Sandusky Reckoning: Sandusky Darkness, #2

By Bryan W. Conway

His friend is on life support. He's about to be next. As an RV campground becomes a war zone, will he be the next victim in a body bag?

 

Brady Sullivan won't go down without a fight. Hours after retaliating against the savage gang that attacked him and his family, he struggles to stay one step ahead of a corrupt sheriff pushing for his arrest. But he's forced to flee to another hideout when a vicious crime lord paints a target on his back…

 

Going dark in a motel room, Brady vows to balance the scales as cruelly staged photos surface endangering his floundering marriage and career. But with competing factions intent on setting him up for the fall, he fears any attempt to engage could end up dead on arrival.

 

Can he win a brutal power struggle before he takes a fatal bullet?

 

Sandusky Reckoning is the nail-biting second book in the Sandusky Darkness crime thriller series. If you like characters under siege, shocking twists and turns, and fast-paced action, then you'll love Bryan W. Conway's riveting tale.

 

Buy Sandusky Reckoning today to refuse to surrender!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryan W. Conway
• Release date: Mar 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798985264821

Book preview

SANDUSKY RECKONING

by

BRYAN W. CONWAY

Sandusky Reckoning

Copyright © 2023 Bryan W. Conway.

All Rights Reserved.

ISBN: 979-8-9852648-2-1

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

To Braham and Brayden Conway

Contents

Chapter 1

Data 1

Travis 1

Brady 1

Jenna 1

Sandusky Register – Online Edition 1

Brady 2

Tony 1

Sandusky Register – Online Edition 2

Russ 1

Candy 1

Vaughn 1

Tony 2

Todd 1

Tony 3

Brady 3

Sandusky Register – Online Edition 3

Brady 4

Tony 4

Sandusky Register – Online Edition 4

Sandusky Register – Online Edition 5

Chapter 2

Todd 2

Russ 2

Sandusky Register – Online Edition 6

Brady 5

Mitch 1

Candy 2

Brady 6

Sandusky Register – Online Edition 7

Alexander 1

Daniela 1

Data 2

Sandusky Register – Online Edition 8

Brady 7

Sandusky Register – Online Edition 9

Jenna 2

Alexander 2

Tony 5

Daniela 2

Alexander 3

Gary 1

Candy 3

Brady 8

Jenna 3

Brady 9

Vaughn 2

Sandusky Register – Online Edition 10

Brady 10

Chapter 3

Tony 6

Vaughn 3

Data 3

Patrick 1

Vaughn 4

Brady 11

Data 4

Russ 3

Jenna 4

Brady 12

Tony 7

Grigore 1

Brady 13

Jenna 5

Vaughn 5

Brady 14

Tony 8

Daniela 3

Data 5

Brady 15

Jenna 6

Candy 4

Chapter 4

Patrick 2

Brady 16

Data 6

Travis 2

Tony 9

Sandusky Register – Online Edition 11

Candy 5

Vaughn 6

Brady 17

Data 7

Russ 4

Alexander 4

Tony 10

Alexander 5

Brady 18

Russ 5

Chapter 5

Daniela 4

Tony 11

Alexander 6

Brady 19

Vaughn 7

Data 8

Russ 6

Daniela 5

Brady 20

Alexander 7

Vaughn 8

Daniela 6

Tony 12

Jenna 7

Sandusky Register – Online Edition 12

Mitch 2

Brady 21

Data 9

Tony 13

Candy 6

Mitch 3

Brady 22

Sandusky Register – Online Edition 13

Vaughn 9

Data 10

Epilogue

Vaughn 10

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Tuesday, June 23

Data 1

3:45 a.m.

Where the heck was Mike?

I glanced down at my Timex and confirmed he should have been here by now. How long was I supposed to give him?

My heart was still hammering from all the craziness that happened earlier. To think that Mike hitched the Taj RV to a train and likely killed four people. Then he burned down a trailer. After he killed Chuck. He was a psychopath, a serial killer at this point.

