Return to Summerville

By H.L. Sudler

Summertime comes once again to this gorgeous seaside resort and with it comes beautiful people, enchanting weather, and seductive days filled with sex, sunbathing, and relaxation. But for some, the promise of pleasure comes with memories of last summer. Days shadowed by secrets, lies, and tragedy. An omen of dark days yet to come. This time, sha

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archer Publishing
• Release date: May 28, 2017
• ISBN: 9781733729512

H.L. Sudler

H.L. SUDLER is the author of six books, including Patriarch: My Extraordinary Journey from Man to Gentleman, CafeLiving's Favorite Cocktails (with Keith Vient), Man to Gentleman: A Beginner's Guide to Manhood, his short story collection The Looking Glass: Tales of Light and Dark, and his thriller novel series Summerville and Return to Summerville. His short story The Way of All Flesh was selected for the PATHS Humanitarian Writing Award. He has served as a magazine publisher, a newspaper editor, and a contributing writer to numerous anthologies and periodicals. He was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and currently lives in Washington, DC.

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RETURN TO SUMMERVILLE

_______________________

H.L. SUDLER

AN ARCHER PUBLISHING BOOK

WASHINGTON, D.C.

pic-1

Return to Summerville

Published by Archer Publishing

P.O. Box 21843, Washington, DC 20009

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2017 by H.L. Sudler

Portions of this story originally appeared in the Rehoboth Beach Gayzette, in somewhat different form.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any printed or electronic form. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

ARCHER PUBLISHING is a registered trademark of Archer Media Networks LLC.

The ARCHER PUBLISHING logo is a registered trademark of Archer Media Networks LLC.

Library of Congress Control Number

2017905221

Archer Publishing ISBN

978-0-9848460-7-8

Printed in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For my late grandmother Elvira Bagsby.

What would our lives be without backstory?

Thanks for shining a light on our family’s past.

Rest in peace, my dear.

Before the autumn of our years, there exists a time when we struggle to reconcile what we are with what we wish to be. This time can be known as summer. After spring gives us life, before winter takes it away.

_________________________________

RETURN TO SUMMERVILLE

BOOKS BY H.L. SUDLER

PATRIARCH: MY EXTRAORDINARY JOURNEY

FROM MAN TO GENTLEMAN

SUMMERVILLE

FROM MAN TO GENTLEMAN:

A BEGINNER’S GUIDE TO MANHOOD

RETURN TO SUMMERVILLE

CAFELIVING’S FAVORITE COCKTAILS

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

caged heat

BOOK ONE

suddenly last summer

BOOK TWO

crimes and punishments

BOOK THREE

blood on the sun

EPILOGUE

baggage claim

AUTHOR’S NOTE

An old Cherokee told his grandson, My son, there is a battle between two wolves inside us all.

One is Evil. It is anger, jealousy, greed, resentment, inferiority, lies and ego. The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, humility, kindness, empathy, and truth.

The boy thought about it a moment and asked, Grandfather, which wolf wins?

The old man quietly replied, The one you feed.

__________________________

PROLOGUE

caged heat

A dimple on the chin, The Devil within.

Gaelic Proverb

I.

This is how it started, what lead to the murders.

The lights flickered on for the day in each cell around 6am for head count in the Miami-Dade branch of the Florida State Correctional Compound. The fluorescent lighting came on automatically, which meant every inmate got up when they were told, showered when they were told, ate when they were told, and damned near did everything on command. Each rule had to be followed to the letter or a man could find his face up close and personal with a hard, cold floor, a knee in his neck, and his hands cuffed behind his back.

Once out of bed, each inmate stood outside his cell and answered to his name. He had 45 minutes to shit, shower, and shine before breakfast. Every bed had to be made, and showers were conducted on schedules by groups. At 7am breakfast was served. If an inmate chose to eat, he could eat in what was referred to as The Hall, a large one room cafeteria where the food had a reputation worse than the inmates. After breakfast, the prisoner could choose to do one of four things: play cards, chess or read to pass the time; go to work in the kitchen, laundry, or offices; hit the yard to lift weights or play basketball; or return to his cell and sleep.

