Just for Today: A Tale of Escape and Romance

Copyright © 2014 by Charles Mallos/Fischer.

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.

Rev. date: 04/01/2014

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CONTENTS

Prologue

Part One: Jimmy Lee Snow

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Part Two: Veronica Lin Brooks

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Part Three: Mr. and Mrs. Robert Williams

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Epilogue

About The Author With Acknowledgement

Prologue

Who’s Frankie Lee Bass? Police want to know

Quoting Art Surber, Staff Writer for the Local/State News Herald, Thursday, April 18, 1985:

Frankie Lee Bass, jailed last year on robbery and escape charges, was supposed to be sentenced Wednesday, but investigators have encountered a problem—they don’t know who Bass is.

The one thing they’re sure of is the man held in the Bay County Jail isn’t just Frankie Lee Bass. They believe he also is Charles Christopher Mallow, Russell Bass, Christopher Mallos, Joseph Turin and Russell Lontos.

And investigators also believe that Bass’ arrest record goes far beyond four counts of armed robbery, two counts of attempted robbery, one count of escape and kidnapping, and one count of attempted escape.

On Oct. 30, shortly after his arrest on the robbery charges, Bass, 32, and two other men—David Brett Leopard, 24, and Thomas Ray Sparkman, 22—used a homemade knife to overpower a guard and escape from the jail. They were arrested the next morning.

Then Friday Bass was caught lowering himself from the roof of the jail with a rope made of bedsheets.

According to sheriff’s Capt. Jerry Girvin, one of the officers looking into the escape attempt, investigator Frank McKeithen, began wondering why Bass never had visitors, letters or phone calls.

Investigators ran computer inquiries. They went to local FBI agents for help getting a fingerprint check made on Bass, and they found that those prints matched this individual Mallos, Girvin said.

He said investigators found that Bass has been arrested on charges involving at least 15 robberies, six successful escapes in Florida and Georgia and two escape attempts.

Records obtained by the Sheriff’s Department show a series of arrests of Bass under different names beginning in Satellite Beach in 1969. The charges include sniffing glue, drug possession and burglary. The records also show that a man named Mallos was sentenced to five years for robbery in Texas in 1971 and was paroled in Titusville in 1973.

Girvin said investigators believe Bass, using the name Christopher Mallos, was arrested in Cocoa on robbery charges later in 1973 and escaped from Florida State Prison at Starke in 1978. Records show that Mallos was imprisoned on an escape charge in 1980.

After brushes with the law in Florida and Georgia over the next few years, the man investigators believe is Bass was serving a sentence in a Georgia state prison when he and another inmate made plans to escape, Girvin said.

He said the two prisoners convinced authorities that they could give information on a string of robberies in the Brunswick, Ga., area and were transferred to the jail there early last year.

He said Bass escaped from the roof of the jail in Brunswick using a rope made of sheets and was arrested in Brevard County in May on robbery charges under the name of Turin. After a Georgia warrant was issued charging him with flight to avoid prosecution, Bass escaped from a holding cell at the Brevard County Courthouse.

He was arrested by Panama City Beach police as Frankie Lee Bass in October.

Although investigators believe Bass’ name is Mallos, doubt about his real identity remains.

We’re still not totally sure that’s really his name. We’re continuing to investigate, and there may be additional charges out there somewhere, Girvin said.

He said Bass told McKeithen his escapes had been worth the trouble. When McKeithen suggested that Bass write a book about his experiences, the inmate refused.

He said, ‘I can’t. I’m not finished yet,’ Girvin said.*

*I’ve been told that a convict can’t profit from writing about the crimes he’s committed, it’s against the Son of Sam law. So I wrote a novel. FLB

Officer foils inmate’s fifth escape attempt

STARKE (AP)—A Florida State Prison inmate with at least four previous escapes was stopped from a successful fifth escape, officials said.

Frankie Lee Bass, 38, was captured at 3:10 a.m. Wednesday while attempting to climb the outer perimeter fence at the prison’s main unit, said Paula Tully, a Department of Corrections spokeswoman.

Bass apparently had cut the bars on his cell window and had climbed on the roof of his cell block. He was spotted by Corrections Officer Donald Harrelson, who notified other officers, Tully said.

