READ THE FIRST CHAPTERS BELOW OR ON MY WEBSITE www.KenMyler.com
Here's a quick synopsis of each book:
The Will To Defy
How does an ordinary man prevent his own murder with a simple one-page document?
You accidentally run over the daughter of a powerful underworld boss. His threats give you cause to believe that your time is close at hand. What would you do? Ben Pearce finds himself in this situation.
How does an average man protect himself from a force such as Victor Dracken? After days of agonizing and planning his own funeral, Ben stumbles upon a simple plan - a one-page document that will hopefully put fear into the heart of Dracken. But, as with most simple plans, his becomes complicated, unleashing a chain of events that one would wish only to find in a nightmare.
Death Is But The Beginning
Although "Death is But the Beginning" is a work of fiction, it is meant to bring to light the suffering and the hidden torture of abused and battered husbands. The fear or the embarrassment of admitting the physical abuse by the opposite sex compels these men to live their entire lives under the control of a domineering spouse.
Danny Dillon is an abused husband who is driven to the brink of madness when he believes his enslaving wife has orchestrated his father's kidnapping. When a futile attempt to forcefully extract information from her goes wrong, he enlists the help of Barry Leonard, a man who communicates with the dead. Together, Danny, Barry, and Schmedly, a dog with a sixth sense, embark on a journey into the Deep South, searching for his missing father. But digging too deep into the afterlife can be dangerous – it could get you killed.
READ THE FIRST CHAPTER BELOW
About Me:
I am an avid boater on the Great South Bay of Long Island NY. I have been an investment advisor for 25 years (sort of phasing that out now -- too much paperwork). Spending a great deal of time promoting the books -- they don’t sell themselves no matter how good they are.
As outgoing as I am with people, I'd rather be surrounded by animals -- put me a in a pile of puppies and its a party.
My favorite place on the planet is Southern Utah. The hiking and biking are spectacular and the views are out of this world. If you ever get there make sure you visit Best Friends Animal Sanctuary.
Heres a link to Amazon where you can read the reviews and purchase "The Will To Defy".
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0977463605/qid=1135395869/s r=8-1/ref=sr_8_xs_ap_i1_xgl14/002-1817039-5824829?n=507846&a mp;s=books&v=glance
Here’s the link to purchase "Death Is But The Beginning" at Amazon.
http://www.amazon.com/Death-But-Beginning-Ken-Myler/dp/09774 63613/ref=sr_1_9/002-3108838-8400828?ie=UTF8&s=books& ;qid=1192132811&sr=8-9
The Will To Defy
Chapter One
The ceremonious banging of the gavel signified the end of trading on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange. Banks of TV monitors broadcast the daily ritual throughout the office of Aston Cleary and Co., an old-line brokerage firm, as brokers and secretaries scurried about finishing up last second executions. A sigh of relief could be heard as another day of hectic trading came to an end.
Freshly installed carpeting lay buried under discarded order tickets and scraps of paper; patches of its green color and its smell were the only evidence that it rested beneath. The now calm office had been just minutes before a battleground of buying and selling. The yelling of frantic brokers was now down to a murmur. Traders who had had a good day talked cheerfully on the phone; the others wandered aimlessly about the office, shell shocked – at least until happy hour.
Brokers who maintained the window offices that surrounded the huge trading floor of partitioned oak desks loosened their ties as they leaned back in their leather chairs. They were the biggest moneymakers, and their windows were there to remind them that if they didn’t produce, they would be out on the floor with the noise and the chaos.
Ben Pearce sat behind his desk on the trading floor logging his trades for the day into his client book. A seasoned broker, the only evidence of the stress being his slightly graying temples that blended into his full head of sun lightened hair. His tanned skin however bore the scars of a sun worshiper. He paused for a moment to look at a picture of his wife and children nearly buried under a mountain of pink and white order tickets.
His partner and best friend Howie Doyle, an immediate commander of respect, towered over the small partition between their desks. He bent his neck hard to the side, cracking the vertebra.
"Married for eleven years and you still can’t wait to get home to her can you?"
"You find it so surprising that I still want to be with my family every minute possible?" Ben replied in his mildly raspy voice. "Some day you’ll know the joy of a family, Howie."
"Not me buddy, variety is the spice. There’s just too many women, and as long as I keep my looks I’m stayin’ single. And you know I didn’t mean nothin by that. I love Claire and the kids," he said, passing Ben a handful of papers. "You gonna be ready to leave in about a half hour?"
"Yeah, I’ll be finished with this soon. Then we can go. Where am I dropping you off, at home or the bar?" Ben asked.
"Just drop me at home. I hate taking taxis from bars at night. You’re picking me up tomorrow morning to get my car, right?"
"Yeah, yeah, no problem. When are you getting a new car, Howie?"
"When I can afford it." They looked at each other and laughed, but Howie turned away, his smile leaving him quickly.
"No seriously, that car is ready for the scrap pile. The thing breaks down every week. It’s time to let go and besides…" Ben had to word his statement without hurting his friend’s feelings. "There comes a time in life when the little red Corvette needs to be exchanged for maybe a Beemer. You’re thirty-seven Howie; come on."
Howie nodded his head in recognition and fell back into his chair. Ben stood up. His slender body and the pin-striping in his suit added a couple of inches to his actual height. He rested his arms on the divider.
"You’re right Ben, I know. But the car keeps me feelin’ young. I guess I’m just tryin’ to hold on to my youth. It’s easy for you. You have a great wife and kids, you got it all – the perfect life."
"You almost sound jealous. I thought you didn’t want to be married with kids. Am I missing something?" Ben asked.
