Without Wax: The Tale of Carrie McKinsey

By Richard R. Koebbe

Kevin Connelly, a handsome traveling salesman who is an atheist, meets the beautiful, charming, and irresistible young Carrie McKinsey, a new age woman who has amazing psychic abilities? Despite their differences, sparks fly, and romance blossoms. Kevin's belief system is shaken to its core when Carrie begins to channel his departed grandmother Emma. After a series of psychic revelations, Kevin slowly buys into Carrie's occult world. He witnesses her unbelievable abilities and learns of the location of buried gold coins on his old homestead. Carrie is not who she appears to be and in fact, is leading a double life. When Kevin discovers Carrie's shady past he is angry and devastated and they split up. Despite that, he proceeds to search his old homestead to search for the buried gold coins but finds a body instead. Fearing reprisals for his family's reputation he investigates to determine who the corpse was and when she was buried. That process takes him on a journey down an occult path. Later, Kevin mellows and reunites with Carrie to forgive her, only to find she is dying. Kevin locates Carrie in Peru and on her death bed, he pledges to fulfill a promise to her, one that leads him full circle, back to his old homestead and trouble.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098381370

Book preview

WITHOUT WAX

CHAPTER 1 Going for the Gold

Tuesday, May 28th, 1991, Cincinnati, Ohio

The rain was pelting down. The din reverberated on the roof of the old Chevy van. Dooley wiped the condensation off the passenger side window with his shirtsleeve and peered out into the darkness. Bitch of a night, he said. This crazy scheme did not make much sense to Dooley. He wondered why a successful guy like his buddy Kevin would risk so much for a mason jar of gold coins that might not even exist.

Let me get this straight, Kevin. We’re out here in this godforsaken place, in this horrible weather, with our lives in danger because some psychic chick told you that a mason jar of gold coins was buried on your old homestead.

That is right, Dooley. I’m confident that it’s buried right where Carrie said it would be.

It was not a good time for two white men to be in the middle of Fairmount. Race relations were strained. Recently a black man was shot by a police officer. Even though things had settled down, tensions were still running high in Cincinnati.

I cannot believe you talked me into this, Dooley muttered. Why am I doing this?

Kevin responded with a sly grin on his lip, "Because

Dooley, you are a friend, and friends help friends. This endeavor may seem risky, but the rewards will be worth it. Trust me."

The real reason Dooley agreed to come was that Kevin had promised to loan Dooley his boat for a month.

Convincing Dooley was not all that difficult. After all, Kevin was a salesman extraordinaire and could talk almost anyone into just about anything. Even when he was in grade school, his grandmother, Emma, would pack his lunch in a brown bag. There were always cookies in it. By the end of the day, Kevin would barter back and forth in the schoolyard until he turned a one-cent cookie into a quarter or some neat toy like a Yo-yo. Now Dooley was feeling buyer’s remorse.

Dooley was not the sharpest individual around, but he was one hell of a hunk of humanity. You would not want to tangle with him in a bar fight. While he was only six-foot-tall, he had broad shoulders, long arms, and big hands. He must have weighed two hundred and twenty pounds or better, solid as a rock, and loved to brawl. Kevin and Dooley were friends since they were in high school. While Kevin played quarterback on their high school football team, Dooley played on the defensive line. He just loved to run over people and leave bodies in his wake, but he could not play offense. He kept jumping offsides.

What time is it? Dooley asked. Is this rain ever going to let up? It is black as hell out there. We’re going to get soaked.

Kevin glanced at his watch. 12:36 PM. Quit yer’ bitchin’. We have played football in worse than this.

That’s different, Dooley retorted. I cannot believe you ever lived in this neighborhood. This place is the pits. We could get ourselves killed. Are you sure you want to go through with this?

I’m sure. Kevin sensed that Dooley was getting cold feet but knew exactly how to push his buttons. It had always worked on the football field. Hey Dooley, since when did you become such a wuss? You’re not afraid of a little rain and the boogeyman, are you?

Hell no. It is not of boogeymen that I am afraid. What I am afraid of are drug dealers with guns. Dooley then quickly changed the subject. What was this neighborhood like when you lived here?"

Kevin took a deep breath and reminisced for just a few seconds. It was a nice place to grow up. A blue-collar neighborhood. Lots of hard-working people. But that was thirty years ago. That is not what it was like now. It was now part of the Hood.