The inmate lowered himself from the roof using a rope, scaled a row of fencing topped with razor wire and crossed through rolls of razor wire between the fences, she said.

Bass was climbing the outer fence when officers arrived. One of them arrived with a shotgun.

Bass was taken to the prison clinic for treatment of minor cuts. Prison officials said they do not know how Bass cut his cell bars.

He is serving two life sentences and an additional 35-year sentence for previous escapes and crimes committed while he was a fugitive.

Bass was serving two life sentences for a series of robberies, and escapes from Bay County.

Hiding out in the sticks of Central Florida

1981

On Escape in Georgia

1984

This novel is dedicated to my lifelong best friend, Don DeMoss (left),

who rescued me more than once. I’d like to think he’s ridin’

his Harley up there somewhere.

2012

PART ONE

JIMMY LEE SNOW

Chapter One

November 14th, 1980. When he woke up, the first thing he did was look out his window at the sky. His main concern was the possibility of rain. If it was raining at 7:45 a.m., the work detail he was assigned to would be laid in and his plan called off. His two co-conspirators elsewhere in the building would be thinking the same thing. Rain would cause a postponement of an entire week, until the next Friday. As is usually the case when a person is faced with the possibility of a delay while attempting a risky endeavor, a small part of him secretly hoped for the delay. His plan was a risky one, and while he would try to experience success today, if it rained, he would also avoid failure. Failure, after all this time and so many tries before, would devastate him.

Clearing his mind, he attended to his morning routine, there was nothing else to do; everything was in place, waiting. He always thought too much and it was all he could do to keep his mind from racing. Keyed up and anxious, he skipped his usual cup of coffee. He dressed, combed his hair and brushed his teeth, and when chow was called, he stepped silently into the main hallway to walk to the dining room. There was no talking allowed in the main hall.

Each wing ate separately to reduce, as much as possible, the mingling of prisoners from different wings. Nevertheless, the wing entering usually encountered stragglers from the wing just leaving, and he knew his two cohorts, both from J Wing, would lag behind in order to nod hello and to see if there were any messages or last minute change of plans. This would be their last chance. He saw neither of them so he ate slowly, waiting for the next wing to come in.

Several minutes later, they both entered and he smiled and winked at them. They were not attempting escape this morning, but they were helping him to, and were risking solitary or worse for doing so. They were good pals, solid convicts. Electricity flowed between the three of them. The only pall was the threat of rain. They both worked in the kitchen, but he, Jimmy Lee Snow, had been assigned to the Inside Grounds detail, which worked outside but still within the large compound, picking up trash and tending the yards.

After breakfast, back on his wing, he fidgeted and kept a close watch on the sky. It was going to rain, but the question was, when. The dairy truck, a tractor-trailer, normally arrived at the back gate every Friday between 8 a.m. and 9 a.m. So all he needed was two more hours.

The loud speakers crackled to life, work squads were about to be called. Kitchen workers, Library workers, Clinic runners, thirteen spot, and then, Inside Grounds, line it up! Prisoners streamed off the various wings to line up two by two. Jimmy Lee lined up with the other nine members of his squad, and they moved forward to be counted and led outside to the back ramp. He looked up at the gray sky and breathed in the moisture-laden air. The wind whipped at his hair and unbuttoned jacket. His spirits picked up at once. Just being outside, though still inside the fences, was a boost to his moral.

At the tool shed, Officer Martin stood waiting while the prisoners equipped themselves with rakes, hoes, long canvas trash bags and a wheelbarrow. The squad then headed to the front of the prison to begin the daily routine of clean up, working their way back between each wing. It was a slow process and no one had any reason to speed it up, except Jimmy Lee. Here on the front side of the prison, he could not see the back gate through which the milk truck would pass. He raked up into piles the trash thrown from hundreds of barred windows, and then waited impatiently for the bagmen to pick it up.

By 8:45 a.m., they had finished the front wings and were rounding the corner to the back of the prison, when two momentous events occurred: The dairy truck entered the first of a set of rear gates, and a large, errant raindrop fell on Jimmy Lee’s cheek. If it rained now, his squad was done for the day and they would be going back inside the building. He thought of all the near misses in the past and of the flukes. If only he could see into the future and know beforehand what would work and what would not. It would not be long now, either way. Locked between the two back gates, the truck straddled a deep, concrete channel similar to the ones used by auto mechanics when working on the underside of a vehicle. One of the guards routinely walked down the steps, peering up to study the undercarriage of the milk truck, then ascended the steps on the other side. Jimmy Lee could see the truck driver, who had gotten out of the cab to talk to the second gate guard. A third guard, high up in the gate tower, watched over the whole process from above. It was the duty of the tower guard to open and close the two electronic gates.