"Nah, forget it. I guess I just know that the car has to go and I’m a little bummed. Let’s get done so we can blast outta here."
Ben finished clearing his desk, never leaving a paper out of place before going home. He checked his messages again to make sure that he had returned all his calls, then glanced over at Howie who was flirting with a secretary.
"Hey, you ready to go?" Ben asked, now realizing that maybe he should have waited a couple of more minutes before interrupting.
"Yeah I’m comin’," Howie said, walking back to his desk and snatching his briefcase. "Thanks a lot pal. I told her I didn’t have a ride. Thought maybe I’d go home with her. Now I’m stuck with you and I doubt whether you’re going to be as much fun as she would have been. Let’s go."
"Sorry buddy," Ben said laughing. "Let me just tell Brenda that we’re leaving." He walked to a back office where the secretaries had their desks and peeked in. "Brenda, Howie and I are taking off."
"Okay, you’re taking Howie home again?" she asked, knowing full well that Howie’s car was in the shop again.
"Like always Brenda. Like always," Ben said, pointing at her blouse. "You’ve got spots on your…"
"I know, I know. Howie squirted me with a water gun."
Ben tried to hold back a smile.
"It’s not funny," she snapped. "I swear, I don’t know how you two are friends. You’re so different. After you met him and realized what a juvenile he was, how did you continue hanging out together?"
"Brenda, I came here from South Dakota when I was thirteen. Howie and I haven’t been apart more than a couple days since then. Wouldn’t have it any other way."
"Guess you were pretty lucky to get away from South Dakota, huh?"
"I thought so, but now I can’t wait to get back," Ben said, nodding while walking away, leaving her with a puzzled look. "See you tomorrow Brenda."
Ben and Howie walked towards the front entrance, first passing through one set of doors into the reception area. "Good night Kelly," Ben said to the girl as he pushed open the glass doors leading into the building’s lobby.
They followed a curved marbled hallway leading to the entrance of the parking garage. The smell of exhaust hung heavily in the air. Ben steered Howie in the direction of his truck, but the sound of crashing trash stopped him and he quickly changed direction. Howie stopped as Ben took a pathway out to the side of the structure.
"Ben, where you goin’?"
"I hear Harry."
"Ah c’mon. How much money you gonna give this guy?"
Ben approached a large green Dumpster and knocked on its side. The noise within stopped and the head of a short and very overweight man popped up. His dirty face and long greasy hair gave hint to his last bath.
"Hi Ben," he said, his face lighting up.
"Hi Harry, how’s the bottle collecting?"
"Not so good."
"Well, here’s a couple bucks to hold you over."
The man looked grateful. He folded the bills and stuffed them into his shirt pocket.
"I’m going to hate to see you go Ben. When are you moving?"
"Soon, Harry. Soon I hope."
"I’m going to come and visit you out there. Always wanted to see the West."
Ben gave a small salute. "You’re always welcome."
They approached Ben’s freshly washed Toyota Land Cruiser. Admired by all that he shared the road with, the truck in Midnight Blue, his favorite color, stood out like a trophy. The tires and mud flaps were shiny black as though they had just come off the showroom floor. Ben stopped to wipe a smudge off the rear bumper. Howie just watched, shaking his head.
Ben pushed the button on the key chain remote, unlocking all the doors. Howie laid his briefcase on the back seat. Ben looked across the truck at Howie.
"On the floor, not on the seat," he said.
Howie made a face and placed the case upright on the floor. Ben removed his jacket and placed it on a hanger, clipping it behind his seat.
Climbing into the truck, Howie took a deep breath, taking in what he could of the new car smell that still lingered. A hint of pine also accented the air, emanating from an air freshener hanging on the radio volume control. The little green pine tree remained partially in its plastic so as not to overpower the occupants.
The spotless black interior of the vehicle shone and the leather seats were soft from countless saddle soap baths. Howie ran his finger along the top of the dashboard expecting to find a few specks of dust to show Ben, but to his amazement there were none. He reached up and tapped a small silver cross that hung from the rearview mirror, making it swing wildly. This and the garage door opener were the only items that Howie could see that weren’t a standard feature of the truck.
"How do you keep this thing so clean?" Howie asked, buckling himself in.
"You know me, I’m Mr. Clean," Ben replied. "I like things neat, I can’t help it."
"Yeah I know, Mr. Perfect… perfect life. You just don’t know how lucky you are."
"Actually I think I do, but thanks for jinxing me," he said, pulling out of the spot.
A line of cars was already ahead of him attempting to exit the lot. They crept slowly toward the exit as they settled in for the long arduous ride home. Half an hour had past, before the Expressway, which was three miles from the office, was finally in view. The three-lane road resembled a large parking lot as traffic moved at a snail’s pace. Ben glanced out his window at the small space between the left lane and the divider. He was both amazed and disgusted at the objects discarded in this narrow lane. Besides old tires and scraps of metal from previous accidents, he saw keys, rags and even the head of a doll. He shook his head and raised his eyes up high to see the large apartment buildings, which towered over both sides of the roadway. This was not where he wanted to be.
"There’s the reason we’re moving so slow," Howie said, pointing to a car that had overheated.
"I better call Claire to let her know I’m on my way and that I’m going to be late."
Howie shook his head. "You really are whipped."
"You’re just jealous that I’m happy," he said, hitting the speed dial. "Hi honey, I’m on my way. Gotta drop Howie off first and then stop at the vet. Jerry next door asked me to stop and grab medicine for the dog."
Howie leaned over and yelled, "hi honey" into the phone.
"She says hi and wants to know when you’re getting a new car," Ben said with a smirk. "Okay, I’ll see you in a bit."
