Book Review: The Reckoning by John Grisham

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About a month ago I decided to save some money and pick up a few books from the local Good Will. I highly recommend doing this yourself as there are tons of great used books at places like that and they were only a couple dollars each. I had never read a book by John Grisham but I have seen a few movies based on them and they have all been great. The Reckoning is one of his newest offerings and reached the New York Best Seller list. I am not quite sure why.

John Grisham is known for his suspenseful character-driven tales that oftentimes include courtroom dramatics. His knowledge of the legal system, history and the interplay between personalities allows him to create realistic and immersive stories that are rich in detail. This book is no exception.

The Reckoning revolves around one event and spreads the circumstances around the event over a few hundred pages. The first section of the book describes the seemingly sudden murder of a small-town preacher by the town's most prominent wealthy landowner and farmer Pete Banning. Pete does not try to get away with the crime and is arrested straight away. He is also uninterested in telling anyone why he did it. The entire rest of the book is a circuitous journey toward the truth and it isn't told until the very last chapter. The mystery of the book is skated around and hinted at for the entirety of the novel and, while it is an interesting route, it is ultimately unsatisfying. The suspenseful interlude to the truth is built up for so long that there might have been no ending that would have lived up to it.

The middle section of the book is almost entirely filler as it explores Pete Banning's legendary career in the military during World War 2. This might have been the most exciting part of the book as it explains how Pete was captured by the Japanese, tortured and then how he escapes and becomes a guerilla fighter. This part of the book is action-packed and shows how Pete gained his heroic status in his home town but seems like a long tangent to the main story. The last section of the book explores the aftermath of Pete's trial and how it negatively impacts his family and legacy and then ends with a final diatribe of explanation as to what caused all the domestic turmoil.

The one redeeming quality of the book is John Grisham's exemplary writing. While I found the book to be long-winded at best and needlessly verbose at worst it is amazingly well written and because it promises to finally pay off at some point I kept reading and found its winding path entertaining. Grisham creates such a vivid world and writes in a way that always moves forward which made it easy to keep going even at its most mundane. It is an amazing accomplishment to be able to write in this way and I think that many people enjoy this kind of storytelling more than I do.

If you are looking for relentless suspense, action, adventure, or deep philosophical metaphors this is not a great example but if you are looking for a well crafted and character-driven tale that makes the most out of very little detail or you are a fan of John Grisham maybe you'll like this more than I did.

The Walking Dead: Ranting (Spoilers)

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I stopped watching The Walking Dead before the last couple of episodes of season 6. I became bored, apathetic and uninterested so I stopped watching. Recently the entire show through season 8 is on Netflix and I decided to re-watch it and see how far I get this time.

After watching it again I both appreciate it more and hate it more. And I realized that I actually love to hate it. I like the way that it engages my mind in critical thinking and scrutiny over how these people deal with their circumstances.

The following should clarify my hatred for this show but it also reveals my love.


SPEARS!

Why the fuck don't they utilize spears? Or at least more swords, machetes, and other less loud options? If the walkers smell then how were they able to hide under the busses in season two when all the herd walks by? It doesn't make sense that they can only smell themselves which is why putting their stench on you makes you invisible to them. If sounds attract walkers then why you would ever just start shooting them? Just walk the fuck away or around them as they are slow as fuck. They can not run so if you go at a steady jogging pace you should be fairly safe. Or you could quickly kill them by thrusting a sharp spear into their heads one at a time.

It is not hard to learn how to use a spear and a sword for simple purposes and is manageable by even the simpler humans. But no, they go off and start shooting just for fun, wasting precious bullets. I imagine that in a world where the majority of the population is no longer capable of owning property that with a moderate amount of searching you could find all the melee weapons imaginable. Even if 10% of the population has a decent melee weapon in their house and most of the houses are already raided you would find something longer than a knife to kill the easily killed walkers.

Also, there are dozens and dozens of stores and building with ready-made melee weapons or opportunities to fashion makeshift weapons with ease. Also, why don't they manufacture body protection for bites? A little armor for the arms and neck and such would ensure less of a chance for a fatal encounter with a walker.  This can not be that hard to come up with on the fly. A thick enough leather coat would at least help the situation but during all their downtime and salvaging runs they can't figure this out?

