Devil without Horns

By Calvin Bishop

This story takes place from the streets of Minneapolis to the farmlands of southwestern Minnesota. It chronicle’s the struggle of a young man who loses his family to drug violence, a broke farmer who tries a “new” kind of crop, a police detective who searches for her missing daughter, and the relentless pursuit of an out-of-control drug Lord.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483506852

Book preview

Lord.

Devil without Horns: Chapter 1

Though this is a work of fiction, the events are very real in our society today. I love Minneapolis, where I have lived for twenty-five years, and I love the farm, having grown up on one. I respect the farmer who is losing so much for so little, and empty farms that dot the landscape because we don’t care any more. Having been a taxi driver, I respect their job. They put their lives on the line every time they pick up a passenger.

I do apologize for the severe profanity used in this novel. I personally loathe profanity, and it makes me sick to think people actually talk this way. But after due consideration, I decided to leave it in for the sake of realism. This book is not meant for children due to its graphic violence and adult nature.

Turn to the opening scene now, and put on your seat belt. Will you survive The Run?

Man, what the…? Lenny Mason screamed as a weaving car slammed into the right front bumper. The grinding of metal and shattered glass was deafening. He and his younger brother Joe were tossed like rag dolls as they wrenched sideways.

If this doesn’t God-damned take the cake! Lenny shouted as he readjusted his bent, twisted ball cap. He held his breath, then pushed hard on the passenger door of his 1995 Plymouth mini-van. Even his farm-strengthened arms couldn’t open it.

Damned idiot! Lenny added, his chilled breath rising in vapor to the windshield. He sucked for more air, squirmed and pushed again. The door popped with a crunch, then stopped. From behind the steering wheel, Joe squinted across the short hood and took off his ball cap. His eyes focused on a barely visible driver slumped over the steering wheel of a rusted out Buick Regal jammed into the front right bumper. The driver began to move.

He’s falling out of his car, Joe tensed. He licked his lips hard, his face ashen in the pale yellow streetlight. He heard the creak of a door hinge and a dull thud as the other driver hit the ground.

My God, I bet the guy is dead, Joe moaned, his trembling hands easing from the wheel. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. That moron! It’s his fault, wandering over the lanes and hitting us. Wonder if he even noticed the light he ran?

You shit you! Lenny hissed, releasing his grip on the door. I’m stuck in here. Better get out there and make sure he’s dead. He looked through the rain- spattered side window to see quiet streets and leaves of early autumn that skittered on by at the corner of Forty second and Chicago Avenues, South Minneapolis. Ain’t no cop coming yet! Now move your ass.

Oh joy! Joe said as he opened the door. He spit on the ground and grumbled. Our Navy hero came home to save my ass. It’s midnight man. Why even bother to look?

Because I don’t want him to have seen us. Now quit your complaining! Lenny squeezed past the wheel and jumped out. Flashing red and yellow lights in the distance threw dazzling bursts in the rain-streaked sky.

I called it in, came a shout. A lone, hand - waving figure stood in the door of the White Castle Hamburger joint on the opposite corner.

Lenny waved back with his middle finger extended. Thanks for nuthin. He turned back to Joe. At least I got you a good paying job.

Figures, a dumb moron like you gets out of the Navy brig after being busted for drugs and meets mister money bags. Says we’ll strike it rich in no time. Says our old man’s worthless farm is the perfect landing sight. Joe looked around and tried to breathe deeply. We really ought to get out of here and right now. Let’s just back up and go.

Just stop it, Joe. Victor Sorenson is a good man. He taught me everything he knows. How’d you like to be driving dad’s old beater and live in that shit pile of a house the rest of your life? Lenny waved him off. At least you got money in your damn pocket, food in your mouth and an endless beer supply. This car we bought for cash was real nice for awhile.

I don’t like driving the big city, that’s all. Joe went around to see the damage. This is going to spell trouble if we get caught here.

Dumb shit! We ain’t gonna get caught. Sorenson told me what to say if we get stopped.

But what if…?

Oh my head! Lenny put his hands to his eyes and staggered. I think I’m hurt. Great! Joe recoiled. Now what do I do with you?

It’s still better than working that rotting hell-hole of a farm. I’ll recover, Dad’s dump won’t! Lenny ambled over to the car and looked at the face of the victim. He reached to touch it. Jeez, the guy was drunk. Smells like hell. The siren grew louder as the lights brightened half a block away.

Hey Lenny! Joe hissed toward him. What?

He backed away as an officer left his vehicle, pulling on a hooded nylon raincoat. Look at this, man! Joe bent over the crushed tire and bent wheel: the sound of glass from a broken headlight crunched under foot. The fender was pushed in and crumpled back to keep the door from opening, a twisted protrusion scrapping the tire.

Something smells sweet, like antifreeze.

Lenny bent over to touch a trickle of dark green fluid coming from the car. It is! Joe stood up again and turned to Lenny.

We can’t drive it now. He took a quick look at the approaching officer. I recognize this guy from somewhere. He motioned to Lenny. Come on, right now! As the office examined the unconscious driver, Joe pushed Lenny ahead of him. Hey, come back here, fools! the officer screamed. They hurried in the dark between houses and stopped, and when they saw the officer return to his squad car and grab a microphone, they turned to run harder.