Trailer Alpha was toast; the fire trucks began arriving twenty minutes ago. Siren after siren blasted from down the street. Mike was supposed to torch it and meet me in my driveway so we could go to Gorey’s bowling alley and purge any remaining blackmail material.

The surveillance cameras were dead at the bowling alley. I knew that because I killed them myself. The after-hours cleaning crew would be finished, and we would have a decent window of time to do a different sort of cleanup.

I didn’t know who was scheduled to open the bowling alley that morning. The staff should begin to arrive around 9 a.m. to get ready for the 10 a.m. opening. Randy and Sam wouldn’t be among them, because they were currently dead in a camper at the bottom of the lake. No one would miss Randy or Sam until opening.

I wondered how long to give Mike. If he didn’t show up, I had to do the cleanup myself. Randy had a backup server somewhere in his office area. There was also sensitive material in lockers, some in envelopes I had dropped off yesterday myself. I didn’t know if they had been cleared, so I would need to check the lockers. If they were cleared, the materials were in Randy’s office.

I would also need to look in Sam’s room at the alley, the storage closets that had been converted to his pathetic little apartment. But since I was a grown man living in my grandma’s double-wide, who was I to call him pathetic?

I had a sinking feeling that something went wrong with the torching of Trailer Alpha. Otherwise, Mike would be here. He was a brainwashed military fanatic, so I couldn’t imagine him being late for anything, especially something critical.

I glanced at my watch again and decided to do it without him if he didn’t show up in the next twenty minutes. The bowling alley was only a mile away; Mike could make his way there on foot if he needed to. If we were delayed until after sunrise, it would increase our chances of getting busted. How would we explain getting caught ransacking Randy’s office, especially after they discovered he was dead?

Travis 1

3:50 a.m.

The fucking guy was sitting in my chair with his fucking feet kicked up on my desk. Not that it was a particularly expensive desk, but it was my desk. In my office.

The office was dark, bare, and dusty, decorated with a few camping posters. Largely just a desk and a few filing cabinets.

The guy was Sheriff Tony Minelli. If he had been doing his job over the past few years, then this disaster at the campground would never have happened. Randy should have been taken out of the game a long time ago, but Minelli had turned a blind eye. There were most certainly pictures and videos that were in Randy’s possession of the good sheriff banging hookers and taking bribes, and the good people of Sandusky most certainly wouldn’t appreciate their sheriff’s side hobby.

Comfortable? I asked. Minelli looked over at me and smiled. Smoker’s yellow teeth surrounded by a five o’clock shadow.

Mind if I smoke? he asked. He pulled out a pack and a lighter from his shirt pocket. I shrugged.

Fine. Secondhand smoke is the least of my worries at the moment, I said as I sat down in the cheap folding chair on the other side of the desk. It creaked under my weight.

Any theories? he asked.

"I have a few. One is that Randy staged the RV theft, and the burning trailer is some sort of insurance scam or cover-up. But that wouldn’t explain the trailer fire and the odd way the RV disappeared. I mean, if they are related."

Minelli seemed to be processing this, staring off at the wall.

My second theory is that Randy finally fucked up and tried to blackmail the wrong people, I said, leaning back. Minelli nodded.

Any disgruntled customers you’ve heard about through the campground grapevine?

I shrugged and shook my head. Randy had some damning pictures of me and blackmailed me into utilizing my cabin rentals to blackmail prostitution solicitors. He had his hooks in a few of my employees; they were especially deep into Chuck. Beyond that, I didn’t want to know what he and his thugs were up to.

Did Randy have beef with anyone at the campground? he asked, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag.

I heard there was a minor disagreement involving one of Randy’s guys the other day. Sam and a guy over at site 64 named Mike Clemmons. A black guy. My clerk said they jawed a little in the office, nothing major.

Interesting. It so happens the unconscious guy in front of the burnt trailer was black. Is Clemmons here with his family? he asked.

Nah, he was by himself, I said.

