The Spider' S Web

By Joseph Jefferson

There is no available information at this time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 15, 2006
• ISBN: 9781465318947

Joseph Jefferson

I have been writing for more than twenty years. Novel writing has always been my long term goal; however, after procrastinating for quite some time, I sat down and wrote three full length novels in a five year period. I was born and raised in Richmond, Virginia. I owned and operated several businesses before seriously committing to writing full length novels. Nevertheless, this Is my first published novel. I was educated in Richmond; however, after a lull in my active education, I earned an “ASSOCIATE IN APPLIED SCIENCE DEGREE”Cum Laude, with a major in Management I also earned a “CAREER STUDIES CERTIFICATE”Cum Laude, with a major in Real Estate. I must admit that research for my novels was a bit tedious and difficult at times, so I would like to thank my wife, as well as all of my family and friends for their assistance in helping me to acquire accurate information for my books Yet I still eagerly look forward to writing and publishing several more novels before hanging up my hat. The writer I most admired for his mastery was Robert Ludlum. He was a master plotter who lured his readers on, page after page.

Book preview

Chapter 1

He stood almost motionless behind a large, porcelain flower pot sitting

in the corner of the marble corridor. Warily concealing himself behind a tall, leafy philodendron as he stealthily peered at a sleek, long legged redhead who seemed to be gliding as she wandered back and forth through the crowded lingerie department in Jay Alden’s. The exclusive women’s store was located in the rear of the sprawling shopping mall. She was dressed in peach satin pants with a matching silk blouse; fawn colored high heel pumps and a lizard clutch purse of the exact same color. Strands of her bouncy, full blown auburn hair glistened beneath the bright florescent lights like slits of silver intermingled in a Christmas tree. Tiny dot sized brown freckles spread methodically across the bridge of her artful nose like so many diminutive sand pebbles dotting the shore of a creamy California beach; her eyes the color of the ocean’s distant turquoise skyline.

Suddenly, for no reason at all, she shuddered involuntarily, as if something evil had brushed the bright and pleasant day, something dark and scary. She spun abruptly, then warily looked around; there was nothing unusual. And then, seconds later, she reluctantly shrugged off the mysterious feeling. But she had indeed been watched. The tall, tackily dressed stranger had been lustfully eyeing her from behind the leafy plant the entire time she had shopped.

It was late spring, and the bombardment of advertisement, through radio, newspaper, and television, of the gigantic Pre-Memorial Day Sale at Regent Mall, had drawn a throng of economy minded shoppers out on this beautiful Friday evening, all eagerly cashing in on the many choice bargains being offered by the large assortment of retail stores doing business in the magnificently constructed shopping mall.

It was not unusual for Michel Thomas, whom her fiancé and intimate friends called Mich, to browse for hours at a time before finally selecting merchandise that suited her discriminating fancy, and oftentimes cost a thousand dollars or more; today was no exception. She had endured an unfortunate and trying day at the office. Sometimes only extensive shopping jaunts like this could alleviate exasperating days spent at the office. News relayed over the ticker tape that Alan Greenspan, the wise old chairman of the Federal Reserve, would soon tighten the money supply because of the battering the U.S. Dollar had recently taken on the Euro Dollar market, had sent the stock market on a capricious downturn, causing the institutional investment portfolio under her management to lose nearly ten points during one hectic, four hour trading period. Losses such as that were unusual, but threatening. Fortunes had been lost on swings in the market that were not nearly as severe, and as a relatively young stock market trader, she was naturally a bit unnerved.

After graduating Summa Cum Laude from the prestigious Wharton School of Finance four years ago, Michel had gone to work in the securities firm of Payne Webber, gaining invaluable financial experience while putting her superb, high-priced education to a realistic test. After two short years of near flawless performance, she had abruptly resigned her position as securities analyst and, with the help and influence of family money, started Thomas & Cummins Securities, a small securities firm specializing in institutional investment portfolio management. Since opening Thomas & Cummins Securities, her performance and progress chart showed only sustained growth. For beneath that soft and beautiful facade was a burning and compelling desire to excel, even beyond the astounding achievements of her famous father, D. L. Thomas, a cagey investor and financial wizard who, in just fifteen short years, pyramided a small computer chips manufacturing division into a gargantuan conglomerate of sixteen varied and successful companies with an astronomical market value.

