This is first chapter of Johnnie Mitchell's detective-literary novel Lost in America.
It is an Amazon Kindle ebook that is a part of Kindle Unlimited.
Chapter 1
The steel gray Mercedes tooled down the winding streets of a small suburban town located Northwest of Chicago. The car made a right turn to a straight away main road. It turned left onto yet another winding road.
Inside the car, at the wheel, was Lovelace Miller. He was a little over six feet tall and solidly built. His hair was cut down close to his skull. He had narrow dark brown eyes, a straight classic looking nose, and thin lips. He was dressed in a dark brown short sleeved silk shirt, and gold slacks.
In the front seat with Miller was his date for the evening, Lucy Chung. She was a shapely Chinese woman with long black hair and cute-sexy features. She was wearing a very short tight fitting black dress.
Miller swung the car into a right turn that took them to the black iron seven foot high front gate to his house. A switch on the dashboard opened the gate by remote control. The car glided along the walk leading to the house.
Miller’s home was a sprawling split level ranch style house made of tan and brown stone. There were two long single pane picture windows on either side of the front door.
Miller and Lucy exited the car and headed toward the house.
The spacious front room of Miller’s house was decorated in browns and tans. There was a dark brown wall to wall carpet, a tan sofa with two matching easy chairs positioned opposite each other flanked by the sofa. In one corner there was a fully equipped mini-bar. In another a CD player with stereo speakers. A fifty inch widescreen plasma TV sat along the wall across from the sofa.
Lucy entered the room first followed by Miller, who locked the door behind him. Lucy spun about and said:
“That was a fun night. Especially the dancing.”
“At least it was fun for you.”
“Aw, you’re getting better.”
“Not that much better.”
“You seemed to have fun grabbing my ass while we were slow dancing.”
“But you were the one that lifted you dress and flashed your ass.”
“Yeah. For two seconds.”
“Do you want a drink or something?”
“No. I want to get laid. And if you do, you better hurry up.”
Lucky skipped from the room and darted into the dining room, veering left to the hallway that led to the bedrooms, den, and game room.
Miller followed her. When he got to the bedroom Lucy was in the middle of the double king sized bed on her knees.
“Are you ready to come and get it?” she asked seductively.
“You know I am.”
Miller joined her in bed on his knees. He peppered her with kisses to her cheeks, and then planted a long heavy one on her lips.
“I feel like getting freaky right now,” Lucy purred.
She unzipped Miller’s pants and freed hid rod. She quickly stroked him to a full erection and said:
“Hit my booty right now.”
Lucy slid her dress up, and bent over doggy style. Miller parted her butt cheeks and rammed it home. He began thrusting slowly, and then picked up the pace.
“Oh baby. Baby, baby,” Lucy moaned. “I love this. I just love getting freaky.”
The following morning Miller came awake and immediately reached out to touch Lucy, but she wasn’t there. He glanced at the clock on the dresser and saw that it was a little past seven. He knew Lucy had left early because she had errands to run, or she was in the kitchen preparing breakfast.
Miller thought about getting up himself, but he wasn’t able to budge from his position of lying on his back.
Sometimes, early in the morning, he would glance about at his surrounding; the expensive furnishing, closet full of clothes, the photos of dignitaries and celebrities he had crossed paths with, and wonder how he had gotten this far. Especially considering the way he grew under what he had seen at the time as unique handicaps.
Miller was the product of an interracial marriage. His father was a black man. And his mother was a white woman of German heritage. They had met and married while his father had been stationed in Germany serving in the military.
The Millers had migrated to the States by the time Lovelace was born. Ronald and Claudia Miller settled into the black neighborhood of South Shore in Chicago in 1965. Ronald had the increasingly difficult job of being an Army recruiter at a time when the Viet Nam war was raging and sentiments against the war were growing by leaps and bounds.
