Broken Dream - excerpt

Chapter One
Tom awoke to the familiar sound of the baby crying.  His wife, Mary Beth, was bolting out of bed to attend to three month old Alexander as she always did.  Tom was uncharacteristically relieved to have been awakened on this occasion.  He’d been in the midst of a horrible nightmare.  This was not the first time he’d had this dream, but tonight he’d gotten farther into the dream than before.  In previous occurrences, the woman in the dream, the dead woman in the dream, had been a faceless, nameless, anonymous victim of crime.  For a homicide detective, this sort of dream was not so uncommon.  His days and nights were filled with victims of all varieties, but who all shared one thing in common – their deaths were not accidental.  Their lives were purposefully extinguished, sometimes in random acts of violence but often by those closest to them.  Tom was consumed in his dreams as in his waking life, with finding clues, examining evidence at the scene, reviewing the personal effects, clothing, fingernails, of the victim for something that would identify the killer.  But in all previous instances of this particular dream, the identity of the victim had not been revealed.  He’d always woken, for one reason or another, before the victim’s face had been uncovered. 

The dream involved a white female, approximately thirty years old with long red hair and a pale complexion.  He’d arrived at the crime scene to find the body already removed from the shallow pond in which the victim had been found.  According to the uniformed officers on the scene, the victim had been bound and gagged, then thrown into the pond either already dead, or left to drown.  The medical examiner would have to determine the actual cause and time of death.  As in previous instances of this dream, Tom had felt very anxious and on edge.  As he neared the bound figure, he’d become increasingly edgy, not at all eager to uncover the body and see the victim’s face.  Tom knew that, for him, viewing the victim’s face was always the hardest part.  It was the unmistakable realization that the victim was a real person, a human being, part of someone’s family.  But in the dream on this night, Tom has an uneasy feeling that the victim was someone he knew, even someone he knew well.  As Tom approached the body, he felt compelled forward, yet horrified at the same time.  When he reached out to pull away the drape from the victim’s face, he felt a rush of cold air and realized he was sweating in his dream, with rivulets of perspiration running down his face and back.  He carefully slid the drape from the victim’s face, examining the white face which was covered by wet red hair and debris from the pond.  As he gently pulled the wet hair away from the lifeless face, he instantly recognized the face, the perfect features, the small mouth and delicate nose of his sister, Judy.  Tom felt as though his chest was being crushed, and he cried out and hid his face in his hands, choking with grief and rage.  He consciously understood that he was dreaming, and willed himself to wake up, but he could not escape the deadly pale face and blank blue eyes in which he had seen laughter and joy through most of his life. Tom grabbed Judy’s lifeless body, shaking it in an attempt to wake his sister as if she were just sleeping.  He knew it was a dream, but it felt as if he were touching her cold skin, feeling the wetness of her clothes and hair, staring into her crystal clear, lifeless eyes. He felt himself screaming, then heard the faint sound of the baby crying and suddenly realized he was sitting upright in bed.  He’d never been so grateful to wake up and escape the images in his mind.  He felt his eyes stinging from tears, and could hear his pulse pounding in his ears and feel his heart thundering in his chest.  His breath came in gasps, and he felt a stunning coldness down to his bones, as if he had been submerged in the pond, and a sick, empty feeling of sadness that seemed to crush his heart.

When Mary Beth came back to bed, she immediately sensed something was wrong.  Even though they’d only been married a little over a year, she had experienced the aftermath of several of his nightmares, and reached over to soothe him.  Several minutes passed before he could talk about what had happened in the dream.  When he told her that the victim had been Judy, he could feel her next to him crossing herself, a holdover from her Episcopal upbringing.  They discussed calling Judy on the phone just to check on her, but decided they’d wait until morning since, if she was okay, the phone ringing in the middle of the night would probably scare her to death.  It was three-thirty in the morning, and neither of them slept soundly for the rest of the night.  Tom lay awake trying to understand why he would dream that his sister was dead – that she’d been murdered, and instinctively he knew the reason.  He’d been a cop all his life.  He had very good instincts about people.  And he knew Judy’s boyfriend, Carl, was not what he seemed.  Judy hadn’t even dated since her husband had been killed in a car accident four years ago.  She just hadn’t made time or opportunity to meet anyone.  She and Aaron had been so in love and so happy together that Tom felt Judy just didn’t think she could ever meet anyone to replace him.  Aaron had been a wonderful father and husband, and was the one person besides his own dad who Tom had tried to pattern himself after.  So no one could have been more shocked when Judy brought Carl to their mother’s house one Sunday afternoon.  Carl was no Aaron; that was for sure.  Besides the fact that he wore too much cologne and expensive shirts with French cuffs, neither of which were crimes in Tennessee, he had set off Tom’s cop radar the first time he laid eyes on the guy.  He just seemed wrong.  Tom had tried to get to know Carl, but just couldn’t seem to get any information out of the guy.  Carl seemed to be a pro at not giving a direct answer to a direct question.  Tom had even run a check on him at work, and couldn’t find anything on the guy.  He wasn’t in any of the criminal databases – state, local, FBI, military.  He was like a blank slate.  He wouldn’t even say where he was from – just ‘all over.’  When asked what he was doing in Nashville, he just said he was exploring some ‘business opportunities.’

What Tom disliked the most about Carl was how he ignored Judy’s kids.  She’d been seeing Carl for at least three months, and Tom had never seen him speak to Brandon or Cassie.  Those kids missed their dad so much, and needed a male figure in their lives.  Tom had tried to fill that void for them, but was stretched pretty thin as it was with work and his own family which included their new baby, Alexander, and Mary Beth’s three children.  He’d made a commitment to be Amy, Scott and Sara’s dad as well as Mary Beth’s husband, and was doing his best to help out with Brandon and Cassie, too.  He just couldn’t understand what Judy could see in Carl if he didn’t have the ‘dad gene.’  He loved his sister, and understood that she was still a young woman; too young not to have needs and desires.  But of all the men in the world, how did she hook up with Carl?