Will there be anything else, Miss Thomas? the bespectacled, grandmotherly sales manager asked after Michel had finally settled on several expensive pieces of lingerie. The sales manager stared at her with an expression of admiration. For it was not only Michel’s wealth and beauty that distinguished her from all of the other women who shopped at Jay Alden, but her aristocratic air as well. Her refined breeding was as apparent as her gorgeous beauty. She was a very special customer, and whenever she came in to shop, which was quite frequently, all of the sales girls knew that she was a preferential customer that only the sales manager waited on.

Well… . I suppose that will be all for today, Michel answered, somewhat indecisively. Although the cost of the merchandise she had just chosen totaled more than eight hundred dollars, it did not cause a stir because for as long as she could remember, money had never been an object in her life. The Thomas family, which enjoyed much social esteem and was considered one of the wealthiest families in Virginia, had been blessed with enormous wealth for generations, handed down more than a century ago by Michel’s great great grandfather, Sir Joseph Thomas, a shrewd antebellum tobacco manufacturer who, according to family legend, in the late 1860’s, had arranged shrewdly for a large shipment of tobacco to an overseas account to be collected only at the close of hostilities in Richmond during the turbulent 1860’s. It was said that Sir Joseph had shipped all of his available manufactured tobacco abroad, with the express stipulation that he not be paid for it until the end of the Civil War. It was estimated that he lost over a million dollars in the war, but that his overseas account had enabled him to quickly recover and amass an even greater fortune than he possessed before the war.

After she had made a cursory check through her purse searching for her checkbook, Michel stepped back from the cashier’s booth with a smile on her slightly tanned face; as fore and middle fingers rested slightly over her mouth, which was partially agape. Oh! My! I completely forgot that I left my checkbook in my briefcase setting on the back seat of my car, she intoned, revealing glossy pearly white teeth. Her voice was almost apologetic. I guess I will have to pay with my American Express card.

Her baby blue, 300 SD Mercedes sports coupe was parked on the third tier of the shopping mall’s parking deck. Even though she could have been chauffeured in one of the family’s three limousines on any of her shopping jaunts, she never did. Driving her own car suited her more. Perhaps because she had grown up during the wealth denouncing fad of the seventies.

As she waited for the cashier to run a routine check on her credit card, her soft features briefly revealed irritation. She never liked the additional wait that paying with a credit card entailed because the credit card check always invariably turned out the same anyway: she was a preferential cardholder with unlimited spending privileges.

Michel’s bloodline had produced a long line of titian haired, green eyed beauties that dated back to her great great aunt, Dana, a sparkling, red haired beauty with captivating greenish gray eyes. In the distressful year of 1811, Dana had been the innocent cause of two of the most prominent young men in Richmond engaging in a duel over her that left one man mortally wounded and the other permanently wounded.

It was rumored that the trouble had started over a harmless utterance about Dana at a Fourth of July picnic; however, sorrowfully, neither man ever enjoyed the pleasure of knowing her intimately. At the time, Dana was a budding young actress in her early twenties. But only five months after the pernicious duel, on a snowy night after Christmas, in a huge theater on Broad Street Hill, Dana and seventy one other people, including Governor George W. Smith and former U. S. Senator, Abraham B Venable, died in a holocaust that shook Virginia and the entire nation.

After the cashier had packaged Michel’s purchases, she thanked the cashier then turned and headed back to the parking deck, regretting now that she had not been able to find a parking space closer to the exit door because that same mysterious feeling that something dark and evil lurked near by had just caused her to shiver once again with dread. She stopped momentarily to look around and sigh, then she continued on her way.

