Penance

By Edward Hunt

PENANCE is the first book in a series of crime novels featuring retired Boston homicide detective John Gilfillan. This story is about the race to find Lori Doyle. Ten years ago, Lori, as a teenager, witnessed a killing. Today, she has established a new life for herself and her daughter in Maine under an alias. Unbeknownst to her, all that’s about to change, as some are seeking her out to do her harm and some to do her good. A page-turner to keep you in suspense until the end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adelaide Books Publishers
• Release date: Apr 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781952570117

Edward Hunt

Edward Daniel Hunt has an undergraduate degree from the University of New Haven and a graduate degree from Lesley University. His short stories have appeared in the Scarlett Leaf Review, Down in the Dirt Magazine and Adelaide Literary Magazine. “Hit Men Have Feelings Too” was named a finalist in Adelaide Magazine’s 2018 Literary Award Contest for Best Short Story. His short story “Pieces of the Puzzle” was named a finalist for Best Short Story in Adelaide's Magazine's 2019 contest. Much of his early work and social life was spent in restaurants and bars, as evidenced by his writing. He is a member of the Maine Writers and Publishers Alliance, Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime New England. Adelaide Book Publishing has recently released his crime novel Penance. He lives in Old Orchard Beach, Maine within walking distance to the beach.

Book preview

Ten years ago…

Jamaica Plain

Ricky was crawling out of his skin and bouncing off his seat, ready and anxious to make this thing happen. He kept pulling his Smith and Wesson out of his pocket and aiming it out the window at passing cars. After popping Meth and Adderall, his head was in fast-forward and feeling like it was about to explode at any minute. It didn’t help that it was a hot summer night and the stolen van’s air conditioning wasn’t working. The utility van moved slowly down the street and was almost to the hospital. Fidgeting and sweating bullets, he couldn’t understand how his brother could be so fucking oblivious. His brother Larry was as he always was, calm and focused on his driving. Larry was okay with simple tasks but couldn’t handle anything too complicated. Knowing Larry, he wasn’t even thinking about what came next.

Ricky had a song playing over and over in his head. A sped-up version of Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood by the Animals. What do they call that? A head worm? No, no, an ear worm. It was an old sixties song. Something about not being understood and that he wasn’t any different than everybody else. The song spoke to him. Tomorrow he would share it with Marcy; she’d get it. He looked over at his cousin Tommy. Tommy was also calm in spite of what was about to go down. Tommy never showed any emotion unless he got angry and lost control. Unfortunately that happened way too often.

Not this parking lot, the physician’s lot in back near the ER. Tommy sounded impatient and like he was ready to be done with this. This was the first time Tommy had said anything in fifteen minutes. Ricky immediately resented Tommy telling his brother what to do. This was Ricky’s plan. His idea. He was running things.

Larry had found the parking lot but stopped the van and let it idle in the middle of the road. The parking lot had an electronic gate and required an ID card to open it.

Just go around it and over the curb, Ricky said this loudly, wanting to take back control. Larry managed to do this with the scraping of the undercarriage. At three am, there were only a few cars remaining in the parking lot. Ok, Ok. Ricky was pointing. Park next to that BMW, yeah right there, no, no, on the left side. Good. The song seemed to be playing louder in Ricky’s head. Like the song said, he didn’t mean to do bad things, sometimes things just happened. It wasn’t that unusual, everyone has problems.

*

Dr. Eric Jameson was running on empty. Fast asleep when he got the call from the hospital to assist a colleague with surgery, he responded without complaint. There were children involved and he was beginning to build a reputation that this was his forte. Married with a young daughter of his own he felt a strong connection. Surgery had gone long and had been complicated. Tired and distracted, he noticed the dark-colored utility van parked next to him and had a fleeting thought about it being out of place, but exhausted, he quickly dismissed it. It happened fast, the van’s sliding door opened with a bang behind him. He was grabbed by at least two sets of arms and a bag was shoved over his head blocking his vision. Scared and panicking, he dropped his attaché and struggled desperately trying to get loose and pull the bag off. Heals scraping the pavement, he was hauled roughly into the back of the van that smelled of rubber and paint. Tommy grabbed the attaché, after helping Ricky throw the doc inside the van.

*

Shit! Tommy knew this was a mistake the minute the sliding door closed. Ricky, still high and hyper, was screaming at the guy after throwing him down on the van’s floor. Stay down! Stay down, or you’re gonna get hurt! I’ll blow your fucking head off! Since he was hardly moving at this point after bumping his head, Tommy didn’t see the need for all the noise and adding to the confusion. Larry floored it, tires screeching, out of the parking lot.