Little Lovelace Miller had a tough go of it in his early years of growing up. He was a biracial boy with blonde hair that looked more white than black at a time when the black is beautiful movement was in vogue. Finding a place where he would fit in perfectly seemed extremely difficult for him. Added to the mix was the typical childhood name calling. “White boy” and “oreo man” were the favorites tossed at him. Miller ignored the insults at times. But on other occasions it resulted in one on one fights, which he won a good percentage of the time. And three or four on one attacks that he always lost.
A particular image popped into Miller’s mind. It came from a time he was thirteen years-old, and illustrated the conflict he sometimes had with his racial identity. The image was of a classmate in junior high. The student’s name was Rich Carson. Rich was a dopey looking white kid with a big head of curly dark brown hair. The most notable thing about Carson was his large for his age frame. At twelve, he was almost six feet tall and well over two hundred pounds. He was like the big kid that played little league baseball and was so much bigger and stronger that anybody else that he could hit the ball with one hand and it would all the way out of the park. But Rich Carson didn’t exactly have an athlete’s build. His body was shaped like a pear and he had a beer belly. Carson never took part in organized sports. His business card would read, Rich Carson, local bully.
The location of Miller’s memory was the first floor hallway at school. He was at the end of the line of a group of students waiting to order their school photographs. Miller heard the plodding sound of Carson’s walk and sort of sensed it was him. He turned his head and saw Carson and a couple of his running buddies come around a corner. Miller whipped his head back around and hoped Carson hadn’t noticed him. That was before he heard Carson speak.
“Hey, hey, hey. It’s my oreo zebra boy. How you doing, honey? You about to get that picture taken. Promise you’ll give me one. Okay honey.”
Carson bounced over to Miller and gave him a swat on the ass.
“You liked that, didn’t you girl?”
“No,” Miller declared meekly. “I ain’t no girl.”
“Oh but you are. You’re my girl. Now ain’t you?”
This time Carson placed his hand on Miller’s butt and left it there.
“You like that. I know you do.”
Miller mustered up enough courage to brush Carson’s hand away.
“Rich, leave me alone. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
“Because I know you really like it, baby. I love messing with you. Cause we buddies. Ain’t we buddies baby?”
Miller was of average size for a thirteen year-old. He was a little on the skinny side. But Carson towered over him and outweighed him by a good sixty or seventy pounds. At that point Miller didn’t care. All the previous incidents with Carson raced through his mind. The times outside of school when he would come up behind him and kick him square in the ass hard enough to knock him off his feet, causing his books and folders to go flying. Then there were the days he didn’t eat a full lunch because Carson would bum rush him and demand all the money he had. Smaller slights would be Carson walking next to him in the school hall for several feet and finally slapping him hard to the back of the head. He would be carrying his tray of food across the cafeteria, and out of nowhere would flash Carson. Before Miller realized what was happening his juice would be splashed all over his once hot meal.
Miller had reached his breaking point. In a flurry of activity he rushed over and stomped Carson’s left foot hard with his right. Miller followed the move with a swift kick to Carson’s groin, causing him to double over in pain.
For a few moments time seemed to halt. Miller had shocked himself by his own actions. Carson had a non-believing expression on his face. The student onlookers had their mouths opened and their eyes popped.`
“Awwwwww,” Carson groaned. “You’re a dead nigger! You’re a dead nigger”
Carson launched himself at Miller. But the pain he was experiencing caused his aim to be off, and his movements to slow. Miller easily skipped out of the way. Carson kept going and crashed his shoulder into the wall.
“Oh. It’s on now,” a female student said.
Her comment was quickly followed by a husky woman’s voice.
“What in hell is going on here?”
The voice belonged to Mrs. Berry, a tall thin middle-aged black teacher. Carson was the first to speak as he hoisted himself to his feet. He pointed at Miller.
“He kicked me in the nuts. I mean the pen-I mean the groin. For no reason.”
“Did you kick him?” Mrs. Berry asked.
“Yes I did.”
“Might I ask why?”
“Because he been messing with me all the time. He always messes with me. Saying something racial. Saying something nasty.”
“Were you harassing this boy, Rich?”
