Love Has a Blind Eye

By Clarence Mike Dunaway

At the age of sixteen, Melissa Montoya struggled through her sophomore year, not academically—she did well in that department. However, she being raised practically alone was forced to work just to make ends meet. At the age of seventeen, she was assaulted and raped. The trauma of the rape lasted for years, but she was resilient and she fo

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clarence Dunaway Books
• Release date: Dec 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9781950981151

Clarence Mike Dunaway

Clarence Dunaway, born on February 12, 1930 author from California, writer of the Cousins Trilogy and other great novels. He has been with the navy back in 1947, spent two and a half years in South Korea. He was discharged in 1953 and was able to travel the country. Started writing a trilogy of mystery books and is enjoying life. You can get to his books by typing the name "Clarence Mike Dunaway" into Google.

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Contents

Chapter 1. Dangerous Liaison

Chapter 2. In search of a Miracle

Chapter 3. Custodial Tactics

Chapter 4. Dead as A Doornail

Chapter 5. The Investigation

Chapter 6. Martha’s Dilemma

Chapter 7. Surprise

Chapter 8. A Rude Awakening

Chapter 9. Heading Home

Chapter 10. Disturbing Moment

Chapter 11. What an Abysmal Way to Go

Chapter 12. Cheaters Never Prosper

Chapter One

Dangerous Liaison

At the age of sixteen, Melissa Montoya struggled through her sophomore year. Not academically—she did well in that department. However, being raised practically alone, she was forced to work just to make ends meet. It was almost impossible to believe the perseverance it took. She was relentless, and with a meager amount of help from friends, she finally overcame the journey. She did persevere and met her first goal head on by graduating from high sc hool.

Melissa was forced to work cleaning animal trailers and bedding down with the new lady friend who lived in a trailer not far from the school.

At the age of seventeen, she was assaulted and raped. The trauma of the rape lasted for years, but she was resilient, and she fought with her demons until she finally overcame the shock as much as it was possible. One of the things people never get over was being raped.

Back in the fifties, a young lady about the same age as Melissa was savagely ravished. She lost her mind. The judge in her trial deemed her brain-dead, and the rapist was charged with murder and was put to death fourteen years later. Melissa was happy she maintained her sanity.

At nineteen, Melissa thought the perfect mate was in her grasp, and she married him. She thought he was everything she had ever wanted. The marriage was destined to fail from the start, and it lasted for only one year. There were insurmountable trials and tribulations this young lady had to endure. Looking back, she’s thought the hardest years were behind her, but little did she know the road ahead had many obstacles she could’ve never imagined.

Melissa made her way through college and during those years found a young man who helped her in a manner she had never known before. He was kind and polite, and he opened doors for her that until now she never knew existed. It appeared as though things were going well. They dated a few times and then moved in together. One day, the man turned against her.

One night, she was sick in bed and was unable to pick him up from work, and he was forced to ride a bus. That irritated him to no end. When he arrived home, he was determined to get her out of bed. Sick or not, she had a tongue lashing coming just for being sick. You see, this young man had a severe injury and was in a wheelchair; he could not drive. It was up to Melissa to drive him back and forth to work, and being sick, she simply could not get out of bed and drive fifteen miles, and this angered him beyond comprehension.

He pulled her up from the bed, grabbed his phone, and called the police. There was a struggle for the phone, that by the way you don’t remove a phone from anyone attempting to call 911. During the fight, the phone pulled loose from his hand, flying upward, hitting an overhead fan, and ricocheting back down, hitting him in the eye. When the police arrived, they naturally assumed it was her fault, so they cuffed her and took her to jail. He claimed she threw the phone at him, purposely hitting him in the eye

Melissa was incarcerated and booked on a felony charge, and she was sentenced to ten days plus probation that always follows an offense, thus making it difficult for her to find work.

Now alone and without work, she ended up in a shelter. She lived there for quite some time among drug addicts and alcoholics; you name it, it was a Heinz 57 variety. Everything you can imagine was there, maybe even a murderer hiding out in there somewhere; nobody knows.

Melissa continued through life dodging one disappointment after another.

One night, after passing through another year or more, she happened to run into a couple of her girlfriends from college whom she hadn’t seen for a few years. Now in their mid-twenties, they reunited and began going places together. She even got a job working under Sharon Bradley, one of her friends, at an accounting office. I can only imagine the decisions Sharon’s boss had to make; it was quite a challenge hiring a felon to work in such a place as an accounting office.