"You’re just lucky that I gave her up, maybe I shoulda kept her for myself," Howie said.
Ben laughed. "You gave her up? She dumped you and did the smart thing by grabbing me."
"I dumped her and that’s the story I’m sticking to," Howie shot back, cracking a smile.
Claire had caught on to Howie’s womanizing traits quickly during a short fling back in college. It was a standard joke of Ben and Howie’s as to what might have been.
The long drive home proceeded as usual with long lines of traffic, the smell of exhaust and cranky drivers pounding their horns, fighting to get home. Ben couldn’t wait to sell his house on Long Island and move out West to South Dakota where his parents still lived. He spent much of his time during the drive home daydreaming about horseback riding and watching his children grow up in a less congested state.
"Hey this is our exit." Howie shouted. "You awake?"
Ben sighed. "Sorry, I was just thinking how nice it’ll be to get out of here."
"Oh that again. You riding a white horse into the sunset," Howie said, sounding annoyed.
"Howie, I know you don’t want us to leave but it has to be. Can’t I change your mind on moving out there?"
"Not my thing. You know that. There’s no women out there."
"Yeah but there’s lots of sheep," Ben said, giving them both a good laugh.
"I’m really gonna to miss you man," Howie said after a few seconds of reflection. "You realize that we haven’t really been far apart for more than a couple of days in the last…what, twenty years?"
"Yeah I thought of that," Ben replied. "Thought of that a lot. Why don’t you come out for a while? You don’t have to live on a farm. Live in the city and we can work together."
"Yeah, like I want to work in that rinky dink office out there. There’s no noise, no yelling. How do you get excited in an atmosphere like that?"
Ben just shrugged his shoulders as they left the Expressway and followed the service road. He turned onto a street known for its junkyards and auto body shops.
"I hate this short cut. More criminals working down here than are in the county jail," Howie remarked.
"Saves a ton of time though."
The area looked desolate, with Dumpsters and rusting cars along the road. As they passed Rockers Junkyard, they slowed.
"How can Connie work with those clowns?" Howie said. "I don’t know how her husband lets her work there. My guess is that the money’s good."
"Wonder how she’s doing?" He thought back to the days when they were an inseparable threesome.
"God, we had some good times back then. Man, you two were like married except without the sex – or did you?" Howie asked.
"No…she just helped me through my aunt and uncle dying. You weren’t much help."
"I wasn’t much help? You came and lived with me for a year."
"I guess I can’t blame you. That was the year that you discovered girls…and they discovered you."
"Ah, good times." Howie said, rolling the window down and spitting.
"You know we have to…" Ben began to say but Howie cut him short.
"Let me guess, we have to give Connie a call and get together. How many times have we said that? Once a week for years."
"That’s about right, it’s once a week that I have to take you home because of that poor excuse of a car."
Howie had no comeback, just a dumb look. They rolled past the junkyard, which had all the typical features – a high barbed wire fence, car bumpers and fenders stacked high on rusting shelves and heavy chains holding two Dobermans behind a double gate. The dogs were considered docile compared to the men who worked inside. All had lengthy prison records, but one stood out as the worst. Luke Stafford was infamous for raping and beating a teenage girl but getting off on a police technicality. He would play a bigger role in Ben’s life than anyone could ever have imagined.
Ben pulled into a small development and wove through the narrow roads until he was in front of Howie’s town house.
"You wanna come in for a minute? You gotta check out my new hot tub," Howie said.
"No, I have to get to the vet and home. The kids start to whine if I’m late. Besides I don’t need to see the place where you deflower all those young woman."
"If I’m lucky I’ll be doing some gardening tonight."
"Good one," Ben said laughing. "I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow; be ready."
"Hi, I’m Ben Pearce. I’m here to pick up medicine for my neighbors’ dog. Their last name is Henderson."
"Okay Mr. Pearce. Let me get the chart and see what we have," the receptionist said.
Ben turned when a sobbing family walked huddled around a golden lab toward the waiting room bench. The young boy and girl, both about eight, sat on the floor cuddling the dog and crying. The parents sat, elbows on knees and heads in hands.
"What’s going on there?" Ben whispered.
"The dog needs an operation and lots of medication afterwards. They can’t afford it, so the dog has to be put down."
"But that dog can’t be more than two years old…doesn’t seem right. Can’t the doctor help them out?"
"Happens a lot. The doctor does what he can, but if he operated for free on every animal where the owners couldn’t afford it, he would be out of business."
Ben stared at the distressed family, remembering the dogs he had when he was a young boy. He remembered the pain of losing his faithful companions as he grew up. As each was buried, his father would hold him tight as they cried together. His father’s words would always stay with him. "Nothing can reduce a rugged man to a blubbering mess like the death of his beloved dog. There ain’t no shame."
Feeling the family’s pain, Ben fought back his own tears as more of his father’s words came to mind. "If you do well in life, always give something back."
"Mr. Pearce, here’s the medication. Mr. Pearce?"
"Oh…yeah, thanks."
He walked over and stood in front of the grieving family. He bent down and patted the dog on the head.
"This is your puppy dog?" he said to the crying girl.
She could only nod. The dog licked Ben’s face while her tail wagged like a propeller.
"What’s her name?"
"Goldie," the father replied without looking up. "But they have to put her down because we can’t… because we can’t…" the man couldn’t go on.
"I’ll pay for it."
The man, still holding his head, froze for an instant, then slowly looked up through tear-filled eyes. His wife stood up.
"What… what did you say?"
"I said I’ll pay for it… the operation and whatever else you need to save the dog."
The man and his wife looked confused. The children, having been taught to be wary of strangers, just stared at him.