He’d been uneasy about Carl from day one.  But now he actually feared for Judy’s safety. He realized he must have subconsciously felt fearful for her for several weeks.  The dreams were getting steadily more unsettling; after tonight he could no longer ignore his concerns.  Mary Beth had had an experience in which she just felt her first husband, Gerry, who was missing, had died, and his body was found later that day.  She was convinced that he should pay attention to his feelings, and felt that God could be warning him so he could avert a disaster.  He was determined to talk to Judy first thing in the morning and tell her how he felt.  However, the resolve to take action did not help to relieve the empty feeling in his stomach.  He still could not relax and rid his mind of the images from his dream.  Maybe the lively, quick smile and flashing blue eyes of his very much alive sister Judy would erase those images.

Tom finally gave up on sleep and called it a night at 6:05AM.  He quickly and quietly showered, shaved and dressed, then headed downstairs to make coffee.  As soon as the coffee was finished brewing, he heard Mary Beth’s bare feet padding down the stairs.  She came up to him and hugged him tightly, asking, “Did you get any sleep?”

“No, I just couldn’t get the dream out of my mind.  What about you?”

“Oh, just a little.  It’s hard for me to sleep anyway.  I keep expecting Alex to wake up, and I want to get to him before he wakes up everyone in the house.”

“You know I’d be happy to get him when he cries.  He’s my baby, too, you know.”

“I know, and I’m grateful for the offer.  But you’re the one who has to go to work.  Once I get Amy and Scott on the bus for school, it’s just Sara, Alex and me, and they take naps.  I never dreamed I’d be able to stay home with a baby and not have to get up, get everyone ready and out the door.  You’re my knight in shining armor.”

Tom felt his face blush.  He still couldn’t get used to being loved and appreciated.  Mary Beth felt she’d won such a prize.  But she was the real prize.  He had everything he could ever want.  He had a wife who loved him and four beautiful children who called him Daddy.  The sound of that word filled his heart like nothing else.  He hugged her tightly and kissed her eyelids, wishing he could ever find the words to tell her how much he cherished her.  He wished his sister could be patient until she found the right one to fill the hole in her heart. 

Just then the lights on the baby monitor lit up like a Christmas tree – Alexander Monroe Kelly was awake and hungry.  The other baby in the house, Baby the yellow lab who had grown to monstrous proportions, surpassing all breed standards, began to bark and howl at the amplified sound from the baby monitor, guaranteeing that the whole Kelly household, and part of the surrounding neighborhood, was awake for the day.


Chapter Two
The day started like most days for Carl Higgins.  He awoke at around eight thirty, took a leak, started the coffee maker, and logged into his computer.  While the coffee was brewing, he checked his email then logged in to the bank’s website to check his fund balances.  His assets had taken quite a hit in the last couple of months, and he would need to replenish his account or else find other means of support.  He was definitely making progress with Judy, but not as fast as he had hoped.  The annuity from her husband’s life insurance policy was obviously pretty hefty, judging from the house she owned and the car she drove.  And those kids had everything they could want.  New bikes, computers, video games, private school, music lessons.  Judy was not worrying about money, that was for sure. 

He’d been very attentive, bought her some pricey jewelry, taken her to nice places, everything he could think of to win her over.  Ever since they’d met at the singles Bible study at Heritage United Methodist church, he’d known she was ripe for the picking.  His friend Lou at Brushy Mountain had told him that church is the best place to meet wealthy women, and he’d been dead on.  Carl had expected to find a bunch of chubby middle-aged women at church, and discovered plenty of those in the singles class the first couple of times he went.  Then one Sunday, Judy showed up, being practically dragged in by Brenda, the forty-something divorcee who ran a bakery on the town square.  Judy looked embarrassed to be there, especially when the class leader asked her to stand up and introduce herself.    Carl noticed the men in the class all had a look on their faces that did not belong in church.  All the single men looked like they had the single minded objective of getting laid, except for Carl, whose objective was to find someone, really anyone, to sink his claws into who would support him long enough for his next ship to come in.  And when Judy told her tale of woe, he realized he’d just found her.  Not a divorcee, but a widow.  Jackpot!  Not bad to look at, either, just not really the type he usually went for.  But obviously well off.  And very lonely.  Her two kids made things a bit messy, but he would have to work that out.

It hadn’t taken Carl long to figure out that Judy would respond well to some attention.  She hadn’t had any masculine attention for four years, and was surprised that anyone would be interested in her at all.  When he invited her out for coffee after church, she seemed stunned that he was talking to her.  She turned him down because she had to get the kids from the church playroom, but he knew she would come around.  A couple of weeks later, the singles group had a bowling outing planned, and she had arranged for the kids to stay with her brother and sister-in-law.  So when he asked her for coffee after bowling, she said yes.  They drove their individual cars to Starbucks, each ordered coffee, and began the awkward task of checking each other out.  She probably didn’t realize it but, with Carl expertly leading her, she managed to do most of the talking, telling him her life story.  She didn’t even notice that, by the time she had to leave to pick up the kids, she didn’t know anything about Carl.  Carl was a master at directing the conversation away from himself.  He had nothing to say about his life that wouldn’t scare her away, so he stuck to his manufactured story when pressed, but then gently steered the focus back to Judy.  He knew that the more time he spent talking about himself, the more careful he would have to be to remember what he’d said and keep his story straight.  He’d realized a long time ago that the bigger the lie, the bigger the fall.  He was a man with a closet full of skeletons, some real, and he had to keep the closet door locked.  The only way to get another good gig, with no catastrophes this time, was to play the part, know the mark, move in quickly, then get away with no strings.  He was a man with an ugly past, but as far as Judy would ever know, he was a kind man with a gentle soul.


