Confessions of a Dangerous Mind by Chuck Barris

Author:Chuck Barris [Barris, Chuck]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Barris, Chuck, Television personalities, Television producers and directors
ISBN: 9780312162146
Amazon: 0312162146
Publisher: St Martins Pr
Published: 1984-05-02T04:00:00+00:00

to kidnap and kill Colbert—the moment when, hopefully, Colbert would be alone and his street empty. We waited. And waited. We watched Colbert enter and leave his house. He was generally with someone, and once, when he was alone, the street was crowded with passersby. So we continued waiting, for three days and nights, at #4 Brahmsstrabbe Street.

Keeler had provided the two of us with four stolen cars. We changed cars every day, and parking places every three hours. Periodically, we would drive out of the neighborhood to see if we were being followed. We never were. Of course, the longer we waited, the more dangerous it became. To be lurking in the same neighborhood day after day with the crafty and alert Hans Colbert was not the best of situations. But we had no alternative.

Time crawled by.

Just as staking out Colbert wasn't exactly a thrill a minute, working with Keeler wasn't a bag of laughs either. The bulky German was a taciturn, introspective bore. He tended to sit quietly on the driver's side of the automobile in a cloud of cigarette smoke, seldom taking his eyes off the front door of Colbert's house, even when making notes. Keeler scribbled constantly on a small white pad balanced on a thick knee. His notes concerned the comings and goings of everyone on the block. He observed everything on Brahmsstrabbe, and, to my knowledge, forgot nothing. Why, I'll never know. Maybe it was his way of wasting time.

As the hours and days wore on, I realized I wasn't having any fun at all. What we were doing wasn't exciting or rewarding in the slightest. It was just boring. And, at times, slightly frightening.

So, as we began our forty-third hour in a smoky, refuse-filled automobile parked down the street from #4 Brahmsstrabbe, I made up my mind to resign from the CIA as soon as I could.

* * *

During the third evening—the night of October 15, 1973—Hans Colbert returned home alone. The street was dark and empty. Colbert was enjoying an unseasonably warm night. Keeler drove our car toward Colbert up the right side of the street. As we approached Colbert, Keeler swerved to the left, jammed on the brakes, and jumped out of the car. I slid over to the driver's seat, reached behind me, and opened the rear door. Keeler wrestled Colbert into the automobile's backseat and climbed in on top of him, and I pulled the door shut. Keeler held Colbert down on the floor of the car while I drove quickly to a construe-

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