EDGE OF SUSPENSE: Thrilling Tales of Mystery & Murder

by Flowers, R. Barri

  The following week, Antonio Escobero was convicted and sentenced to spend the rest of his life in prison.

  # # #

  VANDALS

  "Hey, Craig, can you get out to meet me?" my best friend Stewart asked over the phone on Saturday night.

  "Yeah," I told him, though I was supposed to be grounded after getting caught with Suzy Pickford in my room. "Mom's at the library and dad's at work, as usual. I have to be back before ten, though."

  "No problem," Stewart said. "I'll meet you at Jasper Hill."

  Stewart and I had been buddies since sixth grade. Now we were in the tenth grade and still hung out. A lot of people thought Stewart was a troublemaker because his brother, Kevin, was serving time for armed robbery.

  I didn't hold that against Stewart. Like me, he just hated being bored and wasn't afraid to do something about it.

  I grabbed a bottle of water, put on my helmet, and took off on my bike. I liked feeling the wind in my face and the freedom riding gave me that I never felt at home.

  I lived in Silver Pines, Oregon—far enough from Portland to escape big city nightmares, but not so small that it didn't have its own Sheriff who just happened to be my dad.

  Jasper Hill was the most popular place to meet in town. It was at the top of Jasper Lane and gave you a 360-degree view of Silver Pines.

  Stewart was already there when I arrived, standing beside his bike with a backpack. We were both nearly six feet tall, but he was stockier.

  "Hey," he said. "Thought you might not show."

  I shrugged, mindful that I wasn't supposed to leave the house. "Didn't have anything better to do."

  "Yeah, me neither," Stewart said.

  "So what do we do now?" I asked. "Wanna see who's fastest down the hill on our bikes?"

  "Nope, I've got a better idea." Stewart reached into his backpack and pulled out two cans of spray paint. "I say we have a little fun putting some smiley faces on cars."

  I chuckled nervously. "My dad would skin me alive if we got caught."

  "So we'll just have to make sure we don't," Stewart said nonchalantly.

  "I don't know about this..."

  "Oh, don't be such a wuss," he said. "We'll just spray a dozen cars or so and be on our way. They'll never even know what hit 'em till the sun comes up. By then, we'll be on our best behavior while our mothers are making us breakfast."

  Stewart gave me a look that said be gutsy for once and step out of your dad's shadow.

  "Yeah, okay," I muttered. "I'm in."

  "Cool." He tossed me a can. "Let's start on Eagle Street where they just love showing off their fancy BMWs. We'll give them a real reason to be in the spotlight."

  I tested the spray, which was fluorescent blue, and declared myself ready to do some vandalizing, for better or worse.

  * * *

  We hit a few cars on Eagle Street starting with Mr. Donleavy's, the Vice Principal at Silver Pines High. It was easy as pie and no one saw us that we knew of.

  Moving onto Alpine Court, we sprayed smiley faces on a few more windshields, trunks, and doors; then did the same on Winchester Avenue.

  After we high tailed it out of there, we ended up on Dover Road. There was one car parked on the street—a black Chevy that looked like it had already been put through the ringer with chipped paint, scratches, and dents.

  "I say we should spruce it up a bit," Stewart said.

  Something about the car rubbed me the wrong way. "Maybe we should quit while we're ahead," I told him.

  "Come on, just one more," Stewart insisted. "By the looks of it, we'll be doing the owner a favor."

  I hesitated and Stewart started spraying the car. "Am I gonna have to do this all by myself?" he asked, glaring at me.

  I didn't want him to be on my case about being chicken from now on, so I joined in.

  We pretty much emptied our cans on the car.

  "Wish I could see the owner's face when he gets a load of our paint job," Stewart said, laughing. "He might even thank us, if he knew who we were."

  I frowned. "I don't know about that."

  I was putting the can in his backpack when the porch light came on at the house in front of the car. A burly forty-something man opened the door with a pissed look on his face.

