BACK IN TOWN
A Small Town Series: Book Two
Marc A. Di Giacomo
Copyright © 2014 by Marc A. DiGiacomo
First Printing: June 2014
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events, or locales is purely coincidental.
Marc A. DiGiacomo
Visit my website for further information at: http://www.inasmalltownbook.com
Cover design by Karri Klawiter: http://artbykarri.com
Editing by Philip Newey: http://philipnewey.com/All-read-E.htm
Formatting by Polgarus Studio: http://www.polgarusstudio.com
Author photograph by Dina DiGiacomo
Also by Marc A. DiGiacomo
In A Small Town, released in 2013
A Small Town Series: Book One
Table of Contents
A message from the author:
Chapter One: A Dead Man Speaks
Chapter Two: Too Many Lows
Chapter Three: The Great Escape
Chapter Four: O Captain! My Captain!
Chapter Five: Rats
Chapter Six: Cheap Suits
Chapter Seven: Double Down
Chapter Eight: Date Night
Chapter Nine: Dead Man In A Box
Chapter Ten: A Black Widow Returns
Chapter Eleven: A Couple of Dogs
Chapter Twelve: Sunday Dinner
Chapter Thirteen: Please Gimme Some Truth
Chapter Fourteen: A Happy Hour
Chapter Fifteen: Poor Maria
Chapter Sixteen: Closing In
Chapter Seventeen: Keep Your Mouths Shut
Chapter Eighteen: A Good Shoot
Chapter Nineteen: Cynthia Shyler
Chapter Twenty: Coming Home
Acknowledgments
Book Extract: Last In Town
A message from the author:
I just want to take this opportunity to thank all of you who have read In A Small Town. So many of you have sent personal messages throughout the last two years with encouragement and praise.
Writing Back In Town was challenging for me, especially since I promised myself I would not release it until it was ready. Thank you for being so patient. This book contains profanity, sexual situations and graphic scenes of death. It is not to be read by anyone under the age of 18 unless allowed by a parent or guardian.
This book is the second in a series. It may be difficult for some readers to understand the characters and plot without having read, In A Small Town, A Small Town Series: Book One. More information is available by visiting http://www.inasmalltownbook.com.
-Marc
In loving memory of Gary W. Jackson
Chapter One: A Dead Man Speaks
August 30, 2007
All the little man wants is to rest his eyes. The constant torment of the crazy captain finally ends just after midnight. The stinging sensations in his hands, arms and face are still fresh in his mind. He can’t remember the last time he was beaten with his own shoes. A quick flashback enters and exits, with a glimpse of an incident in a high school gym. It is just as he imagined: teenage bullies then are no different than adult bullies now. He is used to this sort of treatment; it is to be expected, especially locked up in a testosterone raging police department. His eyes finally close for a millisecond; then he hears someone walking towards his cell. Maybe if I look asleep they will leave me alone. No such luck as the cell door is unlocked. He braces for the impact that never comes.
“Leonard, Leonard, time to fly.”
Leonard Kepler opens his eyes, jumps back startled, and silently wishes the insane captain with the slap happy sneaker brigade were standing before him.
“Captain Grassio, is that you?”
It is so confusing to see someone wearing a goblin mask, dressed in black, standing inside a jail cell.
“No, he’s gone Leonard. You’re safe. Come on.” Leonard is afraid. He doesn’t want to leave but what choice does he have, with a pistol pointed directly at his face? He follows the bright white sneakers with reluctance through the darkness of the Hutchville Police Department. The hallway is spooky in the middle of the night. The lights are off inside the building. Leonard can’t believe they are going to transport him to the county lock-up now. Why wouldn’t they wait till morning? What’s the mask all about? One last scare before my parting? Leonard keeps his thoughts to himself.
The situation becomes even more puzzling as Leonard is thrown into the back of a dark and dated Lincoln Town Car. Why not a police cruiser for my transport? Leonard is too afraid to speak up. He is surprised to see the driver wearing an identical goblin mask. Both men remove their masks. Leonard does not recognize either of them. Each man lights up a cigarette and cracks open a window as the car slides away without the use of headlights. Leonard watches as the police station becomes just a small dot in the distance.
The driver and passenger do not speak to one another. The taller passenger turns on the radio and finds an oldie station. Both men start singing the lyrics of “Sherry” by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. Their high pitched growls and off-key singing consume the interior of the speeding car. Leonard has never been more frightened in his life as the car makes its way along a gravel road. Even in the darkness, Leonard can taste the dirt that enters into the back seat from an open sunroof. Why are we in the woods? Finally, the radio is turned off and the car slows to a stop.