All three girls lived in or around San Jose, California. They decided to go out one night; clubbing, so to speak.

Melissa sat silently at the bar in the Pirate Club. Two of her girlfriends were sitting beside her, Sharon Bradley and Lois Martin. This was girl’s night out. They were all beautiful women; Melissa had a dark hair cut short about halfway down her neck while Lois and Sharon had light hair by nature. Amazingly, they were all close to the same height. Their bodies varied in shape and form, but they were all nonetheless beautiful.

At the end of the bar, a young man of Middle Eastern appearance sat alone sipping what appeared to be a mixed drink. Melissa made no effort to hide the fact that she had an interest in this young male with a slightly dark tan. She was sitting between the other girls, making it difficult to see around Lois, who was on the end next to her.

Lois spoke. Melissa, why don’t you just go to the other end of the bar and introduce yourself before you break your neck?

Melissa noticed every time she sneaked a peek that he would look back at her. Now, to most people, this would be embarrassing, but it was not so for Melissa. She was shameless; if she saw something she wanted, nothing this side of hell could stop her from attaining her goal.

The blind side of love takes on a multitude of illusions. For example, what she sees in this man may be altogether different than what he sees in her. However, there’s a large playing field out there still unexplored. They might turn out to be just good friends. Don’t count on it; perhaps they might even be lovers, and I’m betting that even that will change. She saw a future husband, and probably in his eyes, he saw a one-night stand. Nonetheless, Melissa, with the balls, shuffled to the end of the bar and sat down next to him. And she opened up with a stupid cliché, My name’s Melissa. Don’t I know you from somewhere? Now that’s original.

He replied with a similar remark. No, not unless you’ve been to Pakistan. I’ve only been this country for three weeks, and this is my first visit to this establishment. But you can call me Ahmad, Ahmad Pasha. Have a seat, and I’ll buy you drink. He suggested with a broken accent, What’s that you’re drinking? It looks weird.

Oh, it’s called a blue dolphin. I’m probably the only one that drinks it. It’s vodka and blue something or other. Pretty smooth. Try one, Melissa concluded. She spoke up. Ahmad, huh? I guess I never thought of you being Pakistani.

Ahmad said, I guess you might say I’m a mixed breed. My father is Afghan Pakistani, and my mother’s Syrian. My dad lives in Afghanistan. He has his business there. He was born on the border, but the village is actually in Pakistan. One day, during his travels to Syria, he happened into a haberdashery where my mother worked as a seamstress. Well, they just happened to hit it off, and voila, you are looking at the outcome.

That is quite a combination, she said. "Perhaps I should refer to you as a foreigner.

She asked, Are you sure you don’t want one of those blue dolphins?

No. If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll just stick to what I know—JD and soda.

The girls began to get bored and decided to leave. They stopped by where Melissa was engaged in deep conversation with her new-found friend. Melissa, Lois said, Sharon and I are going. Are you coming with us?

Ahmad nudged Melissa with his knee. Stick around and have another whatever you call that blue-looking drink, and I’ll drop you off later. What you say? It sounded like he was begging; she wondered what he had in mind.

Well, whatever it was, Ms. Guts went along with it. She told the girls, You go ahead, and I’ll catch a ride home with Ahmad. Wonder what she had in mind?

The girls waved goodbye as they passed through the portal leading out to the street. It had begun to drizzle, and the girls were only wearing light clothing, so they made a mad dash for the car, which was parked almost a block down the street.

Back in the Pirate Club, there was a party going on and a kiss or two exchanged. It appeared that the party was about to heat up.

They finished their drinks; it was nearly 1:00 a.m. when they staggered out the rear door where Ahmad had parked his car. Funny, the girls never thought about the parking lot in the back of the building.

Melissa began to direct Ahmad toward where she and the girls lived, but he had other plans. Why don’t we stop by my pad? We can have another drink before I take you home. Of course, it won’t be blue. I’m afraid all I have is Jack Daniel’s and maybe a beer.

I don’t know we just met, and I know nothing about you. How do I know you’re not a serial killer or an ax murderer? she asked, giving the situation more thought now that it was after the fact.

