Runaway Mom

By Dan Morris

Reeling from a tragic ending to a serial murder case (Beyond Evil) in San Antonio, Texas, Frank McLaughlin, a worldly and highly skilled private investigator relocates to Dallas. He settles in by building a new life with new friends until he takes on a missing person case. The client, Johnny Blue Feather, is a wealthy avionics entrepreneur of Native-American descent (Navajo) who wants to find and reunite his missing sister, Carol, with her two children. She had dropped her children off with an aunt more than a decade ago and ran away to live among the homeless in Albuquerque, New Mexico. The case leads Frank on an odyssey along nostalgic Route 66 and deep into the Navajo Reservation where he is forced to confront Native-American culture, religion and history. His subject, Carol, is a proud survivor harboring a murderous secrete that is oddly linked to a vile skin-walker. Franks obsession to learn her secrete takes him down a deadly path filled with intrigue and suspense. A street-wise prostitute (Tina) becomes his strongest ally while she desperately tries to turn her own life around.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 30, 2008
• ISBN: 9780595630288

Dan Morris

Dan Morris retired from the U.S. Army as a warrant officer (Special Agent) in counterintelligence. He also worked as a police patrolman and then as a detective in Florida. He has written and edited thousands of intelligence & investigative reports as well as articles for journals. Currently, he resides in Denton, Texas.

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CHAPTER 1

Three months had passed since that dreadful day in San Antonio when Frank McLaughlin, Private Investigator, lost the love of his life. He was accepting the fact that everyone, in varying degrees, has trouble dealing with loss. But when a man loses someone that he loves it is as though all of his glorious dreams are stolen from him and some impish ghoul replaces them with nightmares filled with sorrow and sadness.

The initial and ensuing loneliness nearly drove him mad. Like it or not, he was adrift in his daily activities like a sailor without a compass. Too many times he asked himself the same question: What could I have done to save her and our relationship?

Only now was he finally realizing that what was done could not be undone. There was no reason to allow guilt to overwhelm him; that was senseless. She was gone because she made a choice between her life, her future with him, and a satchel of money. In the end, and for him, it all boiled down to accepting reality, regardless of how grim that concession might be.

His loss was only off-set by seeing all those horrific murders come to an end. Even now he couldn’t believe he had been investigating one of the biggest crimes in San Antonio’s history. Hell, it may have been one of the biggest crimes in the world for this century. If someone would have told him twenty years earlier that he would work on a case where nuns were being ritualistically murdered, he would have told them that they were crazy and probably had been watching too many late-night horror films on TV. The case had lured him on a course that took him beyond evil.

Time may heal wounds of the flesh, but, it doesn’t work that well and that quickly when a person loses someone they love. Fiona’s love had penetrated deeply into his heart and soul and that is where it may linger for years, perhaps forever. For him, an acceptable closure was adrift somewhere far into the future and he had no hint as to when its time would come. Surely, there would never be another like her, no matter how swiftly time flew. Logic told him that all men dealt with loss and loneliness or else they had not truly faced life in a realistic way. Fate won’t allow anyone to escape a tragic loss. More often than not, it delivers us to tragedy at least once and sometimes many times during our lives. Fate simply drags us around wherever it wants.

What separates men from other animals is their ability to adapt to hard times and survive with dignity. Certainly, dignity does not carry the same value among lesser species of life. Frank lost a lot when Fiona sacrificed herself, but the world gained from her actions and her sense of duty. After all, she had played a part in ending a family legacy of evil. Her son’s evil actions, criminal intent, and greed set him on a collision course with his day of reckoning.

The irony of Fiona’s death rested with her impulsively taking a poorly calculated risk for money. Even though money is a material thing, she could only think of the good that it could do. She did not risk her life for personal gain or out of greed. She only intended to put the money to good use.

Her final moments left Frank confused about life. In fact, he had never seen anyone meet death so graciously. During the final days of his investigation, she had helped tremendously and because of her efforts many more nuns were spared a demeaning and violent death. There is no doubt that she was a true heroine. Simply, if it wasn’t for her, those murders would still be taking place.

Frank understood, after grieving, that he had to put Fiona’s tragic death into the realm of retrospect or there would be no healing, no closure. That realization was what prompted him to move on.