The back loading dock of the kitchen was also now visible. This was the destination of the dairy truck. All consumable deliveries were made at this loading/receiving area, which consisted of three open garages with roll-up doors, and a concrete pad punctuated by old car tires roped into place to protect the rear ends of the delivery trucks. The loading dock was elevated some four and a half feet off the ground to make unloading easier. This was where the action was; trucks came and went every day, all day long. Jimmy Lee saw the usual assortment of convicts, each wearing white shirts and pants with a dark blue stripe down the side of each leg; officers dressed in blue uniforms; several free-world kitchen staff, also wearing white; and in street clothes, an occasional inmate maintenance worker and a civilian supervisor, all bustling about. Inside the garage doors on the right was the giant supply elevator; to the left, the maintenance shops. Presently, there were two trucks backed up to the dock: a medium-sized produce truck, and a pick-up truck loaded with ladders and tools. His observations were cut short, however, when the squad worked their way up between two more wings, but Jimmy Lee did see the dairy truck as it proceeded through the second gate and into the compound on its way to the unloading area, and his heart beat a little faster.

Emerging from the last two wings, they were that much closer to the back dock. Just a few more minutes and they would be able to take a break and mingle there. Jimmy Lee saw that the milk truck was already in place. The driver was out of the cab and watching as the inmates unloaded crate after plastic crate of half-pint cartons of milk. When the unloading was done, hundreds of empty milk crates would need to be rearranged inside the truck for removal. These were neatly stacked in rows on the dock.

The kitchen supervisor, Mr. Crews, on hand to oversee the operation, would quickly report any suspicious activity taking place on the back dock. Nor was Jimmy Lee safe from other inmates, most of who would snitch if they caught wind of his intentions.

Between the final two wings, the work detail found the grass there virtually free from litter because these wings were Disciplinary Confinement and had heavy screens over the windows. Someone called down to him, Jimmy Lee, you son-of-a-bitch, how ya doin’?

What’s up, Peg Leg? Jimmy Lee answered. Peg Leg, who was an old friend of his, had lost his right leg years ago after a shoot out during an escape attempt. He was currently doing 60 days in ‘the hole’ for kicking a guard with his wooden leg.

They took my leg, Jimmy Lee! the bastards said it’s a weapon, said THEY’RE KEEPING it FOR evidence!

Ok, knock it off, Officer Martin said curtly. Technically, the Grounds squad was not allowed to talk to inmates in the cells. Jimmy Lee looked up at Peg Leg’s window and shrugged.

Don’t get in TO no trouble, Peg Leg said, I’ll see you later, old man.

Jimmy Lee just nodded. Yeah, he thought to himself, See you later, much later, I hope.

Finished at last, the squad laid aside the tools and bags, and loitered around the back door of the kitchen, smoking, and drinking water from a long, green hose. The rain was still holding off. Normally, the milk truck, a full-size International tractor-trailer, remained at the dock about an hour. The kitchen crew moved quickly, unloading eight crates at a time on a dolly, each crate containing 100 cartons of milk. Once pushed inside the service/supply elevator and unloaded, it was just a quick ride upstairs to the walk-in cooler.

Jimmy Lee edged his way into position against the wall behind the open rear doors of the milk truck, as he had done many times before. He made eye contact with Billy Taylor, who was in on the caper and was now on the back dock illegally. He was supposed to be in the pot washing room upstairs, but right now, Taylor had more important things on his mind. A nod from Jimmy Lee told Taylor to make his move. Larry Underwood, the third man involved, hung close to Jimmy Lee. He would keep watch during the action, and if things went badly, he would help Jimmy Lee to back out of the plan with no one the wiser.

Taylor walked to the opposite end of the dock and entered a small paint storage room. Normally pad-locked, it was now open because someone had cut the hasp. Inside for just a moment, Taylor stepped back out a little too hasty, closed the door and hurried inside to the stairwell and up to the safety of the kitchen. Someone took notice of that action, however, remembering it later, and it cost him four and a half years in confinement.