They had parked the van on Maplewood Street. The only thing that had not changed was the name of the street. Thirty years ago, at the end of Maplewood was a vacant lot where all the neighbor kids would meet, choose up sides, get some rocks for bases, and play baseball until it got dark. The thought of those carefree days brought a smile to Kevin’s face. At the end of Maplewood, where the vacant lot once was and the wooded area beyond, was now a section eight housing development. Kevin peered out through the fogged-up glass. There was nothing but degradation now; dilapidated housing in need of paint, an abandoned car, lawns overgrown and strewn with junk. It made him sick. It wasn’t always like this’ Kevin muttered. It used to be nice.

Dooley turned and looked straight into Kevin’s eyes. Look, I don’t mind helping you pull this off, but let’s not get ourselves killed. Let’s not do something stupid.

Kevin almost chuckled, with Dooley talking about not doing something stupid. Kevin recalled him once on a fishing trip swallowing a nightcrawler on a dare. Now that was something stupid. Recovering buried gold coins was not.

The van blended into this neighborhood well. It was ten years old, dull, and slightly rusted. It was a panel van, the kind that painters and plumbers used. It was the kind without windows on the sides. Kevin had bought it three years ago for $2500 to pull his boat to Lake Erie and back. While it looked bad, it ran well. The derelicts and drug dealers that lived here would not notice it parked among the other run-down cars on the street. Behind the front seats were two shovels, two Army ponchos, and a White metal detector. The White metal detector was one of the better models. It was the kind that could tell the bottle caps from the coins. It could even discriminate between coin denominations. The doors of the van were all locked.

When are we going to go? Dooley asked. I’d like to get this over with and get the hell out of here. Don’t you know this is a section where they deal drugs?

Of course, I do.

Drug dealers carry guns!

I know, Kevin responded.

Did you bring a gun?

No. I don’t like guns.

How come? As I recall, you used to do a little hunting.

I had my fill of guns in Nam. I don’t care if I ever see another one.

How come, Kevin? Did you see any action in Nam? Did you ever have to shoot any Viet Cong?

I don’t want to talk about it. I have a lot of bad memories that still haunt me. I’d just as soon forget I was ever over there, so just drop it.

Okay, okay, but I’d feel better if we had a gun. What the hell are we going to do if someone catches us? Dooley paused, Besides crap in our pants.

Kevin was surprised to hear Dooley say that. He had never been afraid to mix it up. No one is going to catch us.

And why is that? Dooley queried defiantly.

Because only a fool would be out in weather like this. Why do you think I chose this night? It is just the perfect cover for which I have been waiting. Believe me; we’ll be in and out of there so quick, no one will be the wiser.

Kevin had no intention of tangling with drug dealers. They played rough, especially on their turf. And they do carry guns. It was not only the drug dealers about which he was worried. It was this whole neighborhood. After all, hadn’t Cincinnati just had an uprising, and some Afro Americans had rioted in the street, burning and looting? It would not be wise for a couple of white guys to get caught in the Hood. They might be mistaken for Narc agents. That would not end well.

Just then, someone tried the latch handle on the back door of the van. Kevin and Dooley panicked. Kevin looked in the rearview mirror to see a pair of hands cupped around a face, nosed pressed tight against the glass, trying to look in through the fogged-up rear window. The latch rattled once more, then silence. Kevin and Dooley froze, sitting perfectly still, barely breathing. A moment later, they saw a shadowy figure pass weaving back and forth as he staggered up the street, bottle in hand. Now and then, he paused to sample its wares. A flash of lightning lit up the place, revealing an old gent, probably in his sixties. He had a baseball cap turned backward with water running in a stream off the bill and a gray sweatshirt with large letters F U B U across its back.

Jesus! That scared the hell out of me, Dooley whispered as if the old geezer could hear them. Where in the hell did he come from?

Probably from Gators, the bar down on Beirmann Street.

F U B U? What is that? Dooley asked.

It’s a Black thing.

"What do you mean, a Black thing?

"It’s a brand name like Nike or Calvin Kline. A Black garment entrepreneur makes the F U B U clothing. It means ‘for us, by us.’"

Dooley thought a moment. How’d you know that?

One day, on a plant tour of a company I represent, I noticed a lot of Black production workers wearing stuff with F U B U on it. I thought it was a company softball team name or something like that, so I asked a guy, and that’s what he told me.

Dooley chuckled. I bet that stuff is all made in China by cheap labor.