“No ma’m. Not at all. Not at all. If anything I just kidding around.”
Mrs. Berry fed Carson a skeptical look.
“I know your reputation. Although you try to hide it in these halls. Both of you are wrong. Come along. We’re going to Mrs. Pena’s office.”
Miller seemed resigned to his fate. He began moving in the direction of the school’s administration office.
“Rich Carson. Come on now.”
Carson gingerly followed Miller and Mrs. Berry.
A boy in the crown whispered: “Somebody is gonna get an ass whipping.”
“Ruffian, ruffians, ruffians,” Mrs. Berry said with disgust. “I hate it when you young men behave in such a manner. There’s no call for it.”
Mrs. Berry marched Miller and Carson down the hall to the principal’s office. They all stepped into Principal Pena’s outer office.
The outer office was small and somewhat cluttered. It was dominated by a wooden desk. Mrs. Burke, a prune-faced woman in her fifties, was working at the desk as Mrs. Pena’s secretary.
“Hello there. What have we here?” Mrs. Burke asked.
“These two young men chose to behave like ruffians. Fighting in school is a bad thing. Very bad.”
“It certainly is.”
“Is Mrs. Pena back from lunch?”
“No. She’s not. As a matter of fact, she had car trouble. She won’t be back for over a hour or more.”
“Oh no. I know she’d want to handle the punishment for these two. Is Mr. Dunn here?”
“No. He’s out sick.”
“Gosh. Well. I suppose I’ll have to let Coach Davis handle it.” Mrs. Berry looked in the direction of Miller and Carson. “Come on you two. We’re going to see the coach.”
In the hall, Miller, Carson, and Mrs. Berry headed back in the direction from which they came.
“I’m sure Coach Davis will know how to handle your punishment,” Mrs. Berry said.
“Oh shit,” Carson muddled under his breathe.
“What did you say, young man?”
“Uh. Oh yes. I said oh yes.”
Miller also wasn’t too happy about having to face Coach Davis. He had seen first hand how he dished out punishment with a thick wooden paddle he called Big Bertha.
The group came back by the school photographs line.
“Did they get their butts beat that fast?” one boy in line asked.
Miller, Carson, and Mrs. Berry has to walk around a corner and move to the end of a building section. At the end of the hall, straight ahead, was the door to the school gym. Off to the left was the door to Coach Davis’ office. Mrs. Berry rapped on the office door.
“Coach Davis. May I come in?”
“Yeah.”
Mrs. Berry opened the office door.
“Come along, gentlemen.”
Mrs. Berry opened the door and let Miller and Carson walk in ahead of her.
The office was a dingy cubby hole highlighted mostly by a case that contained the various trophies Coach Davis had collected during his athletic career. There were three photographs of a stocky and built Coach Davis in the uniforms of the pro football teams he had been in training camp with after his very good college football career. He had been on the camp roster of the Chicago Bears, New York Jets, and the Detroit Lions. The best he ever did a six week stint on a taxi squad.
Coach Davis was seated at the desk that took up a good portion of the office space. He was doing paper work.
Coach Davis had packed on forty pounds since his playing days. No one would ever accuse him of being good looking. He had a very dark complexion dotted with razor bumps. His nose was too wide for his face and his lips were too narrow and thin.
“What’s the deal with these two?” the coach asked.
“They were fighting. Fighting in the hall.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. It’s gonna be even badder for them in a few seconds, I suspect.”
“Do you need me to help you with anything?”
“No. I believe I can handle these two gangsters.”
“All right.”
Mrs. Berry turned and exited the office.
Coach Davis left Miller and Carson standing in silence as he shuffled papers around for several seconds. Finally he pointed in Miller’s direction.
“What’s your story?”
“Oh. Ier. I was in line about my school picture. And Rich. He came over and started calling me names. And then he. And then he. He started grabbing. Grabbing my uh, behind. I got mad. Cause uh. He had bothered me before. Called me names before. And took my lunch money and stuff. So I. I got mad and kicked him.”