4152.png

The tall, tackily dressed man wearing faded blue jeans, a frayed cotton shirt and worn out, low quarter, canvass tennis shoes, turned and looked stealthily up and down the mall’s busy corridor before plucking his twelfth cigrette butt down on the shiny marble floor inside the crowded shopping mall. He had been lurking behind several tall artificial plants, some sitting in large wooden plant pots aligned down the middle of the corridor, waiting anxiously for the beautiful redhead to come back out of Jay Aldens, the exclusive women’s store diagonally across the corridor from where he had been lustfully eyeing her every move as she examined one piece of under garment after the other. Even though anxiety was now slowly engulfing his entire mind because of the long wait, he still felt a strong surge of excitement as desire tickled his swollen phallus. His breathing was irregular and labored. She was by far the most beautiful woman he had ever stalked, and he was eager to get to her. He felt lucky she had driven past his car on the third tier parking deck without any notice of him or his car.

Hanging around for hours in the midst of a crowded shopping center was risky, and he knew it. For anyone of the women he had attacked recently (and he had attacked several, two of them nearby) could spot him and call the police before he had any chance to escape; nevertheless, he had to take that chance now because once he’d lain his eyes on the gorgeous redhead as she had strutted down the middle of the driveway on the third tier of the parking deck, her buttocks held snugly in place beneath her thin, peach colored pants by tight fitting bikini panties, he knew right away he had to have her or at least follow her home so that he would have another shot at her if his efforts to take her tonight failed.

Suddenly, he dipped his head quickly and sat down on one of the benches. He saw one of his former clients, Ray Beck, who had recently purchased a house through the real estate firm he worked in, casually strolling down the other side of the corridor with his wife and daughter. Damn! he muttered beneath his breath, his jaw firm and eyes somber and glazed. Why can’t I just leave and go home? he asked himself. But he couldn’t do that now, and he knew it. For he was a compulsive rapist, and once the obsession for a certain woman seized him, especially if she was pretty or had a thin layer of peach fuzz sprouting out on her face, his actions were no longer subject to conscious or voluntary controls; he became a helpless by stander, hopelessly unable to curb his animalistic lust, and he would remain that way until he had placated those bestial and deep seated sexual urgings…

Robert Dunlop, whom most people called Bob, was a bearded, six feet two inch, two hundred and twenty five pound real estate salesman who sold real property for a real estate firm in the far west-end section of town. And he had become a relatively successful real estate salesman along the way, and he truly liked his job. His petite, dark haired and understanding wife, Janice, a part time economist and registered nurse at one of the local hospitals, had fallen madly in love with him four years ago after he had violently attacked her twice in the same week. Thick bushy eye brows perched above his deep set misty blue eyes, which always seemed to take on a distant and mysterious glaze whenever he was sexually excited.

Since being charged with the attack of a twenty-two year old elementary school teacher while he was stationed in San Diego six years ago (a charge he was ultimately exonerated of because two of his army buddies had testified falsely in his behalf), he had done a fairly good job of suppressing his urge to attack by buying sexual favors from prostitutes and transvestites, whom he would then act out his sordid rape fantasies on. But during the past two years, since his deep seated and bestial urge to commit violent attacks had resurfaced with even a stronger urgency than before, he had attacked and physically battered over forty women without the authorities having the slightest clue to his true identity. Eluding them so successfully had also begun to give him added thrills, so much so that he now felt he could get away no matter who he attacked, or where he attacked her.

He had also taken vivid reminders from each of the forty odd women he had attacked, mostly bloody panties and bras. He had given each of the battered women a name he could remember them by: names that corresponded with the first initial of the successive number they represented among those he had attacked: the first woman who was number one, he called Ophilia; number two, Toni; number three, Theresa, and so on.

His deep seated misogynistic tendencies, that had taken root and begun to grow at a very early age, were induced by a vile and domineering stepmother whom he’d had sexual and homicidal fantasies about as early as the tender age of eight.

During his formative years, and those memories were still vividly impressed in his mind now, whenever his stepmother, Momma Geraldine, was angry at his father, Frank Dunlop, who was a pesticide salesman for a local chemical company, she would wait until his father had gone back out of town on one of the many sales trips he frequently took before she would take out her anger and frustrations on little Bob. She would force him at knife point to take painful enemas, sometimes as often as three times a day, while at the same time she performed fellatio on his small shriveled penis until it sprouted out. The excruciating pain he suffered during those unforgettable ordeals was so intense that the mere threat of repetition was always enough to keep him from divulging a word of it to his father.