You’re probably right, Kevin replied after pondering it a minute. "So much for the ‘by us.’"

What time is it now?

Kevin looked down at his watch, a thirty-five-dollar Timex whose dial lit up when you pressed the stem. After One, he said. Kevin was not one for fancy jewelry or trying to impress people. It kept accurate time, and that is what mattered.

Shouldn’t we get going?

Yep!

What if we don’t find this so-called treasure trove of gold coins? I still get to use your boat for a month, …. right? Dooley emphasized, making sure of the deal. Kevin had lured Dooley into this crazy scheme by promising him the exclusive use of his Chaparral for a month.

Absolutely, Buddy, a deal is a deal. Have I ever gone back on my word?

Dooley thought a minute. He could not recall Kevin ever giving him his word, but so what. Even though he had not been that tight with Kevin over the last few years, other than a few fishing trips together, he trusted Kevin and knew he would honor the deal, no matter what. For a moment, Dooley pictured himself cruising up the Ohio River, bikini-clad babes scampering all over that gorgeous Chaparral. Inwardly he smiled. It clouded his better judgment. Let’s go! he said.

Besides sharing in any stash of gold coins, should they find them, Kevin had played upon Dooley’s unfulfilled desire to own a boat, which Dooley could ill afford on a forklift operator’s salary. He knew Dooley had always drooled over the boat and used the promise of unlimited use of it for a whole month to lure Dooley into this dangerous, somewhat risky scheme. After all, it was a very nice twenty-seven-foot cabin cruiser, wasn’t it? Why else would Dooley agree to be here? He had no idea how much it cost to run that thing. It only got three miles to the gallon! He wouldn’t be running it very much, Kevin mused to himself. Kevin slid between the two front seats and back into the cargo area, followed by Dooley. They put on the ponchos, Dooley picked up the shovels, Kevin took the White metal detector, stuck a pen-size flashlight in his pocket, and grabbed a pillowcase.

"What’s with that pillowcase? Dooley asked.

The gold coins.

You must expect a large catch.

I do. Kevin did not, but he did not want Dooley to lose his enthusiasm. Not when they were this close to the stash. Besides, a pillowcase could be stuck down inside his pants and was a lot easier to carry than a briefcase, coffee can, or something like that.

They unlocked the rear door, quietly dismounted, closed, locked the door behind them, and slipped silently into the night toward the back way between some yards to the old house in which Kevin grew up on Beirmann Street. The rain was still coming down, but not as heavy as before.

Kevin had done his homework well. Once he had committed to locate and dig up the buried trove of gold pieces, he formulated a plan. Over the past three months, using his old Chevy van to blend in, he would periodically, at various times, day and night, cruise up and down Beirmann Street, past the old house, casing the area. Even though Beirmann was a reasonably busy thoroughfare on the West Side of town, it was an old street and not very wide. There was parking on only one side of the road. What once was Bing’s Cafe on the corner of Hopple and Beirmann was still a tavern, now called Gators. There were always a congregation of young and some older Afro-American males loitering about the corner at all hours, day and night. Kevin knew drugs were readily available there. Recently there had been a drive-by shooting on that very corner. They had paid little attention to the old van.

Kevin was shocked the first time he saw his old home after thirty years. The house was in the center of the block, upon a hill. The hand-laid stone wall across the front, bordering the street, was now bowed out and crumbling. The house itself was falling apart and appeared to be vacant. There was a massive hole in the roof where it had rotted and caved in, but the porch, which ran alongside the house, was still intact. The beautiful Oak shade tree in the front yard had been cut down at some point and was gone. The beautifully manicured lawn that his Grandfather had meticulously kept was overgrown with weeds and bushes. He could barely see the old shed, the one they called the wash house in the backyard. It was the wash house in which Kevin was most interested.

At the other end of the block at the corner of Beirmann and Donner, where Carl’s Grocery store used to be, there was now another bar called Tiny’s. A different crowd mulled around it, an older group dominated by thugs and their drugs. They would peer menacingly at him when he drove by. He made it a point not to drive by too often. Beirmann street was a place to steer clear of unless you felt like dodging bullets!

Turning left off Beirmann onto Donner led to Maplewood Street. Maplewood ran parallel to Beirmann. While run down and slum-like, Maplewood was more residential. Kevin’s research found that it was quiet after midnight, except on the weekends. Kevin guessed more respectable folks lived there, had jobs, and kids in school. The washhouse, located on the rear of Beirmann's property, was easily accessible from Maplewood by cutting through some back yards. Kevin could park his old van there, and it would blend in well.

