Sixes and Eights

By Jamel DuBois

Thou shalt not kill. Neither shalt thou steal. These rules to live by are violated in some degree in all the stories in this collection: “Bring Me the Head of Kathleen Sullivan” relates the murder of a prominent Texas citizen. “Dominoes,” delicately positioned and when pressed into movement to nudge into the next one and that one into the next, results in a jumbled heap. In “Sad Songs,” the narrator is a songwriter-guitar player marked by hard work and hard times; and betrayal and lost love. “The Taking of Kaitlyn Peck” is the case of a young girl abducted on the way from school to her upscale neighborhood home. “Storm Clouds and Blue Skies,” one or the other, not both, mark the futures of these gypsy pilots. “Out of Focus.” Click, click, goes the mind of a killer, detailing revenge for a long endured and lying slur. “A Day At the Zoo,” certainly is no picnic, except for the man killers of a wildlife park in Africa.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Jun 2, 2013
• ISBN: 9781619500556

Jamel DuBois

Jamel DuBois was born in a grassy ditch somewhere along an Arkansas back road, and the adventure could only get better. He left home at age seventeen, crossed the country by rail and tore up his return ticket. He joined the Navy, and found that oceans are gateways not barriers. He became a magazine editor, then a world traveler and a big-game hunter. He dispatched a wild boar in hand-to-hand combat, and faced down a Cape buffalo in a horn-to-belt buckle encounter. He has set foot in six dozen countries on six continents, wrote numerous articles for many of the guns and hunting magazines, and writes killer novels authentically set in South Africa.

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Contents

Copyright Page

6~Thou Shalt Not Kill

Bring Me the Head of Kathleen Sullivan

Dominoes

Sad Songs

The Taking of Kaitlyn Peck

Storm Clouds and Blue Skies

Out of Focus

A Day at the Zoo

About the Author

Sixes and Eights

A Crime Collection

by

Jamel DuBois

All rights reserved

Copyright © February 12, 2013, Jamel DuBois

Cover Art Copyright © 2013, Charlotte Holley

Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC.

Lockhart, TX

www.gypsyshadow.com

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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ISBN: 978-1-61950-055-6

Published in the United States of America

First eBook Edition: June 2, 2013

6~Thou Shalt Not Kill.

8~Neither Shalt Thou Steal.

(from the Ten Commandments, traditional)

Contents

Bring Me the Head of Kathleen Sullivan relates the murder and mutilation of a prominent citizen in lower Texas, and the fallout on both sides of the border.

Dominoes, delicately positioned and aligned by an omniscient hand, when pressed into movement to nudge into the next one and that one into the next, results in a jumbled heap no longer resembling any intended pattern.

In Sad Songs, the narrator is a songwriter-guitar player marked by hard work and hard times; and betrayal and lost love. If his life sounds like the substance of a country song, you’re right in tune.

The Taking of Kaitlyn Peck is all in a day’s work for county sheriffs working the case of a young girl abducted on the way from school to her upscale neighborhood home.

Storm Clouds and Blue Skies mark the futures of some gypsy pilots, but it’s only one or the other; not both of those forecasts for all concerned.

Out of Focus… click, click, goes the mind of a killer, detailing revenge for a long endured and lying slur. And click, click, go the cameras holding his plan in check.

A Day at the Zoo, is not an outing for the family nanny and her juvenile charges, and certainly is no picnic, except for the man killers of a wildlife park in Africa.

Bring Me the Head of Kathleen Sullivan

Peggy Vasquez, saddened and overcome at her mother’s recent and brutal demise, lost conscious connection to the ongoing eulogy being presented at the graveside. Friends and dignitaries, in seemingly unending succession, stepped to the speaker’s stand, which many required for physical support of their grief and disbelief. The respectful attendees to the funeral service offered condolences to the remaining family of Kathleen Sullivan, and praised Kathleen’s good works and the woman herself whose name had gained national prominence.

Peggy was the only of Kathleen’s six children residing in McAllen where Kathleen also lived—lived until last week. Peggy’s siblings, one sister and four brothers, had scattered around the country over the years as dictated by jobs and careers and marriages. Peggy was the second child. Her older sister lived in Oklahoma; two brothers were in Denver, one in Florida and one in Oregon. The family was close, just not close together. Peggy never considered leaving McAllen for any reason, because her mother lived there, and had lived alone and independently since the earlier death of Peggy’s father.

Peggy married locally, to Manuel Vasquez, and never really considered, as her siblings did, hers a mixed marriage. North Americans and Mexicans interacted freely in the Texas border and near-border towns. Peggy knew Manny when he was a young boy working at the Sullivan ranch years before. She and Manny grew up together, attending the same school, the same church, and the same social functions. Kathleen never objected to Peggy loving Manny, and their lightly tanned offspring, a girl and two boys, were Kathleen’s grandmotherly pride and joy. Kathleen often had said so.