What about trenches? Why not reinforce an area by manipulating the environment to your advantage? Such as digging fucking trenches for the walkers to fall into. Or make the trenches wide enough and fill it partially with water. Or take down trees around the fort and lay them down as obstacles.

What about motherfucking distractions? They learn nearly immediately that walkers are attracted by noise so why not always carry about little noise making devices? Kids toys, electronics that still work, firecrackers would be the best or just use a fucking rock and hide. Walkers are really fucking stupid and if you could combine this tactic with getting their stench on you more regularly you would never have to deal with walkers.

Why not train everyone in your tribe to utilize all the weapons? And train them in basic medical and walker specific medical practices. And train them to avoid and defeat walkers.

How is it that after a month or two people would still be soft? After a month or two of being without a citie's transportation, communication, electrical and emergency infrastructure would render most people dead just from starvation so to have lived for that long subsisting off the leftovers and land and fighting walkers and dealing with desperate people and witnessing horrific deaths and transformations you would be either dead or hard as fuck. At least hard enough not to whimper, whine and cry when a walker came at you.

Carl died because be tried to use a knife instead of a fucking spear! Why get close when you have long sticks all around you to stab walkers with.

It is probably deliberate but there are nearly no cultural references about the past. People would talk more or less the same as they did and they would randomly bring up references and metaphors.

I realize that this show is a drama first and realistic last. It does a great job of creating suspense and drama and the action is a lot of fun. I just can't help myself from criticizing the logic and pragmatics. It reminds of Sons of Anarchy because it is a soap opera geared toward the male audience and it does a good job of getting you hooked on the characters, no matter how flawed and annoying they can be.  It is a fun exercise to think about what I might do in such situations and pretend that I might do well.

I decided to write a couple of fan fiction stories. Check out the links below and let me know what you think about them.

https://joesnotesblog.com/blog/2018/10/7/30-days-of-fiction-day-25

https://joesnotesblog.com/blog/30-days-of-fiction-day-26

30 Days of Fiction: 22

"Can you tell me what happened on the night of July 5th, Mr. Meeks," a lawyer named Jim asked a very sweaty man named Walter Meeks who sat in the witness seat looking up into the rafters. Walter was now staring off into space and looking nervous with the audience's gaze bearing down on him like a dozen firehoses trying to put out a raging fire.

"Mr. Meeks," the kind looking judge leaned toward Walter and calmly yet authoritatively asked, "Mr. Meeks, can you please tell us what happened on July 5th? Tell us about what occurred at your house that led us all to be here."

With that, Walter perked up, focused on the lawyer who had asked the original question and began, "I'm sorry. I haven't slept in a few days. It's actually fairly straightforward now that I have had some time to think about it. I was attacked by three armed men who broke into my house intent on doing my family harm. They were not there to simply steal our things. I know this because they must have seen our cars outside and most likely had cased my house to get to know what we had, who we were and when we would be there or not."

Walter paused for a moment to look around at the audience whose attention was wrapped.

He continued, "I was asleep in bed with my wife, our 9-year-old son Erik was in the room next door when I woke up and heard someone in the house. I woke my wife up, who wanted to get our son but it sounded like they were already in the house and would have heard if we went for him then. I got my Glock 17 out of my safe and told her to go into the bathroom and call 911. I had to get my son, so I slowly opened the door to the hall and could see that Erik's door was still shut. I looked through the crack in the door and could see a man in a mask with a pistol in one hand coming up the stairs. I knew I had no choice. I opened the door, leaned out on my side and shot him three times in the chest."

Walter's head bowed as he talked about killing the first robber, visibly shaken by recounting the night.

"What happened next," Jim asked when Walter had remained silent for too many moments.

