This is the opening chapter of my new undercover cop novel. The body of an undercover cop is discovered.
Chapter 1
It was a city located on the extreme southern tip of Southwest Alabama. The population was somewhere between fifteen and twenty thousand. Besides farming, the major industry consisted of a few textile and paper mills. The year was 1984; the time Orwell predicted a major social upheaval. It was not quite that drastic, but a new breeze was blowing through the town.
It was past sundown and natural light was slowly fading away. In the wooded area the trees made it seem a bit darker. The fairly secluded area was uneven in its density because some trees had been cut for paper wood.
The battered Chevy had navigated the very bumpy dirt road and then turned off several feet onto a road that now led to nowhere.
Two people occupied the back seat of the Chevy. A shapely young woman’s face was distorted as she moaned and cooed. Her only clothing was a pair of tight-fitting shorts. The pimply-faced young man next to her stroked her full breasts.
“Oh honey, let’s do it now,” she purred.
The woman searched out the zipper of her lover’s pants. In no time at all she had released his huge erection. Standing, she undid her shorts and wiggled out of them.
“How do you like my goodies?” she asked with a smirk.
“You know I love it darling.”
“You better say that.”
Grinning slightly, the woman flopped down and made a perfect connection. At twenty-two, she was five years older than her boy friend. She was allowed to control their love making any time she felt the need to. On top, staring out the rear window of the car at the rows of pines, she thrust her body up and down quickly, enjoyed the sensation of her breasts being fondled, slowed the pace, and then picked it up on route to a satisfying orgasm.
The woman eased back and leaned against the dividing seat. “Hey, want your cock sucked?”
“Sure do now,” mumbled the young man.
“Well you won’t get it.”
Gleefully, the woman pulled up her pants and scooted out the car, bare breasts and all.
“What are you doing, girl?”
“Come and get me. Get me before I yell stop, and I’ll suck you til it falls off.”
The woman crossed the road and skipped several feet into the woods and ducked behind a tree. In the car the man sighed and fastened his pants. He left the car and headed in the direction the woman has taken. As he neared the tree the woman darted away and began trotting through the spaced out trees.
“Come and get me. Come and get me,” she called out.
She skipped about and cut loose running at about mid-speed.
Reluctantly, the man trailed after her.
The young woman was so into the power she held over her lover she didn’t pay any attention to where she was running other than avoiding the trees. When he came after her faster she became careless. She didn’t notice the muddy, marshy land she treaded upon. Before she realized it she had sank into the mud and it was almost up to her bare knees.
“Oh. Damn! How did I git in here?” she exclaimed.
The man arrived on the scene and laughed at what he saw. “Hey, what are you doing in all that mud?”
“Come help me outta here.”
“Hell naw. I ain’t gitting down in that mud. Git out the best way you can.”
Angry, the woman attempted to pull herself out of the mud, but found that he leg was caught.
“Shit, you can’t fool me with that one.”
“I ain’t playing now. I really can’t git the hell outta here.”
“Aw hell.”
The young man came out of his shoes and rolled his pants legs up as high as he could get them. Timidly, he sank down into the muddy earth and hauled himself over to his lover. He grabbed hold of her right arm and tried to yank her toward him.
“That crap ain’t gonna work. My goddamn foot is caught.”
“Well why didn’t you say so?”
The young man dug his hands down into the earth near the woman’s left foot. He touched something that felt like cloth. It seemed to be partially twisted around the woman’s ankle. He did his best to untwist it.
“Now pull your foot.”
The woman’s foot came free and she was able to raise it off the ground. The man kept feeling the object the foot had been hung up by. He fumbled around and then jerked his muddied hand upward. In his palm he held an earth-coated suit coat button. He slid his hand over a bit further.
“Oh shit, this can’t be what I think it is.”
“What?”
Not answering, the man moved a foot or so to the left. He planted both hands into the earth again until he felt something solid. He yanked as hard as it took. A pale white hand was attached to a blue suit coat.
When the woman eyed it she freaked and fled the muddy area as quickly as she could. On solid ground she flopped to a sitting position and covered her eyes with a pair of muddy hands.
It didn’t take long for the secluded area to become engulfed in a flurry of activity. After the discovery the young couple hurried back to their car. First they used the remainder of their ice water to clean themselves. They made it to a nearby house and reported their discovery to the police.
The first authorities on the scene were a pair of uniformed patrolmen. The couple guided them to the location of the body. They sized up the situation and radioed in for the necessary help.
The road that had once led to a mini-lover’s lane now led to the scene of a tragic loss of life.