Momma Geraldine, as he still referred to his stepmother, was a thick bodied, dusty blond with a masculine appearance and small beady eyes the color of slate blue. She was raised on a shabby farm in the dusty cotton fields of South Carolina, and could never have children of her own because of a uterus infection at the age of twelve that was brought on by repeated sexual molestations by a pathogenic stepfather, whose system had been poisoned by rampant and unchecked veneral disease. Since that time, she had developed intense ambivalent feelings towards all males, whether they were related (and she had three brothers) or just associates. She dealt with all men in the same manner, with a stern expression and an iron fist.

By the age of ten, Bob had seen his father and stepmother perform cunnilingus and fellatio on more than six occassions. He had also hidden in their bedroom closet numerous times while his stepmother lay on the bed in the nude, moaning and groaning as she massaged her erogenous parts with a battery powered vibrator. On each of those sneak and peep sessions, he’d always had an erection, but he never experienced ejaculation. His first attack in which he had experience ejaculation, did not occur until the age of eleven. The victim was his reticent twelve year old cousin, Emma, a scrawny, pallid face little girl with medium length, stringy blond hair and sad turquoise blue eyes.

It happened one wintry night after their parents had gone out to a Tiddlywinks Tournament. Even now, almost twenty years later, he could still vividly see the masked, pained expression she had worn on her face when he had gouged the enema stem deeply into her anus, then bit down hard on her tiny, under developed breast. Simultaneously, he’d snatched several strands of hair out from around her pubis. Afterwards, he’d forced his penis into her mouth as she hysterically fought against it, telling her it was what his father and stepmother did when they closed their bedroom door. Though she had protested against his way of playing momma and daddy, she never once told her parents about his cruel and unusual behavior.

. . . When Bob raised back up from his crouched position on the bench in the crowded shopping mall, Ray Beck and his wife and daughter had disappeared into one of the shops along the corridor. Sneakily, he gently stroked his phallus and breathed a big sigh of relief. He got up and anxiously walked over to the display window of Jay Aldens, straining his glazed eyes to locate the pretty redhead who had drawn him there in the first place.

Chapter 2

The swelling crowd in the front parking lot of Regent Mall clustered

together like so many daffodils in a planter’s garden, swaying, wooing, and noisly applauding as five dexterous jugglers, all members of the prestigious International Jugglers Association, performed numerous adept maneuvers with milk bottles and eggs. Testing the waters, one of the jugglers reminded the crowd at timely intervals. We are warming up for a shin dig tomorrow afternoon in honor of one of the greatest jugglers to ever perform his feats in the State of Virginia. He spoke of the master juggler Ivor Ramsey, who had been mistakenly gunned down a month earlier by the police during a supermarket robbery.

Michel, with two cumbersome bags of merchandise clutched under each arm, weaved and squirmed her way through the crowd to get a better view of the jugglers. Juggling had been one of her secret fantasies since the time her father had brought two circus jugglers to the mansion to perform at her twelfth birthday party. She smiled wistfully at the memory. One of the circus jugglers, a young Mexican boy named Salvadore, had come back on her fifteenth birthday and proposed marriage, but her parents had quickly discouraged such youthful passion.

The three blue tow trucks, all bearing Capitol Garage logo, were slowly worming their way through the crowded lot, towing cars whose owners had illegally parked, either in the fire lane or some other no parking zone. It reminded Michel that her car was still parked on the third tier of the parking deck with its doors unlocked and the key in the ignition. She hurriedly worked her way back through the crowd, scolding herself for being so careless and irresponsible.

4154.png

Lying in ambush on the back floor of the plush Mercedes sport coupe, cramped and physically strained for almost thirty five minutes, had nearly thwarted his desire to catch the pretty redhead by surprise when she returned back to her car. Luckily though, she was the careless type. The car doors were unlocked and the keys still in the ignition, so getting into her car had been a cinch.

He sighed audibly, then stretched. His cramped legs were beginning to ache because of the contorted position he had to remain in.