Hey asshole, slow down! You don’t have to effing’ announce we just did something stupid! And you can take off your mask. Tommy sounded pissed off and he was, the last thing they needed to do was draw attention to themselves.

Larry didn’t say anything but Ricky spoke up. This isn’t stupid; it’s going down just the way I planned it.

Planned! Tommy was about to respond but Larry had slowed down so he let it go. He took off his own Spiderman mask. Ricky had got the rubber masks at the Party Store and Tommy thought they were pretty dumb. Ricky was wearing a Superman mask and Larry, Bozo the Clown. Tommy had a headache and was coming down from his own combination of pills and alcohol. Even high, he didn’t think it was much of a plan. Up until now most of their crap was penny-ante; break-ins and ripping off small-time drug dealers. Kidnapping a doctor had to be a big deal. When he said as much to Ricky earlier, that this was probably a federal offense, Ricky dismissed it like he didn’t know what he was talking about. We’re not going across state lines, he said, like that made all the difference. Larry had nodded in agreement as usual, always taking his brother’s lead.

All three of them were feared in the neighborhood. Larry was huge and incredibly strong but it wasn’t any secret that Larry wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. As big as he was, he was still afraid of Ricky and Tommy. They both had reputations of being crazy and unpredictable. Ricky was a little crazy and seemed always ready to prove it. Tommy wasn’t crazy, he just had the bad temper with a very short fuse. At twenty two, Ricky was three years older than Tommy and Larry, and thought he was the leader of the guys they hung out with. Tommy was the only one who ever challenged him, but for the most part they left each other alone. Tommy didn’t have any interest in being in charge but he didn’t want to put up with any bullshit either. Ricky tolerated Tommy, but just barely. Tommy was family and pretty much fearless. On more than one occasion, Tommy had made the difference in a difficult situation.

Ricky had come up with the idea last night. They were all wasted and Tommy agreed to grab some doc out of the hospital’s parking lot. The plan was to take him to an abandoned house and get him to sign some scripts and then go fill them at the all-night pharmacy in Dedham. They could dump him somewhere still tied up, where he’d be found the next day. Ricky said they should all be carrying just in case, and to scare the doc.

Ricky had his Smith and Wesson he got off a drug dealer they’d robbed a few months ago. Tommy had a Glock he bought on the street last year, with a homemade silencer made out of a flashlight. He’d fired the gun a couple of times in the woods near Blue Hill and it seemed to work alright. Not completely silent, but pretty quiet. Larry, clueless as usual, showed up with a twelve-gauge shotgun he’d bought at a Walmart in New Hampshire, and held it up, looking for their approval. Ricky laughed while Tommy exasperated just said Fuck, both of which caused Larry to smile believing he had made a good choice.

Ricky had tied the doc’s arms behind him but he was still in his face yelling at him. The doc was beside himself and kept pleading, Please, please, I have a family, just let me go… please. I won’t tell anyone! Ricky was getting tired of listening to him and responded by hitting and kicking him.

Tommy was sweating profusely and his head was pounding thinking about all the things that could go wrong. They were almost back to the abandoned house they had picked out, which squatted behind two burned out three-deckers on Washington Street. The house backed up to the railroad tracks and there were some vacant industrial buildings on the other side. For Jamaica Plain it was about as isolated as it gets.

*

Lori Bryant woke up to her mother’s angry voice. Her father must have just got home. Her mother‘s voice was getting louder. You spent your whole frigging’ paycheck, didn’t you asshole? I can smell her on you!

Lori couldn’t make out her father’s response; it wasn’t very loud and his words were slurred. I’m a bitch? I’ll show you who’s a bitch. If you were even half a man that‘d be something! You never had any balls, just like my father, a worthless drunk! Her mother was loud and clear.

Lori tried covering her ears but it didn’t make much difference. She knew what was coming next. Her mother would start throwing things at her father, pushing him until she got a response. He would only take so much and then start whacking her mother back. Her mother seemed to get off on it. More than once she’d done it in public or picked a fight with some other guy and dragged her father into it. Lori could feel herself tense as something crashed against the wall and her father’s voice got louder and angrier. Lori had learned the hard way to stay out of it. Either or both wouldn’t hesitate to drag her into it when they were like this. It wouldn’t be the first time she had ended up with a black eye or a bloody nose. Her father was always sorry the next day, but her mother would never admit to doing anything wrong.

