The Dead Don't Scream

By Bill Sheehy

Honor killings are accepted practices in certain parts of the world, but not in San Francisco. When a man’s pregnant wife has become the victim of an honor killing he wants revenge. Before he gets it, a local drug war between the Mexican mafia and a bunch of dealers, a couple cases of arson and getting rid of a few bodies have to be dealt with.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bill Sheehy
• Release date: Jan 26, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452304847

Bill Sheehy

A prolific writer, I have a number of western stories and crime mysteries published in the old fashioned way, paper and ink, and am now moving some of those stories into eBooks.As time goes by I'll format all or some of these as well as a major SF saga and at least one if not two non-fiction works.Stay tuned and make a note of my name so you can search for it and my stories.Remember ...Always read stuff that will make you look goodif you die in the middle of it.P.J. O’Rourke

Book preview

Chapter one

This couldn’t be happening to her. This only happened in the movies or sometimes on the front page of the newspaper, but it couldn’t be happening to her.

She was numb, unable to move. Not just because they had their feet on her holding her down, but her body and mind were frozen with fear. Red, orange and yellow dots swam in the blackness of her vision; her breathing came in huge gulps. Suddenly she knew, they were going to kill her. Like a noiseless explosion of words, screaming soundlessly, bursting in glaring headlines through the swarm of pulsating lights in her mind, she knew. They were going to kill her. And with that, she knew who they were.

Slowly she felt her body relax. There was no fighting, they were in control. Always, since she was a little girl, they had been in control. Oh, yes, for a time, a handful of years, she had escaped the deadening of that authority. Tears seeped from her tightly closed eyes in frustration.

Stupid. She had been so sure of herself, sure of her strength. But oh, so stupid to think any of it mattered. That out there, where she’d been, that hadn’t been the real world. This was the real world, the only world. And she’d walked right into it. Open eyed and naïve. And stupid.

There, she heard one of the men say from the front seat, his voice quiet and calm.

Held down on the floor of the car by the big feet of two men, a sack of some coarse cloth over her head, she felt the car turn and bump over something, a curb. Feeling her cheek rub against the rough cloth and the sharp edges of the shoes pressed against her back, her body swayed a little like a lifeless blob. Her breathing had steadied, not only broken as she cried, quietly, helplessly.

Oh, Larry, her cry over what might have been went unheard, echoing around in her mind, what will you think? What will you do?

Here, the same voice gave the order, breaking into her self pitying thoughts. This is good enough.

The car, slowed to a stop and doors opened. The heavy shoes left her back and hands reached under her arms, pulling her out. Before she could even think of getting her feet under her, she was dropped to the ground.

Quickly now. Do what you have to do but keep it quiet.

What …? she started to ask only to be struck by a fist.

Silence, said another man. Muffled by the cloth sack over her head she wasn’t sure but somehow that voice was familiar. Before she had a chance to think about it, to recall it, new panic set in. Her arms were pulled up over her head. Hard strong hands pulled her legs down, separating them. Her skirt, a gray silk Adrianna Papell she’d purchased before leaving Hawaii just for the meeting with her father, was roughly torn. Fingers clawed at the waist of her panties, ripping them down, fingernails scratching at the tender skin of her thighs.

No, she wanted to scream but could only moan.

Pain, a stabbing of pain filled her soft under belly. Twisting as much as she could she tried to escape the thrusting, pushing.

Damn it, the words were filled with anger and again she was struck against the side of her head.

Hold still, bitch, came the order, hard and demanding.

She had lost track of time but suddenly felt the hands release her ankles. Kicking out weakly she wanted to scream through her tears. Again someone slapped her head, knocking it back hard against the ground. Hands changed, holding her wrists and others grabbing her legs. Once more she was helpless.

The sound of a zipper and a man settled over her lower body and the rape continued.

Disgust filled her. Every woman knows about rape, from an early age they are told what happened, warned of the boogyman called rape. But no woman ever thought it could happen to her. Not to me, she wanted to scream, arching her back, trying to throw the man, her abuser off. He merely grunted and then for a moment lay still on top of her.

That’s enough, the order came from above her.