"It was so loud," Mr. Meeks said looking back at the lawyer and the audience. He continued, "I got up and rushed into Erik's room but he wasn't in there. I panicked and started calling his name softly. 'Erik, Erik' I called and then he came out from under the bed and I grabbed him. 'It was so loud' he said as I started for the door. I went to open the door but as I did they started shooting at the door. I jumped back and had Erik hide under the bed again. I lay on my back with my gun trained on the door ready to shoot but they didn't come. Instead, I heard them rush into my bedroom, where my wife was. I got up immediately and rushed after them. I opened the door and saw two men but then I heard shots. At least 4 of 5 loud bangs and I saw my wife holding her Glock 19 and one of the men goes down. The second one is in front of me so I put my gun up to the back of his head and fire one shot."

Walter goes back to staring at the rafters, this time slightly rocking back and forth.

"What happened after that," the judge interjected the silent fog filling the room.

Mr. Meeks slowly turned his head and looked down at the floor before saying, "My wife and I got our son, put our guns on the bed, went downstairs and waited for the police."

"Is that everything Mr. Meeks," asked the judge.

"Yes," Mr. Meeks said softly without looking up.

"Alright, with that we will take a short recess and the prosecution will begin their cross-examination in 1 hour," the judge said before hitting his gavel.

One hour later the judge was sitting behind his bench, the lawyers were behind their desks, Walter Meeks was in the witness chair, and the audience started filing in the room. After a few moments of murmurs and shuffling the gavel struck again.

"Alright, the prosecution will now cross-examine the witness," the judge said as the state's prosecuting attorney slowly made their way up to the witness.

Walter sat in his chair, this time focused on the attorney as they meandered around the room, stopped at the juror box for a moment and then finally came up to him.

"How long have you owned a gun, Mr. Meeks," the attorney asked.

"Objection, relevance," Walter's lawyer said calmly.

"I just started your honor, I have to start somewhere," the attorney pleaded with the judge.

"Overruled, answer the question please," the judge said.

"I've been shooting most of my life, my dad taught us how to shoot, " Walter began but was cut off.

"Answer the question, how long have you owned the gun that you used to shoot two men. One, in the back of the head," the attorney said with disdain.

"Two years," Mr. Meeks replied looking up at the ceiling.

"And where did you buy that gun," the attorney asked.

"Objection, relevance," Walter's attorney said without looking up.

"I'm getting there, your honor," the attorney explained.

"Overruled," the judge said looking at Mr. Meeks.

"I bought it from a friend," Walter replied.

"Why did you buy it from a friend and not at a store," the attorney asked.

"Objection, why does it matter how my client acquired the gun he used to defend his family," Walter's lawyer said, now fully annoyed.

"What is the point of this, Ben," the judge asked the attorney.

"It goes to the defendant's mental state during the incident and his violent nature," the attorney answered confidently.

"Permission to approach the bench," Walter's lawyer asked already rising out of his chair.

The judge gestured the two suit-wearing men to him and they began to talk for a moment. Walter stared at the ceiling while they talked and when they finished the lawyer sat back down and Ben walked back over to the witness.

"Have you ever been committed to a psychiatric ward," Ben asked.

Mr. Meeks slowly brought his gaze back down to earth, looked up at the judge pleadingly, but when he saw no reprieve, he answered, "yes."

"How many times, Mr. Meeks," the attorney asked while pacing around the room.

"Three, times," Walter answered.

"Can you tell us about when and why you were taken to a psychiatric ward three times, Mr. Meeks," Ben asked as he stopped at the jury box to rest and look over the jury.

"Once when I was 14, once when I was 17 and once when I was 23," Walter said and then paused before continuing, "The first time I got into a fight with another boy at school. The second time I jumped out of a moving vehicle, and the last time I was..." he couldn't finish the sentence and looked down.

"Please continue, Mr. Meeks, what happened when you were 23," the judge asked with a soft tone.

"I, uh," he stuttered, "I was manic and went walking around the city at night with a 22 rifle. I guess I shot it off a few times, and then I was taken into custody."

"You aren't allowed to own a gun are you," the attorney asked, but before Mr. Meeks could answer he said, "and when you were 14, that fight you were in, you bit the other boy's finger off, didn't you?"