Lori dressed quickly, just wanting to get away before it escalated. She headed down the back stairs, quietly closing the door behind her. It was the middle of the night and she hadn’t really given any thought to where she was going. Her aunt lived nearby and would let her stay there, but her aunt would be very upset and it could possibly trigger one of her panic attacks. She loved her aunt and didn’t want to put her through it. With no better options she decided to head over to the all-night diner near the T Station. She might even run into someone she knew…her boyfriend Tommy, or some of their crowd.

She loved Tommy, but sometimes he scared her a little. At first she felt safe with him. People would leave her alone because of her status as his girlfriend. She was well aware of his temper but so far it was never really directed towards her. He could be a little rough at times, grabbing her arm to get her attention or pulling on her when he wanted to get going, but that was it. He loved her and could be extremely sweet at times too. That was a side of him that only she got to see.

She had gone three blocks when a dark-colored, windowless van approached slowly from the other direction. She was immediately nervous. She tried to make herself inconspicuous by crouching next to a parked car. As the van went by she realized it was Larry driving. Relieved, she started waving and calling out trying to get his attention but the van was already past her and headed down the street. She stared after it wondering what Larry was doing driving a van. She wished he had seen her. He would know where Tommy would be. As she was watching, the van turned into a driveway between two boarded-up, burnt-out apartment buildings. She remembered Tommy saying something about partying in one of those houses a while back.

*

Parking in back, out of sight, on the side of the house closest to the tracks, Tommy was the first one out of the van. Looking around, he didn’t see any signs of activity before giving the ok sign to Ricky. Tommy opened a door towards the back of the house into a short hall that led to the cellar stairs. Leading the way, he went down first. Nothing had changed. It smelled dank and musty and like no one had been there for quite a while. Going down the stairs he ran into the beginning of a cobweb which he swatted away before going further. At the bottom of the stairs he found the two battery operated flood lights they had stashed under the stairs. He turned both on and inspected the basement windows to make sure they were still boarded up and covered. He met Larry coming down the stairs half carrying and half dragging the Doc and helped him the rest of the way. Ricky was behind him carrying some other stuff: rope, drinks, etc. They may be there for a while. After Larry let him go, Ricky shoved the doc towards an old sofa with ripped cushions and unidentifiable stains. Sit the fuck down! With his hands tied and his head covered the doc sort of stumbled into the sofa and ended up leaning sideways, half on and half off. Look in his bag.

Tommy really didn’t need to be told what to do. He was already rifling through the bag. No pain pills. These look like some sort of antibiotics. Here’s his pad. Tommy held up the script pad and Ricky grabbed it.

Good, good. Okay, now you’re gonna do some writing! Ricky had brought a pen with him, which surprised Tommy. They all had their masks on again, which were hot and uncomfortable. Larry kept bitching that it itched.

I’m going to untie your hands and take the bag off your head, but you get any ideas, your brains will be spread out all over the room. Ricky shoved the pen and pad in his hands. We want Oxies, Demerol…any pain killers, but only good stuff. If you look up I’m gonna blow your fucking head off!

Lori had just found the unlocked back door and had cautiously entered the dark hallway. She could see a door half open down the hall and could hear Ricky’s loud angry voice. The hallway smelled of urine and mold and she couldn’t understand why anyone would want to come here; to party or not. If Tommy was here she was going to try to get him to go someplace else, maybe the diner.

The doc started writing but was shaking so bad it looked like scribbling. He kept repeating, I’m doing it, I’m doing it. Ricky kept pushing the muzzle of his gun into the doctor’s head and telling him to shut up. Larry was bitching about being itchy. Tommy’s headache was getting worse. He wished they’d all shut up.

Put that fucking thing back on!! Ricky was beside himself as he caught Larry with his mask off scratching his neck. All eyes were on Larry, including the doc’s.

Shit! Shit! See what you’ve done, you dumb asshole? Now you know what we gotta do? You shithead, he’s seen you! Ricky crossed the room and started hitting his brother on the back of his head.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Larry was just about crying. The doc started screaming, I didn’t see anything! I didn’t! Shut up, shut the fuck up!!! Tommy added to the chaos. Things were spiraling out of control and about to get worse. If it got any louder in here, somebody was going to hear them. Tommy reacted instinctively. He walked over, put his Glock to the doc’s head, and pulled the trigger. For the first time that night there was complete silence. Tommy looked down at the damage he’d done, trying to think, trying to get it back under control. Looking around he saw an old carpet rolled up in a corner. Larry, get that carpet over there, we’ll wrap him in that. Relieved to be told what he should do, Larry began moving towards the carpet.