That is a little creepy. Has Clemmons been accounted for?

Actually, his RV caught on fire yesterday. A total loss. So, he isn’t residing here anymore.

Minelli sat up. How many RV fires have you had since you’ve been running this place? he asked.

A bunch of minor ones. Only one resulted in a lost RV a few years ago. A drunk woman tried to deep fry a turkey, and shit went wrong, I replied.

So, this Mike guy has words with Sam, and then his RV gets torched the next day. That seems a little suspicious, he said.

It looked like an accident. He left his campfire unattended.

On a rainy day, he said.

Yeah, but he still had a fire going. Got pictures of it, I said.

Who took the picture? Minelli asked.

Chuck Taylor.

Minelli smiled. Any reason why Chuck would take such a picture?

To show that Clemmons had left a fire unattended, I guess.

So, why not put out the fire instead of taking a picture?

Minelli’s smile widened. I had no answer for that. In retrospect, it did seem odd. Was the black guy the only one who left unattended fires? he asked.

Nah, happens all the time. Peopled regularly go to bed with smoldering fires, I said, shrugging.

He took a drag from his cigarette. Does Chuck take pictures of all of those fires?

I shook my head. Minelli took another drag and coughed. The horn from the train sounded outside as it approached.

Any theory on where Chuck and ... he said, checking a notebook on the desktop. Henry are?

No. Both were on the clock last night. Chuck and his golf cart are both gone, I said.

I sent a patrol car to Henry’s trailer. No one answered the door. Any chance those guys were in Randy’s trailer? I asked.

There is a fair chance of it.

There was a knock at the door. I got up and opened it. A cop stood there, a young Hispanic guy.

Sir, we need to speak, he said nervously.

So, speak, he grumbled. The cop looked at me. Go ahead and just say it.

Two bits of information. We found a busted burner phone within the vicinity of the unconscious vic, he said.

Good news! Is it operable?

Don’t know. It’s being taken back to the station to see.

All right. What else?

FD found a dead body at the trailer fire.

Brady 1

5:15 a.m.

I hadn’t slept in nearly twenty-four hours, but I didn’t feel tired. I had a crazy energy that made me feel as though I could stay awake indefinitely.

Originally it had been the elation that Mike’s plan actually worked. It had seemed bizarre and improbable when he laid it out to me at the King’s Inn Motel twelve hours earlier. But I went along with it. My anxiety and horror from having my daughter attacked had perhaps clouded my judgment.

How else could I explain going along with that insanity? Five people dead. Dead. But these were bad people who surely had caused a lot of misery and death to others. A few days earlier, I had been tricked by these people into transporting a box containing a dead prostitute from an island to the mainland. I don’t know how she died, but she was very young and likely didn’t die of natural causes.

I sat at the kitchen table in my RV, looking down at my burner cell. Mike should have texted by now, but it was possible that he and Data were still resolving issues at the bowling alley. I put the phone down and took another sip of coffee. Work started at 7 a.m. It would be a long day.

I fought back the urge to call Marcy and get an update on my daughter, Katie. I was fairly sure she was out of danger. Hopefully, she would be leaving the hospital in Toledo and going back to Cleveland soon. Given the circumstances of her condition, it was unclear when I would be able to see her again.

I was tempted to travel to Toledo to attempt a visit. But there was a chance that Marcy would hit the roof and cause a scene. Plus, I had to see what the day ahead would bring as far as blowback from the mission. I thought we had done a reasonable job of covering our tracks. Data was a loose end, but he had a vested interest in ensuring the circumstances surrounding Randy’s demise remained unresolved.

Chris was another loose end. We had a brief chat out on the street when we all gathered to watch Trailer Alpha burn. Some of the materials used for the mission were appropriated from his worksite. At some point, they would notice the theft and would possibly suspect Chris.

Jenna 1

6:10 a.m.

The ER automatic doors slid open, and in walked a big guy dressed in black with long, black hair. Black T-shirt, black shorts, black shoes, black socks, and a black baseball hat. He looked dead tired, with big black bags under his droopy eyes.