Don’t worry, my pretty one. I am gentle as a lamb, wouldn’t hurt a fly, said the man of many talents. So far, he was all tongue. Talk that is.

Melissa was a bit reluctant to go inside the rather cozy-looking house with the young Pakistani being the only occupant. Something seemed fishy. However, old blood and guts allowed him to guide her in by the hand.

By the time they bedded down, she was so drunk she didn’t have a clue what was going on, but you can bet your bootie Ahmad did.

When they woke, she was confused. She didn’t know where she was or how she got there. But she knew one thing for sure: she had been taken advantage of and was infuriated that she allowed herself to get into a situation and couldn’t find a way out.

Melissa didn’t have to go far looking for trouble; it always managed to find her.

Time passed, and as well-educated as Melissa was, she went back for more and more until it became habitual. Eventually, the two moved in together, and that was the second biggest mistake, but this arrangement seemed doomed to failure from the onset. Soon the battle of the sexes begun; it seemed no one could do anything right. There were words tossed around that would’ve embarrassed a pirate.

After a year, Melissa got pregnant, and the fighting began to heat up. Barely into the second trimester, he booted her out, literally, right in the stomach, and she went down in agony holding her stomach with both arms crossed and pressed against her mid-torso. I don’t think he was attempting to cause miscarriage; he wanted a family. But now she would soon have a child to care for, or should I say the battle was over, and it would never end.

Ahmad wasn’t the father Melissa anticipated. He turned his back on her and caused her bodily harm. He hoped perhaps to produce a debacle in the courtroom by blaming everything on her. However, she was rebellious; there was no way anyone or anything would ever take her baby from her. She battled copiously in court, but it was hard to beat a lawyer made of money, and Ahmad had plenty of that. He had everything but compassion.

Some time back, Melissa was picked up on a battery charge, and she was given one-year probation. In Ahmad’s anger, he reported her to the authorities for a minor offense. However, in the judge’s eyes, it was sufficient to put her in jail for ten days, and she was left there to rot. If she wanted her freedom, there would be fine; of course, she had no money, so she served out her full sentence.

Not only was she booted from her residence, but she was also once again further victimized by having to live in a shelter with the less fortunate, some of whom were drug addicts, alcoholics, and prostitutes. The word poverty would pretty well sum it up. However, among this deprivation, there were some of the silent who were victims of oppression. Melissa fell into the latter category.

One day, while out roaming the streets, she came across a middle-aged lady of Mexican culture. They hit it off immediately, and this lovely lady allowed Melissa to move in with her for a short period.

Eventually, Melissa got back on her feet and moved into her own apartment, but the court battles were endless. Ahmad had the daughter on weekends and her on the days of the week so she could see to it the daughter made it to school; she would get an education at whatever cost or sacrifice. I am afraid this fiasco will end up with one or the other being murdered because of greed, anger, or jealousy.

The lady told Melissa, Follow the Al-Anon guide one step at a time. If you ever felt that you are faltering, return and start all over. She did until she got it right and to live her life one day at a time. You need not be an alcoholic to follow the twelve steps.

Ahmad was an angry man, taking out his frustrations on gambling, drinking, and womanizing; he could sometimes get violent and do dangerous things and blame them on others—anything for revenge.

As fortune would have it, I met Melissa in the Pirate Club and struck up a conversation with her, and a new life was born. She was the nicest and sweetest lady I’d ever met. However, she was but thirty-eight, and I was eighty-two. I’m afraid there was too much distance in age to ever to be more than a lifelong friendship.

My name is Chuck Wilson. As I said, I’m much older than Melissa, but we weren’t looking for romance; we were both talkers, and we did plenty of that. We never became romantically involved; we had become the best friend’s possible, and we both needed that.

I was honored just to be in her presence. Being much older, I had experienced several years of life that she had yet to discover. And I was so proud that she confided in me and took to heart the advice I had given her.

Melissa was a very independent woman, yet I had the privilege of being her confidant, and I’ll take that friendship to my grave. She told me things about her life she would’ve never disclosed to any other, and that made me proud—that I and I alone could one day hold the balance of her life in my hands. We had more fun and laughs than a pair of chipmunks.

As I said, Ahmad was a man of violence, and there was little doubt that one day, he would find a way to get rid of Melissa even if it took a bullet to do it.

