Almost Hit

By Leslie Gayle Goodwin

A fictional dramatic comedy involving a young woman dealing with the wreckage of her past and the challenges she faces after being clean from drugs for five years and finding herself relapsing.
Leanne Griffin tries to balance her world of old and new friends. She has just landed a partnership with the billionaire, Adolf Horne and adopts new friends, but with every step forward, she finds herself taking two steps backward.
As Leanne tries to gain control of her life, she is hit with a mysterious sabotage regarding her new founding organization and a plotting adversary that has her thoughts reverting back to the temptation of substance abuse time and time again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469142623

Leslie Gayle Goodwin

Leslie Gayle Goodwin was born, raised and currently resides in Los Angeles, California. Coming from two generations of writers, her grandmother Ruby Berkley Goodwin was one of the first blacks to get published by Doublday in the early 1950’s with a book titled “It’s Good To Be Black” and her father Robert Lee Goodwin being the first black to sell scripts to the television network. This is Leslie Gayle Goodwin’s first published novel.

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Copyright © 2012 by LESLIE GAYLE GOODWIN.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2011963266

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4691-4261-6

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4691-4260-9

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4691-4262-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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

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CONTENTS

Part One

The Backslide

The Chance

The Miss

The Hunt

Slick

Jumping And Entering

The Boneventure

Mack’s Mind

Show Time

The Wait

Horne Inc.

Show Time

After The Show

Ms. Byrd

The Homestead

Off Guard

At Horne Inc.

For Hire

Date Ready

The Date

Touched

The Dorsey Company

Bad News

Old Buddy

Mojave

Constructing

The Dunes

Stage And Strategy

Part Two

Construction

The Rev

Boy Blues

Sylvia’s Plan

Together

A New Day

Up To Sump’n

Meeting May

Sylvia At Horne Inc.

Mackadoo

Pet-A-Cure Organization

Horne Accounts

Rehab

Confrontation Time

Home Sweet Home

Shut Down

A Time Bomb

Underground

Adolf’s Concern

No Place Like Home

Detective Bush

Cuffed

So Cold

Mc

Part Three

Time Ticking

Bush’s Duty

Leanne At Horne Inc.

Adolf

Mom

Mc’s Plan

At Home

The Lab

Public Defender’s Office

Leanne’s

L.A.’S Finest

Parking It

The Case

Confrontation

Horne Inc. And The Enterprise

The Lunch

The Day’s End

Preparation

The People Vs

Plead

Crystal Cats

Doctor Logan

The Updates

Tying Up Loose Ends

Vaughn’s Approach

Bonding

P.D. Versus D.A.

Misunderstanding

Catching The Byrd

Taft Enterprise

The Apartment

Vaughn To Byrd

The Pain

On The Way Home

Part Four

D.A. Wilton Versus The Byrd

Bad Boys

Ceasing Meows

Coordinating

Sylvia’s Brood

The Day Of Open

Dorsey And Mc

The Rev

Dennis

Marks—Get Set—Ready

On The Way

Show Time Opening

Byrd’s Eye View

Pre-Lim Hearing

In The Clear

Underway

No Hope

Rev. Roger’s Flat

Don’t Do It

Home Alone

The Center Struggle

Three The Hard Way

The Pom

Still Going Strong

Dog Gone

General Conversation

By Chance

The Baby’s Back

The Stake Out

Back On Track

The Champ

At The Pom

Back To The Dunes

PART ONE

THE BACKSLIDE

DAMN IT! LEANNE swore with clenched fist, slamming down hard on her desktop just missing the mouse.

Her stare was on a computer screen infiltrated with blogs which she discarded out of sight for the replacement of her mind. A vision of bits and pieces (shreds) of her past.

Damn! Damn! Damn! She punctuated each outburst with a hammer fist. She had relapsed.

Leanne knew what she had to do. Had gone to drug abuse programs, even practiced the twelve steps through the help of her sponsor.

The last thing she desired to do was make the call. The inevitable call to the only person she knew who would understand—Mack.

Yes, Mack would help to pull her up. He had been there through thick and thin. Clean now for thirteen years and still exhausted himself on others ongoing cycles of self abuse in the crack life.

