Hi Everyone:

I am pleased to publish chapter 11 of my novel, RAPE. After reading the chapter, I hope you will comment on it. As you know, your comments and suggestions influence my revision. If you missed any of the previous chapters, check the archives.

 I also encourage you to visit my website:  joshswritingroom.com/ where you will find Last Bus from Gila Bend, a short story by Frank Lohan. You can also check out my e-published novels. If you find one 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.

PATH TO A PARDON,

THE EINDHOVEN STRATEGY,

& PALM BEACH STYLE.

 

As I publish each new chapter, the previous chapter(s) should be archived, so you can easily catch up. For those who prefer, here is an encapsulated version of the previous action:

 

PREVIOUSLY: RAPE

     Prosperous executive, Gary Sanders, has an appointment at the home of Julia Walsh, the reigning Empress of Palm Beach. Julia’s niece, Oscar winning actress, Miriam West, is visiting and has jewelry to insure.

     Miriam accuses Gary of assault and rape. Chief Moore shows Gary a close-up of her facial cuts and bruises. They await the lab report.

     Gary’s wife, Carol, is furious. Due to a Gary’s past, Carol believes him guilty. She moves him into the guest room.

     Attorney, Joe Flaherty advises him not to hide, flee or talk. Reporters who publish stories favoring the actress surround Gary’s home and office. His children are harassed at school and Gary loses his clients and his major companies. Neighbors and friends shun Gary and his family.

     Prior to Gary’s arraignment, lawyer Flaherty sends P.I., Jim Bosley, to investigate, and then visits Carol. When he arrives, he finds her parents have arrived and plan to take her and the children back to Boston. He tries to persuade her to stay.

      A January court date is set. Gary is arraigned, and then released on $50,000 bail. When he returns home, Carol tells him that she and the children are going to Boston to live with her parents.

 

 

CHAPTER 11

 

 

The rays of the December sun woke him. Peeking out an upstairs window, Gary expected to see the television trucks but the street in front of his home accommodated neither trucks, nor reporters. Maybe, he thought, it’s too early for them. They’ll probably get here later on Sunday. Thank God for the privacy even if it’s temporary he thought. It almost looks like we have a normal household. Right! Normal? How can anything be normal with Carol and the kids running off to Boston to stay with Daddy Warbucks? She told me to think of this as a vacation. She has a lot of nerve. How can she do this to us, to me? I don’t know, but she’s sure doing it.

As he watched, an old two-door coupe slowly made its way down the street. What the heck is he doing? The blue car slowed. It needed a good washing or maybe a paint job. An elbow rested on the rolled down window. It slowed even more and stopped right in front of his home. The elbow moved then suddenly the hand shot out. Is that a gun? Gary started to duck, and then felt foolish as he witnessed delivery of the Sunday paper. Man! My imagination needs a vacation.

Grabbing a bathrobe, he hurried downstairs; as he reached for the doorknob, the door opened and Hannah walked in holding the paper. She thrust it into his hands. “I sure don’t know why you’re so all fired anxious to read this rag. It ain’t got nothin’ in it but bad news.”

“Hannah! I didn’t know you were coming today. I thought Sunday was your day off?”

“It is, but Ms. Carol asked me to come today on account of she’s going away and she needs some help getting Janet and Robert all packed up. Give me ten minutes and I’ll have your breakfast ready.”

“Take your time, Hannah. I’m going to sit in the living room and read the . . .” He stood rigid, looking at the pictures on the front page of the Palm Beach Dispatch. One showed his profile as he entered his plea and the other showed him leaving the courtroom. After a moment of indecision, he tossed the paper on a chair and walked out to the kitchen. “Hannah, you were right about the Dispatch. Please put a hold on my breakfast. I need to take a swim to clear my brain.” 

An hour later, he’d completed a dozen laps, showered and dressed. He reached the bottom of the staircase just in time to see the other members of his family getting up from the dining room table.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Carol purred. “I’m glad you’re up. Please go up to my bedroom and bring down the suitcases. I don’t want Daddy to do it. He might hurt his back.”

Gary clamped his lips shut; he turned on his heel and went back upstairs to do her bidding. As he climbed the stairs he thought, I suppose it’s okay if I hurt my back. He returned a few moments later with two large pieces of luggage to find the front door wide open. “What’s going on here? Why is the door open?”

“Robert just went out to help his grandfather,” Carol called.

“Within minutes, they had the car loaded and the passengers were ready for their departure. Gary hugged his children, gave his wife a kiss on her upturned cheek and said goodbye to his in-laws.

When he returned to the house, he found Hannah waiting in the dining room with arms crossed, “Mr. Gary, if you’ll give me a minute I’ll clear this table and serve you a nice hot breakfast.”

