RAPE-Serialized version

 

Hi Everyone:

I am pleased to publish chapter 7 of my novel, RAPE. After reading it, I hope you will comment on it. As you know, your comments and suggestions impact revision. If you missed any of the previous chapters, check the archives.

 I also encourage you to visit my website at:  joshswritingroom.com/ where you’ll find a delightful short story from Frank Lohan. You can still read Part I of my novel, Palm Beach Style. If you find it to your liking, you can purchase it from Amazon.com, or from Barnes and Noble. You’ll find links on the website taking you right to it.

While you are on the website, why not check out all the novels that are available for your reading pleasure.

PATH TO A PARDON,

THE EINDHOVEN STRATEGY,

& PALM BEACH STYLE.

 

As each new chapter is published on this blog, the previous chapter(s) should be archived, so even if you did not read it when it first appeared, you can easily catch up. Your suggestions are appreciated and will receive careful consideration.

 

 

Chapter 7

 

 

The following morning began pretty much the way the previous day had, with Gary taking a dip in the pool after a night in the guest room and then eating breakfast by himself before driving off to arrive at his office at about 9:30. After that, almost everything disintegrated into a sort of personal purgatory.

He waded through the reporters, scooped up the office copy of the Dispatch from the carpet in front of his office door and entered the deserted space. It felt strange not seeing the members of his staff there. He neither expected, nor blamed them, for doing exactly what he had told them to do. After the Mr. Coffee machine did its thing, he filled his personal mug and strolled to his office.

Gary sipped his brew and opened the morning paper. Miguel Gonzales had another big article about Miriam West on the front page. When are they going to find something else to print? Once again, both pictures stared up at him. At least, he thought, the photos are a little smaller. What I need is a bigger story to eat up all the space on the front page. How can I get Cuba to invade Palm Beach?

The article accompanying the pictures featured the big movie star, Miriam West, and how she felt threatened because the police had yet to arrest her attacker. He tossed the Dispatch into his wastebasket and tried to concentrate on the task at hand.

Despite Miriam’s fears, he hadn’t been charged with a crime so perhaps, he reasoned, he still had a chance of getting a new contract. He began phoning marketing V.P.s in an attempt to locate at least one or two that might accept his business. He worked right through the noon hour and finally located two organizations that agreed to send him their paperwork, a sign they were willing to consider his application. The V.P.s he spoke with didn’t ask, so he didn’t mention his current legal problem; he prayed for its resolution before the contracting papers arrived.

Glancing at his watch, he realized the time had come to drive across the Flagler Memorial Bridge to meet with Attorney Joe Flaherty who occupied an office within walking distance of the Palm Beach County Courthouse.

Slipping out the door, he reached the bottom of the building’s back stairway, just ten feet from his car. A photographer sprinted toward him. Looking beyond the runner, he spotted the reason for his movement. Within seconds, a camera flashed and a Palm Beach police cruiser pulled up. Gary reached for his cell and scrolled through his electronic phonebook for the number he needed.

“This is Gary Sanders; please connect me with Mr. Flaherty.”

            “I’m sorry, but Mr. Flaherty is on another line,” the receptionist said.

“I’m supposed to meet with him in thirty minutes. Please tell him that the Palm Beach police have arrived and I don’t believe I’ll be able to keep the appointment.”

“Oh. I’ll let him know right away.”

The photographers and the TV cameras had a field day as a burly cop handcuffed Gary, read him his rights, and placed him in the back of the blue and white.

“I’ll save you guys a lot of time. I just called my attorney’s office. I have nothing to say to anyone until I speak with him.”

 

At the Palm Beach Police station, Gary surrendered all of his personal belongings to a sergeant who catalogued them before sealing them in an envelope. In quick succession they fingerprinted, and photographed him with a sign showing his name and case number. Lord, he thought, I hope Carol never sees this photo. Finally, they placed him in a holding room with several other men waiting for arraignment.

One of them strolled over and sat right next to him on the metal bench. “Hey! Ain’t you the guy that raped that movie actress? Yeah, I seen your puss in the paper. I hear she’s hot stuff. Is it true?”

The man reeked of garlic; “No comment,” Gary replied.

“Come on, you can tell me.”

“Sorry, I can’t,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall.

“I know your type,” garlic breath grumbled. “You think you’re too damned good to talk to me.”

“No. I’ll talk to you, just not about my case.”

Garlic breath rose and stomped his way across the room, slouching on the bench on the other side.

An hour later a police officer took him out and placed him in a small room containing a wood table and two chairs, all anchored to the floor.

Within minutes, a stoop-shouldered man in a rumpled, brown suit entered the room. Placing his briefcase on the table, and opening it to remove a legal pad, he smiled at Gary. “Laddie, I came as soon as I could. I’m your lawyer, Joseph A. Flaherty, himself. It is sad I am, that we have to meet under such adverse conditions.”

Is that an Irish accent, Gary wondered. “Yeah, if the cops had been five minutes later, I’d have made it to your office.”

“What’s dune is dune.” He said in a voice reminiscent of Barry Fitzgerald. “Let us see what we can do to get you out of this mess.”