"Objection, badgering," Walter's lawyer interjected.

"Sustained," the judge said.

"I'll rephrase the question," the attorney replied and with a smile asked, "Are you allowed to own a gun in this state, Mr. Meeks?"

"No," Walter answered softly.

"And you take medication for manic depression, bi-polar, and schizophrenia, is that correct," Ben asked.

Walter looked over at his lawyer who nodded for him to answer.

"Yes," Walter replied.

The attorney leaned up against the witness stand and leaned over to ask, "And you enjoyed shooting that man in the back of the head and watching his brains splatter all over the wall, didn't you?"

"Objection," Walter's lawyer exclaimed and stood up astounded at the attorney's tactics.

"Sustained," the judge said and added, "Do not answer that Mr. Meeks. That was highly unprofessional and if it happens again you will be done here."

Walter was staring at the ceiling and rocking back and forth dramatically now as the judge banged his gavel to silence the uproar in the audience. A few moments past before the judge announced to the court that they would have another 30-minute recess where he would tell the jury how to deal with the most recent information and speak with the lawyers in his chambers.

45 minutes later the courtroom was filled and the gavel struck again marking the beginning of the next set of arguments.

"Does the prosecution have anything more," the judged asked.

"Not at this time, the witness is yours," Ben replied.

"Do you wish to redirect," the judge asked looking at Walter's lawyer.

"Yes, I do your honor," he said before standing up and walking over the Walter who was not looking at the ground or ceiling at the moment but directly forward. He asked, "do you feel that you did everything a reasonable person would do in the situation you were in?"

"Absolutely, I had no choice," Walter said confidently.

"And do you feel that your mental state was clear and focused during the events that night," the lawyer asked.

"Yes, sir. I take my meds, and they work for me. I don't know what else I can say," he said with tears starting to come down his face.

"Thank you, Walter," the lawyer said before adding, "No further questions, your honor."

"You may take a seat next to your lawyer Walter," the judge said gesturing for Walter to leave the witness stand.

After a moment he continued, "The prosecution will now make their closing statements, followed by the defense."

Ben stood up swiftly and strolled toward the jury to begin his monologue, "I am not here to tell you that Mr. Meeks is an evil man. Or that he shouldn't have defended himself. What a horrible situation he was in. But he admits that he illegally obtained a firearm and he has a history of violence. He has an unstable mind and engaged in a level of violence that goes beyond self-defense. His wife owned a gun legally so why did he need one? Because he wanted to use it! He pushed the barrel into the back of a man's head and pulled the trigger. Could you do that? I know I couldn't, and we can not afford to have a man like that out on our streets. Who knows if his medication will continue to work? And what he is capable of when they stop working?" He finished his speech pointing at Mr. Meeks and then sat back down at his desk.

"The defense will make it's closing statements," the judge explained.

Walter's lawyer shuffled some papers before standing up. He too strolled over to the jury and said, "This man was put into the worst possible situation anyone could ever deal with. Three armed men, in masks, broke into his house intent on who knows what kind of horrific acts, and he defended himself and his family. It's that simple. The prosecution wants to make him out to be a danger to society but from what I see he is exactly the kind of person I would want living next door. Someone who admits their faults; learns from them and acts heroically in the face of overwhelming terror. The prosecution wants you to be distracted by irrelevant details about his past, and the gun he used. He wasn't supposed to have a gun but thank God he did because his child and wife are alive because of it. So, when you go into that room to deliberate just ask yourselves one question, 'What would I do to save the ones I love?"

Walter's lawyer concluded his speech and sat back down. The judge told the bailiff to take the jury to deliberate and as the last of the jurors left the room silence fell on the court. 

30 Days of Fiction: 7

That morning the silence was wearing on me so as to become an incessant distraction. It stalked me in the bathroom as I brushed my teeth with the new Multi-Morning Brush and Comb, in the shower with it's low-flow hyper-efficient technology, at the sink, with it's patent pending vibration ending metal and faucet and in the dead silence the electric car produced on the way to work. There were no longer sirens or car horns. Music was only allowed in ear and only at a low level set by the government and only approved music deemed acceptable for the public was allow. Even if I wanted to listen to what passed as music now I wouldn't since it was all just the same slow beat accompanied by a whining overtone of boredom.