Mario Costello felt out of place here. He had been incarcerated with his older brother Frank since last fall, for allegedly committing a list of crimes in both Miami and a little seaside resort in Delaware called Rehoboth Beach. Their home state of Florida got first crack at the pair for charges that included conspiracy to commit two murders, battery, and assault. They were on the line for a third murder as well; a car bombing in Delaware, which would have to take a back seat to Florida in order to exercise Long-Arm Jurisdiction. The brothers were looking at a nice long stretch in prison once both trials were completed, and this Mario could not bear to consider. Caged like a dog, there was nothing to do in lockup but stare at the white walls of a tight cell with a small window, while inmates and guards watched you piss and shit and shower without privacy. Or to be faced with a gang rape or a beatdown almost every day for little or no reason, or to constantly contemplate suicide as a sort of peace.

On this particular Saturday morning, Mario stood behind his brother Frank in the last group to use the showers. He caught sight of his reflection in a glass partition. He still had a beard and shaved head, all the length of a five o’clock shadow, but his face had become weary since his incarceration, with bags under his eyes from little sleep. They housed sadness and defeat, which made him look like a pathetic trapped animal. His body was also changed. Smaller, paler, and less muscular than last summer, when he was on the outside and fucking his ex-wife’s sister almost daily. That was back when he ran a drug operation out of car washes he owned with his brothers all across Miami. Back when he did whatever the hell he wanted with little regard for anything but his own pleasures.

The line moved forward. The men were all naked and buzzing about the March Madness games in full swing. Two male guards posted at the shower entrance inspected each man as he entered; front, back, and hands. Mario watched Frank as he scoped out an available shower head. He could see his older brother’s fright plain as day.

Frank was handsome, but knew his good looks got him unwanted attention. He was afraid of the blacks and Latinos; he was even frightened of the other white guys. They were a mix of thugs, murderers, thieves, drug dealers, wife beaters, scam artists, escorts, rapists, child pornographers, and gang bangers—all awaiting trial. Some first timers, many repeat offenders. One black guy caught Frank’s eye and flicked his tongue. Then he spit in his hand and began to stroke his already hard cock nice and slow. The lubrication made a suggestive sound and he blew Frank a kiss as he passed. Frank quickly looked away, and nearly all the men in the shower room laughed.

That was when things went from bad to worse. Frank wasn’t watching where he was going and bumped into a guy named Ratchet. Sorry, he said quickly, but it was too late.

"Yo! What the fuck, bitch! Ratchet yelled. He was bald, black and cut with muscle. Did y’all see that? Did y’all see that shit? This cracker fuckin’ think he own this joint! Bitch, whatchu got to say?"

Frank raised his hands and cowered as he looked away. Nothing! I’m sorry! he said, knowing how important it was to keep his eyes on the floor and not upset the gangs who seemed to run this prison despite the guards.

Ratchet punched Frank hard in the face, movement as quick as lightning, and Frank reeled backward into the crowd of men. They pushed him forward, and Ratchet landed a solid fist in Frank’s gut. Frank doubled over, then collapsed to the floor. Mario looked for the guards at the shower entrance, but they were nowhere to be seen. He knew then what was happening. They had been marked by one of the gangs. The guys were all cheering and Frank was on the floor, Ratchet straddling him, punching him repeatedly in the head.

"Get off of him! Mario yelled, but he was grabbed from behind and his head smashed against a wall. One of his arms was yanked behind his back, and someone whispered in his ear, Don’t you fucking move, guero, or your white ass is next…"

"This pussy gonna to come up on me and give me his ass to kiss! Ratchet yelled to the crowd. He was still straddling Frank. He looked down. Who you, muthafucka? Who you?"

Frank could not answer. His face was a mask of blood, and his eyes and lips had already begun to swell. From the confusion all around came a voice. It was baritone, with a Jamaican accent.

"What we got here on the breakfast menu? Pink pussy!"

The men laughed, and from them, appearing like Mephisto, was a giant of a man named Goodman. A path was made for him as he approached Frank. Ratchet had stood and backed away with his hands behind his back like one of those militants Mario had seen around Miami, standing on street corners barking about Black Pride.

