. Wait.
You said hes got a Selective Service card and a Certificate of
Service from the Marines? He shook his head. That dont
make sense.
23

AKA: Hidell
Cosmo thumbed to the next card. Hang on. It gets
better. We also got a membership card forget this, he
paused in disbelief. A membership card for the Communist
Party. This one is for a Mr. O. H. Lee.
The first cop shook his head, confused. Must be
someone elses card. The first two have the same name.
The ambulance was closing in fast. The siren went
from a warble to a wail and yet another set of flashing red
lights appeared outside the house and the sound of the siren
died.
The draft card and the Commie card are photo I.Ds.
Both of em got his mug on em. He flipped the Selective
Service card around so the first cop could see it. Hes cleanshaven in the picture and has a decent hair cut. He flipped
the card back so he could study it more closely. Looks like a
cheap-ass hair cut and I dont see no hole in the back of his
head but otherwise its definitely him.
The first cop had caught just a glimpse of the face in
the photo before Cosmo turned it back and thumbed to the
next card, but something about it riveted his attention. A knot
tightened in the pit of his gut and he felt his stomach heave. A
bead of cold sweat popped out across his forehead. It was like
he had been hit with one hell of a flu bug all at once and his
knees all but buckled beneath him.
Cosmo examined the next card, becoming more
amused by the twisted path of names he was uncovering.
Here, we got an identification card for the New
Orleans chapter of some outfit called Fair Play For Cuba.
What the fuck . . . he smiled. He gave the woman a
sideways look. Heres your A. J. Hidell, he said, tapping
the card with his finger. President of the whole shebang. Did
you know this guy was a commie? he asked her in a mocking
tone. Did you know you was rentin to a commie?
24

AKA: Hidell
Hell, no, she barked. What makes you think wed
let out a room to a Red?
Cosmo gave a sarcastic shrug, like he couldnt imagine
why anyone would ask such a ridiculous question. Jeeze, I
dunno, lady. He waved the incriminating ID cards at her and
then pointed at the body on the bed. Try and guess, he
challenged.
Outside, the tailgate of the ambulance slammed and
there was a metal clack as the guys from the ambulance
dropped down the wheels on the gurney theyd pulled from
the back of the vehicle and began rolling it toward the house.
The first cop was staring at the face of the dead man,
trying to picture him without the beard. Without the long hair.
There was something about him that seemed . . . familiar . . .
yet not. He felt almost like he should know him but couldnt
place him. Seeing his clean-shaven face in the photo of the
card had been like getting gut-punched though.
Cosmo turned to the next card and made a
disappointed hmmph. Nothing fun here, he said. Just a
liberry card.
The old woman still had a bee in her bonnet over the
crack about renting to a commie. I wouldnt let out a room to
any damn Red, she boiled.
The first cop felt a weird slip-focus sense of the entire
room fading away around him and a cold terror began icing up
his spine. The dead mans face filled his vision and it was like
he couldnt tear his gaze away. The image of the man in the
photo seemed to swell until it filled his view and it was all he
could see. His breathing was shallow. His hands were
trembling and his heart thundered loud enough in his ears that
it felt like the entire house should be rattling down around
him. The feelings were worse than any jump hed performed
as a para-trooper or any bloody combat hed seen in the Rhine
Valley. In those cases he at least knew why he was afraid.
25

AKA: Hidell
Here, the fear was essential, pure and irrational. It made every
panicky sweat hed ever felt under pressure in the years the
war since seem trivial. And he had no idea why.
He stared hard at the dead mans face, trimming back
the hair and removing the beard in his mind until he again saw
the same face in the photo Cosmo had showed him. It was a
face he knew, goddamn it. He knew that goddamn face.
But from where?
Cosmo was still looking over the library card, amused
to find another twisted detour in the game of identities.
The two gurney jockeys were banging in through the
front door and then filling the hallway outside the room. They
had arrived just in time because at that instant, the first officer
remembered where hed seen the facewhere he knew it
from. It was from his nightmarea recurring nightmare hed
been having for yearsgoing all the way back probably to the
time the President had been killed here in Dallas.
In the dream, the cop was on patrol somewhere in the Oak
Cliff area and he was on the lookout for . . . someone . . . for
some reason. He could never recall when he woke up. And
he always woke up screaming because in the dream he spotted
the manTHIS manwith his scrawny build and high
forehead and that goddamn smug grin on his face and he knew
without knowing what was to follow.
He stared down at the dead man on the bed and saw it
WAS him. It was the same man. But that made no fucking
sense because it was just a dreama terrifying nightmare but
still . . . just a dream.
The old woman scolded the ambulance guys about
banging the gurney into the walls in the hallway and marring
the finish. Of course she did. That was here job here. She
was the babysitter.
One of the guys stuck his head in the doorway, trying
to push past the old woman and the small room was suddenly
26