Melissa once told me that Ahmad had a butler who picked up and delivered the child to a safe house where the exchange took place. She was now nine years old. I took it upon myself to follow him to see if I could stop a murder before it happened.

I parked my truck on the street just a short distance from the safe house where the exchange was to take place. It was a Friday afternoon, and the butler pulled up in front of the building, let the girl out of the car, and waited. Soon Melissa came and took charge.

Melissa drove away keeping an eye on the butler; she told me she never trusted him; I’m not totally sure why she never gave me that information.

The Butler pulled away after Melissa was out of sight and drove about three miles to a bar. I waited outside for about an hour, and I decided I would try again next week. It was the same bar where I first met Melissa, the Pirate Club, which was a pretty easy place to find.

I stopped by a small restaurant; I didn’t feel like cooking. I had a small steak and a glass of beer and headed home.

I never had the privilege of seeing Melissa except on weekends, and even then, it was only when it was convenient for her. The establishment where she worked was very particular, and I was afraid I might get her fired, and that would spoil everything. I needed her as much as possible if I were to get the information I needed. My PI efforts I never divulged to her. I was afraid she wouldn’t allow me to continue, and I was determined to save her life in spite of her; hell, I would’ve even taken a bullet for her if necessary.

The following week, just as last Friday, I followed the butler. He went to the same bar as the last time. I have an idea this was a habit. He probably stopped there every night when he got bored staying at the house by himself all day. Ahmad was rarely home; he’s a workaholic, and when he’s not at home, he’s out clubbing and looking for a sweet woman to ravish.

I decided to enter the bar and have a drink. Maybe with a little luck, there would be a vacant seat beside him. As luck would have it, there just happened to be an empty seat on both sides at the far end of the bar. I asked, Sir, you mind if I sit in this place, or is it taken, or are you expecting company? I knew he wasn’t, but I asked.

No problem, he said. Take either side.

I slid down on the barstool next to the man and ordered a martini similar to what he was drinking. I thought if he thought we both drank the same drink perhaps we had more in common, and it would make it easier to open up a conversation. It worked; before the first sip had passed my pallet, he spoke. You come here often?

No, actually. This is my first time. A beautiful place, maybe I’ll make this a daily stop on my way home. The conversation commenced. But I was afraid it was a little too soon to get into his private life unless, of course, he volunteered. It didn’t happen. I introduced myself, My name is Chuck. Chuck Wilson.

He turned. He seemed a bit hesitant to put his name out, but finally, he extended his hand, saying, Frank Shaw.

We sat there until I finished my second martini, I turned to face him. I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave. I have a stop to make on my way home.

He said, Well, maybe I’ll see you again on Friday. Have a safe trip home, no bobbing or weaving. He laughed.

I returned the following Wednesday at about 4:30 p.m., and I was surprised to see Frank sitting at the bar in the very same place where we first met.

Hi, Frank, I said. You must have your name on that stool. It seems you were sitting in that very seat the first time we met.

No, it’s usually pretty quiet when I get here at four o’clock. However, the place will start filling up about six. That’s when happy hour starts. Everybody’s always looking for that cheaper drink, and they put them away by seven before happy hour is over. It’s just a ploy to get you started drinking. Some people continue until closing time. Don’t know how they make it home. Just lucky, I guess, Frank finally concluded his oratory.

I ordered a screwdriver. I didn’t care all that much for martinis; the alcohol gets to your brain too fast. I didn’t want to get drunk and miss out on any information I might’ve otherwise gathered from Frank.

I thought you were a martini drinker like me, he remarked.

Well, sometimes I prefer a screwdriver. It is kind of slows down the effects of the vodka. I can’t handle more than one martini. I returned. What’s going on in your life since the last time I saw you, Frank?

Not much. I try to stay away from the job as much as possible. My boss is a schmuck. I hate being around him for any extended time. However, he’s gone most of the time. I never know just when he might arrive home early someday. I don’t think he would take to kindly to my not being there watching the house. I guess he’s afraid someone’s going to break into the house and rob him. I don’t know what the fuck he thinks I’m going to do if someone does break in. I’m sure as hell not going to take a bullet just to save his stash.

This guy could talk once he got started, I just hope he’s more generous with something more relevant I could use in my investigation.