I had been at the hospital for over ten hours. My shift was supposed to end at 6:00 a.m., but then the John Doe burn victim came into the unit.

It was hard work to get him stabilized; he coded multiple times. He arrived in a coma with second- and third-degree burns throughout his body. Multiple broken bones and a collapsed lung were discovered during the initial triage.

There were qualified burn specialists at Firelands Regional Medical Center to treat him, so he wouldn’t need to be transferred. He had no identification on him. He was a middle-aged African American male we needed to identify so his family could make critical medical decisions for him.

May I help you, sir? I asked.

The man walked over and leaned on the counter, clasping his large hands.

Yes, ma’am, I’m Travis Barrett. Sheriff Minelli asked me to come down here and identify a body from a fire, he said.

The man is still alive, I said with irritation. Identify a body, really?

Sorry.

I was dressed in scrubs, my hair pulled back in a ponytail. I was tired, but that was nothing new. Because of the John Doe, I would likely have to stick around for at least another hour.

Please sign in, I said, sliding a clipboard over to him.

What time is it? he asked.

It’s 6:15 a.m. Step over to the door, I said.

I pushed a button and buzzed him in.

My name is Jenna Marquez, ER nurse. I’m gonna need you to put on some scrubs and a mask, I said as we walked down the hall to the elevator. Barrett sighed.

We stepped into an empty elevator. I pushed the button for the second floor.

Ma’am, Sheriff Minelli pushed me to come down here, but ...

I know, and we appreciate it. We need to ID him so we can notify his family and pull his medical history, I said.

If he is the guy I think he is, you won’t find a family. He was alone at the campground and just passing through. Listen, if he is burned badly ... I have a weak stomach, he said nervously.

He has some burns, but nothing particularly disturbing.

The doors opened, and we stepped out. The halls of the critical-care floor were fairly busy, with doctors and nurses moving purposefully about while family members milled around. We stopped in front of room 217.

Wait here.

I went to the supply closet and located scrubs, a hat, and a surgical mask. I brought them to Barrett, and he awkwardly put them on. Luckily, we had size 3XL scrubs.

I opened the door, and we walked in. We walked past an empty bed by the door and approached the patient in the bed by the window. He was hooked to an IV and a ventilator, the whooshing noise recurring as it pumped air into his lungs. Multiple leads attached him to a monitor, which displayed his heart rate and other vitals.

Barrett stepped closer, looking over at me. I nodded at him and then toward the patient.

He took a few more steps and stood bedside. He studied the patient’s partially exposed upper body, from just above his waist up. He was covered with bruises, scars, and burns. His face had multiple burns as well, glowing pink against his dark skin.

Barrett leaned over, looking down at him like he was some sort of science experiment. He stared a long moment then turned around and nodded at me.

We walked out, and I closed the door. I pulled my mask down, and he did the same.

Yeah, that’s him. That’s Mike Clemmons, he said.

Thanks. He is no longer John Doe. Obviously, he didn’t have any ID on him. They took fingerprints, but it takes some time to get a match on those, and only if they are in a law-enforcement database.

Barrett smiled a humorless smile as he stripped out of his scrubs.

The guy was out creeping around at a trailer that had been arsoned in the middle of the night, suffered a number of serious injuries, and was found a few yards away from a dead body. You find it odd he wasn’t carrying ID?

Sandusky Register – Online Edition 1

6:30 a.m.

RV Theft and Trailer Fire

The Sandusky Police Department is investigating a series of incidents that occurred overnight. Officers responded to an RV theft at the Sandusky Shores Campground at 1:40 a.m. They later were called to support the Sandusky Fire Department at a trailer fire reported at 3:40 a.m. at 7117 E. Shoreway Dr. Firemen were able to extinguish the fire.

An unconscious male was discovered at the scene and taken to the hospital. A deceased male was found in a vehicle that was partially consumed in the fire. The identities of the victims are being withheld pending family notification.