"Do we know you?" the woman asked. "I mean we can’t take that kind of money from you… this is a lot of money."
"Please, I really want to do this."
"Daddy, does this mean Goldie doesn’t have to die?" the little boy asked.
The man stood up and reached out his hand, still not knowing whether to believe that another human being could be so kind. "I guess that’s what it means. I don’t really understand why you’re doing this. I don’t know how we can ever repay you."
The dog barked as he ran, chasing the laughing children around the room.
"That’s payment enough right there."
Ben floated on air, crossing the parking lot.
Man, that feels good. Sometimes money can buy happiness.
Ben snaked his way through the winding roads of Great Neck, an affluent neighborhood on the north shore of Long Island. Only glimpses of the large homes could be seen, hidden in the trees of the estates. At one time, Ben had dreamed of living in one of those homes, but attaining the high six-figure income needed wasn’t easy.
His hour and a half commute finally ended when he turned on to his street, which was much more modest than the stately homes he had just driven past. He pulled into the driveway next to Claire’s black BMW and stepped down from his truck.
He surveyed the professionally manicured lawn of the small front yard as he passed through the gate, the black rails of which matched the shutters on the white high ranch house. A white real estate sign hung over the fence, partially over the sidewalk. The words "For Sale" stuck out boldly in red.
Claire waited for him at the front door. Looking much like Ben, she stood tall like a model. Her long hair framed her face and offset her bright blue eyes. Many people mistook them as brother and sister rather than husband and wife.
Coming in the front door, Ben kissed his wife as he stepped into the living room.
"Daddy’s home," she yelled toward the back of the house.
Two small children came running, screaming "Daaadddy." Michael was three and Sarah two. Both were carbon copies of their parents when they were children. Their platinum blonde hair and piercing blue eyes were the envy of everyone who met them. He hugged and kissed them, wishing that he could spend all of his time with them.
"How was your day?" Claire asked, watching Ben walk like Frankenstein, having a child sitting on each foot.
"Had a great day; couple of dollars closer to the million." He yelled from the bedroom while peeling the children off his legs to change his clothes.
"You and your million dollars." She came into the doorway.
"Anything from the real estate?" he asked.
"No, not today. Maybe on the weekend they’ll show it again," she replied with regret.
"I hope so. I really can’t take the stress of New York anymore – took me an hour and a half to get home. Anything exciting happen at your office today?"
"What could happen exciting at a dental office?"
"Daddy, come play outside," Michael said, pulling on Ben’s sweat pants leg.
"Let Daddy eat dinner, then he can play," Claire said.
"Did they eat yet?"
"Yeah, they ate a while ago," Claire answered. "Take your sister into the living room. I’ll put in a tape for you," she said, shooing the youngsters inside.
Claire took the lid off a glass dish and carried it to the table. Ben was already sitting and staring at the small statue of Kokopelli – the mystical flute player that sat atop a shelf. Supposedly the bearer of good luck, it was the centerpiece of the southwestern theme of the kitchen.
She dished out Ben’s favorite food – eggplant Parmesan. He ate quickly, knowing that the children were waiting and that there weren’t many mild evenings left.
"This is great," he said, the words barely discernible through his full mouth of food.
"You a little hungry, honey?" She refilled his soda glass. "Ben, slow down, you’ll choke!"
Almost finished, he stood and carried his plate to the sink, eating the last few bites as he walked.
The children sat on a recliner that was part of an L-shaped couch opposite the kitchen. They could easily see over the wall that separated the two rooms. Ben’s walk to the sink was their cue, and they jumped up.
"Come outside Daddy." Michael led Ben down the stairs and out the back door. Sarah tagged close behind carrying a stuffed bear.
Holly, the neighbor’s dog, sat on the other side of the fence wagging her tail, looking for a playmate. The children ran over and barked at the cuddly white ball of fur. She laid her head down on her front paws while the hind remained standing. Ben stamped his foot, sending the dog running in circles at top speed to the joy of the children. After twenty laps around the yard, the dog was winded. Ben reached over the fence and petted the dog’s head.
"Okay Holly, go get some water. We’ll see you later."
Claire flipped through the TV channels, occasionally glancing at the clock. Her hour of solitude was winding down as the children’s bedtime neared. She went to the back door and watched as Ben pushed Sarah on the swing while Michael played in the sandbox. She smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear.
"Okay, c’mon, let’s go. It’s bath time," she announced.
Michael stamped his feet in a tiny tantrum that ended quickly. Sarah, who was less fearful of the tub, ran right in. Ben had a look of disappointment. Playtime for him was therapy after a long day of stress.
Nearing nine o’clock, the children were in bed. Ben and Claire fell back into the couch, exhausted.
"Oh, by the way your mom called while you were outside. She’s asking about the house and is it sold yet."
Ben dropped the newspaper into his lap and let his head fall back on the headrest.
"You know what? I’ll call her tomorrow. I can’t get into this now. She thinks we can sell the place in a heartbeat and be out there in a week."
Claire just laughed.
"Listen, Claire, I know we’ve been over this a million times, but you’re going to be okay moving out there, right?"
She paused for a moment and thought about what it was like – being able to spend time with her parents before they had passed away. As an only child, she had no close relatives in New York and the thought of having Ben’s family around her was uplifting.
"Well you’re telling me that the kids will do better out there. Can’t say that I believe that though. I mean it’s the sticks."
"I told you that the governor out there has spent a ton of money on the schools. They’re almost all wired to the Internet. It’s not like the one-room schools like in the westerns."
She nodded her head. She wasn’t totally sold but she wasn’t going to be the one to keep Ben from his family and the children from their grandparents.
