The Hurt

By Josh Scott

The Hurt is about a murder and subsequent trials, but it is also about the many lives affected by the tragedy, most deliberately Josh Scott. Josh Scott is a retired Florida State police officer, and this is his first novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781796043013

Josh Scott

Josh Scott has been a pastor for the last two decades, spending 14 years leading a progressive church in rural Kentucky before moving to Nashville and serving as the Lead Pastor at GracePointe Church in April 2019. Josh is an active voice in the conversation of imagining the future of progressive Christianity, with the focus of his work on reimagining, reframing, and reclaiming faith through a progressive Christian lens, while making those concepts and ideas practically accessible. Josh is the author of the upcoming Context: Putting Scripture in Its Place, releasing in April 2024. He lives near Nashville, TN with his wife, Carla, and five kids.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

THE BEER CANS AND EMPTY PIZZA BOX MAKE IT HARD TO DISPUTE THAT the place is a bachelor pad. Although Josh does keep his three-bedroom, two-bath rental clean, it is often messy, especially the small kitchen, where dishes have a way of piling up in the sink and abandoned coffee cups habitually leave umber circles on the countertops. The stucco structure, built in the sixties, is painted off-white, modestly and sparsely furnished, and fronted by palm trees along the street. There’s one lone palm in the front yard that serves as a less-than-adequate buffer against the relentless summer heat. Fall has just begun to fade the daylight sooner each day than the day before; the temperature has returned to temperate, and the occasional light drizzle has replaced the ever-present dampness of summer.

Josh isn’t a kid anymore. He is twenty-eight and attempting to act and live in ways he thinks make him seem mature and ready to take on life as an adult. It is easy, therefore, albeit not altogether truthful, for him to attribute the disarray that often occupies his home to his wiry new roommate, Richey, who moved in with Josh and his girlfriend, Laura, a couple of months earlier.

Richey’s five-foot-six inches are dwarfed by the six-foot-five Josh, and he’s about ninety pounds lighter at 160. Richey is a natural at martial arts and requires little provocation to showcase his skills anywhere, anytime. He’s a pretty good actor, although not as good as he thinks he is, and works along with Josh and Laura at the Hurt, a famous rock and roll club that promotes the likes of Iggy Pop, the Romantics, and the house band.

Josh and Richey are sunk into the throwback seventies olive green couch, Bud Lights in hand, Pizza Hut crusts abandoned on Melmac plates on the lacquered coffee table where Richey’s feet and a couple of empty cans also rest. They are watching James Arness as criminal defense attorney John McClain on an old RCA TV in the living room. Josh is obsessed with any show that has cops or courtrooms in it.

It’s 1981. Hill Street Blues is changing television with its ensemble casting. And Robert Stack, who starred in the circa 1960 The Untouchables, is back starring in Strike Force, deemed one of the most violent series on TV. But tonight it’s McClain’s Law. Josh doesn’t need TV Guide to remind him when his favorite shows air; he’s got the schedule memorized.

Richey suddenly flies off the couch, spilling his beer on the orange shag carpet. That doesn’t look real at all! he shouts.

Josh, who prefers to watch TV in peace, says Jesus, Richey, when people get shot, they don’t just fall to the ground. I wish you’d shut up! And clean up that mess before it stains the carpet.

Richey ignores both commands. He neither shuts nor cleans up. That blood doesn’t even look real.

Josh lifts his oversized frame off the couch to fetch a wet dish rag from the kitchen, peering over his shoulder on the way, and stops at the kitchen entrance waiting for a commercial to come on. When have you seen real blood anyway?

Richey shouts to be heard over the amped-up sound of two big guys selling Hungry Man dinners on the tube, When I was a kid, there was a guy who shot his wife, and there was bloodstains in the hallway!

Reentering the living room with the wet rag and another beer, Josh teases his friend. You saw blood in some hallway some place when you were a kid? Somebody probably had a bloody nose or something. That doesn’t mean shit!

When Josh puts his beer on the coffee table and begins wiping up the wet carpet, Richey retrieves it. My brother saw it.