Goodman trudged forward. His naked body was thick, and his eyes wide and dangerous. His brown skin was tinged with red as if by fever. His thick hair was uncombed, but somehow it made him appear handsome. He gestured and Frank was raised to his knees before him. Mario landed on all fours as he was thrown on the floor beside his brother. Goodman squatted and sighed heavily through his cherry red lips. This is not good.

"I’m sorry!" Frank barked, and before he could say anything else Ratchet punched him on the side of his head. Frank collapsed into his brother’s arms.

Goodman shook his head. No manners. No respect. Bumping into my men. Speaking without permission. This is no way to act in my prison. It’s like your mama not teach you nothing!

Goodman stood up and Mario faced his dick, hanging like an invitation. But I will teach you manners. I will teach you respect. Goodman turned slightly. Casey, you want some of this?

One of the two door guards was leaning against the entrance chewing a wad of gum. I wouldn’t fuck that with your dick. Make it quick.

Goodman turned to the brothers once again. He peered down on them humorlessly. You see? Everybody here knows who you are. Nobody likes you. Nobody cares. Except me.

Frank and Mario Costello were separated and dragged to their feet. Goodman retreated to a wall and crossed his arms. It is now time for the punishment, which I will leave to the men in this room. Some of them have not been with a woman in some time. Some of them never liked a woman to begin with. And some of the men in this room have things they need to get off their chest. You will accommodate all of their needs. And when I am satisfied that they are satisfied, that you’ve learned your lesson and have learned respect, I’ll accept your humble apologies.

Goodman opened his arms to the crowd.

"Gentlemen, please, help yourselves. Breakfast is served."

Ratchet was first. Since he had started with Frank, he would continue to use him as his personal punching bag. Hold that bitch up, he commanded, and someone held Frank up by his jaw. Ratchet went for the eyes; first one, then the other. When Frank’s knees gave way beneath him, Ratchet screamed again and again. Up!

A kid by the name of Rodriguez took his turn on Frank next, working on his ribs and stomach until Frank spit up blood. Webster, who had flicked his tongue at Frank earlier, ordered him to be turned around, his legs spread, his back arched. Mario stared, too stunned to speak. He knew he was next and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Goodman came up to him and gestured for him to be lowered to his knees again.

Caressing Mario’s face, he said, I think I will keep you for myself. You have a pretty face, and as long as you don’t disappoint me you will keep your pretty face.

Mario knew he had no other choice. In order to survive, he had to do the unthinkable. The land of last summer was no more. A land where he did whatever the hell he wanted. To his right Mario could see Webster’s frantic thrusts behind his brother, hear greedy grunts and cheers all around him.

Casey heard Frank’s exhausted screams and Goodman’s devilish laughter from where he was keeping lookout. He had already been paid by Goodman; a whore for tonight after lights out. Her name was Margaret Mattson and Goodman promised him she would rock his world with her juicy lips. Casey smiled at his good fortune. From what he heard in the shower room, the same could not be said for either of the Costello brothers.

BOOK ONE

suddenly last summer

You can outdistance that which is running after you,

but not that which is running inside you.

Rwandan Proverb

return to summerville

Let’s get a move on, slow poke!

Sonya Mendez leaned over her car’s hood in the early morning Miami sun. Although the air was crisp and daylight golden, they were already an hour late in getting on the expressway, headed toward their new lives in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. In following the love of her life, the former Miami-Dade detective Adriana Esteban, Sonya had no way of knowing that such a small town like Rehoboth Beach would lead to such complicated people or to a shocking destiny. All she knew was that she was following her lover as they sought out a new beginning, one that she was not entirely sold on.

Come on, come on, come on, before I change my mind! she yelled.

Sonya sighed and looked down at the driver’s side rear view mirror. There she saw her face, round and pretty and brown, girlish, but with a bright bold smile, what her abuelita would have called the essence of Cuba. Her hair was relaxed and shoulder length, and her body, what Adriana often referred to as a sweet juicy apple ready to be bitten, was svelte but shapely. Especially her breasts. Especially her ass. Sonya Mendez was a 35-year-old Cuban-American psychotherapist specializing in family therapy. She had lived in Miami her entire life, and now she was saying goodbye.