  "What the hell did you do to my car?" he growled.

  "Uh oh," I said nervously. "We better get outta here."

  Stewart hopped on his bike. "Yeah, let's do it."

  I got on my bike as the man stormed out of the house. He started to chase us up the street, but couldn't catch up. He finally gave up with a few choice words.

  "Better luck next time, old fart," Stewart shouted brazenly.

  I sucked in a deep breath, my heart pounding wildly. "Wow! That was a close call."

  Stewart snickered. "Are you kidding? That old guy is way too out of shape to make it interesting."

  "Maybe, but we probably shouldn't have emptied our cans on his car like we did."

  "Well, it's too late to think about that now," Stewart said. "Let's just be glad he didn't get his hands on us."

  I imagined the man's hands wrapped around my neck, and felt a chill at the thought. Right now, I just wanted to beat my mom home and forget about what we did.

  * * *

  We were cruising down the street on our bikes when the sound of screeching tires caught my ears. I turned around and saw a car rapidly moving in our direction.

  I recognized the blue paint on the hood. It was that man coming after us for revenge!

  "It's him!" I yelled. My heart skipped a beat. Then I heard a dog barking. "And he brought his dog with him! What are we gonna do now, Stewart?"

  "Out race him," Stewart said, somehow managing to keep his cool. "That piece of junk will never catch us."

  "Are you crazy?" I said. "He's got a car—junk or not—and he's really pissed. We can't beat him at this game and I'm not even gonna try."

  I darted my bike onto the sidewalk, but kept moving, planning to turn at the next corner.

  Stewart suddenly lost his courage and followed me.

  I looked over my shoulder and saw that the car, with its bright lights on, had partially come onto the sidewalk as well, and was gaining ground.

  "Still think he can't catch us?" I asked, pedaling as fast as I could.

  Stewart grimaced. "Not if we keep moving in different directions. I say we split up and let him try to figure out which one of us to go after. By the time he does, we'll both be in the clear."

  "All right," I agreed, and moved onto the grass.

  Stewart bravely crossed the street and rode on the sidewalk across from me.

  At first, the car continued to follow me, but it couldn't get up as far as I was. So the man went after Stewart.

  "Watch out!" I screamed as Stewart barreled down the sidewalk as fast as he could with the crazy driver in full pursuit.

  With another intersection coming up, I figured Stewart would zoom onto Halstead Street and slip into the shopping center parking lot to disappear amongst the cars.

  But he never made it that far.

  I watched in stark horror as the car careened right into him. Stewart went airborne as the car ran over his bike and crushed it.

  Stewart landed awkwardly on the grass and wasn't moving. I wanted to help him, but when I reached the end of the block the man came after me again. His dog was barking viciously as if it wanted to chew me to bits.

  I sped down Halstead Street, scared out of my wits. Since there wasn't much cover for me on that side of the road, I crossed to the other side just as the car rounded the corner.

  I was in trouble and knew he wouldn't stop until I was injured or dead like Stewart.

  I pulled out my cell phone and called my dad, knowing that by doing so I'd be in deep trouble. But nothing could be worse than what was going on right before my very eyes.

  He answered on the first ring with his usual angry voice.

  "Dad...I...I need your help."

  "What's wrong?" he a
sked.

  I gulped. "I'm being chased on my bike by a madman."

  "If this is some kind of joke, I'm not laughing."

  I looked back and saw the car picking up speed. I tried to zigzag, as if that would do any good.

  "It's not a joke! He wants me dead!" I screamed.

  "Who wants you dead?"

  "The man who just slammed his car into Stewart's bike—with him on it."

  "This doesn't make any sense," he said. "You're grounded, remember? So what am I missing?"

  "I went to Jasper Hill with Stewart," I told him. "And we spray painted this old car for kicks. But the man who owned it saw us and got really pissed. He came after us in his car. And he's catching up to me..."

  My dad uttered an expletive. "Where are you now?"