Jimmy Lee braced himself, waiting. Twenty seconds went by… thirty… forty-five seconds… and then—BOOM!—the door of the paint room blew off with a loud roar, followed by a wall of yellow\orange flames that seemed to flow like water in every direction. Every person on the back dock reacted, each in his own way. Some bolted inside; several convicts dove off the dock to the asphalt below. The kitchen supervisor, weighing nearly 300 pounds, waddled as fast as he could around the far corner of the building, followed closely by the truck driver. One of the stunned officers pushed the panic button on his walkie-talkie, trying to summons immediate help.

The dairy truck was momentarily forgotten, and in those brief seconds of confusion, Jimmy Lee dashed inside that truck and was scrambling down the center isle on all fours. Walls of milk crates eight feet high and thirty feet long stood on both sides of the isle. He had to move quickly and hope that no one except Larry saw him. If he had been seen, Larry would know and would then signal Jimmy Lee to abort the plan, using a pre-arranged throw off.

Burrowing deep inside the truck, Jimmy Lee lifted and slid stacks of empty crates until he had created a cavity large enough to contain himself in a squatted position against one wall. Before sealing himself in, he slung six leftover crates toward the open truck doors, believing that in the pandemonium no one would question their origin. Fate assisted this assumption because other crates were also scattered on the dock and cartons of milk were everywhere.

He was well hidden, but that was just the first step. He could clearly hear shouts and sounds of frantic activity. Soon, a large group of people had gathered, drawn by the deafening sound and the sight of the building on fire! The Colonel appeared and ordered all inmates rounded up and taken inside, where they and the entire prison population were locked down in their cells—all but one. If he were to call a master count now, Jimmy Lee would never get out of the compound.

Not only had kerosene and gasoline been ignited and now burned, there were also twenty five-gallon buckets of flammable paint inside, adding even more fuel to the blaze. Officers dressed in fire retardant suits arrived, armed with large fire extinguishers to combat the flames and prevent them from spreading into the maintenance area. Jimmy Lee, deep within the dairy truck, listened and waited. There was no backing out now.

With no inmates available to do the work, the milk truck driver himself cleared the area behind his truck. Obviously, the milk delivery was done for today, and after conferring with a nearby guard, the driver approached the Colonel asking for permission to leave. The Colonel ordered a sergeant to search the truck and escort it to the back gate.

By this time, Jimmy Lee was feeling the chill of the refrigerated truck. Although it was warm outside, he had worn his gray sweatshirt and prison jacket in anticipation of the cold air inside. The adrenaline had worn off after the initial rush until now he felt groggy—groggy and worried that they would find him out. The prison staff was not stupid, especially in terms of security. The guard quickly walked the length of the interior of the truck, then he absentmindedly kicked the six empty crates out the back doors; his mind was on all of the excitement outside. The rear doors of the truck were then closed but not locked, since a more thorough search would have to be conducted at the gate.

A wave of euphoria swept over Jimmy Lee when the big diesel engine came to life, but he was careful not to ‘count his chickens.’ He recalled his last attempt years before when he had made it all the way to the top of the last fence without anyone seeing him, or so he thought. Just as he had jumped to the ground, certain of success, a sergeant came around the corner leveling a twelve-gauge shotgun at his chest. Later that same morning, the same sergeant had visited him on Q Wing, in isolation, to explain just how close he had come to pulling the trigger. He had asked Jimmy Lee why, after five unsuccessful escape attempts, he continued to take such risks, knowing he could be shot and killed. Jimmy Lee told him his simple philosophy, Better to be shot off the fence then to die an old man in prison behind it. He was never getting out legally, and he was getting older by the day. The sergeant, about Jimmy Lee’s own age, seemed to understand and shook Jimmy Lee’s hand. Now it all came down to this one last attempt… If he made it out the back gate, he would almost surely be a free man; if they found him out first, he would never get another chance at freedom.

