Chapter 19: Snooping Around

It was Tuesday, February 19, 1963, and I was riding a bicycle. I had a subscription book and sample magazines. I was dressed in boy’s clothing to include a baseball cap. I was going door-to-door selling magazine subscriptions. The subscriptions were real. I was a phony. My real target was the next house. I rolled to a stop, parked my bike against the low metal fence, opened the gate and walked to the door. Before I could push the door buzzer, the door swung open, and a familiar face peered out.

“What do you want, kid?”

“I’m selling magazine subscriptions for Publisher’s Clearing House, sir.”

“Go away. We don’t want any.” The door slammed shut.

“Thank you, sir,” I said as I backed away. “Good afternoon.”

I completed the block about two hours later. Sales is not my strength, but I had managed to visit thirty houses in six hours and sell all of four magazine subscriptions. I may have earned five dollars. I was fatigued and sweaty and hungry enough to eat raw liver. I rode my bike to what had been a church, parked the bike and took my subscription book inside.

“Report,” Major Blake barked. He wasn’t alone. There were six other men present, all wearing American clothing. I didn’t know enough about regional differences in America to determine where each suit originated.

“I saw the man we’ve named Ivan Doe Number Three,” I covered the block in detail—the reason for my door-to-door sales act was to get detailed information; my debrief took an hour. “The gate had an alarm of some kind. I saw an electric eye on the porch. Tonight I’ll pull a closer recon –”

“Negative,” one of the unidentified men said. “You’ve done your part. That is, if you really ID’d Ivan Three.”

“Jackie doesn’t make mistakes,” Major Blake defended me. “She identified the license plate and Ivan Doe Number Four. Do you want her input on your operation?”

“No need,” another man said. “Just keep her here until morning. What took so long, anyway?”

“I was selling magazines.” That was my story and I am sticking to it. “Working on a cover requires hard work. If anybody investigates, there are twenty-six houses plus the target that turned me away, one house purchased two subscriptions and two houses bought a magazine subscription each. Here is a breakdown of who was where.”

During those six hours I had been given two cookies, a glass of milk, a glass of water, and a glass of lemonade. My bladder was full—as soon as I was excused, I dashed to the latrine and dropped my jeans and panties. Urination hurt so good! Unfortunately, I had neglected to close the door. A man chewed me out, closed the door. After I had finished voiding my bladder I redressed and cleaned up. My next mission took me to the kitchen for something else to eat. Billie pulled dinner out of the oven, something on an aluminum foil tray.

“It’s called a TV dinner,” she informed me. It was hot and tasty—best cardboard that I had eaten all day. “You look exhausted. There’s a bed for us downstairs.”

“I’m grateful,” I rasped.

“You are really tired, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been both better and worse,” I said. “You timed dinner just right.”