Irony 2: Gin Soaked Dreams

By Robert Shroud

For both Detective Reginald Thomas Williams and the citizens of Bay City, Irony 2-Gin Soaked Dreams picks up where Irony left off. Just when the streets were thought safe, The Animal is replaced by Henry Louis Needle. In the case of Detective Williams, he seeks revenge on those he feels responsible for his tragic loss. His partner, Detective Reuben Garcia, is determined to stop him. As Henry Louis Needle's lust for killing grows, someone close to Reg is kidnapped. If he is to save them, he must come to terms with his demons and stretch the limits of his mind. The ticking clock is not his friend.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Shroud
• Release date: Oct 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311919014

Robert Shroud

I could regale you with a biography which would include snippets of my life. I could highlight for you over forty years of both accomplishments and failures. Well, maybe not failures. I’ve never read an ‘about the author’ that included falling out of a tree in your youth. I have no grandiose yarns to spin here. I am just a guy who has always wanted to be a writer. I have been writing off and on since the age of twelve. What I want to do more than anything is concentrate on delivering you, the reader, quality works. If I can do that, then I believe over time you will come to know more about me than you ever wanted to. Sincerely, Robert Shroud. [e-mail]

Book preview

Part 1

Death Game

1

PUSH, HONEY.

I am pushing. Grrrrr.

I see it. I see the head.

Grrrrr.

"He’s coming, honey. Our baby is coming.

Shooooot, forgive me Jesus, AAAA! Sheeet! Mother—

She performed a final push, and into the world came Henry Louis Needle II, born under the sign of Cancer, on July 20th 1990. Doctor Scott Sutherland was the attending physician.

***

We are gathered here for the purpose of bestowing baptism on the newest addition to our church family, Henry Louis Needle II. As per the ways of our Catholic forefathers, not abandoned by The Church of the Holy Agony, may the godparents please step forward with the child.

Yes, Father.

Henry Louis Needle II, son of Henry I, and Meredith Louise, god-child of Bobby and Sarah Needle, and now counted among the sons of god, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

{In Chorus} AAAAmmeeeennnn.

1995

He is such a little jewel, Meredith.

Aw, thank you, Clarice.

He’s five now, right?

Just last month. Henry Senior brought him his first children’s Bible.

Wish I could have been at the party. But my Janie being sick and all …

That’s okay—oh, I almost forgot, I have pictures. Wanna see?

I’d love to, Meredith. Jesus, look how he is helping Janie with her dolls. I tell you, Mery, god blessed you with a little angel.

1998

Now, son, you are growing up and becoming a man, and that means responsibility. Eight years is old enough for housework and learning the value of a dollar. Do your chores every day, and you’ll get an allowance at the end of the week. Miss doing some of them, and your allowance will be less than if you had done them all. Understand? Good boy, chip off the old block. Did you study your scriptures today? What did you learn? That’s right, for god so loved the world that he gave his one and only son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish, but have eternal life. Off you go, and don’t forget, Monday’s and Thursday’s is garbage pickup.

2003

I don’t want you fighting in school. It’s not the Christian way. Don’t but me, mister. Henry, talk some sense into your son?

Come here son, sit down. Yes, I understand that he hit you first, but what is it that the scriptures teach us? Precisely, turn the other cheek. If you go around hitting everybody who calls god a fake, you’ll be fighting half the world. You’re thirteen and will be off to Seminary soon. Still want to be a priest, don’t you? Good boy. Go up to your room and pray about it. I’ll visit the school tomorrow and have a talk with the principal.

2008

Oh my god, I’m going to cry.

Quit with the histrionics, Meredith.

It’s not every day your only child goes off to Seminary. Who knows when we will see him again?

Geez, Mery, he’s eighteen, take off the training wheels and let him be a man. He’ll be fine, won’t you, son? That’s my boy, chip off the old block.

I still don’t understand why he has to go so far. There’s a perfectly fine Institution right here in town, twenty minutes away.

His choice, Meredith. Want him to wear diapers his whole life? Get your things, we have a long drive ahead of us.

A Week Later

{Doctor Charleston, please report to the emergency room, STAT.}

I’m so sorry, Henry. If you need anything call me day or night, my door is always open.

That goes for me too. If you can’t reach Father Casey, I’m here, buddy. And don’t worry, the police are going to catch the pieces of shit who did this.

Bobby Needle, Father Casey is standing right—

No harm done, Sister Sarah. This is a time of trial for us all. I’d have choice words of my own, had it been my brother shot and killed.

Those home invading bastards are going to get what’s coming to them. The same as what they did to my brother.

