Thirty Years

By James Beeson

Thirty years ago, he went to prison for murder. Twenty-nine years ago, he escaped and fell in love. Twenty-nine years minus one month ago, he returned to prison. After thirty years, will he be paroled? Does it even matter? If he is, what would remain of the life and love he had forfeited?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9781796022254

James Beeson

Dr. Beeson was born in 1926, the son of an Indiana farmer. He skipped the 12th. grade, was accepted in to the Navy College Training Program, and sent to Notre Dame University. He graduated from Indiana Medical School at 22. He is a board certified anesthesiologist who practiced his profession for 42 years in Jacksonville, FL. He was a caregiver for his beloved wife for six years. He married his late wife's best friend (widow). who was, is and ever will be beloved. He has five children, several stepchildren, grandchildren, step grandchildren, and a growing number of "greats" whom he loves with all his heart. He is chronically happy. How could he be otherwise?

Book preview

Copyright © 2019 by James Beeson.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2019903299

ISBN:                Hardcover                978-1-7960-2227-8

                          Softcover                  978-1-7960-2226-1

                          eBook                       978-1-7960-2225-4

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. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 03/19/2019

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CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-One

Chapter Sixty-Two

Chapter Sixty-Three

Chapter Sixty-Four

Chapter Sixty-Five

Chapter Sixty-Six

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Chapter Seventy

Chapter Seventy-One

Chapter Seventy-Two

Chapter Seventy-Three

Chapter Seventy-Four

Chapter Seventy-Five

Chapter Seventy-Six

Chapter Seventy-Seven

Chapter Seventy-Eight

Chapter Seventy-Nine

Chapter Eighty

Chapter Eighty-One

Chapter Eighty-Two

Chapter Eighty-Three

Chapter Eighty-Four

Chapter Eighty-Five

Chapter Eighty-Six

Chapter Eighty-Seven

Chapter Eighty-Eight

Chapter Eighty-Nine

Chapter Ninety

Chapter Ninety-One

Chapter Ninety-Two

Chapter Ninety-Three

Chapter Ninety-Four

Chapter Ninety-Five

Chapter Ninety-Six

Chapter Ninety-Seven

Chapter Ninety-Eight

Chapter Ninety-Nine

Chapter One Hundred

Chapter One Hundred One

Chapter One Hundred Two

Chapter One Hundred Three

Chapter One Hundred Four

Chapter One Hundred Five

Chapter One Hundred Six

Chapter One Hundred Seven

Chapter One Hundred Eight

Chapter One Hundred Nine

Chapter One Hundred Ten

Chapter One Hundred Eleven

Chapter One Hundred Twelve

Chapter One Hundred Thirteen

Chapter One Hundred Fourteen

Chapter One Hundred Fifteen

Chapter One Hundred Sixteen

Chapter One Hundred Seventeen

Chapter One Hundred Eighteen

Chapter One Hundred Nineteen

Chapter One Hundred Twenty

Chapter One Hundred Twenty-One

Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Two

Characters

Other Beeson Books

To Becky

                            You gave me my second life

                            When you became my wife.

                            This old love I’ve had for you

                            Still brightly beams, forever new.

CHAPTER ONE

Turk Thomas had settled into his new address at Raiford State Prison in Florida. Having been convicted of murder—one charge—he was now a lifer in residence.

In an effort to eliminate persons between an inheritance and his mother, he had murdered one cousin and almost another. He had kept his murder weapon in his car’s spare tire well with a contrived locking device. Unfortunately for him, with a valid search warrant, a nosy cop noting the oddity picked the lock and said, Look what I found.

His lame I never saw that gun before! fell flat when they found his fingerprints all over it. Confronted with the smoking gun, he contended that his mother knew nothing about the affair; it had been all his doing. The police suspected that she had been a party to the shootings, but it was not provable, so she dodged a bullet, as they say.

He had negotiated a guilty plea with the death sentence off the table. So there he was in a Raiford suite with no prospect of an upgrade.

He made friends with another inmate who was about his own age, and they exchanged secrets when they were together in the courtyard and out of the earshot of others.

What happened to your dad? Lonnie Lewis asked in hushed tones.

Died in his early forties—heart attack.

You have a stepdad?

Had one. He’s dead too.

Dangerous around your house, wasn’t it?

He fell down our upstairs steps.

With a sly smile, he asked, Did he have any help with that?

Looking both ways and reassuring himself that nobody else could hear him, he said, He was a heavy drinker and a mean one.

You get in fights with him?

Almost, till I got big enough to whip his ass!

You had a bunch of fights with him?

Actually only once. Before that, I stayed out of his way as much as possible. He was slow-footed when he was drunk, so I’d avoid him till he fell into a drunken stupor. Next morning, he wouldn’t remember any of it.

So did he have any help with the stairs?

He didn’t hit my mom often, but he did that night. Mom and I thought we could cure him of his bad habits by killing him.

You make a habit of solving problems that way?

Nope. Just occasionally.

So you waxed him?

He had chronic prostate problems, so he got up a couple of times at night to pee. The bathroom was down the hall from the upstairs bedroom. He had to walk by the stairs to get there.

I take it he had an accident?

I pushed the bastard. Hind end over teakettle! He wasn’t moving down there, so I went down and put my hand over his mouth and nose. Mom came down to join me, and we decided to break his neck while we were at it, so I did. She called 911, and I started CPR on him.

CPR?

That would explain why my DNA was all over him.

Damn! That was smart!

Accidental death. RIP. He had a fifty-thousand-dollar life insurance policy, which helped us for a while.

I guess with all the bad luck your mom had with husbands, she’s not lookin’ for another one.