Chapter Three
Just a few months ago, Carl had thought his last score might actually be his last.  He managed to get away with about two hundred grand, but barely made it out alive.  He should have known better than to mess with those Brewster brothers, but the payoff was just too good to pass up.  Carl made his living off the phrase, “A fool and his money are soon parted,” and knew that a fool with money could always be found.  He counted on being smarter than most, and was certainly smarter than the Brewsters.  Those three were buffoons, but fancied themselves as real wheeler-dealers.  For all the money they possessed, they still looked more like gorillas than humans.  Curly black hair absolutely everywhere.  Crawling up the backs of their necks, spilling out of the collars of their shirts, covering their thick arms like fur.  And eyebrows any Star Trek character would be proud of – thick, black and joined in the middle.  They each looked like a different link in the evolutionary chain from Simian to Homo Sapien.  They were all in their forties, and had never worked a day in their lives, just living off the money their parents had left them. 

Jesse was the oldest, and maybe the smartest, though that wasn’t saying much.  Bubby was the middle son, and the biggest of the three.  Mick was the youngest and smallest and, from all appearances, the meanest.  Carl had seen Mick beat up a hooker outside the Rack Room one night because she said his tie was pink instead of mauve.  Carl was glad he hadn’t said it was pink, although it was pink.  Mick was the loose cannon of the three, and was the one Carl was most wary of.  But Jesse was the business end, and Carl dealt with him on the ‘transaction.’

Earl Wayne Brewster, their father, had been quite a wheeler dealer in Greensburg, PA, and had made his fortune renting squalid shacks to the uneducated factory workers who swarmed Greensburg when the steel plant came into town in the forties.  The rents he charged amounted to extortion, but the tenants had no other choices at the time.  Old man Brewster couldn’t take their money fast enough, and just laughed when the tenants complained of the conditions.  He had prospered off the backs of the laborers, and had just been in the right place at the right time. 

When his first wife, Mattie, had died, some said under ‘mysterious conditions,’ Brewster had collected the then unheard of sum of fifty thousand dollars in life insurance money.  He’d sunk that money into a small parcel of land and quickly erected about a hundred very small structures with no electricity or plumbing.  Old man Brewster paraded his ill-gotten wealth all over Greensburg, and was universally despised by all the townfolks.  He always drove a big, shiny new car, wore showy jewelry, and married the town whore in a garish, circus of a ceremony.  The Brewster brothers were born into a life of wealth but no class, in a town full of people who despised and avoided them all.  The apples did not fall far from the tree.

The Brewster boys had inherited all the worse traits of their father, most noticeably his lack of class. They somehow thought expensive clothes and shoes would make a difference in their appearance, and had closets full of tailored suits in a variety of colors.  They liked to live high, and always drove around in expensive cars; Jags, Mercedes, Mick even drove a Hummer.  They’d managed to go through a good portion of their father’s fortune due to bad investments (and hookers,) and Carl was intent on relieving them of as much of the rest as possible. 

What Carl didn’t count on, or just failed to acknowledge, was that the Brewster brothers were certifiable psychopaths.  Utterly without morals or conscience.  Carl had met several of those types during his one stint in Brushy Mountain Penitentiary, so he recognized the look.  Something about their eyes made his skin crawl, but the lure of the money overpowered his loathing of them.  And his common sense.  Once Carl met up with the Brewsters, he became obsessed with hatching the perfect plan to get his hands on their money.  He knew in his mind that he should find something else to feather his nest, but the Brewsters actually deserved to lose it all, even more than his other so-called victims. 

Carl was not an indiscriminate con man.  He preferred to set his sights on big shots who made their money through unscrupulous business dealings.  That’s how he reeled them in – offering to double or triple their money through under the table, tax free investments.  They were all so greedy that they were willing to engage in illegal practices to receive a ridiculously high rate of return.  But, as Carl knew, if it sounded too good to be true, it usually was.  And Carl had made a pretty good living off just this sort. 

But the Brewsters could be the jewel in his crown.  He knew he would have to come up with something new and more daring than ever before.  What he didn’t know at the time is that the Brewsters, although exceedingly stupid, were smart enough to not completely trust another crook.  So when it was time for them to entrust Carl with a big chunk of their family fortune, the Brewsters came along with the deal.  If he got their money, he got them, too.  They constantly called him, dropped by his apartment.  He even saw them trailing him a few times.  It seemed like they just assumed he was planning to screw them. 

Carl had always been smooth.  His granny had said Carl could charm the rattle off a rattlesnake.  All his previous so-called victims had never even seen it coming.  Carl lured them in, soaked them dry, then vanished from the face of the earth in the dead of night.  It wasn’t going to be so easy with the Brewsters.  Carl spent many a sleepless night trying to plan his escape, and actually had to delay the date of their ‘transaction’ in order to give himself more time to ensure he got out cleanly, which made the Brewster brothers even more suspicious.  So on the night of his exit, Carl was about as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.  He’d packed his belongings and loaded his Town Car, and had gone back in the apartment to grab his address book and a Miller Lite for the road.  As he walked back out, he started to feel a bit of the usual exhilaration that comes from executing a well-planned operation.  He was eager to say goodbye to Greensburg, and head South for greener pastures, getting as far away from the Brewsters as possible. 

His nerves were still on edge, but he was beginning to feel more like his old, confident self, ready to move on to a new place and a new plan.  So when he got behind the wheel of the Town Car and started driving toward the freeway at around 2AM, he was surprised to see headlights coming up behind him.  He always left in the wee hours of the morning to avoid cops or other ‘suspicious parties.’  The lights got brighter, then stayed about fifty feet behind him, just following steadily.  Carl sped up and the car behind him kept pace.  Carl slowed down to fifty, then forty miles per hour, hoping the car would pass him, but it just followed.  It was dark, and Carl couldn’t see what kind of car it was, but didn’t think it was a cop.  Carl’s internal ‘radar’ for trouble was starting to scream.  With his history, he was always afraid someone he’d fleeced would go psycho and come after him.  Or one of the women he’d sponged off of then left in a cloud of dust would hunt him down.  Tonight he was more worried about the Brewsters.  He’d had a bad feeling about this one from the beginning.  He’d made a promise that once this was done, he’d stay away from the scary ones and just stick to greedy small town business men. 