Leanne would not enable herself to cry about it. Had no clue as to why she picked up a twenty dollar piece of rock cocaine, a pipe and decided to sneak a puff at the apartment she had worked so hard to secure.

Here goes! She picked up the phone and punched the numbers.

Yeah, Mack’s familiar gruff voice came sounding through like a dare.

Leanne hesitated and before she could answer Mack said, Who is it?

It’s me Mackadoo. Saying the nickname she’d given him twenty or so years earlier.

What’s the problem? He inhaled a short sniff of breath, I know there’s got to be one because that’s the only time you call.

I messed up Mack and took one.

Closing her eyes, scrunching her face, she waited for his tormenting sigh and rehash of every ill experience he knew of her going through due to dope since their meeting in her prime of twenty five years old. And he did.

Why must he chastise along with her own kicking herself in the butt?

With every horrible memory came a slap or stab.

Mack’s grand finale’ was, "You know once you start…you don’t stop till you get stopped Sprint".

Sprint.

It was his endearment to her for as long as he’d been Mackadoo. And getting stopped meant running wild until getting busted. It was a tormenting life of self-degradation. Slowly but surely, the lights and gas would get turned off, then the phone, after which she’d go to manipulating others for cash thus, the guilt, shame, and more usage. Then, all hope gone, she’d subconsciously commit stupid crimes to get busted. Always it being a relief to be in a position where there are no choices to be made.

Let me stop right here Sprint. I’ll be over there in a minute. Mack dropped everything for this he knew….she might run.

THE CHANCE

MR. TAFT, A mid fifty obese man resembling Z-Z Top gone food binger, held down the button on his office speaker phone, yelling into it in hopes of not having to roll out of his extra-wide, high-backed black leather office swivel chair in search of his beautiful and bright secretary.

Leanne!

Where is she?

He checked the morning messages with no report of her being sick or family emergency.

Hmm.

Mr. Taft, or Greg known to his business associates, always mixed food and drink while trying to harness investors for the creative endeavors he proposed.

His jolly persona while dining and discussing finances made all those around him feel in the presence of Saint Nick off season due to his year around tan.

Usually his proposals were successful. But then, usually he had Leanne. She would research, note and recite pro’s that were major plus’ for the investors. Always would she make sure his meetings were rehearsed as she knew men, especially business men better than he.

Greg started to panic.

There’s only two hours left before going downtown Los Angeles to the Boneventure Hotel for lunch with Adolf Horne.

Adolf Horne was a self made billionaire whose only reason for agreeing to this entrepreneur "wanna-be" tycoon meeting was because Leanne sounded so professional and sexy over the phone when doing P.R.

Adolf was indeed in need of some release and female companionship which he reserved to persuade Leanne Griffin at the time of lunch, to a private dinner. She would comply. After all, who would say no to a billionaire?

The phone rang once…twice…Greg swiped it up off the hook in anticipation of hearing his great black hope, Leanne.

Taft Enterprise, he said then held his breath.

Hello, I’m calling for Adolf Horne regarding lunch with Mr. Gregory Taft. Mr. Horne would like to know if it would be an inconvenience to postpone the time to two thirty instead of twelve thirty.

What a blessing!

That would be fine, Greg replied as he went probing through his PC looking for the phone number to the meetings savior.

THE MISS

MACK PULLED UP into the drive of Leanne’s underground parking and got out to peer into the electric gate. His fear had come true—the girl had flew the coup. To where, was anybody’s guess.

Although Mack had her mother’s phone number, he was reluctant to call and worry her. If Leanne was there, that would be a plus.

He got back into his truck and rode down those streets he knew to be accessible crack spots and tried to guard his emotions for if he did in fact happen to ride upon her at someplace of ill repute.

There were only a few dinosaurs left in the circle of crack addicts surrounding Mack’s world. Of all the people he grew up using with, Leanne and two others, Champ and Slick were the last to practice.

He decided to go check them both to see if either harbored his damsel in distress. Neither one had seen her, but now they too were on the hunt.