In looking at her reflection, her doubt was cast back at her. Could she give up the only home she had ever known, making the transplant from Miami to Delaware, a state she’d never visited, to a town she’d never heard of? She had, of course, done her research on this seaside resort. Founded by the Reverend Robert W. Todd in 1873 as a site for his Methodist camp meetings, the town was known as Henlopen City before it became Rehoboth Beach. The word Rehoboth was Hebrew, which meant wide spaces, and a sharp eye could find it in the Old Testament of The Bible. It was said to be one of the five best cities in the U.S. in which to retire, and considered itself the nation’s Summer Capital. It was gay-friendly, clean, beautiful, sat off the Atlantic Ocean, and was not terribly big, stretching out only a mile and a half in any direction from its center.

They were headed to Rehoboth because Adriana had been offered a job by the town’s police chief Bradley Thomas. The only reason he offered her a job was because she could not stay on with the police force in Miami. Not after what happened last summer.

Adriana had exposed corruption on the force that had lead to the deaths of a petty drug dealer named Tyree Jackson and his girlfriend Germaine Smith. Corruption instigated by a pair of ruthless brothers named Frank and Mario Costello, who now sat rotting in the Miami-Dade branch of the Florida penal system while they awaited trial. They had paid a group of dirty cops to have Tyree pushed from a roof four stories to his death, while Germaine was drugged with heroin, repeatedly beaten and raped, and left for dead in a Miami slum. Despite Adriana’s success at bringing this ring to justice, the police force’s thin blue line had been disrespected. Toes had been stepped on, trust betrayed, ranks crossed. Esteban had to go.

Adriana had flown solo on the investigation, believing no one on the police force could be trusted. She even went so far as to enlist the aid of an informant named Ramon, from one of Miami’s most dangerous barrios. She could not stay in Florida, that much was clear. She needed a change of scenery, a place to hole up for a while until future plans could be mapped out. But that also meant Sonya would have to give up her practice here and follow her lover, despite her misgivings about moving to a quaint, little boring city in Delaware.

Sonya had no idea she would find more excitement than she bargained for in Rehoboth Beach. Like murder, and likely her own.

farewells

"Mami, stop crying!" Adriana said. She had been begging her mother to quit sobbing since she and Sonya arrived more than an hour ago to say goodbye.

Adriana knew this farewell was going to be hard, and not just on her parents. Years ago she had somehow managed to sell them on the idea that she was going to be a cop, a job they saw as dangerous given Florida had its fair share of crime and had a running joke as being the sunny state for shady people. Having lived through the brutal drug violence of the 1980s was bad enough, but here she was their little girl, their only child, wanting to enter a world of drug smugglers and sex traffickers, murderers and degenerates. Despite their misgivings, Adriana’s parents came around. Her father Herbert was first, explaining to her mother that Adriana was a grown, educated woman and could do as she wished. He reminded her that the family had gotten through the lesbian talk okay when Adriana came out to them.

Yes, but that’s not the same! Rita had argued to her husband. No one is going to die because she’s a lesbian.

Herbert had crooked his head at that, and Rita said, Okay, okay. Bad choice of words.

"She’s our daughter, esposa. She is as passionate as you."

And she is as hardheaded as her father.

Herbert had smiled gently.

Today no one was smiling, because after having gotten used to her being a police officer, there was last summer and the business with the Costello brothers and the corruption within the police force that Adriana had exposed. A corruption, which had not only earned her enemies and pushed her out of the police force, but was now pushing her out of Miami. Rita and Herbert had to accept that police work was in their daughter’s blood and she had to go where work was offered.

Adriana now stood with her parents in front of their house. Rita, with her close-cropped gray hair and red rectangular glasses, had her arms folded, her tear-streaked face looking away, her eyes unable to meet her daughter’s. She dabbed at the tears with her handkerchief. Herbert stood behind his wife, his hands on her shoulders. He was tall and handsome, his hair and goatee still very black. His eyes met his daughter’s, and Adriana could see all his sadness housed there. He was remembering her birth, her first steps, her as Prince Charming one Halloween, her quinceanera, college and the police academy. When she came out to him and Rita, he had hugged her tightly, assuring her that she was his mija and he would always be proud of her. It was seeing her parents pained like this that caused Adriana to well up. She knew she had to leave quickly or she’d never leave at all.

"Mami, don’t do this."

