by Thomas Scott
Virgil went out to the backyard and built a bonfire to keep the chill out of the air and once he had everything set up—the chairs, tables, blankets and a cooler full of Red Stripe beer—Sandy, Becky, Murton and Jonas joined him. They partied into the night, well past Jonas’s bedtime, talking and laughing and crying, their futures at once sure and full of hope.
Sandy and Becky and Jonas were all wrapped up in their own conversation on the other side of the bonfire. Virgil went and got a few more logs for the fire then sat down next to Murton and told him about the conversation he’d had with his father…about his secret fear, that his life matched his father’s in so many ways that he might one day lose Sandy to some tragedy…something completely out of his control, and how it almost had happened. “It scared me, Murt. It still scares me.”
Murton shook his head. “What are you going to do, spend the rest of your life being afraid all the time? No one’s life should be rooted in fear, Jones-man.” He pointed a finger at him. “You gotta let that go.”
Virgil had his head tipped back. He was gazing at the stars as Murton spoke. Then something he’d never witnessed happened right above him. He saw a double shooting star. Two of them together, tracing a path side by side through the night sky. “Man, look at that, everybody.” He pointed up at the sky and followed the path of the stars across the horizon.
As he did, he noticed two things. The first was Jonas. He’d walked away from the bonfire and was standing next to Mason’s cross down by the pond.
The other was a little goofy, he thought, even for this group.
Murton and Becky and Sandy were playing that ridiculous mannequin challenge or whatever it was called. They were all sitting there like they were frozen in time. Becky was leaning forward, a half smile on her face like she’d just said something funny and Sandy had her head tipped back in silent laughter. Murton was looking right at Virgil, his index finger pointed at him, his mouth a thin line.
He shook his head and chuckled, trying to figure out when they’d planned it. Probably when he was setting up the bonfire. He wondered how long they were willing to keep up the charade. Only one way to find out. He pulled his phone out, turned the video recorder on, put it in his breast pocket to capture the stunt then sat back in his chair and decided he’d wait them out. Except he didn’t have to wait long because he suddenly realized what he thought was a prank was something else entirely.
Not only were the three of them frozen in time, but so too were the flames of the bonfire. The light no longer flickered and danced, nor did any sparks or embers shoot skyward from the center of the fire. The noise was gone as well, the crackling and hissing of the burning wood now silent, the air instantly chilled. The fire was visible, it just wasn’t giving off any heat. It was like a photograph of a bonfire.
Virgil jumped up from his chair. “Hey…guys? Guys?”
“They can’t hear you, Son,” Mason said. He stepped through the flames as if they weren’t there and walked over next to Virgil. When he passed through the fire, the flames seemed to bend and bow around him then warp back in place, like ripples in a pond after a stone had been tossed in the water.
“Dad…are they okay? What’s happening to me?” Virgil was visibly shaking.
Mason put his hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “ Relax, Son. Nothing is happening to you. Something is happening for you. Look at Jonas.”
Virgil turned and looked at the cross. “I don’t understand.”
“You’ve been pulled out of time for a moment. I doubt it will ever happen again. You won’t want to miss this.” Mason stepped closer to the cross and Virgil followed him. They stopped about ten yards away. “That’s close enough.”
Virgil realized that, like him, Jonas wasn’t frozen. He turned and waved at Virgil then focused his attention back on the cross. A radiant light began to emanate from the cross until it glowed with such intensity that Virgil became concerned for Jonas’s safety. He stepped forward but Mason touched his arm to hold him in place.
“What’s happening, Dad?”
“Just watch. In a sense, your other son is being born right this very moment. He’s being welcomed into your family.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He’s letting go of his grief, Virg.”
Virgil watched as the cross continued to glow, its colors changing and multiplying into a spectrum so broad Virgil saw colors he didn’t even know existed. Maybe they didn’t, he thought. And then without warning, the glow moved away from the cross and enveloped Jonas. He collapsed on the ground and disappeared into the light. Virgil rushed over to him, except when he got there, the light had faded and Jonas was gone.
Virgil spun around to say something to his father…he wasn’t sure what, when he noticed that Jonas was back with Sandy and Becky and they were all laughing and giggling and having what looked like the time of their lives. Murton was poking at the fire with a large stick. He threw another log in the flames and waved to Virgil like nothing had happened at all.
Virgil waved back and looked at the cross. His father smiled at him. “What just happened?”
“You’re back, Son. The colors are amazing, aren’t they?”
Virgil certainly couldn’t argue that. He’d never seen anything like it. “Can you tell me?”
Mason seemed to consider the question. Finally he said, “Jonas got what he needed. He got to say goodbye. I think I’ll do the same now too. Stay tuned, Virg. Dad loves you.”
“Dad loves you too.” It was their saying.
He watched his father fade then felt the movement behind him. Sandy and Jonas were staring at him.
“Virgil? Jonas says he has something he wants to ask us.”
“What is it?” he said to Sandy.
“I don’t know. He said he wanted to ask us together.”
