The Bamboo Killer

By Brick ONeil

Someone is killing young men at the University of Washington. Our friends are asked to investigate when a co-worker's son is the latest victim. Along the way, a nemesis from the past makes trouble!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brick ONeil
• Release date: Feb 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301789467

Brick ONeil

Brick ONeil grew up in America’s heartland, the midwestern United States, receiving a Bachelors of Arts in Religious Studies then moving to the southern United States for his Masters in Human Resources, living in both Oklahoma and Texas for some time before settling in the Pacific Northwestern coast in the Emerald City, Seattle.He has been writing professionally since 2001 and before that was a Vocational Rehabilitation Counselor in the private workers’ compensation field, still holding his Certified Rehabilitation Counselor certification. He began writing articles and working on projects for clients while writing his first novel, Aside of Murder under his writing business, Lione Services.Now he has ten books under his belt in four genres, fiction-mystery, fiction-short story, non fiction-cookbooks and non fiction-biography. He has his mystery series, The Rose Petal Wine Murder Mysteries with two books published now out of the seven; the cookbook series, “Simple, Healthy, Fresh”, with books 1.0, 2.0, 3.0 and the Ultimate; three books of short stories, Different Dreams; Unrelated: A selection of short stories and Triad: Fates, Furies and Graces finally,his short biography, Silver Linings on Dark Clouds (My Life with Alport’s Syndrome) is out as well.Find him online:http://brickoneil.com (pages for each book)http://linkedin.com/in/brickoneilhttps://www.facebook.com/brickoneil

Book preview

Bamboo Killer /

THE BAMBOO KILLER

BRICK O'NEIL

Published by Brick O’Neil and Lione Services at Smashwords.

Copyright 2013 Brick O’Neil Updated 2014

I would like to dedicate this book to my husband, Josh, my mother, Leota M. Henderson, for all their love and support throughout her years, And to Stetson Elizondo, for his unending input and dedication. Thank you very much. A thank you to Donna Osborne Clark for her uncanny ability to create the exact cover for Aside of Murder from my mind.

The author holds all copyrights, ownership, rights and responsibilities to this work. This work is solely the author’s; any similarities to any person, living, dead or fictional are purely coincidental and unintended.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

THE BAMBOO KILLER

Chapter One

The dry night air stung his sinuses when he stepped out of the gym. Living in Seattle, he half expected every day to be humid and drenched in sweat like the Midwest in summer where he moved from, rather than having a dry spell like every other part of the country was having that summer.

How many hours you have left? Ty, (short for Tyrell), the dark-skinned youth from Maryland asked him, as they had to start whittling away the required gym hours for their Physical Education class.

I’ve still got most of them to do. The Biology prof wants additional hours in lab. Don’t these guys know we have a life outside school? He asked rhetorically.

I know what you mean. His friend J.L., who was Hispanic, intoned in his thick Mazatlan accent, sounding every bit a Texan, joining the conversation. My Business prof wants an entire proposal on ‘Business Technology in the 21st century and how it affects profit margins in the Artistic community’. Can you believe that? J.L. had won a two year Art Scholarship to the University due to his photography and was slowly making a name for himself in the artistic community.

The friends were commiserating each other’s agony in their classes at the University of Washington in Seattle when a cell phone interrupted. They all dug in their gym bags and backpacks, but the first youth found it was his.

It’s mine, guys…

You want to come with us to the bar? It’s two for one night.J.L. asked while he looked as if he was going to bolt, lest someone take his spot, behind him Ty nodded in assent.

No, I better take this. It’s my mom. Catch you guys later. They shouted farewell, leaving the young college man alone in the courtyard outside the gym. He saw a flash of light from J.L.’s camera, then turned around and heard J.L. laughing raucously and Ty hooting in return. J.L. was always taking pictures for an art class, so he just laughed and answered the constant ringing of the phone.

Hi mom! What’s up?

Not much, just got off work and decided to see how you’re doing…so, how are you doing? She asked, laughing.

Doing alright, classes are fine. He hoped he sounded sincere, because, like all mothers, she could sense when he was lying.

How is your Political Science grade?

‘Rats’, he thought. ‘She would have to ask. Better get it over with.’

Can you see the moon tonight, mom?

Of course; there’s a waning moon. She answered, wondering where this was leading.

High above the campus, he stared at the tiny sliver and plowed on with his conversation.

That’s what my grade in Political Science grade is going to be. 'There. It’s out in the open', he thought.