Not only was he trying to distance himself in time, but also in miles. He really had needed a change in scenery and new faces to look at. Moving around every two or three years was one of the things he missed about serving in the military. When a guy stays too long in one place he becomes stagnant and complacent, trapped. Everyone should explore and experience more of the world. There was no doubt about it, he needed change, and he needed it quickly. Starting over would keep his mind busy and acquiring new friends while building a new business would help him survive some of the ugliness he had experienced in San Antonio. Blotting out the past would take time and effort so he had to stay busy or risk drowning in sorrow.

Even though his renewal and transformation was under way, he couldn’t help feeling uneasy about his new life. He concluded that a lot of his uneasiness had something to do with his emotional transformation not seeing a lot of progress, let alone being complete. In spite of his questionable progress, a sense of optimism was beginning to emerge. After all, he was still going to be a private investigator and that was paramount.

Nonetheless, there was additional healing needed. His nights had been the worse for him as he sat alone, night after night, in his new home in Dallas. Even though he did not have any particular person to give him advice, he was not totally alone. He still had that wonderful fur-ball of a cat, Leo. That lovable cat probably kept him from going off the deep end, emotionally. People would certainly think that he was crazy if they saw him talking to a cat.

Starting over in a new town was not easy for anyone. He had been in Dallas for over a month and had only done five investigations. On the flip side, they were all simple, profitable, and drudgingly boring insurance cases. He knew he was good at what he did so it would only be a matter of time before the right people knew that Frank McLaughlin, Private Investigator, was on the scene. Sure, he needed the income, there was no argument there. However, that was not what motivated him when it came to work.

Good or bad, he had a terrible habit of over analyzing things in his life. His work was no different. Most outsiders would probably give their heads a bewildering rub when they saw him become more excited and satisfied over doing things that didn’t always pay a lot of money. As usual, he was reluctant to allow this debate to run through his mind because, on a deeper level, it seemed like such a rhetorical issue. When it came to the why of it, he already knew the answer. Clearly, serving a purpose was more important than making money. Working only for money was just too utilitarian. After all, there was a big difference between a job and work.

In his way of thinking a job was just about making money and work had more to do with expressing who he was and what he was about. A job only made him money and kept bill collectors off his tail. When he was working, applying his trade, he was doing something that he found enjoyable, gratifying. Work had more to do with how he felt about himself than it did to just paying bills.

Maybe he was just becoming too independent and idealistic. Still, being a private investigator gave him the freedom to do the things that made me feel good. He liked being free and creative, and when he did well he was flying on cloud nine. This concept was an important key to his philosophy about life. His intrinsic rewards were more important to him than the material benefits gained from the way he earned a living.

At any rate, here he was, in Dallas, starting his life over. There was still something missing, though. He was a romantic who did not have cold feet. It was okay to be dynamic and enterprising while pushing the envelope of life. He may even be an adventure addict, but he would like to think that he wasn’t. He attached a certain importance to a daring lifestyle that fell just short of being reckless. What was so wrong about wanting a little adventure in his life? Spicing things up couldn’t be all that bad, could it? He simply wouldn’t be satisfied being an armchair adventurer. He thrived on, even excelled on a need for first-hand adventure and believed it should be the ultimate goal for all men. He became a private investigator because he was action-minded and this career field opened so many doors that led to an unconventional existence.

Anyway, that was his belief; his goal in life, something he hoped for every day. In the mean time, he had to adjust and settle into his new surroundings. Change and adjustment could be difficult pills to swallow and if not properly approached, stressful.

His new next door neighbor, Ellen, was a terrific lady. She was a retired school teacher and widow. She was a dark skinned Afro-American with salt & pepper hair and she had the most beautiful smile. Frank was taken by her warmth and friendliness. When he moved in, not only did she bring him a home cooked meal, she also brought Leo a bag of kitty treats. He felt fortunate to have a neighbor like her. She was such a thoughtful and gracious human being. He hoped she didn’t think he was rude or ungrateful for not accepting her invitation to attend church with her. His faith had been spinning in circles most of his life, and even more so after all that took place in San Antonio. Besides, if he had to sing a hymn his voice would invoke havoc on the congregation. The hysterical laughter would be embarrassing to him and disruptive to everyone else. He didn’t even dare sing in the shower or in front of Leo.