Brady 2

6:50 a.m.

It would be another record-setting day for low productivity at work. I had logged in early at 0630 but hadn’t accomplished a damn thing besides responding to a few emails.

I unlocked my phone and navigated to the Sandusky Register website. A new article appeared. I read through it hastily, using my thumb to scroll down. My jaw dropped.

I stared down at my phone in disbelief and refreshed the site again. The weak cell tower connection hitched for a few seconds, then repainted the screen. The same article appeared with the same wording.

An unconscious male was discovered at the scene and taken to the hospital. A deceased male was found in a vehicle that was partially consumed in the fire.

I sat back in my seat and exhaled. Chuck sure as shit wasn’t the injured male. He had assumed room temperature hours before the fire, so he was definitely the deceased male part of the equation. The injured man had to be Mike.

Unless something went wrong and Mike had to incapacitate someone who happened upon the scene. But would Mike do that? If a guy out walking his dog saw Mike torching the trailer, what would he do? I was not sure.

I took a long swig from my coffee cup. I would be guzzling gallons of it if I hoped to make it through this day.

I needed to verify that the injured guy was Mike. And I had to talk to Data as soon as possible. He should have already wrapped up the bowling alley cleanup with Mike since they had to be out of there by sunrise. The sun had risen, albeit concealed by clouds.

I heard the train horn and felt the rumbling of its arrival. The horn sounded again. Then it sounded again. A frantic succession of horns blasted, which was unusual. Maybe it was a new engineer who got his jollies by waking up sleeping Sandusky tourists. Maybe something blocked the tracks.

Then I heard screeching. I got up and walked over to the door, opening it and stepping out. The screeching continued, followed by a boom and a series of crunching sounds. The train must have hit a car. But it sounded very close, too close to be coming from an offsite traffic intersection.

I exited the RV, cut through Chris’s lot, and began walking up toward the train bridge. Others had exited their RVs and were walking in that direction as well.

Tony 1

7:45 a.m.

I may need to tase a few of these assholes to get the message across. Every damn step of the way these looky-loos were in my way and pissing on the wheel of progress.

I had two officers parallel park their cars near the shore and run a piece of yellow barrier tape between them. Anyone who tried to go around the cars would be stopped and turned away. About twenty campers were milling around, many wearing raincoats and ponchos, even though the rain was minimal.

I noticed a woman nearby who had her kids with her, two little girls, elementary school age. She stared at her phone as the little girls huddled together staring at some electronic device. She appeared to be in her thirties, a little heavy, black hair pulled back into a ponytail.

I walked up and stood beside her. She didn’t notice me. I cleared my throat loudly. She looked over at me, then did a double-take and lowered her phone.

Did you bring your girls over here to get a good look at a mangled corpse? I asked in a jolly voice. Her face dropped. I smiled widely. Her face flushed. She put the phone in her pocket, grabbed the girls by the hands, and hustled back to the campground.

I walked over toward the shore. An ambulance had backed up as close as possible to the edge of the shore, with two paramedics standing by with a stretcher.

I stood beside the ambulance watching two divers struggle to drag the body ashore. It looked like a big doll that had been tossed in the water, bouncing awkwardly on the surface with the small waves.

The longest night of my sheriff career in Sandusky had gotten longer approximately forty-five minutes earlier when the train crashed into this lunatic out on the bridge. This, along with a trailer fire and missing RV, would have me buried so deep in paperwork that I may never dig my way out.

I had my deputy Russ radio the railroad and stop all trains passing through. He also coordinated with the dive team for the body extraction, who got here quicker than I could have believed. After we heard the crash and hustled down to the bridge, we could see the corpse floating beside the bridge through binoculars, along with debris from the demolished golf cart.

I lit another damned cigarette. I would need to send Russ out to get me some more smokes soon; I had at least a few more packs in my immediate future. One of the EMS workers gave me a dirty look about the smoke, but I ignored him.