Josh grabs the beer from Richey’s hands before he can take a swig. Your brother saw blood in a hallway? Wow! That makes you a forensic expert? Josh catches a glimpse of the time on the big wall clock hanging over the couch. We better slow it down. We have to work tonight.

Richey refocuses on the TV. John McClain is interviewing a suspect. I really should move to LA. I’m a much better actor than these guys. Look how plastic he is.

Hey, show some respect. It’s Matt Dillon.

"It’s James Arness, moron. He played Matt Dillon on Gunsmoke. And I could kick his ass." Richey goes into a martial arts routine.

Of course, you could kick his ass. Anyone could. He’s probably seventy years old. You know who could kick your ass?

Rickey keeps up his karate routine while Josh continues to straighten up the place, one eye always on the TV. Who?

Laura. And she’s going to do just that if she comes home and finds the place like this. So stop messing around and help me straighten up.

Laura is a slender five-foot-four-inch college student with a BA working her way up the education ladder. She’s also a second-degree black belt in Aikido. She and Josh met at the Hurt, where she is a bouncer. It took a while for the two of them to hit it off, but when they did, it was mostly smooth sailing. She loved his dry sense of humor and thought he seemed to really care for her, which he did. After six months, she agreed to move in with him.

Nope. Gotta go. See you there. Richey is still in full Steven Seagal mode.

Don’t you want a ride?

"I think I’m gonna walk, gotta work those beers off. It’s nice out. Summer in this swamp just about killed me. I hate the fucking humidity. It’s bad for the hair; I looked like I was wearing a Brillo pad on my head all summer long. And to make things worse, they cancelled Charlie’s Angels. I loved that show. Oh my god, Farrah’s hair. Now those girls, they could kick some ass." Richey continues his routine on his way out the door, his straight brown hair spinning like a poorly thrown Frisbee with every exaggerated move.

Josh, from his vantage point by the front window, can see his friend through the fronds swinging with the mild breeze from the palm trees ubiquitous in Florida as he battles his imaginary opponent with rapid entering, heaven and earth, hip, and figure ten throws. He can’t help but laugh at Richey’s boundless energy and refusal to control his natural impulses.

Once the house looks nice enough to gain Laura’s approval, Josh changes into his work uniform, consisting of button-fly Levi’s, Top-Sider slip-on loafers, and the Hurt T-shirt and bounds out the door toward his four-door Chevy. The Hurt is just down the street from his house, but he loves driving up in his newly purchased used car. Besides, the club doesn’t close until 4:00 a.m., and walking home after an eight-hour shift with a bunch of rowdy partiers just let loose isn’t on his list of favored options.

CHAPTER TWO

THE PARKING LOT THAT SURROUNDS THE HURT, A VENUE BUILT IN the seventies but looks a great deal more like a sixties hotspot, is full to overflowing when Josh pulls up. There’s a line that extends almost halfway down the block and a potential fight brewing between a couple of tattooed tough guys towing Joan Jett lookalikes behind them.

Fuck. Josh runs his hands through his thick, longish curls. Here we go again.

Inside the Hurt, the security staff is assembled. Big Bob, at six-foot-nine and 300 pounds, lives up to his name. His military-style buzz cut, massive build, and hair-trigger temper makes him a formidable club owner. Although his size is enough to scare off most challengers, the forty-year-old martial artist is not shy about demonstrating his skills as further intimidation should the unlikely scenario occur where some idiot drunk tries to take him on.

Listen up, everyone! Tonight, we have a mediocre band and a sold-out crowd. What does that tell you? We’re not dealing with a group of people with discriminating taste. Look out for the usual—drugs, folks having sex in the shitters, freeloaders trying to sneak in, the drunk-and-soon-to-be-projectile-pukers, the pervs, and the wannabe tough guys. Just keep everyone from killing everyone else, and you’ve done your job.

The crew laughs. They know Big Bob is only half joking. He continues, Okay, guys and gals. Here’s the orders for tonight. Dave and Mike, you take stage left. Josh and Richey, stage right. The rest of you take up your usual positions. And check your walkie-talkies in case you need to summon assistance. Make sure your batteries are working.