Frank vowed to himself not to give Ellen the impression that he was a cold-mannered man that did not want friends. To counter that perception, he offered to take her to dinner and she accepted, gladly. Frank was a practical man with no time to waste so the next evening he took her to dinner at a restaurant of her choice. They had a wonderful time filled with delightful conversation. Undoubtedly, Ellen was the perfect neighbor.

Frank decided to strike out and look for other new friends with a more robust nature. He decided to head over to Greenville Avenue and find a quiet, blue-collar bar, and have a beer while talking about sports or listening to gossip. He just needed to get his mind off of the past. Simply, he wanted to go out for a beer and some old-fashion conversation.

Alright, Leo, I want you to behave yourself until I get back. I’ll only be gone a couple of hours. Leo curled up on a chair and closed his eyes as if it would make time move more quickly.

Frank was thankful it was early and dinner time. He didn’t want to go into a strange bar that was packed with drunks who were all caught up in themselves and acting foolish. If that happened, he guessed he would be home sooner than he wanted. He just wanted to meet people and hang out. Maybe a pool game could be worked in, that would be nice. He didn’t even care if he won or not.

He was grateful that it was past mid-summer, even though that meant little in this part of the country. After all, even in North Texas, there was still a strong chance that the mercury could climb into the triple digits and he did not like contending with that prospect. That same intolerable heat made his move to Dallas all too uncomfortable and exhausting. Tonight, however, he would just drive around with the truck windows rolled down and enjoy what little breeze would blow on his face. If that didn’t work, he could always resort to the truck’s air conditioner.

Sometimes it’s nice to do something without a plan. More often than not, people who planned every detail of their lives, including their leisure time, missed out on having a great time. Besides, a person can’t plan for those times when they will feel a little low. If he wanted to justify to anyone why he was going out on this particular night, he could just chalk it up to area orientation. That’s what his fellow counterintelligence agents called it when they were working in a new place and wanted to go out on the town. They were just reconnoitering the area and it was just a bonus if they had fun doing it.

In short order he was out the door, behind the wheel, and making his way down Greenville Avenue. The street had a seemingly endless array of taverns and nightclubs. He could only facetiously imagine how much fun the police had on Friday and Saturday nights. At this point in his life, he was finished with the nightclub scene; there were just too many young people out on the street, and according to the nightly newscasts they all seemed to be getting into fights. The endless drive-by shootings were destroying neighborhoods. So it was crucial for him to take his time and drive around until he found a quiet place. The last thing he wanted was to have the night marred by violence.

Twenty minutes passed before he found a place that looked promising; there were only six cars parked in front. What a great name for a Texas tavern: Trail Riders. There were no windows. He always wondered why so many taverns had no windows. At least it had a couple video security cameras out front. The parking area could have used a little improvement, though. However, he was not going to let a few potholes and some loose gravel deter him from finding some peace and quiet.

Once out of the truck, he stretched, yawned, and realized that he hadn’t been to the gym since arriving in Dallas. He made a mental note that he needed to find a gym and sign up. It wasn’t like him to ignore his body like this.

Concerned he might appear suspiciously reluctant to whoever might be watching the security monitor, he decided not to dawdle and headed to the entrance. After a quick glance at the tattered clouds that were moving across the sky, he grabbed the door handle and walked in like he had been going there all his life.

The place was dark except for the circular bar off to the left. The interior was adorned with rich colored neon lights naming all the major beers. Everyone was sitting around the bar on stools and there was not much conversation taking place. Boldly, he hopped up on a stool that was positioned between two empty ones. He wanted to be close enough to be heard, but not touched. He wasn’t paranoid, just careful. After all, most Americans weren’t accustomed to having their space invaded unless they invited the company. After traveling around the world he learned that some cultures characteristically found it acceptable for people to get in each other’s face, up close and personal. Even though the U.S. was a cultural melting pot, he decided not to chance being perceived as rude.

The bartender walked over, reached across the bar and shook his hand and with a smile said, Howdy, I’m Beth. I don’t recall seeing you in here before.