Carl was familiar enough with the area to know the entrance ramp to the freeway was about two miles up the road, and figured whoever was following him would be less likely to pull any bold moves around other vehicles.  He gunned the Town Car’s V8 engine, and made a break for it, hoping the car behind him didn’t have similar horsepower.  He deserved a break!  But the lights kept up, and soon the car was right on Carl’s bumper.  Carl felt the familiar rush of adrenaline, accompanied by a sickening sense of fear and dread in the pit of his stomach.  He could not see the faces of his pursuers, but he could see the hood ornament.  A Jaguar.  The Brewsters had somehow gotten wise to him.  He would either have to get away from them or think of a good story quickly before they got their hairy hands on him. 

The Jag gunned its powerful motor and pulled alongside the Town Car.  Carl looked over to see Mick Brewster smiling a big toothy, almost canine grin.  Mick was the youngest, and probably the most dangerous of the Brewster brothers.  He had a feral quality about him that had given Carl the creeps.  Mick motioned to Carl with a shiny platinum Glock to pull over.  Carl floored the accelerator on the Town Car, desperate to get to the freeway.  But the Jag kept pace, and swerved right and pushed the Town Car over to the gravel shoulder of the road.  Carl kept going, with only a half mile to go, but the Jag pushed him again, until the Town Car was running two wheels in the rough grass.  The Jag kept up the pressure until Carl could no longer maintain control, and forced the Town Car down a slight embankment and into a fencepost.  Carl’s airbag deployed, and filled the cabin of the car in a split second, pushing Carl’s head back into the headrest, burning his face and punching his chest like a battering ram. 

Carl’s survival instincts were fully intact, and he quickly collected his thoughts.  The satchel with the Brewsters’ cash was in the floorboard by the passenger door, and Carl slid sideways and down on the seat to ease over to the satchel, hoping the passenger door was still working.  He knew he had a very fleeting opportunity to escape, and finally realized how serious the Brewster brothers were about getting their money back, no matter what they had to do to get it.  When Carl closed his eyes, he could still see the image of Mick and the Glock, and knew what was in store for him if he didn’t act quickly.  He grabbed the handle on the passenger door, and carefully eased it open, trying not to draw attention to what he was doing.  The airbag was still inflated, providing cover.  Carl slid his body out the door and onto the wet ground, clutching the satchel.  He laid still for a couple of seconds, listening carefully for any sounds from the Brewsters, when he heard an unexpected but welcome sound.  A siren!  Carl would take his chances with the cops any day! 

At that precise moment, Bubby Brewster grabbed the back of his collar, and dragged him away from the car.  Mick pulled the hammer back on the Glock, and jabbed it roughly into Carl’s temple. 

“Taking a little trip?”  Mick was grinning from ear to ear, sweating like a race horse, and looking like he was having the time of his life.  “I told Jesse not to trust you.  I knew you was up to something, but Jesse said you was legit.  Me and Bubby tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t listen.  But we been watchin’ you.  We knew you was planning to rip us off.  Now we’re going to rip you off.  One piece at a time.”  Bubby, the most goon-like of the three, stepped up and kicked Carl squarely in the ribs, knocking the air out of him, and loosening his grip on the satchel.  The sound of the siren was getting louder, and Carl could only hope the Brewsters weren’t so stupid as to shoot him with the cops bearing down on them.  Carl tried to stall them, saying “I don’t know what you guys are talking about.  I’m just getting an early start on the traffic to get to Pittsburg.  That’s where I have to complete the deal.”

“Yeah, right, smart guy.  That’s why you packed all your stuff.  That’s why you tried to outrun us.  You’re guilty as sin.  But you picked the wrong guys to mess with this time.  We don’t take this shit off nobody.”  Bubby kicked him again, this time in the side of the head, and immediately Carl saw a flash of light behind his eyes.  His head felt like it had caved in, and Carl quickly began losing consciousness, hoping the emergency vehicle, maybe a police cruiser, would arrive shortly. 
Later, but Carl didn’t know how much later, he awoke to voices, some familiar, some not.  He heard Mick’s voice first, saying “I don’t know what happened.  We was driving down the road, and saw the car on the side.  We pulled over to check out the vehicle and see if anyone was in it, you know, see if they was okay.  And then you guys show up with an ambulance.  What luck.”

Carl knew this was his opportunity.  He grabbed the satchel, and crawled over to the fence, sliding underneath and into the field, hoping the emergency crew would assume the victim of the crash had already been rescued by a family member or friend.  He knew Mick was having to pull a story out of his ass quickly, and had made it sound like he and Bubby had had nothing to do with the crash.  Carl could barely breathe from his broken ribs, and felt like his head was as big as a watermelon, but he kept moving, crawling on his stomach through the high weeds in the field toward the direction of the freeway.  At this point, he was a man with nothing to lose.  But he still had the cash!  Those bastards were not getting that money back.  He’d earned it.  In all his years as a con man, he’d never been hurt.  No one had ever laid a hand on him. 

He instinctively crawled, keeping his head down and not daring to raise his head yet to get his bearings.  He could hear the sound of trucks, and kept moving in that direction, noticing the sounds of the freeway getting louder.  Then he heard what sounded like rustling at the edge of the field.  He didn’t know if it was Mick and Bubby chasing him or the paramedics, but he wasn’t taking any chances.  He crawled feverishly toward the highway sounds.  He was oblivious to the scratches and scrapes on his face, the stabbing pain in his side, the throbbing swollen knot on the side of his head.  He knew the Brewsters didn’t just want their money back.  They wanted him dead.  They wanted him to pay with his life. 