Will you all excuse me? Brother Berne is recovering from bypass surgery, and I promised his wife I would look in and pray with him.

Thank you for coming down, Father. I know my brother and his wife would have appreciated you being here.

God be with you, Bobby.

"Your mother is a fighter, Henry. She’ll hang on. And I know you aren’t going back to school right away, so you can stay with Sarah and me for as long as you need … Not going to happen. You want the first thing your mother hears when she wakes up is that you left Seminary, after a week? … If you weren’t my blood I would knock you down where you stand. There is no 'what if' she doesn’t wake up. She will. And when she does, you will be back in school … I know I’m right."

A Week More

Told you your mother was a fighter, Henry. The doctor said she has responded to stimuli. Get down here. She could be up at any minute. Another week and she will be teaching her Sunday School class again.

Later that Night

Nooo. Oh, god, nooo. Henry, is that you? They are coming for me, Henry. Stop them, please, don’t let them take me. I was good. I believed in the Church. AAAIIIEEE!

Meredith Louise Needle, as devout a Catholic as anyone her son knew, died a screaming, agonizing death. Her only offspring, a once aspiring priest, was by her bedside when death came for her.

2

Present Day

HE WAS jarred awake.

Carol, is that you? How can this be? I thought the Animal—

Shhh, no thinking, come with me. She took his hand and led him from their living room sofa, down the hall to the bedroom. He grasped her arm and drew her back, hugging her tight.

Carol, baby, it has been so crazy without you. There was the Animal case, and I had it out with your mother, and—oh, to hell with all of that. I’m just happy you’re home.

Of course, I’m home, silly. Where else would I be?

Her muffled words spoken into his chest were an enchanting harmony. He peeled her away to have a look at her. She smiled her pearly whites. He got lost in the hazel swirl of her radiant eyes.

In the five months his wife was gone, Detective Reginald Thomas Williams thought he would lose his mind. He held it together long enough, with the help of some gin soaked nights, to bring the case he had been working on to conclusion. Then he heard the devastating news, and that is when he lost his mind.

Why are you looking at me as if it’s the first time you’ve ever seen me? Is something wrong? she said.

Not anymore, he thought, nothing would ever be wrong again. He clasped his wife back to his chest, determined to never let go. He would be different. They would be different. To prove it, he would quit the force like she has always wanted. Carol Hanson Williams would be standing right beside him, when he handed in his badge.

Straight from his Captain’s office, they would visit a fertility clinic, to determine why they hadn’t gotten pregnant in seven years of marriage. Even if he had to soak his genitals in ice three times a day, he was going to give her the baby she wanted.

With his wife fastened to his chest, he began to promise things that would assuredly disintegrate with time.

I swear, baby, no more of my clothes lying around. Neatly folded back into the drawer, hung on a hanger, or in the laundry hamper, from now on. And when I come home from whatever job I end up working, I’ll always have a hug, kiss, and smile for you. I swear, baby, and–

She craned her face up at him, interrupting his gleeful, if only momentarily sincere, proclamations.

Something you want to tell me, honey? he said, getting lost in her hazel eyes again.

She nodded.

Anything, baby, you can tell me anything.

Open the door, Reg.

I don’t understand.

We can have a couple of drinks and talk this out.

In an explosion that wasn’t audible in the real world, but felt all the same, his utopian, rapid-eye-movement universe, detonated into reality. He lurched erect off the sofa. It took several seconds to realize where he was. It took several more for it to dawn on him that his wife was no longer in his arms. The next few were spent flinching, as Reuben began the next round of banging on his apartment door.

A dream that lasted all of a few minutes led to hours of weeping in a crumbled heap. By the time he peeled himself away from the cold living room tiles, Reuben and his banging were long gone. If not for the bottle of gin keeping him company being empty, he might not have moved at all.

He slothed into the kitchen, secured another bottle of liquid companion, and slumped to the bedroom. He gulped Carol’s dream images down his throat, and picked up the television remote at the foot of the bed.

He quickly changed from the news channel. They were running Animal coverage to no end. Psychiatrists, psychologists, sociologists, and anyone who ever took a Psyche-101 class, was offering their opinions on the case. He didn’t care anymore. The Animal was dead. As far as he was concerned, the rest of the world could die too.

Foremost in his mind was drifting off into inebriated sleep. Ted Danson’s lunatic antics on Becker would help him do just that. His wife wasn’t a fan, so he saved binge watching of the show for when she was away.

You can’t get more away than dead, he thought.

Late Tuesday, in the early stages of October, if he cared at all what the weather was like outside, he would have noticed it was a cool, clear, fall evening. Detective Reginald Thomas Williams may not have cared about the state of the world outside of his bedroom window, but he would soon not be caring on the other side of it.