“Mr. Flaherty—I”

“Laddie, why don’t you just call me Joe?”

“Okay. Joe, is there anything you can do to get me out of here?”

“I’ll do me best, which will cost you five hundred an hour for me-self and four hundred an hour for me P.I. Can you handle that?

Gary swallowed hard and nodded.

“Good, that’s settled. First, we have to see the judge. Sure, and the local press have been having a picnic over this story. You’ll be taken to the county facility on Gun Club Road and arraigned in the morning. I’ll try to get you released on your own recognizance. The prosecutor will probably object, he’ll ask the Judge to set bail. In a high profile case like this, he’ll demand a big figure, maybe even a million. You can probably get a bail bondsman to handle it but he’ll need something worth a hundred thousand. Will yer woman be able to raise that?

Noting that his attorney only employed an accent when he wanted to, Gary swallowed hard and took a deep breath; “Yes, if she will.”

“Laddie, you don’t sound too confident. What’s up; trouble at home?”

“Carol, that’s my wife. She isn’t convinced of my innocence. These charges have put a terrible strain on my family and my marriage.” He allowed his torso to collapse against the back of his chair.

The lawyer scratched at the thick gray hair on the side of his head, “Too bad. We need a supportive wife if this goes to trial.”

Gary squinted at his attorney, “If? If it goes to trial?  Is there a chance it won’t?”

“Laddie, anything can happen. The police may stumble on the real culprit. This woman, Miriam West, may recant her story. The judge may throw the whole thing out for lack of evidence. Hell! The prosecutor may even refuse to go to trial.” He paused and scratched at the hair at the back of his head, then closed one eye and leaned closer to his client, “You might even cop a plea.”

Gary sat bolt upright. “No way—I didn’t do one damn thing wrong!”

“In that case, Flaherty said with a deep sigh, “Maybe you’d best tell me exactly what did happen. Keeping in mind that anything you say is privileged, start with what you ate for breakfast and don’t leave out or color a single detail. I’ve heard it all before, so don’t worry about shocking me.”

 

 

 

RAPE-Serialized version

 

Hi Everyone:

I am pleased to publish chapter 6 of my novel, RAPE. After reading it, I hope you will comment on it. I received some very strong opinions about chapter 5, which will definitely effect its revision. As you know, your comments and suggestions impact revision. If you missed any of the previous chapters, check the archives.

 I also encourage you to visit my website at:  joshswritingroom.com    where, for one more week, you can find Part One of my novel Palm Beach Style. It introduces Special Agent Dugan of the FDLE (Florida Department of Law Enforcement). It’s the first of four novels in which he is the main character. While you are on the website, why not check out the three novels that are available for your reading pleasure.

PATH TO A PARDON,

THE EINDHOVEN STRATEGY,

& PALM BEACH STYLE.

 

As each new chapter is published on this blog, the previous chapter(s) should be archived, so even if you did not read it when it first appeared, you can easily catch up. Your suggestions are appreciated and will receive careful consideration.

 

 

CHAPTER 6

 

 

Gary awoke from another night of tossing and turning, knowing that if he went to work in his present lethargic condition, he’d be unproductive. Instead of getting dressed, he donned his bathing trunks and went down to the pool. The December sun had barely risen above the eastern horizon, so it hadn’t had time to heat the water. He stuck his toes in and began to regret his decision. After a moment’s hesitation, he executed a perfect dive and surfacing, began to stroke at a rapid pace. He did a dozen laps before turning on his back to float toward the shallow end.

Climbing out of the pool, he remembered that he had come to swim without a towel to use. He felt warm cloth being draped over his shoulders, turning he expected to see Carol’s smiling face, but instead, found himself looking at older, more sympathetic features. “Thanks Hannah, I forgot to bring one. You’re a life-saver!”

“That’s alright. Some folks needs more looking after than others. You go get dressed and I’ll make you a nice hot breakfast.”

“Has my wife eaten yet?”

“No. She and the children are still in bed. I don’t know when they’re getting up. I swear; I don’t know nothin’ anymore. Especially since them nosy reporters started coming round.”

“Okay, Hannah. Give me a half-hour to shower and dress.”

Thirty-five minutes later, Gary sat down at the kitchen breakfast bar to a bacon and egg breakfast, washed down by three cups of Hannah’s rich coffee. He’d have been a contented man except for the photos staring up at him from the morning paper. On one side of the page, he spied Miriam’s profile complete with Band-Aid staring at his profile on the opposite side. And in large print a headline that read: IS HE GUILTY?

Hannah watched as he read the article. “I know y’all wants to read that rag. For the life of me I don’t understand that; me, I’d chuck it in the garbage.”

  “Oh, you would, would you?
        “Yes, Mr. Gary, that’s a fact. And speaking of garbage, did you happen to look at our front lawn?

          “No. Why?”

“I don’t know if it’s them nasty reporters, or them nasty neighborhood kids, but somebody done dumped their garbage all over it! Luckily, the gardener is due today. When I seen that mess I called and asked him to come early. I’ll have him clean it up first thing, so don’t you fret about it. I just hope he gets it done before Miss Carol sees it.”

