Hi Everyone:

I am pleased to publish chapters 27 & 28 of my novel, RAPE. After reading the chapters, I hope you will comment. Your comments and suggestions influence my revision. If you missed any of the previous chapters, check the archives.

          I encourage you to visit my website:  joshswritingroom.com/ where you will find, the current short story.

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.

          These novels deliver hours of reading pleasure. Path to a Pardon & Palm Beach Style can be purchased at reduced prices, combined they cost less than a movie. You can now purchase two books for what it once cost to read just one.

As I publish each new chapter, the previous chapter(s) are 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. She moves him into the guest room.

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.

Gary’s lawyer, Joe Flaherty sends P.I. Jim Bosley to investigate, and then visits Carol. He finds her parents have arrived and plan to take her and the children back to Boston.

A January court date is set. Carol tells Gary that she and the children are going to Boston to live with her parents.

One of Miriam West’s fans assaults Gary. A neighborhood committee offers money to help Gary sell his home, if his family leaves Palm Beach within 60 days.

Private Investigator, Bosley, learns of Consuela Arista’s termination following Gary’s visit. Reporter, Miguel Gonzales, is already looking for her.

Miguel learns Consuela has gone to visit her mother in San Antonio.

Consuela tells her mother that she was in the next room when Gary came to see Miriam about insuring her jewelry and she saw him leave. Miriam is forcing her to help destroy him.

Carol’s parents make an appointment for her to see the family lawyer about a divorce.

Bosley meets with ex-girlfriend, Connie, who works for the same newspaper as Miguel and learns the reporter has gone to San Antonio. He offers & she accepts a job running his office.

During lunch at the Sailfish Club, Miriam drinks too much and thinks about how she advanced her career and what she may yet have to do.

Carol consults an attorney about a divorce. Robert hits a classmate. He is suspended.

Gary and his ex-secretary, Erica meet for lunch at Hamburger Heaven, where she tells him that she believes in him and he should do whatever he must to keep his children.

P.I. Jim Bosley finds an address where Miriam West’s maid may be staying.

As they leave the restaurant, reporters accost Gary and Erica. Joe Flaherty tells Gary that Bosley is going to interview a maid who may help his case and cautions him not to tell anyone until he is sure of her testimony. Gary promises.

Despite giving his word to the attorney, Gary tells Carol the good news. She is not impressed and denies him access to the children.

Reporter Miguel Gonzales contacts Consuela and then talks to his editor about getting her to go public with what she knows. They agree on a financial offer.

Rosa Arista tells her mother what she witnessed at Julia Walsh’s home and why she must flee. Her Mother sends her to stay with her sister in Mexico.

CHAPTER 27

Miguel Gonzales started his rental car and calmly drove away from the house on San Carlos. He really wanted to leap into the air, pump his fist at the setting sun, and shout, wahoo, or some equally inane expression. His triumph had been enough to make him want to go out and buy some cowboy boots. He smiled, by golly that’s just what I’ll do, he thought; I ought to show up at the Dispatch with a pair of genuine western boots and maybe a big white hat to go with them. Maybe I’ll get one for Vincent too. Good old Vincent, won’t he be happy about this. Why don’t I just give grumpy old Vincent something to smile about?

He merged into the traffic, pulled out his cell, and punched up the editor’s private number and waited for it to ring.

“Hello, is that you Gonzales?”

“Yep, it’s me, by dogies. I got one question for you. What size hat do you wear?”

“Seven and a half I think; why?”

       “Because, Pardner,” he said, trying to give the words a Texas twang, “I’m gonna buy you a hat, that’s why.”

“You’re either nuts or drunk!”

“Neither. I got it. I got the whole enchilada and it’s a honey. It is the greatest—oh my God— what the—oh shit . . .”

“Miguel, Miguel. What’s going on? Speak to me!”

Officer Joseph Speranza got off his motorcycle and lit a couple of flares to prevent further trouble. He was the first cop on the scene. The driver of the car that crossed the median had obviously been drinking, he smelled it; he wouldn’t need a Breathalyzer test because the man had no breath. The driver of the rental car slumped over the air bag covering the steering wheel, unconscious but he still had a pulse.

He noted the time, put in a call for an ambulance, and searched the bodies for ID. It took only minutes. Speranza breathed a sigh of relief when the EMT people arrived in their big red and white because the guy with the Florida driver’s license didn’t look too good. He watched as they put him on the gurney. That’s when he spotted the cell phone lying on the pavement and heard the frantic voice on the other end.

He picked it up; “This is Officer Speranza, Who’s this?”

“This is Vincent Bernardino, what the hell happened to Miguel?”

“There has been a collision and Miguel Gonzales is unconscious. They are taking him to Bexar Baptist Hospital. I expect he’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”

CHAPTER 28

Jim Bosley threw his overnighter in the back of the two-door, Chevy Camaro he’d just rented and took a seat behind the wheel, his watch read 10:25 AM. Lighting his first cigarette since landing, he filled his lungs with nicotine and let the smoke slowly trickle out of the corner of his mouth while he unfolded the map of San Antonio. Four minutes later, he spotted San Carlos Street and using his pen marked out the most direct route. He crushed his Marlboro in the ashtray before starting the car. Bosley drove out of the Hertz parking area and took two right hand turns followed by a left on Culebra Road and a final right on San Carlos.

His stomach growled as he unfolded his six foot six inch hulk, stretched, and then strolled up the five steps to the front porch of Rose Arista’s one-story home. He rang the bell, but detected no sound so he opened the screen door and peaked through the glass portion of the door. There was no sign of life; he rapped politely on the wood frame. When that got no result, he pounded on the frame. From somewhere in the back, he spotted a sliver of light as a door opened and a small woman in a dark dress approached.