  "I just turned off Halstead onto Linwood."

  I pedaled as fast as I could toward an industrial park. I could hear his tires screeching on the pavement in fast pursuit while his dog barked ferociously.

  "Please, Dad, you've gotta do something before he kills me!"

  "Calm down," he ordered. "Get the hell off that bike and find somewhere to hide till I get there. And keep your cell phone on."

  "Okay." I put it back in my pocket and crossed to the other side of the street where there was a furniture warehouse. Maybe I could hide in there and wait for my dad.

  I ditched the bike and helmet near some dilapidated furniture by a trash bin and ran past some bushes and a pickup truck with the tires missing.

  With only a single light post nearby, I hoped the crazy man had lost sight of me.

  The warehouse door was locked, so I went around to the side and found an opening in some rotted wood.

  I squeezed through it and made my way behind some furniture, trying to keep dead silent even as I heard the car drive up.

  * * *

  The double doors were unlocked and slid open. Bright car lights illuminated the inside of the warehouse.

  Crouching behind an armoire, I watched in disbelief and horror as I realized the person holding the keys was none other than the man I was hiding from. The same man who had slammed his car into Stewart, leaving him for dead.

  He had his Doberman on a leash while it barked viciously and tried to break free.

  Maybe the crazy man had no idea I was hiding in there.

  I waited, holding my breath, praying that he would leave.

  Then I heard him say, "I know you're in here, vandal!" His taunting voice seemed to echo throughout the warehouse. "Brody knows it, too. He can smell your fear. Might as well come out and get what's coming to you. Just like your buddy got what he deserved."

  My armpits were soaked with perspiration and my heart was pounding so loud I figured the dog could hear it. I envisioned him ripping me to shreds. There seemed to be no way out for me alive.

  "All right, have it your way," the man said gleefully. He released his dog from the leash. "Go get him, boy!"

  I saw the dog rushing straight toward me. Knowing I wouldn't last a minute waiting where I was, I ran for my life further back into the warehouse, knocking down anything I could to distract the crazed animal.

  But the dog easily slipped around the obstacles, determined to get its teeth into me.

  I climbed on top of a dresser and used it to get to a stack of tables that were piled high.

  The dog flew into the air and tried to land on the tables, but couldn't get its footing and fell back down.

  I was trembling, frightened to death as the dog looked up at me growling and baring its teeth. It jumped up at me time and time again, barking madly as if possessed or rabid, determined to eat me for dinner.

  I saw the man coming over and knew that he'd do whatever it took to let his dog have a piece of me.

  I climbed over to some sofas that were stacked on top of each other. The man quickly moved in front of it and began to shake the pile from the bottom. His dog barked wildly, sensing he was about to be rewarded for his efforts.

  I had to get out of there some way, somehow.

  There was a lower stack of mattresses not far away. I figured if I could just get to them, and then to some nearby bookshelves, I might be able to knock one over and block the dog from getting at me.

  Just as the madman got the sofas to topple, I jumped onto the mattresses, twisting my knee and losing my cell phone in the process. I bit back the pain, watching as the dog went for the phone as if it were part of me.

  Knowing this might be my only chance to escape, I quickly bounced off the mattress and ran to the bookshelves. With all my might, I managed to rock one till it fell over just as the dog was charging.

  It fell short of squashing the dog, but scared it enough to back up and look baffled.

  I used this as my moment to make a break for it, running toward the entrance as fast as I could with a sore knee.

  "Go get 'em," I heard the man say.

  I peeked over my shoulder to see the dog easily sidestep the shelf and once again charge toward me at full steam.

  My legs felt like lead weights as I scampered toward the exit, nearly out of breath. I took one big stride and got my foot caught under a cord, tripping.

  Turning around, I watched as the dog lunged toward me. I blocked my face and waited for the unimaginable horror of what was about to happen.

  A shot rang out and I saw the dog fall to the floor just short of me. It whimpered, but was no longer in attack mode.