AKA: Hidell
crowded enough to make it seem like a scene from a Marx
Brothers movie. They were trying to jockey the gurney in
without giving the old woman time to get out of the way.
Mind the walls, she snapped. Mind the walls!
They paid her no heed. What have we got here? the
first one there asked, urgently. Then he saw the state of the
body and settled a bit, recognizing there was actually no
reason for hurry.
Know who he was? he asked.
Cosmo was delighted to be of service on this point. He
flipped through the dead mans multiple identifications,
reading out each of the different names as if calling role.
Alek James Hidell, Cosmo said. He held up each
card as he went, ticking off the IDs one by one.
No one had noticed that the first officer had gone
ghostly pale and was wobbling on his feet. Even he hadn't
realized it yet. All he knew was that the ground had opened
under him and he was plummeting. He didnt know how far
he was going to drop but he felt like when he hit bottom, he
was going to die.
Just like he did in the dream.
Maybe A. J. Hidell, Cosmo continued.
He was Alek, the old woman insisted.
And the first officer felt like he was going to die.
Just like he did in the dream.
He was patrolling somewhere in the Oak Cliff area
(near the big tree, he realizedthe tree where he parked to
nap). The manTHIS manwas walking down the street
and the officer was on the lookout for someone . . . someone
who looked like him. He couldn't remember why. It had
something to do with . . .
The president is dead, he remembered. Assassinated
just a short time ago and . . .
27

AKA: Hidell
He was looking for a man that matched this guy's
description. He couldn't remember why.
He saw him walking down the street and stopped the
patrol car to call him over. The man was acting suspiciously.
He seemed shifty and uneasy. The cop was looking for
someone who matched this mans description but he never
could remember why when he woke upand he always woke
up screaming.
Cosmo flipped to the next card. Might be he was a
real life card-carrying commie named O. H. Lee, he said.
It was sunny in the dream, mid-day bright. Shouldnt
nightmares take place in the dark? The cop quizzed the
suspicious looking character and he didnt like what he had to
say. This manthe dead man lying on the bedhe was the
man in the dream and the officer didnt like what he had to
say. He didn't seem able to give a good accounting for himself
and he seemed shifty and uneasy. The cop was looking for
someone who matched his description. He couldnt remember
why but he wasnt happy with how this character explained
himself. Something was wrong with his story.
The president is dead, he remembered. Assassinated.
He got out of his patrol car and stepped around the
front of it, his right hand resting lightly on the butt of his
service revolver. It comforted him to have his hand there.
Made him feel safer. At least it was supposed to make him
feel safer. He didnt feel safe here and he didnt know why.
Because he's about to kill you, he realized. Thats
what he did. Every time in the dream. Hes about to kill you.
Cosmo had flipped his way through the ID cards until
he got to the last one. It was the library card. It was the most
absurd name yet.
And still, no one had noticed the first officer wavering
back and forth, knees weak, his jaw slack and his eyes wide
28

AKA: Hidell
with fear. He was staring at the face of the dead man on the
bed with an expression on his face frozen in shock and fear.
Hes about to kill you.
It WAS him. It was the same man as in the dream.
Dont go around the front of the car, he tried to tell
himself. Every time he had the dream, he tried to tell himself
that. Dont go around the front of the car. But he had his
hand on the butt of his service revolver and that was supposed
to make him feel safe.
Except he wasnt safe.
Dont go around the front of the car. Hes about to kill
you.
He was looking for a mana man who matched this
mans description. He couldnt remember why but this mans
answers were not satisfactory. He got out of the patrol car.
And he walked around the front of the car.
Cosmo read the name on the library card and chuckled.
And here, we have the best name of all, he said, smiling
broadly.
He got out of the patrol car and he walked around the
front of the car. He was supposed to be safe. He should have
been safe. After all, he had his hand on the butt of his service
revolver.
But he wasnt safe.
We got us here one Oswald, Cosmo said, his voice
loud in the confines of the small room. It boomed with the
lyrical dialect of old Chicago.
He walked around the front of the car and the man
THAT manthe dead man on the bednothe man in the
dream, he had a gun.
The officer never saw where it came from but the man
had a gun in his hand. And he was firing.