She crawled across the couch to him and threw his newspaper on the floor. Pinning him back in the recliner, she kissed him, her hair forming a tent around his face.
"I’m going to bed, you coming?" she asked.
He leaned around her and looked at the clock. She turned to see where he was looking.
"I’ll be in in a little while," he said with a guilty look. "I have to go on the computer to do some stuff."
"Some stuff and watch "The Wild, Wild West," right?" She gave him a shove.
"Well…"
"Just go. I’ll wait for you."
Ben stood up and stretched as he headed for the kitchen. He grabbed a handful of cookies and made a quick right out of the kitchen and down the stairs to his office.
The room was small, originally intended as a laundry room. Two doors led out from it – one, a metal fire door leading to the two-car garage; the other to a back playroom that exited to the yard.
He wheeled the chair out from under the desk and sat. With the remote, he switched on a small portable TV up on the shelf.
Ah, just in time.
The music from his favorite western from his childhood had just started. He opened the top drawer and took out a picture of himself riding a horse at age five. "The Wild, Wild West" brought him back to that time. He pictured his children in his place in that picture.
The next morning Ben picked up Howie and dropped him off at the repair shop. "You want me to follow you to the office just in case it doesn’t make it?" Ben said jokingly.
"Very funny." Howie spun around in a circle. "Hey what’s the fastest way to the office from here Ben? I’m used to coming here at night on the way home."
"West about three miles…"
"Wait which way is west again?"
"That way," Ben pointed, shaking his head.
"Hey you were the Eagle Scout, not me," Howie said, walking toward the shop.
Ben had his headset on and was talking to a client when Howie walked into the office. Ben watched to see how long before Howie’s nose twitched. He rounded the corner toward his desk and stopped. Ben laughed, watching Howie spin around in a circle as the first scent of shoe polish hit him.
"She’s over there." Ben pointed to the far back of the office where the Russian shoeshine girl talked to a broker.
"Man, I gotta have her," Howie said, backing into his seat.
"Forget the girl for now and call Charlie Gable. He wants to place a trade on the open. Oh and one of the guys from the other side put that gadget with the wires on your desk."
"Oh good. This is going to drive Brenda nuts. You plug it into the phone and your voice can be changed to sound like anyone – a kid, an old man, even a chick," Howie said.
"Really. Where’d he get it from?"
"They sell ‘em at any electronic store."
Howie draped his jacket over the back of his chair as he inspected his new toy.
"Hey Howie, run over to trading and grab the recommended list."
"Right."
Howie came back, flipping through pages. "You wanna buy some Utopia Motors?" Howie asked. "Our top dog analyst just recommended it and there’s a big commission in it."
"If there’s a big commish in it, you know they’re just pushin’ it so they can get out. I would never buy a stock just for that reason so why ask?"
"Yeah, I forgot, Mr. Perfect."
"Hey by the way buddy, how’s the heap running?"
"Purrin’ like a kitten, at least for today," Howie said while knocking on the wooden desktop.
At day’s end, Ben walked with Howie in the parking garage. Ben had a look of anguish as they approached Howie’s vehicle.
"Okay, let’s see if it starts so I can go home," Ben said.
Howie jumped into the ‘69 Corvette and turned the key. It kicked over immediately. Howie gave Ben a smug look, "See?"
"Yeah, don’t jinx yourself though. Please…I’m beggin’ – get a new car. It’s time."
The drive home started the same as every day, fighting the fumes and frustrated commuters. Ben looked forward to the serene roads of his neighborhood where he could drive more relaxed and not have to worry about being rear-ended.
As he passed the large homes of Great Neck, he wondered: Were the people living there really happy or did they have dreams of being somewhere else as he did? This was a question that he asked himself every day, and as he did every day, he fell into his usual daydream of being out west.
Coming around a sharp bend, his cell phone rang, startling him for a second and quickly jolting him out of his fantasy.
"Hello?"
"Hey, it’s Howie…my car died again. I know, don’t say it. The flatbed’s on the way. Any chance you can come get me?" He asked in a pleading voice.
Ben was now coming around the final part of the bend, paying more attention to the phone conversation than to the road.
"You gotta be kidding me!" he yelled. "I’m almost home."
Just then out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw an orange flash. He jammed the brake pedal to the floor while steering the truck violently to the left. The pedal pulsed under his foot as the antilock brakes kicked in and the airbag blew open in his face. The sound of metal scraping asphalt pierced the air while sparks shot out from under the truck.
Ben was dazed from the impact of the airbag and for a moment didn’t realize what had happened. He kept his head still while he moved his eyes back and forth and blinked, trying to clear the fuzziness. He felt his upper lip and brought his index finger close to his eyes. Blood, obviously from his nose, trickled down his finger.
"What did I hit, oh my God what did I hit?" he screamed.
He struggled to get the seatbelt off as it tangled with the deflated airbag. He scrambled to the front and dropped down on all fours. He was horrified to see a young girl, no more than six or seven, pinned under the truck. The orange bicycle she was riding was mangled and entangled in the vehicle undercarriage. He could see that the girl’s helmet was cracked and blood was trickling onto the pavement. She wasn’t moving. Ben ran around the car frantically screaming for help but the houses were too far for anyone to hear. He began to climb back into the truck with the thought of backing up and off the girl. He decided against it fearing that his weight in the truck may only crush the girl more. He finally composed himself enough to run to the passenger door and find the cell phone, which lay on the floor.
"911, what’s your emergency?" the voice asked.
"I hit a girl on a bike! Please send help. Oh my God, I was on my cell phone and she just jumped out in front of me. I couldn’t stop," he said in a panicked trembling voice.