Howdy, I’m Frank and I just moved to Dallas.

What can I get you, Frank? she spoke with a Texas draw backed up with a wide confident grin.

I’ll have a Bud Light.

Idle chit-chat could be purposefully designed to elicit information from unsuspecting people and when used that way it bore the characteristics of an art form. However, it was more enjoyable when it lacked that design and was reduced to nothing else but casual visiting. Finally, he was going to be able to relax and take his mind off of the mundane things in his life that bored the hell out of him and the past that still haunted him. Taverns were like books; they provided a way to escape from all the things that people want to ignore or escape from. Seemingly meaningless talk was a distraction that everyone needed from time to time.

The most difficult part of conversation had to be getting it started. Breaking the ice could be awkward, especially with strangers, and if it was not kicked off on the right foot it could be over before it began.

The most important part of getting it started, especially for a stranger, was to be a good listener and avoid interrupting. Frank knew he had to listen first in order to understand what was being said before adding his two cents worth. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have a very good chance of being understood. Worse yet, he certainly didn’t want to be viewed as being a meddling outsider. Timing was very important. Besides, he wanted to be fortunate enough to receive an invitation to join in. At any rate, being the outsider, he would play it safe and wait. Eventually, his chance would come, it always did. So he sat quietly sipping his beer until the right opening came his way.

To his left, past that strategically placed empty stool, sat three men who were fully engaged in yakking about their wives and how they just didn’t understand them. On the other side of them the bartender was talking to another woman and Frank couldn’t hear what they were talking about. It was probably some of that woman stuff men never could seem to grasp the true meaning of. If the truth was known, most men didn’t care what women were talking about as long as it wasn’t them.

Two stools to his right and sitting quietly was a very muscular man with long gray hair pulled back into a ponytail. At the far end of the bar, past the pony-tailed man, a woman sat alone. The lighting was dimmer where she sat and all Frank could make out was that she had short blond hair. She was smoking a cigarette and every minute or so she would blow a smoke ring. He recalled sitting in a bar one night puffing away on a cigarette just to see if he could master the art of blowing a smoke ring. He was never able to acquire the talent. The woman looked to be in her late forties or early fifties. She was wearing a light blue denim blouse with some sort of embroidered design. Sitting on the bar in front of her was her purse. The purse was unique because it was styled like a miniature western saddle.

Behind the bar, centered above the liquor bottles was a monitor for the security cameras that were outside. The screen was divided into four sections, each with a different view of the outside. Frank found himself looking at his truck and was comforted when he saw it was alright.

The man with the ponytail kept glancing at the monitor with a concerned interest and that gave Frank an opening for a comment.

Those cameras sure give a fellow some peace of mind and it beats running to the door every couple minutes.

The man almost snarled and snapped back, Especially for me. Before they got those cameras I sat in here one night enjoying a couple of beers. When I went outside all the wheels were gone off my truck. Two thousand dollars shot to hell.

Ouch, no wonder you keep watching the screen. I bet you were pissed.

The man fired back, Pissed, I’ll say I was pissed, alright. I saved for a year to buy those rims. I wish I could have caught those bastards. I work ten hours a day; five, sometimes six, days a week driving a forklift. I bet those assholes who took my wheels never worked a day in their life.

Frank reached across the empty stool and offered his hand, Let me buy you a beer. My name’s Frank.

You don’t have to buy me a beer. I just get mad every time I think about having my rims ripped off like that. By the way, my name’s Phil, he reached over and they shook hands.

Phil, those guys had a lot of nerve doing that while you’re sitting a few feet away like that. Frank couldn’t keep the thought to himself.

That nerve will get them killed some day.

Well, at least you can keep an eye on your truck, now. Frank nodded at the monitor.

Frank, I’ve been coming here for ten years and no one ever stole anything. Now, all of a sudden the whole world is full of thieves, perverts and punks that will kill you for a few dollars so they can score some dope. Phil flicked the ashes off the end of his cigarette into an ashtray.

You have a point there. Sometimes it seems like the whole world is turning into a cesspool. But don’t let it get you down. There are still a few good guys left. Now, can I buy you that beer?

Phil gave in with a compromise. Only if you let me get the next round.