They both got down low, right at eye level with Jonas. “What is it, honey?” Sandy said.
There was a light in his eyes that was bright and undeniable. “I listened with my heart like you said. They told me it was okay to ask.”
“Told you what was okay?”
Jonas looked at the cross for a full minute. Then he turned back to Virgil and Sandy. “Is it okay if I call you mommy and daddy?”
Later that night, after Murton and Becky had gone, after Wyatt was fed and both boys were asleep, Virgil tried to explain to Sandy what happened by the bonfire, only to discover he didn’t have the words. Who would? But then he remembered something. He jumped out of bed and got his phone, praying that what he’d experienced had been captured for Sandy to witness. It had. They spent the entire evening watching the video over and over again. They didn’t speak. What could be said?
At six in the morning there was a tiny knock on the door. Jonas came in, walked over to the bassinet and looked at Wyatt for a moment. He smiled, then jumped up on the bed and snuggled in between Virgil and Sandy. He wasn’t the least bit shy with it. “Hi Mom. Hi Dad. I’m hungry. What’s for breakfast?”
Virgil rubbed the top of his son’s head and said, “Hey little man. What sounds good? Pancakes or eggs?”
Jonas and Sandy laughed then looked at Virgil, and at the same time said, “Boaf!”
Acknowledgments
Before you go on to book 4 of the Virgil Jones mystery, thriller & suspense series, let me say this: Thank you for reading these stories. It’s an honor to write for each and every one of you. I really do mean that.
Writing is an absolute joy. I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing for a living. It’s also a tough gig sometimes. Why? Because I’ve discovered that writing—much like the most important and fundamental parts of my life—is largely out of my control. If I try to force it, I find myself floundering around making myself (and pretty much everyone around me) miserable.
But I’ve also discovered if I surrender and let go…lose control, in other words, something magical happens every single time, both in my work and in my personal life. My wife, Debra has been my teacher,
my guide, my champion, my muse, my guru, and most of all, the very best friend I’ve ever had. She believes in me in ways that are at once beautiful and shamanistic in nature. Without her, none of the books I’ve written would have seen the light of day, much less ended up where they are right now…in your hands. If you enjoy my stories, much of the credit belongs to her.
So. All of that to say this: Debra…thank you.
Debra and Thomas on their engagement day!
Okay, okay…on to the next novel!
…and the story continues.
Virgil and the gang are back in State of Deception!
As Mason would say, “Stay tuned.”
State of Deception - Book 4 of the Virgil Jones Mystery Thriller Series:
You’ve felt the Anger.
You’ve experienced the Betrayal.
You’ve taken Control.
Now…it’s time to face the Deception!
Please turn the page to read book 4 of the Virgil Jones Mystery Thriller series, State of Deception!
State Of Deception
Virgil Jones Mystery Thriller: Book 4
Copyright © 2017 by Thomas Scott. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without written permission from the copyright owner of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, governmental institutions, and all incidents or events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, locales, or government organizations is entirely coincidental.
For information contact:
ThomasScottBooks.com
Linda Heaton - Editor
BluePenEdits.com
Second Edition
This work is dedicated in loving memory to my late grandfather, David Claude Whiteman, who speaks to me often. Truth lies in fiction, folks. Bank on it.
de·cep·tion
dəˈsepSH(ə)n
The action of deceiving someone.
A thing that deceives.
“A range of elaborate deceptions.”
Deception is a state of mind, and the mind of the state.
—James Jesus Angleton, CIA Counterintelligence
“Don’t deceive yourself, Son.”
—Mason Jones
1
Four Seconds Ago
The deception didn’t happen quickly, like a magician’s trick or a back alley grifter taking down marks with a game of three-card Monte. It developed incrementally over time, the disparate parts so small and segmented no one knew how to fit all the pieces together until it was too late. The answers were all right there…the problem was—someone would later say with ironic hindsight—nobody had bothered to ask the right questions.
When it all became evident what was really happening and they finally did put it together, none of them had any real faith they’d be able to fix it, the hastiness leaving them little chance of success. But it was their only shot and they meant to take it. By then, they simply didn’t have a choice. They were out of time. And the history of it—one buried deep and all but forgotten—had now resurfaced decades later and it remained just short of…unbearable.
Virgil Jones held the Glock with a firm grip, his hands steady, the barrel pointed straight at the other man’s head, a choice now, and without question, a price to be paid. He leaned forward, his knees slightly bent, his weight rotated up on the balls of his feet. When he slipped his finger into the trigger guard he asked for forgiveness, though he didn’t know to whom he was speaking, or if they were even listening.
He took a breath, the inhalation something like acid in his lungs and when he could inhale no more he locked eyes with his best friend and brother, Murton Wheeler. The look on Virgil’s face remained a conveyance of everything that couldn’t be said aloud, a lifetime of memories, brotherly love, their victories, their mistakes, and now…
This:
Murton nodded at Virgil, his mouth a thin hard line, his jaw flexed tight. The nod was nothing more than a quick tip of his head, one that said, get on with it then.