Well, said Frank, I think I’m going to have another. Would you care for a refill, Chuck? I’m buying!

Okay, Frank, since you put it that way. Why not? I returned. I didn’t need any more, but it was time to get down to business. I could drink anytime; besides, Frank seemed to be loosening up a little.

Does your boss go out of town quite a bit, or does his business keep him close by?

No, as a matter of fact, he’s going back to Pakistan, where his family is from, to visit his relatives. He usually stays away for three or four days at a time. I wish he’d move back to where he came from, but then I’d be out of a job. You don’t know anyone that would put a hit out on him, do you? Probably be worth ten grand, maybe more. The boss mentioned to me in confidence he’d pay that much for someone to take out his ex, but then he was drunk, so I didn’t take him seriously. However, you never know, he hates his ex. Don’t say as I blame him. She’s a real bitch. I kind of dislike her myself. Maybe I should do the job for him. Wouldn’t take much of an effort—just follow her home some evening and put a bullet in her head.

Damn, Frank, you sound kind of dangerous. Any truth in what you say—I mean, about you killing her? I asked quizzically.

Probably not, but I know someone that would if the price were right.

Maybe I should get him to take out my mother-in-law—she’s real pain in the ass. I didn’t think out loud, but my mother-in-law’s been dead for twenty years. I’d have to be careful not make another Freudian slip; I was just beginning to make some progress.

Just let me know if you’re sure, and you have the money. I’ll set it up for you, but it will cost you another couple of grand for my connections.

No problem there, Frank. We’ll talk about it again maybe the next time we meet, like perhaps next Friday, I concluded. See you in a couple of days, okay, Frank?

Sure thing, pal. Anytime, I’ll be here. I shook his slimy hand and walked onto the sidewalk, satisfied that I was about to strike it rich. But it wasn’t my mother-in-law I wanted to be taken out. I was hoping for more information on Ahmad’s hit on Melissa, and I needed enough time to stop it from happening. I had a mental observation, sort of a revelation.

Suppose Ahmad’s trip to Pakistan was to create an alibi; it would be perfect. I’m sure he wouldn’t have any trouble getting his relatives to confirm his visit, and what a perfect time it would be to make the hit. But only time would tell, and how much time do I have?

Well, I knew from what Frank said that it would be a couple of months before Ahmad would leave for Pakistan. I had a plan buzzing around in my head like a random digression. If only I can make the perfect diversion. It would only take two days, and it’ll all be over but the handshake.

I had a dire need to talk to Melissa if only she would cooperate. I know she would do anything to make her escape with her daughter and rid herself entirely from Ahmad.

We have approximately two months to make it happen and a lot of machinations.

I decided not to bring up anything about the escape plan and especially about the murder plot. I headed off to my old buddy’s place in Canter, South Dakota; it seemed like a perfect place to hide until we could sort things out.

I may have difficulty convincing my sweet young friend what my plan was, and if she wanted safety for her and her child, mine was the only direction we could take.

I never told Melissa I was going; she wouldn’t miss me. After all, she’s the one in charge. If she wanted to talk or if she needed anything, it was she who would make that decision all by her lonesome.

I drove the first night until I could no longer keep the car on the road. I pulled into one of the off-road places where they had restrooms, crawled into the rear seat, and dozed off. A sheriff woke me and said that I wasn’t allowed to sleep there because it was a rest stop, meaning like in restrooms.

I went into the bathroom and did my thing, washed my hands, drenched my face with plenty of cold water, and hit the trail. I didn’t know where I was or how much further to travel but was sure it was at least two days away and even further if I ever got some sleep. I thought if I ever came to a town with a motel that I might as well get something to eat and bed down for a few hours. I had plenty of time.

According to the sign, I just passed, I should be in Reno, Nevada, in about thirty minutes. I’d pass on the casinos; I wanted a cheap hotel or motel, whatever came first.

I found a small café on the outskirts of Reno, still on the highway heading in the right direction. I stopped and had a hamburger, fries, and a milkshake; my stomach was beginning to think my throat had been cut. It’s been so long since I last ate.

I checked into the fancy motel where they left the light on for me. I was out like a light by the time my head hit the pillow. When I awoke the next morning, the sun was on the west side of the mountain. I guess it was afternoon; it sure didn’t take long