“Let me give you a hand with that, Hannah.” He began carrying dirty dishes out to the kitchen. “I’ve kind of lost my appetite. I think I’ll just have some coffee and toast in the kitchen.” When he finished breakfast, he told Hannah to take the rest of the day off.

 

 

Three hours later, Gary left the house and took a slow drive along mostly deserted roads to his office. Opening the front door, he scooped up the letters that littered the floor in front of the mail-slot and carried them to his personal office. Flipping the light-switch, he noticed Atlantic Coast Casualty’s return address on one of the letters. He collapsed into his seat and ripped open the envelope. He read the letter twice before filing it away. Okay, he thought, so what else can go wrong?

He spent the next hour calling his employees to find out if they needed letters of recommendation. The few he reached declined. At first, it troubled him until he considered their plight. What weight does a reference from an accused felon carry? None, he decided. Will my family be better served if I review the suicide clause in my life insurance contracts? Instead, he pulled out the company checkbook and wrote out severance checks for each of his employees.

By the time he addressed the envelopes and found the stamps in a drawer of Martha’s desk it was two-thirty. He took the sealed envelopes with him and locked the office door. Dropping the mail in the corner letterbox, he debated his next move. He felt like having a drink, but didn’t want to drink alone. With his country club now closed to him, he opted to stop at Dempsey’s in the nearby Royal Poinciana Plaza for a drink before going back to an empty house.

Once inside the Irish pub, he slipped into a booth and ordered a glass of Guinness. There were over two-dozen people in the place. They all seem to be enjoying themselves, he wondered, why can’t I? They don’t have a court date in six weeks. Drink your beer, just one, and get the hell out of here.

The waiter returned with his order. As the man set the glass down and walked away, a tall, thin young woman with flowing dark hair approached.

She smiled at him, “Hi Gary!”

“Hi yourself,” he said, trying to stand. She put a hand on his shoulder, stopping his gesture. He gave her a quick smile; “Won’t you join me?”

Erica slid into the booth and he signaled the waiter. “What are you drinking?” He asked.

“The same as him,” she replied. The waiter hurried off and she said, “I’m kind of surprised to see you here, especially on a Sunday.”

“I went to the office to clean up a few details. We got a letter from Atlantic Coast. They are temporarily transferring our clients to other agencies for servicing.”

The waiter returned with her drink. “Will we get them back when you’re exonerated?”

“I suppose, but come to think of it, they weren’t specific. At least they haven’t cancelled my renewal commissions. That’s something to be thankful for.” He raised his glass in a mock toast and drank.

“Yeah, that’s one for our side. Hey, Gary! You’re not wearing your Rolex; how come?”

“I gave it to my attorney to help cover his fee and the cost of hiring a private eye.”

Erica grimaced, “Ouch! That’s a lot to give up. I’ll bet you hated to lose it.”

Gary shook his head. “Not as much as losing my wife and kids. Carol’s folks drove down and they all left for Boston this morning.”

When their glasses were empty the waiter returned, and Gary asked if she wanted another.

“No and I don’t think you do either. Getting a DUI right now isn’t going to help.”

He agreed and they left together. Once outside, Gary started to ask where she had parked, but before he uttered a word, a strong hand clamped down on his shoulder. It spun him around. “I know you; you’re that Sanders guy,” the big man snarled, “the bastard who beat up Miriam West. Here, see how you like it.

Gary felt the side of his chin mashed to one side. The blow staggered him. He felt himself backing into Erica and sensed her fall. He regained his balance and turned to meet the next attack just as two men heading toward the pub rushed forward and grabbed the attacker.

Gary helped Erica to her feet. She insisted she was unhurt. She put her fingers to the left side of his mouth and showed him the blood dripping from his lip and running down.

He pulled out a handkerchief and tried to stem the flow, as his protectors escorted his attacker away. “Well now they’ve got some of my blood. What else can they get?”

Erica frowned; “Gary, don’t you want to call the cops?”

“No, I’ve had enough of law and order for a while.” He saw Erica to her car before going to the Maserati.

Approaching his house, it struck him as odd that the reporters who had become regular fixtures had suddenly disappeared. It’s good they didn’t see my family desert me. Now that the judge has set a court date, I guess there is nothing for them to do but bother the next unlucky guy who the cops accuse of something.

He began the task of moving from the guest room back to the master bedroom. Putting his socks in his top dresser drawer, he looked up and spotted a note lying on top. He recognized Carol’s handwriting. It said she’d call him after they were settled. “Hm,” he mused to the empty room, “it’s just signed Carol, not even with love.”