Green File Crime Thrillers Box Set

by James Kipling

  Mandy nodded her head. “I guess Jacob will do the driving. I'll sit in my wheelchair, and you can sit...well...on the spare tire,” she explained and then winced. “Sorry, Jessie. I had the passenger seat removed when I bought the van.”

  “No problem,” Jessica promised, ignoring the rain and ice. Funeral rain today...funeral rain every day she heard her mind whisper in a creepy voice. So close to the grave...you can't escape. Jessica didn't understand where the creepy voice was originating from. The voice seemed to be an enemy of the voice that had ordered her to fight. Deep grave...flooded with funeral rain...can't escape...it's the ultimate end.

  “Jessie?” Mandy asked, looking into Jessica's troubled face. “What is it? What's the matter?”

  “Huh?” Jessica asked, feeling the rain and ice forming into a thick haze, wrapping itself around her mind.

  “You look pale,” Mandy explained in a worried voice. “You look like someone just walked across your grave.”

  Before Jessica could answer, Jacob exited the Pilot carrying a plastic bag in his right hand. He spotted the van, and simply started walking, as if his legs had absolutely no purpose.

  “It's useless,” he whispered, staring at Jessica. Jessica was standing out in the rain, like a lost little girl, looking as if her life was slowly falling down into a bottomless abyss filled with endless screams. “America is too rotted. Civilization is too rotted to win this battle,” he finished, approaching the van, and handing Mandy the plastic bag in his hand. “I'll do the driving. Keys?”

  Mandy looked at Jessica. Jessica slightly shrugged her shoulders. “Keys are in the ignition. Who would want to steal this hunk of junk?”

  Jacob nodded his head. “Mrs. Mayes, I guess you're going to have to find a place to sit down,” he said, as he peered past Mandy into the womb of the van, spotted a lot of empty space, and then made his way around to the driver's door.

  “Something is horribly wrong,” Jessica whispered to Mandy. “That man’s entire demeanor has changed.”

  “Just...get in, okay,” Mandy begged. “Go through the passenger door.”

  Jessica hesitated and then helped Mandy close the side door. “Something is horribly wrong,” she whispered again, casting her eyes up at the dark sky. She then crawled into the van through the passenger door, feeling like a small child squirming through a play tunnel. “In,” she called back to Mandy, closed the passenger door, and then focused on Jacob. “What's wrong?” she asked in a pleading voice. “You made a call. Who did you call? What was said?”

  Jacob slowly placed his hands on the brown steering wheel covered with a worn-down brown steering wheel cover. The inside of the van smelled of W-D 40, roses and old coffee. The air felt damp, cold and lost. Jacob's emotions weren't far behind. “Mrs. Mayes, I will do everything in my power to protect you and your sister,” he spoke in a low, careful voice, as his eyes locked onto a road that lead to a small, lonely town. “My people will continue fighting the good fight, but I can't promise...I can't promise...” Jacob drew in a weak breath. “I can't promise...victory.”

  Mandy wheeled up to the front of the van. “What are you talking about?”

  Jacob kept his hands on the steering wheel, suddenly feeling like a sixteen year-old kid preparing for a drag race. The feeling was unexpected and strange. Being fully aware that emotions represented deep, hidden, insights that sometimes remained buried underneath the plane of conscious thinking, Jacob took a few seconds to evaluate the sudden feeling of being sixteen.

  An image of a sixteen year-old kid flashed through his mind. “Some ride, huh, Dad?” he heard a cool looking kid, dressed like a 1950s Greaser, speak. “This is a 1957 Chevy Street Shaker.” Edwin Green, dressed in a plain gray sweater, crossed his arms and studied a rusty old car dripping oil on his driveway. “What's your intention with this car, son?”

  Jacob beamed, ran a pocket comb through his thick hair, and then tried to be really cool. “She's not much to the eye now but wait until I'm through. This baby will be ready to drag the best rides in town.”

  Edwin Green frowned. “Dragging has been outlawed,” he informed his son, looking up into a late evening sky, and shaking his head. “I've already bailed you out of trouble more than once, young man. I will not do it again.”