The man’s weight moved, leaving her unmoving on the ground. Raped, she thought. Raped and corrupted.

She could only shake her head side to side. The blow to her chest was unexpected. Again and again she was struck but the tearing, sharp pain of the first one was overpowering and she didn’t feel the others. She didn’t feel anything at all.

Chapter two

The man sitting in one of Amos Crane’s client chairs frowned, not understanding why someone wouldn’t jump at the chance to make an easy ten grand. Bright sunshine streamed through the office windows, warming the room. The good looking brunette sitting next to man had a quizzical look on her pretty face. She didn’t understand either.

Possibly, Mr., uh, Jones was it? He asked and I nodded. Possibly Mr. Jones, what Mr. Crane presented wasn’t clear. All I’m asking you to do is talk to those people. Make them see the value of relocating and you’ve earned the money.

When he’d made the offer I had simply nodded.

It won’t do any good, though, I added. That was what he didn’t appreciate.

I do not understand, he said, shaking his head.

Amos had introduced Yousef Nadir to me, explaining that he represented the North Bay Development Company. I hadn’t caught the woman’s name. Seated I couldn’t tell how tall she was, but I just knew she would fit perfectly if we were ever to meet on the dance floor. The morning sun brought out the highlights in her brown hair, making her even more attractive. Her boss had other things on his mind.

Most of those boats down there are unsafe anyway, he sneered, and looking crafty went on. If someone were to complain to the authorities about them, most would simply be hauled away. This way there is some money to be made.

Again I didn’t have anything to add so, catching the woman’s eye, smiled.

She was sitting very business-like in the chair, her back straight and shoulders squared and both knees together. Trying not to be obvious, I saw that she was wearing pale tan colored panty hose. Possibly panty hose, I thought, also possibly not. It was equally possible she was wearing a garter belt and nylons. Probably not, though. That wouldn’t be professional. No, pantyhose for sure.

Okay, okay, the man wasn’t going to give up. Look, how about this. You talk to them. I understand, I’ve been told that you’re kind of the leader of the residents living down in Brown’s Harbor. You go to them, tell them we’ll pay each one, say five thousand dollars to move. We’ll pay you ten to make it happen. Now, don’t you think they’ll go for that?

Before I could do more than frown, he held up a hand. Of course, all of them would have to agree to move out of the harbor, you understand.

I tried for a heartrending expression. Oh, I’ll tell them what you’re offering, but, I have to say though, right up front, they won’t go. Some would gladly take your money but not all of them.

Ah, come on. You can’t know that until you talk to them, can you? He threw up his hands and turned away.

Mr. Nadir, Amos decided to get into the discussion. When your father bought the rights to develop Brown’s Wharf five years ago, it was made clear that a portion of the structure was to remain separate. That portion encompasses Brown’s Harbor. That was the only provision the owners of the wharf property mandated as part of the agreement. Mr. Jones is only adhering to the owner’s edict.

Nadir turned back and nodded. And I understand that. At the time we, North Bay Development, that is, went along with that decision. But that was five years ago. Now we are ready to develop the rest of the wharf area. We’re willing to negotiate for the purchase of rest of the old wharf. Are your owners aware of that? We’re talking many thousands of dollars and its all being held up by a few dozen fools living on junk boats. Damn it, isn’t it clear? I’m talking piles of money.

A faint smile almost lifted the woman’s lips at the man’s explosion. Nice lips. Full rosy colored lips with very little added color. I decided she might be wearing a little lip gloss, but very little if at all. Catching my interest, her smile disappeared as fast as it almost came.

Mr. Nadir, let me assure you. The owners are aware of your interest. I discussed the reason for your visiting me and was told that nothing has changed. The remaining portion of Brown’s Wharf is to remain as it is. It is not for sale.

Who are these owners? I’d like to take my case directly to them.

I’m afraid, just as it’s always been, I can’t disclose that information. Brown’s Harbor is important to them for reasons of their own, and that, I’m afraid is the final word on the matter. Now, the lawyer said getting to his feet, if there is nothing else? I’d say we are though.

Amos Crane had little patience with demanding people. As a partner in a prestigious San Francisco law firms he didn’t have to.