The headlights belonging to a green Ford lit up the bumpy road. The Ford parked behind marked and unmarked police vehicles and a police ambulance. A uniformed officer carrying a heavy duty flashlight was standing at the turn off to the road leading to nowhere. He called out to the officer in the ambulance.
A pair of plain clothes officers left the Ford. The eldest was of average height and a bit stocky. Although he was only in his mid-fifties, his hair had gone completely white. His forehead was wrinkled and he had bags under his eyes. Yet there was still fire in his dark, narrow eyes. His name was Henry Clayton. He was the chief of police.
The uniformed cops, the detective, and Chief Clayton came together in the same spot.
“Chief,” the officer with the flashlight said. “Uh, it’s out this way.”
“Well. Let’s get to it.”
The officer with the flashlight led the way, shining the beam on the ground. No one spoke during the short journey. Marching toward death sometimes made a person lose their desire for conversation.
At the scene of the discovery the body had been pulled from its muddy grave. A canvas sheet now covered it. On the scene were the two original uniformed officers, a medical examiner, and a detective.
The city’s police department didn’t have a specific Vice division. It just assigned members of the Special Investigations unit to the task of battling an ever-growing drug problem. One member of the unit was David James, a tall slender, pinch-faced man in his thirties.
When James saw the group approaching he moved out to meet them. “Chief, uh, we just lost a damned good man.”
“Then you’re sure it’s Bobby.”
“Yeah. It’s a damn shame. A damn shame.”
The medical examiner joined them. “Hey Henry.”
“Jack. What can you tell me?”
“Not much. He’s probably been dead two or three days. It looks like he might’ve been shot in the back of the head a couple times.”
James said: “I heard from him three days ago. He said the set up was going smoothly.”
The chief lowered his head. “An execution. It was that bastard Killerbrew. I know it. I’m gonna burn his ass sooner or later.”
Alone in the car, Chief Clayton drove slowly toward a residential section on the edge of the city. He parked in front of a one story house covered with light green aluminum siding. He left the car, approached the house, and rang the doorbell.
In a few seconds, Janice Carlton, the woman Bobby Wallace had lived with, answered the door. She was a plumpish woman with innocent, little girl type features. She wore a robe over her pajamas.
“Chief. I wondered who it was at this hour. Is there-”
“May I come in?”
Janice stepped back and allowed Chief Clayton to step into the living room. “This has to do with Bobby, doesn’t it? Did something happen to him? Has he been injured?”
“Uh. We just found his body a little while ago.”
It appeared as though Janice was going to take the news in stride. But then she moved in the direction of an end table and slapped all the articles to the floor.
“Damn him! Damn him!” She wiped the tears from her eyes. “I told him to stop playing around with them damned criminals. But he wouldn’t do it, though. He loved it. You tell me why. Can you?”
The chief felt like his heart was going to burst from his chest.
Muriel Clayton, Chief Clayton’s wife of almost thirty years, moved to answer the ringing doorbell. She was the type of attractive woman that aged gracefully.
From the moment she opened the door and saw her husband’s expression she knew things hadn’t gone well. She had over twenty years of experience at being a cop’s wife. Most of that time was spent in New York where Henry Clayton had worked his way up from patrolman to Captain in various divisions. There had been talk of him advancing higher in the department, but he had hated inter-departmental politics, and avoided it as much as possible.
When Chief Clayton retired after twenty years on the force he took a job at a security firm. He quickly realized it wasn’t work that suited him. After a year of doing little or nothing he received an offer from a first cousin who had been elected mayor of an Alabama town. He took the job as police chief mainly because it would get him back in law enforcement at what he perceived would be a slower pace than what he had been accustomed to in New York. In the first year or so his perception had been correct. But in recent months the problem of drug abuse and related crimes began to soar at an alarming rate. He had attempted to combat the problem with more funds and better training of officers. There was some success but not enough to quell the problem. And now within the space of four months one undercover officer had been seriously injured, and later resigned from the force, and another had been murdered.
The chief had crossed the room and taken a seat in his all time favorite overstuffed easy chair. He sipped from the scotch and water he held in his hand.
Chief Clayton had come to the conclusion that the city’s problem with drugs had reached the critical stage. If something wasn’t done soon he felt things could completely spiral out of control that way it had happened in the large urban areas throughout the country. Still, foremost in his mind was a man called Killerbrew. He knew Killerbrew was the man behind the injury of one undercover cop and the death of another. He knew he didn’t have enough evidence to charge him with either crime. Yet he was determined to nail him and his people for anything he could. He knew what was needed was strong, decisive action. The only stumbling block was choosing the course of action that was the absolute best.
Action-packed adventure that will keep you turning the pages.
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