  Looking up, I saw my dad and one of his deputies come in, guns drawn.

  Dad knelt over me. "You okay?"

  My heart was still beating rapidly and my knee ached. "Yeah, I think so."

  "Good," he said. "We'll have a doctor check you out anyway."

  "What about Stewart?" I asked, fearing the worst.

  "We found him. Looks like he'll live, but he's got a broken leg, fractured jaw, and some other injuries."

  I watched while the deputy handcuffed the crazy man.

  "Guess I really screwed up this time," I said apologetically.

  "You both did and paid a hefty price for it. I hope you've learned your lesson the hard way," he said sternly.

  I had and was betting that Stewart had, too.

  My vandalism days were over for good, but I feared my nightmares had only just begun.

  # # #

  GONE BUT NEVER FORGOTTEN

  I made my way down Seven Mile in the Bagley community on the Northwest side of Detroit. A grayish tint hung over the city like smog and the smell of sulfur blew in the window along with stagnant hot air. The radio was on an A.M. station that played jazz music.

  I passed by a chicken joint on one side of the street with a few cars in the lot; on the other, there was a liquor store with bars covering the windows and door. Next to it another building was boarded up altogether as if the owner had fled to Florida and wanted to keep the place sealed from the outside world in case he changed his mind and came back.

  Maybe I should've gotten the hell out of the Motor City myself years ago when it might have made a difference. But the truth is I never wanted to be anywhere else at the time. I was too caught up in a trap of my own making. Leaving it behind would have only fed my dark hunger and caused me to turn it on others.

  I flipped to a different station. There was a commercial about the dangers of smoking. I drew in the nicotine of the cigarette in my mouth for one last round; then tossed it out the window, watching in the rearview mirror as it sailed in front of oncoming traffic.

  Turning right onto Outer Drive, I lit up another cigarette and drove slowly down the boulevard. On both sides of the street were large brick homes built in the thirties with well-manicured lawns and old oak trees standing guard. The occupants were largely second generation middle class, and newcomers escaping the higher prices of the suburbs for the affordability of the inner city.

  I drove by a young woman. Her raven hair was in long braids and her clothes tight against a voluptuous body. She was walking a small dog and talking on a cell phone.
r />   Pretty, I thought.

  We made eye contact before she dismissed me as someone unworthy of her time or interest. Maybe that was a good thing. She would never know just how much.

  I was suddenly hit with a fresh wave of guilt, the type that ate at you like termites on wood. I used to be able to will it away and pretend the effect was minimal at best. But over time that determined and coldhearted façade lost its potency, replaced by someone who found he actually did give a damn.

  Only it was too late for that. Or so I kept trying to convince myself.

  In my mind's eye, I could still see her as clear as day...

  It was twenty years ago on a muggy evening like this. I was cruising in the neighborhood after a particularly tough day on the job. My new boss was a major league asshole and seemed to take pleasure singling me out.

  I needed to find someone to take my frustrations out on. As if by some force of nature, she seemed to appear almost out of nowhere.

  She couldn't have been more than twenty or twenty-one, though her well-developed body suggested an older woman. She was hitchhiking.

  For an instant, I had second thoughts about my first thoughts. But I turned my back to them and put into motion what I needed to do.

  I stopped the car and waited for her to catch up, pushing the button to let down the passenger side window.

  She stuck her head in. "Can you give me lift to Seven Mile?"

  "No problem," I said coolly. "Get in."

  She hesitated, as if a sixth sense told her to run the hell as far away as she could.

  I didn't want this opportunity to get away from me. Not when I had my mind made up.

  "Don't worry, I don't bite. Unless, of course, that's what you want."

  I smiled and she smiled back. I got the feeling she was ready to toss aside her sixth sense.

  Big mistake.

  I began to drive with my passenger, my devious mind working overtime.

  "What's your name?" I asked her.

  "Francine."

  "Nice name. I'm Kenneth."

  She flashed a tiny smile, but offered no response.