The produce truck pulled away from the loading dock first, leaving wilted heads of lettuce and cabbage scattered among the other debris. Chemical fire retardant now covered the entire docks, while the fire, having erupted grandly, was contained though still burning within the remnants of the paint shack. At the back gate, there was a traffic jam due in part to the arrival of a prison fire truck, complete with a five-man, inmate crew and a sergeant from a nearby low security work camp. Thus, the produce truck idled a hundred feet inside the compound to allow the fire truck’s entry. Bringing up the rear, the huge tractor-trailer slowed to a stop awaiting its turn, with Jimmy Lee huddled inside trying to figure out what the holdup was.

Three minutes later, the fire truck entered the compound and raced to the back dock. The produce truck was then motioned inside the two exit gates. Passing inspection, the guard waved it through, and motioned for the dairy truck to ease up into position. The truck driver and the guard escort got out, and opening the back doors, began searching the interior of the milk truck. This was the ultimate test.

Armed with an eight-foot pole that had a rectangular mirror attached to one end, a tall, lanky officer climbed inside. Using the mirror to view the upper most rows of crates, he slowly walked the entire length of the isle, looking first on one side, then on the other, but did not detect the well-camouflaged Jimmy Lee. Still, he held his breath, for at any moment, the Colonel could call the gate officer, and order the contents of the truck removed for a more thorough inspection. Jimmy Lee had previously seen this happen and it made sense to do it now, but no call came. Instead, the truck was sealed up, cleared to exit, and waved through. Jimmy Lee knew he had made it when he heard the driver get back into the cab—alone—and rev up the motor. He let the clutch out a little too fast and the big truck jolted forward, shifting his cargo around a bit, including Jimmy Lee, but at last, they started shuddering slowly toward the highway in front of the prison. Jimmy Lee breathed a sigh of relief. His new adventure was just beginning.

Chapter Two

Jimmy Lee had just escaped from Reidsville State Prison in Georgia, a maximum-security institution from where no one often escaped. However, he was not quite free yet, he had only exchanged one form of confinement for another. Larry had told him that the milk truck’s next delivery after Reidsville would be at the Jackson Road Prison, a small, minimum-security work camp, seven miles away. There would be little chance of discovery during this delivery, but he would also be unable to make a getaway from here. Instead, he would continue en route with the truck until the second stop, an elementary school in the city of Reidsville. In a way, this was the most nerve-wracking part of the ride because every minute that passed carried the risk that the authorities at Reidsville Prison would discover him missing. If they did, they would surely track down and intercept the dairy truck, and his plan would fail. Still, he had no choice but to wait.

The delivery at the work camp went off without a hitch, and ten minutes later, the truck was turning into the school grounds. When the back doors of the truck opened at the rear of the school kitchen, he heard the driver relating the story of the big explosion and ensuing fire to the kitchen staff who were on-hand to accept the milk delivery. Slowly, as the voices receded, Jimmy Lee eased several stacks of empty crates into the isle, creating a shaft above him large enough to climb through. From this precarious perch, he jumped down into the open isle, and then pushed the crates back into place before stripping off all of his prison clothes, leaving him in a sweatshirt, running shorts and tennis shoes. The rest he balled up and stashed out of sight in an empty crate.

Before exiting the truck, he paused to scan the area: There were several school employees engrossed in conversation behind the kitchen, but they seemed no real threat, so he leaped off the back of the refrigerated dairy truck, landing lightly on his feet, and with a final backward glance, walked briskly toward the street to his right.

He passed the school playground, full of noisy, rambunctious youngsters at recess—what a wonderful sight. He was out! It seemed so easy and simple now that he had done it. Suddenly, the world was his again. His feet barely touched the ground as he rounded the corner and began to jog. Tears of joy welled up and he wiped them away with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. He thought of Larry, Taylor, and Peg Leg, and of the misery from which he had just escaped. Incarcerated ten straight years this time without a break, he promised himself solemnly as he jogged away; they would never get him back alive.

Reidsville, Georgia, was not a good place for an escaped convict. It was a prison town; many of its residents earned their living working in or around the various prisons located there, and had relatives and friends also associated with the prison system. Once word of the escape got out, it would spread like wildfire, and any stranger in the tight-knit community would be a suspect. Jimmy Lee understood this all too well as he jogged effortlessly away from the school and into a residential neighborhood. It was a warm, November morning with rain imminent; he needed a faster mode of travel, soon. He was disinclined to commit any crimes because whatever he did now would only provide the police with clues later on; a hot trail was the last thing he wanted to leave behind. A stolen car would be a beacon