  Jacob grinned. “Someday I'll be bailing you out of trouble, Dad,” he teased, and slapped Edwin on his arm. “Don't worry, Dad. I'll play by the rules. I always do. You raised me right.”

  Edwin looked into his son' eyes and saw a good kid. “Yes, I suppose I did,” he said. He tossed a critical eye at the old car junking up his driveway, and then walked inside a nice two story home. Jacob turned his attention to the Chevy Street Shaker and began running his right hand across the rusted hood.

  “You may look defeated right now but wait until I get through with you. All it takes is a little fight.”

  “Fight,” Jacob whispered. “All it takes is a little fight. That was always my motto.”

  “What?” Mandy asked Jacob. “Please, speak up.”

  Jacob saw the sixteen year-old kid continuing to pet a rundown old car as if the car were gold. “I made that car the best ride in the state of Virginia,” he whispered. “I rebuilt the engine with my bare hands, located vintage seats, the works.”

  Jessica looked back at Mandy who made a confused gesture with her hands.

  “Jacob?” Jessica asked. “Are you okay?”

  “I was free then,” Jacob told himself. “I was free to live...to be a man...to ride with the wind in my hair. No one controlled me with their ideas.” Jacob slowly turned his head and focused on Jessica's beautiful face. “I've always believed in freedom,” he expressed in a hurt voice. “Freedom to go to Church, pray in school, freedom of speech, to own a gun, to...live without government control.”

  “I agree with those freedoms,” Jessica replied, carefully looking into Jacob's eyes. An inner war was taking place inside of the man's mind and heart.

  Jacob lifted his right hand and ran it through his wet hair. “It's all about control,” he spoke in a sick voice. “Billions of people live on this planet, and a select handful of men, who have managed to form world governments, want to control every human being. They want to control their freedoms, what they think, how they think, what they believe.” Jacob shook his head in disgust. “Christians in the Middle East are being marched to their deaths in orange jump suits. Did you ever wonder where those orange jump suits come from? Ever wonder where all the guns and intelligence reports, all the acidic toys come from?”

  “I have,” Mandy admitted. “I've always known the American Government created that ISIS terror group.”

  Jacob grew silent for a minute. “Yes,” he finally spoke, “The CIA did create ISIS in order to disable the Middle East and create a political hazard that would require change. The Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt is a prime example.” Jacob turned around and looked at Mandy. “Christians...Jews...are threats. Hitler, with the help of the Vatican and other nations I won't mention, tried to kill off the Jews. At the time, Roosevelt deliberately allowed the Japanese to attack Pearl Harbor. He needed a way to cheer America into a war, without appearing like a warmonger. The American people bought his sales pitch; hook, line and sinker and—”

  Jacob stopped talking. Why was he running his mouth to two strange women? Why was he voicing deep secrets that could get the two women killed? His mouth was allowing a deep-rooted frustration to allow foolish words to form.

  “I...my point of all this is that the fight for freedom has always been taking place, since the founding of our country. Men have always been trying to destroy our Republic. Why? Because once, long ago, honorable men did fight for freedom against the same ideas that are murdering our country today. The war has never ended.”

  “You act as though the war is already lost?” Mandy asked Jacob.

  Jacob placed his hands back on the steering wheel. “Perhaps it is.” he replied in a weak voice. “However, I ca
n't give up on trying to repair my 1957 Chevy Street Shaker.”

  “Your what?” Mandy asked.

  “America,” Jacob clarified. He brought Mandy's van to life, and then looked at Jessica. “Better go find a place to sit down, Mrs. Mayes. We have a long ride ahead of us, and a long fight...a very long fight that we may not win.”

  Jessica stared into Jacob's eyes deeply and intently and found a man who understood what it felt like to constantly remain standing beside an open grave. “I suppose I should,” she agreed, and moved back toward a spare tire. Jacob waited until Jessica sat down before he got the van moving.

  As Jacob got Mandy's van moving, Roger Alden received news about Wendy Cratterson. “I'll deal with Cratterson later,” he growled, staring at a large flat screen television set mounted on a burgundy wall. Every bought-off news media outlet was flocking outside of the Whitfield County Jail, like hungry vultures. “Right now, it is believed that Jessica Mayes, the wife of Jack Mayes who died in a mysterious vehicle accident, is responsible for the murder of Mr. Walter Hicks. We're waiting for further reports from Sheriff Butler—” Roger muted the report and narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I will deal with Cratterson later. In the meantime, get me Senator Ammons on the phone right now!” he yelled. “Mrs. Mayes, you will be found. There is no escape.”