He crawled faster than ever, and the rustling sounds behind him grew louder, as the highway sounds grew louder as well.  Without realizing it, Carl crashed into another fence, and realized he had reached the end of the field, and saw cars and trucks whizzing past twenty feet from him.  He jumped to his feet, leapt over the fence, and ran out to the edge of the highway.  He saw an eighteen wheeler speeding toward him just as he felt a bullet from the Glock graze his ear.  He had to make a split decision – either take his chances with a twenty ton truck or with the Brewsters.  He chose the truck.  Carl jumped out in the middle of the road, waving his hands madly, hoping the truck had time to stop before it turned him into a human pancake.  The truck screeched on his brakes, tooted his airhorn furiously, but Carl didn’t move.  He was going to be dead one way or the other, so he closed his eyes and waited. 

When he opened his eyes again, he was on the ground with the truck driver standing over him.  But his hand still grasped the handle of the satchel firmly.  He knew he wasn’t dead.  You weren’t supposed to hurt when you’re dead.  And Carl hurt in every conceivable spot on his body.  He could see the trucker’s mouth moving, but a steady roar inside his head prevented him from hearing the words.  But from the man’s facial expression, he was clearly pissed.  Carl tried to sit up, and realized he was no longer in the middle of the highway, but over on the shoulder, thankfully with the trucker’s rig between him and the fence, shielding him from more shots from the Glock.  The fog in his head was starting to lift, and he could hear the trucker say something about calling an ambulance and the police.  Carl responded quickly to those words, and scrambled to his feet.  He yelled, “Hey, you have to get me out of here.  Somebody’s trying to kill me.”  He took a chance on the trucker’s philosophical leanings, and said, “Couple of spicks, tried to steal my briefcase.  Ran me off the road and took a shot at me.  Can you get me a few miles down the road?  I’ve got some friends who can get me back to my car.”
The trucker said, “Spicks, huh?  Hop in.  Well, it don’t look like you’ll be hopping anywhere soon.  Climb up into the cab.  I’ll get you out of here.  Sounds like you’ve got a story to tell.”

Carl really didn’t feel like talking, but he was so grateful to the trucker for saving his sorry ass, he cooked up a decent story right there on the spot.  Spicks had seen him coming out of a bar, followed him, and ran him off the road.  Kicked him around, and started playing with him, shooting the ground around his feet, pushing him till he fell, letting him get back up and then pushing him down again.  When they fired off a wild shot and grazed his ear, he was afraid the next one would hit something he couldn’t live without, and he made a break for it.  The only reason they didn’t catch him was because they were too drunk.  This story set the trucker off on a tirade against Spicks, Spooks, Chinks, Gooks, Fags, liberals and tree huggers which lasted almost an hour. 

By the time they reached the next big highway exchange, Carl had assessed his physical situation and determined nothing needed immediate medical attention, but that he was going to be in quite a bit of pain over the next several days.  He needed to find a hotel with or near a restaurant, and a drug store.  He would hole up for a few days and figure out what to do next.  He’d already decided that Nashville was his next home.  He just had to get back on his feet.  He was already headed south.  If he’d had any idea how intent the Brewsters were on settling the score, he would have kept on moving to Katmandu, or even further.

Chapter Four
Tom arrived at his office by eight, and sat at his desk for a few minutes just trying to comprehend what had gone down in the last two months.  He still wasn’t used to occupying Captain Underpant’s office, or being called Captain, for that matter.  He felt secure that he’d deserved the promotion from Lieutenant to Captain, but never dreamed he’d get a shot at the job.  He wouldn’t have gotten the opportunity if not for Captain Underpant’s unceremonious fall from grace.  How stupid could anyone be?  Sitting pretty in a corner office, presiding over a squad of seasoned detectives, taking credit for all their superior work, and then throw it all away?  If he’d just kept his nose clean, he could have enjoyed the position of Captain of the Metro Homicide squad for many years to come.  He didn’t have to do anything but let his detectives do their jobs.  And not do anything stupid.  But, as a famous movie character said, “Stupid is as stupid does.”  And this guy was plain stupid.  Couldn’t get in out of the rain stupid.  Couldn’t pour piss out of a boot with the directions on the heel stupid.  Couldn’t stick his finger up his ass with both hands stupid.  And universally despised by all his detectives, Tom included.  He’d been promoted due to nepotism, and was utterly unqualified for the post.  So the detectives resented him, especially when he had the nerve to try to tell them what to do.  He knew nothing about Homicide.  He knew nothing about investigations, crime scenes, victims or perpetrators.  He was practically a child.  Hence the name Captain Underpants.  Since his name was Underwood, it was a running bet in the department who would call him Captain Underpants to his face first.  Most bets were on Tom. 