At work everyone sat in individual cubuals where they typed using Anti-Clacking keyboards and only looked up from their screens to see what time it was. The massive clock on the wall was the only thing in the room that regularly made any noise with it's dull throng each hour to help people remember who was in charge. I sat down in the soft chair, my fat roles bunching up above my waist, and looked at the list of tasks due that day.

1. Cross reference digital data collection system protocols, for all criminal databases, with current data backup and recovery protocols and identify potential errors and log associate ID responsible.
2. Report associate IDs for any above identified errors to upper management.
3. Recover lost data, if possible and create file backups and restore protocols where dissolved.
4. More tedious bullshit!

I clicked on the number 1 and the program began to run and indicated a four hour wait time. While that ran it was now time for the daily intelligence and information gaming procedure, which seemed to have no end of content for disseminating information and mini-games that tested and developed intelligence in every domain. The news of the day was about how city crime was at an all time low of .2%, depression rates were at .01% and China was finally adopting the progressive Noise and Other Pollution Prevention Coalition after ten years of sanctions from 25 nations. The mini-games taught advanced math, science and English lessons with the use of frogs, bunnies and other furry and non-offensive creatures. Today's lessons were difficult enough and in no time four beats of the dull clock had passed, the program was ready for the next step and it was time for lunch.

Everyone stood up and waited for the announcement which came via a text prompt on both screens and after it arrived it counted down from 30 minutes. If the eye sensor didn't recognize your presence at your station when the clock hit zero you would be flagged as insubordinate and face a disciplinary hearing the next day. I walked into the cafeteria where the slight sounds of rummaging humans was almost audible, although I might have been making the sound in my head as everything in the cafeteria had been designed to reduce sound from any angle. From the noise cancelling soft floor, plates and utensils to the absorbent walls. People chewed quietly, never coughed, burped or farted and no one talked. Sometimes they would look at each other with blank expressions but mostly they just looked down making sure to eat just slowly enough to not make noise but no so slow as to be late back to their cubual.

I wasn't hungry that day so I just started walking around the cafeteria wondering around, looking at the faces of so many silent people dutifully eating their pre-made lunch portions as a sick feeling came over me. I didn't know what to think about it all and as I looked at them I realized that the silence I really feared was the silence that had arisen in my own mind. My mind had become void of judgement and understanding. Had life always been like this? If so, then what is this sinking feeling deep in my body telling me to fight, to run, to scream?

So I kicked a chair softly at first. The woman in the chair barely flinched so I kicked it harder. This time she stood up and opened her mouth but nothing came out. After a second of exchanging looks the woman sat back down defeated but I couldn't shake the feeling I had to do something. In my head I heard a voice say, "What are you gunna do about it?" Then, I kicked the chair again, only this time I hit the woman in the leg and a soft "uh," exited her mouth which she quickly threw her hands up to cover. Just then the silent doors to the cafeteria swung open and two men, in black jump suits, entered and made a bee line for me.

I stood there unsure of what to do but when they came close enough to grab me I was overcome with rage and yelled,"Whaaaaaaattt?" The two men stopped in their tracks. I couldn't remember how long it had been since I used my voice and it hurt to do so but it also felt amazing. The two men looked shocked as they probably hadn't heard anything like that before and didn't know how to act but they were resolute enough to start walking forward toward the monster that had asked a question.

I jumped up on a table and started to run toward the door, narrowly missing the grasps of the two men in black. In the hall, as I was running toward the stairway, I muttered the word, "what" over and over until all that I could do was cackle with laughter. The hysterical sound reverberated and echoed all throughout the stairway as I ran as fast I could could down the stairs until the outside world was only a door away. Stopping with my hand on the door knob I took a few deep breaths and then opened it and stepped out.