You’ll never get a higher grade if you believe that’s all your capable of! She moaned in an exasperated tone. Are you going to ask for help? She demanded.

He let a huge sigh escape, and, unfortunately, she caught it.

Don’t you use that tone with me! I’m not sending you to college to hear that from you!

Mom, don’t have a cow. I’ll get the help don’t worry. After all, I’m carrying a 4.00 GPA besides Poly Sci.

She was silent for a moment, then continued.Well, that’s not really why I called. I thought you were in trouble or something had happened to you.

No, I’m alright, mom. Just got through with some hours for gym class, now I’m headed back to study.

Well, OK. How are J.L. and Ty?

They’re fine too. They went to the bar to relax, but I’m being a good boy, don’t worry. He added, to clarify before she could ask.

Glad to hear. Well, I’ll let you go. I’m glad everything is ok up there. Talk to you another time, sweetie.

He smiled at his mom’s voice, but wondered why she thought he was in trouble. He put his phone back in his bag, zipped it up and continued on his way. He was about a block from the gym when a crunch off to his left caught his attention and suddenly he felt uneasy.

Recently, he had the feeling someone was watching him from the background, almost stalking him. The feeling was there when he was walking back and forth from the cafeteria, classes all over campus, even out in the community. Especially at that little bar off campus--sure, it was expensive, but the privacy and quiet was sure worth it. He was virtually guaranteed time to himself to do homework and enjoy a drink, now that he was 21. But now, that feeling he was being watched followed him everywhere as well.

Looking around, he realized he was alone on the campus grounds and felt he should have joined his friends in a game of pool off campus. He looked around, but in the dim moonlight could make out nothing, and the light posts weren’t working due to yet another round of budget cutbacks. The University would regret that when someone was attacked, he could not help think to himself. He shivered involuntarily and immediately berated himself for feeling like a scared little boy.

‘It’s just a squirrel or something foraging for food’ he told himself, to garner the courage to continue on to his dorm. Putting his phone back in his bag, he shuffled a book to make it look like a weapon. Still, he felt foolish but at the same time knew something wasn’t right. Someone was watching him from the darkened corners of the courtyard.

Crunch…snap.

Something or someone was crunching through the gravel and broken branches around the buildings. The very air around him crackled with an uneasy electricity. One where even the very molecules in the dry summer leaves know something isn’t right

Who’s there? He demanded out into the silent air. He could hear his throat rasping in the dry air, his callused hands rubbing together and the dry summer leaves cackling in agreement against the branches in the trees, as if in search for moisture and sounding ten times as loud than normal. He looked around in vain at buildings trying to determine if he saw movement or not.

Ptt...ptt…ptt.

A shower of pebbles peppered his face from between the buildings and the shrubbery, hitting him squarely in the face, causing him to throw his hands and arms to safeguard his eyes. During that instant, someone grabbed his arms and held them firmly behind his back with one arm, with the other arm firmly around his throat, cutting off his air supply. He was being dragged backward, too stunned to fight back. He felt a cloth covering his face.

You all think you’re Gods gift to women. Josh heard a hard, masculine voice softly in his right ear, causing an odd chill to run down his spine.

Who are you? What do you want? He asked, hoping he sounded more forceful than he felt. The stranger was quick in subduing him, having placed plastic ties around his wrists and feet and knees, preventing him from even moving. The stranger was careful to avoid raising his face, to prevent himself from being seen.

You’ll find out. The man whispered, became silent again, disappeared for a few seconds finally reemerging after fetching the young man’s belongings.

If you want money, I’ve got some in my wallet, there, in my gym bag. He offered, hoping he was just getting robbed.

There was a low, hollow, off-center laugh sounding like a church bell, old from rust, coming from the stranger that caused the younger man to shiver in fear uncontrollably once again.

You’re all alike, you know, the stranger began again, waiting to steal another guy’s woman. Women throwing their affairs in anyone’s face, for the entire world to see the man was struggling to control his seething rage.

What?! The young man struggled to comprehend. You think I stole your girl? I didn’t! I haven’t been dating anyone! He hoped the man would see the truth. There was a liquid on the cloth that made him feel lethargic.

There was another hollow laugh, as the stranger enjoyed watching the younger man struggle against the restraints.

That doesn’t matter. He said cryptically, taking the pair of sneakers off the young man’s feet and tying them around his neck, bouncing against his chest.

There’s the money, in the wallet under the sneaks, the young man was losing his facade of courage, as well as hope when the man failed to retrieve the wallet.