He gave the approximate location and threw the phone back into the truck. He leaned under the vehicle again to see if the girl was alive. The pool of blood had grown larger and began to mix with the fluorescent green antifreeze that had leaked from a tear in one of the hoses. He slid under the truck to see if freeing the child was possible. He got close enough to shake the girl’s arm and yell for a response but there was none. Looking closer, he could see where the blood was trickling out from the girl’s head – it was an actual crack straight through the skull.
Feeling nauseated, Ben backed away and kneeled by the curb. His stomach crushed in on itself and his body convulsed, but nothing came up. Tears came forcefully from his eyes.
Voices came from the house, which was set way back on a hill. He glanced up through blurry eyes and tried to focus, but his truck was in the way. He crawled a few feet where he could see a man and woman running toward him screaming. "Rachel, Rachel."
They reached the car in hysterics. The man who was obviously the girl’s father crawled underneath still yelling her name while the mother watched in horror. He wiggled his way back out and screamed at Ben to help.
"We’ve got to lift the truck off her," the man said in a heavy British accent.
Ben jumped up. "I don’t think we can lift it by ourselves."
"Not lift it up, just tip it over on its side. We have to try. Go call 911!" he screamed at his wife.
"I already called," Ben said.
Ben reached under the sides of the truck trying to get a grip. Together they attempted to roll the truck onto its side with no success. Sirens could now be heard approaching in the distance.
"What happened?" yelled the girl’s father as he and his wife leaned under the truck.
"I don’t know, I was on the phone. I only looked away for a second. She came out of nowhere." Ben replied.
The girl’s father stood up and got right into Ben’s face.
"You were on the phone? You better hope she’s all right." Ben backed away surprised that this man would take time to threaten him while his daughter lay dying.
The man knelt back down next to his wife who was sobbing uncontrollably and calling the girl’s name. Two police cars screeched to a halt behind Ben’s truck. Fire rescue could be heard in the distance. Four officers swarmed the truck, yelling commands at each other. Within seconds it was decided that the best way to release the girl was the original plan of tipping the vehicle over on its side. In one coordinated effort with Ben and the father helping, the truck was slowly raised onto two wheels until finally gravity took it crashing on its side. The safety glass of the truck exploded on impact and thousands of pieces bounced away from the truck.
The bicycle was still snared in the truck's underside and hung in the air above the girl. Her one leg was still entangled in the metal.
Ben backed away and stood near the curb, trembling and sobbing as he watched the paramedics who had just arrived carefully tend to the lifeless body. Within seconds they had an I.V. in her arm and were placing her limp body on a wooden backboard. One of the officers held the I.V. in the air as they ran her to the waiting ambulance and raised her inside.
Ben glanced over at the girl’s parents who were hugging each other as they watched in horror. The girl’s father looked very familiar but Ben couldn’t quite place him. The mother broke away and jumped into the ambulance where she grabbed the girl’s hand. The father attempted to join his wife but was turned away.
"There’s not enough room; go with one of the officers," one of the paramedics yelled. The rear doors slammed shut and the ambulance sped off with its siren blaring.
By now a woman and a man, apparently employees of the girl’s parents, looked on. The girl’s father ran over to them giving them instructions. Once finished, he shoved the man towards the house.
"Move…now!" he yelled. The man ran with the woman close behind up the hill.
One of the officers motioned to the father to get into one of the police cruisers. The doors slammed and the car sped by. The man leered at Ben, sending a shiver down his spine. He had never seen such sinister eyes.
With all the commotion, Ben hadn’t noticed the crowd of neighbors that had gathered. An older couple approached him and began asking him questions, not noticing his tearful eyes. When Ben didn’t answer, they realized he was the driver of the truck.
"I’m very sorry," the man said, ushering his wife away.
Three police officers stood huddled together discussing details and pointing to the driveway and then to Ben’s truck. A police officer took pictures of the scene while traffic was routed to the far side of the road by orange cones. An officer waved the line of cars to move quickly past the scene but the temptation to stop and look was too much for most of the passing motorists.
Lights from the squad cars still flashed as the first officer approached Ben, who was now sitting on the curb.
"Were you injured at all sir?" the officer asked, opening his pad.
"No, I’m okay. Did the paramedics say if the girl was gonna be okay?" Ben asked.
"I wasn’t near enough to hear," he replied. "Sir, I need to ask you some questions. Let’s start with your name."
"Ben Pearce, P-e-a-r-c-e."
"Have you been drinking this afternoon sir?"
"No of course not!"
"I’m just doing my job here, sir. Please stand up." Ben complied as the officer checked his eyes, smelled his breath and made him walk a straight line. "Any drugs?"
"No!"
"Where were you coming from and where were you going?"
"From work to my house." The officer continued writing for a minute while another joined him, taking the paper with Ben’s name on it.
"I’ll run it through the computer," he said, walking back to his squad car.
"Okay, why don’t you describe what happened."
Ben described the entire accident, leaving out that he had been on the phone.
"One of the other officers mentioned that one of the neighbors said something about you being on your cell phone. Is that true?"
"Yes."
Ben hung his head realizing that someone must have overheard him tell the girl’s father.
"That’ll be all for now, Mr. Pearce. Your truck is being impounded for a safety check. I’ll have an officer take you home." The officer pointed to a car that would take him.
As he walked toward the squad car, he watched his truck being uprighted by a police tow truck. A flatbed waited right behind and began lowering its ramp to haul off his now smashed prize vehicle.
He felt the eyes of all the neighbors upon him as the officer opened the rear door to the squad car.
"How you feeling, Mr. Pearce?" the officer in the passenger seat turned and asked.
"I’ve been better. What hospital are they taking her to?"