Phil seemed like a decent guy and there didn’t appear to be any communication barrier between them. Besides, if he had been coming here for ten years, he should know the other patrons and that could be a plus. Beth returned with their beers and Phil scooted over onto the stool next to Frank, a clear indication that he was ready for more conversation.

Phil took the lead, You say you are new around here. Where did you come from?

I moved up here from San Antonio. I’ve been here about a month, now. I’m still trying to find my way around.

Frank didn’t like revealing too much about himself to a stranger, but, he did want to be friendly, otherwise, he wouldn’t make any friends.

Dallas is a big place and there are a lot of nut cases here. The nightly news is full of violence, death, and traffic accidents. I like spending a little time here at the bar to unwind before heading home. Besides, I know everyone here and I feel safe. When I come here on Saturday, my wife comes with me. Phil was offering a few good selling points for the bar.

Frank knew the world was full of guys like Phil and there was no argument about it being a good idea to have a place where a guy could relax and hang out with friends. Stopping off at a bar following a hard day’s work was good for blue-collar workers like Phil. White collar types did the same thing only they called it cocktail hour.

The woman with the purse that looked like a miniature western saddle stood up and walked past the jukebox toward the ladies room. Frank couldn’t help noticing that she had a terrific build for her age. She sure did her tight-fitting jeans justice. Phil caught him looking.

That’s Jill and she does look good, don’t you think?

I’ll say she does. I bet she has a husband that walks around wearing a big smile. Frank meant every word of what he said.

She’s one tough cookie, Frank. She’s been married twice that I know of. One of her two sons is doing time at Huntsville for beating her last husband half to death. I think that Jill taught him how to fight because about five years ago one of her ex-husbands came in here and she beat the hell out of him with a cue stick. By the time she finished with him, I’m sure he regretted not keeping up with his child support payments.

I’ll try not to cross her, then. I hate it when a woman kicks my ass. He was trying to get some laughter out of Phil.

If you’re ever in here when she’s in the mood to dance, she sure knows how. Just don’t get to thinking that she’s sweet and innocent. She’s good people, though. I was short of money a couple of years back and was laid off work for two weeks. Jill loaned my wife and me five hundred dollars. She has a big heart and her friends can count on her. Just remember, like any woman, she can be moody.

Jill walked out of the ladies room and wandered over to Phil. She slung her purse over her arm and hugged him. He returned her casual greeting by kissing her on the cheek.

Sweetheart, this is Frank. He just moved here from San Antonio. He was out looking for a place to hang out.

Well, Frank from San Antonio, you couldn’t find a better place to kill some time and this guy here, well I can’t say enough about him. Her perfume smelled good, but didn’t smother the scent of cigarette smoke. Although distasteful to most non-smokers, the combination on Jill was sexy, in a strange way.

Can I get you a drink, Jill? Frank thought that was a good way to break the ice with yet another new acquaintance.

Why not, I have time for one more. I mean, its not like my favorite show is on the tube tonight and I did feed my dog before I came to the bar.

Frank didn’t see any of the toughness in Jill that Phil warned him about. Maybe he was embellishing or maybe he was just being over protective of a close friend. After all, as a newcomer, Frank was an unknown factor.

Jill sat down on the stool to Frank’s left and motioned to Beth for another drink. Beth prepared a Jack Daniels and coke on the rocks and that translated into four dollars instead of the two dollar Bud Lights that he and Phil were drinking. Frank told Beth to put it on his tab.

Well, Frank, what made you leave San Antonio? I mean that’s a long way to go. Jill knew how to quickly probe for background information.

I lost the love of my life and I knew San Antonio wouldn’t be the same without her.

I guess it always has to come down to a woman, money or the law. Why else would a guy pick up and leave? Jill didn’t know how true her words were; she unknowingly hit on all the right reasons, in general terms.

You’re sort of right, but not exactly the way you think. My girlfriend was killed trying to do what was right. I was there when it happened and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. When things go to hell then it’s best to move on and get a fresh start.

Frank used a tone that hinted to Jill and Phil that he wasn’t ready to dwell on the subject.