Re-runs of one of his favorite old shows is not what flashed onto his screen. What did flash ignited smoldering embers of rage, which had been burning his mind for three days.

Tell us, Trent, what do you find most appealing about KIWI Incorporated?

Well, Mark, it’s simple: They care. KIWI Incorporated Industries cares about the community at large. Their concern, not only for the quality of products they manufacture, but also for the welfare of the common citizen, is what makes them spec—

The week before, he had thrown a shot glass at his twenty-seven-inch living room flat screen. He had been aiming at an old scallywag talking to a reporter. Minutes later, he was grateful to have missed.

When he hurled the gin bottle at his twenty five inch bedroom set, his aim was true. The screen exploded, ricocheting chunks of glass and cathode ray powder back at him. Minutes later, there was no regret.

3

GET OUT of my way, Rube.

So you can go vigilante, sticking your foot in the ass of everyone you think responsible for Carol’s death? Then what?

I’ll decide when the time comes.

I called your sister. She’s on the way. The three of us can talk this through, Reuben pleaded.

Reg’s talking vein was dry. He had raged it out for three days, drowning his vengeful mental antagonist in 80-proof Seagram’s. There was no more blood in his talking vein, just like there was no more blood in his wife’s body, after a fucking Animal drank it all.

He feinted right and whipped his left fist around, connecting with Reuben’s jaw. He got as far as slipping the key into his Town Car lock, before being grabbed from behind and wrestled to the ground.

Get off me.

Reuben’s 6’2, 260 pound girth budged only slightly amid Reg’s struggles.

If you won’t listen to reason, partner, this is how it is.

Like hell.

His back still pained him from the confrontation with Fare. His bruised ribs were nowhere near healed. The residual bump on his forehead, from having been kicked dead center of it by the Animal, was another aching reminder of the recently closed case. All these contributed to his scream of agony when he tried to throw Reuben off him.

Arrrggg!

Reuben planted Reg’s face in the sidewalk and handcuffed him.

Damn you. I was going to get those bastards, make them pay for Carol.

I know, Reuben knelt by his side, that’s why I had to stop you.

To hell with stopping me. You should have had my back. You know damn well if it was Gloria—

Stop right there. He pointed down at him. Don’t lay there and tell me I didn’t care about your wife, and don’t bring Gloria into this. He ran a hand through his hair. Reg, Carol is … Carol is …

Say it, chicken shit. You did before.

Dead, okay? Carol is dead. A shooting rampage is not bringing her back. And it sure as hell isn’t going to get you one last moment to say goodbye.

There it was, out in the open. In one sentence, Reuben had struck him at his heart. Since his wife’s disappearance, and through the Animal case, all he could think of was seeing her again. He envisioned a joyous reconciliation and happily ever after. His world collapsed when he found out she was dead. At the center of his soul implosion was that he never got to say goodbye, never got that last kiss.

In his profession, he’d heard all the testimonials from loved ones—"If I only knew when I kissed him as he left for work, that it would be the last time I’d see him alive ..."

At least they had that kiss. He didn’t have a kiss. He didn’t have a hug. He didn’t even have a cursing wave. All he had was him yelling at her, him shouting that he was a cop and she could take it or leave it, him slamming the door in her face and spiriting away in a huff. Carol went to her grave at the hands of a monster, and her final remembrances of her husband were of him acting like a spoiled child. It was almost more than he could bear.

Bound at the efforts of his partner, Detective Reuben Garcia, Reg lay on the ground in the nippy, October night, and openly wept. He muttered the only sentence his brokenness allowed.

I’m sorry, Carol, baby, I’m sorry.

Before passing out from having alcohol abused a battered body for three days, he saw Reuben punch three numbers into his cell phone.

4

WHAT IS IT going to be, Henry? You can’t have us both. It is either me or death.

Never one for many words, he remained silent in the face of her question. His interest was affixed in making sure the noose held the knot in its proper place.

This whole morbid scene was fun at first. Different, you know? But you can’t keep hanging yourself, drowning yourself, or taking a bunch of pills, to try and see what’s on the other side. You’re going to go too far one day. Let’s hop in the car and just drive, honey. Hit that seafood place you like so much down by the bay. What do you say?

If she was going to leave, he wished she would go. Her blabbing was interrupting his mental preparation. A cerebral state of blankness ensured that if he did have a near death experience, it wouldn’t be influenced by what he carried from the waking world.

Do you even hear me anymore? Henry?

He cut her a look that could have come from Montana’s Glacier National Park.

Eat my period rag, fucker. I hope that rope of yours keeps you warm at night.