29

AKA: Hidell
The cop felt the bullets burn into his chest. Four shots,
taking the wind from his lungs, draining the life from his body.
Every time he had the dream, it ended up the same way.
He walked around the front of the car and the man
somehow, out of nowhere, had a gun in his hand. And he was
firing. Four shots hit the cop and he went down to the
pavement. The asphalt was hot from the mid-day sun (werent
nightmares supposed to happen at night?). He knew if he lay
there for long the hot pavement was going to burn his face.
But he knew he wasnt going to be there long.
Every time in the dream, he walked around the front of
the car and from nowhere the man had a gun in his hand. He
was firing and the cop went down, four bullets in his chest.
He lay there on the ground, the hot asphalt against his
cheek. He couldnt lift his head. He couldnt move. He
should have been safe. Hed had his hand on the butt of his
service revolver. He'd survived the Nazis in the Rhine Valley.
He survived eleven years on the Dallas PD. But here he was
now, lying on the ground, his life pouring from his body in red
streamers that pooled on the ground around him.
He heard the sound of footsteps walking closer. He
knew he had to move but he couldnt. There was too much
pain. He was in shock and his body was shutting down.
The last thing he remembered each time he had the
dream was wondering why this had happened. Where had the
mans revolver come from (out of nowhere) and how had he
managed to shoot him when he should have been safe?
He heard the footsteps approach and then stop. He
could sense the man standing over him.
Then the manthe man who had shot him, the dead
man there in that roomhe said, Poor dumb cop.
Then the man fired and as the bullet tore through the
cops brain, his last thought every time he had the dream was
the same.
30

AKA: Hidell
I never even knew his name.
Lee Harvey Oswald, Cosmo said, reading the
signature on the library card. He shook his head. Thats the
worst name yet.
Standing near him, hovering over the dead man, the
first officer on the scene swooned and dropped, heading fast
toward the floor.
Cosmo Lucido, the big veteran cop from old Chicago
was suddenly all business and fast reflexes. He forsook the
stack of IDs and the cards with various names fluttered like
leaves to the floor. He lunged toward the first cop, catching
up to him in his fall just in time to keep him from busting his
head on the wooden floor.
J. D.! Hey, man. He cradled him and then eased
him down. J.D. Are you all right? Can you hear me?
Cosmo shot the lead gurney jockey a look and shouted, Move
your ass, dip-shit. Now you got someone maybe you can
help.
The old woman spun in small circles like a dog making
a bed in a field of grass, trying to find some route to get out of
the way. She was buffeted by the passage of the ambulance
guys, hurrying over her to help the fallen cop. She lost her
balance and slipped backward and ended up sitting on the bed
next to the dead man. Her arrival there jostled the mattress
and caused the .38 snub-nose pistol to bounce to the floor with
a thump but, thankfully, it didnt go off. In fact, there would
be no more casualties in the house that morning.
Cosmo Lucido watched the ambulance guys bundle up
his friend and he helped lift the gurney into the ambulance.
He stared after it with concern as the vehicle sped off toward
Parkland General hospital, carrying on-board it an entirely
different patient than they had arrived to pick up. Cosmo then
waited for the meat-wagon to come and collect the body of
one Lee Harvey Oswald: deceased. Cause of death: Suicide.
31

AKA: Hidell
The old woman waited with him for the coroners
arrival, complaining the whole time that she was never going
to get the bloodstains out of the bedsheets or the mattress.
And when she discovered her dressing gown stained with
blood from sitting next to the corpse on the bed, well, youd
think an army of cats was just being skinned alive, she
shrieked so loud.
For his part, the first cop, Dallas Police Officer,
Patrolman J. D. Tippit, well, he ended up being just fine. The
good physicians at Parkland General, after a thorough exam,
attributed his collapse to orthostatic hypotension, which was
an overblown term meaning hed stood too long in one place
with his knees locked and his blood pressure dropped enough
momentarily to put him on the floor. Nth to what the docs had
figured, anyway. J. D. never mentioned the fear, the cold
sweat or the fact that hed been confronted by the face of a
dead man who, for some reason had been haunting his
nightmares for years. It sounded crazy, even to him and hed
experienced it.
Tippit was razzed for a while by the other cops over
his fainting spell, and, of course, it was Cosmo, having
witnessed the episode, who kept up the razzing the longest.
But Tippit worked another 17 years on the Dallas PD before
retiring a couple years early in 1985 to spend some extra time
with his wife and family. He had four grandkids at that point
and he really loved playing Nintendo games with them. He
was especially fond of Donkey Kong. He would die
peacefully in his overstuffed easy chair of a sudden heart
attack on November 9, 1989 while watching television
coverage on CNN of the Fall of the Berlin Wall.
It would be another eighteen years, not until 2017,
before the world would finally learn of the connection
between the mysterious man with so many names who
committed suicide in that Dallas rooming house that night and
32

AKA: Hidell
the death of a president a few years earlier. Officer J. D.
Tippit would never know that information but, after that night
that rooming house, when hed found the dead body with the
back of its head blown open wide by a self-inflicted gunshot,
he never again had another nightmare about Lee Harvey
Oswald.

33