Go if you want to go…

Rita, Herbert said, and she turned to her husband and buried her face in his chest to sob quietly. Herbert looked at Adriana with an expression that said, See what you’ve done!

Adriana spread her arms and sighed. "Mami, I’ll call you tonight to check on you."

If things don’t work out, you come right back here! Rita said, turning to Adriana as if she’d never been crying.

"Si, Mami."

I mean it. You come right back here. We’ll figure something out.

Rita, let her go.

Rita dropped her eyes and was quiet.

Herbert looked at Adriana. Call us tonight before you turn in.

"I will, Papi."

And eat, the both of you. Your mother has made you a lot of food. All your favorites. It’s in the cooler.

"Si, Papi."

Adriana stepped forward and wrapped her parents up in a hug. Herbert was on one side, she on the other, and Rita in the middle. Rita hugged her daughter as if she’d never see her again.

"Please take care, mija."

"I will, Mami."

And do as your father says, eat. And call us.

"Si."

Rita wanted to walk Adriana to the car, but Herbert stopped her, holding her shoulders once again. Adriana had gotten halfway down the lane when he called out to her one last time. "Mija…"

Adriana turned to see her father red-faced, his eyes filled with tears.

We love you.

Adriana blew him a kiss, and he pretended to catch it and hold it to his heart. Then she was gone, in her car and driving away with Sonya. Neither said so, but both Rita and Herbert secretly wondered if they would ever see their daughter again. They were both right in assuming that Adriana Esteban was not free and clear of mortal danger.

yesterday once more

It didn’t take Adriana long to pull over to the side of the road. She had been silent since she and Sonya drove away from her parents’ house, her mind resting on one question for which she had no absolute answer. What the hell am I doing? The response that came back to her—The only thing you can do!—was not satisfactory. She was at a fork in the road and it was important for her to choose wisely. Not just for her sake, but also because the woman seated next her, the love of her life, had decided to uproot her whole life and follow her.

You okay? Sonya asked, looking over at her. Sonya put her hand on Adriana’s arm. You know you can always change your mind. We don’t have to go to Rehoboth Beach.

Adriana looked in the rearview mirror a second. She was beautiful, toothy, with a wide mouth and long dark hair tied in a ponytail. I’m sorry, Adriana said quickly.

Sorry for what?

For this. Adriana took her hands off the wheel. She had been clutching it so hard her knuckles were white. I think I’ve screwed this all up.

Sonya was silent at first. Then she looked at Adriana and said, Turn off the engine.

Adriana shut off the car and sighed. She looked down at her hands, which were shaking. She grasped the wheel again to steady them.

I’m a therapist, Sonya said. Talk.

I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

Why do you say that?

"You ever have the feeling that you have to make a decision about something and you don’t have time to make the right one, so you make a decision that seems right although you’re not sure that it is right?"

Sonya nodded.

That’s the way I feel about leaving Miami. I’m not sure it’s the right decision.

Logic aside, does it feel right?

Not in a direct way, but yes.

What do you mean?

Adriana looked from her hands to the window beside her. The sun had turned from soft gold to bright lemon. It was rising higher, shining down on the city Adriana loved. The blue skies, the palm trees, and glorious deco architecture left over from a bygone era.

"A man was killed here a year ago, around Cinco de Mayo. His name was Nick Costello. He ran car washes with his brothers Frank and Mario. Costello was stabbed to death by a man named Leonardo Suarez. Nick had a relationship with Leonardo’s twin sister, Luna. Apparently there was some bad blood. He may have beaten her and tried to take their son away. My guess is that Leonardo was defending his sister when he stabbed Nick Costello. Then he dumped his body in the ocean.

Leonardo stole some petty cash from his employer, Ed Baker, who runs a car garage, and he and his sister left town because he knew Nick’s brothers Frank and Mario would try to get revenge. I don’t know where his sister is, but Leonardo wound up in Rehoboth Beach with a New York socialite named Stephanie Newcomer. They stayed in a bed and breakfast called Cedar House, and he changed his name to Warren Cassie. Frank and Mario discovered Warren killed their brother and tracked him down to Rehoboth.

Let me stop you for a second. What about the drug dealer and his girlfriend? How does that connect to this?