He had hidden out in cars on numerous occassions while waiting for women to return to their cars. He was five for five when he had used that method of attack, but on each of those occassions the cars had been full sized and roomy, so the waiting had not really bothered him. But now it was different; the waiting was becoming almost unbearable, not only because of the physical discomfort, but the anxiety it entailed as well. Over and over in his mind he wondered how he would take her once she’d gotten into the small cramped car. What if she slipped out of his grasp before he were able to steady himself in these small, cramped quarters? He also worried about whether there were hidden TV monitors somewhere in the parking deck. When he’d first squeezed into her car, which was parked in the farthest corner of the third tier, he had immediately stretched out on the back seat on his back and carefully scanned the ceiling and all three walls of the parking deck, nervously searching for any indication that TV monitors were present in the deck, but he had noticed nothing to indicate they were present, so he had directed his thoughts elsewhere.

Cautiously, he raised his head up and peeped down the long cement driveway, but with a lightning quick reflex, he dropped back down to the floor. The beautiful redhead was now leisurely strolling up the middle of the driveway with several bags clutched in front of her body. He shivered momentarily from the shock of seeing her so close, though that was what he wanted all along: to be close to her. Blood rushed to his head and his heart fluttered as his thoughts lingered on the way her bikini panties had shown through the thin, tight fitting pants she was wearing when he had seen her earlier.

With a trembling hand, he flipped open his lockblade, K55 pocket knife, then crouched even lower on the floor directly behind the driver’s seat. With each passing second, the excitement he felt began to intensify. In a few more seconds, she would be all his. His body trembled all over involuntarily. His phallus was now growing hard again and he could barely breathe past the thickening lump that had welled up and lodged in the middle of his throat. Suddenly, he had the urge to clear his throat, but he didn’t because he knew that at any minute now the door to the sporty little car would swing open and the pretty redhead would be within arm’s reach. The anxiety and unbearable sexual excitement now running rampant through his loins was causing his heart to pound the interior of his chest with almost hammer like thumps.

The small Mercedes swayed slightly as the door latch clicked. Instantly, the fruity aroma from the perfume she wore permeated the interior of the car even before she leaned in to fetch the key from the ignition.

Momentarily, as he lay crouched on the floor in anxious silence, her intoxicating fragrance entranced him. But then, with a quick burst, he reached up and ruggedly clamped his powerful arm around her slender and fragile neck, placing the keen tip of the knife blade just below her ear. She inhaled abruptly, then made a low gutteral scream. But just as quickly, her scream fizzled out. A tiny stream of blood trickled down her neck from the additional pressure he applied on the blade of the knife.

Roughly, he tightened his hold on her neck as he jerked her head back farther over the seat. And then, ruthlessly, Don’t you scream again, bitch, he snapped in a callous guttural voice as he pressed the tip of the blade down even harder against her reddening flesh. His flushed face was a mask of cruelty; Cause if you do, it’ll be your last God damn time! He had learned from experience that if he didn’t take immediate control of his victims and instill the fear of death in them, they would soon become unruly and create unwanted and noticeable disturbances. He could not afford that because it would also attract attention.

Momentarily, she fell silent, then the tears welled up in her eyes and began slithering down her face. Her eyes were now glazed with fear. And then, obviously frightened and hurt over the brutal way he was treating her, I… . I won’t scream again, Mister, she muttered in a choked voice. Please don’t kill me! she added barely audible. I … Her emotions spilled over and she broke completely down with low body racking wails.

He tightened his hold around her neck more securely as he dragged her body over the front seat to the back. After pulling her down on the floor, he raised up cautiously and looked around; no one was in the area. Excitement tingled his body as he reached to close the front door. With the tip of the blade still pressed against her neck, he looked down into her face. A wry smile peaked through. In spite of her face being contorted with humiliation and fear, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. And the realization that in just a few more seconds she would be all his, sent a shiver roaring down the middle of his spine that tingled his rectum. The stimulating fragrance from her perfume was sending sizzling heat waves through his loins. He was bursting with eagerness to see her nude body.