The Hurt is a large rock-and-roll club with three bars, a stage, a dance floor, and dressing rooms for the performers. There are two big bathrooms, one each for the men and the women, up near the front door where the cashier’s booth is located. It has the capacity to seat several hundred. No food is served, just drinks. The place is famous for bringing in good musical acts and fights. The crew has their work cut out for them every night.

Josh and Richey do as they are told and guard the stage right area. They don’t know what is happening outside. The line has gotten even longer than when they arrived. People are drinking in the parking lot. Laura, clad in her usual uniform—tight Guess jeans and a the Hurt tee shirt—takes the lead in putting a stop to that. She’s small in stature but big in attitude. Few club goers give her a hard time. Those who do usually think twice the next time.

When the doors finally open, the crowd floods in. The bartenders work feverishly to keep up with the drink orders. The opening band starts playing. It’s loud and crowded; no one pays much attention to the music.

Josh gets a call on his walkie-talkie. Two guys have been caught smoking weed in the bathroom. He takes leave of his station, heads for the men’s room, and finds the two offenders openly sharing a joint. When they see the size of him, they know there won’t be any arguing. They’re stoned enough and stupid enough to offer him a hit. In response, Josh points to the urinal, indicating where the doobie needs to go. When that order is obeyed, he nods toward the bathroom door and escorts the two idiots across the crowded club floor and out the front door. Throughout the entire ordeal, no words are needed.

Dave is a hefty five-six with a big mouth and a voracious appetite for pot. He finds an underage kid sneaking into the club, grabs him by the scruff of his neck, and throws him out.

Laura is entering the club as Josh is escorting the stoners out. They smile knowingly at each other and sneak a quick break in the backroom to make out. They are immediately interrupted when Josh gets another call. It’s Richey reporting that someone has vomited in the men’s bathroom on the second floor.

Get Dave to take care of it. That’s his section.

Yeah, see that’s a problem. He’s nowhere to be found. Just disappeared.

Big surprise!

I know. Tell me about it.

Did you say anything to Big Bob?

Big Bob ain’t gonna do anything about his beloved nephew. And Dave knows it.

Josh sighs. Be right there.

After one last kiss with Laura, he leaves to clean up for Dave—again. By now, the main act is entering the stage, and the club is stuffed to capacity. People are rushing to be as close to the band as possible. There’s a lot of pushing and shoving.

Laura approaches Richey with a pimply faced young kid. This freak was showing off to some chick. He told her he had a gun. I need you to pat him down.

Him? This kid? I know this punk? He ain’t packin’, are you, Max?

Max looks down at the floor. No.

You just said you had a gun because you got a small dick, right?

Max shakes his head no.

Laura is losing patience. Just pat him down. Please.

Richey obliges. He quickly and inefficiently pats the kid down.

No gun. Big surprise.

Laura stares at Richey as if he should know what to do next. Well, what are you waiting for? Escort him out.

Richey smirks at Max. I’m not throwin’ this little twerp out. It’s not against any rules to have a small dick, is it, Max?

Max is humiliated. Ah …

What? I can’t hear you. I asked if it was against the rules to have a tiny dick.

Max whispers, averting Richey’s eyes, No.

Richey smacks the kid on the head. If you ever tell anyone you brought a gun in here again, I’ll smack you down big time. You understand?

Max whispers, Yeah.

Richey smacks Max on the head again. Now get out of here. Max runs off.

Laura is distraught and lets Richey know it. Jesus, Richey, you know the rules. What the hell are you doing?

I’ve known that kid since he was ten years old. Believe me, he’s no John Wayne. We can’t throw somebody out of here for trying to impress a babe. He just wants to get laid.

Laura murmurs under her breath, Don’t we all. Then she sees Josh running up the stairs. Of course, there’s always puke to clean up or some little shit with a tiny dick who pretends to have a gun or … Josh is now racing back down the stairs. He gets one walkie-talkie call after another for the remainder of the night.