"Frank and Mario framed Tyree Jackson for their brother’s death. With Nick’s murder solved and the case closed, they could track down the twins and do whatever they wanted to them. In all likelihood, to kill them. And God knows what they would’ve done with Luna’s son."

The Costello brothers paid policemen to kill Tyree Jackson and his girlfriend?

Yes. Since the case was closed, they had served their purpose. Except I got a tip from my informant that Tyree and Germaine were framed and murdered. Tyree had not killed Nick Costello at all. Tyree was pushed four stories to his death and Germaine was injected with a lethal dose of heroin. The framing led me to find out what the Costello brothers were up to.

But there was still one more murder, right?

Ethan Safra. After the Costello brothers arrived in Rehoboth Beach to get revenge on Warren, they hot-wired a bomb to Stephanie Newcomer’s car. But they didn’t get the opportunity to kill Warren, because I alerted local authorities in Rehoboth that they were there. The Costellos were caught and arrested. Ethan Safra, a med student who was also staying at Cedar House, made the mistake of getting into Newcomer’s car, igniting the bomb that killed him.

But with the arrest of the Costello brothers, isn’t this case wrapped up?

Not to me. Suarez and his sister are still missing, and I don’t know how to find them. More than that…my gut is telling me something’s off.

Like what?

When I got to Rehoboth to take Mario, Frank, and Warren into custody, Warren, a piss poor mechanic with a high school education, had disappeared again. Newcomer said she hadn’t given him any money.

You think somebody helped him escape?

I’m certain of it. But I can’t think of anyone in Rehoboth who would help him.

So what does all this have to do with us going there to live?

Adriana looked sad-eyed at Sonya and sighed. "My gut is telling me that I must go to Rehoboth Beach to see this story to its end. I need to. There’s something unresolved about this and it’s there. If I don’t go I feel that something awful is going to happen, and I’d hate myself if I wasn’t there to stop it."

What do you think is going to happen? Sonya asked, taking Adriana’s hand in hers.

I couldn’t tell you, Adriana said, shaking her head. But then there’s you to consider. You’ve given up your whole world to come with me, and I know this can’t be easy for you.

Sonya looked at the people walking up and down the street. Do you believe I love you?

Yes, of course.

Sonya turned to look at Adriana. I knew what I was getting into when I fell in love with you. A detective! I’m going to miss living here, but I can’t imagine being away from you.

You want to be my eyes and ears?

Sonya nodded. After last summer, I think you need someone watching your back. Let’s just pray nothing bad happens and that Rehoboth turns out to be as boring as I think.

Adriana pushed up a smile, leaned over and gently kissed Sonya on her cheek.

Since you’ve decided to ride shotgun, the detective said, let’s make a stop or two before we leave town. I need to see some old friends before I go.

the boys of summer

Well, lookit here. If it ain’t Detective Esteban. Come on in!

Ed Baker had run Baker’s Garage near South Beach Miami since returning home from the Vietnam War in the mid-seventies. He was a 65-year-old white haired man, who chained smoked Winston’s and loved his Jim Beam. He was frailer since Adriana had last seen him, back when she was searching for Warren Cassie.

Mr. Baker, how are you?

I’m fine. You’re a sight for sore eyes.

As are you, Adriana said with a smile as both entered the garage. It was bathed in the early morning sunlight. Adriana had left Sonya in the car to speak to Ed privately.

What brings you by?

I wanted to tell you I’m leaving town.

Why would you do that? Ed asked, but before Adriana could answer he held up his hand. It’s the Costello thing ain’t it?

Yes.

He sighed. Sit.

They sat on either side of Ed’s cluttered desk. He said, I tell you, those boys never amounted to anything but hurt and pain. All three of them. Italian on their mother’s side, Irish on their father’s. You know that?

No, sir.

And they’ve managed to drive you out of town, have they?

In a way, yes. I’m relocating up to Delaware.

Delaware? What in the hell is up there?

A new start. A new town. A new job.

Ed Baker shook his head. I’m sorry.

Don’t apologize.

You saved me from those creeps.

Apparently not soon enough. How’s that hand of yours?

Ed looked down on his right hand, remembering the pain of last summer. Frank and Mario had trapped him in his garage after closing one night, at first holding him down in a chair to interrogate him in their search for Leo Suarez. Things got nasty when they didn’t like his answers.

