Pranksters, Hooligans, and Big Lizards

By Steve Edsall

Pranksters, Hooligans, and Big Lizards

- An intense and suspenseful yet insightful comic work of fiction set in present-day North Carolina -

Life is full of unexpected and unlikely situations, from unlikely occupations, mismatched couples to strange behavior. Sven and Ariella are newlyweds who find their career paths leading them to Charlotte, North Carolina where Buford, Ariellas mysterious cousin and prankster is hiding under an alias. At the same time, Ariellas parents each find their own peculiar callings in the city. In their move to Charlotte, the parents are accompanied by some strange yet comical figures with ambitions of their own, one of whom is a career criminal with a dangerous past and who runs a secret organization.

It is the "hooligan" with the criminal past that ultimately becomes the first victim of two murders. To add to the suspense,the police learn that they have been foiled and have the wrong suspect in custody. Later on, after the second murder takes place,the authorities are baffled in their efforts to determine if the two murders are in any way related.

By a strange sequence of events, "prankster" Buford finds himself at the scenes of both murders. In the midst of these violent acts, there is also a mystery surrounding two large lizards. Buford finds he may very well have met his match and finally be forced to retire or maybe he has just found a new partner in pranksterdom and the woman of his dreams.

Sven and Ariella provide commentary on the unfolding events but in the process, they reveal hypocrisies about themselves. Each have their own perspective Sven proclaims to be a devout man of faith but Ariella prides herself on being a nonbeliever. But it is Ariellas hysterically odd grandmother Annabelle, a kind of all-knowing oracle with the wisdom of the ages, who has connections everywhere and knows almost everyones secrets in this wild contemporary comedy/mystery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 29, 2010
• ISBN: 9781456821821

Steve Edsall

Steve Edsall lives in North Carolina with his wife Bonnie and their three dogs. An operations manager for an asset management firm by day, he is also a classically trained musician. He enjoys hiking, fishing, and nature photography. He and his wife also enjoy travelling.

Book preview

Prologue

Summer of 1985

It was the perfect afternoon to sit in a lounge chair and do absolutely nothing. The desert heat of rural Arizona had climbed to ninety-five degrees and was still climbing. Two men sat in the police station snoring the day away. When the telephone rang, the younger of the two men jumped up from his quiet slumber but the elderly sheriff kept snoring. We’ll go down there and check it out right now, ma’am. Thanks for calling us, the young officer said before he hung up the phone. Wake up, he barked at his boss.

Not yet, the man replied. Headaches almost gone but not quite. Give me five minutes.

No. We just got a call about a kid writing graffiti inside the underpass. If we go quick maybe we can catch them in the act.

The sheriff reluctantly stood up and yawned. He slowly and deliberately put his hat on and adjusted his belt. Alright then, since a man obviously can’t any sleep around here, let’s go see if you can make your first arrest, he said as he sized up the newest and youngest member of the five man police department.

Probably just some teenager with too much time on his hands, writing his girlfriend’s name down so he doesn’t forget how to spell it, the man said as he laughed. But then again, the mayor has a thing about vandalism and we have to uphold the law, he said as he placed his hat squarely on his head.

The caller said it was a young girl, said the other man.

Oh, I see. Well then let’s definitely go check her out, he said as he winked at the man anxious to make his first arrest.

The two men drove about two miles down the dusty highway to the edge of town where indeed they did see someone standing on a stone embankment, painting something on the concrete wall. The wall was underneath the road that crossed the highway. When they got close enough they could both see that it was actually only a little girl, not a young woman as they both had expected. They estimated the girl was no more than nine or ten years old. It was a small town and the men knew most of the residents. But they did not get close enough to get a clear identification. So that’s your culprit. You think you can outrun her? asked the sheriff sarcastically as he slowed the vehicle.

The girl saw the car and she ran up the bank and back toward the town, leaving her artwork incomplete. The men could see a small figure in jeans and a pony tail climb over the guard rail and start sprinting down the road. She turned and ducked into an alley behind a gas station. The two men just laughed as they pulled the car onto the shoulder and slowly got out of the car. Should I pursue the suspect on foot, sir? asked the young officer in jest.

No, said the sheriff as he sighed. Cleaning boys can fix it easily enough before the mayor is up for re-election.

The two men climbed up the bank to get a closer look at the artwork. The girl had used several different bright colors to paint a heart with an arrow through it. But the second name inside the declaration of young love was left unwritten. Chirp loves somebody, remarked the sheriff as he stared at the rainbow-colored graffiti. I don’t know anybody in town with that nickname. Do you?

No. Can’t say I do, remarked his partner. I did notice she was wearing a jersey with the number eight on it. That should narrow down the field of suspects, said the young policeman, sounding almost convincingly serious.

Give it a rest. We’ll find you a real criminal for your first bust, replied the sheriff.