“Leonard, stay here a moment. I have to take a leak.” Leonard is slightly relieved. No wonder we are in the forest. But, just before he allows his shoulders to relax, his door opens and he is pulled from the safety of the back seat. Leonard resists, but the driver joins the passenger and they easily drag Leonard out to an awaiting embankment. As he looks around, Leonard sees things he wishes were not there. His eyes fixate on two shovels, a pick axe, and a rickety old wooden rocking chair. Leonard is firmly planted in the chair. His shirt and pants are pulled from his body, leaving him clothed only in his red boxer briefs. Leonard is not wearing handcuffs. He places each arm on the side rails of his chair. He is no longer afraid; he is absolutely terrified. Leonard recognizes things aren’t looking good. Ten minutes ago he was lying in a relatively safe jail cell, inside the walls of a police department. Now, he is in the middle of the woods surrounded by the darkness and sounds of stealthy creatures that move in the night.
“What is this about? Are you guys cops?” Their laughter is quiet and controlled. It’s not the response Leonard is seeking. Leonard squints as he tries to focus on these two men. They are unfamiliar to him. The shorter man is stocky and unattractive. However, the taller man has a distinct look about him, as if he really is a cop.
“Leo, can I call you Leo? I am a cop, a detective actually.” The taller man speaks, the one who had escorted him out of Hutchville P.D.
“Leo, have you ever met a dead man?” Leonard shakes his head, confused by the question.
“My name is Donny Mello, and I am a dead man.” Leonard stares at this man; he has never seen him before. How can he be dead if he’s standing right in front of me?
“Why am I here? I thought you were taking me to the county lock-up.” His heart rate increases sharply. His brea
thing gains rhythm. Leonard just saw the large gaping hole in the ground to his immediate left. The taller man with the white sneakers walks up to Leonard, lighting another cigarette.
“Calm down, Leo. Cops don’t kill people. But you need to learn a lesson and that is why we are all here.” Donny places his hand on his shoulder and gently taps him. This act of kindness doesn’t make Leonard feel any calmer.
“What are you going to do with me?” Leonard tries not to tremble, but it’s hard to control his body. This is nothing like the feeling he experiences when hot on the trail of a new target. Those tremors are warm and inviting. This is fear; nothing but fear. These nuts take roughing up to another level. These cops scare the shit out of me.
“I just want a few of my questions answered and you will be on your way to county. Okay, Leo, is that fair enough?” The hairs on the back of Leo’s neck stand at attention. He has a bad feeling about this entire method of interrogation, but he nods in acceptance.
“Leo, how many women have you raped?”
“I was advised by my counsel—” Before Leonard can say anymore, he is hit hard in the mouth. He didn’t see the short and stout driver come up on him. The sudden impact splits his lip, and warm blood begins to drip down Leonard’s chin.
“Answer the question Leo. Don’t worry. No courtroom will ever hear your confession.”
“Twenty-three.” The tears begin to fall from Leonard’s eyes. There is nothing he can do to stop them.
“Wow, that’s more than a few. Any kids?”
“No, I would never. That’s disgusting.”
“Come on, Leo, no young girls? You know what I mean, at their peak of ripeness?”
“No!”
“Okay, Leo, I believe you.” The men begin to talk in a different language. Leonard knows it is one of the classic romance languages, probably Italian. He can’t understand a word they say. He isn’t sure who “Paolo” is, but the shorter man says the name a few times. The short driver pulls Leonard from his chair and brings him to his knees.
“Wait! Wait! I thought you said we are going to the county jail.” Donny places a heavy metal object on the ground in front of Leonard. It isn’t something Leonard ever saw before this early morning, but it is fully familiar to him. The large round center of the mechanism is about as big as a silver dollar coin. The jagged edges of rusted steel catch Leonard’s attention.
“So, Leo, I want you to take off your boxers and squat over this fox trap. If you can hold your balance for five minutes, you are free to go. If not, well then, you’re going in that fucking hole.” Leonard begins to weep. It is the sort of desperate sorrow one would expect before being executed on death row. Humiliated and horrified, Leonard pulls off his last garment, exposing himself to the dark night.
“Leo, you have a pretty big cock. I would hate to see that thing cut off. Straddle it, Leo. Come on. I don’t have all day. We have a plane to catch.” The sudden smirk on Donny’s face turns Leonard’s stomach. He begins to heave uncontrollably. Leonard does as he is told. He composes himself enough to squat over this nightmare.
“Good job, Leo. The clock is ticking.” Things are looking up for Leonard. Besides the overall humiliation and extreme hazing at the hands of Hutchville’s finest, he is going to make it. My lawyer will hear all about this in a few hours.
As the timer on Donny Mello’s watch descends into single digits, he starts counting down from ten.
“10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Congratulations, Leo, you made it.” The instant relief on Leonard’s face incenses Donny. Without notice, he kicks Leonard in the chest, causing a chain reaction of unforgiving events. Leonard falls backwards, landing on the fox trap. His shriek is high pitched and child-like as the trap catches hold of both testicles. A flurry of kicks renders Leonard almost unconscious as his little body is rolled into the black hole. Leonard opens his eyes for the last time as the thunder and lightning of gunfire rain down upon him. The all-encompassing blackness returns and never leaves Leonard Kepler again.