“Hannah, you’re right about that. Carol will go into orbit,” he said, glancing at his Rolex. “I guess I’d better get going. Thanks for the breakfast.”

By the time he reached his office, his Rolex showed nine-thirty. A small group of reporters, looking as if they might take root, blocked his path. Another bunch of flies, he thought and walked through them, ignoring the insulting questions they threw his way.

Inside the Agency’s door, he found his staff in a huddle around Erica’s desk. “What’s going on?” he asked, as the room turned sickroom quiet.

Erica, her face devoid of expression, held up a fax. He took it from her outstretched hand, and noted that it came from Atlantic Coast Casualty, one of his major insurance carriers. He read it and then read it again. When he finished, he looked up to see the concerned faces surrounding him. He crumpled the message into a ball and tossed it toward Erica’s wastebasket three feet away. It went right in. Without thinking, he called out, “Nothing but net,” then grimacing, said, “I guess you all know that our major carrier has temporarily suspended my contract.”

“Geez! Bad news sure travels fast,” Metro exclaimed.

          “We’re going to keep on working,” Gary said. “I’ll concentrate on finding us a new company, but if any of you want to try your luck elsewhere I’ll understand.”

“I don’t know about the rest of you guys, Metro said, but I’m sticking.”

Erica reached up and tugged at Gary’s sleeve. He bent down as she whispered, “There’s a message on your desk to call Willard Showalter in contracting at Columbia General.”

He sat in his office for a long time before putting in the call. Things had been going so well. How did they fall apart so fast? This time the news didn’t surprise him. The lump in his throat made its way to his stomach. He took it with quiet resignation, even as his beautiful world crumbled. There had been no way to see this coming but disaster had arrived. He had told them all he’d keep working, but it came from his lips not his heart. Atlantic Coast had shoved him in a coffin and Columbia had slammed the lid shut. When you’re dead, he thought, you’re dead, so just roll over and die you dumb bastard.

Slowly, he got to his feet and walked out of his glass-enclosed office. He stared at all of the expectant faces in front of him and then simply nodded. “We’re done,” he said in a voice so low that they had to strain to hear. “Go home!” He ordered in a slightly louder tone. “Go, until I call you.” He moved beyond the group, heading toward the door. “Last one out, turn off the lights and lock up,” he called.

“I’ll see to it,” Erica volunteered and then almost silently whispered “Don’t worry.” She watched him slowly depart through the front door. “He looks terrible, Martha,” she said. “This is a rotten time for him to be alone.”

          With his mind in a fog, Gary pushed right through the crowd of reporters as though they weren’t there. If they asked him anything, he failed to hear it. He unlocked the Maserati and started the engine. He drove without purpose. Half an hour later, while passing the old Merriweather Post Estate, now one of The Donald’s possessions he realized he had driven south, away from home. He had gone in the wrong direction, or had he? He’d lost his business. Could his home be far behind? And the way things were with Carol, did it matter?  He took the big sweeping curve to his right and then a quick left and pulled up in front of the Palm Beach Bath and Tennis Club. He turned the car around and slowly headed north along the ocean road. He parked to watch the Atlantic as a gentle, blue-green swell kissed the shore and further out, spotted half-a-dozen pelicans floating in a straight line on an air current a few feet above the next swell. He walked on the beach, sat on the sand, mesmerized by the ocean’s constant movement. He lost all notion of time. Gradually, as the vast sea repeated its age-old movements his despair receded. He didn’t have a clue about his destination, and didn’t know what he’d do when he arrived, but somehow he felt calm—at peace.

He kept the Maserati at the speed limit and journeyed, with no specific destination in mind, in a northerly direction. A few blocks from home, his Country Club came into view and without conscious intent, he pulled into the parking lot.  Glancing at his expensive watch he noted the time, ten until noon; despite it being at the height of the tourist season there were only a few dozen cars in the parking lot.

          Approaching the bar, he spotted one of his old golfing buddies, Max Portman, nursing a Bloody Mary. As he climbed up on the next stool and gazed at the tinted mirror behind the polished bar he watched Max’s reflection as the man pulled at his necktie and fumbled with his cell phone.

Gary overheard him say, “Okay, I’ll be right there.”

He turned his head and said, “Hi Max, how’ve you been?”

The big man slid off the stool put a hand on Gary’s shoulder and said, “Oh, hi, Gary. How’re things?”

Before he had a chance to answer, Max added, “Jeez, Gary, I can’t afford to be seen with you.”

Staring at the mirror, he watched the big man walk away, shook his head in disgust, and then pulling out his cell punched in the number for Joe Flaherty and got a busy signal.

The bartender, dressed in a bright red vest trimmed in green to mark the season, drifted over blocking out his image in the bar’s bronze tinted mirror. “What’ll you have?”

“Scotch, rocks—make it a double!”

 

 

 

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QUESTIONS:

·        Is the scene where Gary drives in the wrong direction and ends up on the beach, too long?

·        Is it realistic?