She might be. She looks younger than her forty years.

You see her often?

Sure do. We’re real close.

Spiritually, you mean?

Yeah sure. You got any sad tales to tell?

I had this buddy who wanted to rob a bank. All I had to do was drive the stolen car, which I did. The dumb ass didn’t notice the off-duty cop in the bank who followed him out the door and shot him. He died there but not before shooting the cop dead.

So you took off like a scalded cat?

I would have, but a second cop saw me and cuffed me.

You tried to rob a place swarming with cops? Not cool.

No, not cool at all. They nailed me for being complicit in the cop’s death—that guilt-by-association crap. I’m in here for twenty.

That doesn’t sound fair. You have a decent lawyer back then?

He said I should make a plea bargain for twenty so I don’t get life.

You got royally screwed, didn’t you?

I’d say so. Looks like our time’s up for now. See you tomorrow, maybe.

Hope so.

CHAPTER TWO

May Stover was now May Heller. Her marriage ceremony had taken place with no untoward incidents. They were a beautiful couple as romantic people might say.

Her husband, Matt, was the most productive new-car salesman in the Jacksonville area. May was about the prettiest nurse at the St. Miguel Hospital. She was trying harder and harder to mask her prescient abilities. She began contriving misinformation to falsely document her assumed visions, when actually, misfires were few and far between.

They were in agreement that two offspring would be about right for them but not just yet. They wished to depart from each of their apartments and purchase a house. Their combined incomes could support up to half a million-dollar unit, provided they could come up with a suitable down payment. They were told that 20 percent would assure them of an unimpeded buy. They both were frugal, but their combined savings were nowhere near that figure.

Maybe one of your visions might be helpful, Matt said mostly in jest.

Her visions continued to be only unsolicited ones, and she was still unable to otherwise conger up any insight into any given situation.

It was a brief vision but very explicit—Las Vegas, roulette table, red or black, thirteen clear choices for thirteen in a row. She was blessed with an exceptionally good memory, but she jotted down the sequence indicated. So what? Go to Las Vegas? Play the black/red? She had no doubt she could win—up to a point. Most casinos have a button beneath the croupier area, which, when activated, senses where bets are placed and then that little bouncing ball avoids landing there. It rarely needed to be invoked. Her vision terminated with a schematic of the device.

I had a vision that might show an avenue to our down-payment shortfall.

She had his full attention.

Las Vegas. Roulette. Thirteen reds or blacks in a row.

A semistunned Matt said, That’s over eighty thousand dollars, based on a ten-dollar start. A third of any winnings would go to your favorite uncle—Sam. You serious?

If you are. I didn’t sense any danger in the situation.

They both took a week off with the intention of spending two nights in Las Vegas. One day and night to enjoy the amenities and the second for their caper.

*     *     *

Why you goin’ to Las Vegas? Gonna break the bank? her friend asked.

No, just to see the place. Neither of us has ever been there.

*     *     *

There was only one direct flight a day from Jacksonville to Las Vegas. The couple had no difficulty getting two seats on the plane. They were told by the hotel-booking clerk that they got the last room available. He would tell fifty other people the same thing.

First-class? Don’t think so.

They chose a relatively new palatial hotel aptly named the Palace. It certainly did resemble one. Reasonable rate. Capacious room. After losing twenty dollars at a roulette table, they went on to enjoy the area.

On the second evening, the wheel master recognized them from the night before.

Maybe you’ll have better luck tonight, he encouraged.

Ten dollars on red. Red it was. Let it ride. Twenty on black, and black it was.

She let it ride and ride again till the thirteenth spin, winning each time. Just before what would be the thirteenth spin, a pit boss had to be called to authorize that next spin. He nodded in the affirmative, and the little ball did its thing—spinning and spinning— seeming to land on red only to settle landing on May’s black notch.

By then the table had attracted dozens of onlookers, cheering her on. The beady-eyed pit boss had a frozen smile on his face.

This is your lucky night, madam. He then made a gesture as if to stroke his chin. Actually, it was a slit the throat move, which meant the attendant was to push the equalizer button, which he quietly did.

Do you wish to make another bet, madam?

May pulled all the mountain of chips to her seat area, leaving ten dollars on red.

The pit master was livid but never lost his frozen smile.

Black it is, the attendant said weakly.

Where do I cash these chips?

With a brusque gesture, he said, Over there, madam.

Getting the nod from the pit boss, the clerk made a checkout, handing it to May and making a certificate to the IRS, explaining to her that they were obligated to do that.

Through the whole thing, Matt’s heart was going a mile a minute, but he was expressionless.

It has the aura of total unreality about it, he thought.

As they left the casino, Matt asked May, Care for a nightcap, moneybags?

Why not!

After a little aperitif, they were off to bed. As to the other nightcap, that was how the procreational timetable was disrupted.

CHAPTER THREE

Matt and May had agreed not to advertise their Las Vegas good luck. Nobody really knew their financial status, so when they were able to come up with a suitable house down payment, nobody was surprised.

When asked by friends and acquaintances how they had liked Lost Wages, they merely indicated they had a good time there and, no, they wouldn’t be going back anytime soon.

Don’t want to wear out our welcome, they said with a grin.

*     *     *

They dealt with the so-called Legends real estate group in buying their house. The purchase price and the appraisal were in concert, and the home inspection didn’t turn up any deal breakers. They would close in a month, and the former owners would be long gone by then.

*     *     *

May’s pregnancy was progressing without incident. Amniocentesis fluid evaluation found no genetic abnormalities. Matt had long since digested the differences between his wife and himself, and he was cool with them. She was essentially