“He kicked me in the balls,” Carson offered. “I mean in the penis. And the. And the.”
“The balls,” Coach Davis added flatly. “Did you kick him in the balls?”
“Uh. Yes sir.”
“What did you do after he kicked you?”
“Nothing sir. I was just in pain.”
“He called me nigger. Twice.”
“Son. Did you call him nigger?”
“No uh. No sir.”
“Are you lying to me, son?” the coach asked. “If you're lying you'll be in even bigger trouble. Believe me. You don't want that.”
Carson normally didn't show fear or trepidation. But you could see the wheels turning in his mind.
“Maybe. Maybe I did. But it slipped out. You know.”
“Oh, it slipped out. That makes it so much better.”
Coach Davis became very quiet, as if he was suddenly dealing with some other matter in his mind. Finally he rose to his feet, moved over and stood in front of Miller and Carson.
“You want to know something. I could care two damns about the little conflict you have going on between you. But what I do care about the natural flow at this school. You know, I'm a teacher. And you two are the students. You're suppose to behave. And we're suppose to make sure you behave. Hell, I don't even know if I can make you two behave. But I know Big Bertha can.”
The coach walked back around to his desk and pulled out a bottom drawer. From it he took a custom made twenty inch, one quarter inch thick wooden paddle with a handle. Painted across the paddle in red were the words Big Bertha. The coach slid side ways and pointed at the wall opposite his desk.
“Carson. You get to go first. Put your hands on the wall, stretch your arms, and stick your butt out.”
Carson obeyed the order.
Coach Davis whacked Carson hard across the ass four times with the paddle, increasing the velocity of the blow with each stroke. After the first blow Carson didn't react at all. The second stroke made him grunt. On the third blow he let out a prolonged “owwwwwwww.” Carson went silent again on the fourth and final blow. He rubbed his ass immediately afterwards.
“Carson. Have you learned a lesson?”
“Yes sir. Yes sir.”
“Miller. Your turn.”
With trepidation Miller replaced Carson at the wall. He started to place his hands on the wall.
“Did I tell you to do that?” Coach Davis asked.
“No sir.”
“Take your pants down first.”
“Huh. He didn't have to.”
“That's correct.” The coach moved over and invaded Miller's space. “Do you have mirrors in your house, boy?”
“Yes sir.”
“I know you must look into them. You don't much look it. But you are a Negro. You know that, don't you?”
“Yes sir. But-”
“But nothing. The Negro man catches hell in this country. You're not treated the same. You have to get tough and fight through the pain. I'm about to give you some pain to fight through. Now pull down your pants, or you get double licks.”
Miller unbuckled his belt and let his pants fall to the floor. He was wearing white boxers.
“The boxer's too.”
“Please. Please don't m-”
“Get 'em down! Get 'em down right now!”
Miller was scared into lowering his shorts. A wave of embarrassment swept over him. His back was to Carson, but he knew the clown would be standing there with a superior smirk on his face.
“Hands on the wall. Stick your bare ass out.”
When the first blow from Coach Davis landed on his butt Miller felt the tingle more than the pain. It was the same with the second. But the third blow was the kicker. It sent shards of pain from his butt to his toes. Miller couldn't even cry out in pain. It was as if he was momentarily paralyzed. In his mind Miller prayed to God that Coach Davis would have mercy and spare him from the fourth stroke. But before he could complete the though the fourth blow sent him over the edge. Miller grabbed hold of his butt cheeks and bounced up and down in the air as if he was using a pogo stick.
Miller turned about and looked Carson straight in the eye. The smirk was on his face. He followed it up with a broad smile.
“Quit hopping around like a Mexican jumping bean!” Coach Davis shouted. “If you don't stop I'm giving you four more. And pull your pants up and get outta here. You too Carson. If you come back here again I'm gonna beat your ass until you start crying like a new born baby.”
Miller left the office behind Carson. As he walked down the hall his butt felt like it was being stung by a thousand bees. Miller came around the corner and was shocked to see Carson standing there.