Her body trembled papablely with fear as she looked up at him through tearful eyes. There was something frightening in his visage ; like the rancor seen in the eyes of a misogynist, a bitter deep seated ill will towards all women. The thought that he would rape and kill her was undoubtedly weighing heavily on her mind as the tears continued to stream down her face. I… pl— In mid sentence, her voice cracked with grief.

Quickly he slapped the palm of his hand over her mouth. And then, with a baleful stare beaming down from his eyes, I’m gonna lay this fuckin’ knife down on the floor, bitch, but if you make any God damn fuss, I’ll push it right through your pretty little neck. He knelt over her and began unbuckling his pants. His glistening face was now flush with excitement. A multitude of small, beady dots of perspiration covered his face like a blanket of transparent pimples. After a pause to stare into her face again, he ripped her blouse down the middle and tore her pants open at the waist, sliding both her pants and panties all the way down to her ankles. Speechlessly, with his mouth drooling and agape, he feasted his eyes on her furry, reddish brown mound.

She shivered continuously, but otherwise continued to lie perfectly still, rebelling against him by refusing to answer any of his verbal demands. Helplessly, she sniffed the tears and mucus draining down the side of her face.

Now he was in a rage; a menacing expression veiled his features. You hear me, Geraldine? he bellowed frenziedly, mistakenly referring to her by using his stepmother’s name.

She whimpered as she cut her eyes at him. Curiously, at first… then with fear evident on her face. She was in the grasp of a psychotic. The only hope she had of staying alive was to comply with his brutal demands and hope that someone intervened before this maniac had gone all the way with her. Obviouly she didn’t struggle because now her own hot, rich blood trickled steadily down the side of her neck. I… I won’t, Mister, she answered in a subdued voice. Oh, dear God! Please help me! Her body appeared rigid with fear.

Look at me, bitch! he shouted as he kneeled over her with the glistening pinkish head of his pulsating phallus pointed directly at her face. You want it; you know you want it, don’t you? he snickered sadistically with a sneer on his sweaty face. And then he pulled back and eased him self down between her legs. Grunting and groaning: an excited moron with a decisive advantage.

She shivered momentarily, then whimpered and began to cry noisly when he entered her and started to churn wildly; then he clamped down hard on the inside of her neck with a hot, salivating bite, greedily sucking at her blood and flesh like a sex crazed vampire. He began uttering pleasure sounds like a starved wild animal eating its first meal after three days of hunting.

And then moments later, as this sex crazed animal continued to sadistically probe deep down into her private innermost depths, she began to plead with him in a hoarse voice. Ouch! . . . don’t… please… stop… . You’re hurting me! But somehow, though, beneath the bruising torture this animal was administering, she may have momentarily experienced pleasure and hated herself for it, because suddenly she began to look nauseated, as if that acrid taste of bile was now rising up and clinging to her throat like salt.

Shut up… you dirty, classy bitch! You like it, don’t you? His voice was seething and gruff. Then he began to gyrate frenziedly, as if he had seen someone coming and was trying to finish before that someone had gotten to him. The filthy language only heightened his sexual excitement, and now he had reached a boiling point like an agitated Hereford bull set free in a pasture of cows in heat.

Before he reached his peak, with the abruptness of a brazen maniac, he raised himself up off her and withdrew his throbbing and wet phallus. And then with a distant and crazed glare in his eyes, Turn over on your stomach, bitch, he ordered as he roughly grabbed her shoulder with his left hand. I’m gonna make your toes twirl, little lady, yes siree! Like you ain’t never seen before. He gave an eerie snicker as he forcefully nudged her over on her stomach. But before he could make good on his sordid threat, a thump on the hood of the car caught his attention. God damn you, boy, he swore vehemently as he raised up and flashed his knife threateningly at the wide eyed youngster standing on the hood of the car and peering in at him.

By the time he had pulled up his pants and opened the car door, the dark haired youngster had disappeared. He jerked his head back and forth, looking around apprehensively, his mind now racing with paranoid suspicions and anxiety. A thin layer of glistening perspiration broke out on the backs of both hands, and his body began to tremble uncontrollably. When he glanced back into the car, the redhead had pulled herself together and was hurriedly scrambling out the other side, screaming for help at the top of her shrill voice. Suddenly, his mind went blank and he took off in a fast sprint down the driveway, fastening his pants as he ran. Anxiety and apprehension had now reduced his mind to a ball of confusion. He had no peripheral vision as he ran. He could only see straight ahead.