Tom had the most animosity of all, since the incident a couple of years ago when Underwood had tried his best to pin a murder rap on Mary Beth.  Her husband was missing, and Underwood was convinced Mary Beth had something to do with his disappearance, and was visibly disappointed when Mary Beth’s husband Gerry turned up dead off the coast of Miami just as he was about to have her arrested. Underwood was a bona fide prick, and Tom would have loved nothing better than to orchestrate his downfall, but Tom didn’t have to do anything.  Underwood was his own worst enemy.  For all his bravado, his swagger and ladies man attitude, he evidently had some problems with the ladies.  He didn’t actually go on dates with ladies, he paid for dates with ladies.  And those same ladies occasionally got busted by the Metro Vice Squad.  When one of them recognized Captain Underpants, he had to pull some strings to get the charges dropped against her so she wouldn’t blow the whistle on him.  Once the word was out with the local hookers, Captain Underpants had to spend a lot more money for their services, and pull more and more strings.  Finally he was caught on tape with a particular call girl who promised to tell everyone about a particular fetish he had that would not be understood or appreciated by most.  Also on tape was Underwood promising to pay her to keep quiet, as well as smooth her way if she happened to get arrested again.  That final promise was the nail in his coffin, professionally.  Getting caught with a prostitute was bad enough, but was only a misdemeanor.  Trying to pay the prostitute to keep quiet was just stupid.  But according to the FBI, misusing his office in order to allow and disregard criminal activity was a felony offering a sentence of twelve to twenty-five years in a federal institution.  The ensuing media circus was not what the Metropolitan Nashville Police Department needed, PR-wise.  The current Chief of Police had a grown son with a drug problem who seemed to be on the local news all the time.  Underwood had been on the job two years, and the Homicide squad had been without a leader for that time.  Tom was the most senior detective on the squad, and had grown into the role of mentor to the younger detectives, encouraging them, helping provide insight into the tough cases, and reminding them to never give up when the case seemed unsolvable.  Tom believed they were all excellent detectives with keen instincts and most importantly, dedication.  So when the Chief called him into his office a couple of weeks after the shit storm with Underwood had started, Tom didn’t know what to expect.  Maybe the Chief was going to place someone from Internal Affairs over the department to see if anyone else was dirty.  The Chief of Police for Metropolitan Nashville had only been on the job a year, but was steadily setting things straight in the department.  He’d been in law enforcement for twenty five years, and had a reputation as a ball-buster.  But instead of installing some prick from IA, the Chief wanted Tom to head the department.  As interim Captain of Homicide until Underwood was officially dismissed, then permanently.  The Chief was very complimentary of Tom’s leadership, his devotion to duty, and even mentioned that the Mayor had personally recommended Tom for the spot.  Tom figured that was because of the work he’d done on the case a few years ago in which the Mayor’s brother in law had died in an ‘apparent’ suicide, but which Tom proved to be murder.  That finding had doubled the life insurance proceeds for the Mayor’s sister, which helped their family dig out of the mess the brother in law had gotten them in financially, and made life much easier for his sister who had two children to raise alone.  So Tom knew the Mayor was grateful, but didn’t feel this was a gratuitous promotion.  The Chief said they needed someone rock solid in the spot, and even admitted he’d despised Underwood like everyone else, and had recognized he was unqualified for the post immediately.  He just hadn’t gotten around to weeding him out yet, and knew that the department was operating efficiently.  But sending Underwood packing had been on his ‘to do’ list, and now there was a compelling reason.  And ‘caught on tape with hooker’ was about as good as it gets. 

So here Tom sat in the large leather desk chair at a desk that seemed as big as his dining room table in an office that had once had a pinball machine and a fooseball table in the corner.  Now there were pictures of beautiful blonde haired children, Tom’s beautiful wife, his mother, and his sister Judy and her kids.  Tom’s eyes lingered on the picture of Judy, her long red hair flowing over her shoulders, and the always present smile and sparkle of her eyes.  His mind flashed back to the part of his nightmare in which he pulled the damp red hair from her face.  He could feel his heart racing again, just as the shrill sound of the phone buzzing startled him almost out of his skin.  He grabbed for the phone, and said, “Kelly.”

“Hey, what’s up with you this morning?”  The sound of Judy’s voice bubbled out of the phone.

Chapter Five
Mary Beth waved to Amy and Scott as their bus headed down the street, and carried Sara back in the house to watch Sesame Street.  She still hadn’t gotten used to her new life which did not include a job.  The stay-at-home mom track had never been a choice for her, and she was definitely having to revise her opinion of that group, now that she was in it.  She had been openly critical of the stay-at-homes when she’d had to go to work every day.  She’d questioned how they even got the name, since they never seemed to stay at home.  Mary Beth remembered having to run errands during her lunch break from work, and seeing the mom’s pushing their screaming kids in shopping carts through Target, talking on their cell phones, oblivious to the fact that their kids were miserable.  How was being dragged all over town every day better for kids than staying at daycare?  Amy and Scott had both learned to read at Wee Kids before they started kindergarten.  And Sara, beautiful Sara, was a most friendly and loving child who had thrived in the daycare environment with all the other children to play with.  So even with Mary Beth’s working mom guilt, she realized her kids had not suffered in any way from being in daycare.  Mary Beth had suffered the most, from missing the important moments; first steps, first words, just seeing their wonder at new things.  So after she and Tom decided to get married, he encouraged her to stay home with the kids over the summer before Scott started kindergarten, and enjoy them.  Tom didn’t make a lot of money as a police detective, but with the money from selling Mary Beth’s house and Tom’s condo, along with part of the life insurance money from Gerry’s death, they had enough to buy their new house outright.  Without a mortgage payment, they could live comfortably on Tom’s salary.  Still, so much of Mary Beth’s life had been devoted to her job that this was truly one of the most difficult decisions of her life.  Through all the bad times with Gerry, it was her job that gave her self-esteem,  that made her feel competent.  Before she could decide what to do, however, the decision was made for her.  The home pregnancy test confirmed what she already knew from previous experience.  Mary Beth and Tom were adding a fourth child to their family, granted, a bit sooner than expected, but as they had all discovered, you don’t question good fortune.  Tom had instantly taken to the role of Dad, helping with Sara’s nightly routine, coaching Scott’s T-ball team, and making up goofy bedtime stories even interesting enough to keep Amy’s attention. 