The world was quiet again. Only a few cars passed by, perceptible only by their bright blue or yellow chassis, with no one on the side walks as it was still lunch time and no one, except myself, looked up to see the amazing sun surrounded by a bright blue sky. I laughed until my neck and throat began to hurt from the strain from so such laughter and exuberance. With my arms spread out and tears running down my cheeks I felt a jerk as two men tackled me from behind, my face making a soft crash into the grassy sidewalk. The last thing I felt was a knee on my back and a pin prick in my leg and then the lights went out.

I woke up in bed some time later wondering why I felt so groggy and tired. Normally I felt refreshed and ready to go but now my back and neck hurt and I had slept in. I ate my normal pre-made breakfast portion, brushed my teeth with the amazing new Multi-Morning Brush and Comb and combed my hair with it and everything began to feel normal again. It was quiet as it should be and I'll just explain that I wasn't feeling well and they won't mind that I'm late, right? I made my way to the door when a notice flashed on the screen that normally just showed the time. It read:

1. You have been given a day off.
2. Please stay at home and come to work normally tomorrow.
3. Thank you for your service and get well soon.

In all my years I had never seen anything like that. Especially from the government and hoping I get well. I must be pretty special to get this treatment, I thought. Just then a loud, single knock came from the door. I'd never heard such a noise and it frightened me but I opened the door none the less. On the other side was a woman and man, both dressed in all black but with white hats that made them look like upside down exclamation points.

"Hello Jim," the woman said with a smile. "We'd like to talk to you about yesterday, can we come in," she continued as she and the man walked past me, my mouth agape.

The man sat down in the soft white chair in the corner and asked,"Do you ever feel like screaming?"

I couldn't answer. I couldn't even remember how long it had been since I had used my voice. I managed a tentative,"What?"

"Well," the woman began. "We are part of a different order of people who value freedom. Freedom of voice. Freedom of speech, freedom of expression and we want you to join us." Her smile was intoxicating and a ball of excitement started to boil in my belly. The recognition of something lost and important started to flood my mind with thoughts of a world that once was.

I stared at the two exclamation points for what seemed like an eternity, until suddenly, I found myself uttering the phrase, "Tell me more."

30 Days of Fiction: 6

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A black fedora skidded along the concrete street heading the opposite direction of it's owner, who was now stoically walking against the roaring wind heading toward a wooden door attached to a large home in an affluent suburban neighborhood. The lawn was immaculately manicured, the window shades were shut and the wind chimes were clanging uncontrollably. Her long black hair matched the long black trench coat in it's desire to join the hat but their owner held them in place as best she could. She knocked on the door and after a few minutes was greeted by a tall blond woman in her early twenties. She had french tips, perfect makeup, a pearl necklace adorned her clavicle and her long black dress had a deep V cut revealing much.

"Hello," the blond woman said in an airy, uninterested tone. "Who are you?"

"I'm detective Kelly Hirsch," the woman with black hair said with a smile. "I assume you're Karen Stuttles," Kelly said to the uninterested Mrs. Stuttles. 

"Yes," the modelesque blond responded looking back into the home as if Kelly wasn't there. 

"Good, I need to ask you a few questions. Can I come inside?" Kelly asked indicating the wind as a good reason to comply. 

"Sure, whatever," Karen said standing aside. "I'm not doing anything anyway." 

"You're dressed very well for someone not doing anything," Karen said while sitting down on the plush leather couch that sat in the middle of the expansive living room.

"I always look like this," Karen retorted with a wry smile. Kelly noted a bit of disdain in her voice. "What is this all about?"

"I'm investigating the disappearance of Jeremiah Hoffman," Kelly said looking for any recognition on the young woman's face. She didn't find any.

"Oh," Karen said with feigned interest.

"Yes. I understand you were seeing each other." Kelly asked as Karen started pacing around the room.

"Oh. Um. Yes. But how do you know?" Karen said much more interested now than when the detective had first arrived.

"We found your number on his phone under the name Baby K," so I assumed you were lovers. "Don't worry, I'm not here to upset your marriage. I don't really care about that. I just want to know when you saw Jeremiah last."

"Oh. Well thank you for that. We stopped seeing each other about a week ago," Karen said sitting down on the couch now facing Kelly. "He just stopped calling and I didn't think much of it. It wasn't serious so I just let it go."