When the woman got within four feet of the door, she stopped. Craning her neck forward, she squinted, and called out, “Who is it?”

He looked down at his polished shoes, resting on the newly painted, dark green planks of the porch, he hoped it had dried; “My name is Jim Bosley and I’m looking for your daughter, Consuela.”

“Oh my Lord,” she said softly, “Consuela warned me.” She raised her voice, “She’s not here.”

“Please Mrs. Arista, won’t you open the door so we can talk.”

“No. Go away! Tell Ms. West that Consuela is not here. I don’t know where she is. If you don’t go, I’ll call the police. Please, leave me alone.”

He fiddled with the volume on his hearing aid and thought, now what do I do? What do I say? Don’t think I’m gonna talk to Consuela unless this old woman lets me. “I’m not here to harm you. Miriam West didn’t send me. I just need to find Consuela. I’m here to help her.”

He watched as she mulled that over; “Go! I am going to call the police now.”

“Here, I am putting my card in the door. I’ll come back in a little while, or you can call my cell phone number. I just want to help.” Bosley trudged back to the Camaro, lit another cigarette and tried to figure out a logical move. Unable to come up with anything, he decided to avoid a confrontation with the local cops.

Six blocks away, he parked in a shopping center and walked toward a coffee shop. Shoving a couple of quarters into a vending machine that stood near the doorway, he purchased a local paper before taking a seat at a table near the front window. He ordered a short stack along with a couple of scrambled eggs and some crisp bacon and coffee.

The waitress brought him a carafe of coffee and asked if he needed cream. He nodded and she returned within seconds with a small pitcher.

He poured a cup of coffee and reached for the creamer. That’s when his eyes spotted what looked like a driver’s license picture of Miguel Gonzales. His eyes skimmed

 the article. When it mentioned Bexar Baptist Hospital, he pulled out his pen and underlined it. 

The waitress returned with his order, he showed her the article and said, “Miguel is a friend of mine; we’re both from Florida. Can you tell me how to get to this hospital?”

She gave him the directions. He thanked her and wrote them down before turning his attention to the food she had placed on the table. By the time he arrived at the hospital and found a parking place, the dashboard clock showed 11:50.

He stopped at the gift shop and bought two helium, ‘Get Well’ balloons before taking the elevator to the fourth floor. Miguel lay in bed number one in room 411; bed two, for the moment, remained unoccupied. An enormous bandage covered Miguel’s head, his left cheek bore purple bruises and his eyes were shut.

The short mousy looking nurse at the station had said; “Miguel is in a coma, unable to talk. Are you a relative?”

“Yeah, I’m his brother-in-law,” he lied. He may not be conscious but I flew out here from Florida to be with him, and I’m not leaving until I see him.”

He tied the balloons to the back of the only chair on Miguel’s side of the room and pulled it close to the bed. He rested his hand on top of the reporter’s and said, “Hi Miguel, I know you never expected me to show up. I’m as surprised as you are. I don’t know if you can hear me. I sure hope you’re going to wake up soon and feel better.

According to what I read in the newspaper, the guy who plowed into you is in worse shape than you are.

The door opened and the mousy looking nurse entered. She changed out the used up I.V. bag for a full one and took Miguel’s blood pressure.

“I sure hope Miguel comes out of his coma soon.”

The nurse stared at him; “You’re not really related are you?”

He grinned at her; “No but we are old, old friends. We go way back; he’s a reporter, you know. I remember when he got his first assignment. I was on the police force in West Palm Beach at the time. He’s a damned good reporter, which reminds me; I’d better call his paper and let them know what happened to him.”

“They already know. A Mister Bernardino has been calling here every hour looking for progress reports.” She headed for the door and then stopped. “His clothes are in that plastic bag on the dresser. His sport jacket is stained with blood; you might want to take it to a cleaner to see if they can get it out.”

“Check, I’ll take care of it Miss . . .”

“It’s Mrs. Bruno, but you can call me Millie.”

“Thanks Millie,” he said getting up and walking to the dresser. He pulled the sport coat out and tried to smooth away some of the wrinkles, saw the blood, and began checking the side pockets. His hand tapped the outside of the pocket and felt a hard object. He reached inside and pulled it out. He’d struck gold, Miguel’s tape recorder. He turned it on, heard Miguel’s voice followed by that of his witness. He snapped the machine off and placed it in his trouser pocket. With the jacket draped over his arm, he returned to the reporter’s bedside. He bent over and whispered, “Don’t worry Miguel, I’ll take good care of your things.”

The P.I. put the chair back against the wall and with a purposeful stride left the room.  

Half an hour later, he found what he wanted, an electronic store. He bought a Sony tape recorder and a couple of extra ninety-minute tapes. He sat in the Camaro with the windows up to shut out the street noise, and played Miguel’s recorder onto a tape in the Sony he’d just purchased. When the interview with Consuela ended, he backed up the reporter’s machine, put a new tape in his recorder and did the whole thing over again.

Two blocks away he spotted a sign for a One Hour Cleaner. He took the garment into the store. The man at the front counter looked at the stain, and shook his head; “This is going to be next to impossible to get out,” he said raising both eyebrows. “But I’ve got a good spotter. We’ll do our best.”

He located a Fed Ex and overnighted one of the tapes to Joe Flaherty. Lighting another Marlboro, he returned to wait for Miguel’s sport coat. While he waited, he listened again to the interview with Consuela; half-way into it he hit the pause button, pumped a fist and said, “Yes. That’s a gotcha!” He inhaled the cigarette and relaxed. He wished he hadn’t mailed a copy to Flaherty, he’d have preferred sitting in the room, watching the attorney’s expressions when he heard the thing of beauty that Miriam’s personal maid had just revealed.