Now the family was gathered again, the first time all had been together since their father’s funeral eight years before. There were more Sullivans now, additional grandchildren having been born who Grandfather Sean Sullivan never had the chance to know. Kathleen visited her sons and daughters-in-law at all the recent births, representing herself and her longtime lover, husband and family patriarch, Sean. Only Kathleen’s oldest child, Darina, ushered in no grandchildren, having failed to live up to the productive name Kathleen had wished on her. Darina, the account executive, and her husband, the airline pilot, were at the funeral along with all the Sullivan boys and their wives and children. Darina sought out Peggy following the end of the service.

Peggy wore a short black dress, black hose and black low heel shoes. The hose and heels came from her existing wardrobe; the dress was purchased for the occasion, a one-time wearing. Peggy would put it away, but not ever discard it. It was part of her mother-memories. The veil covering Peggy’s freckled face throughout the ceremony was thrown back over her head, revealing a shock of coppery hair. Tears concealed by the veil in place had run dry. She embraced her older sister.

Peggy, how could you have let this happen?

Me, Darina? You blame me for this? Mother was murdered, in her own home, and it was sickening. I found her because she didn’t answer my calls and I went to her condo. How in God’s name can you hold me responsible?

I’m sorry Peggy. Of course I didn’t mean it the way it must have sounded. It’s just been so terrible. I just can’t imagine someone doing something so horrible to Mom. And I can only imagine what you have gone through here alone. And as painful as I know it will be, I have to know what happened, when you feel like talking about it.

I think I can tell you now. I know the boys will ask the same things, but I don’t know if I can face you all at once. I don’t know if you all really want the truth.

Oh, my dear little sister, I do want to know. I have to know, and I want you to know how much I love you too. Tell me about how Mom was days ago, weeks ago; how she was and what she did. I am so sorry I live so far away. I’m so grateful Mom had you here to care for her. All of us always loved you for remaining with Mom while we all moved away. By rights, as the oldest, it should have been me who stayed here. I should have been the one taking care of her.

And you think if you had been here Mom would still be alive. Your implication is somehow I failed her and you and all the rest. Is that what you’re saying?

No, no, no! Peggy. I don’t mean such an implication at all. If anything, I wish I could have saved you from being the one who found her. What you must have gone through… I simply cannot even comprehend.

If you had been at the testimonial dinner early this month in San Antonio, you would have been proud of Mom. There were hundreds there, all to honor Mom for her years of charitable functions. Someone, I’ve forgotten his name now if I ever knew it—the keynote speaker I suppose you’d call him—old all about how Mom started the Give a Sole; Save a Soul Foundation. Remember how embarrassed we were as kids when she started practically begging the local shoe stores and department stores for shoes for the poor kids on the other side?

Do I! But she persisted, and as I remember, we did help distribute the shoes, until it steamrolled and eventually took two big trucks each year to take all the shoes across the border to Reynosa, Rio Bravo, Matamoros, Valle Hermoso and deep into Mexico.

But that was after Mom’s project became so well-known. She was able to hit the shoe manufacturers up for hundreds, thousands of pairs of shoes. I thought it became kind of impersonal by then, didn’t you?

I suppose, but she never felt that way. She still went with the trucks to take part in the distribution, and she always was so proud to be known down there as Santa Carmesi de Zapato.

Yes, sighed Peggy, The Saint of the Shoes with Red Hair. The color was awful, but she always said it was almost the color of her hair when she was young.

But she no longer was young, and it was ridiculous for a woman her age to wear a wig, down to her shoulders and so kinky curled. With the closed casket I couldn’t see of course. Did she take it to her grave?

Peggy burst into hysterical tears.

What is it, Peg? We always joked about her red wig, even to her face.

Oh, Darina. The casket was closed because Mom was so mutilated. We didn’t bury a whole body today. I thought you knew. Mom’s head was missing. Mom’s wig had been snatched from her head and lay by the body, but Mom’s head was gone!

Whaaat… what do you mean? demanded Darina.

<<>>

Deputy Wallace, what is going on? What are you doing to find the monster that murdered and mutilated my mother?

Miss Sullivan, Darina, is it?

No, I’m not Sullivan. My married name is Whitsett, but I am Darina. You have been working with my younger sister, Peggy.

Actually I’ve been working with all your brothers as well. All of you, and I understand your frustrations, have been on us daily for answers we simply do not have yet.

But someone in the condo complex must have seen someone at Mother’s house, or a suspicious car out front, something.

<<>>

Darina had changed from her own black dress, but only to a black pants suit, and retained the black patent high heels that were part of her graveside costume. Darina claimed it to be her mourning clothes. Peggy thought it to be her boardroom badge. The form-fitting, high fashion outfit complete with white silky blouse and an almost man necktie was sophisticated, rather than somber.

Some younger sibling in these circumstances might have looked to the oldest as a surrogate parent, but it was Peggy who felt as though she was taking on the mother-mantle. She comforted her brothers and her brothers’ children. Darina was simply officious in her dealings with her brothers and Peggy. Darina spoke only of Kathleen’s will, and of the inept sheriff’s department.

<<>>

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