Chapter Two: Too Many Lows
August 30, 2007
I awake in a total state of panic. Fucking gunshots, again? My heart feels as though it will burst if it beats any faster. “Shit, it’s only three in the morning.” Only an hour has passed since I awoke last. Damn it, why can’t I sleep? My dreams continue to haunt my nights, causing cold sweats and a rapid heartbeat. It’s scary to think what will happen to me and my town next. I slide my Glock from under my pillow. The cool steel instantly slows my pulse. I feel safe as I lie back on the blue silk sheets, moist from my latest nightmare. I close my left eye as I take aim at the dark that fills my bedroom. My Trijicon night sights are easily visible, even in this total blackness. The three bright green dots are my saviors, granting me some peace.
Is it possible to get lucky more than once in a lifetime? Or am I cursed for not stopping him that night so long ago? I’m ready for anyone he sends to finish the job. My gut begins to shift even with the slightest thought of him. What a scumbag! Donny Mello. His name leaves me with so many unanswered questions. The simplest of which: Why? I was his friend and partner.
My earlier dream is instantly forgotten, odd for a guy who can recall almost anything. If my neighbors in this building haven’t complained yet about the loud screams coming from my apartment, then the concrete walls are doing their job. Even in the dimness, I can sense the scar peering through my T-shirt at me. The twisted flesh is a daily reminder of my new issue with trusting people. My brother Franny is the exception to this newest hang-up. And of course there is Cynthia Shyler. She saved my life.
What I can remember is tonight’s date with Cynthia. I’m so angry it was cut short. It’s not often I accompany a beautiful F.B.I. agent to dinner. Franny’s misplacement of some paperwork for the Kepler arrest brought our first date to an abrupt end as soon as the appetizers hit the table. I had to leave her and head back to headquarters. Such is the life of a seasoned detective with a newbie partner. My kid brother, Police Officer Francis Longo, is good, but I couldn’t take any chances, especially on a rape arrest. Besides, at least I got to see my boss in full sneaker attack mode. Franny was busy with his paperwork, but I had a front row seat for primetime. What I saw tonight was better than anything on late night television.
Cynthia was great. She understood. It could have just as easily been her job calling. The F.B.I. is open for business at all hours, just like my small town police department. Thinking about Cynthia calms me further. I’m wondering if things are moving too fast. Our recent sleepover was platonic, no real funny business except for some making out and a brief stop at second base. A warm sensation sweeps throughout my body. Dammit, Franny. That little prick is always right. I just might be falling for her and fast.
My heartbeat resets to normal as I fall back to sleep. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for me, pray for Detective Matt Longo.
March 18, 2001
My Sunday was wrapping up nicely on this soon to be spring afternoon. This day tour was pretty uneventful. Except for an aided case and a burglar alarm malfunction, all was quiet in Hutchville, N.Y. Lucky for me anyway. Last night was St. Patty’s Day, and I still had a buzz when I arrived at work this morning. It was two-thirty now and my headache had almost let up.
“Headquarters to Car One.”
“Proceed H.Q., Adams Street.”
“Respond to 490 Washington Avenue. That’s a report of a missing child. Parents are on scene. They are looking for an eight-year-old boy with special needs, last seen wearing a blue sweatshirt, blue jeans and blue sneakers. Check the surrounding area before responding to the home.”
“10-4, H.Q.”
My arrival in the general vicinity of the call was faster than normal. Not being a parent myself, I could only assume there was nothing worse than a lost child. It wasn’t hard to imagine the pain they were feeling right then. I scanned the sidewalks along Washington Ave. They appeared clear. No sign of anyone on the street. I passed a nearby park, scanning the swing
area. No kids playing today. As I stretched my neck to full extension something grabbed my attention. The smallest patch of blue caught my eye, in the covered yellow landing of an enclosed tubular slide. My hands quickly turned the patrol car around in a driveway and headed towards the park. I jumped out of my car. With a missing child reported, time is of the essence. The picture became clearer as a trot turned into a full sprint. The small blue patch grew larger with my arrival at the slide’s ladder. I quickly made my way up the ladder and found him sleeping curled up in the corner. A broad smile came upon me when I saw a little boy wearing a blue sweatshirt, blue jeans and blue sneakers. I radioed H.Q. to notify them of my findings. The young boy continued to sleep peacefully as I cradled him in my arms. Instead of putting the child in my car and waking him, we walked the three blocks over to his home. Before I was even close, a woman was running towards me, crying, tears flowing non-stop. Finally, I had good news for someone, instead of turning their lives upside down.
The mother was a young brunette. I could sense she had been through a lot today. She stopped a few feet from me to stare at her little boy. Her tears continued, even though she was beaming. She held out her arms as I placed the child into her embrace. He stayed asleep. I followed the lady to her home for the completion of some paperwork.
After finishing up my incident report, I closed out the case. No further police action at this time. While the child slept on the living room couch, I asked the parents respectfully about headquarters stating the child had special needs.
Back In Town (A Small Town Series Book 2) Page 1