Leanne had returned home from the liquor store with a fifth of cheap vodka and a pack of Marlboros. Never was she able to use crack and come down naturally. She desperately screwed the cap off at the moment she plopped into the seat of her midnight blue Toyota Camry, guzzling four shots worth and drove home.

Not realizing she had missed Mack, she ran into the bathroom to gargle with mouthwash to guise her first drug of choice—alcohol.

He would know that she had drunk. She just wanted not to be regarded so entirely as the lush and addict of old.

Now, with the ease and comfort the vodka had induced, she was ready for Mack. Ready to spit an out and out lie to the boss, even give a presentation to the billionaire Adolf Horne.

Leanne stood tapping fingers while grasping on the sides of her bathroom sink counter, leaned forward looking at her-self in the medicine cabinet mirror almost expecting to see horns sprout from either side of the top of her head. Surprisingly enough, she looked good. In fact, there was a wholesome aura about her.

Still, at age forty two was an easy pass for thirty five. She had the type of complexion that for a black person turned light as yellow in the winter, but was usually a constant smooth as peanut butter or as her father had once called No.2 brown paper bag. In summer, she turned red like the color of a three year old copper penny.

Her hair even when chemically straightened was thick to shoulders and she carried a winning smile that lit up her countenance making her deep brown eyes reflect whatever color clothes she wore.

Standing five foot eight and one hundred and thirty five pounds, Leanne managed to maintain her athletic sinew of muscle, yet remained soft and petite—that also complimented to the youthful appearance over-all.

As she scanned her forehead for signs of worry lines, eyes for crows- feet, mouth for laugh lines and chin checking for gravity sag, she grew satisfied.

The initial crave of crack had departed and she was relieved that Mack hadn’t shown up to drag her off to an AA or NA meeting suggesting she start over with the pledge of a newcomers chip. She decided to give the boss a call to let him know she would meet him downtown at the Hotel at twelve for an early briefing.

Feeling bold with the consummation of two more gulps wino style, she picked up the phone.

Leanne! Say something! Greg was already speaking before she had punched any numbers.

Oh, Mr. Taft, I was just going to call to let you know that I’ll be ready and we can rehearse in brief at the table before Horne’s arrival. She spoke with all confidence.

Forgetting the anxiety that was present just seconds before, he replied, I’ll be there, and look good for me okay? I don’t know what I’d do without you.

Leanne never called him Greg. Never wanted anyone to believe she had gain employment by other means than with what her qualifications wrought.

She might wine and dine with the CEO’s, presidents and consultants however, never did she impress upon the business heads anything but up and up shrewd strategies that were low risk/high stock investments.

She was good and could establish her own company or corporation. But for now, she stuck by the man who was at first, infatuated by her striking good looks and manners and who took her plea for employment after getting out of prison for possession of drugs almost five years to the date.

Leanne did not know at the time of her hire that Greg was basically a business idiot.

He had used inklings and tid-bits of overheard ideas to start his own. His former secretary actually did much the same as Leanne. Probing, internet researching, and public relations to make Taft Enterprise what it was before Leanne arrived. Realizing she could do the same on her own, she just left one day and never came back.

Leanne happened to be the first one to call for an interview.

Greg at the time, after Leanne’s exposing her drug record and plea for a chance, couldn’t possibly shut out from his mind what an asset and eager to please beaver he’d have welcomed to team.

At first meeting Leanne noted the pleased look on Greg’s face. The way he stammered, trying to get through a questionnaire he’d thrown together in ten minutes. He was positively sneaking glimpses of her while explaining what exactly his company, (or Enterprise) had to offer.

She basically knew all she had to do was look straight at him and smile. Every so often, she’d repeat something he’d already said, posed as a question verified to give the impression that she knew exactly what he was talking about. Then, tossed in some compliments on his office swivel and of course…his after shave.

It’s hard work with little pay, Greg had said. And I’ll expect you to be available to accompany me on lunch or dinner meetings. If you really feel courageous, on a small scale venture, I’ll give you an opportunity to do the presentation and if we land the investor, I’ll commission you with say….ten percent gross profit OK?

Leanne agreed not having the faintest clue of what she’d agreed to. She didn’t care. She had landed a job.