Approaching the old homestead from Maplewood seemed like the best plan. It was not only the best approach; it was the only one. Kevin had been waiting for the cover of a rainy weekday night just like tonight, and it had finally arrived. He would never have tried this scheme in this Hood on a clear night.

Now that the rain had let up some, it was time to go. Kevin was in the lead.

Damn, Kevin, it’s dark as hell. I can hardly see, The rain was running off the poncho hood and down his face. I hope you know where you’re going.

I do. Keep your voice down and follow me.

Kevin remembered a path that ran between a poured concrete wall and a chain-link fence that led directly into his old backyard from the vacant lot. It was this route he had chosen. He had used this as a shortcut many times when he was a boy. However, it was no longer a path but overgrown. Kevin trudged through the waist-high overgrowth, Dooley in close pursuit.

Here’s the wall. Crap, the path is practically grown shut. Ouch! Look out for this fucking sticker bush. A steam of bright red blood ran down Kevin’s face, where a sticker needle had found its mark. "This is not good," he thought. So much for us ever making a hasty retreat, should we have to.

Fortunately, the path between the wall and the fence was only about one hundred feet. Dooley finally took the lead, using the handle of the shovel and his massive body to shove limbs back and out of the way. It took them about ten minutes to work their way through that maze of entanglement.

Is this it? Dooley asked.

Yep, this is it. They had finally reached the back corner of Kevin’s old homestead.

Through the driving rain, Kevin could just make out the washhouse. The wash house was a two-room storage building that ran parallel along the back-property line behind the house. Kevin’s folks used it to store old furniture, other things and hang out the wash to dry in bad weather. For Kevin, as a boy, it had been a great place in which to play. They bent low, staying close to the wall that continued to run behind the property. The rain was once again coming down in a deluge. Pausing alongside the south side of the wash house, Kevin strained to see into the old house.

I’m sure it’s vacant, Kevin stated.

Are you sure? You don’t sound very sure.

I’m sure, Kevin replied. But he was not. There was no way he could be confident about whether derelicts might be squatting in one of the rooms. Let’s take cover under the porch till this rain lets up some. I have to find a place to tune the White in.

Stealthily, they crept under the porch. Getting out of the driving rain reminded Dooley of driving down the highway in a downpour and then going under a bridge. Wow, that’s a hell of a lot better. There is no way we could have gotten anything dug out with that deluge of rain coming down! It would be one muddy mess.

Kevin pulled the pillowcase out of his belt and blotted the rain off his face. Dooley grabbed it and done the same. Kevin took the penlight and, using his body as a shield between himself and the street, and the house next door pointed it in the kitchen window. The room was empty. Plaster was peeling off the walls. The floor was strewn with paper and garbage. He noticed some Burger King wrappers and cups, hinting that someone may have recently been camping out in the old place. There was no furniture, allowing him to feel somewhat relieved. He hoped the rest of the house was just as empty. For the first time, he realized how wet and cold he was. It appears empty, Dooley. If we are lucky, there won’t be anyone camping inside.

I hope to hell not. Let’s cool it here ‘til it lets up some, Dooley requested, his eyes darting in all directions. This place gives me the creeps. Do you know how foolish this is? You’re not even sure the coins are still here, are you? They’re here! Kevin laid down a quarter and, sweeping the White metal detector over them, twisted the knobs until he had it adjusted exactly right. Then he took off a gold chain from his neck and repeated the process. The White is all set, he said, Now we’ll just wait for a lull.

Dooley looked squeamish. Is this considered stealing? Could we be arrested for this?

No way, Dooley! Can’t you see that this place is a vacant and abandoned property? Just relax. We’re cool, Kevin stated boldly and confidently. Kevin lied. They were trespassing and about to remove some wealth. That is theft and potentially jail time. To Kevin, it was worth the risk. It was not about the money; he could care less about it. It was about a promise. A promise that had been made to Carrie. One he intended to keep.

Kevin reached in his pocket and pulled out the map showing the house, the yard, and the old shed in the back.

The one Carrie had drawn, the one that detailed exactly where the coins were buried. Two different locations were marked, one at the left front corner of the washhouse and the other on the right corner, between the walkway and the fence where an old outhouse