A choking sound from the stairs made them all turn and look. Lori was standing there with an expression of horror and fear, and something else, on her face. She was shaking and whimpering, making sounds like some small animal in pain.

Ricky was the first to react. Jesus, this is just what we fucking need! We’re screwed! Your fucking girlfriend! Did you tell her about this?

Whatever control Tommy had managed to achieve in the last few seconds evaporated, and it showed on his face. I didn’t tell anyone nothing so shut the fuckup! I’ll deal with it. She won’t tell anyone. Help Larry get rid of the body, make sure the van is clean when you dump it, and don’t screw this up! Ricky started to say something but thought better of it when he looked at Tommy. He started helping Larry. Bad thoughts were crowding his head. The Animal’s song had started playing again.

Tommy’s anger and panic had been replaced by an overwhelming sadness. He knew that killing the doc was bad, but he felt worse about Lori. Looking at Lori he knew it would never be the same between them. Putting his arms around her, he awkwardly tried to comfort her. We had to do it, Lori, we had to.

CHAPTER 2

Today…

Jamaica Plain

Ernie’s Bar and Restaurant, Ernie was long dead but Billy, the current owner, was too cheap to change the sign. There wasn’t any restaurant either; the only food being served were pickled eggs from a gallon jar or stale packages of peanuts, chips, and candy bars from a temperamental vending machine. Just off Washington Street, near the Roxbury line, the place was a dive, with a twelve-stool bar on the left, a few mismatched tables and chairs on the right, and a solitary pool table in back. A faded Patriots banner and a calendar with topless women hung behind the bar. Someone had disfigured the women with a black magic marker to add to the ambience. The only concession made in recent years was satellite radio playing in the background, always on the oldies station or country.

Albee Bryant nursed his second beer and contemplated how or if he was going to make his money last through the month. He was doing better, paying for his room and some basic food supplies out of his Social Security check. He also worked part-time at a gas station on Washington Street on the overnight shift. It was a gas station where years before he had pumped gas and worked as a mechanic. Now it was strictly self-serve and the attendant was locked up in a small booth with bulletproof glass. Customers slid their money through a metal drawer.

He stayed locked up in the booth all night, pissing in a jar if he had to. He wasn’t supposed to have it, but in the booth he kept an old Citadel 45 he had bought on the street years ago. The guy he got it from said he got it in the Philippines. Albee kept it in good working order. Having it made him feel safer. The neighborhood was always rough but now it was a war zone. All these precautions came into place after an attendant was shot to death for $47.82.

The gas station was still a long way down from the days when he was driving tractor-trailers and making good money, but it was definitely a step up from his recent life. He was drinking less than he used to but he was still just scraping by, no more, no less. Most of the time he sat on the same bar stool, thinking of all the things that should have been different; all the friends and jobs lost and the opportunities he missed out on.

After getting back from Viet Nam and finally being discharged from the army he didn’t know what he wanted to do. He had seen a lot of combat and taken some lives and seen some lives taken. It had left its toll. They had held up his discharge a few months to make sure his head was on straight and not scrambled like some of the other returning vets. He dealt with it on his own terms; self- medicating with pot and alcohol but never to the extreme. When he was younger he had done some boxing and he drifted back into it for a lack of something better to do. He even managed to turn pro and win a few fights; thinking he was going to be the next Marciano. Albee was always able to punch and take a punch but it wasn’t enough. He quit when he could see it just wasn’t happening. That’s when the serious drinking began.

He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t drinking as much anymore, most likely because he was rid of his toxic ex-wife. All though that didn’t stop him from constantly thinking about her and his three grown kids and mostly about what a mess he had made of it. Dottie, his ex-wife was no big loss; she could give as well as she got, cheating and drinking just as much as he did. When she was younger, she was something to look at. She had a great shape, and had made it known that she was available. There was always a line of dumb assholes, himself included, willing to take her up on it. Trouble was, that didn’t change much after they got married. In more recent years, she took off for New Jersey with one of her boyfriends after getting jammed up over some missing money taken from another guy she knew.

When she left, their 28-year middle son, Harry, went with her. They had been gone for years but Albee still missed the boy. His older son, Richie, was still around but wouldn’t have anything to do with him.

Who could blame him? He wasn’t much of a father, always quick to lash out, never one to offer much praise and never coming close to supporting them.

Of them all, he missed his daughter Lori the most. As the youngest, she was the most damaged by the shit storm he and Dottie created. She began running away from home at the age of nine or ten. She was into drugs and drinking in her early teens and ended up with a loser who she eventually married. A few years ago, she finally divorced him after he went away to prison. Then she just disappeared, dropping off the