Jill got up and walked over to the jukebox and slipped a dollar bill in and punched some numbers. She turned around and coaxed Frank with an index finger to join her. Even though he didn’t feel right about it, he didn’t want to appear discourteous so he walked over and joined her. He could sense Phil’s eyes watching as Jill slipped her arm around his waist. Frank felt warm and comfortable with her as the music drifted from the speakers. It had been a long time since he followed country music, but the words sounded familiar. He understood Jill’s intent when he heard the words Time Marches On. He thought she really did grasp what he was going through and was doing a great job of demonstrating it. On the surface, she seemed to be a warm and caring person. Most women have that special knack of deciphering guy’s emotions and placing them into the right context. Frank appreciated her thoughtfulness and linked her thoughtful behavior to the Trail Riders ambiance. Perhaps, after all, he had fallen into the right crowd.

She slipped an arm around his shoulders and before he knew what was happening they were gently swaying to the music. He was relieved that he didn’t once step on her foot as they held each other close and danced more to the words than the tune.

There is an old Native American saying; Don’t let grass grow on the path of friendship. Yes, he would be coming back here, unless he had somehow misread these people.

When the song was over Jill never said a word. She just squeezed his hand then returned to her stool. He guessed that good people could be found anywhere; even in a bar. They sat down and both took a drink; he gulped his and she sipped hers.

Phil focused his attention on the monitor while Jill tilted her head in Frank’s direction, with an elbow on the bar. She sat there in a cloud of cigarette smoke so he couldn’t read her eyes. He knew the wheels were spinning around in her head as she tried to assess what kind of guy he was. He hoped she would be patient and keep an open mind until he was more comfortable and free from his past. He really did want to open up to someone, but not this soon and not with strangers.

She half-smiled and her face softened as if she was contemplating something appropriate to say, but no words came out. Then without warning, she shifted her attention first to Phil and then to the monitor. Suddenly, a silence settled across the bar and Frank became aware of the tension.

Phil was first to speak, Oh shit, I don’t like what I’m seeing. I knew something like this would happen someday, I just knew it. Everyone felt the alarm in his voice.

Beth stood silent, tense, like a deer detecting danger. That’s when Frank saw what was on the monitor.

An old clunker of a Lincoln was parked lengthways behind their vehicles and the passenger door was wide open. Facing the bar was a black man in his late twenties or early thirties. He pulled a ski mask over his head. As he walked toward the entrance, he pulled a revolver from his belt. Their eyes all shifted to the door in anticipation of his entry. Jill grabbed her purse and quickly moved behind Frank so she was standing between him and Phil. Maybe she was afraid and no one could certainly blame her. A nervous man with a gun who was about to pull off a robbery could be capable of anything.

Anticipation of what was about to occur mounted by the second and there was nothing any of them could do about it. The bright light of an afternoon sun filled the entrance when the door was slammed opened. They all winced from the sound. The light shadowed the man’s features. Frank didn’t know about the others, but for him the man posed a real threat to all of them. He was an unknown factor committed to a dangerous act out of some desperate need.

The effect was somewhat wasted because, only a moment before, everyone had seen his face on the monitor when he pulled the ski mask over his head. Most common thugs and thieves are either too stupid to realize they are being filmed or they only want the effect on their audience that comes from being confronted by a masked man with a gun. He was nearly sprinting as he rushed to the bar and challenged Beth. After all, the bartender usually assumed the responsibility of authority and most bar patrons will abide by their decisions. He gestured nervously with his pistol. His brazen actions made everyone nervous. No doubt about it, he was armed and dangerous.

Don’t any of you get stupid because if you do; you’re dead.

He tossed a paper sack onto the bar and pointed the pistol at Beth.

Empty the cash register in the bag. Everyone else, empty your pockets and put your wallets and jewelry on the bar. Come on, move it. I don’t have all day.

To Frank’s surprise, Jill was the first to act. Behind his back he felt her move to open her purse. He knew this had to be difficult for her since she, like everyone else in the bar, probably worked hard for her money. He felt badly for Phil after hearing about the theft of his wheels.

Frank hesitated, reluctant to give up his wallet, not so much because of the money, but out of simple pride. No private investigator should be a robbery victim. After all those years in the military, being a combat veteran, how could he just give up without a fight? Some pistol-waving punk was about to make him