Another damn campground bozo wandered over from the west side of the yellow tape, walking up beside the ambulance. He squinted at the site of the divers maneuvering the dead body along.

Is that the ... dead guy? he asked. He was a middle-aged white guy, military haircut, big gut, red face, Notre Dame hat, Cleveland Browns T-shirt, jorts, and flip-flops. His eyes were bloodshot, either from alcohol or sleep deprivation. Or both.

What the fuck do you think? I growled.

Looks like he is wearing a military uniform, he whispered, squinting.

He pulled out a cell phone and held it up to take a picture.

If you snap a goddamn picture, I’m gonna drag you out of sight behind this ambulance and shove that phone directly up your ass. Get the fuck back over there behind the yellow tape, I said, stepping into his personal space. He frowned and lowered the phone, then turned around and waddled away.

Hey! I yelled.

He jumped and turned around warily.

Notre Dame sucks.

His jaw dropped, and then he looked angry. He almost said something but thought better of it and continued walking.

I dragged deeply from the cigarette as I watched the divers reach the shore with the body. It had been a long time since I felt this energized. It was probably not since my beat cop days in Cleveland, the times I got into car chases and gunfights. That seemed like a lifetime ago. Those things had never happened in Sandusky during my five years there.

But in one night this city was making up for lost time. Missing persons in a missing RV. A trailer arson with a burn victim and a dead body. A suicide by train. Sandusky had to have the highest crime rate of any city in Ohio over the past twenty-four hours, per capita. Eat your hearts out, Cleveland and Youngstown.

And I hadn’t made a damn bit of progress unraveling any of it. Travis had ID’d Clemmons. So, I knew one piece of the puzzle. Clemmons was out messing around at that trailer and got sloppy. I needed to identify the corpse in the van. And who owned the van? Getting answers was taking too long.

I had an officer research the name on the torched trailer registration, and it came back with a corporate name I didn’t recognize. So, yet another bit of research had to be done.

And where the fuck was Randy Gorey? I sent Mitch, a cop I trusted, to Gorey’s bowling alley as soon as I realized his RV was missin’ and Gorey couldn’t be located. He found the back door unlocked. Gorey’s obsession with security made that unusual.

Mitch went up to the office and found Gorey’s office door ajar. More bizarre shit. His office appeared untouched, but Mitch had never been in it before so he wouldn’t know if anything was missin’. I figured he kept some of his IT shit and hardcopy blackmail material up there. Mitch searched the entire office, went through his desk drawers, and looked through closets. A large gun safe was still locked.

The place had cameras, but I figured Mitch could talk his way out of it if he got busted snooping. Probable cause to search based on thinking he heard noises inside, or some such shit. Also, the presence of the cameras kept Mitch in line, so he wasn’t tempted to help himself to Gorey’s possessions.

Travis found that the campground security cameras had ceased recording as of earlier this morning. In addition, the entire history was erased. That couldn’t be an accident. My gut told me that all the IT shit Randy did was controlled through that arsoned trailer, and when it disappeared, so did the videos. Did that mean all their digital shit disappeared too? Even my problematic videos?

The divers pulled the body to shore. The paramedics hefted him onto the stretcher with a grunt, water dripping off the sides of it. I walked over and took a closer look at him. His injuries were gruesome. The first thing I noticed was that his left arm was missing at the elbow, a bloody stump with the muscle and bone visible, sheared off cleanly. It must have been amputated by a train wheel. That piece of his arm would need to be located before it washed up on shore somewhere next to kids building sandcastles on the beach.

His face was smashed, a bloody pulp beneath short, matted, black hair. One brown eye stared up at the sky, the other one either buried beneath crushed flesh or missing. His nose was completely flat, like a journeyman prizefighter who had just gone fifteen rounds. A chunk of his scalp on the right side was missing, as well as his right ear. The facial damage made it impossible to tell his age.

He was wearing a blue air force uniform, stained red and pink throughout, tattered in various places, showing gashes and cuts on the