We don’t have time for this, Mario had said to Frank. He took Baker by the wrist and yanked the old man from the chair, throwing him down to his knees on the hard cement floor. Mario grabbed a drill from a nearby worktable, plugged it in and squeezed the trigger. The tool whirred to life. Mario splayed Baker’s hand against a wall and placed the point of the drill at its center.

Now, I’m going to ask you the same question, soldier boy. If you don’t answer me, you’re going to be using your Medicare card for more than just Viagra.

Baker had been terrified, his body shaking uncontrollably.

Where the fuck is Leo Suarez? Frank screamed.

Baker panted nervously, white as a sheet.

Mario squeezed the trigger. Baker felt first the white-hot sting of the drill before he felt the metal cut into his skin, the drill digging into the bones of his hand. He screamed as blood rushed down his wrist. The drill stopped.

Mario turned to Ed. Talk!

Please…! Baker tried to free himself.

Talk, dammit—!

I don’t know where he is!

Mario pulled the trigger again, fully this time. It was loud and furious. Mario leaned the drill into Baker’s wound and the old man nearly passed out from the pain. Mario clasped Baker’s throat. The next time I do this, it’s going to be through your fucking eyeball!

Ed knew nothing and that upset the brothers even more. The last time Ed saw them, Mario threatened him again. No questions, pops. And no loose lips. This garage could burn to the ground tomorrow and you’d have nothing. I’d light the match myself.

My hand is okay, Baker said to Adriana, but she knew it wasn’t and he wasn’t either.

I’m sorry they hurt you.

But they’re caught now, Ed said quietly.

Yes, they are. They cannot hurt you again.

What about Leo? Have you heard from him at all?

I was hoping he had reached out to you.

No, he hasn’t. He was a good employee. And a good man who cared about his family. He just got short sheeted in the luck department. Mother caught cancer, and he had to take care of the whole family when he was just 17. Then his sister got tangled up with Nick Costello. Leo’s life went from sugar to shit then.

"Don’t worry.

Reviews for Return to Summerville

[ozzie65-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

For those that follow my book blog ([e-mail]), you will know that I RAVED about the first book in this series, Summerville. Great news!! Book two lives up to the high bar established by the first book and has all the subtext of the first plus a whole lot more.When last we left Summerville, a man had been raped on one of the beaches at Rehoboth by a group of men. A woman had also been raped by one of these men. Obviously, there is a whole lot more to what seems like a conventional, boilerplate legal thriller. Go read my review then return. For the rest of you…..Sudler explains that these books are a compendium of a series of articles he writes for a small newspaper. For those that love Dickens and Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City, then Summerville is a must read! What I love about Summerville is what I love about Dickens. There are a host of social justice themes and issues that reflect society in the same way Dicken’s wrote about the London of his day.What I also love is the fodder for book clubs. Some of the themes in Return to Summerville include but are not limited to: relationships with age differences; the issues that arise when someone dates a close friend’s child; unrequited love; losing one’s employment due to sexual orientation; male and female relationships; long held secrets and intergenerational lies; the choices we make in life and the reasons; survival; witness protection; the mob; gangs; relocation; memory…..so many great issues to explore and discuss.Sudler expands on his inspiration for this type of story. This includes the great old soap Dark Shadows and the book, movie and tv show Peyton Place. That was actually wonderful to read in his own words as there were several points in the novel where I thought “Wow! This is like Peyton Place!”.Now for the good news/bad news. Great books suck you in and just like the first one, I cleared my schedule, read the whole things in a day finishing at 4:30am! Yep, it’s one of THOSE books. I should also mention that like all 5 star books (and this is 5 stars, make no mistake) there is some confronting and sexually explicit material suitable for mature readers. Keep an open mind and you will be rewarded.The bad news? Sudler left us on a genuine cliff hanger!!!! I almost died when I got to the last page and realized I now have to wait for the next installment in what will be a triology. I can hardly wait!!! There is so much here to love and I can’t recommend this author and these books enough. I reiterate, if book stores had this book on the front display, it would be a sell out of major proportions. If Peyton Place could do it, Summerville could easily outsell it several times over. Grab your summer novel but be prepared for a sleepy day after you stay up all night reading it!