"Alright. Well, if you hear from him or think of anything that will help us find out what happened please give me a call," said as she stood up and handed Karen a card.

"That's it," Karen asked surprised the conversation was over.

"Yup," Kelly responded and then walked to door.

"Alright, well I hope everything is OK with Jeremiah and thanks for being discreet," Karen said as she walked Kelly to the door. Kelly walked out into the windy world, the door slamming behind her.

Karen watched out the window as Kelly drove by and waited a few minutes before leaving, not knowing that Kelly had parked down the road and was watching as Karen drove away in her "not doing anything" clothes. Kelly followed the blue Jetta a few miles until it stopped at a run down apartment complex. Kelly noted an old, tan VW Bug parked out front and assumed it was a tenant's. She watched as Karen ran up the stairs and at the door she was greeted by a young man who picked her up and took her into the apartment. 

Kelly waited another twenty minutes until the two young lovers exited the apartment and headed down the stairs. He now matched her, in a sharp black suit and shining leather shoes. Following Karen's Jetta again, Kelly found that their end goal was the newly opened night club 'Hell Hole'. As Kelly watched the two enter the club and was about the leave she noticed the same tan VW bug parked across from her. As she drove by she looked inside to see an older man, dressed better than the car deserved, glaring into the club. She took note of the license plate. 

The next morning Kelly walked into the precinct with a coffee in her hand. 

"Where's​ your hat," Johnny asked from behind the front desk. 

"Fucking wind took it," Kelly answered smiling. She walked past the desk and tapped Johnny on the shoulder as she walked by. 

At her desk she began to look through files, discarding papers this way and that until she stopped on a photo. The photo was taken from Facebook and featured Karen and her gray haired new husband, Gary Stuttle. The man's face looked familiar and after a minute Kelly realized it was the man from the VW Bug. She frantically looked for her notes and found the license plate number she had scribbled down. She tracked the registration to the name Garfield Starling but no one by that name existed in any other database. Kelly grabbed her coat and made her way to the door. She had some questions to ask Gary Stuttles. 

Gary worked in the top floor of the tallest building in town, which wasn't saying much at ten floors high, but obviously he was a somebody. Kelly exited the elevator and asked the receptionist if she could speak to Gary but he was in a meeting she would have to wait. After thirty minutes Gary entered from a nearby glass door along with another man. One in Nazy blue and the other in all white. 

Kelly stood. 

"You must be Kelly," the man in the white suit said shaking Kelly's hand. 

"Yes. I was hoping to ask you about a missing VW Bug," she said looking into the man's eyes. 

"Hm. That's​ a weird question," he said with one eyebrow raised. 

"I can see why you would think that but the registration is under the name Garfield Starling. Do you know anyone by that name," she asked looking down at the note with the license plate number on it. 

He was staring down at the note too when he said, "Nope. Doesn't sound familiar. Why?"

"Well, I ask because while that name doesn't exist in any database the money used to buy the car was traced back to a corporate credit card that your company owns," Kelly said looking up to find Gary pacing around the room.

"Yeah? I don't know. I'll have to look into it," Gary said and then he stopped and looked at Kelly concerned. "You said this was about a missing car? Why would you be investigating that?"

"Actually, I think it's important for a missing person's case I'm working," she responded. Kelly put her items against her side and reached out to shake Gary's hand. He took her hand and stared into her eyes looking for recognition. 

"Thanks for talking with me. I'll let you know what I find about that Bug." Gary said squeezing Kelly's hand until it started to turn white. 

"Your hurting my hand Mr. Stuttles," Kelly remarked. 

"Oh shit. Sorry about that," Gary said letting go and shaking his head as if being lifted from a haze. 

Kelly left the building and waited in her car looking through files, making calls and drinking coffee. An hour later she watched as Gary left the building, jumped into a yellow Chevy Charger and drove off. She followed him through the city, over the bridge and down an historic highway road winding through tall green trees.  Miles later he finally stopped at a small farm house where a garage door opened before him. Driving past, Kelly saw the Charger entering the garage and just as the door was sliding closed she saw a glimpse of a tan VW Bug. 