“ Don't worry my bouncing nigger. I'm not gonna kick your ass after school. I'm doing something better. I'm telling everybody how you jumped around like a jack rabbit with your dick hard, cause you a little fag boy that likes being spanked.”
g I didn't do that. I didn't.”
g But who will believe me? A lot of people.”
Carson cackled with laughter.
Thinking back, Miller recalled that Carson followed through on his gay erection story. The result was Miller being propositioned by three gay classmates. Two were obvious and well known for being gay. The third had a reputation for being macho and tough and would have surprised a lot of people.
Before the spanking incident, Miller had taken a lot of ribbing for having an extra long flaccid penis. A racist almost as bad as Carson asked him if his penis was striped like a zebra. Shy about showering in gym class, Miller twice paid a student to mimic his mother's handwriting. The notes he wrote asked him to be excused from gym class due to an ear infection.
A positive by product of Carson spreading false information was that girls that wanted nothing at all to do with him now spoke to him and smiled. Most would be classified as loose and crazy. It was easy to tell they were curious about the tales of how large his erect penis might be.
Nothing came of the contacts with females until a day when a girl named Penny Hill walked over to him when he was seated at a table in the school cafeteria. She sat down next to him without saying anything. She leaned over and cupped her left hand over his ear.
“ I want to suck your dick,”Penny whispered.“Meet me at the flag pole after school.”
Penny was a petite white girl under five feet tall. She had dark red hair that she almost always wore in pig tails. Her face was dotted with freckles, mostly around the edges of her nose. She had breasts that were extra large for a girl her height.
She was up and gone in a flash. At first Miller sat there and wondered if the whole think had been a dream. He knew Penny was a girl that would do things sexually if the price was right. Sometimes it would be for cash, or a meal at her favorite fast food place, or even help with a class project she was having trouble with.
It popped into Miller's head that the whole thing was a prank. That if he went to the flag pole he would find somebody like Carson and his cronies there to mock and belittle him once again.
Miller thought about slipping out the back door when school let out to just avoid the possibility of being scammed. But Penny had intrigued him enough to let the scenario play out. When he left the front door of the U shaped two story school building he looked in the direction of the flag pole that rested on the lawn section near the edge of the campus grounds. And sure enough, Penny was standing near the flag pole carrying just a purse and no books. Miller walked over to her.
“Hey there. Are you ready to, you know?”
“Yeah,” Penny said with a smile. “I have a place we can go. Come on. Follow me.”
Penny led Miller directly across the street and them made a right turn. They wanted down two blocks in silence.
“I'm so glad you picked me,” Penny said. “Other girls want to like you. But now you have me.”
They reached a block in the Hyde Park neighborhood that was not as pristine as the rest of the middle class area. The homes were older, and a couple of them were abandoned and boarded up.
“ We're almost there,” Penny said.
At a corner, Penny angled across the street and Miller followed. They reached the first boarded home on the block. Penny led Miller around to the medium-sized back yard. There was a green wooden one car garage at the edge of the yard.
“ We can go in here. It'll be cool,” Penny said.
At the garage door there was a T shaped slab of metal in the spot where a padlock would normally be located. Penny removed the slab of metal and pushed open the garage door. The dark and dank smelling garage was empty except for an old car tire and a wooden basket. Six feet down from the door, along a wall, there was a pair of cushions from a sofa and a patch work quilt spread out in front of the cushions.
“ Let's go baby.”
Penny took hold of Miller's arm and nudged him to the cushions. Miller stepped on one, Penny the other.
“ I'm going to take care of you real good,” Penny promised.
She fell to her knees and unzipped Miller's pants. She reached in, pulled out his rod, and started to stroke it to an erection.
“ Is this your first blow job?” asked Penny.
All Miller could do was nod his head yes. He was already caught up in the throws of a brand new experience. By the time he was completely hard, and Penny was licking the tip of his dick, he was completely locked up into the pleasures of oral sex.
“ Do you like it so far?”