"North Shore. Let’s get you home. Maybe you can relax a bit there." The officer hesitated a moment and looked at his partner while addressing a question to Ben.
"By the way, do you know who the girl’s father is?"
"No, but he did look familiar," Ben replied.
The officer gave Ben a concerned look. "That’s Victor Dracken. You know him?"
Ben’s eyes opened wide. "Yeah… yeah I know who he is."
Death Is But The Beginning
Chapter One
Two fingers pushed between the window blinds, separating them barely an inch. Danny Dillon stood in the dark peering out; his stomach churned. He glanced back at the clock, then at Schmedly, who lay quietly on the living room floor. They both knew the time drew near – the time when she came home.
It was almost five o’clock. A car crept toward the house and pulled up the double driveway. Its headlights illuminated a sign between the two garage doors reading "deliveries and customers", underscored by an arrow pointing to the right side of the house.
Danny stepped away from the window. Following the light from downstairs, he walked across the living room and down the first flight to the front door. He reached for the knob but then pulled back and continued down the second stairway to the lower floor of the split-level ranch home.
Once back at his workbench he poked around inside a half-gutted computer. Schmedly, hearing the sound of the car door, let out a low growl. Danny spun his chair around and put his index finger to his mouth.
"Shhh."
Schmedly lay down and put his snout between his paws; his tail swept the floor. Danny smiled – it was hard not to – the small black and white spotted mutt had one ear flopped over in the middle while the other stood up straight.
His smile disappeared quickly as he heard Cheryl fumbling with her keys, finally sliding the right one into the lock.
"Why aren’t there any lights on in this house when I get home?" his wife screamed to him – her mild southern accent now more pronounced as she yelled.
"I was working on something and I forgot," he called back meekly.
"Come up here and help with these packages – right now."
"I’m coming, Cheryl."
He bent down and patted Schmedly on the head. "You stay here." The dog almost had a look of pity for his loving master.
Danny walked up the stairs and straight out the front door to the car. The powder blue Mercedes was a sharp contrast to his aging white van that sat adjacent. He leaned into the open trunk, snaking each arm through three plastic grocery bag handles. He attempted to lift them but the years of physical inactivity had taken its toll on his diminutive frame and the grocery bags wouldn’t budge. He opted for two instead and wrestled them out of the trunk.
He climbed the first two steps but stopped, catching a glimpse of white in the back seat of her car. He glanced into the house then stepped back to the car, squinting, hoping that what he saw was a magazine or newspaper. His fears were confirmed. A plastic covering with "Saks Fifth Avenue" laid on the back seat.
Damn.
He walked back inside and laid the groceries on the counter. Cheryl returned from the bedroom, her long brown hair now out of the conservative bun that she wore for work as a legal secretary. Her designer outfit was now exchanged for a baggy sweatsuit, which only exaggerated her chubby figure.
"Cheryl, I thought we decided to cut down on the expensive clothes," he said without turning to her.
"You decided that, not me." She took a plate from the cabinet.
Schmedly stood wagging his tail at the entrance to the kitchen. Danny pointed down the stairs and waved his finger for the dog to retreat, which he did.
"We can’t afford it," Danny said.
"Then you’ll have to work harder or get your father to give you some money."
She flipped down a small under the counter TV and switched it on.
"Cheryl, you can’t keep spending money this way."
Their eyes met for the first time.
She raised her voice slightly. "Like I said, you’ll just have to work harder."
Danny hung his head as he left the kitchen. He stopped before descending to the workshop and gazed with disgust at the professionally decorated living room. Ultra modern furniture was accompanied by small, strangely shaped statues. Décor such as this was more suited for a wealthy household rather than their middle class status.
He continued down, but as he passed the front door, he froze – his stomach knotted. He had almost forgotten his daily chore – the bringing of the mail. He returned with a handful of envelopes. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
A fluorescent bulb, one of many in a long row of fixtures spanning the lower level, flickered. Four long tables set together end to end were littered with computers in various stages of repair. Against a wall was an unfinished wooden desk covered with papers but in an orderly fashion. A Budweiser logo swept back and forth as a screen saver on the computer monitor atop the desk. Two file cabinets sat adjacent and a cork bulletin board displayed colorful pushpins holding reminders of overdue bills. This was the accounting and customer service department. In the far corner was Danny’s refuge.
Schmedly greeted him with a low "woof". Danny quickly quieted him.
"C'mon over here and open the mail with me."
Danny motioned for the dog to follow him to his makeshift den. A black leather recliner sat in front of a console television – both more than a decade old. He tapped the TV remote, turning on the news. Schmedly jumped into his lap and licked his face.
"Hey you’re kinda heavy for a lap dog. Thank God I have you. I don’t know what I’d do without you."
He sifted through the mail, separating bills from the junk – it was two to one in favor of the bills. He sliced open envelope after envelope from credit card companies and department stores. He stared at them – at forty years old, this was not the financial position he wanted.
"She’s killing us, Schmed."
Danny could hear Cheryl pull a chair out from under the kitchen table upstairs. They were both hungry but dinner would have to wait until she was finished.
"We can eat soon." He pulled the dog close but then nudged him off his lap as the business phone rang.
"Dillon’s Computer Repair," he answered. "Oh, yes; that’ll be delivered to you in the next couple days – we’re almost finished with it… Very good, thank you."
He walked to the table where the repaired computers were boxed and ready to be sent out. He lifted a tag on one and slid it to the beginning of a line.
"He’s a good customer; let’s get this out to him tomorrow."
Schmedly scratched at the back door.
"You want to go out? Okay, c'mon, I’ll take a walk with you," he said, throwing on a jacket. He pushed open the door.