  A few minutes later, Senator Ammons came onto the phone. “Yes, Mr. Alden?” she asked in an uncertain voice. “What can I do for you today?”

  “You can tell me why you betrayed my trust!” Roger screamed into his cell phone. “You can tell me why you didn't contact me when Cratterson began stepping outside of the line! Sheila, you can tell me why I'm wasting my time to ensure your office remains successful!”

  Senator Ammons felt fear enter her mind. “Mr. Alden, Wendy Cratterson has certain damaging information that can ruin my career, if made public. I was forced to use my contacts in the media to assist her.”

  Roger gritted his teeth. “Senator Ammons, I want twenty-four-hour coverage on Jessica Mayes, is that clear? I want her photo plastered on every television screen across the world; every social media outlet there is. I want this woman turned into the biggest national security threat this country has ever seen! Is that clear?”

  “Uh...yes, Mr. Alden,” Senator Ammons answered in a startled voice, shocked to receive such an order. “I will make the proper contacts right this very minute.”

  “Expect a file from me,” Roger informed Senator Ammons. “And Sheila, you better follow the orders in the file I'm sending you, down to the very letter, is that clear?”

  “Yes, Mr. Alden.” Senator Ammons promised. “You can rely on my trust.”

  Roger slammed down his cell phone and focused his eyes back on the flat screen mounted on the wall. “Yes, we are now at war, Mr. President, but I don't intend to lose. I will locate the virus Jack Mayes created and take control of every world government. And when I do, you're a dead man. Right now, I can't risk killing you until I take the guns out of every home in America. Once I disarm the masses...” Roger narrowed his eyes. “There's a lot of work ahead,” he whispered. “Yes, a battle that I will not lose.”

  Jessica Mayes had no idea that she was about to become the most wanted woman in the world.

  Book 2: Deep Fear

  Chapter 1

  Alvin Monroe

  Jessica entered a thrift shop on a cold and wet street filled with shadows and grime. She was dripping with rain and feeling as if her emotions had been pulled through a meat grinder. The street, although littered with vehicles that belonged to street gang members and drug dealers, seemed to hum a silent cry of misery that vibrated through the rundown, wooden buildings running East and West, forming a sleazy block that cops avoided.

  Jessica wasn’t sure why Jacob had insisted on visiting the thrift shop. It was wet, cold and growing darker by the second. But, Jessica thought as she stepped into the thrift store and caught a whiff of heavy cigar smoke, Jacob was a man who never acted without reason, or so it appeared. When Jessica spotted a large, cruel-looking black man standing behind a wooden counter, wearing a Dodgers baseball cap, she wasn’t so sure if Jacob had a reason or not.

  “Help you, lady?” Alvin Monroe asked, as he puffed on a heavy cigar that was throwing plumes of smoke up into a damp, unfriendly air. Alvin studied Jessica with careful eyes. “You...uh, here to do some shopping?”

  Before Jessica could answer Alvin, the shabby, wooden door she had entered through opened. Jacob appeared with Mandy. Jessica turned and watched Jacob wheel Mandy through the door, with relieved eyes.

  “Welcome to Memphis,” Mandy spoke in an uneasy voice, spotted Alvin, and then looked up at Jacob with scared eyes. Alvin looked meaner than the four gang members Mandy had seen hanging around outside on the wet street.

  “You still selling junk?” Jacob asked in a stern tone.

  Alvin leaned back against a gray concrete wall and ground his teeth. “You still got a smart mouth, I see.”

  “And you’ve put on weight,” Jacob snapped back and then, to Jessica’s relief, formed a warm smile. “Alvin, how have you been?”

  Alvin stopped grinding his teeth and sighed. “Selling junk, my brother, selling junk.” Alvin motioned around the grimy thrift store with his cigar. “As you can see, business is slow.”