Nadir stood and after carefully making sure the cuffs of his shirt were adjusted properly frowned, first at me and then at Amos. The smooth olive skin of his face flushed as he took a deep breath, regaining his composure.

Very well. But rest assured, our plans for developing along the waterfront will continue. Your precious owners will simply lose out. Come on, Miss Lewis, we’ve wasted enough time on this. Turning and slamming open the office door, and without waiting for the divine Miss Lewis to precede him, Mr. Nadir strode out.

I smiled as I closed the door firmly behind them, knowing the lecture I was about to get.

Now you see what I have to put up with? Amos flopped back down in his high-backed desk chair.

The office was large with the desk and chairs taking up only a part of it. Next to that official furniture were two black leather sofas separated by a polished wood coffee table placed between them. I got comfortable on one couch and put my feet up on the low table. The wall I was facing was mostly glass and being on the tenth floor, the view over the roofs of buildings across the street was of the Richardson Bay part of San Francisco Bay. The green hills of Angel Island could be seen off to the right. I knew if I stood up and looked down the street a little I could see the entrance to the New Quay Wharf complex. It used to be Brown’s Wharf.

Ah, yes, I nodded, and don’t think I don’t appreciate it. Of course that’s what Crane, Poole and Schmidt does to earn the income from the owners of that bit of waterfront. Brown & Son, Incorporated appreciate your efforts.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. But its fools like that that makes me wonder if it’s worth it. So, what will you do about his offer, anything?

Of course, I said, sounding wounded. Mr. Nadir asked me to take his offer to the residents of Brown’s Harbor and I will. More than a few of them would like an extra five thousand dollars. Let them decide, I say.

And if they do happen to go along with it? What then?

You heard him; they would all have to agree. Once again I tried for sadness when I shook my head. It just so happens that I know of at least one of those fools that is not interested in his money.

I had to frown before going on. Tell me the truth now, am I being fair? Just because the money doesn’t interest me, do I have the right to keep it away from the others? I know most of those folks living in the harbor are living on their Social Security checks or whatever they can make. Should I think of them and let you work a deal with that crowd of developers?

KB, how many times have we had this conversation? You just let me know what direction you want to take. I’m here to do what you figure is right. Now, if you don’t mind, I do have some real legal work to do.

Okay, okay, I levered my tall, six foot frame up from the couch. But tell me, what’s that woman’s name and what’s she doing with the young developer?

It was Amos’s turn to smile. Picking up a business card he read it before handing it to me. Melissa Lewis, Public Relations, New Quay Investments. Here, he handed the card across the desk, I suppose you’ll find an excuse to go see her before the sun gets over too many more yard arms. Isn’t that what you sailors say?

Taking the card I read the words before putting it in my shirt pocket. That applies only when thinking about the proper time for a bucket of rum to be discussed, mate, only then.

Waving one hand, I left the lawyer smiling.

Amos Crane had been my friend and legal advisor for a long time, ever since my father died to be exact. He knew exactly what my thoughts were about any future development of what used to be the Brown & Son Fish Packing Company wharf. That structure sticking about three hundred feet out into San Francisco Bay had been owned by Brown & Son, Incorporated for three generations. As the last remaining member of that group, I wasn’t about to let anymore of it go.

Chapter three

Sausalito, situated across the Golden Gate Bridge from the city, is one of the smaller towns lining the shores of San Francisco Bay. Except for the few years I served in the Navy, it had been home all my life. Grandpa Brown used to tell me stories about how it was when fishing was the big thing. That, he’d say, all went to hell in a hand basket during the first of the big war when the government moved in. Most of the waterfront then became a Navy shipyard. Mostly they built troop carriers. Grandpa fought to keep his wharf and it ended up being about the only one left in private hands. During that time, most everyone in the small town was making money hand over fist from the government. Everyone except Grandpa and what was left of the small fleet of commercial fishermen.

Walking toward the harbor after leaving Amos Crane’s office, I thought about taking a look at New Quay Wharf. Maybe I would run into the development’s public relations expert. Melissa Lewis. A nice name for a very pretty woman. I couldn’t help but smile as I turned toward the waterfront.