The concert is over. The crowd is pouring out onto the streets. The exhausted staff helps clear the place out. And finally, the doors are closed and locked for the night. Big Bob leads everyone to the lobby for beers and one last order.

Good job, everyone. Big Bob holds up his beer in a toast to his tired crew. "You deserve a nice cold one. Enjoy. But not for too long, okay. You still have to grab your garbage bags and pick up the trash and clean up the vomit, shit, and piss our sophisticated clientele left for us. After that enjoyable task, we can all head home.

Dave raises his hand. Uh, I can’t stay, Uncle Bob. I’ve got a school exam I need to study for.

Sam is new to the club. He’s just nineteen and a college student as well. I can stay.

Sam is only five-nine and 160 pounds. He, too, is a martial artist and truly believes that alone makes him qualified to do his job as a part-time bouncer. He’s a sweet kid with soft brown eyes and an easy smile. He loves working at the Hurt. His parents, however, aren’t that keen about him spending the kind of hours required and with the type of crowd the club attracts.

Big Bob lets his nephew off the hook once again and accepts Sam’s offer to stay. Sam joins the rest of the crew cleaning up.

Sharon is a shy slender young woman with long blond hair and blue eyes. When she does speak, it’s usually sarcastic. She has taken an earthy motherly attitude toward Sam. My parents are so proud of me. They think me picking up garbage is a badge of honor.

It’s just part of the job. Sam is willing to do anything so long as he can hang out with the crew.

Sharon responds in a patronizing voice, Oh, Sam, you’re so young. She takes her trash bag and walks away from the rest. Laura approaches Sam. She too has taken him under her wing. She thinks she’s better than everyone else.

She is really pretty. Sam is sheepish about his crush, and Laura is a little jealous.

That doesn’t give her the right to be rude to you.

I think she’s just misunderstood.

Oh my god, Sam. You really are so young.

At that, the crew disperses and continues with their nightly routine before departing for their respective homes.

CHAPTER THREE

THE WALLS OF THE BEDROOM JOSH AND LAURA SHARE ARE COVERED with posters and photos of past heroes: Neil Armstrong walking on the moon, the late president John F. Kennedy, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Josh and Laura are sitting on the bed, totally exhausted but almost too tired to sleep. Laura can’t even muster the strength to take off her leather jacket, the one she agrees to shed only when it’s too hot and humid to wear it or when Big Bob makes her leave it in her locker at work. It’s well past 4:00 a.m.

Josh kisses Laura on the cheek before collapsing back on his pillow. Sleeping with Billy Joel again tonight, are you?

Yep!

How long ago did he give you that jacket anyway?

Don’t remember; don’t care.

Josh moonlights as a bodyguard for the musicians who play at a venue called the Hollywood Sportatorium. He and the rest of the security crew make sure the entertainment is safe and taken care of. One night, he invited Laura to go with him to a Billy Joel concert. The two of them stayed with Billy Joel in the dressing room until Josh escorted him onto the stage. It was cold in the room and Laura was shivering. On his way out the door, Billy Joel gave Laura his leather jacket. After the show, she tried to return it to him. He told her to keep it.

Should I be jealous?

Hell, yes!

Night.

Love you.

Love you too.

Can you turn off the light?

"Can you?

You.

You.

Please.

Pretty pl— Laura is snoring. Josh is out like a light.

The relationship between the two is easy like this most of the time. Josh grew up in New York with two older sisters, so he is accustomed to being around girls. He is close to his parents and admires their commitment to each other. Although he did date several women before he met Laura, nothing serious ever developed. He was happy when he fell for her. There was no fear of abandonment; he’d never experienced anything but acceptance from his family and few close friends.

Laura is also the youngest of three children. She has an older brother and sister. Theirs is a close family as well. Despite being the baby and a bit spoiled, Laura is driven. In addition to working at the club, she is also a social worker and intent on getting her master’s. The fun she and Josh have together is welcome relief from the rigors of her everyday life.

It’s early afternoon. The sunlight has attempted for