Not just a job, but something to be a part of that was not only legal, but would pay well enough to rent a place of her own, buy a car and most importantly show to her family that she had grown.

She felt a responsibility to all of them, but only one thing did she own up a responsibility for—her dog Brandy.

Brandy had been through a lot, yet had gained her respect and status just like her surrogate mother Leanne.

Now, after six years, Brandy being a birthday present from her ex-boyfriend Art and being the most precious thing to come out of that relationship, they both lived to be the same age.

Getting out of prison to start anew was hard enough. The hardest part entailed finding residence that approved of Brandy. Not only a large dog…a Rottweiler.

The whole prison term Leanne dreamed of Art leaving the gate open and Brandy running out in search of Mama to wind up getting hit by a car. Or worse, Art doing something stupid and going to jail leaving Brandy to starve to death in the house.

Once getting released, she vowed never to leave her baby again.

Leanne stepped out of the shower, opened the bathroom door and hesitated knowing that Brandy would be posted right on the other side—on duty. She reached down and gave her a quick scratch, then briskly walked to her closet for an outfit befitting lunch with a billionaire.

She picked out an Ann Taylor cream colored, linen skirt suit. It was a suit to compliment the moderate spring day of seventy two degrees. Underneath, a simple, sheer, silk camasole and slid feet into ankle strapped, peek-a-boo toed Blass shoes.

She wound her hair in the back to a French twist, expertly applied make-up enhancing her eyes with liner and mascara, a light peach gloss to her lips—face done.

Leanne looked around and sitting at her bedroom doorway, head tilted looking up at her reflection in the mirrored closet sliding doors was Brandy.

Whenever Leanne dressed at odd hours, meaning anytime opposed to the usual alarm clock dressing, Brandy was never sure whether she were to be included or not. Usually by the time Leanne put on her shoes Brandy would be raring to go. In a second, her baby would snatch the leash off of the low hook on the bedroom wall and prance to the front door.

Not right now—Kay? Mama’ll be back, Leanne spoke to Brandy still looking at her mirror.

Opening the patio door so Brandy could stand on hinds and watch the neighbors walk by, Leanne then sprayed a last minute spritz of Vera Wang, fished out keys from her clutch purse, threw her attache’ strap over her shoulder and graced her face with Dior sunglasses. She was ready.

THE HUNT

CHAMP CALLED MACK.

Yeah, was Mack’s signature greeting.

Did you find Leanne?

Champ inquired not really knowing if he’d rather her safe, but not being in her presence due to his live crack habit or relapsed so that he could once again reunite with his girl.

They three at one time had been happy crack addicts. All graced with wit, a form of pride and intellect.

Champ was the high school track star thus, the nickname formed. Later he was employed with a major television network until his habit got the best of him.

Mack was an expert and certified mechanic that could fix anything with a motor.

Leanne’s schooling had reached a couple years in Jr. College but had no idea what to major. She at an early age was a promising pianist and had an outstanding learning aptitude, but at the time she met Champ and Mack opted for having fun.

No Champ, haven’t heard from her. She’s probably hiding from me. You’ll see her before I do if she’s still puffin’.

Mack hated to think of all the pain she’d go through again if she was not found soon. He knew from experience that the longer the relapse, the more one tortured themselves and destroyed what had been built.

Leanne had built for herself an almost normal seeming life. She had great family support, a caring and loyal boss who shunned her past and never threw it in her face—oh contraire’, was exceptionally proud of her.

Okay Mack, just checking. I’m gonna get a ride to her place and see if she’s there. She might have parked down the street and not answering the phone, you know how we do?

Champ geared up for the truth. His truth on Leanne was the same that Mack had mentioned to her upon her relapse call. Leanne doesn’t stop till she gets stopped.

Champ smiled. For a little while he’d have his girl back.

SLICK

SLICK SAT ON his porch and exclaimed, Fi-deen! while slapping a domino bone down onto the table. He was always up for gambling. He loved tonk, dominos and chess.

His mind had wandered to a time when he and Leanne shared a comfortable friendship. Never argued or complained. Never held back anything one needed from the other. Friends and lovers they were, but that seemed so long ago.

Slick pondered that his relapse and her