Usually I took little notice of that project. The docks and floats that made up Brown’s Harbor was on the far side and out of sight of New Quay. Where the long rust brown sheet metal packing plant I’d played in and around as a youngster had been was now a wide boulevard of restaurants and boutique shops, all set in landscaped parks complete with modern sculptures, meandering paths and benches. All along one side of the wharf, a series of modern architecturally designed condominiums had been built. Someone had told me that the price for these ranged from slightly under a million to well over that amount. All boasting water views, of course.

The Live Bait Restaurant, I’d also been told, was the best place for fresh seafood. Maybe, if I was lucky I could take Miss Lewis there for dinner some night. That would be fun, a real date. It’d been a long time since I had had the pleasure of a date. Too long.

There were quite a few people taking advantage of the sunny pre-lunch morning, strolling along the wharf, window shopping in the little shops or sitting on the many benches taking in the sun. I didn’t see anyone who looked like Melissa Lewis anywhere among them so gave it up.

Cutting around the end of the string of shops, I left the park and threaded my way through the employee car park. Most people never knew the open air garage was there, snuggled in behind the stores with the condos overhead. The harbor was directly ahead.

Thinking what I would have to tell the people who made Brown’s Harbor home, I wasn’t paying attention and almost ran right into the man.

Ah, Senor. You are just the man we are looking for.

Mexican, I figured, or to be politically correct, a Latino. A big, wide shouldered Latino, he stood loose with his body slouched against the side of a parked blue Ford SUV. Seeing me he stood away from the dark colored van. Another man stepped up to stand to one side and a little behind him. California had always been home to Mexicans, hell, I thought, the country had once belonged to them hadn’t it? In recent years the population of people from south of the border had grown until in many parts of the bay area you never heard a word of English spoken. Whether these two were Mexican or from some other South American country, I couldn’t tell.

You’ve been looking for me?

Si, Senor. We have a message for you. The big man’s smile showed more teeth than looked normal, all square and brilliantly white. A thin thread of a mustache curved like a black wooly worm across his upper lip. Senor Nadir tells me to make sure you understand how important the message you are taking to your friends is. Actually the big man’s English wasn’t that good. What I heard was more like, Senor Nadir tel’ me to make shur choo understan’ how portan’ da message choo are takin’ to yur frien’s is."

All I could do was shake my head. I told Nadir I would, and I will. There’s certainly no reason for you to be reminding me.

Ah, Senor, yas, there is. Senor Nadir say to tell you, so we tell you. Lifting his chin, he glanced over my shoulder. A third Latino had come up behind me and stood with his legs spread, his hands on his hips. His smile was big and cold looking.

This was trouble and like a fool, I’d let it happen.

Turning back toward the big man, I didn’t see the man behind me move and was surprised to be grabbed from the back in a strong hug, my arms held tight against my body.

You see how it is, Senor? We are told not to hurt you bad, but just a little. The big man stepped close and buried his fist in my stomach. I’d tried to tighten up, but was only partly successful. The man holding me let go and I folded, landing on my knees, retching and trying to suck in air.

So, now you do it, awright? From some distance I heard the big man chuckle. C’mon amigos, this hombre, he got the message.

For a long few minutes I stayed huddled, holding my stomach, leaning against the Ford. This wasn’t like any part of Sausalito that I was used to. Being attacked in the afternoon by three thugs just didn’t happen. Shaking my head in disgust at having let it happen, I slowly, painfully, stood up. Boy, Crazy Carl wouldn’t have been proud of me now, would he?

Chapter four

Crazy Carl. I hadn’t though of him in along time. Not since, well, at least since leaving the hospital. Feeling the ache in my stomach settle to being something almost solid, I thought about my first meeting with the man. It had been raining, one of those hard downpours where the drops were hitting the bare asphalt like liquid bullets, splashing into individual pools before draining away across the bare surface. Some two dozen of us stood at attention, bareheaded with the hard rain pelting our closely cropped heads, eyes focused as we’d been taught in boot camp on a point in the distance.

Standing on a black painted box he took his time to look each of us directly as if memorizing our faces. Six others, all dressed the same as the man on the box in black pants and collared shirts, stood to one side. The only sound came from the rain and, once in a while, the muted rumble of a semi truck Jake-braking on the freeway out there beyond the boundaries of the naval base.