—Six Years Later—

The helicopter circled over three acres of tall corn almost ready for harvesting. The man sitting behind the pilot motioned for him to drop his altitude to around two hundred feet. He tried to talk to the girl next to him over the noise of the rotor but finally gave up. He then handed the teenage girl his semiautomatic rifle, gave her a thumbs up sign and smiled. Showing no emotion or acknowledgement of the man’s smile, the girl, who had brown hair tied in a pony tail, found her target on the ground. She unloaded the entire clip, shrugged, and then handed the gun back to the man next to her.

The man glared at her. As the pilot turned to go back in the opposite direction the noise subsided. That’s expensive ammo, Chirp, the man next to her said. I don’t think that was entirely necessary.

She sure hit her intended target though, said the pilot with a smile. I sure don’t want to get on the young lady’s bad side. Both men laughed but the girl showed no sign of emotion.

She has ice in her veins, remarked the man sitting next to the girl.

No, she doesn’t, commented the pilot. It’s all just an act.

—Five Years Later—

The young woman was wearing an orange jump suit as she entered the expensively furnished corner office on the nineteenth floor, overlooking midtown Manhattan. The young woman wore heavy makeup and her hair in a ponytail. The older woman behind the desk looked at her for several minutes before saying anything. Why the orange prison uniform? she asked the young woman.

It fits the image I want to portray, she answered.

Do you have a name yet? asked the woman behind the desk.

Not yet. I want something funny but also feminine and it has to convey danger and coldness at the same time . . . and it should have a space age theme. I want my fans to think I was born on another planet . . . that is, the less sophisticated portion of my fan base.

That’s a tall order. I’ll see what I can do. The older woman then smiled across the desk. The little girl from small-town Arizona has come a long way. I remember when you were a baby. My, my . . . how time flies. Have you heard from your sister lately?

No . . . not for a few weeks.

The older woman nodded and then paused. We’ll get you the perfect name and my daughter can start showing you the ropes, as they say. It’s a tough business unless you have people on your side.

Chapter 1

Present Day

Humans are somewhat transient creatures. Yet when the word is used as noun ‘transient’ has negative connotations. The various continents were peopled and civilized as a result of man’s transient nature. It is through our restlessness and mobility that we were able to map our entire planet and ultimately find ways to communicate to our fellow man on the other side of the globe. Most often it is the alluring image of a better place with new and exciting opportunities that makes us pick up and move. Sometimes we move in groups and sometimes as individuals. Sometimes we move to be closer to family members or others to whom we are drawn by a desire for romance and intimacy.

Whenever humans move from one place to another, some of them inevitably find ways to meddle in the affairs of others. Some enjoy wreaking havoc on their fellow man just for the entertainment value. Sometimes the intentions of the meddler are much more sinister. Sometimes we are followed by others, with our without our knowledge. Some members of the species even find ways to create new identities for themselves in new locations. And lastly, some people should have stayed where they were in the first place.

Sven and Ariella Ronaldsson were getting ready to celebrate their first wedding anniversary after a whirlwind first year of marriage in Wilmington, North Carolina. The couple, now in their late twenties, had met through an online dating service while both were living in Wilmington and decided to get married after a very short courtship. Sven’s business, which started out as a small paper-shredding service had expanded into document storage and toxic waste removal. Business was going well. However, Ariella’s new job required a great deal of travel and the two found themselves spending less and less time together. She was currently considering quitting the job but the two enjoyed the lifestyle that the two incomes were providing. Ariella’s first job in Wilmington was with an accounting firm that went out of business, due in part to gross mismanagement and bad decision-making on the part of one of the partners. The ambitious young CPA was able to land another job thanks to some good professional networking connections.

Ariella’s maternal grandmother Annabelle lived with them in a quiet suburb north of the picturesque and historic coastal city. Annabelle was essentially a semi-retired con artist with a checkered past; two of her five ex-husbands were serving time for various crimes that included murder for hire. Sven was never quite sure how involved the grandmother still was in her prior life, despite assurances from Ariella that the old lady was truly retired. Annabelle had an unusual habit of using sayings no one had ever heard before and sometimes created her own sayings on the spot. You never quite knew what the old lady might say on any given occasion.

There was another member of the extended family that had left the Wilmington area under unusual circumstances. Ariella’s forty-four year old cousin Buford, Annabelle’s nephew and self-described habitual prankster, had created mayhem by obtaining employment under a false identity and helping bring about the downfall of the firm where Ariella once worked. As a young child, Ariella enjoyed the company of her cousin Buffy as she called him, but when he later followed her to Wilmington, he soon outweighed his welcome and she was glad to see him go. Sven and Ariella had no idea where the mischievous older cousin had moved but they suspected Annabelle knew. Both Sven and Ariella hoped wherever he was, it was a safe distance away from Wilmington.

Sven, Ariella and Annabelle were having lunch in downtown Wilmington on the waterfront by the Cape Fear River one Saturday afternoon when Ariella’s phone rang. She left the table so as not to disturb Sven and Annabelle’s conversation. When she returned, she sighed heavily.