So without looking back, Mary Beth took the plunge, and submitted her resignation.  Her boss, Diane, was happy for her, and said she could have her job back if she ever wanted it, but knew she needed to be home with her family.  Her friends at work gave her a huge going away party/baby shower, with plenty of tears and congratulations, and beautiful tiny baby clothes.  Mrs. Harmon, the owner of Wee Kids, actually cried when she told her she was going to keep Sara at home.  For years, Mary Beth and Mrs. Harmon had been like oil and water.  Every time Mary Beth showed up two minutes late the pick up the kids, Mrs. Harmon had made a federal case of it, and fined her, demanding payment immediately.  Mary Beth had despised the old battle ax for her lack of understanding.  So when Mrs. Harmon had offered to help when Gerry disappeared, she was surprised to realize that she had a soft side.  Mrs. Harmon had been the first to arrive at Mary Beth’s home after the funeral with an offer to help with the children while Mary Beth played hostess.  They had become very close since Gerry’s death, and she was grateful to have another person the kids could think of like a grandparent.  Mrs. Harmon had offered to babysit for Mary Beth and Tom several times so they could spend time alone, and the kids just loved to visit her.  God knows Gerry’s mother had never spent any time with them.  The last time Mary Beth saw Liz Trace was at Gerry’s funeral, loading that horrible little dog she’d dumped on them back into her car.  She did receive a letter from her a few weeks later, though.  She wanted the refrigerator and washer and dryer back.  She said she had bought them for Gerry, and she wanted them back.  Mary Beth was livid.  She thought she had understood the depths of Liz’s selfishness and greed, but this was even more than she thought Liz was capable of.  She calmly sat down, called a moving and storage company, and scheduled a pickup for later that day.  Then she wrote two letters of her own.  In one letter she told her to take the appliances, shove them up her ass, and that she hoped she died a bitter, lonely old woman with nothing but a stupid dog who shits all over the house, and to never ever contact her or the kids.  In the second letter she told Liz that she could have her washer and dryer and refrigerator back, and that she hoped they made her happy.  She wished her the best, and that she understood the grief of losing her only son had made her bitter and mean spirited.  And she offered the invitation to her to spend time with her grandchildren when she felt like she could be a loving presence in their lives.  She mailed one of the letters and tore the other into tiny pieces, and then drove to Sears and bought a new side by side refrigerator with ice and water in the door, and a matched washer and dryer set with extra capacity for large loads to be delivered the next day.  She never heard anything else from Liz Trace.

As she walked into the house, she put Sara down and turned on Sesame Street, then walked upstairs to check on Alex.  Alexander Monroe Kelly was sleeping peacefully, and had probably another hour to sleep before he would wake again, demanding food with a high pitched wail that could raise the dead.  He was growing so fast you could swear he felt bigger after every nap.  She watched him sleep, and had to fight the urge to touch him so as not to wake him.  She needed him to sleep another hour so she could do some laundry while Sara was occupied with Big Bird and Elmo. 

She was definitely starting to understand that stay-at-home mom was not an easy job.  If you did the job properly.  Now that she was home all day, she felt like it was her job to keep the house spotless, prepare delicious home-cooked meals for Tom and the kids, and raise well-behaved and intelligent children.  She wanted to do everything well, and exhibited the same attention to detail and work ethic to this job as she had her previous job.  But she didn’t feel like she was as good at this job; not yet anyway.  And she missed her friends at work.  Some days she was desperate for adult communication when Tom came home, and she was so eager to hear about his day.  He’d tell her all about his cases, and new leads, and she was enthralled with all the details.  When he asked about her day, she told him how many loads of laundry had been washed, dried, folded, and put away, how many diapers Alex had gone through, the numbers Sara counted to, the arguments between Amy and Scott she had had to help resolve, but it all seemed so insignificant compared to Tom’s work. 

Mary Beth had to admit she was a little jealous of Tom’s job, and often wished she could go back to work and feel useful.  But then she would pick up Alex when he cried, and he would flash that beautiful toothless smile at her, and she knew she was exactly where she belonged.  She’d missed this time with Amy, Scott and Sara, and was not going to miss these moments with Alex.  And Sara was changing so fast that every day it seemed she was learning something new, saying new words, and investigating her environment.  Mary Beth was amazed at how her precious baby Sara was maturing into a wise and inquisitive toddler.

Mary Beth quietly closed the door to Alex’s room, and gathered laundry from the various rooms upstairs.  She still felt as if she were living in a fairy princess castle.  Each child had their own bedroom, and there was still a guest room and a separate study.  The kids had a huge playroom upstairs, with a large TV and video game system, and there was a large open family room downstairs with a fireplace, and a kitchen that opened up to the family room so that Mary Beth could work in the kitchen and still see and hear most everything that was going on.  She still couldn’t believe how much room they had, compared to the house she’d had with Gerry.  Amy and Scott had shared a room, and bickered constantly about it.  Sara had had her own room, but only out of necessity, because Mary Beth knew the baby would wake the others, and no one would get a full night’s sleep.  So now all four had their own space, with room to grow.  And Tom had his study downstairs where he could work at night, if he needed to.  Tom and Mary Beth had selected this house with the intent to never move.  Enough space for growing children, who would have lots of friends over, parties, and sleepovers.  They should never need a bigger house than this one. 

She’d spent most of her time before Alex was born decorating and tidying, organizing and settling in.  She’d never had the luxury of decorating before, always having to make do with whatever hand-me-down, leftovers she could get hold of.  Or whatever impractical nonsense Gerry chose to bring home with the little bit of money he earned.  The big screen TV was the prime example of his contribution.  He’d been so proud when it was delivered.  He couldn’t understand why she was so angry that he’d bought a present for the family.  He’d earned the money on a big case that he’d worked hard for.  The present for the family was really just a present for Gerry.  Mary Beth watched the 12 inch black and white TV in the kitchen, and the kids watched a 20 inch on the sun porch, while Gerry watched the big screen from his La-Z-Boy, with the remote glued to his right hand like an extension.  The La-Z-Boy had been donated to Goodwill, and the big screen TV was now located in the playroom so the kids could enjoy it.  Gerry’s legacy.