When Jones pulled the trigger, Wheeler’s head jerked away and he fell to the ground, dead before he hit the floor, his body bent in an awkward position, blood leaking from the gaping hole in his forehead. His eyes remained open and seemed to register surprise, as if maybe the last thought his brain processed was disbelief that his death would come from the hand of the one person he least suspected.
But it had, and in that instant Virgil Jones knew in many ways his life would never be the same.
As Virgil’s late father, Mason, was fond of saying, “Stay tuned.”
2
Four Weeks Ago
The problem was, everyone had some sort of problem, and Virgil Jones, lead detective of Indiana’s Major Crimes Unit didn’t like problems. He liked solutions. Nice simple solutions that made everyone’s problems go away so he could live his life in a calm, peaceful manner outside the chaotic whirlwind of what his wife, Sandy, had come to call—her tongue firmly embedded in her cheek every time he brought it up—Opp’s.
Other people’s problems.
For example: The MCU now had its own facility, an old post office building just south of the city’s not-so-infamous Spaghetti Bowl, a series of never ending loops, on-ramps, exits, and city streets, that, when viewed from above looked like an actual bowl of spaghetti. They’d managed to take most of the kinks out of the spaghetti over the years, a major construction project that straightened some of the loops and disposed of the ghost ramps and exits. It didn’t look much like a spaghetti bowl anymore…it looked more like a few pieces of overcooked Fettuccine stuck to the plate after three bottles of red. But the name lived on, just one of the city’s quirks. If you said ‘down by the spaghetti bowl’ to an Indy native, they knew where you meant, no matter what the noodles looked like.
The new facility would serve as the main hub for all investigative operations of the MCU. They’d have their own lab and dedicated crime scene crew, individual offices for everyone on the squad, and a research department with access to every crime database in the country. Ron Miles was the director of operations for the entire unit. With the expansion of the MCU, Ron’s job had naturally transitioned into mostly administrative tasks, the tasks themselves a waste of his talent and resources. Miles was up to his neck in it and he didn’t like it. It was, he’d tell anyone who’d listen, state government at its finest, his voice thick with sarcasm, the disdain open and apparent to anyone who’d listen. After a while the listeners began to drift away.
Virgil formerly held the job until he was sacked by the governor due to a drug problem he’d developed a couple of years ago. The drug problem was something of an aftereffect…in that after he’d been kidnapped and had the snot knocked out of him, the effect was he’d gotten himself hooked on Oxycontin during his recovery. He ended up beating the Oxy back—no small task—and the governor later re-hired him, but it came with a twist. Miles would remain as the unit’s official leader, while Virgil and Murton would take the lead on the most difficult cases, reporting to the governor through his chief of staff, Cora LaRue.
Virgil and Murton were, for lack of a better way of looking at it, the governor’s official fixers, even though the whole thing was sort of hush-hush and as unofficial as it could get. They were a part of, yet apart from the MCU, running their own caseload, directed by Cora.
The entire situation caused more than a little friction between Virgil and Miles. The friction naturally carried over to Murton Wheeler, Virgil’s best friend, brother, and co-worker. And if that wasn’t enough, because Virgil and Cora had worked together for many years, if the friction happened to work its way up the chain of command it rubbed off on her. Since there weren’t many links in the chain to begin with, when Cora had a problem, it landed on Virgil to straighten things out. The bottom line was this: The entire situation continued to chase its own tail—Miles would complain ab
out something to Cora who in turn would tell Virgil to take care of it.
Ultimately it left Virgil in the untenable position of having to have a talk with his official unofficial boss and tell him to cool his jets. Miles didn’t like it.
But Virgil had other problems. So…
The other problem was the land. Two thousand acres of prime farmland sitting along the Flatrock river in Shelby County, Indiana. Every single acre of the land now belonged to Virgil and Company.
Virgil and Company—an actual legal entity—was set in a trust, the trust itself wholly owned and controlled by Virgil and Sandy. They took possession of the land almost by accident after discovering their adopted son, Jonas Donatti, was heir to a fortune. So they called their lawyer, formed a corporation, dumped the land into the trust and spent most of the winter celebrating their good luck and their newly formed family. Control of the trust would ultimately be passed on to their two sons, Jonas and Wyatt, who, years from now, after completing their respective educations, could do with it what they pleased. It’d be up to Virgil and Sandy to make sure they raised the boys with a set of values that’d keep the money pointed in the right direction, which they both agreed was outward, for the good of…something. They’d let the boys decide what that something was when the time came. For now, they were simply stewards.
The press tried to make a stink over the land and the money it would generate, specifically how it ended up in Virgil’s lap, but the stink didn’t stick. They’d already adopted Jonas before they discovered his connection to the former owners of the land, owners who’d been killed during Virgil’s previous case. It also helped that Virgil had publicly vowed never to frack the land. On principle, Virgil didn’t have a problem with natural gas extraction. The problem was the methodology used in its removal. If and when he sold the land, he’d hold on to the mineral rights, ensuring the poison would stay out of the ground.