What is it? asked her husband.

The company is having an offsite, some kind of seminar, in Charlotte next week. I’ll be there for a week. I like going to Charlotte with you, she said to her husband. But I am not looking forward to another week away, especially if it means listening to some endless prattle I’ve heard before.

I’m glad you mentioned Charlotte, said Annabelle. I forgot to tell you. Your mother and father are moving there next month. They will be much closer now. Arizona was such a long way away.

Why didn’t you tell me? asked Ariella.

I guess I just forgot, replied her grandmother.

Did they tell you why they’re moving? asked Sven.

Evidently Red has taken up cooking and wants to open a restaurant there. He and Edna liked the city when they last visited it and someone he knows did some research . . . something about an increased demand for Southwestern cuisine or some such nonsense. Actually, Red has been experimenting with something he calls Southwestern-Scandinavian fusion. As I recall one of the house specialties will be mesquite-roasted pickled herring with a cloudberry and chipotle salsa.

That sounds disgusting, Annabelle, said Ariella with a frown.

Ariella’s parents had unusual occupations. Ariella’s father Erval, who went by the nickname ‘Red’, was a self-proclaimed professional baton-twirler and her mother had been a successful mud wrestler. The mother was the family’s breadwinner and was now retired. Red occasionally still tried to pull in small crowds at venues in and around Las Vegas. Sven and Ariella were both fairly certain the seed money for the restaurant was probably put up by Ariella’s mother and Annabelle’s daughter, Edna. But they would soon learn there was another party involved.

Taking up cooking as a hobby and opening a restaurant are two completely different things, said Sven. I really hope they can make a go of it. Since they’ll be so close, maybe I will finally get to meet them, he said while smiling. Sven had never met Ariella’s parents; the young couple had married so soon after meeting each other and had been so busy, they never made the trip out to visit ‘Red’ and Edna.

There’s actually a little bit more to the story, said Annabelle.

Go ahead, Annabelle, said Ariella, nervously tapping her fingers on the table. When you bring us news, there’s always a lot more stuff than you just told us.

Well, began the old lady. Lightning Bolt wants to resurrect her career. She says Charlotte is the perfect market and now is the perfect time to make a comeback in her sport.

Who’s Lightning Bolt? asked a confused Sven.

Edna started wrestling before she married Erval and she uses her maiden name. Her wrestling name is Lightning Bolt Larouche.

Sven openly laughed at that comment and Ariella put her face in her hands. Hey . . . lighten up, Ariella! How many people can say they have in-laws named and Lightning Bolt and Red? The names sound like characters in an old Western. Granted they sound more like the names of horses but I still can’t wait to meet them.

Ariella was visibly growing angrier with her grandmother. Annabelle, where is Buford? I have a funny feeling you have been in touch with him.

Without any hesitation her grandmother answered. Oh, he’s in Charlotte, too. I honestly don’t know exactly what he’s up to, but I heard he’s there. She then turned to Sven. Buford, you may already know, is not related to Edna or Erval. He’s my nephew on my ex-husband Jacques-Phillipe’s side of the family.

Yes, I know, said Sven. I knew Buford in his prior life, here in Wilmington. In fact, you may recall, he was a drinking buddy of mine. I remember him being a favorite with some of the local ladies in the bar scene. And I have this strange feeling that our paths will one day cross again.

Annabelle smiled at Sven. Well, I remember you telling me that someone once warned you. You don’t marry the girl, you marry the family. You sir, married into a group of oddballs, but at least we’re fun most of the time. I don’t suppose Ariella told you everything about her father Red’s health problem.

What problem? asked a concerned Sven. I hope it’s nothing serious. It’s not hereditary, is it? he asked while looking directly at Ariella.

No, replied Ariella as she let out a sigh. Annabelle is referring to his kleptomania. My father likes to steal Chevrolet hubcaps. He’s been doing it since he was twelve.

And getting away with it, every time, mind you, and only with Chevrolets, said Annabelle, proudly standing up for her son-in-law. When the light bulb of opportunity casts the glow of promise, only the fool eats his lunch in the closet.

Annabelle, that saying almost made sense to me. I must be losing it altogether or becoming more like you people, said Sven. But I must say . . . I’m glad to hear you are so proud of your son-in-law’s accomplishments. But most cars don’t have hubcaps anymore. Where does Red find them?

Not really sure but he has quite a collection, she replied.

Annabelle, having a son-in-law who’s a hooligan is nothing to be proud of, said Ariella. Let’s change the subject, shall we?

The apple of fortune has no place in a bowl of rotten cherries and a peach doesn’t fall off the tree until it’s ripe.

Now that one made no sense whatsoever, Annabelle, said Sven.

The old lady wasn’t quite through discussing her son-in-law’s ailments. Poor Red can’t twirl the baton very well with his left hand anymore. He injured his pinky in a run-in with the law but has never been able to collect damages for it.