Miller nodded his head again.
Penny gripped Miller's penis with her left hand and swallowed him down about halfway. She began to bob her head forward and backward. Miller shot his wad in about thirty seconds.
Penny leaned back and wiped her mouth. “That was so good. And you dick is beautiful. I'm going to tell all my friends about you. Youfre going to get a lotta pussy. You can do it with me all you want. Just buy my some good fast food stuff. Ow wow. We have to do it one more time.h
Early in his life it seemed as though Miller was always facing situations that involved his biracial background. For every incident like being bullied by Carson that led to the fight followed by the punishment from Coach Davis, there was something like the interest in him by girls based on Carson spreading rumors. But at thirteen, to Miller, the negatives always outweighed anything positive, and it made him wonder if he would ever find a place in the world where he would fit in easily.
Miller’s violent confrontations might have escalated into something worst as he got older, but a twist of fate ended the possibility. His father changed careers and went to work for a big time car dealership. A promotion within the organization required a move to San Francisco, a city known for being more tolerant than most. As a teenager Miller’s road to fitting in turned out to be through organized sports. He became especially adept at high school basketball. Not enough to be a highly sought after recruit, but he did get some attention from division two and three schools. But to his father’s delight, and his mother’s chagrin, Miller decided to volunteer for the military. Not because he had a burning desire to serve, but more because he had older friends that had burst into college after high school with lofty hopes, only to flunk out early and never return. He figured he would go to the army and mature, and then find his way into college.
Being stationed in Europe freed Miller from the racial taint that colored almost every aspect of American life. Plus he learned he had a knack for firing weapons with extreme accuracy. In becoming a military policeman he displayed an instinct for investigation and crime solving.
When he left the army Miller went right into college with help from a military service grant. His penchant for discipline and hard work allowed him to graduate with a degree in Criminology a half a semester short of four years. Although he had offers from law enforcement entities, he took a job with a well-established Chicago private investigation firm. After a year of being mostly a supporting player, Miller worked on a case that would both help him find a niche in his professional career, and to come to grips with his racial heritage. He had been a part of a surveillance team that was keeping tabs on a corporate executive that was suspected of being involved with industrial espionage.
At the time Miller was heavy into identifying himself as black. He had let his hair grow out a little and had it blown out into a semi-afro. When they learned the subject was set to have a meeting at a restrictive country club, the agency owner had suggested that a white operative should take his place in order to blend in to the background. The suggestion had ticked Miller off initially. But then an idea popped into his head. He sought out a specialty shop and bought a light brown caucasion hair piece, and had a store clerk fit it for him. He returned to work and bee-lined to the owner’s office wearing a dress hat. He had removed it and said:
“Do I look white enough for you?”
The owner had laughed and said: “Yeah. Go ahead and get to work.”
The job was finished off without a hitch, and a new era was born in Miller’s work life.
After five years with the agency, Miller decided to step out and form Miller Investigations. In its infancy the agency performed basic routine duties for its clients. It handled divorce cases, document serving, undercover theft investigations, and missing persons cases. When the country became more and more celebrity obsessed, sometimes to the point of dangerous stalking he added body guard and security services.
It was in this capacity that the case that put Miller on the map came about. The agency was hired as personal security for a visiting African president. During a public appearance, when an assassination attempt was made, Miller had thwarted it, shot one assassin, wounded another, and rounded up the rest of the conspirators.
The story went international. A magazine show did an in depth report that Miller didn’t co-operate with. By then the offers were pouring from political figures, top executives, and celebrities that wanted protection, security consultation, or tracking of stalkers or disgruntled associates. Miller had suddenly done what many longed to accomplish. He had found his special niche performing work he was great at doing.
Lucy stepped into the room wearing one of Miller’s dress shirts. “Hey. What do you want for breakfast? Sausage or bacon?”
“Maybe I should go for cereal. You can’t burn that.”
“Oh, you’re asking for it. You’ll be lucky if you get anything.”
She whirled about and slinked out of the room.