His girlfriend of eighteen months picked up the suitcase she’d packed earlier, and stormed out of their bedroom. She returned for a last word.

Your mother must have really screwed you up or something. Didn’t you used to want to be a priest?

Obsession with his mother’s death bed experience consumed him. Was she in Heaven? Hell? What about his father? Was the way he was raised a farce? Was Billy Condiff, the seventh grade classmate who punched him and called god a fake, right?

"God doesn’t exist, stupid," Billy had said.

Seminary aspirations, along with a good deal of his faith, choked on the bullets that killed his parents. But a piece of him was bound to his upbringing. It was wrong to do the things he had been thinking about, no matter the fervor of the preoccupation that drove him. He couldn’t let the wayward tune of evil win.

Five years his mother has been in the grave. Only in the last two, has he conducted his near death experiments. Six months into his research, contemplating doing away with rehearsals, Joanne burst onto the scene, showing interest in not only him, but his exploits. A godsend.

She was nurturing, as his mother had been, and breathed new life into his pursuits. They stretched the tethers of their spirits and shared in walking the flatline edge. It bought them closer, creating an unbreakable bond. Or so he thought.

Joanne grew weary of their limited success. In recent months, an ever widening wedge has been driven between them. He wanted to expand their endeavoring repertoire. She wanted to spend more nights beneath him, and expand their friends list. Neither were social animals. Jack and Sable, a tolerable couple, were the only real friends they had.

Henry hated to admit it, but he was about as ready for her to be gone, as she was to go. She had failed to live up to the unspoken agreements and treasured bond. His mother would have never turned her back on him the way she was doing. Never.

The only thing he hated more than Joanne’s complaining misgivings, was himself, for comparing her to his mother in the first place. She didn’t deserve to behold the holy ground Meredith Needle walked on.

The bitch. Good riddance.

Henry’s thoughts on the matter finalized, as his once upon a time godsend spun on her heels, and walked out of the bedroom, the noose was ready for his next attempt.

"Your mother must have really screwed you up or something. Didn’t you used to want to be a priest?"

If there had been any thought involved, instead of primal emotional reaction, it wouldn’t have happened. There is a chance, if his thoughts were not as they were when her words entered his auditory canal, it wouldn’t have happened either. Such as it was, circumstances fused and sparked the perfect storm in Henry Louis Needles’ psyche.

He no longer dismissed the wayward tune of evil that tried to influence him. He heeded its call, channeling five years of frustration through its melodious song. When the involved thoughts did come, they marched to the new beat provided them.

Henry wrapped his newly created hangman’s noose around his godsend’s neck, and suffocated her until she passed out. Swiftly, he bound her spread-eagle across the dining room table, each limb roped to its own table leg.

His wayward tune agreed with Joanne. Though he had become proficient at straddling the line between existences, there was always the chance for a slip up. Of course, if he did miscalculate, he would find out for sure what lay beyond the grave. He wasn’t ready for that.

Meredith Louise Needle died screaming in torrential fear at what she saw coming for her. Henry had to know what it was. If he was incapable of seeing it himself, as two years of attempts testified, others had to be conscripted into his plans. He owed Joanne a debt of gratitude for helping him to see that.

A true godsend, bearing in her bosom a sign from god.

Where she had wet herself, he wiped down her naked body with a damp sponge. As he blotted between her legs, down inner thigh flesh, an infusion of divine portents buzzed in his mind. A passage from Isaiah was the first:

"Behold, I am doing a new thing. Do you not perceive it?

I am making a way in the desert, and streams in the wasteland."

Yes. That was it, he thought. Through him, god would send a revelation. That is why Joanne was sent. She was to be the sacrifice through which it would come. He would discover what lay beyond the grave, and in that discovery would be a new thing, a message to be delivered to the masses.

The awestruck impulse in Henry’s soul bubbled inside him like streams of seltzer water. He darted to the bedroom to retrieve his bible, along the way, humming Amazing Grace, his mother’s favorite hymn. He snatched up the good book from the bottom drawer of the nightstand, and returned to the kitchen to do god's work. His faith in the almighty, and his mission, renewed.

5

REG’s EYES flittered open at Bay Regional Medical Center. He heard sobbing by his bedside. Even through the dim of painkillers, he could tell whose tears they were.

Reggie? Thank god. His sister leapt from her chair to hug him.

Ugh.

Ooh, sorry, did I hurt you? Kris released her clutching grab of his shoulders. He waved a slow hand at her concern.

Sure you’re okay?

He didn’t want to be there, he didn’t want her there, and he certainly didn’t feel like talking. What he wanted was a drink, but her rueful display made him hesitant to