She drove up a ways, turned around and slowly crept back toward the farm house. As the house came into view she saw the tail end of the tan VW Bug heading back toward the city and she had to choose quickly: investigate the house or follow the man. She chose to follow the man and called in to have the house investigated, although, with no warrant it might not provide any additional evidence. She followed Gary much more cautiously as to not be found out but she was practiced at such things so he never noticed as she trailed behind him.

Kelly was less than surprised, driving through recognizable streets, to find that she was back at the apartment where she had seen Karen meet her sexual confidant. She stopped on the curb a good distance away and watched as Gary, now dressed in shabby jeans and a black coat, strolled up the stairs and knocked on the door. When the door opened he disappeared inside and the door slammed. 

A few moments later Gary was holding the now unconscious young man over his shoulder and back down the stairs. 

"We've got a possible 209 in progress," Kelly called over the radio. "Pursuing at distance. I think I know where they are heading." 

She followed long enough to confirm her suspicion and dialed her cell phone. 

"Are you guys still at the farm house I called in earlier," Kelly asked. 

"Yeah, didn't see much so we're going to leave," the voice of a patrol officer responded from the other side. 

"No, I need you to drive up a distance, park and get ready to meet me at the house. I'm following the suspect there and a potential victim. I'll let you know when I'm close," Kelly spoke fast and clearly. She dropped the phone on the seat next to her and continued her pursuit making sure not to let her adrenaline affect the heaviness of her foot. 

Gary arrived at the garage and disappeared behind it's door as Kelly parked in the driveway, partially blocking any retreat by way of car. She was greeted quickly by two uniformed officers. One officer had a shotgun while the detective and the other officer had only pistols. 

"Take the back," Kelly said gesturing to the officer with the shotgun who quickly started moving around back.  Kelly and the other officer started for the door. Trying the handle Kelly found it locked so she used the handle of the pistol to break the small window above the handle, reached in, between the glass shards, and unlocked the door. She opened it quickly and they both entered the dark room pointing their weapons at the hallway, kitchen and back again looking for danger. 

Kelly gestured for the officer to follow her and they both made their way down the dark, dusty hallway until they reached a hanging string attached to an attic door. Looking at the officer knowingly she pulled the string down swiftly stepping aside as it made a loud crash toward the floor. Two gun shots rang out and two holes erupted at Kelly's feet. She shot back knowing it would be no use but then heard a struggle, then glass breaking and finally a blast from the shotgun out back. 

"Stay here and don't get shot," Kelly remarked to the officer, who looked stunned, before running out the back door. She opened the door to find Gary laid out in the tall grass bleeding from the chest. The officer was breathing heavily, calling in the incident on his lapel radio. Kelly and the officer exchanged worried glances and then Kelly turned around and went back through the door to meet the officer at the bottom of the attic stairs.

"What the fuck," the officer said looking at Kelly and then back up at the hole in the ceiling.

"The suspect jumped out the window up there, pulled on Justin and Justin shot him in the chest," she responded. "Let's go see what horror lies up there," she said pointing upward with her pistol.

The officer led the way and as they made their way up the stairs the smell of putrefying flesh made them cringe. Looking around the room they both saw the bodies. One tied up to the rafters hanging by the arms, with flesh from the neck to the chest flayed open and the head slumped down. Another body lay in pieces in two plastic bins, one bin with the body and legs, the other containing the head and arms. Kelly assumed this was the missing Jeremiah Hoffman but there was no way to know just from the carnage. Just as she began to walk forward the man hanging by his arms, skin swaying in the breeze, spat blood onto the floor next to her shoes, lifted his head and screamed.


The next day Kelly got out of her car and headed up the road toward the Stuttle's home. This time she was accompanied by the two officers that had helped her catch the man who had let his jealousy and rage destroy the lives of at least two men. Just before she stepped onto the curb a black fedora came tumbling by and stopped just a few feet away. She walked over, picked up the hat and slowly placed it on her head.