Joe leaned in closer and groaned as he and Lenny fell breathlessly into a dark alley. Think we should call Cousin Carol and get help? He scratched his head then rubbed his facial stubble.

No! Lenny hissed. God, I feel sick. My head is starting to throb.

Joe then said quietly. We haven’t seen her for years. She married some Bradshaw. I’ve never met him. I don’t know their number or nothing. Mom is always bragging about our good cousin had gone into goody two shoes nursing. Another siren told them that an ambulance was on the way.

I said no! No way. Don’t go dragging them in our problems. I don’t want to explain nothing. Lenny rubbed his hands over what he thought was a fur in the alley as he tried to steady himself. A sleeping rat slashed at him with bared teeth, and then scurried off.

Jesus. Lenny screamed. Did he bite you? asked Joe.

No, he just scared me. But Sorenson will really be pissed now. I’m more scared of him than that damned rat any day.

We won’t make it back in time for the next shipment, will we? Lenny said, and put his hands on the wall to brace himself as they came to a stop again.

I know! Now what? Joe replied, as he grabbed the handle of the shabby metal door. I hope Java didn’t leave the shop yet.

Hold on a sec, brother! Lenny coughed. How do you know that cop? You been rattin on us? I’ve been getting the impression that you’re a little chicken.

No, Joe pushed back. I just think he may have seen me coming out of Java’s back door.

Devil without Horns: Chapter 2

You clumsy shits! Java screamed, as he pounded his hammy fist on a shaky, makeshift wooden desk. That dumb ass Sorenson, using country bumpkins to drive the cities. I hope to hell you didn’t let him see your papers. That truck’s a goner when they find what you’re really hauling. Java’s heated breath came closer. Well?

Lenny stepped back and looked for an escape from Java’s legendary wrath.

I told Sorenson not to do that. Java continued, But he’s the boss. Now if I were the boss… Java stopped. Scuffling could be heard down the short hall. Java turned his head, jumped from his flimsy swivel chair and slammed it against the wall of his tightly enclosed office.

Wait just a minute, God Damn it! He maneuvered toward the door trying to avoid contact with his numerous dirty needles and paraphernalia used with on location drug sales. A short barrel of a man walked in and stamped through the outside main door, leaving the squeaky, rusted door to shut with a bang. Java gestured for silence as the runty figure loomed into sight.

He pointed at a shadowy face. She’ll be ready in a moment, just finishing up with another customer now. The door slammed above his head. Loud footsteps clunked down mid building steps and pushed a door opened with a bang. The walls vibrated under the impact.

Damn, that was good for a change. A tall, square jawed man spat brownish liquid on the floor and put his hands up to his face as if to hide from the next guy. He slammed the outside door sharply. The round visitor slithered the steps quickly and the room grew quiet again as Java sat down and put away a roll of twenty-dollar bills.

As I was saying, morons, Java rolled his eyes. You got to get back to Tracy immediately and get that next shipment. Sorenson will fuck us over if we don’t keep selling, like right fast.

Got any bright ideas on how? Lenny snapped back. Sorenson’s the man with the plan, not you.

You shut the fuck up punk or you won’t live through the night. Java yelled covering the familiar sound of the squeaking bed coming from above.

Well, we don’t know what to do! Joe jumped in. We just deliver. I’ll call him. Java snarled and opened a cell phone from his pocket.

Ron Bradshaw looked at the taxi in front of him growing more visible in the misty daylight. Being second up, even on the hottest cabstand in town, was something he hated. It seemed like he always missed the good runs. He had no choice but to sit and wait with the engine off to conserve gas. The weather forecast had predicted only a slight warm up.

He grew restless in his bucket seat. His cab fare meter glowed at zero; the dispatch radio quiet. He snapped on the dome light, took out the twenty singles of fare money since his shift began at 3 a.m. He examined them again and for the umpteenth time did another recount. It should have been fifty dollars. How would he make the bucks today? His lease fee for renting the taxi was forty dollars and then he had to fill the gas tank at the end of a twelve-hour shift. He needed to take home one hundred dollars today. It was only a week away until he would purchase his wife’s birthday gift. Next month his car insurance was due and he hadn’t saved much money for that.

I’ve tried every trick I can think of to increase this, he whispered to himself. He rolled his eyes and looked out a fogged window. Come on idiots, where’s the money? Already trolled up down Hennepin and Lake Street once. Looking at the scanty greens didn’t help.

A chilled drizzle sticking to the windshield should have brought the business even between welfare paydays.

The weather change should have meant cuddling with his warm, sweet wife. Carol Bradshaw, who had called in sick to her intern-nursing job at Hennepin County Medical Center for the last two days. He missed the affection and felt even more depressed.

He opened his shirt pocket, this time to pull out the document that would soon make a big difference in his life. Bold letters showed the key to the future. Ron Bradshaw, CERTIFIED COMPUTER TECH, Brown Institute.

I hope it’s only a matter of weeks till I can dump this God forsaken nightmare. He tried to smile.

Lake and Chicago stand, Dispatch said from the two-way radio speaker on the floor under