She had now moved out into the middle of the driveway, still half clothed, hysterically screaming and crying from a squat position down on her knees, rocking back and forth, with both hands pressing the sides of her face.

As he ran further away down the long, sloping driveway, he glimpsed a lone bespectacled black man, of slight build, sporting a full head of curly black hair, standing at the entrance way to the flight of stairs leading down to the ground floor. He never slackened his pace, but instead, continued moving towards the black man at a slightly increased speed. His old football days as a battering ram fullback flashed vividly through his hyped up mind. He was now running with the football late in the fourth quarter, with the seconds ticking away on the clock and only one tackler between him and the end zone. His expression was stern and his eyes were dead set. One tackler had never been able to drop him in the old days, and it would not happen now. When he had gotten within six feet of the lone black man, who was now standing in a semi crouched position with both arms partially spread, he dipped his shoulder and steam rolled him, boring in on the black man with every ounce of his muscular 225 pounds, exactly the way his old high school football coach had always instructed whenever he was near the end zone. He could now hear his old coach’s shouting voice, screaming for him to drive hard… and he did. The violent, head on collision sent the badly over matched black man sprawling to the other side of the pavement, gasping for air as Bob, who had barely been shaken, scurried down the steps two at a time.

Several people, including the young boy who had frightened him off, were now standing around the hysterical woman and peering down the driveway, rooting and hoping that the lone black man would be able to stop the giant sized, fleeing rapist.

And then, approximately twenty seconds later, after he shook his head from side to side to relieve the cobwebs, he took off for the stairs, but just as he got there, he ran smack into two burly security guards who were rushing up the stairs. The force of both men’s stiff arm, one to the face and one to the chest, sent him tumbling again on the seat of his pants.

An excited and graying woman had rushed up to Captain Taylor (a thinning hair, twenty year veteran in security work) and his assistant, Mark Grevy (a cross eyed, bespectacled ex clansman), as they stood leisurely on guard inside the mall, and reported that a white woman was being attacked on the third tier of the parking deck. Without asking any questions about the attacker’s identity, the two burly security men had broken out running for the parking deck without the faintest idea of the alleged attacker’s description. So when the lone black man had started down the stairs, the two security men assumed that he had committed the rape and was now trying to make his escape. Immediately after knocking him to the ground, without hesitation, and completely ignoring his efforts to explain, they began pounding him over the head and body with powerful blows from their heavy oak nightsticks. The grueling vicious blows and grievous muffled wails from the black man could be heard crystal clear at the far end of the parking deck. The swelling throng of bystanders, now hovering about Michel at the far end of the driveway, were jumping up and down and swinging their arms vigorously, shouting to the two security guards that the black man had only been trying to help, but their chorus shouts were ringing on deaf ears. The two burly guards seemed to have lost control of themselves now. They were continuously raining successive, vicious blows to the body of the black man, even though now he was obviously unconscious.

Chapter 3

The third tier of the parking deck was now jam packed with uniformed

patrolmen, plain clothes detectives, department store floor walkers, a few sales people who were on their lunch break, and a multitude of curious customers and bystanders. Several police cars blocked the vehicular entrances and exits to all of the driveways in the large cement structure.

It was rumored that the attacker was trapped in his car somewhere in the parking deck, and the police had made certain every avenue of escape was sealed.

An ultra modern vehicular medical unit, which had been placed into operation only two months prior (fully equipped and much more suitable to handle medical emergencies on the scene), was parked in the middle of the driveway with its flashing red light continuously rotating. Two ambulance attendants had placed the unconscious black man on a stretcher and were busily working on him inside the large trauma unit while two other attendants and several detectives encircled the weeping woman who had been brutally raped. They had been trying now for twenty minutes to get her off her knees and into the trauma unit so that she could be given a sedative and a cursory examination. But she was so distraught over the abuse she had just endured, she was unable to move from the ground, obviously paralyzed with grief.