Schmedly immediately ran to the fence and barked. Danny was right on his heels, grabbing him and holding is mouth closed.
"You want to upset the witch?"
A quiet laugh came from the other side of the fence. The yard was dark but Danny could still make out the silhouette of man and a large cylindrical object.
"Kanook?"
"Yeah Danny, I’m just searchin’ the heavens. You wanna come over and take a look through the telescope?"
"Not right now. I’m hungry and so’s the dog. Just waiting for her to finish."
The tall thin figure came to the fence and reached over to pet Schmedly.
"She just got home?"
"Yeah." Leaves swirled around his ankles – the brisk November breeze gave him a chill. His jaw trembled as he tried to talk. "Let me get back in and see if she’s done eating."
"Hey, you never answered me on my wife’s cousin, Barry Leonard. He’s only in Hartford for a month, man. Then he goes back to LA. Maybe our only chance to see him do his thing for a while," Kanook said.
"I’ll think about it – I’m not too keen on the whole idea… but let me think about it. Let you know in the next couple days." He gave a wave. "C'mon Schmed."
He tiptoed to the stairs and listened. The TV was on in the living room, meaning the kitchen was clear. "Let’s go; I’ll feed you," he whispered to the dog, who already knew the routine of sneaking quietly up the stairs.
Danny reached under the counter and took out a can of dog food. Schmedly danced around in circles – something Danny never tired of watching.
"Danny, is it possible for you to feed that dog downstairs from now on?" Cheryl called in from the living room – or as Danny liked to call it – the temple. "I had a white hair in my food tonight."
He didn’t answer, confused that she had asked him to do something instead of demanding it.
"By the way, how was your day?" she asked.
Danny stood up straight and smacked himself on the side of the head to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming. He bent down next to Schmedly who was nose deep in his food. "Somebody stole our Cheryl and replaced her with a robot."
He peeked into the living room. From his angle he could see her profile as she sat in her vibrating massage chair. He watched as she lifted a brandy snifter to her lips and immediately understood the reason for her congeniality. She gulped down the remainder of the liquor.
Danny bent over and whispered into the dog’s ear. "She’s drinking again but I must say she’s much more pleasant to be around. Maybe tomorrow I’ll buy her a case of booze. Hey – maybe if I’m lucky I’ll get to have sex tonight." He stood and laughed loudly.
"Danny, what are you laughing about? Did you hear me before?"
He thought a brief minute of polite conversation would be refreshing even though it was the liquor speaking.
"What did you say? I didn’t hear you."
"I said ‘How was your day?’"
Danny tried to find something interesting to say but there were no new contracts and no new money coming in to appease the queen.
"Nothing much happened today – same as every day."
"Oh," she replied with a yawn, and the conversation was over.
Danny sat at his desk and leaned back in his chair. His black, thick rimmed glasses, which were eons old, were now heavy on the bridge of his nose. He rubbed his eyes and held the glasses up to the light. After a quick clean, he was almost ready. He opened the top desk drawer and took out a comb. He stroked it across his slightly greasy, receding black hair as if he were about to go on a date. He hummed quietly as he moved his mouse over the pad, bringing the computer out of hibernation. He logged on to a chat room.
"Hi guys," he said as he typed in the words.
The words "Hi Danny" popped up twelve times on his screen. He looked to see which of his computer buddies were online. This was the only place where he and others could feel safe talking about their shared torment.
"Where’s Sid?" he typed.
Someone came back with, "I spoke to him on the phone – she smashed his computer."
Danny shook his head. He knew that to these men this chat room was their only form of friendship – a place to console each other.
Danny had allotted a half an hour for his friends. The computers behind him required his attention and soon he was into a broken laptop. By midnight he could no longer focus. He gave Schmedly a nudge. The dog lifted his head with a yawn.
"Bedtime," he whispered.
Schmedly got up shaking himself and almost fell over. Danny got behind him and helped him up the stairs. He tiptoed to the master bedroom door and peeked in. Cheryl snored lightly. He could see her face from the glow of a small night-light. He went into the opposite bedroom where Schmedly was already stretched out on the bed.
"Hey, save some room for me, will you?"
The dog thumped his tail as Danny lifted the covers and slid in.
"Goodnight pal."
By six the next morning, Danny was back in the workshop. Cheryl would be extra ornery after her drinking the night before and he didn’t want to cross paths.
They could hear her walking in the kitchen and sat quietly awaiting her departure. She hadn’t said a word and he had hoped it would stay that way but luck wasn’t on his side.
"Danny…Danny, where are you," she yelled.
"Down here."
"I forgot to mention last night that we’re going to dinner with some people from my office on Friday. We’re going to that new restaurant, Shine."
He didn’t say a word. He knew that it was a pricey restaurant but rather than start an argument, he sat quietly. The front door slammed – they were free for nine hours.
Schmedly stood at the back door.
"You want out? You want to wait for him?"
Danny let him out to wait for his assistant, Tommy. Within ten minutes, Danny heard talking outside and Schmedly barking. He held open the door – the excited dog came running in search of a ball.
"Hey Tommy."
"Hi Danny," he replied, bending down to pull the ball out of Schmedly’s mouth. He gave it a soft roll under the table. The dog went scampering after it.
Tommy stood tall and was of Pakistani descent but spoke perfect English. He had only been working with Danny for a month but he was already an indispensable assistant. He knew his way around the inside of a computer and had one important attribute – Schmedly liked him. That was Danny’s sure-fire way of telling if a person was genuine.
"No time for play now Schmed. We have lots of work to do," Danny said.
"Okay Tommy, this is what I need you to do." He handed