The man brought out a pair of expensive sunglasses from his shirt pocket and walked over to the prone man on the ground, struggling in vain to get out of reach.

Here, these will look great on you. The ladies will love it. He said as he put the shades on the trembling youth’s handsome face.

What are you doing? Just let me go, man he pleaded, trying to avert his face and prevent the madman from placing the glasses on his face. He felt his stomach take a sickening plummet as he stared into the empty void that was the stranger’s eyes.

Seeming to not hear the plea, the stranger chuckled without humor, grabbed the youth’s face, and shoved the shades over the bridge of his nose, then turned around and took something out of his pants pocket.

He stood up with his arms at his side and was grasping what looked like a hollow stick of wood carved into a stake. With one fell swoop, the youth had only enough life left in him to gaze with terror through darkened sunglasses at the intentions of the stranger.

The night air was dry; the leaves were crackling against each other in hopes of rain that would not come and footfalls could be heard crunching under the waning moon.

* * * * * * *

Joan, do you have a free moment?

Joan glanced up from the piles of files on her desk to see Ellen, her best friend at work, holding another stack of folders. Joan groaned out loud and gestured toward the chair in front of her desk.

Ellen, laughing sat down. Don’t worry, Joan, these aren’t for you.

Joan joined in the laughter and relaxed. Thank God, Ellen. This promotion is more work than I thought.

How is the new ‘Associate Director of Internet Security’ handling all the new responsibility? Ellen asked, clearly bemused.

Overwhelmed, but loving it and wishing Bulldog didn’t have quite so much faith in me. Joan laughed good-naturedly about her boss, who was squat and wide like a bulldog, a nickname further enhanced by his tenaciousness when on a case at the bank. Bulldog was head of security for the same bank where Shelley’s husband, Gerald Johnson, was indicted on multiple charges, including embezzlement, fraud and Shelley’s attempted murder the year before.

Ellen piled the stack of folders on Joan’s desk and sat back, looking out the window at the Omaha skies, her thoughts clearly thousands of miles away, when she felt something hit her shoulder. Looking down and slightly shaking her head to clear her mind, she was looking for whatever it was…a fly or spider, perhaps? She saw on her lap a penny.

That’s for your thoughts, Joan grinned.

Ellen laughed and tossed it back. Just missing Josh; hard to believe he’s going to graduate this year. It feels like just yesterday I was chasing him out of Old Lady Mathilda’s rose bushes when he was two, naked as the day he was born, giggling madly, trying to escape yet another bath.

Joan smiled at her friend, thinking Ellen was lucky to have two loving children. Her oldest daughter lived nearby with her two grandchildren.

Just then Detective McIntire walked in, along with two more policemen, all in full uniform, with their hats under their arms, looking grave and serious.

Oh Detective, I didn't see you there, I'm sorry. Said Ellen, winking at Joan. "If you're here to see Joan, I'll just take my stack of folders and be on my way.

Hello Joan, Ellen. All three policemen nodded respectively, No Ma'am. We're here to see you. Detective McIntire pointedly said to Ellen. Is there somewhere we can talk privately?

Goodness, Detective, whatever you have to say, you can say here, in front of Joan. Lord knows what we all went through together the last year. Ellen replied, waving her arm over Joan and Detective McIntire.

Maybe it is better Joan is here. The three Policemen entered Joan's moderate office, making it feel three times as small with five people. The Detective bade Ellen to sit down.

********

Shelley walked from her penthouse home on the Missouri River to her office among the top floors of the skyline in downtown Omaha. She had been living in her penthouse apartment since taking Gerald on in court the previous year. One entire wall was floor-to-ceiling windows scanning the entire length of the apartment. The apartment itself was twenty by forty, the building itself being thirty by forty. Her apartment was divided into thirds: the front being the living, dining and kitchen, the middle her spacious bathroom down a narrow hallway and her bedroom at the end with a private balcony.

Her living room held a U-Shaped white cotton and white leather settee with matching ottoman, white marble side tables all facing the windows, overlooking the Missouri River and some trees grouped together in sections of three or four, creating a little park for the building. The walls were a soothing heather gray corduroy fabric with fantastic artwork adorning every few feet. Her bathroom included overly large marble tub with low wall in the center facing the windows, the toilet and bidet enclosed off to the right and a double mirror with a small stool on the opposite side completed the look. Her bedroom had a platform bed on a three foot white pine base, with drawers on the two opposite sides of the platform and the headboard was white tufted cotton and white leather, interwoven together. There were tall wardrobe closets on opposite walls with a Queen Anne chair in