Cecil Daniels, the suave young lieutenant in charge of the Sex Crimes Division, was now doing his best to coax the sobbing woman off the ground and into the medical unit. He hadn’t made much headway with his efforts, but he had learned her name was Michel Thomas, a surname he instantly recognized after being told who she was. He had enjoyed the opportunity of hearing her magnate father, D. L. Thomas, considered by many influential people as a high finance wizard, speak at a policeman’s ball only three months earlier.

Please, Miss Thomas, try to get up and pull yourself together, the young, dapper lieutenant pleaded with Michel. We’ll catch the monster who did this awful thing to you. His moist, curly dark hair hung down over his forehead as he knelt down on one knee and parted his worsted wool sport coat at the waist. And then, very gently, he placed her tear stained face between both palms, softly tilting her face upwards to face him. His eyes blinked with sympathy when he looked into her sad, turquoise eyes and saw the hurt and pain she was bearing. He clenched his teeth together tightly and shook his head sorrowfully from side to side. She was really a very beautiful lady. What man with even a strain of decency or appreciation for beauty would harm such a beautiful and lovely lady? Please, he softly whispered again, I know how bad it must hurt, but we’ll get him… we will. A perceptible glint of determination dawned in his eyes. His voice was low, but sincere.

Slowly, she raised her head and peered into the young lieutenant’s hazel eyes. Genuine concern was readily apparent. She could trust him. It was easy to see. She sniffed and wiped her face with the monogrammed handkerchief he had given her moments earlier. Thank you, officer. She spoke in a soft cracked voice. And then after pulling the wet strands of hair back from her face, she pulled the light gray blazer he had taken off and given her snugly around her shoulders. I… I think I am ready, now.

As their eyes met, a smile of relief curled the corners of his mouth. He felt a sense of accomplishment because she had placed her trust in him so soon after undergoing such a humiliating ordeal at the hands of another man. Many times, victims of rape would only relate to female officers. He placed his arm around her drooping shoulders and slowly led her to the waiting ambulance. That’s much better, Miss Thomas. Everything is gonna be all right, you’ll see. There seemed a strong hint of promise in his words.

4156.png

By God, little John, when that officer comes over here to this car, I don’t want you to say one word about what you told me and your daddy. We have enough troubles of our own right now, Margerie Hamilton instructed her thirteen year old son. And besides, you don’t need to help no black man anyway. It was blacks, she reminded him while emphatically pointing her finger, who robbed you of your collections last year. Let them find out who done it on their own. Her expression was firm, but barely perceptible in her small, beady eyes was a faint hint of indecision.

Little John cocked his head and looked at his mother intriguingly, at first. But, Momma, I saw the whole thing, and I know I done seen that man on my paper route, he pleaded with Margerie Hamilton. A defiant expression shaded his youthful features.

Margerie, the boy is right. If he saw a crime committed, then he should tell the authorities what he saw, John Hamilton interjected as he nudged his dark glasses back up on his nose with the tip of his middle finger. John Hamilton, a good natured man with an immense stature, had always been an unfailing, law abiding citizen. He was an ex-railroad engineer who had been a victim of a violent crime himself. It led to head injuries that eventually deteriorated his optic nerves and caused permanent blindness.

Margerie Hamilton stared at her blind husband with a thoughtful expression, then she paused to reflect. She was a staunch believer of the Edgar Cayce philosophy, and had been a devout member in Mr. Cayce’s Association for Research and Enlightenment for the past ten years. But now, in spite of all the Edgar Cayce tapes on anger, confusion, and doubt she had listened to, and in spite of all the books she had read on psychic phenomenon, she still could not convince herself that letting her only child get involved in a heinous crime of this nature would not eventually have dire consequences for her son, her blind husband, and herself. NO! she said emphatically. Stay out of it! Whose gonna protect us if that man recognized little John and decides to come after us to shut our mouths? She paused momentarily. Umm ummm. Just leave it be. You shouldn’t got up on the top of that car in the first place, little John. Her voice trailed off as she looked away.