As long as you’re here, you will call me sir. When addressing me or anyone of the other instructors, make sure to put an exclamation mark after it. You understand?

For a split instant silence was the answer, but then all at once we learned our first lesson.

Yes, Sir! came the yelled answer he was waiting for. I thought it made us sound like a bunch of Marines.

As long as you’re here, he went on, remember one thing, it’s from the Bible. This too shall pass. No matter how hard it gets, and I guarantee you it’ll get damn hard, it won’t last forever.

He stopped, looking at each face individually before going on, dropping his voice to make the words more intimate, you’ll either get through it or you won’t. And if you don’t, you’ll take up where you left off. You won’t talk about this outfit because this outfit doesn’t exist. You have all volunteered and in doing so you’ve taken on a whole barrel of things that can never be discussed. This outfit doesn’t have a name, it doesn’t have a squadron flag … it does not exist.

Yeah, I thought sourly, we all volunteered but nobody ever made it clear what we’d signed on for. It was just a little notice on the bulletin board: you are now officers in the US Navy. You can get your little gold braid and be transferred to your next duty station or you can volunteer for excitement, danger and REAL service to your country.

The word real was in big bold type, as was the phone number that followed it.

Hell’s bells, someone groused, we may be newbies but we know better than to volunteer for anything, and walked away laughing. For some reason I didn’t.

Officers in the US Navy wear uniforms, either the traditional dress blues or summer tan. Sir!’s volunteers were all dressed in the blue dungarees issued to the enlisted men. None of us, or for that matter none of Sir! and his six clones had any insignias showing.

For the next three months we learned how to drive most any type of vehicle, how to parachute, how to handle a wide variety of firearms and how to run. Three times a week we started the day with a 10-mile jog. Instead of church on Sunday we ran twenty miles. At the end of every run, Sir! was waiting for us. To get the rest of Sunday off you had to be among the first handful to pass by where he stood.

By the time we got instruction on hand-to-hand combat, about half the volunteers had disappeared. Nothing was ever said; they just packed up and left. Usually in the middle of the night. It was about then that we learned Sir!’s name was Carlos Montoya.

They call me behind my back Crazy Carl, he explained with a cold laugh. You can continue to call me sir.

We were taught many things, and in all cases the lessons started out with the warning, always be prepared for anything. Don’t let the enemy surprise you. Your job is to surprise the enemy.

The three Mexican’s had surprised me. Crazy Carl wouldn’t have like that.

Chapter five

I was breathing almost normally by the time I walked down the ramp onto the main dock. Brown’s Harbor consisted of a series of docks or floats extending off of the main one. My boat, a 38-foot ketch, the SV Carolina , was moored on D Float.

Any time, day or night, it was nearly impossible to walk down the ramp and onto one of the floats without waving to someone. There had been times when after a night of partying I’d come home, trying to be quiet, and heard a voice softly wishing me a good night. This afternoon all I wanted to do was crawl into my forward bunk and let my stomach muscles relax. It was not to be.

Hey, there, KB, Delores Ramorez stood in the cockpit of her 33-foot Cris Craft cruiser, a paint brush in one hand and a dirty paint-smeared rag in the other. There was a couple guys looking for you. Mexicans, I think. I sent them up to the parking lot, figured you’d be coming along that way."

This woman would be the best place to start with, explaining Nadir’s five thousand dollar offer. Delores was adamant about saving Brown’s Harbor and had worked tirelessly fighting the original development five years ago. She would be the first one to talk to, but I decided not now.

Yeah, thanks, Dee. I met the ones you mean and, well, thanks. Talk to you later, I waved and kept walking, trying to keep my back straight so she wouldn’t notice anything.

Unlocking the hatch and bending over under the main boom to step down the ladder caused me to catch my breath. Bending my sore stomach muscles hurt. I was so out of shape that even Crazy Carl couldn’t have got me to run any distance at all. Stretching out in the forward berth I swore an oath to start working on getting back into some kind of shape. With that thought floating around my mind I drifted off to sleep.

My recovery nap didn’t last long into the afternoon and when someone starting a power saw close by