Mary Beth had selected stylish yet practical furnishings for their new home.  Nothing fancy, but tasteful and clean.  Lively colors and comfortable, contemporary style for a home that looked inviting and lived in by a happy family.  And happy they were.  The happiest day of her life was the day Tom adopted Amy, Scott, and Sara.  They walked out of court that day the Kelly family – Tom, Mary Beth, Amy, Scott, and Sara Kelly, with Alex on the way.  Tom’s mom and sister were there, with Mary Beth’s best friend Clarisse, and Mrs. Harmon, and Mary Beth’s mom, Helen, and several of her friends from work.  Tom’s sister Judy presented them with a plaque to hang by the front door with all their names, and room for the next.  Mary Beth had come so far from her old life with Gerry.  She was happier now than she’d ever been, and realized that a marriage really could be a partnership.  Tom was so much like her dad, and she knew her dad would be very pleased that she’d found someone who would love, respect, and protect her and be a real father to her children.  But she also had lived long enough to know extreme loss and sadness, and knew that life could throw you a curve ball when you least expect it.

Chapter Six
Mick Brewster woke up with the same giddy, expectant feeling as a kid on Christmas morning.  He bolted out of bed, took a long leak in the grungy bathroom of his Days Inn king suite, sat down on the side of the bed and grabbed the phone.  He wore nothing but gold chains around his neck.  From where he sat, he could admire his naked body in the mirror, his short, stocky legs and arms, covered in thick, curly, black hair.  His body was thick and muscular, and his right bicep featured a tattoo of a blade, with drops of red blood.  The hair on his head was shiny and black, and he sported a black goatee, carefully dyed to hide the gray. 

Mick Brewster was sitting here in this low rent hotel in Nashville, itching to fulfill a promise he made months ago.  He was going to settle a score the old fashioned way, and his heart was pounding with anticipation.  Douche-bag Carl would sure look surprised when he saw Mick and his brothers.  That snake managed to slither away last time before they’d been able to inflict any serious damage on his person.  He wouldn’t be so lucky this time.  The Brewster brothers had never been fleeced in all these years of business, and it was a matter of personal pride that they settle the score.  They didn’t expect Carl to still have the money, but it was about more than the money.  They would get four hundred thousand dollars in satisfaction from Carl, and they didn’t care what it took.  And, come to find out, Carl wasn’t as smart as he thought.  He’d made a phone call to an investment broker in Nashville, Tennessee, and Mick and Bubby found the bill in Carl’s mailbox a couple of days after he skipped.  Mick scratched the sprawling expanse of hair on his stomach, then punched in a four digit number in the phone beside the bed with his stubby index finger, and said, “Yeah.  Meet me at the car in twenty.  Call Bubby and tell him.”  He slammed the phone down, lifted his left ass cheek slightly off the bed, cracked out an explosive fart, and headed to the shower. 

About thirty minutes away, Carl sat at his kitchen bar, drinking coffee, reading the Wall Street Journal, and feeling like he was on top of the world.  He was finally making some progress with Judy, and she’d agreed to leave the kids with her brother overnight so she wouldn’t have to get home early.  He’d been trying to get in her pants for weeks, and she would barely let him kiss her.  So tonight was his best chance to seal the deal.  He knew she was the kind of woman who would stick with him once she’d let him screw her.  She was classy, and good looking.  And, best of all, comfortably wealthy.  Carl knew that he could live like a king while he waited for his next big score, then leave Nashville behind in a cloud of dust.  He could act like he loved anyone.  He was a pro.  He could even put up with those kids for a while.  At least they were cute and basically well behaved. 

He would sure appreciate being with a woman under fifty for a change.  All the others had been rich but old.  Some had been really old.  The worst of all was Bernice, the seventy year old with an insatiable sexual appetite.  She had been widowed three times, and Carl could see why – she’d fucked them all to death!  It was all Carl could do to get a hard on!  Despite all of Bernice’s money, she was still seventy years old, and looked every day of it.  Wrinkles everywhere, long, saggy tits, and dentures.  Nothing could have prepared him for the first time he saw her take her teeth out of her mouth and drop them in a glass by the sink. 

Screwing Bernice had been his biggest acting challenge so far.  He’d even started slipping her a sedative in her cocktail each night so he could get some rest!  He hung in there as long as he had to, then as soon as his latest deal was done, he took off one day while she was having her annual colonoscopy.  He knew she’d be gone about four hours, so he took several items from her jewelry box, some silver pieces he didn’t think she’d ever miss, and one of her twelve furs and never looked back.  He felt like he’d earned much more than he took, so he loaded his loot into his Town Car, and left Houston and Bernice like a bad dream.

He’d been in Nashville now longer than any other place without moving in with a woman, but he thought Judy would be worth the wait.  She’d been widowed for quite a while and, from what he’d gathered, had not even had a boyfriend in all that time.  So she would be a wild thing when he finally got her in the sack.  She was still young and alive, so he was definitely looking forward to some action.  He’d planned a big night for them, with dinner and dancing at Sperry’s.  He’d pick her up at eight, dressed in his navy suit, baby blue silk shirt with the white collar and French cuffs, and his coral silk tie.  He knew he looked very dapper in this ensemble, and didn’t think she’d be able to resist him.  He’d keep refilling her wine glass, and then drive her back to her house and … surely this would be the night.  He hadn’t had this feeling of anticipation since he’d been planning the Brewster job.  Just with the thought of that name, his growing erection was extinguished, and the excitement was replaced with anxiety.  He’d barely made it out alive after that job, and he’d vowed to trust his instincts from now on.  Stay away from the scary ones.  Stick with the greedy businessmen, and avoid thugs and criminals.  And so far, he’d met plenty of greedy businessmen in Nashville who wanted the big pay off, but would never risk going to jail by reporting their money stolen to the cops.  That’s why this was such a great line of work for Carl.  But it was still work.  It took skill, and cunning, and great instincts to spot the guys who were good candidates, and more skill to approach them, sell them, and get away clean.  He’d learned a good lesson from his experience with the Brewster brothers, and he would not soon forget it.  He was glad to be alive on this beautiful day in Nashville, Tennessee!