  “Maybe we can offer a big sale?” Jacob asked. He slowly reached into his leather jacket, yanked out a wad of cash, walked up to the rundown front counter, and tossed the money down. “That’s ten grand...clean money.”

  Alvin’s eyes locked onto the wad of cash like a fish swimming around a baited hook. “I can use the money. What’s the catch?”

  “Not yet,” Jacob explained. “Long day. Need a place to crash.”

  “And the ladies?” Alvin asked.

  “Both are with me,” Jacob confirmed.

  Alvin nodded his head. “They’re under my roof and my protection now,” he promised.

  “Uh...who are you?” Mandy dared to ask. “And you...where did you get that much cash?” she demanded of Jacob.

  Jessica quickly scanned the interior of the thrift store. Her eyes counted five rows of odds and ends, perched on wooden shelves caked with damp dust. The back area was lined with a few clothing racks, most holding women’s clothes. The interior of the store wasn’t very large, maybe half the size of a school gym. Yet, the hidden screams lurking in the shadows seemed to somehow transform the store into an endless maze of misery. A simple Victorian doll that was standing on a wooden shelf appeared to become a hideous clown with razor-sharp teeth. A stack of records became execution papers. A pile of ties became nooses.

  “Funeral store,” Jessica whispered and turned her attention back to Jacob who was staring at her with worried eyes.

  “This man is Alvin Monroe,” Jacob explained. “Alvin and I met when I was twelve years old. We go back.”

  “Back to the day,” Alvin added in a tired voice. He calmly looked at Mandy and explained, “Jacob’s old man fostered me for a few years. When I hit seventeen, the guy signed off for me to join the Navy and off into the world I went.” Alvin tossed a thumb at Jacob. “But not before making a real brother.”

  “For life,” Jacob promised Alvin, as he reached over the counter and patted the man’s shoulder. “Take the cash, okay?”

  Alvin studied the wad of cash again and asked in a miserable voice, “How do you know I won’t get doped up?”

  “You’ve been sober for seven years now,” Jacob told Alvin. “I’ve been keeping track.”

  “Yeah, I guess you have,” Alvin replied in a voice filled with shame. He turned and looked at Jessica and Mandy. “There I was in the prime of my life. I spent seven years into the Navy, sailing the seven seas, and what happens?”

  “How should we know?” Mandy asked.

  Alvin tossed his cigar down into a metal ashtray sitting on the counter, rammed his large hands into the pockets of a gray leather jacket, and made a sour face. “I’ll tell y
ou what happens. Alvin Monroe decides to show up for work drunk, gets busted and strikes an officer, and then gets kicked out of the Navy. Dishonorable discharge. So long. Bye-bye.” Alvin lifted a heavy black boot and kicked a blue plastic milk crate holding old VHS tapes. “Alvin Monroe had a bad drinking problem.”

  “We all make mistakes, Alvin.” Jacob nodded down at the money. “Take the money.”

  “Take the money...” Alvin closed his eyes and shook his head. “That dishonorable discharge I got won’t stop haunting me. I can’t get a decent job, a loan, nothing. Only way I can make some real cash is by breaking the law. Some life.”

  “I can change—” Jacob began.

  “No!” Alvin yelled, his face looking like a furious grizzly bear, and kicked over the plastic crate of VHS tapes; all trash tapes he refused to sale. “I gotta do it my way, man!”

  Jessica startled, grabbed the handles on Mandy’s wheelchair, and prepared to run. Jacob raised his right hand at her. “I know you do.”

  Alvin’s eyes flung open. “I did the crime. I gotta do the time,” he exclaimed, throwing his right hand around the thrift store. Then he took a minute to allow his temper to die down. “Alvin Monroe doesn’t take the easy way out, Jacob. You know that.”

  “I know.” Jacob nodded down at the money again. “Take the money, Alvin. You’ll get another ten grand...later.”

  “For breaking the law...or playing the game?” Alvin asked Jacob. “Man, sometimes it’s hard for my mind to tell the difference. I keep telling myself I break the law to earn some cash, but the more I see what’s going on out there...” Alvin shook his head, looked at Jessica and Mandy, and then snatched up the wad of cash and shoved it into his right jacket pocket. “You ladies just paid for my services.”